A/N: There are several places in the Trigun story line where this ficlet would fit. It doesn't especially matter when it took place, so don't worry about it. Enjoy.
The hospital was quiet. For the first time in a long, long shift Marlee got to put her feet up on the table and relax. There had been a big gunfight that morning, and it was rumored that the famous outlaw Vash the Stampede was one of the injured men brought to the hospital afterwards – though Marlee hadn't seen anyone who seemed to qualify. She supposed it was better if she didn't see him, anyway. Things like seeing outlaws or having big adventures were always more trouble than they were worth, she thought. Though, if she could, she wouldn't mind a peek ...
Dr. Hawthorne had ordered her to take inventory of the pills in the dispensary this morning, so she hadn't been in the reception room when the wounded started coming in. It was just as well, so many gunshot wounds at once was not a pleasant sight – though as a nurse, it wouldn't have phased her too much. Kay had come running into the dispensary at 9:04 that morning, screaming that she was needed in the OR. That hadn't been true; she had been needed in about six operating rooms, all at once. The morning and afternoon had been awash in blood, stitches and sponges. Nothing that wasn't all in a day's work, it was just more of it than usual.
Marlee's shift was almost over – almost. Half an hour and she could go home, back to a small, empty house, her cat, some dishes in the sink that still needed to be washed. Long shifts weren't so bad, far better than the monotony of home. But no news was good news, her mother always said –
"Miss?" a voice from the darkened room at her right, where several patients were supposed to be sleeping. "Miss?"
Marlee stood up, looking around to see if the other nurse who was supposed to be on duty was around. It wasn't her turn to wait on patients, she had bottles to count, damn it.
"Yes?" she said, sticking her head through the doorway. "Who is calling?"
"Me, ma'am," the voice was weaker this time. Marlee examined the beds, found the one toward the window. He was a tall man, his feet hung over the edge of the mattress and his head was scrunched against the head of the bed. He had a mop of unruly blonde hair hanging over his eyes, so she couldn't see much of him.
"May I have some water, please?" whoever he was, his voice was certainly pleasant enough.
"Yes, certainly," she replied, fetching the water for him. "Are you having trouble sleeping? I can get you some pills for that."
"Oh, no thank you, Miss," the blonde man said, sipping his drink. "I'm fine here. It's a nice hospital."
"Were you unconscious when you came in?" she asked. He laughed, and then she realized the humor of what she had said.
"No," he replied. "It's nicer than some of the places I've seen." He smiled at her. "It must be nice, working in a hospital. You get to help people all day," he looked toward the window, "and don't get in trouble for it."
"Listen, Mister," she said, fiddling with a bottle of pills, "maybe you should change your career. You sound nice enough. Why not settle down, get a quieter life? Maybe try religion?"
The blonde man laughed, looking over at the next bed. A man with dark hair was curled up there, asleep. Marlee couldn't see what was supposed to be so funny.
"That's good advice, Miss," the man said. "I think I'll look into it."
Marlee nodded politely.
"Goodnight, then," she said.
"Thank you. Goodnight," he turned his gaze to the window, and she noticed, barely, in the pale moonlight, that his eyes were green.
She walked away. At the doorway, she turned around to survey the room. Liar. He was having trouble sleeping, he was still staring out the window.
Marlee shook her head, heading back to her chair.
"Outlaws," she said to herself, with a sniff.