A Nurse and Their Ghost | Simon Riley "Ghost" x Reader

chapter 34

With a shaky breath hitching in your chest, you swiftly divert your focus back to Ghost's battered form. You call for burn dressings and pain medications from the other medics, your voice steady despite the tremor that threatens to betray your composure. 

With surgical precision, you set to work on removing the shrapnel embedded deep within his skin, your fingers nimble amidst the carnage. Every now and again, your gaze flicks towards the vitals monitor, its beeping a rhythm to the chaos that encases the med bay. Once cleared, you disinfect and begin stitching up the larger gashes. Your hands move with a practiced ease, a dance amid the storm.

Having applied the burn dressings, you pause for a fleeting moment, ensuring Ghost's vitals are holding steady. The enormity of the situation envelops you, yet a sliver of satisfaction cuts through the dread—you've done your best for now. As you glance up, your eyes meet Soap's, who has been attentively watching your every move. 

"He should pull through," you utter softly, the words slipping from your lips like a balm to the open wound of fear that had settled in the room.

You offer a reassuring smile as you lock gazes with Soap, an attempt to usher in a semblance of hope amidst the despair. "You've done your part, Soap. You should get some rest." 

You gesture towards the winding down activities in the med bay, "I'll watch over Ghost. He's in good hands." Soap's hesitance hangs in the air for a moment, a whirlpool of worry and exhaustion, before a weary nod acknowledges your assurance.

As Soap trudges away, you settle into a chair beside Ghost's bed. The minute your body sinks into the chair, a tidal wave of exhaustion crashes over you. Every muscle in your body screams for rest, your eyes heavy as if laden with the weight of the night's ordeal. Yet, you will them open, resolute in your vigil over Ghost.

The rhythmic hum of the medical equipment orchestrates the stillness that has settled upon the room. Yet, despite the tranquility, your mind ventures back to the heated argument that had once created a chasm between you and Ghost. The sharp words exchanged, the air crackling with tension—it all seems so trivial now. 

As you sit there, the world reduced to the rise and fall of Ghost's chest, an overwhelming longing for his recovery consumes you. With a shake of your head, you strive to dispel the haunting regret, forcing your focus back onto the present.

As the night unfurls, its veil casting a dim glow across the med bay, the occasional urgent beep from a monitor or a sudden falter in vital signs thrusts you back into action. Each alarm a test, each stabilization a minor victory against the jaws of death. 

The adrenaline surging through your veins keeps the clutches of fatigue at bay, ensuring your vigilance remains unyielding. However, following a particularly strenuous episode, which leaves both your breath and heart racing, your energy reserves threaten to run dry.

Dragging the chair closer to Ghost's bed, you rest your arms on the side and let your head drop down, your face hovering mere inches from his arm. The rhythmic beats from the heart monitor serenade the weariness, lulling you into a trance. 

The room, the world, the universe—all condensed into the gentle rise and fall of Ghost's chest, as the echoes of the night's events cradle you amidst the storm still brewing beyond the med bay's doors.

Amidst the constant hum of the med bay, the subtle and steady beeps radiating from Ghost's monitors serve as a gentle lullaby, lulling you into a much-needed slumber. As you let your guard down, sleep envelops you like a soft shroud, your body succumbing to the tendrils of weariness. 

Unbeknownst to you, as the hours meander by, the rhythm of Ghost's breathing grows more pronounced. A gentle rustling emanates from his restless body, yet you remain ensnared in the soft chains of slumber. As his eyelids flutter open, they unveil hazy, confused eyes.