The Part About the Hospital
Nurse Redheart felt like she had been working through the day whilst on autopilot (as do many of us on a regular basis), and even though the business she had to attend to could not be considered orthodox by most, she still felt that dull end-of-the-work-day fatigue in her soul.
Truth be told, the whole thing was driving her nuts. The reporters would not let up; they had been utterly relentless for the past few days, and they were probably not going to stop being so for a few more at the very least.
Why me? she thought as a young mare with an all-too cumbersome camera dangling from her neck strap kept asking the same question everypony else had already been asking.
"But Doctor, how can we be certain the alien isn't hostile? Or maybe carrying a hostile agenda? Suppose he lost his memory along the way and then regained it, what could come of—"
"I'm not a doctor," Redheart said, not too concerned about the error but wanting to correct it anyway, "I'm a nurse."
"Sorry. You're still taking care of the thing, right?"
The thing, huh? "Yes. We've been trying our hardest to restore the alien to good health. It's quite clear to us that he's been through a lot, physically. The crash hurt him more than any of us."
Another reporter, a stocky stallion with thick glasses, stepped in with: "So you've, uh, identified its gender?"
"It didn't take long to come to that conclusion," Redheart said. "We almost immediately figured out what sex he belonged to, in spite of the fact that his physiology is quite different from ours."
"Sorry, but do you have to use that word?" another reporter said with a cracked voice.
"'Physiology'?"
"No, the other one."
Oh come on now. Redheart wanted to punch herself in the face. "I'm just saying that the alien's genitalia—a bit weird-looking, not gonna lie—corresponds with that of a stallion's. So therefore we've identified him as a he. It's possible that 'he' comes from a place where those of his kind who possess a penis—"
"Ew," the mare reporter said to herself.
"—identify as female, and vice versa and so on. But assuming that's not the case, and it's not exactly a lotteryesque assumption, then we can say he's male. Doctor Goodbody talked about it with me and the other nurses—"
"You're a nurse?"
Isn't it obvious? "Yes. Anyway, if you really want the completely official answer to whatever questions you have—yes, even and especially the ones you keep asking that have already been answered over and over again—then you can have a session with Goodbody when he is ready."
"But—"
"That is all for now. I still have work to do with the patient. Bye." And with that she practically shut the hospital door in all the reporters' faces, inwardly hoping it would hit one of them by (ahem) accident.
Sadly, the part about there being more work was very much true. Redheart sniffed and rubbed her temples before heading for Goodbody's office.
"The wounds appear to be healing normally," said Goodbody to himself, rather than Nurse Blackheart who stood beside him. "No pus and little way in the stitches coming undone."
"This job is making me come undone," said Blackheart dryly.
"I'm sure it is."
Goodbody had partly revealed a deep cut the alien had suffered just under his left shoulder-blade. Truth be told, the alien's body had practically been turned into a wad of Swiss cheese; there were cuts all over the creature's mostly hairless frame, and gauze and bandages could only do so much to cover it all up.
Now, doctors in hospital dramas have a knack for appearing too photogenic to be taken seriously, but Goodbody had almost the complete opposite problem; he resembled a clown more than anything, with lanky limbs that were simply too long for his body and a thick curly mane that seemed more fitting for a circus performer than a medical practitioner. Not that anypony who worked for him commented on it.
In the way of looking out of the ordinary, Goodbody and the alien shared something in common. Well, aside from being male, but that never counted for much.
Redheart opened the door and furrowed her brow at the doctor. "I thought you were in your office."
Goodbody, continuing to inspect the unconcious figure before him, said, "I thought I was too. And I would be, or at least checking in on a different patient, but this is just too..."
"Fascinating?" Redheart knew her boss was infatuated with that word.
"Yes!" Goodbody's eyes almost popped out of their sockets and he finally paid Redheart some mind. "I worried for my life that this man would bite the dust in no time, given our lack of knowledge about what his diet is or how susceptible he would be to infections and the like, but so far he has been recovering very nicely."
Blackheart, blowing some of her raven-feather mane out of her eyes, said, "If only he would not be so damn quiet..."
"Language," Goodbody muttered.
"Still hasn't said anything?" Redheart moved between her two co-workers and gazed at the alien's body, uncovered from the waist up. She couldn't help but pay attention to his lips and how narrow and delicated they looked. Can you really talk? What do your lips look like when they move? But who knows—we might never find out. "He's been awake before, you'd think he would've said something by now."
"Hmm," the doctor wondered. "I suspect he is still too injured to do much on his own. Or (let's all be honest here) he would have made a run for it from the beginning."
"But to where"" Redheart replied.
Goodbody breathed in as if about to say something, but a pack of foals in the doorway interrupted him.
"Is that the alien?" said a little colt with an icepack wrapped around his head. "I wanna see it!"
"Me too!" agreed the other foals, awfully spritely for being so sick.
The first to take action, Blackheart yelled, "PISS OFF, KIDS!" and pushed them all back into the hallway like a farmer rounding up unruly chickens. "Shoo! Shoo!" She gave a quick look at Goodbody and said, "I'll take care of them."
"Thank you," said the doctor. "Just mind your language."
"I'll try!" And with that she was gone from sight.
Redheart gave a sigh of relief. "She needs a raise."
"So do we all, Red." Goodbody straightened his glasses and made sure the gauze on the alien's wounds stayed tight. "I'll need to check in on a few other patients now, unfortunately."
Redheart frowned. "So it's my turn again?"
"Until Kindheart's shift." Before leaving he said with sympathy, "I'll be back later as well."
"Okay." And so they parted ways.
Looking after an unconcious patient quickly became a bore. Without fail. The worst part was making sure the alien didn't wet himself (or worse) in his sleep again, which Redheart only barely tolerated.
Yet it wasn't the patient's fault. He had almost died in that crash. Killed everyone else, apparently.
And what the heck is a man anyway? wondered Redheart as she sat beside said "man." What a strange being he was! He seemed to have hair only on his scalp, his face, his chest, around his genitals, and a few other small spots. And it was all scruffy dirt-brown hair too, not nearly thick enough to help protect against low temperatures no doubt. His arms and legs were these spindly, thinly muscled things, and (most weirdly of all!) he had two small nipples amongst the wiry hair on his chest. With skin almost as creamy as Redheart's coat, the "man" looked like he was a once-upon-a-time much hairier beast who had recently gotten a full-body shave.
As the sun set, Redheart continually switched between eating a cream-cheese bagel (whose carbs went straight to her rump—not that she minded packing a little extra heat in her trunk) and reading a dense volume of fiction about some teen colts in a tennis academy and some losers in a rehabilitation facility. She found the book to be too confusing and overly detailed, but she kept at it regardless; it was a gift one of her exes had given her some years ago, and she wasn't going to put all that paper to waste. Those trees died for a cause, gosh darn it.
So for a long time there was a deathly silence in the air. The crinkling of wrappers. The rustling of turning pages.
Until Redheart heard something that took her out of her trance.
"You..."
Huh? She put down her book and glanced at the patient. "Uh...?"
The man's eyes were open. A shimmering blue that made Redheart feel like she was having a dream. His right arm (which was closest to Redheart) raised half an inch off the bed, and he pointed at her. "You..."
"Me?" Redheart pointed at herself.
The man nodded. "Who are... you...?"
Is this for real? Redheart felt herself facing down a fork in the road at that moment. One path led to her running for Goodbody, or Blackheart, or Kindheart, anypony, and telling the news. The other path led to her giving into her own penchant for curiosity and talking to the man alone.
So she said uneasily, "The uh—um—I'm sorry. I'm the nurse here. Do you know what a nurse is?"
He nodded again. "Water..."
"For drinking?"
Another quick nod.
"Okay. I'll get you some." Feeling numb in her legs a bit, Redheart got up and filled a small paper cup from the water cooler nearby and gave it to the man. He flinched when Redheart's hoof almost touched his hand, but he accepted the drink nonetheless.
The man emptied the cup in one gulp, as if about the die of thirst if he didn't. He rested the cup on his belly and visibly winced from moving around even the tiniest bit. He said not another word.
Redheart didn't wanted to interrupt her patient, but now she felt there was something more for him to say. Well, he's friendly. I think he's friendly? He accepted the drink. Said some words I recognized. Does he speak our language? It'd be pretty weird if he did, but then what else could have happened there? She leaned forward in her chair like a student desperately wanting to ask a legitimate question to the teacher. "So can you... understand me?"
The man gulped and said methodically, "Yes."
"So we speak the same language."
"I... guess so..." The man's brow furrowed and he stared up at the ceiling.
"You have a name?" Redheart pointed at her face. "I'm Redheart. Just Redheart."
"I'm Jim," said the man. "But some people call me... Jim."
"Just Jim?"
"No." The man grew more confident in his speech, but he continued to avert his eyes from Redheart. "It's a bit more complicated than that." He then chuckled lightly, but even this action proved painful to him.
So the man called Jim started to tell the story of how he got his name. The tale was calmly and methodically told (on account of Jim trying to not cause himself more pain by accident), and Redheart did not understand a lot of the little details and references, but she found every word utterly engrossing.
The rest of Redheart's shift had gone by in a flash. She never got to finish her bagel, but she more-or-less forgot about it, and by the end of Jim's tale she got the impression that maybe her muzzle was a tad too close to his face. She had long since taken to sitting on her haunches by the man's bedside, her chin resting on her forelegs.
"Your parents were really something, huh?" She said this in a non-sarcastic way.
Jim looked like he wanted to chuckle, but instead Redheart got to see what a smile on his lips looked like. "They were a bunch of weirdos, yeah. It was a thing all folks in their generation had, I guess."
"That whole 'God' thing, though... do you still believe in that?"
Something horrible seemed to dawn on Jim. "I don't... know. Anymore."
"Sorry." Look at me, being all polite, she thought with a slight smirk. "It must be a pretty tough question to answer."
Jim turned his head a bit and gave Redheart a long weary look. "I feel like maybe I've ventured beyond His reach. If all this is real... then..."
"I'm pretty sure I'm real," Redheart said to herself.
Nothing was said between them for a minute or so.
Out of the blue, Jim said, "I'm pretty sure I have to pee."
"Oh," Redheart uttered. "I'll get the bucket. Give me a second."
Since trying to walk about made Jim ill to the point of vomiting (which was not a small mess, as everypony at the hospital found out the hard way), the bathroom had to be brought to him.
Just as Redheart was fetching said bathroom, Kindheart opened the door to the room and gazed inside, seeing Redheart with the handle of the bucket in her mouth and Jim sitting upright, nude and bandaged.
"Is this a bad t-time?" the kindly nurse stuttered.
"Uhhhh..." Redheart dropped the bucket and smiled too widely. "No! I'm just finishing up here."
Squinting, Jim took in every detail of Kindheart's figure and said, "Hello, Nurse."
A second later, Kindheart fainted. Dropped like a rock. And work for her hadn't even started yet.
The transition from bedridden to mostly bedridden proved to be tough on Jim's body. He could not quite stand on his own two legs, and so always kept a hand firmly planted on a wall wherever he went—though he had yet to travel outside of his assigned room anyway. On more than one occasion the whole experience became too much for his stomach, and he and the nurses paid dearly for that as a result.
Between Redheart, Blackheart, and Kindheart, though, the work involved wasn't entirely aggravating. When he felt able (which was at least once a day), Jim would converse with any one of them, although he always held talks with Redheart the longest. He was nice enough to ask Kindheart was feeling better after her fainting episode, and even though she could not seem to get past how different Jim looked, the two quickly made amends. Blackheart was not the friendliest of the bunch, but she took to making wisecracks with Jim like a swan took to water—and this of course came as good news to Redheart and Goodbody, who could now count as somebody new to deal with Blackheart's nonsense.
The foals who visited the hospital still made themselves known as real pains in one's neck, though. They simply would not let up with wanting to see "the alien," and naturally the older colts and fillies took interest once word spread around that Jim was almost entirely naked, with decently sized cock and balls to prove it.
"I bet he's as hung as my boyfriend!"
"You wish that loser packed that kind of heat!"
"Hey, that's me you're talking about!"
"Oh yeah?"
And so on.
The nurses didn't pay it much mind.
Redheart was reading her book (the one a bygone ex had given her) to Jim today, which he appreciated. Not to say he was like a child or anything, but in a kind of unspoken compliment he loved watching Redheart read something aloud. Seeing her lips moved and how they curled and formed sounds out of the depths of her throat.
"You know, the more I hear you read from that, the more I get the impression that it sounds familiar," Jim said coolly, sitting up against the wall in a makeshift robe of faux-fur (more for warmth than modesty).
Redheart raised an eyebrow at him. "How's that? I don't think you could have read it before."
"I know, but..." He cocked his head a bit. "It's like—most of the words are there, from when I read them, and yet some have been replaced by uh..."
"Give me an example."
"Like 'woman' would be replaced with 'mare,' and that kind of thing. And some terms would be different."
"A woman, huh?" Like a female man? Redheart sometimes wondered what a female of Jim's species looked like exactly, and she always had a hard time with him. Would they still have the hair on their chest and bellies? Did they have rounder rumps on average? Were their nipples bigger? Were their teats like little mounds or were they more pronounced? I need to stop thinking about nipples so much.
"Yeah, but now it's a mare instead," said Jim. "And also the drugs (their names) have been changed to other things."
"There are a lot of 'drugs' in this book." The author must've taken a lot of them.
"I know!" The burst of laughter made Jim grimace, but he didn't mind it too much.
Kindheart opened the door a few inches and glanced at Redheart nervously, "Could-could-could—" She paused and shook her head rapidly, her flowing grass-green mane obscuring one eye. "Could you come with me, Red?"
"What for?" asked Redheart as kindly as she could.
"Doc needs t-to see us in his office."
"I'll be right there." Redheart sighed. This always means good news.
The three nurses huddled in front of Goodbody's desk, the doctor himself with a half-frown.
Redheart sat as still as she could, trying to get a feel for what was about to happen with her eyes.
Kindheart had her hind legs curled up, tapping her forehooves together like she was pretending to be bored.
Blackheart sucked on a cherry-flavored lollipop, not giving a single solitary fuck about anything.
"Well," the doctor started, "the good news is that we've been able to find out a thing or two about Jim, now that he's been able to verbally cooperate—"
"Cooperate verbally," muttered Blackheart through her lollipop.
Goodbody gave her a I'm-going-to-make-sure-you-earn-your-orgasm-the-next-time-we-have-sex look before saying, "—with us, and that's all well and good. As far as his wounds he sustained from the crash go, he's almost completely recovered. Buuuut..."
"The bad news?" asked a slightly annoyed Redheart.
"The bad news is that since he is undeniably at this point a mentally autonomous adult of his species (albiet not much older than a teenager), he is free to leave the hospital whenever he so pleases. Except there isn't anywhere for him to go." He gave Redheart a hard look. "Does he have a house? An apartment? A condo?"
"No," she replied.
To Kindheart he asked, "Does he have any money? Or a bank account or even some bits stashed under his mattress?'
"N-no," said Kindheart, rubbing her shoulder.
And to Blackheart he asked, "Can he even go for a casual morning jog without puking up his breakfast?"
"Hmm," said Blackheart. "Lemme think about that..."
"The answer is no." Goodbody straightened his glasses. "I knew from the first day that we had to come to this, but now we have to come to a decision as to whom Jim will be staying with while he fully recovers."
A silence fell upon all of them.
Kindheart shyly raised a forehoof and asked, "I'm sorry, b-but... he has t-to stay with one of us?"
"Yes."
"In our home."
"Yes," Goodbody said. "Where else? He can't share my property with me, since I have enough of a busy schedule at home as is, and that is on top of the trouble I have to deal with here. So it should be one of you instead."
Hearing this, Blackheart's face screw up. "Nope. Not doing it. Sorry, Doc."
Nopony seemed happy with Blackheart's statement, but they didn't act surprised either.
"I can't t-take him in either. My-my-my... uh, my boyfriend's living with me, and he wouldn't approve," admitted Kindheart, biting her lower lip.
I wish I still had a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, Redheart thought bitterly.
"Keep in mind," Goodbody said, "we just need to give him shelter until he can work things out for himself. He's a big guy, and from what I can tell more than intelligent enough. He will find good work at some point."
Another silence. One volunteer left.
"Uh..." Redheart started, already regretting it.
All eyes in the room gravitated toward her, and an unspoken agreement was made in that moment.
This is gonna be the death of me.
"Alright," Redheart said firmly. "I'll do it."