Fanfiction – Something Beautiful II


Something Beautiful Arc I, Ficlet I, Ficlet II, Ficlet III

Part I

Something Beautiful II

Part II - Wicked

“Doctor Beauchamp, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’re needed in curtain six.” Nurse Mary Hawkins blurted haphazardly, as I reviewed lab results at the central station of the A&E department (my kingdom, not by birthright but by veritable competency), my sore feet resting on the chair in front of me. She was a seemingly fragile creature, but made of sturdier material than her nervous ways led to believe, having a quick memory and impeccable bedside manners.

“What for?” I replied tiredly, scrawling an elevated coagulation value in red ink on my personal shift notes. “My hands are already full, Nurse Hawkins. Can’t one of the last year residents take it? I’m available to assist, of course.”

“I think you’ll want to see this patient, Claire.” She offered me a timid smile, reinforced by a tone that was far more assertive than usual, and pushed the chart in my direction.

Thoroughly intrigued, I abandoned my meticulous task and padded to the curtain area of the Aberdeen Royal Infirmary, located on the opposite side of the Trauma Centre, where milder patients were assessed and swiftly treated for their ailments.

Laying on the bed, which awaited my visit, was a tall redheaded coastguard (his imposing frame barely fitting on the narrow and not-too-long gurney), sporting a dark blue Her Majesty’s Coastguard t-shirt, grey sweatpants and a contrite look that approached embarrassment.

“Jamie?” I stood with my mouth slightly ajar and my brow furrowed with concern. “What are you doing here?” I glanced around, guaranteeing that no other staff was sufficiently close to hear my next few words. “I’m definitely wearing knickers today, so what gives?”

“Ah, Sassenach.” He presented me with a rigid and tight-lipped smile. “I had a bit of an accident, ye see?” And after his enlightening words, I did see - the garish way in which his left shoulder protruded from its socket, even covered as it was by the fabric of his uniform; the strange placement of his hand against his chest, as if unable to move an inch further; the sweat coating his handsome brow, where pain dug up trenches in the fight against his resolute body.

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