Hello readers!
Just a warning, there's several bits of icky medical gore described in this fic. That'll happen when the main character is a nurse. Be ready folks.
I hope you enjoy!
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The suitcase looks horribly bare, especially for a week-long trip. Its interior lining is the color of worn paper, just as bland and worn as the clothes inside. Two sets of your uniforms are folded neatly within, cotton baby blue dresses that have already faded in the single year you've owned them. Fortunately, the white apron atop them is still pristinely pure thanks to incessant cleaning, providing at least a hint of cleanliness to your completed work outfit.
These, along with just a few pieces of casual clothing, create a nest for your cloth satchel of toiletries. Beside them, a filled shoe bag is situated carefully in the corner of the luggage case, your paperwork and wallet beside it and two books beneath. The absolute minimum, to be sure, but the hospital will provide a majority of your necessities anyway.
Besides, it's good to save room for anything you might pick up in Shiganshina. Sometimes patients scrap together small gifts for their caretakers, offers you won't dare turn down. In unlikely cases, charitable family members of the afflicted come bearing presents or donations for the working staff, anything from simple flowers to surprisingly decent sums of money. It's best to save room for such a possibility.
You close the small luggage case, flicking shut the brownish metal latches on its seam. The leathery surface of the box is so brittle, a complete disintegration of your suitcase felt possible at any moment. Perhaps you'll pick up a new one in your destination district, if work allows time for that sort of leisure.
Grasping the handle and sliding it off your rickety bed, you cringe at the dust it's left on your white sheets. The case hasn't been used for a while, but you didn't think it would gather this much dirt in its time in your attic. It had, though, and now you're held up for another few minutes as you clean off the bed that wasn't to be occupied for several days.
Having finally dusted off your own bed and the exterior of your suitcase, you give the darling little bedroom once last look-over before leaving, shutting the wooden door and clearing any sunlight from the hallway you now traverse through.
Wooden floorboards creak beneath your feet as you drift through the second story of your house, passing just a few doors before descending to the main floor. The air is still, as quiet as always but now tinged with the somber feeling of abandonment, like your home is growing depressed over the notion of you leaving. There's no other being to bid you farewell besides the sunken cushions of your sofa and the empty coat rack standing at attention adjacent to the door you're to exit through.
Well, you aren't that dejected about leaving. It's only for a week, and you won't be leaving much behind. Not at your house, at least. The only real human being that will miss your absence is across the river.
Reminded of your mission, you pry one of the main double-doors open, allowing the dim light of the morning to pour inside. "Bye," you say to nobody as you head outside.
Your shoes tap lightly on the cobblestone foundation surrounding your house before meeting the dirt of the ground just beyond. Your home is right on the edge of the river that cuts through Trost District, part of the tiny sliver of land that the waterway keeps separated from the main town. As if that isn't secluded enough, your home is the southernmost building on the sliver, nestled tightly between the river and the massive Walls looming over the town. These Walls deny the pleasure of soothing morning sunlight, engulfing your entire community in a shadow that won't be erased until later in the day.
The luxury of a home to yourself within Wall Rose keeps you from complaining about the smaller details of living without a sunrise, and the years you had spent in the community have allowed you to grow accustomed to the lack of warm light you experienced in your childhood. The villages of Wall Maria were much farther from the Walls, basking in the full range of sunlight throughout the day. Occasionally, you did miss the freedom of the open, verdant fields, their swaying blades of grass glistening in the sun. It was a delightful haven for a child, though the world of adults couldn't be so fatuously pleasant. You knew this when you came to Trost, and settled into the mundaneness of a new world without complaint.
The sunlight pours onto your skin as you near the footbridge over the river, finally beating the edge of the Walls in their fight to shroud the rays. You ascend the tight spiral staircase inside one of the stone towers making up the bridge, then pass through the covered hallway hovering over the water several meters below. Only a few other passersby busy the bridge, the town still waking up to begin their day. The serenity is a good start to the day, giving you peace to clear your mind and prepare for the journey ahead. That, and one final check-in with your mentor will give you the assurance you'll need.
Your place of work, and the home of your mentor, is just one of the clustered buildings directly across from your house on the other side of the waterway. As if it is deliberately trying to be tucked away, the entrance to your mentor's business is hidden in the crook of an L-shaped multi-business complex. Though also stationed on the riverside, you have to take a rather roundabout way to reach it by means of the footbridge farther north.
You immediately try the handle, finding it locked. It's still early in the morning, after all. There was no reason he would have opened his clinic already. He must certainly be awake, though.
You knock powerfully enough to sound through the three stories of the building. "It's me!" you call.
A smile plays across your lips as you hear flustered bumbling from within, the elderly occupant likely startled awake by your bellow. The lock rattles shortly after, eventually undone to allow the door to swing open unsteadily.
Any lingering somberness vanishes as your mentor appears on the other side, the somewhat maladroit grandfather of a man always a warming presence. "Ah, I thought I left it unlocked. So sorry." His wrinkled lips curl up into a small, genuine grin, his beady eyes almost disappearing behind raised eyelids.
"That's okay. I hope I didn't shock you." You head in as he allows you, gripping the handle of your case with both hands.
"Only a little, only a little," he murmurs as he shuts the door.
You step through his clinic: a cozy, privately-owned medical facility for the citizens of Trost. It's empty for now, but soon patients of all ages will arrive seeking his care. You would be here to help, doing anything from evaluating patients to providing healthcare, but today is the day of your embarkation. He'll have to run the clinic on his own for a week.
"Are you sure you'll be alright without me?" You settle into one of the stiff chairs lining the wall. "This place could get hectic with only one provider, especially if you keep encouraging walk-ins."
Your mentor shuffles across the tiled floor, meandering to a lonesome cabinet. "I'll be quite alright, no need to worry. This old geezer can handle a day or two without some help."
"I'm gone a week, Walt," you remind him, hoping he hadn't truly forgotten the details of your trip. "You remember that, right?"
"Of course I do," he declares proudly as he delicately pries open one of the cabinet doors. "You keep telling me as much. One full week, unless they want you for longer, in which case you'll send a message. I remember just fine."
"Okay," you sigh. "Good." Of course, Walter Halstein is one of the finest doctors you know, but that doesn't mean that he's impervious to age. His memory stumbles every now and then, prompting you to constantly assure yourself of his capability. Making sure he has independence grows crucial as time passes, especially when you have commitments that will keep you from being able to look after him.
You could be paranoid, probably, but paranoia feels necessary when it relates to somebody you care so much for. Dr. Halstein hadn't been much more than a passing professor when you first attended Einrich College, but you had grown closer to the diligent doctor over the course of your academic career. He's a close friend now, and a dedicated mentor, and admittedly the new occupant of the role of father figure in your life. Your real dad is gone, one of the many faceless soldiers that had lost their life serving as the spear of humanity. Walt has become a reasonable replacement.
"You can put some faith in me. If I doubted my ability, I wouldn't continue practicing." He feebly sorts through the content of the shelves, searching for something specific. "No human should be treated by a clumsy doctor that doesn't have his own wits in order. No, not at all."
"Yeah." You choose to believe him, hoping he knows his own potential limitations. "I just worry for you."
"There's no need to be. I'm not out of the running yet." He finds his prize, a tiny basket secured with a covered handkerchief blanketing its contents. "Here," he says as he turns to you, shambling towards you with his weathered fingers gripping the woven basket. "I stopped by the candy store yesterday. Just picked up a few little treats for your trip."
"Oh," you utter as you accept the gift. "That's really sweet of you. I didn't even think of packing food for the journey."
"You should have something proper to eat on the way. Six hours isn't a short period of time." He fixes his slipping wired glasses.
"I know. If the ship stops in one of Maria's villages, maybe I'll pick something up." You prop up your legs to support your suitcase, then unlock the latches. "Besides, the hospital usually provides food for us new arrivals. I'll eat something when I get there, too." You put the basket inside, sliding it underneath your clothes to keep it secure.
"Swell," he hums. "You must take care of yourself. I worry, too. Sometimes you get too caught up in your work." He gazes at you tenderly, his small eyes brimming with concern.
"I'll be okay," you promise. "Thank you for worrying about me, though. I'm glad I can rely on you."
"Always. Now, let's see." He lurches over to squint at the clock on the far wall. "Mm, the boat will be leaving soon. You ought to get going."
"I know." You close your case, smoothing a hand over its surface.
"I'll walk you to the dock," he offers.
"No, no. It's okay." You rise to your feet, putting up a protesting hand. "I'll manage okay. You should stay here and get ready to open for the day."
"I can handle a little stroll," he fights halfheartedly.
"I appreciate it, but you need to get ready. Your patients will need you much more than I will." You were already crossing to the door, excusing yourself from his office.
"If you insist."
"Listen, I'll only be out a week. Don't overschedule yourself, please." You begin a list of reminders as you twist the doorknob. "You know Hedda a few doors down will always help you if you need it."
"Yes, Miss Hedda. A lovely woman, she is," Walt concurs with your evaluation of the seamstress in the same building complex as his clinic.
"I'll try to send a letter, but we both know how busy the hospital gets." You open the door. "Hopefully it won't take more than a week."
"Indeed, indeed." He wavers in the doorframe as you step outside. "It will get pretty quiet without you here."
You nod bleakly. "I know. Just a week, though."
"Right." He still smiles, prioritizing your goals over his own contentment. "I look forward to your return. I can't wait to hear the stories."
"Yeah, we'll see how it goes." You face him one final time, mirroring his joy. "See you later, Walt."
"Goodbye."
You had hoped to be reinvigorated upon visiting Walt, but your mood only worsens as you make your way to the dock. Leaving behind your source of comfort and your daily life, you're given no choice but to encounter the upcoming week alone.
After handing your papers to the officer stationed before the gangway, you tread across the thin bridge and onto the riverboat. Not many passengers are utilizing the ship, as not many occupants of Trost District take any interest in going to Shiganshina. Obviously. There's nothing enticing about the poor district that's right on the edge of Titan territory, the only residents being those foolish enough to take interests in Titans or those too impoverished to have a choice. You're neither, simply a volunteer that wants to take her talents somewhere besides her district.
The barge soon grumbles out a low rhythm as it comes to life, the mechanisms within pulling it along the wire piercing its conveyor belts. Patrolling the open deck, you watch the land shift as the boat begins chugging down the river, heading south to exit the district. Ahead, the iron gates blocking the canal are raised, the Walls now opening one of their many mouths to permit you exit.
You can barely see the entrance to Walt's clinic as you pass by, the last part of Trost visible before the barge disappears under the Wall. Dim gloom smothers the deck as you travel beneath the Wall, the rumble of the boat echoing off the stone arch surrounding it. You feel your stomach churn as vigorously as the water below you, the tension of your journey finally rearing its head. This isn't a new experience for you, but the anxiety hasn't waned no matter how many times you've undergone it. You're nervous, no doubt.
How could you not be? Volunteering to be part of the group that more or less receives the Scouts once they return from beyond the Walls is never pleasant. Witnessing the parade of grim soldiers saunter back inside with no progress to report is disheartening enough for citizens, but the nurses and doctors that they immediately stumble to have to continue wallowing in the prolonged suffering of their failed warriors. Having to watch over the injured opponents of the Titans and care for those who've been fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to survive definitely gnaws at the minds of the healthcare workers that dedicate their time to helping the troops recover. It's hellish, yet you continue to offer your services every time the opportunity arises.
You can't answer why you subject yourself to torment, especially as an unpaid volunteer. Perhaps, Walter had posited previously, it really is due to your urge to help others. That's what pushed you into the medical field, after all. Is such a motivation enough to bear the torment of being around the glum survivors of the world beyond? They feel like a different species altogether, their minds choked by the terror of the outside lands and the beasts that inhabit them. Those too hardened to be bothered by trauma are no better, only cold shells of their former self.
Your reasons don't matter enough to understand. You simply go. You go, and lend service to the hospital, and tend to the wounded without figuring out the why. There's no point in trying to interpret any motivation.
The sun blinds you as the barge emerges on the other side of the Wall. You squint as your eyes scan the town surrounding the river, finding it exactly the same as you had seen it two months ago when you last embarked on your journey. The houses begin thinning out as you near the town edge, growing sparse with barren fields taking over. Spring has been kind to the vegetation, the recent rains giving the grass plenty of resources to flourish. It looks soft, you think. A part of you wants to leave the boat right then and there and spend time in the untarnished fields instead.
But no, Charon's Ferry continues to transport you to the precipice of hell, making no stops for childish desires. Sighing, you pick up your case and decide to head below deck, finished with sightseeing and ready to hunker down for the long road ahead.
Most of the passengers are already underneath, though they hardly take up much of the benches lining the walls. This barge probably wouldn't have even considered making the trip if there wasn't a shipment waiting for pickup in Shiganshina. Fortunate for you, though. Travel by river is preferable to a cramped, clunky carriage.
You pick the barest of spots on the bench, careful to not sit uncomfortably close to anyone else. Quiet conversations pass between acquainted passengers while others sit in dreary silence, either occupying themselves with books or simply staring at nothing. You debate doing the former with one of the two novels you've packed, mildly wishing you had brought more methods to pass the time.
"You heading to Shiganshina?" A voice takes you away from your decision-making, coming from a lean businessman who has sidled up to you without notice.
"Yeah." You look him over, noticing the quality of the suit jacket and the eloquent craftsmanship of the cane holding up his right arm. His expression bears no malintent, though his sudden approach and forward behavior does set you off. "You?" You won't make assumptions yet.
"Yes. I—do you mind if I take a seat?" He gestures to the open space beside you.
"Go ahead." You fold your hands tightly in your lap, keeping your body drawn together.
"Thank you." He supports himself on his cane as he sits, grasping its golden grip with both hands as he plants it between his feet. "I have business in that district. Mingling with the haughty beasts of the political realm, you see. Nothing pleasant."
"Yeah." You can't help but think that he, too, looks like a haughty political beast. "Were you just passing through Trost, then?"
"Yes. I hail from Ehrmich, originally."
It comes as no surprise that the finely-clad man beside you comes from the prissy southern district of Wall Sina, just outside the hotbed of affluent lords and ladies. You wouldn't have put it past this businessman to come straight from Mitras itself with how proudly he holds himself.
"But," he continues. "What obligations do you have in Shiganshina? I can't imagine you're taking a vacation down there." A new realization crosses his mind, and he tries to guess again. "Or perhaps you're returning home?"
You can't decide if you want to be offended by his assumption. Personally, you would never declare the occupants of Shiganshina as down-trodden as the aristocrat beside you believes, but it's clear that the district in question has earned such a reputation somehow. Do you look like you'd fit right in with the citizens there? He seems to think so.
"No," you answer. "No, I live in Trost. I'm...also going for business."
"What business, exactly?"
You hesitate, already aware of what your answer would imply. Tending to the Scouts implies involvement with the Scouts, a notion that not everybody is keen to. The consistently losing regiment is impossible to be proud of, even further shameful to be associated with. In the past, it had often left a judgmental look on people's face when you mentioned you assisted the hospitals that housed the Scouts. Sometimes you feel better off not telling anyone of your work.
"I give aide to a hospital down there. Just some volunteer work." You keep your answer vague, hoping he won't press for more.
"A nurse, then?"
"I suppose so." You don't usually give yourself a label, working as nothing more than Walter's friend. You have a degree to your name, and medical experience, though nothing remarkable enough to earn a title as supreme as "Doctor". Just a nurse, if anyone asks.
"Are the hospitals in Shiganshina lacking in nurses?" His question sounds plainly curious on the surface, but you easily discern the mockery he implies.
"Not usually," you answer. Only when the Scouts return; that's when the southern district requests additional personnel.
"It's because of the Scouts," a different individual adds from across the floor. A burly man, his disdain as large as his frame. Beside him, a woman—presumably his wife—sits as tightly poised as you are.
"The Scouts?" the aristocrat beside you questions.
"Yeah. Those bastards are comin' back sometime soon. Hospitals always need extra people to help out." He slouches forward and rests his hairy forearms on his thighs.
Alas, you can't hide your intentions. You watch the gears in the aristocrat's head turn, waiting for his eventual response.
"I see," he hums. "You work with the Scouts?"
"Not exactly," you say, a bit ashamed by how meek your tone has turned. "I just volunteer whenever they come back. Otherwise, I'm in Trost."
"You don't even get paid?"
"No."
"Figures," the burly man grumbles. "They hardly have the funding to support their own regiment, let alone the poor souls that are roped into helping them."
A few other passengers have caught notice of the conversation, thanks in large part to the man's errant volume. Spectators are present, ready to mentally record whatever you say next.
"Nobody has roped me into anything," you manage to declare. "I wasn't coerced into helping."
"Then what the hell for, hm? Why go assist those foolish wrecks?" The man's opinion is incredibly clear, alerting you as to how you should approach the conversation.
You've dealt with worse, always finding different ways to confront those that disapprove of something or other about you or your work. "I'm a healthcare worker. It's my job to help those that need it."
"A job for which you're not getting paid," he fires back.
"It's my desire," you clarify. "I don't care if I get compensated or not."
The man doesn't care for your eloquent proclamation, and he makes sure it shows. "Don't overexert yourself, sweetie. We'll manage if one or two of 'em don't make it under your care."
You stiffen, slapped with more disrespect than you had been anticipating.
"Warin," the woman beside him scolds.
"Don't wish death upon anyone, please," you chastise calmly. "No matter how much you dislike them. It's just...uncivil."
The man, Warin, pays no heed to your polite reprimand. "It's uncivil for those jokes of soldiers to waste our money doing who-knows-what out there. I've no obligation to pretend like I want to support them."
You clench your teeth, then relax as you let a wave of anger pass. You've handled worse. "That's your opinion, then. Just don't become inhuman about it."
"Pah, inhuman." He actually smiles mockingly at you. "The only inhuman ones here are those Titans outside the Walls, and the bastards dumb enough to take them on."
He's grousing just to grouse, and you aren't going to waste your time pandering to him. "Okay." Rising to your feet, you take a firm hold on your case and turn away from him. "It was a pleasure to meet you, sir," you say to the aristocrat, proving to the room that you have decency that your opponent lacks. Once demonstrating as much, you ascend to the upper deck.
You hear nothing in the wake of your exit, the soft wind drowning out any reactive comments from below. You aren't followed, either, thankfully. Crossing to the bow of the barge, you watch a mother lift her child up to see over the railing, laughing about how, yes, he is the captain of the ship. They look sweetly marvelous together, and their joy transfers to you. You dismiss your frustration and take a spot against the railing several feet away, diverting your attention to the coast lining the boat to avoid looking like an ogling stalker.
An opinion on the Scouts is challenging to put together, given that every other person seems to have a different viewpoint on the regiment. The Garrison and Military Police aren't worth batting an eye at; their business is keeping the peace and nothing more. The Scouts, however, have always wavered between offering hope or despair to humanity, and failing to fully commit to one option. You help to help, and no further opinion is needed to do your job. Your dedication to supporting the Scouts, purely as a group and not as an extension of your medical assistance, feels shaky at best. You don't know what to think of their cause and whether you should endorse it or not.
An hour later, the ship stops at an isolated village in the fields within Wall Maria. It reminds you of your hometown, just another lone collection of houses dropped somewhere in the open territory. A few new passengers board, though nobody leaves the ship. It continues on shortly after, trundling down the river.
You successfully kill time losing yourself in a novel, sitting against the railing and using the overhead sunlight for illumination. It's an old birthday gift from Walter, a suspenseful murder mystery that's as intriguing as he had advertised. He had made a point to identify the medical inconsistencies before you had even begun reading, jokingly mocking the ill-learned author.
The sun inches across the sky, completely uninhibited by the clouds that had plagued the heavens only yesterday. You remember how your umbrella was hardly sufficient to stop the rain that had been practically blowing sideways, forcing you to arrive at Walter's clinic more drenched than you would've preferred. He dismissed it with nothing more than a laugh and an offer of a shower on the upper floor, one that you accepted even if it did make you fall behind in tending to his clients. Walter didn't mind, able to handle the clinic until you were ready to perform your duties.
You hate leaving him behind, but any opportunity to help felt like an obligation. Plus, escaping your daily life is always a relief, new adventures absolutely irresistible to a caged citizen of the Walls. Even for just a few days, you welcome any change of pace that spurs new opportunities.
The behemoth that is Wall Maria appears in the distance some time later, encouraging most of the passengers to come up to watch it approach. You're with them, keeping your case safely in front of your feet as you lean on the railing. Your destination is in view, your duties soon to follow. Nervousness had been diminished during your journey, but you feel it bubble up again as you enter the town outside Shiganshina.
The barge floats under the canal entrance to the district, and you find yourself in the crowded town at humanity's southernmost edge. It stops just inside, staying close to the main Wall as crew members rush to assemble the gangway. With your case packed and your mind quivering, you are one of the first to step off the boat and onto solid land. You're here, and soon the work will begin.
You speak to nobody as you weave through the cobbled streets, already familiar with the layout of the district due to your many previous visits. You find the main street, the wide road that's busy with citizens currently but would be cleared as soon as the bells announcing the Scouts' return rang. Not until tomorrow, most likely. Sometimes they arrived early or late, forcing anyone anticipating them to remain flexible in their planning.
Far from the outer gate, close to the district center, you arrive at the hospital that was to be your station of work for the week. It's already midday, around the designated time volunteers are expected to check in. As such, you take just one moment to look over the facility before heading inside, anxious to secure a position before searching for housing.
The hospital is massive, a hollow square with three stories and an inner courtyard. You find yourself in the main hall, entering the reception area that precedes a perpendicular corridor.
"Excuse me," you call to the stout woman stationed behind a high secretarial desk, trying to pull her out of her furious writing.
She glances up at you through round eyeglasses. "Who're you visiting?"
"Nobody," you answer. "I'm a volunteer."
"Oh, oh." She nods as she looks down at her records, then keeps nodding as she flings open a drawer on her side. "Name?" she asks as she ducks down to search through the drawer.
You provide your name, waiting patiently for her head of curly hair to reemerge.
It does, a new stack of papers in her hand. Slapping it on her desk, she licks her thumb before flicking through the sheets, scouring for your name. Successful, she wriggles the chosen paper out and squints at the text filling it. "Ah, yes. You were one of the first."
"The first?"
"To volunteer. We don't usually get such excited workers." She shoves the stack of papers aside as she prioritizes yours.
"Well, this isn't my first time. I just sent in my letter early." You explain your preparation messily, subtly proving how familiar you have made yourself.
"Mmhmm. I've only been here a few weeks, so I don't know any of the repeat volunteers." She snatches up her fountain pen and thrusts it into her inkwell before taking it to the sheet, scribbling passionately. "You a veteran of this?"
"You could say that, I guess."
"Congratulations," she says snippily. "I've been told some of the staff are the same as last time, so maybe you'll see some familiar faces." She keeps writing as she talks, clearly a master of multitasking. She might be new to the job, but she operates as though she had been working for decades. "Speaking of, my name's Gretel. We'll probably get to know each other, so you might as well know the bare minimum."
"Yeah. It's nice to meet you, Gretel."
"Anyways, manager's office is back there. Turn left, first door on the right. Should have his name and title on the door." She shoots a thumb behind her, then takes her paper stack and shoves it back into the drawer, messily yet with an oddly impressive vigor.
"Sure thing. Thank you so much." You nod to her before bypassing her desk and beelining to the office.
"It's nothing, dearie."
The wide hall is harrowing to enter, stretching for dozens of meters in either direction and lined with doors and doors of different purposes. Several medical workers wander the halls, whispering to each other or disappearing into various rooms. You focus on the office, arriving and knocking softly on the door.
"Come in." The voice that calls you is recognizable, eliciting a happy grin from you.
"Clark?" You push the door open, poking your head in.
"Oh!" Clark rises from his chair, uttering your name as his face lights up. He's middle-aged, and of average height, but he has a powerful aura of amiability that you've seen patients take solace in. His black hair has grown a few inches since you had last seen him, but it still stays elegantly groomed and styled out of the way. He swiftly circles his desk and nears you, extending an excited hand. "It's been a while!"
"Only two months," you posit as you accept his handshake.
"Only? You're a funny one. Two months is awfully slow when the hospital gets emptier." He releases you and steps back, fixing his flawlessly knotted tie. "I'm glad you chose to return, seriously. We could really use your help around here."
"I'm happy to provide." You shrug cheerily. "I love Walt, but it's nice to get out of Trost every now and then."
"I think it'd be nice to head up to Trost every now and then. You ought to get me on the ship when you head out." He leans against the desk, planting his hands behind him.
"Ha. I'll consider it."
"Appreciate it," he says grinningly. "Oh, by the way. I have a little request for you." He thumbs a sheet underneath his hand, then picks it up off the table.
"Yes?"
"You're capable of taking on more responsibility, I think. Plus, you're more or less proven your dedication to helping us. I'd like to offer the position of supervisor to you during your time here."
"Supervisor?" You quirk an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Here." He extends the paper to you, showing you a written description of the hospital's hierarchy, along with a list of duties for your new position. "You'd supervise all workers in charge of the Scouts. I'd do it myself, but I've got my hands full handling the other wards. We became busier in the past month."
"I...see. Wow." You take the sheet, reading and rereading the text.
"It's not some menial desk job, though. You'd still be providing patient care."
"Oh, good." You nod with relief. "I'm not really interested in paperwork. Doing my specialty is quite preferable."
"Yeah, we don't want to smother your talent. These soldiers could use someone as efficient as you."
"You said that last time."
"Well, I mean it. You're good at your job." He lifts himself off the desk, awaiting your approval. "So? Willing to take it on?"
You chew your lip, lost in thought. A single week in a leadership role seems manageable enough. "Sure. If you really think I can do it, then sure."
"Great." He breathes a sigh of relief at your consent. "I really appreciate it."
"Not a problem. Will you still be working alongside us?"
"As much as I can, yes. Though I've got a million managerial duties that are sure to keep me busy."
"Well, we'll always want you around. Not many people can calm the shaken like you can." You carefully undo just one latch of your case, creating a crack large enough to slip the paper inside.
"I do try," he mumbles. "Anyways, the Scouts clearly aren't back yet, so there's no necessary duties for you today. You're welcome to seek out lodgings for the week."
"Yes, I probably should." You shut your case before looking up. "And I will. Anything else you need from me?"
"Not for now. Just need your presence bright and early tomorrow morning. We've got to be ready for—well, you already know the drill."
"I certainly do," you laugh. "It's nice to see you again. I look forward to a productive week with you."
"As do I. Have a good rest of your day, Supervisor."
You roll your eyes amusedly at his chosen title, already turning on your heels and heading out. "Bye, Clark."
Back in the street, you search for the nearest hotel on the main road. A convenient location is found across the thoroughfare, fortunately still with vacancies. You check in and enter your room on the third floor, grateful for the perfect view of the ground below.
The ground will soon hold the hordes of wounded soldiers set to return, though you decide to shove the dread of such an event aside and instead get yourself settled for the upcoming week.