SCP-035 x SCP-049 Oneshots

🌸Ethereal Encounter [Pt. 2]♨️

AN: This is a part 2, so I recommend you go back an upload and read the 1st part. If not, here's a recap: 035 summoned a spirit version of 049 and then 035 fainted.

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049 POV:

I looked over when the thud echoed across the small room. My patient had fallen to the floor, assumingly out of commission. "Sir!" I called out as I rushed over. I was afraid to touch him, suddenly remembering what happened the other times I made contact with patients. But when I checked his temperature he lived, I told myself. But perhaps my touch contributed to this state. Just in case, I grabbed a nearby towel and put that between my arms and his inky body, carrying him in my arms in a way I believe is called bridal style (it was easiest).

I exited the small room to find a larger abode on the same property. I walked over to the door and found it to be unlocked. "Thank all above," I mumbled, barely getting the door opened. I found a staircase and assumed the bedchamber would be up it, so I struggled with my ascending of each step. It was, thankfully, not a long search to find the bedchamber. I carefully laid my patient onto the present bed.

I simply sat in a chair nearby, waiting for him to awake. The many things taking up the room caught my attention. Tapestries hanging from the walls, various works of extravagant pottery sat upon the tables, the source of light on the other side of a glass dome that was secured to the ceiling. Is this all the source of evolution? How long have I been gone for? I did not believe that humankind had grown so intelligent. I pondered the thought of commencing with the bloodletting, but I dismissed the idea in fear that my methods had become obsolete. My ego felt injured, however I knew I was doing the correct thing.

I waited patiently in the chair, not wanting to touch anything else in fear of making a mistake. I began to plan his burial in my mind, until my patient arose with a groan. "Oh good, you are alive," I responded. "No burial is needed. Good good. This is your abode, correct?"

He still swayed, but the redness seemed to have dissipated. "Yes, this is my place of residence," he answered. "I believe I am feeling a lot better."

I was perplexed. "But how? The bad blood is still inside you. I would have began the bloodletting, but I figured that I would need your permission beforehand. What do you say?"

"Wait, bloodletting??" He reacted. I could already tell his answer was no. "Oh right, I forgot you're medieval medicine. There's nothing wrong, I'm fine. Really. Even if I was sick, we have better ways of dealing with it."

My mind did not focus on the rejection, but rather what those symptoms could hint at that is not sickness. "Reddened face, high temperature, loss of consciousness..." I repeated the symptoms to myself, trying to link them to a single cause. "Reddened face, high temperature, loss of-" I went silent as I pinpointed my diagnosis. "Ah, I see. My diagnosis was incorrect. I apologize. But if I have enough credibility to give another, I believe that you fancy me."

My patient jumped back in response to the diagnosis. "You diagnose that I have a crush on you? Can you do that?"

I shrugged. "Do you people have rules against that nowadays?" He didn't offer any further questioning, instead looking away. The reddened face returned, and it was painfully obvious to me now. "I have the right diagnosis I see."

"... what does a medieval plague doctor spirit care about love." The mask he wore turned from that of comedy to of tragedy, but I did not question it.

"Well, plenty. The humans from my time felt love, humans were plague doctors and plague doctors felt love, even spirits I know in person feel love. None of my classifications forbid the feeling of love."