The doctor reemerged an hour later, having sewn up her wounds and applied bandages. He informed Shang of Mulan's condition and retreated to his own tent to rest until morning. The entire company was camped out for the night, and Shang's feelings alternated between rage at this delay in the cold and snow because of a scrawny little girl that didn't know enough to just stay at home, and guilt that she was in that tent, suffering because of what she had done to save him and his men.
He looked around for guidance, saw the hunched old man walking to his tent, clutching his medical bag in gnarled fingers that had sewn up Mulan's wounds. He'd wondered at that. She hadn't screamed, or even whimpered at what could only be extremely painful primitive surgery. Shang had listened for it, worried despite his resolve not to be, and had heard nothing. And it only served to peak his growing interest in this girl who had risked her life to save her father's and pose as a man. Cursing under his breath, he walked into her tent.
She was lying on the ground, covered in blankets. Her chest rose and fell with each soft breath and her eyelashes were spread across her pale cheeks like silk fans. Her hair, that until now had been bound, caressed her skin, framing her face in ebony wisps of down. For once, her face was actually clean, and it struck Shang that the only reason she had kept it so filthy was to hide features so delicate, so incredibly feminine that any man would be hard pressed not to fall for her. Even a man so callous... so disciplined. Oh god. He felt himself being drawn in by the serenity she offered. Lying there she exuded the tranquility and contentment of a child. He found himself starving for that peace, wondering if somehow she could teach him. To trust. And it scared the shit out of him.
Shang ran his hands over his face, trying to rub away the feel of paradise that lingered. Up until a few hours ago, she had been nothing to him but a soldier in his corps. And a dirty one at that. But she'd had guts. From the beginning she had intrigued him, and won his respect. Eventually his trust.
Except now she wasn't a man.
Mulan fought off the last vestiges of her unconsciousness and forced her eyes open. They felt gritty, and unused, as though she was opening them for the first time. The space surrounding her was dark, and she felt a moment's panic before realizing that night had fallen. She moved her arm cautiously and gasped at the pain that shot from her shoulder down to the tips of her fingers. Something moved near the tent opening and she pushed herself up on her elbows to see what it was. The pain was incredible. Mulan groaned softly and let herself fall back onto her rough pillow, the agony making stars burst before her eyes and her head pound like a million drum beats.
Shang saw her collapse and scrambled to kneel in the snow, gazing down at her intently.
"Ping...?"
He lay a hand on her brow.
"... Mulan?"
She opened her eyes slowly. His face loomed, worried, above her. His lips were inches from hers. She shook herself mentally. He knew her secret now, but that didn't make it anymore appropriate to fling herself at him. No matter how many times she'd wanted to.
"Shang," she whispered. Her lips were drier than dust, but she smiled.
He didn't return the gesture.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded, more roughly than he'd intended.
She shook her head.
"I'm fine."
Her voice cracked like the snow underfoot. He got up to get her some water.
"Here, drink this."
She took it from him gratefully. The water slid down her throat like gossamer bits of ice. Shang watched her drink, entranced by the graceful tilt of her chin, the satiny skin at her neck. She finished, putting the cup down at her side, and Shang was cruelly disappointed at his lack of indifference. He shoved himself to his feet.
"We'll be moving out tomorrow. The men are cold, weary. We need to find shelter. Food. We can't put it off any longer, you'll just have to keep up. Get some sleep."
Mulan cringed at his thinly masked scorn. He had saved her from death, but was nowhere near forgiving her for her lies. She pulled the covers tight around her, and tried to ignore the pain in her torso and arm. His cold words ran around in her mind countless times, their humming redundancy finally lulling her to sleep.
He looked around for guidance, saw the hunched old man walking to his tent, clutching his medical bag in gnarled fingers that had sewn up Mulan's wounds. He'd wondered at that. She hadn't screamed, or even whimpered at what could only be extremely painful primitive surgery. Shang had listened for it, worried despite his resolve not to be, and had heard nothing. And it only served to peak his growing interest in this girl who had risked her life to save her father's and pose as a man. Cursing under his breath, he walked into her tent.
She was lying on the ground, covered in blankets. Her chest rose and fell with each soft breath and her eyelashes were spread across her pale cheeks like silk fans. Her hair, that until now had been bound, caressed her skin, framing her face in ebony wisps of down. For once, her face was actually clean, and it struck Shang that the only reason she had kept it so filthy was to hide features so delicate, so incredibly feminine that any man would be hard pressed not to fall for her. Even a man so callous... so disciplined. Oh god. He felt himself being drawn in by the serenity she offered. Lying there she exuded the tranquility and contentment of a child. He found himself starving for that peace, wondering if somehow she could teach him. To trust. And it scared the shit out of him.
Shang ran his hands over his face, trying to rub away the feel of paradise that lingered. Up until a few hours ago, she had been nothing to him but a soldier in his corps. And a dirty one at that. But she'd had guts. From the beginning she had intrigued him, and won his respect. Eventually his trust.
Except now she wasn't a man.
Mulan fought off the last vestiges of her unconsciousness and forced her eyes open. They felt gritty, and unused, as though she was opening them for the first time. The space surrounding her was dark, and she felt a moment's panic before realizing that night had fallen. She moved her arm cautiously and gasped at the pain that shot from her shoulder down to the tips of her fingers. Something moved near the tent opening and she pushed herself up on her elbows to see what it was. The pain was incredible. Mulan groaned softly and let herself fall back onto her rough pillow, the agony making stars burst before her eyes and her head pound like a million drum beats.
Shang saw her collapse and scrambled to kneel in the snow, gazing down at her intently.
"Ping...?"
He lay a hand on her brow.
"... Mulan?"
She opened her eyes slowly. His face loomed, worried, above her. His lips were inches from hers. She shook herself mentally. He knew her secret now, but that didn't make it anymore appropriate to fling herself at him. No matter how many times she'd wanted to.
"Shang," she whispered. Her lips were drier than dust, but she smiled.
He didn't return the gesture.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded, more roughly than he'd intended.
She shook her head.
"I'm fine."
Her voice cracked like the snow underfoot. He got up to get her some water.
"Here, drink this."
She took it from him gratefully. The water slid down her throat like gossamer bits of ice. Shang watched her drink, entranced by the graceful tilt of her chin, the satiny skin at her neck. She finished, putting the cup down at her side, and Shang was cruelly disappointed at his lack of indifference. He shoved himself to his feet.
"We'll be moving out tomorrow. The men are cold, weary. We need to find shelter. Food. We can't put it off any longer, you'll just have to keep up. Get some sleep."
Mulan cringed at his thinly masked scorn. He had saved her from death, but was nowhere near forgiving her for her lies. She pulled the covers tight around her, and tried to ignore the pain in her torso and arm. His cold words ran around in her mind countless times, their humming redundancy finally lulling her to sleep.