He’d seen York working around the triage ward though thus far, had not had the chance to talk with him. Kurt had been pre-occupied with his own duties and in trying to help the sick. This was not the kind of environment that really encouraged idly chit-chat and gossiping and honestly, the hours just seemed to run together after a while.
It seemed every time he turned around, there was someone else who needed to be tended be it in changing out IVs, bedding, vomit trays or even offering some much needed comfort or reassurance. Most of his Spartan brethren wouldn’t have known the first thing to do when faced with a dying young soldier desperately calling out for their family with their last ragged breathes. Those were hard for him because he’d always felt more than he should feel. Empathy was too much a part of his personal makeup to so easily stand by and watch people suffering without taking steps to help.
He’d talked to and held the hand of a boy who wasn’t much older than his Spartans tonight until he’d passed on finally. Kurt honestly didn’t know if he’d even been aware of him at the end but he liked to think the boy had known he wasn’t facing death alone. But there had been no time to regret a life cut so short because he’d moved onto the next patient until finally it was the end of his shift.
“You look as tired as I do.” He said, eyes crinkling up above the mask he still wore as he and York both headed for the decontamination area. Kurt had not missed the way the man was limping but didn’t comment on it. A Spartan kept powering through even the worst of injuries so for him perhaps that was a completely normal thing to do.
Once they were beyond the barriers that theoretically kept out air particulates, he started to peel the gloves off and pulled them inside out so as to lessen any germ contamination before discarding them. Next came the mask which he gratefully threw away as well. Ironic that he'd spent a significant portion of younger years in full armor but trying to breathe through a surgical mask could bother him as much as it did. Maybe because he knew just how truly ineffective it probably was against an airborne virus such as this.
I
It seemed every time he turned around, there was someone else who needed to be tended be it in changing out IVs, bedding, vomit trays or even offering some much needed comfort or reassurance. Most of his Spartan brethren wouldn’t have known the first thing to do when faced with a dying young soldier desperately calling out for their family with their last ragged breathes. Those were hard for him because he’d always felt more than he should feel. Empathy was too much a part of his personal makeup to so easily stand by and watch people suffering without taking steps to help.
He’d talked to and held the hand of a boy who wasn’t much older than his Spartans tonight until he’d passed on finally. Kurt honestly didn’t know if he’d even been aware of him at the end but he liked to think the boy had known he wasn’t facing death alone. But there had been no time to regret a life cut so short because he’d moved onto the next patient until finally it was the end of his shift.
“You look as tired as I do.” He said, eyes crinkling up above the mask he still wore as he and York both headed for the decontamination area. Kurt had not missed the way the man was limping but didn’t comment on it. A Spartan kept powering through even the worst of injuries so for him perhaps that was a completely normal thing to do.
Once they were beyond the barriers that theoretically kept out air particulates, he started to peel the gloves off and pulled them inside out so as to lessen any germ contamination before discarding them. Next came the mask which he gratefully threw away as well. Ironic that he'd spent a significant portion of younger years in full armor but trying to breathe through a surgical mask could bother him as much as it did. Maybe because he knew just how truly ineffective it probably was against an airborne virus such as this.