The Life Criterion 6b/??
anonymous
August 7 2010, 14:31:06 UTC
“I slipped,” Arthur let go of his knees, tucking them safe under the cover, “In the bathroom. Nothing big, really.”
Alfred strode to said bathroom; blood still there shed red on the white tiles. Minor injury. He blew out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He went back, asked slowly and meant it, “You sure about that?”
“I’m fine.”
A small spot of crimson had wormed its way out through the gauze. Alfred found himself staring at it, was it just me or did it just grow bigger? “So where did the nurse go? I got here but no show.”
“She finished tending and went off. I thought she was going for you.” He brushed the wrinkles out of the sheet. “I told her not to page you over this, it’s late.”
“Why were you up then, if it’s late?”
“I can go to the loo, can’t I?”
“That blood is nowhere near the toilet.”
A silent staring exchange. Alfred closed it up asking, “You couldn’t sleep, right?”
There was really no hiding in that. Something was off and Alfred knew in his guts. He might be a junior, but he’s still a doctor. “Why can’t you sleep?”
The mask puffed up and went flat again, fitting against Arthur’s nose tip. “Good question.”
“Arthur,” said Alfred who was at the right moment pulling his double shift. “Is there anything you haven’t told me?”
Okay here again they hit the brick wall named I-am-not-talking-no. Alfred sighed, “Look, I’mma gonna walk to that door, put my hand on the handle and y’ll realize it’s a big mistake you didn’t tell me the truth and y’ll call me back. But I’ve maxed out on overtime so can we cut the crap?”
“Bloody hell,” Arthur let out a shuddering breath, “my head hurts.”
Alfred managed to suppress the temptation of eye-rolling. “You bumped your head, of course it hurts.”
“No I mean- It’s not- I know how it’s like but it’s not that.”
“Well how ‘sit like?”
“Worse.”
“Wait it hurts now?” Alfred only clued in when he saw Arthur’s face whiten. Fuck. “How? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Arthur managed to shoot Alfred a look. Alfred tested his forehead, but his own hand was too hot and sweaty to feel. The pain written in those green eyes fluttered them off, and the words came chipped out from those gritted yet covered teeth. “Blasted migraine.”
Alfred wasn’t so sure. Grabbing both of Arthur’s hands, he turned them palms up and he knew despite those clenching fingers in the way, that it wasn’t a slip. There were clear and strict standards on migraine diagnosis; it did not include fever or inability to defend oneself the last time Alfred had checked. “Why wasn’t this on the history?”
“I have, absolutely no idea.” The sentence broke and Arthur drew his hands back to grasp a fistful of sheet he had just flattened moments ago. “Just leave me alone and I’ll be fine.”
Alfred knew better than keep asking now. Arthur said it was migraine and from the way he dealt with it Alfred rendered it safe to assume it’d happened before. He watched Arthur closely. He ought not to do anything that would mask the signs; still he wondered if it was really that big a deal to rid the pain. Then he thought, screw the fucking signs I’m doing it, and pressed out a call.
“What are you doing?” hissed Arthur.
The nurse took longer than Alfred had thought, “I need 75 milligrams Voltaren, IM.” The thing he didn’t like about the isolation room was that there’s no tray in it and that the cart and nurses were all unwilling to come in.
“Dr Jones where is your mask?”
“I kinda forget, mind bringing it with you?”
The nurse left.
“Why did you do that?” Arthur questioned in a quiet voice.
Alfred could see the tension in those white knuckles. Arthur, who shouldn’t be talking, spoke, “I can handle the pain just fine. And you have to call her.”
“And you don’t have to handle it when you get your shot.” Alfred frowned, “You won’t happen to get something against painkiller, will you?”
Alfred strode to said bathroom; blood still there shed red on the white tiles. Minor injury. He blew out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He went back, asked slowly and meant it, “You sure about that?”
“I’m fine.”
A small spot of crimson had wormed its way out through the gauze. Alfred found himself staring at it, was it just me or did it just grow bigger? “So where did the nurse go? I got here but no show.”
“She finished tending and went off. I thought she was going for you.” He brushed the wrinkles out of the sheet. “I told her not to page you over this, it’s late.”
“Why were you up then, if it’s late?”
“I can go to the loo, can’t I?”
“That blood is nowhere near the toilet.”
A silent staring exchange. Alfred closed it up asking, “You couldn’t sleep, right?”
There was really no hiding in that. Something was off and Alfred knew in his guts. He might be a junior, but he’s still a doctor. “Why can’t you sleep?”
The mask puffed up and went flat again, fitting against Arthur’s nose tip. “Good question.”
“Arthur,” said Alfred who was at the right moment pulling his double shift. “Is there anything you haven’t told me?”
Okay here again they hit the brick wall named I-am-not-talking-no. Alfred sighed, “Look, I’mma gonna walk to that door, put my hand on the handle and y’ll realize it’s a big mistake you didn’t tell me the truth and y’ll call me back. But I’ve maxed out on overtime so can we cut the crap?”
“Bloody hell,” Arthur let out a shuddering breath, “my head hurts.”
Alfred managed to suppress the temptation of eye-rolling. “You bumped your head, of course it hurts.”
“No I mean- It’s not- I know how it’s like but it’s not that.”
“Well how ‘sit like?”
“Worse.”
“Wait it hurts now?” Alfred only clued in when he saw Arthur’s face whiten. Fuck. “How? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Arthur managed to shoot Alfred a look. Alfred tested his forehead, but his own hand was too hot and sweaty to feel. The pain written in those green eyes fluttered them off, and the words came chipped out from those gritted yet covered teeth. “Blasted migraine.”
Alfred wasn’t so sure. Grabbing both of Arthur’s hands, he turned them palms up and he knew despite those clenching fingers in the way, that it wasn’t a slip. There were clear and strict standards on migraine diagnosis; it did not include fever or inability to defend oneself the last time Alfred had checked. “Why wasn’t this on the history?”
“I have, absolutely no idea.” The sentence broke and Arthur drew his hands back to grasp a fistful of sheet he had just flattened moments ago. “Just leave me alone and I’ll be fine.”
Alfred knew better than keep asking now. Arthur said it was migraine and from the way he dealt with it Alfred rendered it safe to assume it’d happened before. He watched Arthur closely. He ought not to do anything that would mask the signs; still he wondered if it was really that big a deal to rid the pain. Then he thought, screw the fucking signs I’m doing it, and pressed out a call.
“What are you doing?” hissed Arthur.
The nurse took longer than Alfred had thought, “I need 75 milligrams Voltaren, IM.” The thing he didn’t like about the isolation room was that there’s no tray in it and that the cart and nurses were all unwilling to come in.
“Dr Jones where is your mask?”
“I kinda forget, mind bringing it with you?”
The nurse left.
“Why did you do that?” Arthur questioned in a quiet voice.
Alfred could see the tension in those white knuckles. Arthur, who shouldn’t be talking, spoke, “I can handle the pain just fine. And you have to call her.”
“And you don’t have to handle it when you get your shot.” Alfred frowned, “You won’t happen to get something against painkiller, will you?”
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