Category : Books-Fiction

Sub Category : Romance

Dr. Bradley glared at me, his green eyes daring me to step closer. His hands were balled into fists at his side, his distaste for me obvious. He sighed, as if trying to calm himself. "Sergeant Whit, do you care about Ella's feelings?"

I placed my hands on my utility belt, casually, and nodded my head, as if the answer were obvious, "Yeah, I'd say so."

"Then you would know that something temporary like what you're doing would be no good for her."

"See," I shook my head, laughing. "I'm not temporary. We aren't temporary."

"You don't think she actually has feelings for you--"

"I have no intention of letting her go, either way," I grinned. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got a nurse to catch up to."

I tipped an imaginary hat and jogged off to find Ella. Dr. Bradley stood, watching my retreating back, unsure of how to react. 

~oOo~

I spotted Ella, pressed up against the back wall of the mess hall. She peered around the corner of the opposite direction, facing the Medical Team's quarters. I smiled and casually slid in behind her, carefully pulling her phone out of her back pocket. I cleared my throat, and spoke in a lower voice, "Miss, who are you looking for?"

She didn't turn around, still searching, "Sergeant Whit. Please don't tell him I'm here."

"Why are you hiding, Miss? Is it because he's so handsome that you want to jump his bones?"

"What? No!" She turned around, and realized it me. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped. "G-Gabe."

She spun around to run again, but I grabbed her wrist with one hand and held up her phone in the other, "Missing something?"

She flushed and tried to grab her phone back, but I held it above my head, teasingly. She tried to hop up and grab it, but I held it up higher, "Sergeant Whit, you ass--" she clapped her hand over her mouth.

I blinked, and furrowed my eyebrows, "Why did you cover my mouth?"

"...I said the 'A-word,'" she whispered, slowly moving her hand.

"The 'A-word'" I scoffed. "You're twenty-five years old, and you're afraid to say ass?"

She looked away, her cheeks ripening to a bright red.

I smiled and pinched her cheeks, "Awh, you precious, innocent, little Ella! So cute!"

"Lat go of me!"

"Never!"

"Go bald, you rotten jackfrui--" she stopped speaking, suddenly glancing down at the child pulling at her skirt. She squatted in front of him, so that their eyes were level. "Hey, there buddy."

The boy was small and thin, his body looked frail and bony. He looked young--maybe six or seven years old--and he held out his hand, speaking in Swahili.

Ella raised looked up at me, confused. I squatted beside Ella, looking at the child. I asked him, "Do you want food?" in Swahili.

"You speak their language?" Ella asked, surprised. 

I nodded, "A little."

The boy held out his hand, before retracting it, and coughing into it. He had a long coughing fit that shook his body. When he extended his hand again, there was blood. Ella immediately pressed her hand up against his forehead, "He has an extremely high fever."

The child had another coughing fit, which caused him to lose consciousness. Ella caught him and took his pulse, "It's irregular." She quickly moved up to his neck, pressing against the sides of his throat, "His lymph nodes are swollen," she paused, muttering to herself. "A young boy, hemoptysis, fatigue, high fever, swollen lymph nodes... Gabe, cover your mouth." 

She began pulling a mask out of her pocket, and I did as she said, pulling my jacket up over my mouth. 

"We need to take him to the MTC right now; I think he has tuberculosis."

I nodded and scooped him up into my arms, jogging off in the direction of the MTC, Ella on my heels. She must've called Dr. Baker because doctors Bradley and Baker came rushing out, masks covering their faces. "Ella!" Dr. Bradley called. "What's the situation?"

"Hemoptysis, swollen lymph nodes, fatigue, high fever, and an irregular pulse--I think it might be tuberculosis."

The doctors nodded and helped me carry the boy into the MTC. They laid him down on a hospital bed and began rushing around, "He's malnourished. Ella, give him an IV drip."

Ella nodded and rushed off. 

Dr. Baker glanced at me, "Were you in direct contact with this boy?"

I nodded, "Yes."

"You'll need to be tested for TB."

~oOo~

Ella and I sat in the hospital room, we were both under quarantine for the next two days until we could get the results of our TSTs. We sat on opposite beds, not speaking. Ella stared at her shoes, avoiding my gaze. I sat, looking around the room--a fairly empty room filled with two beds, with a chair next to each bed. It had been maybe forty-five minutes since we had been quarantined, and the silence was driving me insane. 

"Ga--Sergeant Whit," Ella corrected herself. "I'm sorry...about this whole mess."

"You can call me Gabe. And you aren't to blame," I turned towards her, who was curled over the white sheets.

"Are you scared?"

I shook my head, "We'll be okay. This is just...precautionary."

"I'm not scared to die," she plainly stated, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm scared for you."

"Don't be. I'm a soldier, I'm prepared to die."

"That's...morbid."

I paused, moving onto her bed, sitting beside her. She sat up and looked over at me, scooting a little away. "Did you know that you looked amazing when you were working?"

"I look amazing when I do everything."

"You're right," I chuckled. "You're beautiful."

"I think so, too," she smiled. 

"A beautiful girl and a sexy man... I think they would make a great couple."

She didn't respond, and instead played with her hair. I didn't want to make her uncomfortable so I dropped it. Instead, we began talking about little things, I told her about Samantha, and she told me about her baby sister Janie. 

"It isn't that I don't like you, I just," she told me, suddenly. "I'm confused."

I glanced up at her. She sat on her bed, Indian style, her shoes on the ground. She looked pale--obviously worried--and her curly hair looked tangled and messy. "Why?"

She paused, looking away, "When you're here--near me--I just...I get nervous and excited, even if I don't want to be. I'm worried about how I look--"does my hair look okay?" "does this make me look fatter than usual?"...but when you aren't around...I wish that you were."

I smiled to yourself, "I always think you're beautiful. Especially right now."

"I'm fat," she scoffed. "I haven't washed my hair; I'm sweaty; I have no makeup on; I didn't sh--"

"--and yet I could stare at you all day." I leaned in closer to her. "It's okay if you like me; I still like you more."