Work Text:
Dengue Hemorrhagic Fever: A severe, potentially deadly infection spread by certain species of mosquitoes (Aedes aegypti).
The Head of Diagnostics, Ivan sat on the leather couch inside of the Doctor's lounge, It was one of those rare days where patients where scarce and he managed to follow his schedule of eight o'clock am to two o'clock pm. He could only wish this happened a lot.
After a long while, Doctor Ludwig Beilschmidt, cardiologist and Dean of the Hospital joined him inside the lounge, looking troubled. Then again, Ivan thought, the German always looked troubled. He was a strict man who preferred order and discipline. Does not tolerate laziness and failure (well, except when it involved a certain Italian nurse named Feliciano Vargas, but Ivan was straying out of topic.)
After the typical, mandatory (so you won't look like a snobbish doctor) greetings of 'hi', 'hello', 'how was your day?' the next question from Dr. Beilschmidt was a complete surprise.
"Is there something wrong with Jones?"
'There is always something wrong with Jones.' Ivan wanted to answer. But then again, it was odd that the American had not yet tried to pester him. "I have not talked to him yet. Is there something wrong with Jones?" he asked back.
Ludwig sighed, "Feliciano (ah, Ivan thought), came running to me crying. Something about Dr. Jones getting mad at him and reprimanding him about late implementation of one of his orders."
Ivan raised a brow, Alfred getting mad, especially at Feliciano, and not pestering him yet? There really was something wrong with Jones. "Noted, I'll check him."
"Please do. Thank you."
Ivan found Jones inside his office, sprawled on his couch, sleeping. He opted to look closely. The American's hair was messy, glasses askew, his red long sleeves shirt unbuttoned half way, tie haphazardly thrown on the floor… flushed and slightly sweaty.
Doctor Alfred F. Jones, Head of Oncology looked like he just had a quick sex.
Ivan quietly fished out his phone from his pocket and took a picture of the sleeping doctor. The female nurses will have a field day. After that, he touched the doctor's forehead. Hot… Alfred had a fever.
"You know… that's creepy."
Ivan immediately removed his hand, surprised. "When did you wake up?"
Alfred slowly got up from his position, ran a hand on his messy hair and fixed his glasses, "Woke up when you touched me."
Good, Ivan thought. He could still send the picture.
"You have a fever."
Alfred gave him a glare, "Yeah, so? I took some medicine. I'll be fine."
"You're spreading more germs here at the hospital."
The American frowned, obviously irritated.
"You yelled at Feliciano."
Alfred scowled, "It's his damn fault. He should've done my instructions on time. And it was with the medications he messed up."
"Feliciano always does that." Ivan said. Its not that the Italian was incompetent, he was excellent with the nurse-patient interaction. But at times, the doctor's orders were not done on a timely manner. Unlike his older brother who was excellent with the nursing implementations, but was poor with the interaction with the patients.
Alfred remained silent this time. But Ivan noticed the blond started scratching his arm. He sighed, "Just go home Jones. I'll explain everything to Ludwig." If the American said something for a response, he didn't hear any of it.
Ivan returned at the lounge. Ludwig seemed like he waited for him.
"He's sick."
"Ah."
No need for any explanation. They worked together for a long time to know how Alfred acted when he was sick.
Alfred, to Ivan's chagrin, became worst. Always said something like, "I drank my medicine." grumpily storming the wards, scaring the nurses (even the ones who were crushing on him) and making Feliciano a lot clumsier than he usually was. And Ivan would never admit it loudly but, he was starting to get bothered NOT being bothered.
The Russian diagnostician checked Alfred once again inside the office and found him resting his head on top of the desk. Not a good sign. "Alfred," Ivan walked towards him, stopping just in front of the desk.
The Oncologist slowly lifted his head and gave him a weak glare. "Look, I don't fucking need you telling me what the fuck I need to-" Alfred abruptly stopped. Even Ivan was at lost for a couple of seconds. With a pale, trembling hand, Alfred slowly swiped the sudden wetness dribbling from his nose with his fingertips and looked at it.
"Blood." Alfred muttered dumbly.
Then, something clicked inside Ivan's head. He should be ashamed of himself for not being able to slot the puzzles too quickly, he thought. Ivan grabbed Alfred's arm and hastily pushed the sleeves. Red and purplish small spots littered his arm, petechiae.
The American recently went to country somewhere in South East Asia for some voluntary medical mission. After a couple of days, he got sick. Fever, petechiae, (Ivan would bet his life on this: very low platelet count), bleeding… possible diagnosis: Dengue Hemorrhagic Fever.
Ivan cursed under his breath, "You stupid American!" He took out his phone and called the hospital's emergency room.
Alfred laughed weakly.
After the blood transfusion, medications and some fluids and electrolytes replacement, the oncologist's condition had become stable.
"Stupid moron."
"Dude, you've said that to me for how many times already! You don't need to repeat every minute."
Ivan gave him a blank look.
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, alright? Not my intention for my intention to get worst."
The Russian sighed, "Just tell if you're sick. You also owe Feliciano an apology as well."
Alfred gave him a smile, "Yeah, I'll do that."
Silence.
"Hey do you know why the nurses are giving me funny looks since yesterday? I swear, everyone were giving me there numbers and telling me to call them. Its not like I don't like the attention, but… one nurse was touching me everywhere. You have something to do with this?"
Ivan smiled.