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“Are we done here?” I feel like shit. I don’t really want to sit here being poked and prodded for God knows how long.
“Doctor Discontent,” or Doc Disco as he’s more commonly called around here, spins around in the office chair. “Absolutely not. Hellraiser herself comes into my office complaining of a mysterious malady, and you expect me to send her home with two pills and a glass of water?”
I sigh. “Are you even a real doctor? I just wanted cold medicine or someshit.”
“Have you ever gotten a cold before?” I notice how he doesn’t answer whether or not he’s a real doctor.
“You mean… since the Nova? No. You said I’m too hot for it.” My natural body temperature’s pretty high now, usually somewhere around a hundred and six. Doc Disco says it’s a miracle my brain doesn’t fry, but it’s also a “miracle” that I can melt steel with my breath, so I don’t put a lot of stock in that.
He smiles mischievously and I recoil a bit, feeling like an experiment. “So, when you present with a cough and malaise, what I would usually consider a mundane rhinovirus and treat with rest, I’m duty-bound to investigate. Let’s start with your temperature, why don’t we? Won’t hurt a bit.”
Whether or not the thermometer’ll hurt is the least of my worries, but I don’t really have a choice if I want anything for this. I can’t keep coughing all the time, I haven’t been able to control the temperature at all and I’ve already melted a full set of tableware. I already spend most of my time on edge trying to make sure I don’t burn everything around me. I can’t fucking function like this. Plus, I’m tired and I can’t even smoke.
Doc puts the metal end of the thermometer in my mouth and I just try to concentrate on not coughing at it. I think he can tell I’m holding my breath. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he lets out a low whistle. “You haven’t been experiencing any muscle cramps or nausea by any chance?” I would shake my head no, but it makes my headache worse. “Pupillary response is normal, at least. Your internal temperature is one fourteen point six. Even for you, I’d consider that hyperpyrexia. And yet, you seem to be, well, not no worse for wear, but not seizing on my floor, at least.”
I blink at him. “And… that’s a good thing, right? That I’m not… seizing? Are you gonna help me or not?” I don’t really enjoy hearing that I should be dying.
“Of course I’ll help, but I need to identify the problem first.” He pulls one of those long cotton swabs out of a drawer and puts new gloves on. “We’ll do some cultures and I’ll put you on an antipyretic. How’s that sound?”
Uh, yeah, no. “If you stick that thing down my throat, I’m gonna cough on you.” I’m basically an oven right now: at best, it’ll blister, and at worst, I’ll set him on fire. Falcon’ll kill me if “Doctor Discontent” isn’t ready to fight “Fist of Justice” (yeah, I know) tomorrow night. Besides, as much as he weirds me out, he doesn’t really deserve a second-degree burn.
Doc frowns. “Ah. Well, could you try to hold it back?”
“Whatever happened to ‘germs can’t live in my body because it’s too hot’? It’s not like the Nova did anything to them. What’s the point in cultures?” I’m trying really hard not to cough anyway. It’s not going well.
He wags a finger. “Not true, actually. Several types of beneficial bacteria are perfectly comfortable in your usual body temperature range. Otherwise, we would have had to work out an alternate solution for your digestive health. It’s entirely possible that an extremophile version of a common rhinovirus or streptococci may have taken up residence in your mucosa! It’d be a delight to study it.” I hate it when he talks like that. “Here, why don’t you have a dose of core suppressant and we’ll try after that?”
Not gonna work. “I’ve been chugging the shit like water. Won’t bring my temp down even a little.” Most of the suppressant in the building probably goes to me for one reason or another. Perks of being Hellraiser, I guess.
Doc’s brow furrows again. “I think I’ve talked to you about the consequences of overconsumption. It’s possible you provided an opening for this to happen. If you need more than sixteen ounces in four hours, you need to report for a discharge or come see me, understand?”
“Whatever, doc. Let’s just get this over with.” Fuck me. I just want to go to bed. If Doc ever finds out how much suppressant I use, he’s gonna flip his shit.
I take a deep breath and open my mouth for the swab. Maybe if I just stay extra relaxed, I won’t cough. Maybe. I’ve never really had a reason to cultivate a poor gag reflex. My tongue has other uses, if you get what I mean. My throat tightens around the scratchiness of the cotton and it takes everything I have not to breathe in or out. Every second is hell, but eventually, the swab is pulled out. Doc has just enough time to get out of the blast radius before the explosion comes.
The choking, hacking coughs I’m about used to at this point. I didn’t mean to start super-heating anything else, though. I’m too busy worrying about trying to breathe again to care that jets of plasma aren’t just coming from my nose, but also circling my chest and legs just like they would if I were performing. I distantly hear “Fen, please!” (he never calls me that, nobody does except Portent, it’s always just ‘Hellraiser’) before, moments later, I’m drenched in fire extinguisher foam.
I wipe the soapy stuff out of my eyes. “Get what you wanted?”
“Uh, yes. I’ll… run these. That’s… I can see why you were concerned.”
Nobody in this place ever fucking listens to me. “Yeah. Hope I didn’t get you with any of that. Tried to control it, but you know how it is.”
Doc sets the fire extinguisher down on his desk and puts a hand on his hip. “No, I’m just fine. Can’t say the same for my examination bench.” Oof. Yeah, that shit’s melted. It’s gonna have my assprint in it forever now. Not even my clothes got spared, even though they’re special heat resistant fabric designed to withstand me. I actually like this hoodie, and now it’s full of holes. Shouldn’t have expected so much out of it, I guess. These aren’t my performance wear so they’re not rated for temperatures hot enough to warp steel.
“Fuck me. Guess that’s my collateral budget.”
Doc frowns and rummages in a cabinet for a minute before handing me a pill bottle. “Why don’t you take this cough suppressant while I figure out if it’s viral or bacterial? Prevent any more… incidents.” Fucking finally.