Chapter 2: Room 36
1215 Words
Chapter Two
Room 36
The hallway outside Room 36 was unusually quiet.
Dr. Fiona Kennigton glanced down at the file in her hands one more time before stopping in front of the door. Lieutenant Colonel Grey Ashford.
Thirty-four years old.
Decorated military officer.
Multiple gunshot wounds.
Severe nerve damage to both legs.
No emergency contacts listed.
No visitors since admission.
That part bothered her the most.
Military officers—especially ones with his record—rarely ended up abandoned in hospital rooms.
Yet for three days, no one had come asking for him.
Not family.
Not colleagues.
No commanding officers.
Nothing.
Fiona pushed the thought aside and opened the door.
The room was dim except for the pale afternoon light slipping through the partially opened blinds. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the silence quietly.
Lieutenant Grey sat upright against the hospital bed, staring blankly toward the window.
He looked different awake.
Dangerous.
Even injured, there was something intimidating about him. His jaw was rough with stubble, dark hair slightly disheveled, broad shoulders tense beneath the hospital gown.
And his eyes—
Cold.
Not emotional.
Not confused.
Just cold and unreadable.
The moment the door opened, his gaze shifted toward her briefly before returning to the window.
No greeting.
No expression.
Fiona closed the door behind her. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”
Silence.
She walked toward the foot of the bed, opening his chart calmly. “I’m Dr. Fiona Kensington. I’ll be taking over your treatment from Dr. Harper while she’s away.”
Nothing.
Not even a nod.
Fiona had dealt with difficult patients before. Angry ones. Entitled ones. Emotional ones.
But this man was different.
It was like talking to a wall made of ice.
She adjusted the IV slightly before speaking again. “How are you feeling today?”
A long pause passed before his voice finally came.
“Alive.”
Deep.
Rough.
Detached.
Fiona looked up at him briefly. “That’s usually considered progress in a hospital.”
For a second, she thought she saw the corner of his jaw tighten slightly.
Maybe amusement.
Maybe annoyance.
Hard to tell.
She continued checking his vitals. “Your blood pressure is stabilizing. That’s good. The surgeries went well, but recovery will take time.”
Grey remained silent again.
Fiona flipped through another page in his chart before deciding to move to the uncomfortable part of the conversation.
“There are some administrative things we need to discuss.”
His eyes finally shifted back to her.
“Your bills,” she clarified gently. “And emergency contact information.”
His expression didn’t change.
“Do you have family members we should call?”
The air in the room changed instantly.
Subtly.
But enough for Fiona to notice.
His jaw hardened.
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Fiona kept her tone professional. “Parents? Siblings? Someone responsible for your affairs while you recover?”
“No.”
The coldness in his voice sharpened this time.
Fiona studied him quietly for a moment.
Most patients in his condition asked for family immediately.
This man looked like he’d rather bleed out than let someone contact his.
“Alright,” she said calmly. “Then we’ll need another payment arrangement.”
Grey stared at the blanket covering his legs for a long moment before speaking again.
“Take me to my bank.”
Fiona blinked once. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll withdraw the money myself.”
She almost sighed.
“You’re in no condition to leave this hospital.”
“I didn’t ask to leave permanently.”
“You can barely sit upright for long periods without assistance.”
That finally earned a direct look from him.
Sharp.
Piercing.
Like he disliked being reminded of weakness.
Fiona crossed her arms slightly. “Lieutenant, you survived major trauma surgery less than a week ago. Your body is still recovering.”
“I can walk.”
“No,” she corrected calmly. “You can try to walk.”
His expression darkened instantly.
There it is, Fiona thought.
That was the wound that hurt him most.
Not the gunshots.
Not the scars.
His legs.
Grey looked away from her again, muscles tightening visibly beneath the blanket. “When will I be discharged?”
Fiona glanced at the chart again. “Possibly a month. Maybe two.”
Silence.
Then slowly, “Two months?”
“It depends on your recovery progress.”
His eyes lowered toward his legs again.
For the first time since she entered the room, Fiona noticed something beyond the cold exterior.
Frustration.
Not dramatic.
Not emotional.
Just controlled anger barely restrained beneath the surface.
“The nerve damage was serious,” she continued carefully. “Your physiotherapy sessions will determine how quickly mobility returns.”
Grey’s voice became quieter this time.
“When can I leave?”
“You just asked me that.”
“When’s the earliest?”
Fiona hesitated briefly before answering honestly. “If recovery goes extremely well? A month.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
She didn’t respond immediately.
Grey gave a humorless laugh under his breath. “That bad?”
“You were lucky to survive.”
“That wasn’t luck.”
The response came so quietly Fiona almost missed it.
Her brows pulled together slightly. “What do you mean?”
Grey didn’t answer.
Instead, his gaze returned toward the window again, shutting her out completely.
Fiona studied him silently.
There was something deeply unsettling about the way he spoke.
Like survival itself irritated him.
Like waking up had been inconvenient.
She closed the chart gently. “Your physiotherapist starts tomorrow morning. Cooperating with treatment will help speed things up.”
No response.
“You’ll also need proper rest.”
Still nothing.
Fiona started toward the door before pausing.
“One more thing.”
Grey looked at her again.
“If there’s someone threatening your safety, this hospital can arrange security.”
For the first time since entering the room, she saw genuine emotion flicker across his face.
Not fear.
Something darker.
Something exhausted.
Then it disappeared just as quickly.
“There’s no need.”
The answer was firm.
Final.
Fiona nodded slowly, though she didn’t fully believe him.
As she reached for the door handle, Grey suddenly spoke again.
“What day is it?”
She turned back slightly. “Thursday.”
A long silence followed.
Then he nodded once to himself as though calculating something internally.
Fiona frowned slightly. “Why?”
“No reason.”
But there was absolutely a reason.
She could feel it.
Something about this man felt wrong in a way she couldn’t explain yet.
Not dangerous to her.
Dangerous to himself.
Or maybe dangerous to anyone connected to him.
Fiona left the room quietly, but the moment the door shut behind her, Grey’s composure finally cracked slightly.
His eyes lowered slowly to his legs beneath the blanket.
His fingers curled tightly against the bedsheets.
A month.
Maybe two.
Too long.
Far too long.
If they found out he was alive before he could leave this hospital—
The thought stopped there.
Grey leaned back against the bed slowly, staring at the ceiling with hollow eyes.
For the first time in years, Lieutenant Colonel Grey Ashford had nowhere to run.
- Writer
