A/N: Please be advised that the following passage contains subject matter that may be offensive to some. Please refer to the disclaimer notices I have now included prefacing this story.

When Ambrose woke up, he didn’t know where he was. He couldn’t remember much of what happened that night either. His body felt sore and weak. 

“Oh! There we are, now. Just rest.” A soothing voice said from nearby. 

Ambrose blinked and tried to focus on its source, but his eyes were overwhelmed by the light spilling into the room. He tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes but his arms wouldn’t move. He looked down and saw that he was bound to the bed. He tested the restraints and the bed shuddered.”

“Hold on, now. I’ll fetch the doctor.” Footsteps retreated.

Ambrose glanced around. His eyes were adjusting but it was the light beaming in through the windows that bothered him—that and his stomach. He was absolutely starving. The angry knots that made up his insides felt like they were tightening. The was motion at the other side of the room. Someone had just risen from another bed and was approaching. 

“They brought you in with another boy.” A small voice from was a thin wisp of a girl revealed. “He was dead. And they thought you were too, but it was like you were a wild animal…”

The girl stepped back suddenly. Ambrose realized that from deep inside his torso a growl rumbled. She ran back to her bed and buried herself under the covers. 

“Sorry,” Ambrose croaked. His voice seemed foreign. No, it was something else entirely. The hunger wracked his body so much it constricted his throat. It was so excruciating that his eyes teared up. He also felt that there was some sort of bandage around his neck. 

“Ok, love. Doctor Lewis will be here shortly.” The woman from before returned. She was a nurse, and when she stepped alongside his bed into the sunlight her white uniform made Ambrose flinch. 

“Oh poor dear! Let me close these drapes.” Only after the nurse closed the curtains on either side of Ambrose, did he feel less tense. He was able to focus more clearly as well. The room was similar to that of the boys dormitory at the orphanage in only that his housed multiple beds on either side. The difference here is that in between each bed was some strange instruments and equipment. There were also a couple of other nurses tending to what seemed like other patients. 

“Ah! Nurse Peabody was correct. The lad is awake!” 

A man with thick dark hair with a touch of grey at the sides walked into the room, followed by another younger man, carrying a notebook. The doctor began to speak using  a lot of big words and most of it didn’t make sense to Ambrose. The other man nodded and jotted down something in his notebook. 

“Young man, can you tell me your name?” Doctor Lewis grabbed a clipboard that had been hanging at the door of his bed. 

“A-Ambrose.”

“Ambrose, is it? I quite like that name.” The doctor said a few other things, over his shoulder to his companion. “Do you know where you are, Ambrose?”

“Umm, I’ve never been here before, sir. Is this a proper hospital?”

“Ah, very good! And so polite.”

“What was the last thing you recall?”

Ambrose squinted up at the doctor and shrugged. His memory was a swirl of images and sensations all drowning in the stimulation of the moment. 

“I’m hungry.”

“Another good sign, my boy. We’ll get you something to eat shortly but first I need to perform a few tests. It says here that you’re ten years old! You’ve grown quite a bit for only ten.”

To performed his tests the doctor had his ‘young associate’ unfasten the restraints. Then he had Ambrose sit at the side of the bed. Most of the tests seemed nonsensical, though Ambrose laughed when the doctor struck his knees with a strange little hammer. He legs kicked out violently without any notice. The doctor swatted his hand away when Ambrose reached up to touch the bandages.

“Those mustn’t be disturbed, boy. Nurse Peabody will see to those shortly.”

The doctor then had the young man monitor his breathing with a stethoscope. 

“Breathing seems normal,” the young associate said softly with a smooth tone. The stethoscope was cold against his skin but Ambrose didn’t mind much. It was the heat of the man’s hand that alarmed him. It seemed warmer than it should. When he switched the stethoscope into the other hand and slid it underneath his gown to press the device against his chest, Ambrose realized the young man was leaning closer as if it could help him hear more. 

“Another deep breath please,” he requested in a soft tone. Ironically, Ambrose could hear the man’s breathing, shallow and tense for some reason. The air movement was just enough to rustle the small hairs on the back of his neck. 

Ambrose took a deep breath, slowly, and let it out again. The heat of the man’s hand against his chest was even more noticeable, especially now that most of his palm was now making contact with his skin.

“Oh my!” The nurse exclaimed when an animalistic growl erupted from deep within Ambrose suddenly. Even some of the other people in the room turned at the sound.

“His heart beat does seem weak and his skin is very cool to the touch, but breathing is perfectly fine.” The young man withdrew his hand once he had finished his conclusion. 

“My, the boy does seem to be ravenous!” The doctor grimaced. He then gave a few instructions to the nurse regarding what to feed Ambrose. The young associate was watching him with a strange look that made Ambrose uncomfortable. 

“Perhaps the boy could use a thorough washing, as well, before returning to the orphanage.” The young man suggested in his smooth voice. 

The doctor glanced down at Ambrose and gave him a critical glance, up and down, before nodding. And without much more said, the two men left. The nurse helped Ambrose back onto to the bed and under the covers. 

“I’ll go fetch something for you to eat. Just rest here, alright?”

Ambrose lay back on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. His initial confusion of waking up here was fading and in its place were memories slowly coming to the surface of his consciousness. Flashes of that night came to him but he could only remember seeing shadows in shadows. He tenderly pressed against the bandage at his neck and there was no pain, though the bandage seemed to be moistened with something. 

Before he could think any more on it, the nurse returned carrying a tray. On it was a mug, a bowl, and a piece of bread. It probably was marginally better than most of the meals at the orphanage but in his current state it could have been a feast fit for royalty. 

“I know you’re terribly hungry, but I’m going to feed you a couple of bites at first. Be mindful to chew them well, my dear.”

The nurse sat on the edge of the bed and carefully selected a spoonful of mostly broth and she tore off a piece of bread and dropped it onto the spoon. Ambrose watched as the bread soaked up the broth revealing a few small chunks of vegetables. He was licking his lips by the time the nurse brought the spoon up to his mouth. 

“Ambrose, dear. Remember to chew!” She chided. 

On the second spoonful she had more vegetables and a small piece of bread. This time Ambrose did force himself to chew a few times before swallowing. Though it wasn’t bland, it tasted somehow underwhelming given his hunger. His belly was growling something fierce.

“Have a sip of water for now, and give it a few minutes.”

Suddenly one of the other patients cried out. The nurse set aside the tray and ventured off to tend check on the other patient. After a few minutes of the nurse being focused on the other patient’s fussing, Ambrose reached for the tray. He intended to only take a few more spoonfuls and put the tray back, but after three he realized he wasn’t able to stop. He shovelled the food into his mouth keeping an eye on the nurse. 

“Unh,” Ambrose groaned. The grumbling still persisted but now a strange feeling welled up inside of him. The first heave was violent he gripped the bed at eight side of him. The tray and its contents clattered to the floor. The girl across from him was wide eyed as everything he had just ingested, was ejected from his body,

“Oh dear Lord!” The nurse rushed back to his side. 

Ambrose was in pain and spasming

“Poor child, you ate too fast.” She wiped his mouth and chin with a cloth nearby. As she fretted over Ambrose he was still so very hungry he nearly bite her hand. He cried, not knowing what was happening to him. 

“Here, try a small sip of water.” Squirming with the incredible discomfort wracking his body it took great effort to drink from the tin mug she offered him. More effort still to swallow it. 

“What is the meaning of this?” A voice slid into the room, and the young associate of the doctor strode into the room.  

“I’m afraid he can’t keep food down.”

“I can see that.” The young man glanced towards the back of the room at the other patient. He glanced back at Ambrose. “Can he be moved?”

“Why, I-I don’t think so, sir.”

“Well,” he nodded and swivelled around and spotted a wheel chair. He grabbed it and brought it over to the end of the bed, stopping short of the mess on the floor. When the nurse looked at him questioningly, he huffed.

“You obviously have your hands full here. I’ll get the lad cleaned up while you deal with all of this.”

“Thank you, sir.” The nurse folded up the blanket revealing that it was indeed a thin blanket. She ushered Ambrose from the edge of the bed to the wheel chair, using the side of the bed where the tray had it fallen. 

“Mr. Sinclair will get you all sorted, while I work here.” 

Out the door and down the hall a short ways was a nurses station. When the young man wheeled Ambrose passed, a nurse looked up and saw the state that the boy was in. She stood and was cut off before she could speak.

“Nurse Peabody may need a hand in there. I’ve got this handled.” Mr. Sinclair didn’t slow at all. He simply continued pushing the wheelchair down the hallway. He stopped in front of a wide door and swivelled the chair around pulling it backwards through the doorway. The room was generously tiled, the entirety of the floor as well as every wall about half way up. One side of the room had a couple of cumbersome looking toilets and a series of sinks, while the other side had a couple of bulky tubs that were enclosed with tile, and a large section of wall had a few shower heads with a long trough-style drain. Everything looked clean and bright. Wincing, Ambrose could see from his vantage point was the clouds in the sky. The only indication that the windows faced north was the building’s shadow cast upon a nearby tree. 

“Can you stand?” The doctors associate left the wheel chair near one of the tubs.

Ambrose nodded.

“Good. Take that gown off and I’ll grab a fresh one. If you can get into the tub.” He strode over to a cabinet near the door and opened it. 

Ambrose stood and tentatively attempted to peel the sodden gown off his body. He heard a click, then quick steps returning to his side. Mr. Sinclair placed the fresh gown on the seat of the wheelchair along with a towel. 

“Here! Just…” the man unceremoniously tugged at the gown and pulled it upwards over the boys head. He winced and tossed it aside.

“Safety pin my ass! The nurses aren’t supposed to use those anymore…” He inspected his thumb and a small globule of blood formed, then promptly sucked on the wound as his eyes focused on Ambrose in front of him. He studied the boy for a moment before realizing that the child was acutely focused on the injury as well.

“Does blood bother you, boy?”

Ambrose didn’t answer. He wasn’t anxious about being naked because there were plenty of times at the orphanage where he would have to undress or be naked. He also knew that there were some older boys and even grown men that inexplicably enjoyed such things. What he was confused about, was what he felt when he saw the blood. He suddenly had a focus for his hunger, though now his throat felt dry as if he was terribly thirsty. He wanted to taste it.

Mr Sinclair wasn’t a tall man, nor was he broad, but in one smooth motion he grabbed Ambrose and hoisted him up and over the side of the tub and set him down inside. Now standing within the basin he was a few inches higher, thought still not quite eye to eye with Sinclair. 

“Just stay still. Don’t want you to slip and fall.” He said those words while his hands still pressed against either side of his body. Ambrose saw the man’s eyes drop slowly and the sensation of the man’s gaze tricking down his torso sent shivers down his spine. One hand moved as he reached for the faucet handles to turn on and adjust the water flow. 

Ambrose glanced down at the contact and felt a wave of nausea lurking deep within him but something else was there too. That hand felt so warm against his skin while everything else felt dull. As Sinclair focused on the handles, his lingering hand slid imperceptibly but enough to reveal a dark smudge on the boy’s skin where the man’s thumb had been. He was still bleeding.

A knot twisted inside Ambrose and he almost doubled over in pain. Mr. Sinclair caught the boy before he could tumble into the bathtub, his arms straining to keep the boy upright.

“Dammit, boy!” He leaned close to brace himself against the struggling youth, who gripped onto his shoulders for support. After a few breathes the boy seems to be steady on his feet again. 

“Easy now, let’s get you down on your knees for now.” 

Kneeling in the tub, Ambrose held onto the edge for support now because the water was rising and making everything slippery. The man rolled up his sleeves and produced a small bar of soap and a washcloth. He started by vigorously lathering up the soap with the cloth in his hands. 

“Let’s start with your face.” Sinclair reached around and gripped the back of the boy’s head and began to scrub. He was surprisingly gentle, though the cloth was thick with lather and covered his face. When he removed it Ambrose reached up to wipe his eyes.

“Hold on boy.” In the next moment the cloth was laden with water and rinsed away most of the soap. Then the man was pulling at the bandage around his neck; he struggled with it before it fell away. He furrowed his brows and peered closer.

“That’s remarkable! You’ve nearly healed completely.”

When the doctor’s associate leaned in Ambrose could feel the heat radiating from his body. His breath carried a hint of smoke and whiskey, but it was another odour that emanated from his body. Ambrose knew that men of good fortune wore scents, but underneath the cologne was something that somehow caught his throat the wrong way. 

In fact it was hard for Ambrose to focus on anything other than Mr. Sinclair. The light the flooded the room was nearly enough to blind him if he wasn’t squinting at the young man before him, whose frame occasionally provided a silhouette of respite from the light. 

He coughed and Sinclair retreated a moment, studying the youth. Without a word he reached for the soap again and with the washcloth began to lather up the boy’s shoulders and upper torso—all the while eyeing the two small residual pinpricks on the boys neck. There was no scarring at all. Not even enough to need stitches, according to the chart it had been a substantial wound nonetheless. Mr Sinclair refocused his attention, and continued bathing the patient before him. 

Ambrose was nervous. The man hands were firm and gentle, but he tensed up when the washing progressed. He had rubbed and scrubbed his chest, back and belly in circular motions. He lathered up more soap in his hands before continuing. The boy instinctively looked up at the ceiling, but the brightness of the room kept eyes from staying open. 

“I’m surprised to see that you’ve not been circumcised.” The young man’s soapy hands moved in and around his pubic area, his fingers finding any corner that they could. “I don’t imagine anyone had taught you how to clean properly.”

Ambrose listened to Mr. Sinclair with a mix of awe and terror. The words he was saying were sensible on their own but their meaning was lost in a haze of tension and fear. There was a lot in the moment that told him that what was happening was wrong. The sensations were confusing: he wanted to push the man away and run because he knew that being touched like that was wrong but the tenderness with which Sinclair did was almost beguiling. 

“Are you a doctor?”

“I will be this time next year.” Sinclair glanced up at Ambrose quickly then returned his gaze to the task in hand. 

“You need to keep under the skin clean as much as possible.” The young associate instructed as his hands finally moved on—to the boy’s backside. Ambrose was clenching his jaw and staring out into the blinding whiteness above Mr. Sinclair’s head. He was still anxious when the man picked up the soap and resumed with the washcloth, scrubbing up and down the boy’s legs. 

Ambrose gasped when the door at the far end of the room shook, the sound reverberating throughout the tiled room. Then there was a knock. Mr. Sinclair scowled in the direction of the door, then looked up at Ambrose with the same look. The heat emanating from the man changed. He took a deep breath and sighed heavily. 

“Be a good boy and scrub your feet before drying off.” The man turned off the water and wiped his hands on the towel he left draped over the edge of the tub. He then walked over to the door, smoothing out his trousers. 

Ambrose lowered himself to a sitting position wincing as he settled down into the soapy water. He then used the washcloth to idly scrub his feet. There were half-wall partitions between each of the tubs and the first one blocked his view of the door. 

“Oh!” Mr Sinclair exclaimed loudly. Ambrose heard the door lock unlatch and swing open with a creak. The young man’s voice adjusted volume during, “I didn’t realize the door had locked behind us!”

“My! I was worried for moment.” Nurse Peabody’s voice echoed against the tiles. 

“Nothing to be worried about, my dear. The patient is just about finished. He should be drying off any moment now.”

“I hope he was no trouble.”

“None at all.” Sinclair’s smooth tone aimed to reassure. 

When they came in to view, the nurse had a slight worried look on her face. Mr. Sinclair watched her as she approached the boy.

“The doctor wants you to stay with us tonight for more observation. If all goes well, in the morning someone from the orphanage will be by to fetch you.”

The nurse smiled at Mr. Sinclair and back at the boy. 

“Here, let’s get you dry!” Nurse Peabody had grabbed the towel and urged Ambrose to step out of the tub carefully. She gently patted him down, all the while she studied the boy closely. 

“So nice to see you all cleaned up.” She smiled warmly, though the concern in her eyes was clear. Then she stopped and gently inspected his neck. The warmth from her proximity was noticeable as well. She glanced at Ambrose with a perplexed look and back at whatever mark still lingered there. Ambrose figured this is what it was like to have a mother, in a way. Nurse Peabody was much more patient and attentive than the stewards at the orphanage. When she was done, she wrapped the towel around the boys waist.

“No need for that. I’ve got a fresh gown for the boy right here.” The young man stepped out from behind the wheelchair and held out the hospital gown. He was still a few steps away. 

“Go on,” the nurse urged softly after a few heartbeats. 

Ambrose padded over and slipped his arms through the two holes. Mr. Sinclair knelt and smoothed out the gown over the youth’s shoulders and then turned him around. He glanced up at the nurse with a slight smile and tugged the towel down from the narrow waist in front of him, then without breaking eye contact he tied the back of the gown in the two spots where it could be tied. 

“All set,” He patted Ambrose on the shoulder and stood up. “Back to bed now.”

Nurse Peabody wheeled Ambrose back without a word.