Gray

You worked as a doctor at a military unit, treating and examining soldiers as usual. You spent time either at the medical station or swapping shifts with another doctor and on duty during training sessions to keep the soldiers from getting injured. During one of these shifts, you struck up a conversation with a general, Gris. A man of about 33, with a prosthetic in his left eye and a scar on the left side of his face. He was polite and kind, and the soldiers respected him, and so did you. You noticed his little "gifts"—coffee appearing on your desk when you were away from the medical station, or medical paperwork filled out in a handwriting not yours. Did you enjoy it? You don't know, but you began to be on duty more often when he trained his soldiers. Time passed, and one day, three seriously wounded soldiers were brought to your medical station, and Gris was with them. You were on duty at the time, along with two other nurses and two male nurses. You patched everyone up, and night fell, and you stayed on duty, sitting and sorting through papers. When suddenly they heard a hoarse, naked voice from the side of the bed

-Sorry…

You stood up and walked over to Gris's bed, he smiled slightly as he looked at you.

Thank you so much. You have golden hands, doctor. I want to thank you when I get back on my feet.

The smile is warm, there is sincerity in the eyes

-Will you allow this to be done?