Chapter Text
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Now, Carter was probably lying to himself if he thought it was a good idea to go to work today. Of course he was lying to himself. But, he had a lot to prove and a hell of a long way to go yet in his career, so he wasn’t going to let something as small as a cold stop him from getting there. Plus, Dr. Benton would have his ass if he was so much as five minutes late.
Which… he actually was. It wasn’t even his fault! He stubbed his toe on the way to grab his jacket, and that delayed him by approximately a minute and a half. He had to run back inside for tissues to stuff in his pockets, which delayed him by another minute. And, when he eventually arrived at the hospital parking lot, he couldn’t find a space. In his mind, none of these things were particularly his fault.
“Carter, you’re late.” Benton doesn’t look up from the clipboard in his hand. “Take these. You’re going to monitor my pre-surgery patients, and do whatever sutures need doing as and when. Got it?”
“Got it. Sorry, I was —“
“I don’t need to hear it. Just don’t let it happen again.” Carter takes the charts that are handed to him, and carries them to the nearest flat surface before he drops them on the ER floor. Because that sounds like something that’s bound to happen today.
All he has to do is manage through this shift without any major issues. There’s Tylenol practically on tap if he needs it, and he can probably get away with blaming allergies if anyone asks. After all, it’s barely the first day of Fall.
“Alright…” he cracks his knuckles, and begins to read through the charts.
—
As far as mornings go in the ER, this one hasn’t been dreadfully eventful. Carter has been dealing with his mentor’s patients, checking on them and ensuring there are no changes. He’s stitched up three leg lacs, one eyebrow gash and an almost cut off finger. As for his own symptoms, downing an orange juice from the vending machine doesn’t seemed to have helped as much as he was hoping it would.
His nose has gone from stuffy, to runny, to stuffy… to stuffy and runny over the last few hours. His throat feels like swallowing gravel anytime, his ears are itchy and there’s a ticklish cough threatening to get worse whenever he talks.
Mark Greene has asked him twice if he’s okay, Carol once, and Dr. Lewis gave him a funny look when she walked by the suture room and he had just choked on his own saliva. He’s now three ‘just allergies’ excuses down, and multiple ‘oh, I’m fine!’s. All in all, it’s really going great. At least Benton has been caught upstairs the entire time in surgeries and hasn’t had to witness his med student acting weird… er than usual.
“Carter, can you take the woman in curtain two for me? She just has minor burns, and we’re pretty backed up over in chairs.” Speaking of Dr. Lewis, she manages to corner Carter just as he’s on his way to replenish his pocket tissue stocks.
“Oh, uh.. sure. Right now?” He sniffles, resisting the urge to use his hand to rub at his nose.
“You got somewhere to be?” She quirks an eyebrow, a slightly amused look on her face for a moment.
Before he can think up either a witty or sensible reply (either is good when you’re John Carter), the next little sniff is too much for his sinuses to bear, and he has to sneeze. Stopping in the corridor, whilst Susan keeps walking for a comical moment, he sneezes thrice into cupped hands.
“Bless you,” her eyebrows are raised now, standing still a few paces in front of him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” A look of sympathy paints across her expression, one Carter avoids looking back at.
Carter just nods a little too quickly, sniffling thickly, before darting in the direction of the bathroom… leaving Dr. Lewis holding the chart, looking mildly dumbfounded. “I guess I’ll do it myself,” she mutters, turning on her heels.
——
The next part of his shift has turned from using excuses, to avoiding everyone entirely when an wherever he can. Carter has finished with his work on the ER floor, at least for now, and is currently working on the pile of charts Benton delivered to the nurses station about an hour ago.
Only, he would be working on them, if his brain would allow him. Somewhere in the last hour or so he must’ve spiked a temperature, because looking at the paper and the words and holding the pen are all tasks that Carter can’t seem to link up and make work for him. Everytime he tries to think of the patient’s issue, and put it on paper, things go blank. It’s like his mind is spinning, and his head hurts to even think. Now, he could lie down for a little while, since he’s in the currently empty lounge. But, if he doesn’t get these damned charts finished then he’ll be in even more trouble than he was this morning.
Coughing lightly into his fist, Carter reaches for the plastic bottle in front of him and downs the last of the water in it. Focus, Carter. Just one more hour of your shift to go. Just ten charts to finish. Focus.
He groans softly, a short wave of dizziness distracting him from the task at hand yet again. “Maybe just five minutes,” he mutters softly to himself, moving to lie back on the couch with a pained squeak. Had his limbs been hurting the entire time he’d been sitting here, or was that a new development?
…
…
…
“— CARTER!” He flinches violently, gasping awake and in turn triggering a grating, throat-scraping set of coughs.
After a few seconds of catching his breath, Dr. Benton comes into view above him and it appears to be dark outside the window. Fuckfuckfuck.
“You were supposed to be charting. Your shift ended over an hour ago, now. I was caught up in surgery.”
“Right, yes, I know… sorry, I just —“ he bends forwards with an unexpected sneeze, just about caught with one hand. The movement itself makes him dizzy, and his entire body aches. God. “I didn’t mean to sleep that long.” Carter finishes, sniffling and glancing around for any sign of hand sanitizer or tissues. He finds neither, and has to opt for punctuating each breath with a sharp sniffle instead, awkwardly swiping his hand against his pants leg.
Doctor Benton pauses for a moment, watching his med student, and promptly choosing to ignore his moment of poor hygiene. “Stand up, Carter.” He says carefully, waiting for the younger man to follow instruction.
Obviously, Carter obeys him, and stands a little shakily up onto his feet, waiting for whatever it is he’s supposed to be doing next. He stares at Benton with bright, wide eyes as his mentor’s hand finds its way to his forehead; resting there for a moment. He brushes Carter’s hair back, backs of his fingers touching burning skin, then proceeds to cup his forehead with his palm. It’s a nice feeling, actually, and without thinking the student leans in toward the cooling, comforting touch.
“Jesus, Carter. You’re burning.” Benton tsks quietly. “Go home. You shouldn’t even be here right now.”
Carter just blinks, very slow and owlish.
“Carter?”
“Huh?”
“Go home.”
“But, what about the charts —“
“Don’t worry about them this time. Go home and sleep whatever it is you’re brewing off. Don’t be late tomorrow, okay?”
“Yes, Dr. Benton. Sorry.”