Chapter Text
John retches for what must be the 15th time today, and thinks that the worst part has to be the bile that comes up when there’s no more food left. He lets his head fall forward to rest on his forearm and just breathes through the next wave of nausea. The Pepto didn’t work, and Compazine will cause muscle spasms, so he’s stuck losing yesterday’s dinner for now. Fuck, he’s starving. Nothing will stay down, though, and there’s no point in trying.
A knock at the door. Please, God, don’t let it be Benton.
“Busy,” he groans out. Maybe he won’t have to finish his rotations if he passes out.
“Carter?” It’s Susan. He can deal with Susan.
“Yeah?”
“I heard that you’re sick. Can I come in?” She sounds hesitant.
“Yeah, just cover your nose.” He turns the lock and opens the door to see a worried Dr. Lewis peering down at him.
It hits her quickly, and she isn’t prepared. She recovers quickly, covering her nose and mouth with her hand in a way that really isn’t as subtle as she thinks. A grimace that John guesses was supposed to be more of a smile takes over her face. In some way, he’s appreciative. Then Haleh passes and asks aloud if someone let a stink bomb loose.
The sun hasn't even risen. How much more embarrassing could this day get?
“Hey, bud, what’s going on? You’re not feeling well?” She crouches as he moves to sit back against the cool tile and closes his eyes. She instructs him to take some deep breaths while she listens with her stethoscope, then touches the back of her hand to his head to check his temperature.
“It’s just nerves,” he tells her. “Pepto didn’t work.”
“Compazine?”
“Can’t. Muscle spasms.”
She hums as she sits with him for a moment. “Well, you’re right about it being nerves. No fever and breath sounds are clear. What’s got you all worked up?”
He sighs and stares at the ceiling. “My parents invited Benton over for dinner.”
“Dinner?!” She laughs. “Why in the world would they do that?”
“Something about not meeting him at graduation, wanting to know the man who’s responsible for my gray hairs.” A beat passes. “I’m dreading it, honestly. Should have never said yes in the first place.”
“Hey,” She reassures him, resting her hand on his knee. “It’ll be fine. And if it isn’t, you can always fake appendicitis.”
He laughs. “Yeah. Maybe, then, I’ll finally get to do one.” They giggle some more.
“Does Benton know you’re down here?”
“No, I’m trying to avoid him for the time being. I’m hoping it’ll just pass.”
“Why don’t you go lay down in the lounge for a bit? Get a bite to eat, and drink some water.” Her brows are furrowed in worry now.
He shakes his head. “I still have my rounds. I’m on call for ten separate departments for the next…” Checks his watch. “6 hours.”
“I’ll take care of it.” She cuts him off before he can get a word in, “Carter, go. Before I force you to lay in a bed with an IV for the rest of your shift.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad, actually,” he murmurs, stumbling as he stands. Susan grabs his elbow for stability. “Thanks, Dr. Lewis. I owe you.”
“Please, it’s Susan,” she smiles. “It happens to the best of us. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“See ya.” He forces himself up and trudges to the break room. Taking a peek around the fridge, he decides on at least 3 bites of leftover pizza and chugs a mug’s worth of water. He flings himself onto the couch and barely has time for a single thought once his head hits the throw pillow.
—
“Where the hell is Carter?”
Jerry, Chuny, and Linda all stare at Peter, who is currently fuming at the front desk.
“What am I, his handler?” Linda scoffs and walks away. Chuny makes a childish “ooo” as she shuffles charts around.
“Very funny. Does anyone know where Carter is? He missed the daily intern breakfast.”
Chuny shrugs. “I don’t know. Haven’t seen him for about an hour.”
Jerry takes pity on Peter’s blood pressure. “Uh, I think he might be in the break room. Dr. Lewis said something about being extra nice to him today since he was puking his guts out not too long ago.” He holds a chart up and barely lowers his voice. “I think he’s a little nervous about the dinner tonight.”
Peter’s eyebrows scrunch up. “Dinner?” Jerry raises his own in silent communication. Shit, dinner with John’s parents. Tonight. He should have known it would make his stomach upset. “Right. Uh, thanks. I’ll check there.”
The anger that was previously burning every muscle in his body subdues into a very sharp worry. John has always had a nervous gut that likes to rear its head at the most inopportune times. The only comfort Peter feels is that he’s surrounded by a legion of competent healthcare workers during this flare up.
Opening the door to the lounge, Peter sees that his intern is laying face down on the couch, snoring softly. His hair is a mess and his scrubs are wrinkled. The lowlight of the room is perfectly highlighting his nose and cheekbones, making him appear years younger. He looks angelic.
Dr. Ross, who was just then watching a soap opera on the TV, jumps up at the sight of Peter towering over the room.
“Well, would you look at the time?” He has half the decency to pretend a glance at his watch before booking it out of there. Not before pausing at the door, though. “Benton, I know he’s your intern but… try not to be too hard on him today, okay? I heard he’s got a bad stomachache.” Peter glares: a sign for him to leave now or bear his wrath. “Right, of course. Bye bye now!” The door closes quietly, shutting out the chaos of the rest of the ER.
Peter observes the scene more deeply in front of him. A half-eaten slice of cold pizza rests on the table alongside an empty mug and a bottle of Tums left with the note “Feel better :) - Susan” underneath it. Knowing him, that pizza is the first and only thing John has eaten today. Why hadn’t he told Peter? He would have never let him come into work if he had really been unable to stay on his feet.
“Carter,” he calls softly. John breathes deeply in his sleep and shifts his head a little. The AC continues to whir. The mistress of the oil tycoon on the TV slaps him. Nothing.
“Carter,” he says louder. His shoulders move.
“CARTER!” he yells.
John jumps up so frantically that he falls onto the floor. “Ow, fuck,” he mumbles and sits up, blinking at Peter. “Hi Dr. Benton, I was just finishing up some charts for you.” Peter looks left, right. There are no charts in the near vicinity of the intern. He looks back at him. “Oh, uh, they were just here. Somewhere. I’ll find them.” John scrubs his eyes. “Sorry, what time is it?”
“6:30.” At the younger man’s insistence to stand and apologize profusely, Peter continues, “Carter, go home. You’re no good to me here, sick. Get some rest and plenty of fluids.” John nods his head sharply, already knowing that it’s better for him to be quiet when Peter talks at work. “I’ll see you later,” he adds quietly. The blush that spreads over John’s ducked face is enough to make him suppress a smile.
He moves toward the door and stops just before reaching it. “Oh, and Carter?"
“Yes, sir?”
“Don’t do that shit again. If you’re sick, stay home.” His finger taps the handle, thinking. “I was worried about you, man.” He lets the door close behind him and ignores the twinge in his chest.