#i could write a novel about nursing curly back to health

[bumblehoneybee]

Hi, could you write about post-crash curly falling in love with a nurse who is taking care of him back on earth?

A Simple Touch

You were nervous when it wasn't you doing the work. That was immediately obvious, especially when your long day shift was handed over to the night shift nurse. Curly admittedly preferred you too, perhaps because he usually slept through the night, and therefore found himself in your company more than anyone else.

Besides, he liked your care. Your hands were gentle, voice soft but not in a way that made him feel like a child. You cared, and it was obvious in how you (gently) corrected the other staff that had to handle him and how you gave a seemingly unending list of responsibilities to the night staff. Curly appreciated it.

But what he really liked was you, not just your care.

You didn't let him rot away in a bed -- "That's how people get bedsores, Mister!" -- and you forced him out of isolation. Curly felt the most human when sat in his wheelchair being driven around the medical ship. He met the crew, watched them interact with you, some stern and polite, others teasing and joyful.

One particular crewmate, claiming to be your very best friend, always would lean over and make snide comments to Curly behind his hand, as though that would stop you from hearing him. It hurt to laugh, but he couldn't help it when you'd get pouty and snide right back, lamenting about how the two of them were teasing you.

He couldn't wait to get his voice back, to tell you his name, his story, to confess his sins to you and hopefully still remain your friend. The world had to know what he did wrong, but he didn't want to tell anyone but you first. Only you, who had seen him and his best, his worst, and everywhere in between.

But sadly, before he could get his voice, he had to get his limbs.

You were cheerful in your explanations, something about neural links and blood-driven motors. A beautiful combination of medicine and engineering, you chirped, as Curly picked out the designs he liked best. It meant that not only would Curly be able to move, but feel too.

A miracle of modern medicine.

The man installing the first set of prosthetics, the arms, was thankfully easy-going. He soothed both Curly's hisses of pain during the implementation of the bases as well as your nervous hovering and fretting. Once it was done, though, the arms could come out for a quick test.

They started with the right arm. At the instruction of the engineer, he lifted and lowered the prosthetic. He rotated his wrist, he bent his fingers, he made gestures. Nothing was too heavy, and any pain was just residual of the installation.

"Perfect," the man hummed, scribbling down notes on some sort of tablet, "then let's move on. Your sensory nerves should be connected, so you should be able to feel with your hand and fingers." He paused, and gave a warm grin. "What would you like to touch first?"

Curly didn't even need to think. Without hesitation, he reached out to where you hovered just behind the engineer. You immediately responded, scurrying over to Curly with furrowed brows and twitching fingers, only to jolt when his new hand brushed your cheek.

Instinctively, you leaned into his palm, your own hands coming up to cradle it. Curly could hear the engineer chuckling at him, but it didn't matter. He could feel the soft warmth of your skin, his fingers just barely brushing up into your hair. It was all he ever imagined, a simple pleasure now so overwhelming for him.

The heart monitor still rigged to his chest from the implantation started to beep faster and faster. Your smile only accelerated it more.

And for the rest of the testing period, your nerves were seemingly vanquished, Curly's as well, so long as his new hand was twisted up in yours.