With Ghost's tender assistance, you feel the comforting embrace of the bed beneath you once again. The familiar softness of the mattress cradles your weary body, while the pillow offers a gentle rest to your exhausted head.
Despite the gravity of the unfolding reality, Ghost's steadfast presence serves as a comforting anchor amidst the stormy seas of anxiety that attempt to engulf you. You draw in a few slow, measured breaths, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest gradually calm the tempest within.
As your eyes gently flutter close, the stillness of the room envelops you like a calm veil, yet the lingering warmth of Ghost's hand on your arm, and the quiet promise of his unwavering presence, keep the menacing shadows at bay. Trusting in his solemn word, you allow your mind to drift off gently into the tranquil abyss, finding solace in the comforting truth that you're safe and vigilantly watched over.
Ghost perceives the toll of the events lightly lift off your shoulders as you surrender to the serene lull of sleep. The gentle rise and fall of your chest subtly slow, each breath manifesting the security and comfort that his presence brings to your tormented spirit.
As your eyes tenderly seal away the tormenting reality, he remains a vigilant sentinel by your side. Your trust emanates through the peaceful veil of sleep that encases you, and it's a sight that eases the restless storm within him. The threatening darkness is held at bay as you find serenity in the assurance of safety.
His arm retracts gently from your shoulder, drawing back to his side in a slow, deliberate motion. He settles himself by your bedside, his watchful eyes a silent guardian as you voyage through the quiet realms of slumber.
The room, bathed in a soft dim glow, cradles an atmosphere of tranquility that seems almost surreal. As you meander on the fragile line between consciousness and the comforting embrace of oblivion, Ghost's steadfast presence is a gentle anchor amidst the turbulent tide of reality.
Every now and then, the tender caress of his fingers as they delicately brush away a stray strand of hair from your face or ascertain the temperature of your forehead is a warm beacon amidst the chilling silence. Each gesture, albeit small, is a tapestry of care and concern, woven with threads of unspoken emotions.
Through your half-closed eyes, the burden of worry and sorrow in his gaze narrates the tale of countless nights shrouded in desperate hope and ceaseless search. This silent vigil, unexpected yet profoundly comforting, reassures your fragile heart. As the harsh world beyond the room's threshold fades into oblivion, the only remnants of reality are the rhythmic cadence of your heart and the soft whispers of Ghost's breaths.
His movements, although effortless, bear the weight of anguish and worry, a reflection of nights marinated in endless search and dwindling hope. Each tender gesture is a river of concern flowing from the caverns of his tormented heart. As the weight of the world recedes, the only remnants in the serene silence are the beating of your heart orchestrating a hymn of life, and the soft caress of Ghost's breaths as they tenderly break the quietude.
His eyes, tranquil yet profoundly expressive, survey every nuance of your peaceful visage as you rest beside him, a silent vigil of love, concern, and the unwavering promise of protection as you traverse through the quiet trails of recovery.
Every so often, a medic gracefully enters the room, their movements refined and hushed, tailored to disturb the serenity as little as possible. They rotate in and out, each taking their turn to meticulously check your IV lines, diligently note down readings from the relentless monitors, and ensure the life-giving flow of medication remains steadfast.
Occasionally, they draw a whisper of your blood, their hands steady as the dawn, faces sculpted with a laser focus. Each medic awards Ghost a curt nod as they wade through the still air of the room. Their visits, although frequent as the ticking of time, are swift and nearly as silent as the soft breaths that escape your lips, ensuring the sanctuary of your rest remains untouched by the harsh clutches of reality.
"How are her vitals?" Ghost whispers from your bedside as the medic meticulously checks your IV and notes down the cryptic readings from the monitors.
"Her vitals are steady, as expected," the medic responds with an air of routine, his words slicing through the stillness. The soft sigh of relief from Ghost resonates through the calm, settling gently around you as you drift off back into the tender embrace of sleep.
"We're drawing a sample of her blood, just to make sure things are progressing as they should," the medic articulates with a brief nod, his voice as clinical as the cold metal that adorns the room.
As you're cocooned in the gentle tendrils of sleep, the conversation between Ghost and the medic continues to echo through the tranquil void. The clinical lighting casts a soft halo upon your face, illuminating the painful memoirs etched across your skin in bruises and cuts still on the mend.
"She's shown a lot of resilience, at least for the first 24 hours," the medic muses, examining the parchment of your survival inked upon your chart.
"But she'll need bed rest, at least for a week. Her body has been through an ordeal." The medic lifts his gaze from the chart, his eyes meeting the masked vigil by your side.
The look that swims in the medic's eyes is not merely curiosity; it carries a tinge of confusion, a wonderment perhaps, as to why Ghost remains so unwaveringly by your side.
Ghost catches the unspoken inquiry in the medic's eyes but takes no offense.
"Any permanent damage to her heart or lungs?" he inquires, his voice striving to mirror the composed tone of the medic.
"Nothing serious, a few broken ribs, lots of cuts and bruises," the medic elucidates as he jots down more excerpts of your ordeal on his chart. "She suffered some blood loss, but it was quickly replaced with transfusions. I'd say she'll make a full recovery in a month at most."
A subtle flutter in your breathing unveils that you're not engulfed in a profound slumber, as the hushed voices nearby glide through the serene veil. The sound is more like a distant murmur, comforting in its rhythm yet too soft to unravel the words from the silence. It grazes the outskirts of your subconscious yet doesn't tug you from the soothing depths of rest.
The weight of the bed slightly alters as Ghost leans in, likely straining to catch the medic's words more clearly.
"Thank you," Ghost murmurs, his voice carrying a hint of gratitude towards the medic's forthrightness.
"Just doing our job," the medic responds, the trace of a smile coloring his voice. "Make sure she rests." With that, the subtle dialogue dims, and the medic departs with swift, hushed steps.
Each time the medic fades away into the hall, Ghost resettles with a subtle sigh. His gaze, a vigilant sentinel, remains fixed on you, noting any whisper of change in your condition, no matter how diminutive.
A sense of calm embroiders the room as Ghost takes a quiet moment to admire your peaceful repose, his eyes tenderly tracing every contour of your features. It brings a ripple of comfort to him, watching over you, a silent guardian ensuring your safe passage through the storm.
The gentle cadence of your breathing shifts softly, bringing Ghost back from his tranquil reverie. He observes the subtle rhythm of your breath, and a soft smile unveils the hope that blooms in the silence.
YOU ARE READING
A Nurse and Their Ghost | Simon Riley "Ghost" x Reader
FanficONGOING - You, a skilled medic for the 141, cross paths with the elusive soldier known as "Ghost." As the two of you journey through danger and uncertainty, an unexpected bond takes root between you both. But beneath Ghost's mask lies a myriad of se...
