//Closed//Infirmary Wing - Patient Gunnar

Gunnar’s fingertips whispered across the stone wall as he staggered down the corridor towards what he hoped was the infirmary. After his confrontation with Ailis, where she had conked him on the head with a tiny chest bound in chains, a knot had blossomed on his head like a purple bloom. It had grown, his every heartbeat seeming to nourish the lump like rain for a bud until he was barely able to think. Every time he tried to focus, it was as if his thoughts were tangled in brambles and he was reaching in an attempt to retrieve them, only to have the thorny vines claw at his hands until they were mangled and bloody. Just walking, trying to maintain a slow progression towards the medical wing, took all of his concentration. Right, left, right, left, echoed in his head as he trudged forward, leaning upon the wall for support. Every so often, his heavy boots scuffed across the floor as he faltered and was forced to brace himself against the wall. Each time, he caught himself on the wall, he pushed off again only to be leaning more heavily upon it. As he walked patches of rough stone chaffed against his calloused fingertips, and if he had not been used to manual labor, the skin might have torn leaving a trail of blood across the stone to mark his passing. But Gunnar was a man who had known a hard day’s work, so he was used to working with pain. The ex-ranch hand grit his teeth and slogged onward.

“Finally,” he said, the word spilling from his lips like blood from a wound. Squinting his eyes, he double-checked the script stitched across the pair of wooden doors in red ink. His first glance, despite how blurry his vision had become, had been correct—he had arrived. Gunnar pulled his hand from the wall and lurched forward.

The hinges rattled and creaked as the doors shook with the impact of Gunnar’s body. His shoulder crashed into the wood, his hand finding the handle a second too late. His fingers curled around the handle and turned it. The door swung into the ward, with the cowpoke still leaning upon it for support, his hand latched onto the handle with a white-knuckled grip. Following the door, he stumbled into the room, and waited with his shoulder set against the door as it creaked to a stop, the hinges straining. He looked around the room and laid eyes upon a person seated behind a desk, at least that’s what he hoped he saw. His vision was getting worse, doubling and wavering. “Got hit on the head. Need ice or somethin’,” he groaned, the sound of his voice soaked with his pain. Other than one time, it was probably the worst headache he’d ever had.

Muffled sound of shuffling greeted her eyes before the doors ever groaned their welcoming to the sick. Quill pen twisted in her fingertips as she made some minor adjusted to her list and waited for just a moment. Slow inhale brought the dull throb of pain to her lips, wariness tickling her chin. The taste of emotions weren’t terribly strong from this new source, but she welcomed the distraction none the less. Quill back in its proper place, she stretched and slowly stood.

Per usual she quickly assessed the situation. The way the man was heavily leaning against the door, how uncertain his steps were and the fact she only felt the dull wake of pain. Nothing terribly life threatening here, what a pity. Click of her heels forced attention to her approach as she slowly smiled. Taking in what the aged man said she nodded her head, sirens voice floating forth to caress his senses. “Come with me first, let’s get you settled and then I can grab some ice while you relax.”

Moving beside him she offered her arm to him, thankful that she was no mere human mortal. She could withstand him leaning against her, she could probably even support his entire weight if she had to…though hopefully that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. She glanced towards the other doorway, leading to the beds and opted instead to guide him towards a chair. Whether he took her offered help or not she would pat the back of a wooden, rather uncomfortable, chair and smile. If he settled like she planned, she would immediately move towards the back of the room.

Mini fridge was a piece of technology she didn’t truly mind having around. Pulling on stainless steel handles she could feel the itch of iron beneath. It made her skin craw to be so close to a hidden source. Kalika would much prefer the iron in the open, to be marveled and feared at the same time. Ice pack chilled her fingers as she wrapped a cloth around it. Grabbing a small bottle of water and some pain killers, she walked back to where the old ranch hand was. Handing the pack to him she set the water and pills to the side. “Care to tell me what happened?” She surmised from his emotions and unstable movements that it could be head trauma. From the looks of things however, it wasn’t too bad. “You seem to be alright but could have a minor concussion so I’ll need you to stay awake for a while. Just until everything clears up and I’m certain you’ll be fine.” With that, Kalika turned back around and moved over to her desk. Once more freeing the quill to update her service records of supply and those served in the ward.

Thank whatever Gods granted me this favor, he thought as the form behind the desk shifted and rose to its feet with a click of stiletto heels on stone, proving that it was a person and not some delusion created by his battered brain. “Thank yah, miss,”muttered Gunnar as she addressed him. At first, he waved a hand to dismiss her support, but when he lifted off of the door, he staggered and caught hold of her arm to stable himself. “On second thought…” He clutched her arm with one hand and covered the knot on his temple with the other while he hobbled along beside her. Even while his fingers sought to soothe away the pain, the touch just intensified his torment. The older man set his jaw, teeth gritting again, and walked wherever the nurse guided him, hoping it wouldn’t be too far into the extensive infirmary.

When she indicated the chair, he collapsed onto it. The wood creaked in protest but eventually quieted as it accepted his weight. While he settled on the flat seat, he realized it wasn’t a piece of furniture designed for comfort, which made it seem out of place in an infirmary whose goal was to provide comfort and care. Maybe it just needs a cushion, he considered, only for pain to throb in his mind like an echo to the thought. In the time that she was gone, he slumped forward, his elbows perched on his knees, and his hands coming together to cradle his pounding head. Every heartbeat was another agony, and if it kept up, he was wondering if he’d be able to remain consciousness. Already, the edges of his vision were fading to black, each pulse making the borders swell like the surf splashing across the shore as the water extended its reach with the coming high tide. He wondered how long it would be until the waves of darkness overcame his vision like a sunken sandbar. And again, thought caused him more pain, so that by the time she returned with the ice pack, he’d cleared his mind of all but the steady pulsating pain. When the nurse left the mini-fridge to return to him, the sound of her heels clicking, as steady as a miner’s pickaxe and just as sharp, stabbed deeply into his mind. Every rap on the stone floor made him wince until she’d stopped in front of him. Lifting his chin, he looked up at the woman and took the ice pack into a calloused hand. “Thanks.” Gunnar reclined against the back of the chair, the joints of its simple construction groaning again, as he held the cloth-wrapped icepack to the lump. When the cloth first brushed the swelling, he clenched his teeth, but after a few seconds, the taut muscles of his jaw relaxed. “Like I said, got hit on the head,” he answered again, offer her no further explanation. It seemed that the school had some secrets, and until he knew a little more, he was going to keep quiet about them.

As she left him, the click of her heels driving railroad spikes into his head, he winced and reached out for the pills she’d left behind. He scooped them up from whatever surface she’d deposited them onto and put them into his mouth, holding them on his tongue. Reaching out a second time, he grasped the bottle of water and brought it to his lap. With one hand occupied by holding the icepack to his head, he knew he’d have to open the bottle one-handed. Gunnar set the bottle between his thighs, clamping them around it, the plastic crinkling quietly, and twisted the top off using his free hand. Plucking the tiny container from his lap, he knocked back a swig of water to wash down the already dissolving tablets. A second gulp followed the first and then he managed to screw the cap on again. He leaned back in the chair, the top edge of its back digging into his broad shoulders, and tried to relax. Soon the meds would numb the pain. At least if she’d given him anti-pain pills. She could’ve given him anything and he’d never even thought to ask. So much faith the injured patient had in the nurse.

Faith.

Faith in Kalika was akin to faith in a rabid dog not finding a fitting chew toy in your hide. It was just an inconceivable thought that was most likely to get you killed before you had a chance to take it all back. Just like with a rabid animal, there were no second chances with Kalika. Either she would attack or she would pace ten feet away from you, figuratively snarling at the lost opportunity.

Luckily, at least for the gentleman, Kalika was practicing her pacing skills. She was doing her best to be good, to resist biting into that apple of sin. All of this meant absolutely nothing when she so did crave that shiver of pain beneath her skin. Delicate fingers brushed across her own skin, as if that could calm the inner beastie. Slow, deep, inhale followed by a slow exhale before she was relaxing again. Reminding herself of pleasantries she was required to honor, she smiled. Soothing power back in her voice, wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Simple pain killers would likely just dull the ache of his head and nothing more. Play nice. Standing from behind her beloved desk she stepped forward, somehow managing to quiet the click of her heels. Now it was only a faint tapping against the marble flooring as she moved around the room. Slow steps brought her ever closer to him, almost as if she was stalking prey. As much as she wanted to think that way, she had to beat that mentality down with an iron bat.

Moving to the side of the chair she slowly crouched beside him, taking just a moment to make sure the skirt of glamour fit just above her knee. Sure it wasn’t nice to tease, especially in the medical ward, but she had to have some fun. At this level, a touch below him, the curve of her breasts was clearly visible. Nurses top hugging against her skin to accent the large swells it contained. Dirty move played as delicate fingers rested just against his knee. If he shifted she would place her hands back on her lap, precariously balanced beside the old chair. All too sweet smile as she looked up at him and tilted her head towards the back room. Part of it to motion towards the bed, part of it to show off the slow curve of her neck, “You are more than welcomed to lay in one of the beds and…Relax.” Last word said with a touch more power, a touch more teasing. Smile remained upon her lips as she waited for his answer.

If he took the offer she would stand and hold out her hand to help him out of the chair and towards the back. Leading him to one of thirteen beds with their curtains drawn back, nothing be welcoming. If he refused, she would simple brace her hands against her knees and slowly stand, moving back towards her desk.

Gunnar’s headache continued unabated for several minutes after he’d swallowed the pills. The icepack slowly numbed the site, the chill seeping into the knot and beginning to shrink it like a late frost shriveling the first seedlings of spring. The surface pain began to vanish as the ice did its part and provided the ex-ranch hand with some relief. But the cure came with an annoying side effect—he was losing feeling in his hand holding the pack. Inside the cloth, the icepack crinkled as he shifted his fingers around it and switched hands. As the former hand fell to his lap, he flexed the fingers, trying to wake the muscles and work the cold out of them.

At last, the pain pills began to take effect. Little by little, it felt as if a fog was forming around his brain, hiding both thoughts and pain and even making him a little drowsy. The pain was still there, but the throb was dulled, as if it had been swathed in a thick layer of cotton. Before he knew it, the nurse was crouched beside him, her appealing body appearing on display for him when he glanced down to her.

“Huh?” he muttered, “Oh, yeah, I guess.” Gunnar’s still cool, calloused hand clasped over hers and he lifted up to his feet, the chair groaning as if in relief to no longer have to support his weight. When she walked, the soft clicks of her heels were echoed by the dull clomp of his booted feet as he followed her to whichever bed she guided him. Again, the former hunter put his faith in the woman without a second thought. Why would one of the medical staff, someone who was supposedly sworn to help, harm a patient? Once the pair arrived at one of the beds, it didn’t matter which, he didn’t even bother glancing at the number embossed above it, he sat on the edge and began to untie his boots one-handed.

Kalika stood and offered her hand to the gentleman, a slow smile curling on those lush lips of hers. She wasn’t at all bothered by his cold touch along her skin, welcoming the sensation as she guided him towards the back room. Every thump of his boots accented with the melody of her heels against the marble floor. She was silent as she motioned him to one of the beds, a beautiful golden plaque above it with Bed 10 scrawled across the golden surface.

She watched as Gunnar settled into the welcoming embrace of those wicked beds with a grin. Noticing the way he had only one true free hand she crouched down and moved to untie his boots for him. If he allowed the help she would send her nimble fingers working at a rapid pace. Laces quickly undone and boots placed neatly at the side of the bed by the customary wooden table. If he refused her helping hands she would merely watch him with that same soft smile. Either way, she stepped back from him and bowed her head, “I’ll let you rest for an hour or so before I check back. If you need anything then just let me know, I’ll be right outside the door at my desk.” Her voice was pleasant and charming, giving no hint to her absolute boredom.

This place needed a little more excitement, a little more blood shed. She wanted the agony to rumble across her skin and leave her raw. So far… there was little of that kind of pleasure to partake in. Stepping away from the bed she would turn and click her way out of the room unless Gunnar called for her. At her desk she settled down for a moment or so, glancing around the room before she stood again.

Pacing.

She was a caged beast that needed a lick of freedom to calm back down. Her core desired the thrill of a hunt, the warmth of blood across her fingers. Corset constricted as she inhaled, muscles tensing before she hopped up on the medical counter. Fancy that she had just recently noticed a thing of suckers. Hopefully there would be no children to tend to at this school, at least in the sense that then she wouldn’t have to share. Crinkle of a package announced the beginning of the suckers end. Red colored candy slid along her tongue into the warmth of her mouth where it was slowly worn down like water over a rock.

Unless anything else exciting happened in the course of an hour, she would be stuck on the counter reduced to childish human behaviors of sucking on a lollipop and inevitably painting her mouth bright red.

Gunnar was unaccustomed to the comforts that the nurse offered him in her infirmary. As a man who had spent much of his life alone on the range, with none but his steed as a companion, he was unfamiliar with a nurse, or anyone for that matter, looking after him. But he gave into her suggestions, trusting her judgments. She was the nurse after all, trained to attend to the injured and infirm, wasn’t she? And she was doing all she could to assist him, it seemed, as she brushed his hands aside with gentle, soft fingertips, and then undid the laces of his boots herself and helped him remove them.

“Thank yah kindly, miss…” he answered, pausing when he realized he’d never gotten her name. “Say, what do yah go by? I’m Gunnar.” Whether or not he received her name, it seemed she had finished with her task for the time being. “Thanks again, I ‘preciate it.” With her leaving, Gunnar settled down onto the bed, his throbbing head resting atop the plush pillow. It was just another bit of finery offered by the Hallows he knew he’d have trouble getting used to, just like his room and the nurse herself.

The soft sheets wrinkled beneath Gunnar with a near silent rustling as he shifted on the bed, his movements untucking them. He held the still chill ice pack to the bump on his head, waiting for the swelling to reduce. Already, he could feel the pain killers kicking in, dulling the throbbing pain in his skull. Gunnar shut his eyes and exhaled. His chest rose and fell slowly, but not enough to signal that he was sleeping. He was very much awake, forcing his mind to remain clear, which was a struggle after the confrontation with Sarthas and the mysterious maiden.

Despite how much he had to think about, Gunnar couldn’t keep a steady train of thought. While he’d taken whatever pain reliever the school’s nurse had provided and was holding the ice pack to the bruise-colored bump on his forehead, they didn’t seem to be having much effect on him after all. Minutes ago, before the nurse had left him to the peace and quiet of the lonely room that contained the beds with crimson drapery lining the wall, he had thought the pain was passing and he might be able to go out and track down the woman who’d put him in the infirmary in the first place. But he had no such luck. Stifling a soft groan before it could leave his lips, he swallowed down the sound of his pain.

Thankfully, the sharp click of heels gave him something definite to focus on, even as the sound stabbed into his head with a new pain. By the time she had approached his bed and drawn back the thick curtain, the ex-ranch hand was sitting up, his green eyes turned to her. When he saw the cup and heard her gentle voice, a subtle venom dripping from her lips, he nodded and extended his hand to take the offering. His movements were slow, as if each required an extra amount of concentration to complete, but he managed to get the cup to his lips and take a sip of the brew.

“Thanks again, Miss. Tastes good,” he almost whispered, seemingly fearful of the pain the sound of his own voice might cause when it reached his ears. “So, what brings yah to Caislin Hallows?” asked the man, trying to make small talk with the woman offering him relief from the pain. While her previous attempt hadn’t been as successful as Gunnar would have liked, he hoped that the new cure would work a little better. Forcing a smile, the motion of his facial muscles drawing a dull ache from the lump on his forehead, Gunnar waited for his answer as he slowly, sip by sip, drained the contents of the cup. By the time it was finished, he felt drowsy and was soon nodding off, his shoulders propped against the headboard of the bunk.

Unconscious and unaware of the world around him, Gunnar slept soundly as the nurse busied herself with her devious preparations. The flick roused little more than a soft groan that spilled from his lips and a twitching of his closed eyelids. She even managed her theft without waking him, and the only weapons the ex-ranch hand had were gone, leaving him defenseless even if he did wake.

At long last, he stirred with a grunt as she gave a second tug on the makeshift collar. The latex stretched a little before digging into his throat, cutting off his air supply. Sputtering, the suffocating man woke as suddenly as if he’d been plunged into a bath of ice water. While one pain was finally gone, the ache in Gunnar’s head reduced to little more than a memory, there were several other already waiting to replace it. The woman was sticking him with some sharp rod, the weight stabbing between his vertebrae. And then there was the bite of the collar into his neck. Arching his back, he leaned into the pull to lessen the pressure that was asphyxiating him. “What in tarnation is going on!?” demanded the man as he planted his palms on the floor. While his first instinct had been to give into the pull, intelligence began returning to him as the sedative released its grasp on him. Only a ghost of the former drowsiness still plagued him, slowing his thoughts—but he still had them.

Before he got an answer, he tried twisting to the side, one arm still supporting him, while the other reached up and behind him. He clamped his fingers around the length of latex that stretched from her hand to the collar and gave a pull of his own in the opposite direction. As the latex stretched to accommodate the opposing forces, the collar slackened around his neck so he could gulp down a breath. “Who’re you? Where’s the nurse?” he asked, hoping the questions would distract his captor while he dropped down onto his shoulder.

His arm, formerly supporting him, reached down his body in search of his firearms. Calloused fingertips stroked across leather but there was no wood, no metal, no revolver. Damn! One pair of weapons gone, he thought before wondering if she’d thought to check for less obvious ones. As far as he could recall, she’d never really checked his back. Reaching back again, his hand dipped lower, reaching down to see if she’d missed the bowie knife tucked into a horizontal sheath connected to the back of his belt.

Pain lanced up his back as the sharp spike of her heel plunged into his flesh, sliding as easily through clothing and skin and muscle as a hot knife through butter. Back arching further, his body concave around the pressure of her booted foot, he groaned his agony. Blood welled up from the wound like oil seeping up around a drill embedded in the earth. For a second, the pain overwhelmed him and his thoughts were erased, the world gone as the heel widened the wound. With a hoarse gasp, he regained himself and sunk back down onto the floor a little to alleviate the pressure applied by the spike.

The sound of her diabolical laugh rattled the veteran hunter. In an instant, he was clothed in a pair of goosebump long johns as an eerie chill washed over him. He had faced sadist spirits before and knew they could be the worst, often savoring the methods they employed on their victims. To them, the means were more important than the results as the results were always the same: pain, fear, and eventually death. The lattermost was generally an oversight though, when the demon had pushed their toy a little too far. As far as he was concerned though, he wasn’t going to be her rag doll. He closed his fingers around the handle of his bowie, only to feel fingers do the same around his wrist at the same time. An agony reminiscent of her heel shot up his arm, though it was spread across five wicked points, and he grunted and grit his teeth to resist it, trying to keep a firm grip on his knife as he pulled it free.

He drew slow, tortured breaths through his teeth as he tried to turn the blade on the wrist of the hand that gripped him. Gunnar attempted to bury the curved point of the knife into the veins that pulsed just beneath the tanned surface of her skin. “I’m not playin’!” he growled, jerking his hand at the wrist to better his chances of striking true.

A flash of pain rolled across her body and soothed the monster like a fix of heroin to a junky. Ecstasy loosened her muscles and relaxed her tension better than any massage could have. Light tilt of her foot would drive the heel of her boot against him even more, watching the blood crawl across the surface of his shirt. The beautiful sight had her giddy, excitement rising like a child before a candy store.

Nails slithered along his wrist as he adjusted the bowie knife and struck true to his mark. Grip tightened against his flesh, blackened blood slowly crawling along the blade of his little weapon. Lips curled in a wicked snarl, rattling laughter sounded closer to his ear as she grinned a glamoured smile. “Oh, now this is getting fun. Next time try to hit something vital though…” Her other hand snapped the tourniquet tight around his neck and she laughed once more.

Her senses were reeling with the pleasure his pain caused. Intoxicated she could hardly resist pulling back, even if she knew she would inevitably have to. Latex leash held tight against his throat she gave an over dramatic sigh and shook her mane, “Pity that all games have to come to an end one way or another.” She pulled her injured hand to her lips, opening her mouth to slowly lick across the cut. Magic flared in her veins, power pulled from the depths of her immortal soul to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t much but the repair on her own body could wait for now.

Tilt of her head and her bones let out a soft crack of indignation at the movement. Rattling sigh passed thin lips of her glamour before she moved her heel from him. Black boots clicked near his head as she smiled. Long, clawed, digits reached down to slid through his hair as she smile to him. “We will certainly have to do this again sometime.” Noose like collar held tight against his throat, either he would pass out or she would be forced to resort to more…violent means of knocking him out.

Despite slicing into her flesh, Gunnar didn’t get much satisfaction in drawing blood. The sight of the dark ichor on his blade sent a chill down the former hunter’s spine. Certainly not human, he concluded, a clear thought burning through the cloud of pain. In an instant, the thought was lost as she yanked up on the tourniquet leash, the fog of pain thickening and obscuring any thoughts he might have had. When she tugged, Gunnar instinctively arched his back to lessen the bite of latex into his windpipe, but that very motion renewed the pain of her spike heel plunged into his backside. With metal shifting through the wound deep in his muscle, Gunnar groaned. The ex-cowboy’s mouth snapped shut, teeth gritting as the muscles in his neck tensed, strong cords stretched taut beneath the tan hide of his skin.

As far as he could tell, cutting the leash was the best bet on leveling the playing field. “If it’s fun yer aftah, maybe yuh should come at muh in a fair fight, monstah,” he growled, his voice vibrating along the latex leash. Her final made him wonder what she planned until he felt the strong tug, driving the latex collar deep into his neck. Unable to breathe, Gunnar’s next necessary action became clear to him through the pain-haze. Wrenching his hand through the air, Gunnar slashed at the strained length of latex, aiming closer to his neck than to her hand to ensure success. Droplets of her dark blood splattered on his shirt, staining it with a dark dampness while his own blood dyed the cloth crimson around her heel. If he succeeded in slicing the impromptu leash, Gunnar knew that he still wouldn’t be free. With her spike heel imbedded in his flesh, he’d still be trapped until he managed to pry that out, too.

With the knife still in his hand, Gunnar made a slash for her arm as she reached for the pillow, but he was interrupted by a sharp pain that lanced up his back when her weight, stabbing the heel into his flesh, shifted as she leaned. A groan leaked from his lips like molasses--slow and thick. For a moment, he thought he was going to black out from the pain. Gritting his teeth and tightening his grip on the knife, his knuckles turning white around the handle, he steeled himself. By the time he regained himself though, she had already snared his neck with the pillow case. The crimson cloth dug into his trachea, cutting off his air. Even as he lifted up, so did the noose.

Gunnar sputtered for breath as the edges of his vision began to darken. His grip on the knife loosened, his fingers tingling with pending numbness. He croaked out an attempted threat, but it was a garbled, wordless cry. As Gunnar’s eye lids squeezed shut, the knife clattered upon the floor, released from the cage of his fingers. Another second passed before his body fell limp, his head lulling with the pillowcase stretched between her hands supporting his neck like a hammock holding a lazy tourist. The ex-ranch hand was hardly breathing, his pulse a weak echo of its previous panicked pace as the pillowcase continued to strangle him.

The term ‘helpless’ was not often applied to the former hunter, but as consciousness slipped from him bit by bit, carried away by progressively weakening exhales, there were few adjectives that better described Gunnar. By the time she relaxed the snare around his neck, he was unconscious. His pulse was a faint echo through his veins and his breathing was shallow, chest only rising and lowering slightly with each breath he took.

Muscles twitched, a groan bubbled up to his lips, when she wrenched her heel from his back. The metal spike smeared with dark blood, a few droplets dribbling to the point. More sanguine spilled from the wound, splashing across his tanned skin and soaking into the torn cloth of his shirt. Other than bleeding and breathing though, her victim lay nearly lifeless as she made her preparations for his waking. Settled on the bed, with his guns and knife returned to their proper places, his wound closed and shirt stitched up, Gunnar slept from the sedative Kalika had injected him with.

After roughly two hours, the ex-ranch hand stirred and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Lifting a hand to his head, he rubbed at it and slowly sat up. “What a nightmare,” he grumbled. When he moved, he noticed a distinct pain in his back that unsettled him, but when he reached behind himself, his calloused fingers contacted consistent cloth. At one specific place, he flinched when pressure intensified the ache of his muscles, but there was no tear in his shirt and it was dry, so no bleeding either. Shaking his head, Gunnar concluded that it must have just been stiffness from sleeping, though why, he wasn’t certain, given how comfortable the bed was.

Opening his eyes, Gunnar reached for the curtain and drew it back. Beyond the bed, still seated at her desk, sat the seemingly patient nurse Kalika. With another shake of his head, Gunnar swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. While his back ached, at least his head seemed clearer than when he’d laid down. Lifting his hand, probing fingers revealed that the knot had sunk back into his flesh. There was no reason for him to stick around. Gunnar walked over to the nurse, “Thank yah fer yer help, miss, but I think it’s time fer me to git goin’.”

As Gunnar entered the antechamber, he heard the click of heels rapping across the hard floor. The noise created by the sharp clicks of her stilettos no longer stabbed into his mind with her every step. “Sure,” he answered as he accepted the clipboard as she got close. Retrieving the stowed pen, he scribbled his name and any other information required to fill the blanks that he knew off the top of his head. He traded the clipboard for the baggies, a bushy eyebrow arching as he glanced at the labels penned in ink. Her explanation ended his curiosity and he gave a light shake of his head.

“Well, I thank yah again fer the help and these,” he said, lifting the baggies to indicate them, “And if I’m hurtin’ again, I’ll be sure tah swing by.” With that, the ex-hunter crammed the bags of pills into a pocket. “Have a pleasant day, Miss,” he said before pausing. “That reminds me, Miss, what’s yer name? I’m Gunnar,” he offered, extending a calloused hand to her.

At first, the gentle squeeze of Kalika’s fingers around Gunnar’s own calloused digits was everything the ex-rancher expected. Her touch was dainty and soft, as one would expect from a caregiver, especially a female one. For a moment though there was a flicker of strength in her fingers that made her grip tighten like a noose. It was so quick though that Gunnar was scarcely sure he’d experienced it and when she spoke, her voice, sweet and smooth like honey, pushed the memory from his mind.

“Well, thank yah, I look forward to seein’ yah again, just hopefully not ‘ere,” offered the man with a small chuckle. “Yeah, I think so,” he added when she withdrew from him by a step and crossed her arms. “Thanks fer the meds, I’ll only use ‘em if I need tah.” Turning, Gunnar headed towards the door that served as both entrance and exit for the infirmary. Upon reaching it, he opened the door and glanced over his shoulder. “Have a good day, Miss Kalika,” he called before departing.

(Exits unless stopped)