Author's Note: Hello again, everyone! It is with great pleasure that I present to you yet another medical AU. Ever since I completed "Stitching Hearts", I've felt the need to write another story with the right balance of medical jargon and family drama. So, enjoy this teaser! As always, thank you for the support and please spare a moment to leave a review!

"There's a battle outside

And it is ragin'

It'll soon shake your windows

And rattle your walls

For the times they are a-changin'."

-Bob Dylan

Smoke. Sirens. Eerie silence.

Scampering away from the incoming billow, he ducked as the rush of ash and soot came upon him in a great cloud, trapping him in a searing and frantic nightmare. He thought he was screaming, but he soon understood that no one could hear him as the ocean of debris drew nearer, blinding him with graying smog. There was no stopping, lest he get swallowed by the crippling haze.

If he hadn't known better, he would've assumed he had stumbled upon a war-zone.

He pushed onward, clawing his way through frantic crowds of indescribable hysteria. In fact, he himself was hysteric, coughing with heaving breaths, which were accompanied solely by the tears running down his soot-covered cheeks. Raising a hand to his temple, he could see the far-reaching stretch of flashing lights in the distance. Police cars, fire trucks, helicopters, news reporters—they were all there as witnesses to the inconceivable event.

He tried wailing into the abyss of suffocating carbon, stumbling along as his heart climbed up and into his throat. Lifting his head toward the sky, he could spot the faint outline of sunshine as bodies rushed past him on either side, searching for safety.

Sobbing; an action that familiarized itself with his own anatomy.

There was nothing to do but walk onward, spluttering and exhausted as he drowned out the shouts. He had never felt so alarmed and frightened in his entire life, clutching his phone as he attempted to call the one person who would understand.

He approached the innumerable emergency workers, staring dumbly at the scene. He knew. They knew. Everyone knew the unspeakable. Nothing had remained.

Burning eyes. The static of walkie-talkies. The world around him had collapsed. He swore he was on fire—falling, falling, falling—but no one could spare the time to notice. He was thrown to his knees, palms thrust into his stinging eyeballs as he listened to the arrival of extra sirens in the vicinity.

Sickening sadness. Solemnity for such sacrifice.

"Dr. Kirkland?"

The clinical green eyes known to belong to Arthur Kirkland tore themselves away from the computer screen momentarily, one elbow balanced on the counter to prop up his aching head. The man regarded the nurse with an exasperated expression, rushing to plead his case. "Yes? I'll be out of your hair in a minute. I know you don't enjoy my company at the nurses' station, Iryna, but I have to complete my charting somewhere."

Smiling mildly, the Ukrainian nurse shook her head, dropping a folder in front of the irate physician. "I do dislike you breathing down our necks, but that's not why I'm here. You've been graced with a new patient. He's suffering from abdominal pains and has been vomiting for the past twenty-four hours."

Already saving his progress and standing from his seat, Arthur accepted the proffered medical file with a little sigh. "What finally convinced him to come to the Emergency Room?"

"Dehydration, I suspect."

"Come along, then. I'll need your help in settling him in."

Thus, the pair made their way down the white-tiled hallway, passing numerous ailing individuals before reaching their destination. Casting aside the privacy curtain to one of the many rooms on the floor, Arthur invited himself in, followed shortly by Iryna, who stood by the other side of the bed and began taking the patient's vitals.

Prepping himself for the usual introductions, Arthur nodded at the man in the bed, stealing another moment to peek at the medical file. "Good evening, Mr. Moore. My name is Arthur Kirkland and I'll be your doctor today. Now, I hear you've been having abdominal distress. When did this begin?"

One arm wrapped around his stomach, the man spoke with a grimace as Iryna took his blood pressure. "Yesterday morning. I started having these weird cramps and can't keep anything down, not even water."

"Any other symptoms? Fever? Diarrhea?" Arthur asked steadily, placing the buds of his stethoscope in his ears and resting the business end on the man's abdomen.

"Both."

Nodding once more, Arthur pressed down a gloved hand on the lower right side of the man's stomach firmly, removing it after a few seconds. "Does it hurt when I do that?"

The man shook his head, remaining relatively silent as Iryna recorded his temperature. "A hundred and one degree fever," she declared.

Trying again, Arthur pressed near the navel of the sore stomach, eyeing the patient's reaction. "How about now?"

Another shake of the head. "Nothing, but you're making me nauseous."

Allowing himself a smirk, Arthur moved his prodding hands to the man's mouth, ordering him to open wide. "Sorry, but it was a necessary evil. At least now we know that it doesn't seem to be appendicitis, but we won't rule anything out yet." Taking a moment to examine the man's tongue, he took note of the most prominent obstacle in need of urgent treatment. "Patches on the tongue… You're quite dehydrated. Iryna, let's start him on some IV fluids for electrolyte replacement after a quick blood test. Two milliliters per minute should be slow enough to prevent vein irritation."

"Already on it," Iryna assured, inserting the needle into a vein in the crook of the man's left arm for later use. "It'll feel a little funny at first when I start the drip, but that's normal," she forewarned the patient, calm and soothing.

"So, what's wrong with me?"

Pursing his lips, Arthur addressed the man as he prepared the items necessary to get a blood sample. "It could be a number of things. We'll take your blood and urine to send down to the lab. Then, we'll have a clearer idea as to what we're working with. It's possible that it could be food poisoning. Have you eaten anything out of the ordinary as of late?"

Thinking back to his previous meals, the man finally came up with an answer. "I did order takeout from a restaurant a few days ago. I had chicken, so that might have something to do with it… Argh, I'm sorry… I'm going to be sick."

Snatching up a bedpan with a swift movement, Arthur held it in front of the patient with a neutral and professional stance. Immediately, the man retched into it, mostly dry heaving and spitting up saliva after agonizing over the illness for many hours.

"We'll be wary of possible poisoning from salmonella, in that case," Arthur commented lightly, setting the bedpan aside once the man had finished. "Has there been any blood in your stool?"

Wincing and flushing from embarrassment, the man shrugged his shoulders. "Not that I know of…"

"All right, we'll take a stool sample as well, but first—," Arthur withdrew the butterfly needle from its sterile packaging, deciding to use the man's right arm this time since the other arm had been used for the IV. He searched for a plump and visible vein, poking one testily to deem it satisfactory. "You might feel a pinch," he warned, finally inserting the needle and drawing the necessary amount of blood into a few small tubes.

After marking the blood samples, Arthur rummaged through a nearby cabinet and withdrew two sterile containers. "The restroom is down the hall and to your left. One cup is for your urine and the other for your stool. Try to fill both of them within the next thirty minutes. That way, we'll be able to get the lab results back in a timely manner and see if antibiotics will be necessary. I'll leave Iryna to replenish your fluids now, and she'll be back within the next half hour to collect your samples. Do you have any questions?"

Swallowing heavily, the man shook his head for a final time. "No, I understand. Thank you very much."

"You're quite welcome. Rest well."

And with that, Arthur disposed of his gloves and took some hand sanitizer from the nearby dispenser, rubbing it briskly into his hands before heading back for the nurses' station. There was more charting left to be done on the computer, and he wasn't going to leave it until the end of his shift to get it done. Hopefully, he'd be able to leave punctually because it had been one of those days. The hospital being understaffed and overpopulated, he'd been fairly busy throughout most of the shift.

Blinking his slightly bloodshot eyes at the computer screen once more, he typed as efficiently and hastily as he could manage, filling out patient information and recording the results of the examination of his new patient as well. This was how most of his days were spent, in front of the computer, seeing as actual paper written reports were outdated. The hospital had updated its database, and all doctors and nurses were expected to use the computer system for recording patient care. In most cases, it was a migraine just waiting to happen, especially whenever one of the computers would decide to rebel against them and refuse to work. Or, even worse, delete their notes and cause them to have to start all over again, leaving little time for actual doctoring.

But as tedious as the work could sometimes be, Arthur couldn't imagine himself doing anything else, and had to admit (albeit begrudgingly) that he enjoyed his job. He'd gone through a lot of turmoil to finally become a medical doctor, what with moving away from Britain to flee his feuding family and start his life over again. It wasn't easy, leaving behind all he had ever known, but moving to New York had filled him with an unexpected pleasure and appreciation for city life. London was spectacular, of course, but the bustling city that never slept had its charms as well, something that he often took for granted.

Thankfully, as he reached the end of his errand at the computer, the Emergency Room had simmered down somewhat, most likely due to the fact that the night shift would be starting shortly. He took the opportunity to do his final rounds, happy to hear that the lab results of Mr. Moore had returned, and yes, he had apparently grown ill due to salmonella infested chicken.

Entering the man's room once more, Arthur informed him of the situation and outlined a treatment plan. "We'll keep you on the IV fluids until the vomiting settles down, but we'll hold off on any antibiotics, since they will only exacerbate your symptoms before they do any good. When the fever drops and the dehydration is treated, you'll be discharged, but be mindful that it could take up to five days for your symptoms to completely subside. The night nurse will be in periodically to make sure that your symptoms don't become more severe."

"God, I may never eat chicken again, at this rate. Thanks again."

Saying their farewells, Arthur finished recording any last minute information into the computers before calling it a day. If anything worsened with his patients overnight, he'd be called back to work, but with the way things were going, he wasn't too concerned about being on-call.

Returning home at about nine o'clock, Arthur made himself a cup of tea and tended to the house for a while, only thinking to check the message that had been left on his answering machine after about fifteen minutes of winding down. Sighing, he reluctantly played the voicemail, reclining on the couch as he listened.

"Arthur, I know that it's been a while since I've contacted you, but it's your brother, Connor. There's been an incident, and I implore you to call me back as soon as possible. I'm sure you still have my number stowed away somewhere. I hope to hear from you soon."

Click.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Arthur ran a tired hand through his hair. Perhaps there had been a death in the family? But who?

Checking his watch, he realized it was far too late to make a call to Ireland now, considering the time difference, so he would have to gather his patience around him in the morning to return the call. It had been many years since he had heard from Connor, though his other elder brother, Allistor, still sent him Christmas cards and managed to stay somewhat in touch. His final brother, Dylan, occasionally called to make sure that he was still alive, but other than that…

His family was complicated, and having reached an age where all he wanted was a glimmer of peace in his life, Arthur had decided to avoid his family at all costs to avoid any controversies, especially those regarding Connor.

Yes, his second-to-eldest brother was the most troublesome of the bunch. The man still resided in Ireland, and had been divorced for a good number of years. His wife was American, and Arthur wasn't certain where she was now, but she was the one who primarily tended to Connor's two children, Matthew and Alfred. The two boys were twins, and had been born in the States, as far as he knew. Originally, Connor had stayed in America as well, living with his wife and children in Boston. Then, an argument sent him back across the ocean while the twins grew older and went separate ways as well.

If he wasn't mistaken, Matthew had moved to New York at some point, but he hadn't seen his nephew since he'd been a child, so he wasn't sure if he still lived in the city. Alfred, on the other hand… Well, he was clueless as to where that boy had ended up.

Never wanting to get entangled in the mess, and still secretly despising Connor for leaving his children and wife to manage on their own, Arthur broke off most contact with him. His brother could be manipulative and callous, so he made sure to keep his distance.

But if there was a family emergency, he supposed he had no choice but to inquire into what the problem was.

He mulled over the problem for the rest of the evening, getting through three cups of tea before deciding that it was time for bed. He'd be working in his private practice during the following afternoon, so he hoped to catch up on some rest before calling Connor in the morning and heading off to his office. There, he'd play the role of family doctor, dealing with common ailments at a slower pace than at the hospital.

Turning off the lights and climbing into bed, he was asleep within minutes, still perturbed by the internal feeling that something wasn't quite right.

Morning came at a surprisingly fast pace, leaving Arthur sluggishly rolling out of bed. He forced himself to gather some willpower and made his way down to the kitchen for some breakfast. He'd have to be at his office in four hours, and there were plenty of things to do before then.

Grabbing himself some toast and more tea, he meandered over to the phone in the living room, plucking it up and into his hand. After searching for a calling card in the drawer of a side-table, he finally dialed the dreaded number, checking the clock once more and taking into account the five-hour time difference between New York and Dublin. Apparently, it was noon in Ireland, so there was no reason for Connor to not pick up the phone if he called now. Nevertheless, if the man didn't respond or present him with a valid reason for being unable to reach the phone, he would continue to ignore his brother for the foreseeable future. Mustering the strength to call him once was arduous enough, but twice? No, he certainly wouldn't display the same effort to contact him again.

Tapping his fingers apprehensively on the coffee table as the other line began to ring, he waited a good ten seconds before hearing a click of life.

"Arthur?" a familiar voice muttered.

Gritting his teeth, Arthur pressed the phone more roughly against his ear. "Yes, Connor? Please do enlighten me as to why you had a sudden change of heart and felt the need to contact your dear younger brother. I am quite busy, I'll have you know, and can't spare any time for your antics."

There was a moment of hesitation from the other. "It's…nice to hear from you again. You've been avoidant for a long while, brother."

"Spare me the sentimentality. Who passed away?"

Connor seemingly strained to speak at the blunt statement, grunting for a moment before continuing. "I didn't—that's not my reason for ringing you. Actually, I'm calling because of Alfred."

Clicking his tongue, Arthur brought his free hand to his chin in thought. It was a shame that something had happened to the lad, he was still rather young—probably in his mid-twenties by now—and though they had never been close, Arthur felt something in his heart stir upon hearing that someone so young was unwell.

"What's wrong with him?" he mumbled bluntly. If the boy was ill, he'd send over some money and condolences before going about his life. After all, there wasn't much else he could do.

Connor waited a few seconds to formulate the right words. "Well, he's moved to New York recently, and he's having a smidgeon of trouble adjusting. He's been to New York before to visit his brother, but obviously this is a more difficult transition. You see, he won't admit to needing help, but he's out of work, and could use a certain uncle's help to arrange work for him at a hospital."

"And what makes you think I'll do that? He's a grown man, is he not? I'm sure he can manage to procure a job on his own," Arthur griped, already despising where this was going.

Taking a deep inhale, Connor went on, unfazed. "The laddie's just finished nursing school, and I owe it to him to be able to aid him in some way."

"I'm sorry, but I shan't allow myself to be used as a means to rekindle your relationship with your son. If you want to help him so much, why don't you travel to New York yourself? Leave me out of it."

"But Arthur, you don't understand. I don't have the capability to make such a trip at the moment, and the boy refuses to talk to me."

Arthur huffed hotly. "I can't say I blame him."

"He's been through… many difficulties as of late. Please, brother, he's your nephew and he's just a short distance away. I would appreciate it if you could check in on him and help him with work. I've been a horrible father to him, so don't do it for me, but do it for the poor lad's sake," Connor beseeched, sounding rather emotional and fervent, which was very uncharacteristic of him.

Scoffing, Arthur stepped toward the window, glancing outside to see what the weather would have in store for him for the remainder of the day. "Connor, his twin brother lives in this damned city as well, I'm sure he can offer him a helping hand should he run into a problem with finding a job in time. And what about his mother? Honestly, I won't be falling for another one of your ploys."

There was a long silence during which time Arthur considered hanging up, but something instinctual kept him from doing so. Something was making him feel nervous, almost like a sense of impending doom.

"Matthew doesn't reside in New York any longer, and their mother is unwell."

"Unwell?"

"Yes, unwell, though I won't bother you with the details, since you're so quick to jump to conclusions on your own."

Anger rising, Arthur hissed a reply. "Listen, you asked for my assistance and then you—"

"I'm sorry."

He was dumbfounded. Connor never apologized, not to him, not to anyone. For a moment, he acknowledged the genuine sincerity in the man's voice, and it was enough to render him speechless for a couple of minutes. It seemed like a simple enough task—recommending Alfred to Human Resources at his hospital, so that he would have a better chance at getting hired. After all, he didn't hold any grudges against his nephews, and it wasn't Alfred's fault that his father was a complete and utter prat. If he could do this one thing for his nephew to make the boy's life at least somewhat less miserable, then maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to lend him some advice. Additionally, his mother was supposedly ill, and he guessed that he could spare some sympathy for his nephew, at least for once. Maybe the boy would finally see that at least someone in the Kirkland family was a gentleman with warm intentions.

Clearing his throat and doing his best to sound apathetic, Arthur replied, "I'll see what I can do. Leave me his number and I'll call him when I have the time."

"Oh, Arthur… Thank you—you have no idea how grateful I—"

"Must I remind you that I'm not doing this for your benefit?"

"Aye, I understand… Alfred will appreciate it, I'm sure… Now, let me get that number…"

After saving the contact in his cellphone, Arthur gave a curt goodbye to his brother and set down the phone once more, feeling a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He thought back on the last time he had seen the twins, they were no older than toddlers, blue-eyed and brimming with an unabashed cheerfulness. If he thought about it, he could remember holding them in his arms before they could barely talk, gurgling words in gibberish and smiling nearly toothless smiles.

Never having had children of his own for multiple reasons, Arthur's mood brightened with the thought, wondering exactly how the twins' lives had played out after Connor had left them.

Well, now was his chance to find out. Preparing himself for work, Arthur decided that he'd give the boy a call in the evening.

He arrived at his office a few hours later, going about his usual schedule as he prepared himself for a day of providing physicals and treating colds. He would endure this process until six o'clock, during which time he would be able to go home and brace himself for another day at the hospital tomorrow. Usually, if he wasn't needed at the hospital, he was left to tend to more ailments at his private practice, not really minding the hectic schedule. He still had his fair share of days off and vacationing time, so he didn't have much of a reason to complain.

Overall, the hours spent in his office were not very demanding, and the change of pace was relaxing. Here, he could spend more time with his patients, getting to know their history and finding a suitable treatment plan for them without feeling pressed for time at every given moment.

Today, the office had been quiet, with just a few patients coming in with mild illnesses. As a matter of fact, he spent the majority of the day in solitude, creating small talk with the receptionist every once in a while. Having some spare time for lunch, he decided that perhaps now was a good time to call his nephew, considering that he might not find the will to do so at a later time. No use in procrastinating, he supposed.

Shutting the door to his private office at the end of the corridor that was filled with exam rooms, he plopped into his chair and withdrew his cellphone. He eyed the new contact for a long moment, wondering what the boy's reaction would be. Perhaps a polite and neutral tone was what he should be aiming for, dealing with the situation promptly so that he could go back to his daily doings.

Finally calling the boy, Arthur was surprised to find that he didn't have to wait long for a response, as Alfred had probably answered the call without checking the number to see who was actually trying to reach him.

"Hello?"

The American accent was more than enough to let him know that he had, thankfully, reached the right person. "Yes, is this Alfred Kirkland?"

There was a heavy beat of silence, but Arthur could still hear some rustling in the background. "Jones. Alfred Jones."

That was odd. "Then, perhaps I have the wrong number?"

"No, I'm sure you've reached the right person. I… I had my name changed, you see. May I ask who's calling?"

Very strange, indeed. "Ah, I apologize for not introducing myself sooner. Alfred, my name is Arthur Kirkland. I'm your father's brother…"

"Right," Alfred remarked slowly, contemplating the news. "How can I help you?"

"Actually, I intend to help you. Your father contacted me recently and requested that I help find you a job. I live here in the city and work as a general doctor at a hospital just downtown. I heard that you're looking for a position as a nurse. Are you looking into being a PCT, LPN, or RN?"

Alfred gave a little cough, clearly feeling awkward and uncomfortable with the conversation. "RN… I'm sorry, I don't know why my father informed you of such things, but I'm faring well on my own. Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid there's nothing that you can do for me. And, not to be rude, but I've had enough of dealing with my father and his family. Have a good day…"

Arthur frowned, anyone who was an enemy of his brother was clearly a friend. "Wait! I stay away from my brothers like the plague as well, but as your uncle, surely there is something I could do for Matthew or yourself."

Deafening stillness met him, and he wondered if Alfred had already hung up the phone. "Hello?"

"As I said before, there is nothing you can do for us…"

"I insist," Arthur urged, determined to do something to rid himself of the guilt in his heart. God, he hated Connor for not only tearing apart his own life, but the lives of his nephews as well. "At least allow me to schedule you a job interview. We don't even have to meet… Just e-mail me your résumé and I'll be sure to take care of the rest."

Unsure of how to make the offer any more inviting, Arthur waited for a response, hoping he'd gotten through to the boy.

"If… If it isn't too much trouble, I suppose…"

He released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Of course not. I'll put in a good word for you."

"Thank you again…"

"Don't dwell on it," Arthur assured before giving the boy his email address. After that had been settled he added lightly, "We'll stay in touch."

"Yeah, I guess so."

And he didn't know it then, but there was something about the way Alfred spoke—the subdued stubbornness and unwillingness to admit to weakness—that he could greatly relate to. There was so much that he was still unaware of that he wanted to find out, but perhaps the mysteriousness shrouding Alfred had been what had drawn him to him in the first place, convincing him to help. His nephew—the boy he hadn't spoken to in approximately twenty years—seemed to have a natural ominousness around him, and he was compelled to know why.