Tayvis One-Shots

the great war

prepare yourself, this one's long... and for other reasons.

Taylor's POV

1941

The air reeked of blood and antiseptic, the sounds of groaning men and frantic orders blending into a cacophony I could never quite tune out. It was a scene I had grown all too familiar with, rows of cots filled with broken bodies, soldiers who had seen too much, and the occasional scream that tore through the fabric of the night.

The war had turned this place into a kind of purgatory, where life and death seemed to hang in an endless tug-of-war.

I moved between cots with practiced efficiency, my arms aching from hours of tending to wounds and rationing out what little comfort I could provide. Bandages were in short supply, morphine even more so, but I did what I could. 

Every soldier had a story etched into his eyes, but I had learned early on to guard my heart. If I let myself feel too deeply, I wouldn't survive this place.

Still, I wasn't numb. Not yet. And when the stretcher came through the flaps of the tent, I felt that familiar ache, a sharp reminder that every new arrival meant more pain, more loss.

The man they brought in was bigger than most, his broad shoulders spilling over the edges of the stretcher. His shirt was soaked through with blood, the deep gash running down his side looking angry and raw. His face was pale, streaked with dirt and sweat, but his eyes... they were sharp and alive, scanning the room even as he winced in pain.

"Got a live one here," one of the medics muttered as they set him down on an empty cot.

I stepped forward, pulling on my gloves as I tried to assess the damage. "What's his name?" I asked, though the question was more for the soldier's sake than mine. It was easier to work when they had a name, something human to hold on to.

The man answered for himself, his voice rough but laced with humor. "Travis Kelce. And, uh... I think I might've taken a wrong turn somewhere. This doesn't look like paradise."

I blinked, caught off guard by the teasing grin he managed despite the obvious pain he was in. It wasn't unusual for soldiers to crack jokes, it was a defense mechanism, a way to keep the fear at bay, but something about his delivery, his timing, made me pause.

"Well, Travis," I said, leaning over him as I cut away his shirt to get a better look at the wound, "you're a little off course. But stick with me, and I'll see what I can do."

His grin widened, though it faltered slightly as I began cleaning the gash. "So... I'm not dead yet?"

"Not on my watch," I replied, focusing on my work. His injury was bad, but not fatal—not if I acted quickly. I stitched the wound with steady hands, ignoring the way his sharp intakes of breath cut through me.

He kept talking, though his words came slower now, his voice thick with exhaustion. "You got a name, Nurse Angel?"

I glanced up at him, my lips quirking despite myself. "Taylor."

"Taylor," he repeated, his tone softening. "Pretty name for a pretty nurse."

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at my lips. "Save your charm, soldier. It's not going to get you any special treatment."

"Damn," he muttered, a chuckle escaping despite the pain. "Worth a shot."

I finished stitching him up and stepped back, watching as he sank into the cot, his body finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion. For a moment, I thought he had drifted off, but then his eyes opened again, locking onto mine.