A blood spattered, yet otherwise attractive nurse scurries into the room. In a flutter of motion she whips out a blood pressure cuff and affixes it to Marc's upper arm. She pulls the prongs of her stethoscope up to her ears and places a little silver disc in the crook of his elbow. As she pumps away and looks to her watch, I realize she has done all this without even looking at Marc.
"Busy night?" Marc inquires as his eyes survey bloody smears on her scrub top.
A look of surprise cracks her face, and as she tucks back a loose strand of hair she struggles with the question.
"There's some in your hair too." He said. Now pointing to her previously blonde, now strawberry blonde hair.
"Isn't that some sort of bio-hazard?"
Obviously unamused the nurse purses her lips and concentrates on the matter at hand. As she has stated on her previous forays into Room 33, this is all she cares to discuss. She is concerned that the hospital records reflect proper and intensive care, and that he is as comfortable as possible.
So long as that comfort comes out of a bottle or syringe mind you.
Seemingly unaware that the nurse isn't interested in small talk Marc continues.
"It must be a busy shift, I can only think of one or two times I went around covered with blood and didn't notice.
Meeting Marc's eyes she finally speaks, "Like last night?".