Guess who finally finished a fic
TW for implied and referenced suicide, dissociation, France getting unknowingly drugged (dw he's fine), and also heavily implied schizophrenia, except I don't actually have real life experience in it and am mostly basing it off medical sites, wikipedia and r/schizophrenia
Also, Rowan is Britain and François is France. The others are OCs and are human
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François woke sluggishly.
That's not good. He normally woke quickly.
Not his medication. He took nothing orally—unless you counted tobacco and caffeine but those were stimulants—and he kept morphine use to a minimum. He never much cared for the drowsiness it induced.
He was drugged, somehow.
His heart jolted. The adrenaline started dispelling his tiredness.
He didn't smell anything. He hadn't smelt anything. Not something inhaled. He administered his own medicine, and would have noticed something then. This left oral administration, likely through food or drink.
They had access to medication, and his food.
François got up, and put his boots on, shoving the laces in the shaft. He was decent enough. No time for puttees, or the uniform jacket, or his helmet.
He ran.
His instincts have always been good. If his gut told him to rush, then rush he shall.
His pistol was missing from its holster. Chef Boucher's bunk was empty. As a nurse he had access to the medicine bottles. As his coworker, he had access to his food.
François ran to a closed door and slammed it open and—
François retrieved his pistol. It'd be a hassle to pry it out once rigor mortis set in. He'll need to write a casualty report.
Nom: Boucher
Prénoms: Louis. Louis oui enfoui réjoui
That's not good. Usually only happens before—he didn't have the word for it at the moment.
Focus.
Grade: Infirmier
The others have come as well. The gunshot must have woken them up. Commandant Guérin pushed past him. That's good. A surgeon would probably be better equipped for this than a pharmacist.
They were mostly dressed. More than him, anyway. He was cold. They really needed to fix the heating system. It kept getting delayed, even though it would get colder soon, and some of the men were ill. No one had the time. Rowan could fix it but they were entirely mobile, and could not stay for long enough. Rowan got distracted easily, like him, going on tangent upon tangent and—
Right, the report.
Corps: 9ᵉ section d'infirmiers militaires
N° Matricule: 0666 au Corps.
They'd joke about it. A nurse named Boucher with 0666 as a service number. Didn't inspire much confidence.
N° Matricule: 0666 au Corps.—Cl.
He didn't know, actually. He didn't have his class, nor his number at recruitment, nor where he was recruited. He tried not to get attached by now. Boucher was the third of François' coworkers to die in two months. He lasted a little longer than the previous two, though. They'll need to find a replacement. They were already swamped in work.
