France x Reader

Chapter 1: The Hospital

~Francis~

I stare at the sheet of paper in my hand, the small photo paper clipped to it, glossy from the printer. A young girl, with long hair and dead eyes stares back at me. Her name is printed in bold letters at the top of the page, along with her date of birth. This is followed with a list of information, allergies, blood type, mental disorders. It goes on for a half a page. I rub the side of my face, exhausted as I skim over the information. Most reports are descriptive, like this one, but I've been awake since three this morning, and I'm ready to call it a day. Hardening my resolve to push through till the end of my shift, I put the paper back in the file, and knock on the door to her room. I'm not expecting a response, and I don't receive one, so I step into the room. The girl, (y/n), sits on the bed, staring out the window, eyes lazily fixed on something, and shoulders slumped, hands laced loosely in front of her, mouth tucked down into a frown.

"Hello." I say smiling. Her eyes find mine for a second, before flicking back to the window. She scowls, and makes a small noise. Her posture shifts, and she curls into herself a little more, shifting the IV in her arm. Her hair falls into her face, hiding her expression as I close the door behind me.

"So this is the unlucky genius who got stuck with the nutcase?" She murmurs to herself.

"My name is Francis." I tell her, still smiling as I sit down on the bed next to her. She crosses her arms.

"(y/n)." She rolls her eyes.

"I'm just going to do a quick check up. Is that okay?" I pat her leg. She jumps away.

"I guess." Moving carefully around the room, I wash my hands, drying them quickly and gathering materials one by one. I go through the routines of heart rate, blood pressure, and throat test. Everything checks out, aside from a mild irregularity of breathing.

"So why did you come to the hospital?" I ask while holding a stethoscope to her back. It's a really stupid question to ask, since I already know that she was submitted against her will, but I ask it anyway. Protocol.

"That's my business." She mutters.

"Look, (y/n)-"

"I can't help you unless you tell me what's going on." She says in a mock child's voice, finishing my sentence. I pull away the stethoscope, standing to put it away.

"I wasn't going to say that." I say, biting the inside of my cheek and looking over my shoulder at her. She glances at me, and then away, settling back into cold brooding. I was going to say that. It's mostly true, and it does work in some cases. Maybe I should try a different approach.

"I was going to say, that I'm not going to push you to tell me. I think that just makes things worse. I'm going to wait until you feel comfortable telling me. So, if there is anything you ever need, just ask." I place my hand on her shoulder, and pull her arm up gently, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around her bicep. She recoils, and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as the plastic material expands for a moment. We're silent, and she flinches when I remove it. Whenever I touch her, she cringes.

"(y/n)," I say, eyebrows creasing. "Were you abused?" she bites her lip and looks up at me, cold determination in her eyes. I know the answer, but I can probably guess hers.

"No." She lies. Giving her a sympathetic smile, I nod. "Everything checks out. I'll be back to check on you later. If you want to talk, the call button is right there." I gesture to the side of her bed. She nods, and burrows down under her covers. "Try to get some rest," I say, opening the door.

"Wait." Her voice is quiet. I pause, looking back at her. Her eyes are focused on the floor. She bites her lip, and thinks for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed.