Bleach Hereafter RPG

He was still recovering from the visions he saw before finally waking up when the nurse walked closer to him, holding his almost pale cheeks; her delicate fingers touching his brow. It felt warm, a total opposite to the cold ambiance of the ghostly ward. His ruby eyes met with her tranquil blue irises, communicating a genuine concern for his well-being.

“I…”

Was the first word that came out of his lips. Her face was too close to his, he could almost hear her breathing; her hot breath sent tingles to his naked body. Slowly, his eyes trailed down to the direction of her lips; her voice was calm as the low-tide sea, a lullaby attempting to soothe the brewing storm deep inside his heart. There was somewhat a tension his body could feel, but his mind wandered somewhere else, entirely oblivious to it; even as he took the time to study her features, it was all a blur and didn't really register in his consciousness. Obviously, the hush brought by her presence and attempted comfort could not drown the suffering he just endured.

“I am sorry…Ma’am…” he broke away from their gaze; looking down, he let her question hang for a while until he managed to speak.

“I do… remember everything. But it is all mixed up with my dreams. It feels like I have seen a thousand visions, countless things that I wished could have happened but were merely illusions. Some were familiar… while some were… “

Lost? Foreign? Unreachable? He took another moment to think of the right words, but the wrung in his heart was keeping him from thinking straight. It was all just too much. He could remember bits and pieces, yet he found it difficult to describe. Where should he start?

The silence was broken down by the gentle rustle of the curtains by the window, it would seem the wind whispered to his ears the words he was looking for a while ago.

“I have lost the person I love the most,” he began, staring at his own hands, eyes shocked at the realisation, his mind soon flooded with the last minutes of the battle with the Living Hogyoku, at the same time imagining a stain of blood of his own lover,

“... I have done so myself. I… killed her.”

Tears began to flow from his eyes uncontrollably, and while the nurse could not hear any sound of his suffering, the agony screamed from deep within.

[413]

Eisa's eyes widened in surprise and awe as the wounded young man's words tumbled from his lips. She had been preparing herself for many things, but this was far from what she had expected. The weight of his pain and emotions, so raw and visceral in his words, soon became hard-squeezed tears from his soulful eyes.

She had seen many reactions after battle, including tears and grief, but she had never seen- been alone to see- something quite like this. Her own boredom, her own thoughts, all melted in that river of emotion.  It overwhelmed her, and knocked both the impatient, stressed nurse and the automatic, obedient drone in her over. 

For a long moment she stood there, uncertain what to do, how to react. If she had gone to get help...


But no. What help could they offer? This man seemed drained of all warmth, and the clinical, professional responses of the Sanitazstaffel seemed...wrong, inadequate. This man did not need a debriefing. He needed...someone human.

Letting her intuition and impulse guide her once again, Eisa reached out and took the convulsively-sobbing young man into her arms. She hugged him softly, awkwardly, trying to comfort him in a reassuring way without being too presumptuous. Her touch was light, ready to pull away at the first sign of rejection from him.

"I am sorry too." She said, her words concealing a mountain of her feeling of her own.

"Take all the time you need, young sir."

She let him process his grief, this moment, in his own way.

Finally, when she judged that he seemed a little better, she moved softly to his side.

"My name is Leu- My name is Eisa Steinfeld. You are in a safe place now. Would you like to tell me your name?"

Her words were practically a whisper, as soft as the wind in the chimes.  It was just them.

She didn't know, didn't dare imagine, where this might or could go. All that mattered was that there was a soul in front of her in pain, and more than her duty, more than her role, her very nature compelled her to help, in whatever way she could.

Viktor Yakov ad Rosenfeld

Lamentations and Regrets

Something about that last phrase should make anyone uncomfortable. The thought of killing someone, even by mere accident, should instigate some fear in anyone… right? Yakov was ready… he was expecting, even, that the nurse would run away from him and call the soldats to take him, regardless if he had already recovered. Instead, he was greeted by a more mellow response as the silver-haired Quincy medic reached out to him, and held him closer to her bosom.

His face landed on her soft pillow, while her arms locked him completely. Her embrace was not tight, but rather awkward and yet genuine. The lost quincy was stunned at first, but now that he had no one to turn to, he knew for himself he needed someone…

Someone to comfort him… to be there for him… even just for a limited time…

His lover was gone, his mother had died… He was unsure where to contact his sister, or if it was even possible. He only had this nurse, who for how-many-days-it-had-been was bored taking care of a blonde youngman in comatose until today.

Silence filled the room a couple of seconds after her question. The slow ticking of the clock could make one anxious as the quincy remained unresponsive while allowing the stranger to hold him close.

Until gradually, as he made sense of what she was trying to do, he eased up to her taking the opportunity not out of malicious intent, rather a genuine and desperate need. To feel loved and cared for…

His arms slid to her back, drawing her closer to him, his embrace growing tighter and more firm, his naked frame brushing against the thin fabric of her uniform.

“D-danke…”

Perhaps, it was all he needed at the time. He relished in the moment for a few seconds more. Missing his own mother intensified the need for such a tender moment. Even then, he was not oblivious to a slight show of discomfort so in any case the nurse felt rather awkward, he would break away from her clutch and compose himself to answer what was hanging for quite a long while.

“A pleasure to be with your acquaintance, Frau Steinfeld. My name is Yael Schw—” A slight pause, marked with a tinge of uncertainty, “ just… Yael is enough, I guess…” The reason for leaving his last name was not because he was wary of the woman, nor the fact that he was back in the place he considered hell…no, it was more of feeling ashamed of what his family had done. The betrayal of the house Schwarzwald has been etched in the Echt Quincy’s history— the family who was known for selling out their own comrades in exchange for their safety during the War some six hundred years ago.

[467]

"Yael..." the name stuck to her tongue like honey. It seemed familiar somehow, but she couldn't quite place where or how.  A sweet name for one who seemed to be the very model of wounded innocence. Although she hadn't meant to, Eisa caught a whiff of the scent of his hair. Stale, sweaty, a trace of blood, and something else, a very faint, lingering scent that felt...comforting.

The long moment of comfort gradually passed, and some tiny glimmer of light seemed to re-enter Yael's empty, mournful eyes. Breathing came more easily to him, and she carefully and slightly distanced herself from him, to let him get some air, and to collect his thoughts.

What she had done was probably all kinds of inappropriate, but it had felt...right. She was happy to have helped, even if in so unconventional and odd a way.

"I thank you for your politeness, Herr...Yael. But you needn't be bashful. I simply want to help." She said with her best bedside smile, warm and welcoming. Normally she had to practice for hours to get the expression right, but today it seemed to just...happen, all by itself.

"You will likely be interrogated about...whatever happened, later. But for now, please, rest your mind.  I only wish to hear about you, the person you are. I am sure you will have to...recall unpleasantness enough later. For now..." She cast about for something, and her eyes fell on a dish of soft boiled sweets, probably left aside for any child patients who might come to the Sanitzastaffel...

"Do you like boiled sweets?" She said suddenly, rising swiftly to fetch some.

"Perhaps a little sugar will help with the nerves."

She returned, and kept him from fussing too much in the bed.

"Please, just rest. Talk, or let me talk. This is your time." She said reassuringly. 

She offered him the sweets, and, regardless if he took one or not, she popped one herself into a mouth. It wasn't the world's best, but it was something sweet to taste, and helped her feel less awkward about the boundaries she had crossed in offering this...spontaenous bit of emotional support.

"Tell me of...better days. Before...before everything. Long before." She smiled. 

"I grew up here in Schatten Bereich, unfortunately. Yourself?"


Viktor Yakov ad Rosenfeld

“This… is actually the last place I wanted to escape to…” The blonde quincy began. Now that the comforting embrace finally subsided, and the distance had grown a bit wider again, the melancholy of recalling the past returned. Not that he was yearning for more physical intimacy, but her touch somehow… felt comforting. It almost seemed like a drug, addicting and piercing… tearing away the hurt like a strong painkiller.

She might be unconscious of it, but her warmth somehow felt like a temporary cure to his wounded heart.

“Unfortunately?” The young man chuckled. Perhaps a bit of relief for the nurse, as the weight from his chest lifted up at what she said.

“I apologise. It looks like we’re on the same boat, madame. Did you wish you were a different person? Or perhaps, not belonging to a house whose ancestors betrayed all of our kinsmen?”

If she had heard of the history of the Quincy war, where a certain family had turned to the shinigami for salvation instead of their own kind, she would have heard of the house Schwarzwald, whose members were atoning for the sins of their forefathers for generations, trying to be the most loyal subjects to His Excellency, Remus.

The children in this lineage were trained almost as early as they began to walk, and had no other choice but to be enlisted as a soldat as young as possible. That was what happened to Yael, and to most of his cousins. There were a few minorities who were reluctant of the family tradition and had chosen to abandon it, but they were but numbers in a single hand.

He shifted his gaze towards the sweet candies offered to him, but he shook his head gently to refuse her offer, “I’m fine, Frau Steinfeld. Thank you.”

“But yes, to answer your question, I barely recall better days during the times I was here. I am also like you, Frau Steinfeld. I was born and raised here. But I do not wish to talk about it, if it is alright with you. What I can tell you about myself as a resident would only remind me of my grim past. And I do not wish to burden you anymore with it. You seem to be a kind and caring woman, Madame, you don't deserve to be overwhelmed by my dark secrets,” his weary eyes met with hers; the crystal blue irises reminding him of his own eyes before it was damaged by a genetic condition seemed to lure him closer, almost inching to an inappropriate distance, his hands brushed her cheeks softly until he pulled away and gazed at his hand.

He looked up, his eyes wandering around, “It seems this hospital needs a bit of cleaning,” and then turned to the nurse with a faint smile, shaking the dust off his hand.

Unaware of what could that action have possibly made an impression on her, “...dust.”

For a moment.

Until…

His cheeks reddened, realising the awkwardness earlier…

“I-I…I can tell you of better days outside Schatten Bereich, however. If you so insist.”

[518]

His gaze was almost hypnotic in its intensity. For a long, strange, intense moment, she found herself locked in it, no thoughts in her head, only a strange instinctual emotional synchronicity. Yet as his hand made contact with her cheek, for the briefest of moments, reality flooded in, and she became aware once more, the spell broken. She blinked, a torrent of thoughts bursting into her mind.

Fortunately, he broke his gaze, and she was able to calm the violent thundering of her heart. That was...quite something. She was beginning to worry about her behaviour here, and her state of mind in permitting and encouraging this long, private and weirdly intimate...bonding?

She was no longer quite certain what it was that they were doing, but she had long ago learned to stop caring what others might think of her. Her internal discipline was grounded deep into her bones, and the opinions of others would not sway her from doing what she would consider right and responsible.

Still, now, once again, she had to doubt that her instincts and feelings in this matter were...trustworthy.

But the moment did not wait for her thoughts to catch up.

With great effort, she turned her attention to his words once more. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Outwardly she maintained her rigid façade, of a neutral, professional bedside manner. But her eyes were mirrors that hid the war within.

So, encouraging him, he began to speak, to tell her of better days.

Struggling now to put the emotionally loaded moment back into its box, she hyper-focused on his words, giving him a level of rapt attention even most interrogators would lack.

As she did so, she quickly came to realise that this man and his past were far murkier and messier than she'd imagined. That, far from being a wounded Quincy soldier returned after a grave battle, this man was in fact a Wild talent- no, worse, an actual, conscious scion of a traitor house.

She should be more alarmed, more disturbed. Yet the idea- the image- of some disgusting traitor or savage enemy was completely incompatible with the melancholic young man now slowly but gently sharing his life story with her.

Somehow, without quite realising it, she had become a sort of Mother Confessor to the troubled heart of an arch-heretic.

She knew little of the byzantine politics and complex history that had created the rift that separated the House of Schwarzwald from the rest. The House of Steinfeld, she knew, was probably not nearly so old or as regal in its origins. Yet by some ancient quirk of fate, here she was, a loyal officer of an exiled empire, the ostensible victor in time and space over the forlorn descendant of a forgotten war's fugitives. 

The pictures he painted with his words though- they simply did not jibe with this context. It was too strange, too surreal, too odd.

She had of course encouraged him to focus on the happier times, the best of times. It was natural he would describe his childhood, his origin, in the rosiest possible terms.

Yet she found she could not help but contrast these memories with her own. She had never thought of herself as a particularly unhappy person, or an unlucky one. She had been told, instructed, drilled and constantly prepared to think quite the opposite even. That she was one of the Blessed, one of the Chosen, duty-bound to both Reich and the spirit world in general.

Yet here she was, seeking to comfort this one whose heart was bleeding raw, and she found herself probing her mind, and finding cracks and imperfections, so long unnoticed. Memories and feelings of her own were coming loose.

As Yael brightened, she found her own mood becoming ever less stable, ever more ambivalent and uncertain. She had sought only to help him, to fulfill her most instinctive and deep-rooted of personal desires.

She still hoped that in doing this that she was. But now she wondered if perhaps this was more of a two-way interaction than she had initially presumed.

Having come close to cracking her personal armour, it seemed the blue-eyed boy was now finding weaknesses in her she hadn't even known existed.

She placed her hand on his, and watched him jolt.

"It sounds like you have lived a...very different life to me...to us, here." She said, daring to meet his eyes once more.

"Please. Tell me more about yourself. I find myself growing quite...curious."

Viktor Yakov ad Rosenfeld

Suddenly, there was tension in the room. He could feel it. When he woke up, the hurt he was enduring for losing Val was unbearable, it almost felt like his heart was going to burst. Just thinking about her no longer with him… in this world, made him crazy. It felt like he wanted to die.

Yet for some unknown reason, in this brief, bizarre moment, the presence of this madame somehow calmed the turmoil within. The comfort was addicting… and while his mind wanted to avoid the temptation, his body, his heart could not help but yearn for more.

Was it lust? Was it possible that he wasn’t truly a changed man? That he was still a bastard, a womaniser. And he only found temporary solace in Valentina and used her to feed his manly ego? Did he truly love her? It was becoming more difficult to concentrate with these thoughts. And him questioning his love for the girl was stupid. He knew it. How could this woman steal his composure all of a sudden? He was hurting. But why was he now justifying this warm... fuzzy feeling for this lady?

Her gaze… so alluring. He found himself entranced by those blue orbs, clear as the sea. Those lips which almost seemed to be dripping with honey. Her voice which seemed like a siren's song, so bewitching. How could he resist? Her frame, her curves… they were all in the right places. That bust… how does it feel to touch such a soft heaven again?

Just imagining it made him... no. that can't be. This is not right, no matter where you look at it. As such, before he could be consumed by his desires, before he could lose himself in his passion, he refocused towards her words.

He regained his composure, and his sinful imagination remained in the back of his mind.

"Please. Tell me more about yourself. I find myself growing quite...curious."

She wanted to know more about him.

For what it’s worth… there was nothing so interesting about him, but how could he reject such a fine lady?

Her inquiry was partnered by gentle, comforting touch, which sent tingles to his nerves. A rush of blood to the most sensitive parts of his body. Electrifying. Yet he restrained himself, thus he would appear calm; deep inside however, his heart was again beating fast.

“Have you ever been in love, Frau Steinfeld?” He began, struggling to find the confidence to ask but then managed to blurt it out. As it was the only thing he could associate with happiness.

“I thought I would never believe in such absurdity…” he continued.

“You see, I am a man… I have... needs… as embarrassing as it is to confess to such a fine woman as you,” breaking his gaze during such an awkward confession, “I had fun with countless women when I escaped from the Wandenreich…”

"Aaah... b-but it's c-consensual... and I knew it was wrong. And I am not going to justify such actions. I've long since regretted those times..." he quickly defended.

A big sigh of disappointment. It must be a turn off but why was he concerned about that anyway? It’s not like she’s developing feelings for him, is she? Or he to her… Is he? Is… he?

"... it's alright if you judge me. But back then... I have no one. My vanity is all I have..."

Whatever she thought about him now. It just felt natural sharing these things with her. Whether she felt remorse for sympathising with him would be up to her. He just exposed to her his dark past... which she requested anyway.

“... until I found someone I could hold onto. It was… unexplainable,” perhaps akin to this situation, “... I couldn’t understand it, but meeting her… I felt the freedom I was longing for for years…” just as how her presence brought comfort to his wounded heart.

“Those were the happiest moments of my life. Meeting my girlfriend, Valentina…”

"We... had a lot of fun. We travelled together, gazed at the stars and navigated the night skies until dawn... Those fleeting moments, could have been turned into years... and then decades... and--" A flood of thousand thoughts again. Overwhelming, almost uncontainable, streaming and gushing out uncontrollably through his eyes.

"b-but..."

“But she’s gone…” he mustered and tried to acknowledge. Suddenly the rage from within came back this time he attempted to restrain in bitter tears.

“What am I going to do without her?”

That look. That gloom. That pain. Will she be able to soothe it thoroughly?

Somehow, he hoped.

[775]

Eisa sat and listened to him for long minutes, her eyes unable to leave his face. Eventually she had to move, as her leg was getting cramped. More, the flood of emotions his story evoked was increasingly uncomfortable. She had little to no formal training as a counsellor, and it began to dawn on her that his experiences and their complexity might be far wide and deeper than simply the recent tragic loss of a loved one.

As she listened, she tried to keep her face reassuring and impassive, but it was difficult for her to conceal her true thoughts. She frowned, she mused, she struggled not to flinch. It was indeed a different life to one she had ever known.  

It was also clear that this was not even put a tip of the iceberg of the whole story. That someone so young should have experienced so many highs- and devastating lows- made her ponder at the tenor and rhythm of her own life.  She had known pain, yes, and she felt she could sympathise with this young man, but it occurred to her that the corresponding highs- the bittersweet and all too brief moments of joy- were far less keen, far more muted. This man had lived, and loved, and probably sinned greatly, but still- for all that he must have lost, she could see that he had experienced life's rich tapestry, its diametric symphony, in a way that was far greater than anything she had, following her path from one disappointing and melancholy experience to another.

She realised he had paused, and that his last words- a lingering, painful question- was not intended as mere rhetoric.

Struggling to digest all he had told her, Eisa tried to respond as she had before- from her heart, from her instinct, bypassing the mental filter of duty, responsibility and propriety.

"It seems to me that...as long as your memories persist, she is not truly gone." She began slowly. It felt like a cliche, but she meant it sincerely, and tried to convey some of her own feelings about his story back to him.

"I do not judge the man you were, or even the man you are now.  Your life has been more incredible than most. The bitterness and pain you feel now...I don't think it can...I don't think it should erase all the joy and wonder and and...sincerity you felt with your loved one."

Eisa felt her own composure cracking, her mask of perfect serenity slipping a little, to reveal her own well, not of boundless sympathy and care, but of empathetic passion and second-hand pain.

"That you have come to a place like this...here...now...it doesnt change the steps you took to get here, both for better and worse. The one does not cancel out the other, but...you can remember the good times, cherish them. And I think.."

She sighed, and gave vent to something deep within her.

"I think those moments you cherish could- should- guide you to what you can or should do next.  The past is not dead, and nor is the future."

She spread her hands, perhaps feeling a weight of reflected helplessness and long suppressed bitterness lifting.

"You are not defined by what you were, nor by what you are not now. You can only try to be defined by what you do, and will do."

She shrugged apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I'm pretty terrible at this counselling thing aren't I?" She eased back, lying on the bed next to him, her eyes looking up at the dull ceiling and his craned head.

"In the end, we can but use our memories and feelings to guide our next steps. But in so doing we are not moving on. We are moving...together...with what they meant to us...into a new place."

Viktor Yakov ad Rosenfeld

Careless whispers from within

This was getting out of hand. Her stares were becoming more difficult to ignore. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, he knew it. This feeling was so wrong, no matter how you justify it. No matter where you look at it.

He just lost his lover. The only girl he truly loved, but why could he not stay still with this woman here? Who only wanted to extend a helping hand, a genuine concern for his well-being?

Heart beat fast, he shifted his gaze away from her and instead focused on what she was saying. Staring down at the cold floor, he tried to make sense of her comforting words despite being distracted by her angelic voice.

"I think those moments you cherish could- should- guide you to what you can or should do next. The past is not dead, and nor is the future."

Those moments… should be his guide? Come to think of it, this was the second time he felt stumped after some major turning points in his life. Meeting Iwan and Yukari suddenly changed the course of his life, spending time with Valentina turned his world around and his priorities in life.

Now that she’s gone, and he had no way of contacting Iwan nor Yukari, what now? Niji was someone he wouldn’t ask favour from. After what happened in Mt. Rysy… and he realised Ryoga was not someone who takes interest in spiritual matters except exploiting souls for his costumes.

Would he involve this lady in his messy life?

What does he want now?

Now that his purpose for living is gone?

The bed shifted, and when he turned to her direction again, the lady was lying on the bed, reaching for the dim light as if struggling to reach out for some jaded hope out there.

“No… you’re not,” an answer to her query if she was a terrible counselor, his ruby eyes met with her enticing gaze.

Once again, lured in the crystal blue irises of the beautiful woman in front of him, he leaned closer…

A light brush on her lips, she would feel… and would linger for a few seconds more, pressing harder yet still gentle.

Eyes closed. Blank mind. There was nothing on his mind right now but the warm feeling of the nurse’s lips.

It tasted a soothing medicine, not addicting as he first thought; though something he wanted to last.

He didn’t want to take advantage of the situation, but… he needed company.

He was lonely. He needed her…

Was it so wrong to ask for more than emotional comfort?

Heart beat faster… the gentle kiss became more assertive, claiming her lips in a passionate desire.

Until he remembered he was not the same man he was before…

He was no longer the bastard who played on women’s hearts before. Nor the man who was purely driven in lust.

He was a changed man. He should be.

Yael pulled away.

“Es tut mir leid, Frau Steinfeld,” the young quincy sighed, embarrassed at his own behaviour.

“I should have not let my emotions take over. If you’ll excuse me,” the boy stood up, ready to leave her sight.

You are not defined by what you were, nor by what you are not now. You can only try to be defined by what you do, and will do."

What does she think now?


[571]

The sudden feeling of his warm, frail lips on hers were a complete shock. For a few brief seconds that seemed an eternity her entire body was paralysed, her mind awash with sensations, a surprise attack so complete it bypassed all her usual defences, all her composure.  Later she would wonder why she hadn't reacted immediately, more coldly, more strongly, but in that moment it was so unexpected, so intimate...it completely robbed her of rational thought, if only for moment.

She opened her eyes, and saw the man anew. The lingering taste of something unfamiliar. Medicine, perhaps? She had been spoon-feeding him plenty of it before he had awoken.  His eyes were still mesmerising, raw, painful to look at, but now that spark she saw seemed...turned towards her.

Her entire perspective on their conversation, on the injured man, on his pain, was suddenly thrown into a harsh new light. 

Ice-cold regret washed over her, followed closely by waves of guilt, shame, embarrassment, anxiety, anger, fear. 

All in the span of a few heartbeats.

She broke eye-contact, unable to make sense of the turmoil in her own mind and heart while also trying to take him in.  She began to realise that his gaze was the Abyss, and rather than filling it in she was now at risk of falling into it herself.

Struggling greatly to maintain her composure, she backed away from him as quickly as her suddenly sluggish body would allow. She turned away from him. 

Foolish, foolish Eisa. Of course. Play Nightingale and this is what happens.

“Es tut mir leid, Frau Steinfeld,” the young quincy sighed.

His words reminded her that he was watching her, still present. That all of her hard work to build him up and help him was now in peril.

She should continue her duty as a Nurse, but she knew she was far too compromised to do so right now.

You are defined by what you do, she had said. And he had chosen to kiss her. So what did that mean? That he defined himself by the seeking of women? No, he didn't seem the casual, lustful parvenu.  Did it mean he sought a new great romance to fill his wounded heart? The very thing she had sought to avoid.

And what did it mean about her, that she who had defined herself by what she could do- help people- was now too riven by emotions to adequately fulfil that function?

She had been playing with fire, she decided, acutely aware that this moment was becoming long and uncomfortable, her conflicted silence painful for the both of them.

It was best to avoid stoking this fire anymore. But to pour cold water on it too abruptly might cause it to smoke and hiss instead. 

"The apology is mine, Herr Yael. I...may have overstepped some boundaries." She said quickly, hurriedly, trying to restore her façade of serene professionalism, but even now unable to avoid a quiver in her voice, a hint of blush to her cheeks.

"I am a Nurse of physical wounds, nothing more. You appear to be recovering well, physically. More is...not my business." She said, her eyes downcast, ashamed, unwilling to meet his.

"I hope my words have been useful to you nonetheless. I will let you rest." She turned, skittish, uncertain if leaving right now was the right move, but uncertain more how to continue. 

She should really have called for assistance when he awoke, she thought.  To summon a counsellor or interrogator now would only make the situation infinitely worse.

"We were both victims of foolish emotions." She admitted. "If you want, I will ask to be transferred away from this ward."  She had practically installed herself here to care for him anyway, so she doubted they'd care if she suddenly left.  It was clear they didn't much care what she did anymore, since they had all but removed her from the active roster.

Viktor Yakov ad Rosenfeld

There was no struggle. In those brief moments, the nurse did not reciprocate nor struggled against his kiss, which made him all the more confused. It did not occur to him what he had done was a complete shock to the woman, that she was probably too paralysed to even move a single finger, that it meant nothing… Instead, he allowed his teenage hormones to be swayed by her passivity.

Even so, this has to stop. These irrational feelings… only emerged because he was in pain, he was so lost, devastated by the death of his lover. The act was his body’s way of trying to get over the frustration, further taunted by the charm of the beautiful nurse even though she only meant to help him.

The silence, the awkwardness lingered for what almost felt like eternity, until the silver-haired quincy broke it with her denying the fact that it was the boy’s fault. Here, she put the blame on herself, something completely far from what he expected.

Eyes widened in amusement; even then, he did not turn around to meet her gaze. “Madame please. You have been nothing but supportive. The fault is mine. In the brief moment there, I turned into the beast I was before…,” the blonde admitted, his voice sounding of deep regret.

"...More is...not my business."

“O-of course…”

“... and it was not my intention to ask for something… more… I could not justify what I did. It is utterly despicable.”

She inquired if he would want her to transfer to a different ward. Of course, he didn’t want to, but it was only logical to say so, right? She might have wanted it herself, but until the end, she was trying to be polite by asking him.

It was just a facade. Maybe.

Then again, it was only reasonable that he obliged, so against his will, he composed himself, his true feelings about the matter completely hidden in a calmer tone, “If it would relieve you, madam, feel free to transfer to a different ward. What I did was inexcusable, I understand that you’d feel uneasy around me now…I no longer wish to be a burden to you.”

The emotional tension was far greater than his physical frailties that he had completely forgotten he was injected with IV. The tube near his wrist was turning red, as he moved around earlier, the needle was strained, causing his blood to flow out and mix with the serum injected to him.

[421}

“If it would relieve you, madam, feel free to transfer to a different ward. What I did was inexcusable, I understand that you’d feel uneasy around me now…I no longer wish to be a burden to you.”

For the first time in their exchange she felt a spike of irritation. The encounter had been...many things emotionally, but his efforts to be polite and gentlemanly -now-, when he was still frail, weak, and clearly more than a little emotionally unstable- for some reason it bothered her. She had been married for years to a weak, broken man, of course. Maybe that was it, that he reminded her of her former husband.

No, it wasn't coldness and indifference. He was the complete opposite of her husband. He was weak, broken, but still his instincts were...

Suppressing another blush of her own, her eyes were drawn to the strain caused by his impassioned movements.

"Hold still." She said firmly, her nurse/teacher mode fully reactivated.  Her prior uncertainty and confusion put on hold, she clinically and professionally moved to gently but forcibly put the needle back in, holding him down as she did so. Perhaps under normal circumstances he might have been able to resist, if he had wanted to, but not only was he right now weak as a lamb, she had Kido to enthuse her strength with and ensure he complied.

Once she was confident he was properly under control and back in his bed, she gave another long look over.

"You will need additional bed-rest and care, but if you are strong enough to flail around, you are more than physically- and mentally- fit to continue. I will recommend a more relaxed monitoring, and...if you wish it, occasional mental health spot checks to ensure stability." 

She winced at the coldness in her own voice, aware that after having gotten so close so professional a demeanour could seem...hurtful, or unfriendly.

"I...do not feel uneasy. Nor do I consider you despicable. But we both have...other duties to be getting on with."

She paused again, feeling genuinely uncertain which way she wanted to go. Instinct had led her here, and into all sorts of strange trouble lately.

"I will request that for continuity of care, I be assigned to be one of your healthcare supervisors, at least until you have made a full recovery."

She let out a long breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"You may or may not be an Enemy of the Bereich but...for what its worth, you are my patient. I will ensure that you are treated fairly and given every chance to recover. Not because we need you but...because dying is too easy.  We are not done yet, and neither are you."

She wagged a finger at him, somewhat unaware how comical this made her look. Her teacher instincts were strong, even all this time later.

"Now eat your meal. You will likely have to face debriefing sooner rather than later."

Viktor Yakov ad Rosenfeld

“You don’t have to–” Yael tried to resist. But as much as her charm paralysed him, so did her strength. He was still too weak to move after all, and her infusing a little bit of kido in restraining him had proven to be effective.

Her touch was warm as her lips earlier, and the thought just made his face flushed red yet again. He couldn’t stare at her any longer, though his ruby eyes wandered anxiously somewhere else.

He expected her to oblige, to distance herself… which was certainly understandable given his aggressive behavior earlier; yet again, he was surprised to insist on completing this assignment. To remain his nurse still, despite all the awkwardness…. or discomfort.

“R-right… Danke, F-frau Steinfeld…” He managed to say, albeit almost tongue-tied. It was difficult to remain calm, even at this point, almost a complete opposite of the confidence she exuded despite what just happened to them.

In the past, he could’ve just shrugged such a shameful mistake; and even then he would still be able to relate with the woman with full pride and confidence.

Was it because he was now a changed man? Was it because of… Valentina? Or there was truly… something about her that completely ruins his defenses, in that… he couldn’t allow himself to treat her coldly or at least pretend to.

Once the nurse was done fixing his IV, he’d let out a deep breath, a sign of relief from the tension, feeling her warm hands gripped him.

Then again, a sudden cold sweat ran through his temple as he heard her say something about de-briefing. The escape to Bereich was already unaccounted for; everything about this meeting was unplanned. He didn’t wish to go back, either to serve or spend his time idly in this cold hellish sanctuary.

“De-briefing?” He sat down curious, but mostly anxious about what might happen next. The nurse’s cutesy gesture somewhat became a distraction and he blushed instantly as she nagged at him, “I-I… please, you just heard about my past. I do not wish to meet any member of the Wandenreich.”

“I will do anything you want, just keep me a secret from them. Please.”


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