( He's not wrong to think it's horror which she is displaying, because it is. But he is wrong to think it's horror at him. It's at the fact that people are so cruel, so--what she knows that they can be. Hers is a professional eye trained by decades dedicated to her craft, and she's seen all manners of things, but never something quite like this: such blatant disregard for life, whether created or otherwise. And, to top it off, perpetrated by someone arrogant enough to call themselves a doctor.
How could she not be horrified? How could she not feel intense and urgent and impotent hatred at such a mock to her profession?
His smile is hidden to her, and that's just as well. His confusing indifference to his own state would only agitate her more.
Her focus is instead on this: the movement of her fingers, hesitating in the air, briefly, shaking, before she makes contact with his skin. Gently, gently, she places her rough--calloused and unmoisturised, she is a woman who works with her hands--palms on his back and just feels for awhile the ways in which his body moves: a heartbeat, contractions of swallowing, the eloquent articulation of muscles as he either speaks or twitches or moves his head to see her.
Then she swallows, and moves her fingers to the collar. Here her touch isn't even that--just a brush of her fingers over the number the metal bears, lest she risk agitating the ache of which he has told her must be bothering him at this very moment. It is, she imagines, exacerbated already by the awareness forced from the attention she is drawing towards it.
And, when she has touched it more than enough, she rests one hand on his shoulder. A steady, firm weight meant to comfort. Not that he needs any of her meagre strength )
Do you know what would happen to you if this were removed? Did they ever threaten you with its removal?
no subject
( He's not wrong to think it's horror which she is displaying, because it is. But he is wrong to think it's horror at him. It's at the fact that people are so cruel, so--what she knows that they can be. Hers is a professional eye trained by decades dedicated to her craft, and she's seen all manners of things, but never something quite like this: such blatant disregard for life, whether created or otherwise. And, to top it off, perpetrated by someone arrogant enough to call themselves a doctor.
How could she not be horrified? How could she not feel intense and urgent and impotent hatred at such a mock to her profession?
His smile is hidden to her, and that's just as well. His confusing indifference to his own state would only agitate her more.
Her focus is instead on this: the movement of her fingers, hesitating in the air, briefly, shaking, before she makes contact with his skin. Gently, gently, she places her rough--calloused and unmoisturised, she is a woman who works with her hands--palms on his back and just feels for awhile the ways in which his body moves: a heartbeat, contractions of swallowing, the eloquent articulation of muscles as he either speaks or twitches or moves his head to see her.
Then she swallows, and moves her fingers to the collar. Here her touch isn't even that--just a brush of her fingers over the number the metal bears, lest she risk agitating the ache of which he has told her must be bothering him at this very moment. It is, she imagines, exacerbated already by the awareness forced from the attention she is drawing towards it.
And, when she has touched it more than enough, she rests one hand on his shoulder. A steady, firm weight meant to comfort. Not that he needs any of her meagre strength )
Do you know what would happen to you if this were removed? Did they ever threaten you with its removal?