Chapter Text
It’s almost twenty after three in the morning when Neil finally finishes the day’s paperwork and allows himself to go home and get some rest. He feels dead on his feet, zones out whilst making his way through the hospital, but he can’t help but notice the familiar figure of his most challenging resident sitting out front by the bus stop. “Murphy.” Shaun looks at him, but doesn’t speak. “What are you still doing here?”
“I’m waiting for the bus.” Shaun turns his head back toward the stop, as if he would miss the bus if he weren’t looking straight ahead.
Neil sighs quietly. “I mean, why are you only going home now? Everyone else left hours ago.”
“I had to be sure Ms Wachita wasn’t going to develop sepsis.”
Neil feels like he’s missed a step in the conversation. It’s a familiar feeling with Shaun, but it hasn’t gotten any more comfortable yet. “Why would she develop sepsis? The surgery went perfectly and there was no indication of sepsis beforehand.”
“There is an increased risk of five to ten per cent of post-operative-”
“Yeah, okay,” Neil cuts in, already regretting starting any conversation past, ‘Goodnight, Shaun.’ “But there’s nothing about her specifically that suggests that risk is higher. Plus if she does develop sepsis, the nurses will identify it and let us know if we’re needed. We don’t have to monitor her.”
“She’s our patient,” Shaun says.
Neil opens his mouth, thinks better of it, shakes his head. “Do you want a ride home?” he asks, because Shaun might not understand social norms but he does. He doesn’t know exactly where Shaun lives but he knows it’s not far out of his way.
“In your car?” Shaun asks, looking at him again for only the second time in the conversation.
“Yes, in my car,” Neil replies, smiling despite not knowing why.
“Yes please,” Shaun says, standing and grabbing his bag.
The ride home is quiet. Neil has a headache anyway, so he’s okay with that. He thinks a couple of times about saying something, just because silence is unnerving, but then he realises speaking means Shaun will answer and they’ll probably end up in another frustrating conversation where he has to spell everything out. So he concentrates on the lights and the signs and says nothing until, “Which way?” and then follows Shaun’s directions, which are at least as good as his descriptions of medical matters.
He realises dimly that the directions are getting quieter, but it doesn’t properly register until he pulls up outside of Shaun’s building and Shaun releases his seatbelt, grabs his bag and yanks open the door in under a second, before jettisoning himself out of the car to take two steps and promptly vomit onto a bush. Technically, Neil supposes, as he tries to make sense of this, Shaun’s partly vomited into the bush.
He still is, as Neil turns the engine off and gets out himself. “Shaun?” he says, hovering a step or so behind, not expecting an answer. He doesn’t get one. “Are you okay?” He knows it’s a stupid question even as it leaves his mouth, but in his defence it’s almost four in the morning.
“I-” Shaun begins, and then stops to throw up again. Mostly now it’s just retching, the contents of his stomach having been almost entirely forcefully emptied. “I do not feel good.”
“Hmm, shocker,” Neil says. He glances longingly back at his car, then defeatedly moves to close the passenger door and locks it. “Come on.” He takes a step toward the entrance, but realises Shaun isn’t moving. “Do you think you’re gonna chuck again or can you hold it in until you get to the bathroom?”
Shaun’s chest and stomach contract slightly in response, but he doesn’t spill again. “Where are you going?”
Neil raises his eyes to the heavens briefly. “To make sure you get in okay.”
“But I can-”
“Murphy,” Neil says, losing his patience. “For once stop asking and just go with it. Come on. Lead the way.”
Shaun hovers in place, looking uncertain. Then thankfully self-preservation seems to kick in because he follows directions and walks past Neil toward the main door.
They don’t speak and Shaun doesn’t turn back until he’s two steps away from his apartment door, when he twists violently and Neil jumps back out of instinct, thus missing the small pool of what’s probably bile hitting his shoes. The hallway carpet, not having the ability to spontaneously move, isn’t so lucky.
“Oh no,” Shaun moans, his fingers twisting. He looks pale. “I threw up on the carpet. I have to clean it.”
“Open your door,” Neil tells him, and then when he does, Neil adds, “You need to go to bed. Maybe with a bucket.”
“No, I need to clean the hallway,” Shaun says. Neil follows him as he stumbles into what turns out to be his bathroom. Shaun stumbles a lot, especially when he’s worked up, but Neil figures his co-ordination probably isn’t helped by the vomiting episode and whatever’s caused it.
Neil blocks the doorway of the bathroom with his arm as Shaun turns round, bottles of cleaner and a cloth in hand, and Shaun comes within millimetres of bouncing off him. “I… need to clean the hallway. Excuse me,” says Shaun.
“No, you need to go to bed,” Neil says, exaggerating patience he doesn’t feel. Okay, maybe he feels a little bit. The kid’s got to feel like crap right now but in this situation at least, he is being public-spirited. He continues as Shaun opens his mouth, “I will clean the hallway. You go to bed.”
“You didn’t throw up in it,” Shaun counters, glancing at him then away. He’s still hovering but thankfully doesn’t try to rush Neil, who’s not sure he’d have the energy to stop him.
Neil grabs the cleaning supplies while Shaun isn’t looking, surprising him enough that he lets go. “Yep, and that’s why I should clean it. Wash your mouth out, grab a bucket, go to bed. I will clean the hallway.”
“I need to brush my teeth,” he hears Shaun reply as he returns to the small wet patch of carpet.
“Sure,” he says, kneeling down, and wondering how the hell he ended up here.
Once he’s done as good of a job as he’s going to do at past four am – nobody’s going to catch whatever Shaun has, which is good enough for him – he rinses the cloth in Shaun’s kitchen sink and hangs it next to a towel to dry. Then he envisages Shaun finding it and freaking out because it’s been next to his towel, and looks around blankly for a few seconds before deciding to toss it over the shower door.
He follows the sound of a gentle buzzing, which turns out to be a fan in the main room, directed into a corner. Neil stops himself before he asks why. “You good?” he asks Shaun, who’s sitting up on his mattress cross-legged but at least under the blankets, and has changed out of his shirt and trousers, the latter neatly folded on top of a chest of drawers.
“I am unwell. I suspect a viral infection,” Shaun replies.
Neil chooses his next words very carefully. “You think you’ll die in the night?”
“That seems unlikely.”
“Great,” Neil says, slapping the dining table. “In that case, see ya.”
He turns and leaves, just catching Shaun’s hesitant, “See ya,” as he shuts the apartment door.
* * * * *
It makes no sense that one of the first things Neil thinks about when he wakes up the next morning (just about) is if Shaun’s feeling any better. It makes even less sense when, three hours later, he texts him to ask that. Although, in his defence, Shaun’s record at calling in sick despite not showing up isn’t exactly stellar, so it makes sense for him to be one step ahead of the game if Shaun’s not going to be in tomorrow. He feels vindicated when Shaun doesn’t even bother to reply. He also feels annoyed.
* * * * *
Shaun hears his phone beep around three pm, indicating a new text message. He’s watching his show, so he doesn’t read it until four. The message is from Dr Melendez, and it reads: You feeling any better?
Shaun doesn’t know what the comparison is supposed to be, what he might be feeling better than. He contemplates briefly texting back to get clarification, but Dr Melendez doesn’t tend to like it when he answers a question with a question, which is a lot of the time. So instead he puts his phone down and picks up his book.
* * * * *
“Shaun. I take it you’ve stopped vomiting?” is Dr Melendez’s greeting the next day.
“I am not currently vomiting,” Shaun answers, as Jared and Claire exchange smiles. As usual, Shaun notices but he doesn’t know why they’re doing it.
“Always good to hear in a hospital,” Jared says, and Dr Melendez launches into their work for the day.