Kieran cracked an eye open, he was laying in a cot without pants. His legs were elevated and one of his feet was tightly wrapped in bandages. His entire body ached, and when he shifted, his foot throbbed something fierce. He was in the medical storeroom, a light glowed on wall beside him, but its harsh glare was muffled by gauze. There was a cot a few steps away from where another sailor lay, his head was tightly wrapped and Kieran could make out dark stained bandages in the dim light. At the other side of the small cabin, beside a stack of boxes, another sailor sat in a chair, his head tipped back. He was snoring softly.
At first Kieran guessed him for a pharmacist's mate, probably keeping an eye on him. He cleared his throat, but before he called to out to let him know he'd woken up, he noticed his rate badge lacked the red cross. The sleeping man wore the crossed cannons of a gunner's mate second class. His hands were bandaged.
Dark eyes. The man who had saved his life.
The man was tan, even in the dim light, Kieran could see long eyelashes, an aquiline nose, and full lips partially open. The man's cover was sitting in his lap, clutched tightly by one of his bandaged hands, leaving his head bare. His hair was close cut, but not so short to hide the beginnings of black curls. Kieran watched as his chest rose and fell slowly. He hadn't paid too much attention in school, even before the navy, he'd known he'd spend his life on a ship and not behind a desk. But, the man's peaceful smooth expression, fine features, and even the stubble that painted his cheeks, brought back memories of staring at Renaissance paintings on school trips to the museum.
The man's eyes snapped open, immediately fixing on Kieran. Full lips spread into a smile, "You're awake," the man said quietly.
Kieran nodded, only just realizing he had sat up and forward to study the man. Why had he done that?
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm--" he lost his speech to a gale of coughing.
The GM immediately sprung to his feet and rushed over, "Do I need to call the doc?"
"No," Kieran managed between coughs, "Water."
The man nodded, dark eyes wide, and grabbed a canteen sitting on one of the stacks of boxes. Rather than offer it to Kieran, he sat down beside him, threw an arm around him, and held the canteen to his lips.
Kieran took a hesitant sip, before nodding and promptly dissolving into another coughing fit.
"Deep breaths," the man said rubbing his back, and offering him another sip.
Kieran sighed relaxing into the man, "Thanks."
"Sure you don't want me to call the doc?"
Kieran nodded again, "I'm fine, mouth was dry."
"It's the morphine," at Kieran's expression the man continued, "Gave you a shot after you went unconscious. The doc says you dislocated three of your toes, and probably wrenched half the joints in your body."
"You can dislocate toes?"
The man shrugged, "Never heard of it either. But the sound of you hitting the hull was loud enough to hear topside.That'll dislocate something if anything can."
"What about..." Kieran said looking over to the other cot.
The man swallowed, "Peters has a fractured skull, and a concussion. He woke up for a bit, but they pumped him full, and he's been out every since. Gonna transfer him to the Anzio tomorrow."
"I'm sorry," Kieran looked away.
