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Chapter Text

Ben Solo wakes up in the middle of the night. Despite the evidence of his situation, he tries to postpone the rise of panic in his chest for as long as possible. 

Chapter Text

She's always conveniently there when the food arrives. Some man in uniform puts the tray on his lap and leaves the room, and when Ben brings the fork to his mouth she looses no time to bat his hand and make the food fly to the ground. Like a child. 

He has to remember to keep quiet. Not to scream at her. Not to throw her against the wall. It's difficult. 

Everyday or so she changes the pocket and its useless liquid like a good little nurse, and he watches her do so, watches as she puts on a focused expression to perform a pointless task. He has to pretend like he's foggy in front of visitors despite feeling every bit of the pain throbbing in his left calf, knee and thigh, day in and day out. He's barely convincing. Needless to say he gets no chance to sleep. 

She helps him in that she acts like she doesn't understand why "the morphine just doesn't seem to have that much effect on him". It takes all of his willpower not to bark a laugh at her performance. 

The first time she must wash him, she uncovers his naked body and takes her time to scan it in its entirety, to unnerve him. It works. 

He wants to hide himself with his hands but can only imagine how pathetic that would look, and he's not about to give her another pretext to humiliate him. So instead he lays there, arms by his sides, as her eyes linger on the most intimate places. She senses easily that he's holding in his rage and his embarrassment, and it amuses her. 

It becomes quickly clear that she's not gonna wash him at all or let him either, when she prefers to put her hand on his tigh and press, making him jump and bite at his fist at the burn, mindful that if he screams freely other employees will hear and his lies will be exposed. 

The bandage needs to be changed but she wouldn't mind if the fever came back, so she lets it sit. 

She does however pull the sheets off the bed and let it fall on the floor to then walk out on him laying naked with the door open for everyone to see. 

After a few times of this he gets used to it and just waits for someone to find him and put the sheets back on, usually his doctor, or Rose. Since he's supposed to be mute they ask his nurse directly about it and she tells them while holding his hand in hers : "He has nightmares, it makes him kick the sheets off the bed. I always have to pick them up."

After a few days the doctor winces when he enters the room, and calls her. He mentions the smell, and it's a close one as he threatens her to reattribute the job to someone who will do it properly. Ben is aware that if another takes over and she doesn't get to toy with him in exchange of her silence, she'll likely expose him. He's almost angry at her: "Why don't you try and be more subtle about it, nurse ?" he hisses, and he regrets it immediately as she punches the side of his thigh without thinking twice.

From that day on she does wash him from time to time with a washglove. The first time he mutters that he can do it for the most part but she commands him not to move and he can only obey. She turns him surprisingly carefully on his belly. She goes in slow circles up his calves, his thighs, and he holds his breath as she does so, expecting her to put pressure where it hurts the most, and the fear seems to satisfy her more than the actual pain. 

He peeks at her above his shoulder and she looks him in the eyes while taking her sweet time doing circles on his ass knowing he can't, won't do anything. And he fucking hates that it's almost comforting. He doesn't dare to let his breathing slow down, afraid she'll break the mockery of peace he finds himself in for the first time under her "care".

One day she washes the expanse of his torso and goes lower and lower and gets to his cock, but instead of just passing she starts stroking gently with a disgusted look that she doesn't care to hide from him. He bats her hand furiously and she right away threatens to speak, so he slowly lowers his hands on his sides. He has to lay there and watch as she acts repulsed when he inevitably gets hard, before flashing a grin and then leaving him this way. 

It happens that he has a sudden pick of fever, but he can't call anyone, just rides it out until it goes down. Between the pain that just won't let him rest and the sweat and the throb behind his eyes as his forehead burns up, one night he gives up and moans loudly for help. He can't be sure she's one of the nurses in charge of the shift that night but by the grace of some miracle she is, and she runs to his room snarling: "Fucking dial it down, Saani'. "

He flinches, but she goes quiet. Through his wet lashes, with his hair pasted on his face and heavy breathing he can't be sure he's seeing what he's seeing but the expression on her face looks pretty close to an expression of pity. Since he's face towards the ground, bent over the edge of the bed, drooling, she takes him by the shoulders to lay him back on his back as he protests : "No... I'm gonna be sick. I'll choke on my own bile."

"No you won't", she says simply, and she puts a pill in his mouth before bringing a glass to his lips. Drinking brings another wave of nausea but he pushes it down with great effort, and drifts away. 

He wakes up the next day with a cold towel on his forehead, cleaned of most of his sweat. 

Chapter Text

He never calls her to go to the bathroom. There's one in his room, so he drags himself there, huffing, head spinning eveytime he needs to go. Which given what he eats isn't very often. Thank God for that.

He sees there's a bedpan on a chair in a corner, but he doesn't ask for that either, when it's too obvious she wouldn't empty the thing for days if she'd get the chance, and he won't empty it himself in the state he's in, seeing as he's not eager to cover himself with his own wastes.

One day when getting up from the toilet, wincing in pain, he loses balance and falls. He muffles the yell and tries to catch his breath, then starts to relax as he becomes aware he can't get up on his own; he lets go and just lays there on the floor.

She enters eventually -he knows it's her because he recognizes her footsteps, he realizes. The door doesn't hide him fully but since he's on the floor, she doesn't think to look for him there. He hears her loosing control a bit, with low and ragged Nos when she sees the bed empty. She barges in the bathroom, hiting him in the process full speed with the door. He groans. As soon as she sees him, naked on the floor, the relief on her face is a brief thing to catch before she spits: "Silence, Saani'." He moans as a weak protest. 

With great difficulties, she gets him on his feet. He can't help but take support on her arms or shoulders, since he's swaying if he doesn't and she scowls at him for it. His breathing is heavy, making the few strands of hair on her forehead flutter at each exhale.

For the first time because he's not lying down he has a grasp of her actual height. He towers over her. Maybe because she doesn't want him to fall, doesn't want to have to get him back on his feet again, she leads him carefully with small steps. As he's shaking, she takes a firm hold of him. 

He can't fucking believe that mouse of a woman is the one that's been tormenting him. Even with the weight loss he could crush her in no time with very little effort were he not dizzy, although he doesn't find enough hate in him somehow to really regret not being able to. 

He's swaying and almost loses his hold on her. She catches him by pulling his bare body against her, cheek against his shoulder, chest to chest, arms tight aroung him just under his armpits. He hopes she can't hear his heart beating as clearly as he can and he hears she's losing control on her breathing a bit herself; she says, almost muffled by his own weight against her: "Could you help me out ? You're fucking heavy". He thinks better of it than to laugh at that, tries to regain support, and is finally laying back in his bed a few seconds later. 

One night, he wakes up to find her sitting beside him in the dark. Its takes some time for him to see through the obscurity. He can barely make out that she's staring at him. When he moves a bit, and his breathing, he assumes, goes quiet, indicating he's awake, she murmurs: 

"You really don't remember, do you ?"

When he keeps silent, she says, a bit higher: 

"The closet ?"

Somehow, that's all it takes to know what she's talking about. Maybe a year ago, he spotted through the half open door of a closet movements that he thought were those of a child curled up, catching her horrified eyes briefly through the opening. An enemy nonetheless yet he chose to leave her there, pretend he didn't see anything, yelling CLEAR knowing damn well she knew he saw her. 

Then... 

Then.

Her house was set on fire. 

She got out, apparently, and he ended up in her hospital a year later. 

What were the chances of that. Just his fucking luck. 

He swallows hard and says simply: "Yes. I do remember." He then hates how he sounds when he whispers to her: "You know I didn't strike the match."

To that she says back with a hushed voice: "You know it doesn't matter."

He tries again: "This is war."

"I know", she says, before slowly standing up, and changing his pocket diligently with yet another placebo. The pain isn't as acute as in the beginning, but the ever continuity of it makes him restless. He just watches her, resigned. 

The next night he finds her the same way: he wakes up with her sitting by his side. He wonders if this is going to become a habit. 

"I'm trying to decide whether or not to kill you", she softly says. 

His heart drops, and he manages to say: 

"All of this for nothing ? ... such a waste of time."

"Not really. I quite enjoyed all of it."

"No you didn't."

Those words infuriate her, so much so that she brandishes a small knife it seems out of nowhere and pushes it to his throat shaking, breathing uncontrollably through clenched teeth. 

His impulse is to try to push her arms down but he's quick to keep from doing so, choosing instead to lay there, still, defenceless. 

He senses it makes her even more furious that he's not giving her a reason to go ahead and slit him open. He doesn't try to rub it in and simply looks her in the eyes. Hers flutter slightly, and she averts her gaze before withdrawing the knife and whispering, more to herself than him: "I haven't decided yet."

He can't keep the sarcasm to sneak up in his words:

"Looks like you just did."

He finds out later she planned a punishment for this. 

Chapter Text

As the day starts, nothing happens. She doesn't even show up when it's time for his meal. Soup yet again, to not trouble his digestive system that's supposed to be sensitive under the influence of the morphine he's not taking. 

Still he finishes everything, and braces himself to go to the bathroom. All this liquid would have him urinate all day if he didn't control himself. 

He goes to open the bathroom door on unsteady legs only to find it locked. He pulls on the door handle a few times for good measure and grunts, from frustration and soon enough from the pain. He can't stand much long on his leg. He didn't notice the door was even closed, and he should have, because it never is. 

As if on cue, she enters the room. He's leaning against the door, and blurts out: "The door is closed", although he's painfully aware already why it is.  He's not proud. He needs to go. His blood pressure is dropping, the nausea's coming back due to him laying around all day. His vision starts to get blurry too. He's gonna fall if he waits any longer. "Please open the door." He keeps his booming voice down. 

"Lay down", she shoots back. 

He does, without a fight. She stares at him her back against the opposite wall long enough that he ends up saying, like she would care: "I need to piss."

She's impassive: "Go ahead then."

"The door is closed."

"In the bed." 

Silence. His shoulders sag a little. 

"You'll have to change the sheets..."

It's a weak attempt to change her mind, but it's all he has. 

She doesn't even hesitate before replying: 

"It will be worth it." She pinches her lips, and finishes: "... to see you sit in it like I did, in that closet."

He decides he doesn't even want to wait until he can't hold it anymore, so he lays down and lets himself go, rage barely contained as his face reddens from shame. 

On a whimsy he shrugs, though it hardly convinces either of them:

"Done."

She doesn't even smile at the scene like she did at times before that, even though the wickedness of it never really felt genuine. 

He stares at the ceiling for what seems like a long time. 

"Are you fucking happy ?" he finally asks, but when he glances at her her eyes are wide, and she runs over to him with an index against her lips as if to shush him and just stands there, not knowing what to do. He doesn't understand until his doctor enters the room. She must have heard him coming in the hallway. 

Sure enough her superior catches the smell right away.

"What the hell is going on ? "

And pulls back the sheets. 

"What is this ??" he asks his nurse. 

She bites the inside of her cheek, her eyes down.

"Why is your patient covered in piss, Rey ?"

She swallows then says barely loud enough: "I was about to bathe him."

Whatever the doctor was going to say he's interrupted as a notebook nudges his arm, the one they left to Ben on his nightstand on the other side of the bed. The man takes it and reads:

I wet the bed when i sleep.

Nothing else.

And it's enough. The doctor eases up, shows the note to Rey. She runs a hand on her forehead nervously, lips sealed, and nods, as if to confirm. 

"Why isn't he in diapers then ? Do you enjoy wasting your time ?"

Diapers, thinks Ben. Not a terrible idea.

Oh God. What a terrible idea. She'd just let it cook all day long. 

Rey shakes her head. "No", she says. "I'll do that."

When the doctor leaves the room, she stands there with her back to him, arms at her sides, still, silent, for a good full minute. 

She then slowly turns and unlock the bathroom door without a word and disappears in it. Ben won't move or speak, unable to read into this behavior. 

He hears the water run for a moment.

She's back holding a basin, a soap, and a wash glove. He's unsettled to see she's avoiding his gaze. She rolls the top sheet on itself and lets it drop to the floor. 

She soaks up the wash glove with the water and rubs the soap on it. 

When she washes his left hand, methodically, carefully, he's afraid  to let himself believe this isn't a trap. Even the water isn't ice cold, like she made sure it was the other times.

It's warm. 

It feels...

Nice.

She does circles up his forearm, bicep, underarm. Rinces the glove, and starts again, doing the same to his other arm. 

He lets his head softly drop back against the pillow, relaxes his shoulders, swallows, and exhales a long breath as he shuts his eyes briefly. 

His chest rises and falls when she runs the glove there, and he hums in contentment despite himself. He tries his best to keep his eyelids open. 

However, his hands fist the sheet from apprehension as she gets to his stomach. She stops before getting to his hips. 

He's relieved but also thinks to himself Ah, so there's the plan. She'll wash everything but what needs to be washed the most. 

It's only when she starts again with each of his feet that he thinks he knows what she's actually doing. 

She's mindful to get the parts of his body that aren't covered in piss clean before getting to the parts that are. 

Thoughtful, he thinks sarcastically, bitter to actually feel touched deep down that she's showing common decency. 

She washes his feet with great care, something of a tenderness while keeping a closed expression, and he's not able not to softly hum again at the sensation. She still won't look at him. 

She does his legs. He winces as she gets close to his wounds but she manages not to hurt him. 

He notices only then how delicate her hands are, despite her skin being damaged. 

He gets hard without meaning to, and he's the one looking elsewhere then, feeling his neck and ears burn. She has the tact not to comment on it. 

"Sit on the edge. I need to change the sheets before I do your back."

Now that's a change. Usually she just throws orders at him without justifying any of them, and he must admit it's nice to have her tell him why she does what she does. He obeys, body weak from sitting alone while she pulls the rest of the sheets. 

She changes the water, puts him on his front, washes the rest in silence, and then leave.

He hates that he feels compassion for her when she clearly doesn't deserve any. 

She doesn't.

Chapter Text

Three days pass by without her attempting anything. She comes in, does her job, and leaves. She still changes the pocket. It's still not morphine. 

But she doesn't look at him, doesn't say anything. 

Ben doesn't know what to do with it. 

At some point during the fourth day since the day she locked the bathroom door, she changes the pocket and because she tries to scratch her ear with her shoulder, her hands being busy, her earring gets caught in a thread of her uniform and she freezes, gasping sharply to keep from crying instead. 

She drops everything and tries to break the thread, hisses when she only manages to pull on her ear lobe. 

He doesn't try to ponder why he does but he sits up slowly on the edge. 

"Come here."

"No", she spits back, and goes to leave, but he fists her uniform, pulling her to him, getting her to stand between his knees. 

"Don't --"she starts to say, jaw clenched, before a wrong move draws a throaty Ah ! out of her.

He grits his teeth at that: 

"Do I have to hold you in place so you won't hurt yourself ?" And since she's still moving he holds her tight by the arm, almost to hurt.

"You know I can't sit up for long. Stop fucking moving."

She presses her lips together in a tight line, head tilted, breathing sharply through her nose, while he brings his face close to the side of hers, eyes narrowed in concentration. With his large hands it isn't an easy task and his blood pressure is quick to drop but he succeeds before his vision blurs.

"There", he says, aware only then of how unsteady his breathing is, his hands shaking, right away in need to lie down. She doesn't thank him but helps him back down, which is all he can get. 

Through clouded vision he sees her rub her ear and he just can't help himself: 

"Hurts... doesn't it ?"

The sarcasm doesn't bring him any satisfaction; but it brings her shame, enough that she can't stand to stay in the room any longer. 

The next night he wakes up and his heart is beating furiously in his chest. She's slightly bent over him in the dark. Two strangled and confused "what ? what... ?" leave his lips, and he almost doesn't catch her whispering back: 

"You were having a nightmare."

He lets himself recline back down on the mattress, a shaky exhale leaving him. 

Only then is he noticing her hand on his temple, as if she stroke him there to wake him up. She withdraws it like she burnt herself, ashamed she got caught touching him there, on the side of his face, and gets up, the mattress lifting up a bit as she does. 

Without thinking twice he catches her wrist before she turns; she hisses; it's such an immediate reaction it's like she expected him to do so and came prepared with a response: "I won't babysit you all night. I have other patients."

He lets go of her wrist without a word, and she leaves him. 

He starts thanking her for everything she does, the smallest things. When she puts back the sheets on him, he says thank you. When she leads him to the bathroom, brings him water, he says thank you. It's not long before she lets her annoyance be known : "Stop that. Or I swear to god I'll expose you right this second."

He mumbles: "Sorry", and she lets out an exasperated sigh. 

Anxious to know where exactly she stands regarding the situation, unable to read into what she does or doesn't do, he whispers at her one day that she's changing his bandage:

"Rey..."

She cuts him off. "Don't call me that."

He swallows hard, taking a second before speaking again. "What do I call you ?"

"Ideally, you don't speak to me at all."

He clenches his jaw, hurt somehow, and says before he can stop himself:

"Alright I'll call you sweetheart."

She stops in her tracks, and slaps him hard across the face without a second thought.

It wasn't exactly an attempt at flirting, nor a sarcasm just quite, but it still stroke a nerve with her, apparently. 

Silence stretches between them as he keeps his face turned on the side a few seconds before rubbing the burn off his cheek. He sees her eyes widen, at a loss for words, for what reason he doesn't know. So he just tells her:

"Don't worry you've done worse to me."

She leaves.

When she comes back later that day, changing the pocket as efficiently as possible, he blurts out:

"Do you also have nightmares ?" 

She scoffs, but doesn't answer. He'll take that as a yes.

"Anyone comforts you at night when you do ?"

She loses her temper then, although she keeps her voice down, teeth gritting:

"No, actually. I lost everyone during the first war", she says, before looking him in the eyes: "And I lost the house during the second. What about you saani' ?" she asks, purely as a rhetorical question. 

He stays silent for a few seconds, and for a reason he can't grasp answers honestly: 

"I... don't have anyone either. My father died in the first. My mother and uncle in this one."

She clenches her jaw with her eyes down, stopping for a second, as if irritated to be feeling empathy for him, or have anything in common with him. 

She silently takes the old pocket and goes in the bathroom to throw it away. He hears the water running. 

Only then does he feel it. 

A wave of relief numbing him all at once, so soft he could have spent the day without noticing. 

When she's back he weakly stutters: 

"You... is it..." 

She cuts him off once again: "Just rest", and leaves. 

He drifts away slowly, and sleeps a deep sleep for the first time in ages, as the morphine gently runs in his blood.

Chapter Text

There's no making sense of what he feels for her. 
He ends up strongly believing it's born from sheer loneliness, from the fact that he -truly- doesn't have anyone, so that even someone's cruel interest has left him asking for more somehow. 

He's not curious to reflect upon the fact that she's hardly been cruel to him in quite a while. 

He's certain it really all boils down to pity, what he feels when she's there, as he finds himself thinking more and more about her in that closet, to the point that he starts having recurrent dreams where she's crouched there, in the dark. In most of them, he's in there with her, and those are as terrifying as they are comforting. 

The dreams only bring him to be more gentle to her, so he starts thanking her again and ignores her frowning and wincing every time he does. They share a strange intimacy in their routine and it grounds him, makes him rely on it. 

One morning, Rose enters the room instead of Rey. He fears the worst right away, so he picks up the notebook to write: 

Where's Rey ? 

Rose writes him back, then hands him the notebook with a kind smile. 

There's been changes

She turns but he pulls on her sleeve to get her attention, then writes again. 

Tell her to come. 

At that, Rose frowns. Ben finds that he doesn't care what it looks like. She writes once more. 

She's not here. She has the night shift. 

That evening Ben just waits until it's perfectly silent on the whole floor, to remove the catheter from his arm and get up. 

He thought maybe she'd come at some point in the evening but when it's clear that she won't he makes a stupid decision. 

Still naked as the day, with the morphine helping as much as it slows him down, he advances in the hallway leaning against the wall the whole time. There are just a few neon lights showing the way at the top of the walls but for the most part it's rather dark and makes for a surreal atmosphere thick of silence. The drugs only add to it. 

His breathing is laboured and almost keeps him from hearing voices that he tries to walk toward. 

There's an open door not far from his room. .

The nurses' break room. 

If he waits she'll get here eventually ? 

But he hears steps far down the hallway, and sure enough, stepping out of a patient's room, is Rey. 

She walks head low, and when she sees him, she stops right in her tracks. 

He must be a vision, tall, naked and leaning against the wall, silent in the dark.

She rushes to him on tip toes, eyes wide, and although she keeps her voice low, she hisses at him: 

"What in the fuck do you think you're doing, Saani' ?"

"I came to find my nurse", he replies boldly, his voice carrying in the silence. 

She looks at him up and down like he's mad. 

"Have you gone actually insane ? Why'd you need me there ?"

He ignores her question. 

"If I see Rose again tomorrow I'll turn myself in."

She straightens, and her eyes widen even more if possible: "What ??"

"You heard me."

She lets out an incredulous laugh then: "Who do you think you're intimidating here ? ...Is that a threat ?"

He lifts his chin up, despite his unsteady breathing. 

She narrows her eyes, and speaks louder, the anger taking the upper hand on pure disbelief. 

"Do what you want, Saani'.  Why'd you think I care ?"

"We'll actually get to see if you do when I follow through on my threat tomorrow morning", he states, all the while turning with difficulty to go back to his room, still leaning.

She stands there while he laboriously walks away from her. She scoffs and stutters: 

"You're telling me you've endured me making you piss yourself for nothing?"

"Careful nurse", he breathes. "Or you'll end up sounding like you actually give a shit."

The end of his sentence comes barely above a whisper. He's out of breath, and after only a few steps he comes to a stop, his leg shaking. His vision is slowly darkening, and he feels the sweat of his forehead turn icecold. He just can't bring himself to take another step. Without turning, not daring to move on his own, he manages to murmur in a raspy, shaky voice: 

"... Help me to my room."

Several seconds pass in complete silence and he believes she'll let him fall, when two small hands circle his torso from behind and press flat against his chest, her own flushed against his back. 

"Walk," she says softly, pushing him a bit to get him to move. 

She gets him in his bed, and puts the sheet back on him. He sighs loudly and feels his blood pressure come back to normal, although he almost doesn't hear her say: "Sleep, you need it."

She leaves, and despite the morphine, he does the exploit not to sleep at all for the rest of the night, and just waits for the morning to come.

Chapter Text

Once the morning does come, it takes all he has in him not to lash out at kind Rose as she enters the room. He doesn't care though that disappointment shows plainly on his face. 

At noon, she comes to collect his tray and she raises her eyebrows when she sees he didn't touch his food. Still she takes everything without a word. She's about to discover however, meal after meal, that he means to repeat that. 

It's not even intentional in the beginning, he just doesn't have any appetite. But soon there's something of a stubbornness that makes him decide he's not going to eat this shitty food and see if he gets any reaction. 

On the fifth day of this regime, he sleeps most of the time and Rose, who apparently didn't get that he won't eat wakes him up when his tray arrives. 

He narrows his eyes at the sight of his meal, sits up and wait like he's done for the past five days. 

When she comes back thirty minutes later, the food is intact but this time, she leaves without collecting his tray. He feels himself dozzing off and is startled by her coming back. 

With Rey on her heels. 

He straightens. 

Rey has the coldest of expressions on her face, and he can't deny to himself he's hurt to see it. Nonetheless she approaches and sits on the edge of the bed beside him. 

His eyelids are half shut from exhaustion. Rose hasn't left, she watches the scene with great attention. 

Diligently, obediently, his hand slitghly shaking he takes the spoon on the side of his plate of mashed potatoes he's been served and starts eating slowly but surely in front of the two nurses. It got cold in the meantime but he doesn't leave a single scrap of food. 

There's a few moments of silence when he puts down the spoon, then stares at Rey.

Rose, who still believes he's deaf, tells her colleague quietly: 

"That one is weak for you, Rey."

He doesn't even blink at this observation, surprised at himself with how much he's at peace with the idea. 

Rey, on the other hand, stands up sharply and leaves. 

She's back in his room the next day, and the days after. She doesn't want to look at him, nor to speak to him, that much is clear, although she always ends up doing so in some way or another. 

He tests her limits. Do things he shouldn't do. Lets his voice boom, walks around the hallways at night and soon during the day, unperturbed by his nudity, to see if each time she's going to care enough to hide him, scold him, snap at him that he has to be careful. 

Days pass and she doesn't try any torment on him. He gets better, and the doctor prescribes him exercises he has to do with her. 

Close to her as they walk around the room he enjoys being able to smell her perfume, and he suspects that she knows he does. 

At times her resentment comes back with a vengeance and she tries to be mean, but it never fails to feel forced. Because it's obvious enough he only responds with awkward affection. 

One day he lets his voice carry while talking to her. Because she thinks she heard someone coming she puts her hand to cover his mouth without thinking, and holds her breath. 

As if it's the most natural thing in the world, he grabs her wrist to keep her hand there, staring at her, and kisses her palm. The shock makes her withdraw her hand so violently he closes his eyes tilting his head to the side, fully expecting her to slap him. 

He opens them slowly, when said slap doesn't come. 

She wakes him up one night because he has yet another nightmare. She's sitting on the bed.

Now he knows those are mainly about her and the closet he found her in. He steadies his breathing, swallows before saying to her: 

"I never told you my nightmares are about you. About when we first... saw each other."

"Should I shed a tear for you ?" she replies dryly. 

He doesn't know what he expected. 

He chooses not to take notice and asks instead: 

"What are you nightmares about ? 

"Not you."

She meant it as a cutting retort realizing too late it actually plays in his favor. 

"Well that's good. I hope you only daydream about me."

"I don't!"

Her tone is meaner and sharper than ever. But the simple truth is that he's awake, so she has no reason to still be there yet she still hasn't left the room.

"Why are you so desperate to hate me, when it's so clear you don't ? "

And that makes her stand up to leave.

He barely has the time to think he's had enough of this before grabbing her arm and sitting on the edge of the bed. 

She's resisting his pull no doubt but he's had enough demonstrations of her strength to know that her heart isn't in it. He slides an arm around her waist and traps her against him between his thighs. 

"Tell me to let go", he says, his voice loud in the silence. " I wanna hear it loud and clear." 

Other patients down the hallway must be able to hear him if they're not asleep. He really doesn't care. He can't properly see her face, only feels her soften against him. 

...He's never heard anything more beautiful than the silence that follows. 

He approaches his mouth from her neck and she means to pull away or so he thinks; he chooses not to ponder whether it's actually the case or not before hissing: "Don't you dare."

It can't be clear she understands what he means, but again, she stills, her tense muscles relaxing slightly from what he wishes is a feeling other than defeat. 

She's looking down. She's kept on trying for days to always avert her gaze. He says, still sharply, resentful he has to beg for it:

"Why not be brave and look at me ? That's all you could do the first fews days."

"Stop it." she hisses back.

"Stop what ? Being nice to you ? "

She scoffs weakly, but still doesn't move. 

"What do you want, nurse ? Do you want me to hate you, or do you want me to kiss you ?"

He doesn't expect she'll respond, and she doesn't. She doesn't make the slightest move either, and an overwhelming warmth rushes at his core, as he hears her breathing intensify. 

He stills as he swears to himself he's going to make her ask clearly for it. Picking up her chin to get her to look at him, he can at last make out her features in the dark. 

"Tell me. Should I hate you, or should I kiss you ?"

Her lower lip starts trembling, her breath shaky. He asks once more: "What is it then ?" 

Her voice quivers when she finally answers, bashful: 

"Kiss me."

Chapter Text

Her eyes are cast down, and a tear makes it to her cheek. She truly is reacting to this as if she's being punished, then.

He can't stand it, not when he's ended up having no shame about his fondness for her. So his arms loosen their grip around her waist and he parts from her. 

That certainly makes her lift her shiny eyes up to him in utter confusion. For her to even say it, she must actually want that kiss, and she clearly hasn't entertained the idea of him blatantly lying to her. He wouldn't dare, would he ? 

No.

He wouldn't.

And he certainly wouldn't dream of letting her doubt his affection for long. 

"Close the door", he orders simply while looking her in the eyes now that she's not averting her gaze, adding: "Be sure to understand I intend to do much more than just kiss you."

She doesn't have enough of a clear head to catch a faint exhale before it passes her lips, then still isn't fully committed to what she feels not to swallow bitterly at this innocent sign of her relief. 

He doesn't miss it.

She stands back slowly, and stops a few feet from him, letting the idea of what's to come sink in. 

With something like smugness, he says dryly, his voice deceiptively soft and pointing toward the exit:

"The door is that way."

She looks at him like she hates him in that moment, her wet eyes narrowing. But he pushes his luck: 

"You're not about to make me walk there, are you nurse ?"

It's just silence for a few moments as she just stands there, until she finally slowly turns.

From the bed he can't see the entry door of the room since it's hidden by the wall of the bathroom, so he listens carefully as she goes to close it. He wants the satisfaction to have her closing it willingly, knowing what it entails, but he mostly is anxious, anxious she's going to leave after all, and he swears if she does he's going to get up and straight up run after her, leg be damned. 

But the faint light of the doorway fade out, and he hears the knob working before the door's closed.

There's silence again; she's by the door. Buying time. He clenches his jaw. 

"Wait all you want. You'll have to be back here eventually."

He hears her scoff. 

"Don't worry," he mutters to himself, "i'll have you singing a different tune." He can only guess she heard him clearly in this silence, and he just wishes he'd got to see her face at that. 

She's back around the bathroom wall, and stops once again, her chin up despite her obvious nervousness.

Once again, he shows her no patience, and says flatly pointing the ground between his legs: 

"Here."

She finds back her voice then. 

"I'm not a dog."

"No you're not. And if you knew what I've thought of doing to you, you'd have no reason to believe I think you're one."

"Tone it down then Saani' ", she retorts weakly. 

"Call me saani' one more time, see what happens."

He can see she's slightly taken aback. It doesn't slow him down: 

"And I won't have you insult me by pretending you don't know what my name is. I heard you calling me by it one night to wake me up."

She casts her eyes down yet again, and only now he sees her hands are shaking, barely but still. 

"You're still not where I need you to be."

She scoffs, again, but her head is turned a bit, her eyes moving from one point to another. She's gathering the will to move to him, and at last, she does. 

But too slow to his taste, so while he stays perfectly still as she approaches him, the second she's at arm length of the bed he abruptly leans forward and grabs her uniform, pulling her to him in one swift motion, making her suck up air sharply.

He palms her ass as soon as he has her right against him between his thighs, and takes a full grip of it, relishing in making no small progression with his touch there, but rather going head first, while he watches closely the reaction on her face when she tries to keep in a gasp, as if a glass of cold water had been thrown at her.

His breathing, meanwhile, is already growing heavy.

"What is it?" he breathes against her neck, closing his thighs firmly on her to feel her every move while she writhes timidly again him.  

She went for his hair in the meantime, hands trembling and unsure still, as if she never touched his cock.

"What ?" she asks in the smallest voice he's ever heard from her. 

"My name, Rey." He runs his fingers in her hair and pulls gently to have a good look at her when she says it.

"Ben", she murmurs. A warmth blooms instantly in his belly at the sound and at her looking up at him without wavering this time.

She didn't hesitate much before saying it, but because he enjoys toying with her he tells her in a raspy low voice, caressing her torso through the blouse, stopping to speak only to put wet kisses at the base of her neck and up to her ear.

"Looks like it's a difficult thing to do for you, saying it. But Rey..."

He unbuttons her blouse patiently, diligently, drunk on how her chest rises and falls off beat as he does.

"Once I get you to say it, and say it, again, and again, and again, you'll see that it'll make it that much easier. "

The blouse falls to the floor, her bra following. 

A low strangled noise escapes his throat at the sight, and he stops short of putting his mouth there, standing back suddenly. She can't help but moan feebly in protest, so he doesn't wait to say: 

"In the bed. Take off everything."

He lies down, careful with his leg, and scoots over.

He's downright moved to see her fully bare only a minute later, watching silently, hard like he's never been in his life. Bare, the same way he's always been in front of her. Her shyness isn't evident but its shows a bit in the way she keeps her arms at her sides, and in the way she almost rushes to get in the bed to snuggle against him.

Again, he doesn't try to go slow, and right away takes mouthfuls of her small breasts, releasing wet sounds in the room like he's drinking her. He believes he hurt her in his haste but she only whimpers and pulls him to her, rolling her hips against him.

He's breathless, his cock hot against her belly. He readjusts himself, getting between her thighs finally, not letting his weight trap her under him but close. His mouth breathes hot against her cheek as he starts to stroke slow, so slow up and down her slit, all the while murmuring softly in between her whimpers:

"You hurt me, but you took care of me in the end, didn't you ?"

He kisses her cheek chastely, and her eyes rolls back when her wetness invites one finger in. 

"You did, didn't you ? ...Rey", he growls gently. "Are you the one playing deaf now ? "

"Ah !", she replies, and the sound is loud enough to make him chuckle. She's desperate to catch her breath, but still manages to whisper against his mouth: 

"Yes... I did."

He's dead serious again at that confession, especially when he feels her small hand reaching and finding his cock to caress him in the most delicious way. She touched him dozens of times but this touch she's giving him is setting his skin aflame. 

Rey. Commanding, scolding, hostile Rey. She's leaves and water against him now, trembling, melting. It doesn't feel like either of them won; it just feels like it's meant to be.

He lets himself ever so slowly slide in her, and despite being petite under his frame, she's wet enough to take him as he does; she opens her mouth but fails at getting any sound out. 

He, on the other hand, clearly moans as he works to have a full seat in her. He settles there a moment to steady his breathing and kisses the shell of her ear. He then starts to gently thrust, careful although eager already to be less so.

But he finds that rolling his hips languorously against hers only gets his message accross better when he hums softly at her: 

"I'll take care of you now, nurse... I will.... I'll make you count on it."

A growling moan is all she can give back. She lets her folded legs on each side of him follow every roll of his hips.

 "And when I walk again, I'll be the one to bathe you, my love", he says in her ear. 

She comes in a ridiculously short time, with him on her heels.

He doesn't let her fully get her breathing back to normal before turning her face to him and ask her softly, almost shyly: 

"How about that kiss, nurse ?"

She sighs a "yes, please" he almost doesn't hear, and finally he gives her a slow, lazy, deep earnest kiss that makes his heart pound even more than it already did.

She leaves him sleeping some time after.

Knowing she'll be there in the morning, the sleep he gets is the deepest of all.