(no subject)
I should not trifle with him.
But then, he should not have trifled with me, either.
Hair drawn back into a tight tail, the white labcoat as crisp as can be without the civilizing benefits of starch and a dryer, Ellen is busy: she is restoring newly cleaned and dry sheets to the stripped bunks. There are no questionable stains on the grey fabric; the sheets are fairly new. At the moment, she is halfway through sheathing the second bunk. Her concentration is rapt.
Jason's manner is pure broken-faced apprehension, but he walks all the way into the infirmary without an initial peek check and clears his throat to feign boldness.
Ellen straightens from her bend over the bunk with a swift jerk, turning sharply on her heel to face the door; her hands release the sheet, leaving it rumpled and only half attached to the bed, to flatten against her labcoat, smoothing white fabric over her hips. Her gaze flicks down him and back up, cool-eyed and sedate.
"m to be 'ealed," Jason informs her through his rather inadequate lips and stands where he is, arms half folded, waiting. Challenging, a wee.
The inclination of her head is cool courtesy, her lids shuttering briefly in an acknowledging blink. She lifts one hand and holds it open, hospitably indicating the one bunk she has already successfully outfitted. Her head tilts slightly. "Would you care to sit down?"
"Nod really," Jason says, dubious, as his eyes flick to the bunk without any friendly interest whatsoever. Nonetheless, he begins walking over.
Ellen waits, watching him with a faint rise to her fine brows. "It makes little difference to me." She allows herself a tiny smile, flickering there at the corners of her mouth and then gone again. Her gaze, steady on Jason, remains quite cool. "However you would be most comfortable."
"Nnnrg," is Jason's only response. He ends standing in front of Ellen, his arms slipping down to slip his hands into his pockets. And then he waits.
The touch of Ellen's palm against Jason's cheek is very light at first, though it firms after a moment as her mind runs through his body, assessing the damage. Her eyes stay open, though her focus is not outward. She is silent.
Fractures in nose and teeth, extensive deep bruising, laceration, general unproductive malaise. Jason keeps his eyes fixed firmly forward and over her shoulder, not acknowledging contact.
His body surveyed, Ellen initiates her repairs: without the distraction of conversation or the necessity of attention, her eyes close. Teeth are restored first, the mouth an old stomping ground; living bone the most effort-intensive of her work, she moves past to reexamine his nose. Her brow knits faintly; she stops and pulls back, holding up one finger as she opens her eyes. "A moment," she says, and turns and moves with swift paces towards the desk.
Jason pulls his lips tight over teeth that seem far less likely to loosen in unwanted ways, testing, but his expression is narrow eyed and suspicious for the askance of a moment. He scratches the side of his leg through the inside of his pocket.
A drawer slides open under her hand; she pulls out some pages, old photocopies covered in neat-spidered writing, and frowns down at them for a moment, tracing the image on paper with her eyes; she traces the paths of her own cartilege for a moment in her mind's eye, suppressing the tickling sensation that suggests an imminent sneeze, and then moves back towards him, hand lifted to resume it position against his cheek. Ellen offers neither apology nor explanation for the delay, expression impassive.
Nonetheless, Jason's eyes widen from their narrow and beyond a normal width indeed, obviously apprehensive. That is not to say, of course, he moves at all.
The repairs recommence: they are swift. Ellen's eyes are closed, her body still, her breathing even, her mutation busy. His nose restores itself to a normal, healthy configuration, without mishap or further hesitation; his lacerations and bruises heal swifter still, the ease of increasing practice rendering the process as natural and simple as if the repairs were on herself. The eyes flick open again, her palm still pressed against his cheek.
And the response is immediately to sneeze. It is, kindly, a healthy, unobstructed sneeze and Jason's hand rises to his nostrils to check them. Therein is a normal dampness and a normal lack of pain. Jason exhales and tries to pull away. "Thanks."
The sudden blink is the closest she comes to flinching at his sneeze, though her right hand does surreptitiously tuck into the labcoat's pocket in search of a handkerchief. Ellen lets her left hand fall away from his face, allowing his escape. Cool alto as mild as rainfall, she says, "You're welcome, Jason."
"Yeah," Jason says, sidesteps, and makes a point of moving for the entrance with ungrateful speed.
Ellen watches him go, a slight smile ghosting over her mouth.
But then, he should not have trifled with me, either.
Hair drawn back into a tight tail, the white labcoat as crisp as can be without the civilizing benefits of starch and a dryer, Ellen is busy: she is restoring newly cleaned and dry sheets to the stripped bunks. There are no questionable stains on the grey fabric; the sheets are fairly new. At the moment, she is halfway through sheathing the second bunk. Her concentration is rapt.
Jason's manner is pure broken-faced apprehension, but he walks all the way into the infirmary without an initial peek check and clears his throat to feign boldness.
Ellen straightens from her bend over the bunk with a swift jerk, turning sharply on her heel to face the door; her hands release the sheet, leaving it rumpled and only half attached to the bed, to flatten against her labcoat, smoothing white fabric over her hips. Her gaze flicks down him and back up, cool-eyed and sedate.
"m to be 'ealed," Jason informs her through his rather inadequate lips and stands where he is, arms half folded, waiting. Challenging, a wee.
The inclination of her head is cool courtesy, her lids shuttering briefly in an acknowledging blink. She lifts one hand and holds it open, hospitably indicating the one bunk she has already successfully outfitted. Her head tilts slightly. "Would you care to sit down?"
"Nod really," Jason says, dubious, as his eyes flick to the bunk without any friendly interest whatsoever. Nonetheless, he begins walking over.
Ellen waits, watching him with a faint rise to her fine brows. "It makes little difference to me." She allows herself a tiny smile, flickering there at the corners of her mouth and then gone again. Her gaze, steady on Jason, remains quite cool. "However you would be most comfortable."
"Nnnrg," is Jason's only response. He ends standing in front of Ellen, his arms slipping down to slip his hands into his pockets. And then he waits.
The touch of Ellen's palm against Jason's cheek is very light at first, though it firms after a moment as her mind runs through his body, assessing the damage. Her eyes stay open, though her focus is not outward. She is silent.
Fractures in nose and teeth, extensive deep bruising, laceration, general unproductive malaise. Jason keeps his eyes fixed firmly forward and over her shoulder, not acknowledging contact.
His body surveyed, Ellen initiates her repairs: without the distraction of conversation or the necessity of attention, her eyes close. Teeth are restored first, the mouth an old stomping ground; living bone the most effort-intensive of her work, she moves past to reexamine his nose. Her brow knits faintly; she stops and pulls back, holding up one finger as she opens her eyes. "A moment," she says, and turns and moves with swift paces towards the desk.
Jason pulls his lips tight over teeth that seem far less likely to loosen in unwanted ways, testing, but his expression is narrow eyed and suspicious for the askance of a moment. He scratches the side of his leg through the inside of his pocket.
A drawer slides open under her hand; she pulls out some pages, old photocopies covered in neat-spidered writing, and frowns down at them for a moment, tracing the image on paper with her eyes; she traces the paths of her own cartilege for a moment in her mind's eye, suppressing the tickling sensation that suggests an imminent sneeze, and then moves back towards him, hand lifted to resume it position against his cheek. Ellen offers neither apology nor explanation for the delay, expression impassive.
Nonetheless, Jason's eyes widen from their narrow and beyond a normal width indeed, obviously apprehensive. That is not to say, of course, he moves at all.
The repairs recommence: they are swift. Ellen's eyes are closed, her body still, her breathing even, her mutation busy. His nose restores itself to a normal, healthy configuration, without mishap or further hesitation; his lacerations and bruises heal swifter still, the ease of increasing practice rendering the process as natural and simple as if the repairs were on herself. The eyes flick open again, her palm still pressed against his cheek.
And the response is immediately to sneeze. It is, kindly, a healthy, unobstructed sneeze and Jason's hand rises to his nostrils to check them. Therein is a normal dampness and a normal lack of pain. Jason exhales and tries to pull away. "Thanks."
The sudden blink is the closest she comes to flinching at his sneeze, though her right hand does surreptitiously tuck into the labcoat's pocket in search of a handkerchief. Ellen lets her left hand fall away from his face, allowing his escape. Cool alto as mild as rainfall, she says, "You're welcome, Jason."
"Yeah," Jason says, sidesteps, and makes a point of moving for the entrance with ungrateful speed.
Ellen watches him go, a slight smile ghosting over her mouth.