Fortnight (Dr. Chatterjee x f!Patient! Reader)
A/N: Ugh, I could watch him blink all day. smh...
Ugh, people. You shuddered in the suite you’d been sentenced to. It was made out of something that wasn’t quite stone, but not metal either. However, it was ugly, and you were certain that no mentally compromised person could get better with such dismal decor.
It was a shame too, because this corner of the earth, you’d heard, that beauty wasn’t lacking.
Tossed away by your parents, for turning down the proposal of a young nutmeg magnate from America, you supposed this was what life looked like for you now. How tragic. Reviewing in your mind, you had to stand by your decision, because the boy couldn’t have been more than fifteen. However, being the youngest child of an impoverished Earl, you must be a buffoon.
Maybe you were mentally ill, and everyone was right? At least this was less boring than your home, at least you were out of your house!
But what you hadn’t prepared for, was an obvious consult. In your ‘suite’, you had a single window alcove, you had been able to bring a large, fluffy blanket, and to the untrained eye, the room would have been vacant.
However, the doctors and nurses here were paid to be ‘keen’, and you couldn’t have such luck.
Two men walk into the room, one you knew, Dr. Marshall, African-british, wide eyes, and a sharply knotted bow-tie, carrying two folding chairs. You liked him well enough… but the other doctor… Well, he was quite handsome.
“My name is Dr. Chatterjee, my colleague has brought me here to consult on your case. I hear you’re new to the facility.” You huffed at him, under your fluffy blanket. Your mother had taught you to curtsy, or at least get up when someone enters the room, but your mother wasn’t here.
“I am. It’s wonderful.” You kept a bit of ice in your voice, just to keep yourself focused. He was tall enough, slicked back hair, neatly-trimmed mustache, and a light British accent. Perhaps he was local, but was sent away for school?
“Are you feeling well today?” He asked, in a polite and even tone. The sun from your window reflects off the gel in his hair.
“I feel well every day.” You responded, in the exact same tone.
“I’m not sure I believe that.”
“You shouldn’t, I’ve been exiled, I’m sure Dr. Marshall has said as much.” He hadn’t, but Dr. Chatterjee had read an action-packed file on you.
“What would you like to have happen in the coming weeks?”
“What?”
“In the best-case scenario, where would you like to be within the next month?” What an odd question for a doctor to ask, you thought.
“I’d like you to take me to dinner, Doctor Chatterjee. I’d never been outside Cornwall before I came here, and now I’m in India, still eating beans on toast!” Something warm spread in Zenday’s chest. Oh no, he thought, he shoved the warm feeling down.
“Anything else?” You blinked at him. Was he taking your orders? How utterly refreshing to not be moved around like a thing, and not a person!
“I’d like some white lightning.” You blink, face totally neutral, gauging his reaction.
“What on earth is that?” chirped Marshall, genuinely curious.
“Haven’t the faintest idea, I heard it on the radio.” You wrinkled your nose at his companion, writing on his clipboard with a large, squeaky pen, WHAT IS WHITE LIGHTNING?
“Have you been coping with the transition alright otherwise?” She hadn’t, it was clear to see, underneath the massive blanket you had shrouded yourself in, that you very much were not alright. Zenday hoped that you wouldn’t try the ‘stiff upper lip’.
“I’m tired all the time and my head hurts.” You pouted to yourself, and Z sighed.
“Have you been drinking your water?” Z knew the answer, Marshall did too.
“No, it makes me sad. I wish you had tea here.”
“English or Earl Grey.”
“English Breakfast, with a raspberry scone if you don’t mind.” You almost stuck up your nose at him, but he smirked at you.
“And you’ll eat it.”
“I asked for it, didn’t I?” You sassed, still a bit too subdued for the Doctor’s liking.
“Good.”
A beat passed between the three of you, and you stared a hole into the good Doctor, taking in his lovely features, especially a sharp nose…
“How am I doing, Doctor Chatterjee. Have I gone mental?” Marshall chuckled a little to himself, “Remains to be seen, I’ll confer with Dr. Marshall about next steps.”
The two men stood, pausing for another moment, before you softly said, “Doctors…” as a farewell.
“Ms. LN. Try to get outside today. It’s lovely.
“I will.”
And with that, the two men stepped out into the hallway, leaving you in the windowsill with your blanket and your thoughts.
ZZ felt Marshall inflate next to him, with words, obviously, and the two nodded to you before stepping out of the room.
“She looked at you like she was gonna have you for supper!”
“Huh!” Zay huffed, “The facts remain the same, it appears our patient is confined as the result of a failed marriage proposal.”
Marshall nodded, “When an American asks, a woman must be crazy to deny it.”
“Ugh…Americans…” the doctors groaned in unison.
“I’d say, besides the abrupt confinement, she’s alright. Anxiety, possibly a touch of depression.” God knows it was warranted.
“Sounds right to me, anything else?” Marshall prompted, scratching away on his clipboard.
“I’d suggest increased time outside in the sun for her fatigue, the altitude can be quite taxing for someone brought here so suddenly.” ZZ’s mind was spinning.
“It’s about two weeks to adjust to the altitude, isn’t it?” asked Dr. Marshall, flipping through papers on his clipboard, scrawling out notes on his conversation with Zenday. You were here as an act of retaliation, medically, there was no reason to keep you in the hospital.
Dr. Marshall, his friend, was a kind man, and would be your advocate, but what’s another ally? Could someone really have too many friends in one place?
“Yeah, a fortnight,” replied Zenday, and upon your release, maybe he’d have you over for supper.