He's flat on his back, a blanket haphazardly dragged over his body, when Devon finds him. One arm is curled over his chest, the other flung across the bed like he's reaching for something. Even in the dim light of the rarely used exam room, he's pasty, brow tense, even dozing. His hair is damp with sweat around his hairline, lips rough and chapped. The shadows under his eyes look like bruises. One socked foot flexes as he shifts, tugging at the blanket to cover a bit more of his body as a hard shiver passes through him.
Devon thinks about backing out of the room, leaving the other man to the rest he so obviously needs, but he can't, so he crosses the room and shakes the blonde man's shoulder gently.
"This better be an emergency," Conrad mutters, voice hoarse, without opening his eyes. A cough rattles through him, harsh enough to make Devon wince in sympathy. It makes Conrad curl up, one arm around his ribs until the spasm passes.
"Gotta trauma heading in. Male, fell from a height. Ten minutes or so," Devon says and shakes the coffee he's holding. "Figured you might need this." He puts it down on the table next to the other man's head and backs off to lean in the doorway. "You should go home," he adds softly. "You look like hell."
"Can't," Conrad says, shortly, and forces himself upright, the movement lacking any of his normal ease or grace. The lines between his eyebrows are cut deep, a sure sign he has a splitting headache. "This damn flu is wrecking the hospital. All the ER docs rang in sick." He rubs his forehead with one hand, pressing his fingers into his temple like he can dig the headache out of his skull. “There’s just me and you left standing,”
"I have some ibuprofen in my-" Devon offers, stopping short when Conrad waves a hand.
"Took some an hour ago," Conrad says and turns his head, sneezing hard enough to make his fingers clench on the blanket. He dumps the tissue into the bin by the bed. "I can take another dose of acetaminophen soon," he says and glances at his watch. "I'll manage." He takes a swig of the coffee, shooting Devon a grateful look, and shifts again, visibly gathering his energy before he stands and forces his shoes on. "Six hours until morning," he mutters and slips out of the door, with Devon close behind.
The patient transport team wheel the gurney out of the trauma bay and most of the staff head out with it, leaving Nic and Conrad alone in the messy space.
"Nice catch," Nic says, and strips off her gloves. "
"Than-" Conrad starts, the word breaking off into a cough that feels like it's shattering his ribs. Vivid stars flare across his eyes and he tries to relax, not fight his body, but it makes everything hurt. Makes him want to curl up into a little ball and sleep until the ache stops.
"Hey," Nic says, and warm hands land on his cheek and back, rubbing soothing circles as the cough eases. "Just breathe. Slow breaths." She nudges him backwards until his legs collide with the single stool in the exam bay and he sits heavily, leaning forward, chest heaving as he catches his breath.
One hand braces his head, the other idly rubbing his aching ribs. "That fucking sucked," he mutters hoarsly.
A full bottle of water lands in his lap, the chill soaking through his scrubs and making him shiver. "Sip that," Nic says, and he unscrews the cap with hands that are still shaking.
Every bit of him aches, a nasty dull pain that he can't quite shake, even with the pills. He's freezing, suddenly, and mutely tugs Nic close by the hem of her scrub top. The shivers are enough to make him clench his teeth to stop them chattering and that makes his headache throb more.
She comes willingly, pressing against him, one hand automatically combing through his hair in silent comfort, the other slipping a thermometer into his ear. It beeps, and she glances at the display, sighing unhappily. "Conrad…"
"I know," he starts, and has to clear his throat before he can continue. "Can't do anything, there's no one to cover. It'd mean diverting and-" he shrugs, voice trailing off, because they both know the chaos that would cause. Another coughing fit hits him, and he wraps his arm around his ribs, leaning on Nic until it passes. Her warmth feels good, soothing and a pang of longing shoots through him. Wish we were both at home and in bed.
"Come on," she says, and tugs his hair, gently. "You get a banana bag and some more meds while I try to find cover."
She leads him to an empty bay in the ER- they've been lucky, so far, with mostly minor stuff that the interns and nurses can deal with. He follows silently, folding down onto the bed like his strings have been cut, leaning into her hand when she cups his cheek.
"Stay," she says and flips a blanket over him. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes to hook you up."
He smiles at her. "Thank you," he says, and blinks heavily, glancing at his watch. Four hours to go, he thinks with a grimace. It feels like a lifetime and he’s honestly not sure how he’s going to get through the remaining time, because he's running on fumes already. The thought of more coffee makes his stomach churn. He shifts, tugging the blanket higher, and leans back against the bed, not bothering to hold back a yawn.
By the time she gets back, he's dozing, a pillow wadded under his head, the blanket pulled up to his shoulders. He's paler than earlier, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Devon arrives in the bay at the same time, exchanging worried looks with Nic.
"How's he doing?" Devon asks. "Discharged that patient with a splint and a follow up for next week."
"Lousy," Conrad admits, one eyebrow lifting, "Did you find anyone?" It's a quiet but sincere plea, and a testament to just how rough he's really feeling.
"Dr. Emory is coming in, but it'll take her an hour to get here," Devon says, and Conrad nods tiredly, one hand lifting to rub his forehead.
Nic takes his other arm, thumb rubbing his wrist as she picks her spot. "Small scratch," she says as she inserts the IV, taping it down with a new batch of dressings.
"You're good at that," he mummers, as she attaches the bag. He glances at his arm, huffing a careful laugh. "Chickens, really?" he asks.
"The rep left them with me and we all know how you feel about chickens," she says and fishes in her pocket for the pills there. "Acetaminophen for your fever, Dextromethorphan for that cough."
He takes the tablets and swallows them without any objection. "Give me ten minut-" he starts and both Nic and Devon shake their heads at him.
"Stay right where you are. I have everything under control," Devon says, and pats Conrad on the shin. "Anything super major and I'll come get Nic," he adds, and ducks out of the bay, closing the curtain behind him.
Conrad frowns at Devon's retreating back, but knows he's passed the point of being able to push through the illness. He can't remember ever being so exhausted before, and even the pressure of his clothes against his skin is uncomfortable. He shifts, trying to toe his shoes off, but they're laced tight and he slumps back in frustration.
Nic pats his shin and unties his right shoe, easing it off his foot. The left one swiftly follows and she tweaks his toe before she flips the blanket back over his legs. "You should have stayed home," Nic says, and sits down next to him.
"It wasn't this bad, earlier," Conrad objects, voice rough. "And then…" he starts, breaking off when the cough hits him again.
"And then every other ER doc calls off sick and you've been running around like a crazy thing all shift," Nic says, one hand dropping to his pulse point in his wrist while the other rubs soothing circles on his back until the coughing fit passes.
His pulse pounds against her fingers, and she frowns, glad when it starts to settle. "It's from the cough," he says, eyes dropping to her fingers, lip quirking in quiet amusement.
"Can't blame a girl for worrying." She nudges him, gently, with her elbow, fussing with the blanket. "You're still a little warm."
He blinks, heavily, shifting so he's pressed against her from shoulder to hip. "Take more than a cold to see me off," he mummers, voice soft with sleep.
She sighs in exasperation. "You have the flu, Conrad!"
"Uh huh," he says, eyes closed, lashes dark against his skin. "Love you too."
Her eyes sting, suddenly, and she closes them, holding the tears back, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. "Love you more," she whispers, and his lips curve into a smile.
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