Chapter Text
“So here’s the thing,” my nurse said while scampering around the room. God, he never could sit still, always scurrying about doing something or another. “Since the chemo has made your appetite so poor, and your nausea so bad that you can’t keep anything down even when you do want to eat, Dr. Potter has conferred with the team and they are going to place an NJ tube.”
“Fucking hell.” I slid my hand exasperatedly down my face, palm hitting empty air where a nose once had been. “How in the shit are they going to place an NJ tube when I don’t have a nose?” I barked. I liked Peter, but god was it fun to watch him cower in fear. The slightest loud noise would make him curl in on himself like a dying flower. Honestly, it’s a wonder he made it through nursing school at all. “How fucking stupid do the shit-brained, ballless doctors in this glorified morgue have to be? WHERE ARE THEY EXPECTING TO PUT THIS TUBE, PETER?” My voice, now constantly at an uncomfortable rasp because of the infernal tumors scarring my trachea, made my anger sound even scarier than I meant it to come across. I wasn’t upset at Peter, but again, I loved to watch him cower. However, instead of skulking back to the hallway choking out apologies, the nurse’s eyes widened and he straightened up, looking at the door to my dismal beige prison cell.
“Now that, Mr. Riddle, is why it took us so long to do something about your nutrition!” Dr. Potter sauntered into the room, seating himself audaciously at the foot of my bed. He gave me a shit-eating grin as his green eyes glinted in the horrible hospital fluorescents that cast me in a deathly pallor, but not him, of fucking course. “Your GI and I have gone over all of the potential options to get some nutrients into you. Surgical tubes, TPN, narcotics, simply letting you starve, which was my preferred option, but lucky for you Dr Granger is soft on dirty commies such as yourself.” I scoffed. “Thank you doctor, for treating me only with the utmost respect and professionalism. You are truly a credit to your field.” I rasped. Potter plowed on, flipping through pages on his clipboard and pretending he hadn’t heard my slight. “,,,Despite your unfortunate… disfigurement, we do think that an NJ tube is the best course of action.” He smirked, gesturing broadly at my wartorn features. “...You’re scheduled for placement tomorrow morning. We will get you back to your home country in no time, comrade,” he said, putting on an atrocious russian accent. “But for now, dasvidaniya . I shall not look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” He turned on his heel and practically waltzed out of the room. I loudly rolled my eyes and scoffed.
“You’d think someone who took the hippocratic oath would give their political bias a little less sway over how they treat their patients.” I fiddled in the pocket of the ridiculous johnny I had been forced into and cursed. “Fuck! I could kill a man for a fucking cigarette.” I looked at the nurse, who had been slowly slinking to the door. “...AGAIN.” I said pointedly, and he yelped and practically ran out the door.
I was well aware that I was the least desirable patient to be assigned in the whole ward, and I relished that fact. If i was going to be stuck in this godforsaken hospital until I either died (the preferred option), or got healthy enough to be shipped back to Novgorod (and subsequently back in the oily embrace of my, unbeknownst to him, ex-lover), I was at least going to have a little fun. Pettigrew was my favorite nurse to harass by far, and even though I loathed the very air he breathed, I couldn’t help but love when Dr. Potter was working. It’s not often I meet someone with the balls to look me in the eye and not tell me exactly what I want to hear. Infuriating, yes, but refreshing as well.
“I’m getting soft in my old age,” I seethed, and reached for the TV remote.