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A refreshing breeze blows through campground as the sun sinks closer to the trees, bringing with it the relieved sighs of every soldier after working tirelessly in the brutal heat. Tent flaps billow open, but none of the relaxed men are going to complain about handfuls of papers being moved around as they relish in their brief reprieve from the summer weather. One annoyed woman, however, is not above complaining about the wind.
Nurse Phoebe Keating wrinkles her nose in disgust, fighting the urge to gag as the pesky breeze thickens the sickening scent of the men lying ill in the infirmary tent. Infected wounds, vomit, and bedpans she had yet to clean out overpower her nose, forcing her to pinch it shut. Breathing as little as possible through her mouth, she wishes for the breeze to go away. Being the only nurse working on this slow day - and for the past several days - she couldn't afford the luxury of merely leaving the tent.
War is a fickle thing, with battles constantly being won or lost, camps being moved from one place to another, and an abundance of soldiers coming and going. When one man dies, there is another to take his place. But, the same can not be said for the medicinal professionals. When nurses and doctors leave with different units, it can take months to replace even half of them, leaving the women in units not in immediate danger understaffed and overworked.
Unlike soldiers, who join the cause to fight for their beliefs, finding people willing to work in the medical field is so few and far between that you don't get to choose a side. The job is to save lives, no matter the cause.
"I don't suppose you have room for one more?"
Phoebe's heart skips a beat and she drops her hand from her nose, a euphoric smile replacing her annoyance as she whirls around to spot the soldier in the tent's opening. As though answering her prayers, the wind disappears as quickly as it had arrived, and is replaced with the arrival of her own personal savior.
Major Jasper Whitlock doesn't wait for an answer, instead dropping onto the nearest available cot as Phoebe grabs the usual supplies and joins him. His brown eyes study her as she gently grabs his chin, growing amused as she frowns upsettedly about his new wound.
"When will you learn?" She tuts, using a white rag doused in disinfectant to clean away the blood from the cut on his cheekbone. "You're supposed to fight the soldiers on the opposing team, not the ones you share a tent with."
"Someone had to put them in their place," he mutters indignantly, pouting like a scolded child when she fixes him with a stern look.
"And that someone had to be you?" Phoebe asks, already knowing what the next words out of his mouth will be.
"Yes, ma'am," he answers proudly. She huffs in response, but the hint of a smile she's trying to hide by looking away tells him she's not truly upset with him. "Will you kiss it better?"
She wrinkles her nose at the notion, eliciting a laugh from Jasper. Phoebe tightens her grip on his chin, cutting the laughter off as she places a thin strip of gauze along the cut. Releasing her hold, she places a kiss just below the wound before standing to put away the supplies.
"You're lucky I love you," she says, regretting her decision to give in to his request when he grins triumphantly.
"I certainly am," Jasper agrees, pushing himself to his feet as she straightens the cot's sheets. "I ha-"
"Whitlock!" A man barks, tearing the tent flap back with a loud snap. "You're needed by Sergeant Lee."
Before any questions could be asked, the soldier hurries off, presumably to shout the same thing at another person. Jasper turns back to Phoebe, his annoyance at being interrupted disappearing as she smiles understandingly.
"A major's work is never done," she states, motioning for him to go take care of the situation. "We can talk later."
"Actually, I was hoping to give you something," he begins, pulling something small out of his back pocket. "I don't want to lose this, in case I'm getting sent into a battle, and there's no one I trust more than you to hold onto it."
A silver ring sits in the palm of his hand, with only an elegantly simple W on it as decoration. She recognizes it to be a family heirloom he once told her about when she asked why he always wore the small piece of jewelry.
"Jasper," Phoebe gasps, her eyes widening. "I can't- you can't give me that. It's your family's!"
"Which is exactly why you should have it," he agrees, his eyes boring into hers with a silent plea. "You're less likely to lose it than I am."
His hopeful smile, combined with the puppy dog eyes, is more than enoughto cause Phoebe to cave. With a nod, she allows him to take her hand in his.
Phoebe knows there isn't a chance this is the spur of the moment decision he's claiming it to be. The ring would have had to be resized in order to fit her delicate fingers and that process takes hours, but she keeps her theories to herself as he slides the perfectly sized band onto her finger.
Briefly admiring the jewelry, she reaches up on her tiptoes in order to kiss Jasper properly. He readily complies, a hand sliding to her waist in order to pull her closer.
The moment is ruined, though, simultaneously by one of the ill soldiers puking and by a healthy soldier once more snapping the tent flap open. Bidding each other goodbye, the couple hurry off in different directions to attend to their duties.
Phoebe doesn't think anything of their little kiss, but had she known that it'd be their last one, she would have made it count.
