It was a sweltering day, and the other boy in the staff lounge at the Royal Melbourne looked about as bored as he was. Ordinarily Robert would have found his way down to the VIDs wards and stared through glass at doctors being kitted up to the nines for work in their isolation rooms, but not today. Today the heat had everyone in a temper, and no one was going to have any patience for a kid who kept getting underfoot, no matter how big he could make his blue eyes in apology.

Besides, he had homework. Reams of it, Latin and Religious Studies and Geography - something about igneous rock. Balanced on his knees were myriad declensions: puella, puella, puellam, puellae, puellae, puella, but he was never going to need Latin in six years time, let alone be using it to talk about girls. He tapped the end of his pen against his teeth and stared across the room.

Chris Ridley. Older than he was, maybe fourteen, but they both had parents in the Rheumatology department, so when school chucked out it wasn't uncommon for them to find each other the only viable company in the long and boring wait for hometime. Robert didn't really like him. He was loud and not particularly funny, and when his dad picked him up he smiled and ruffled his hair in a way that was strange and embarrassing. Robert had no idea what Chris' dad did, exactly, but he knew that when his own father said 'jump' then Doctor Ridley would act like he was on a trampoline.

"What've you got?" Robert slid the binder off his lap and walked over to stand in front of the TV set. A blue transformer was beating on a red transformer, and anyone who'd watched an episode of the cartoon before already knew how that one was going to end.

"What do you care? Get out the way."

Apparently Chris had never seen an episode. Robert reluctantly stepped sideways and sat on the wedge of couch next to where the other boy had parked his schoolbag. He already knew the answer he'd been looking for; it looked like a flask of orange juice and a fruit salad. The staff lounge provided free water, and tea, coffee or hot chocolate if you went to one of the machines.

It was a sweltering day.

"Could I share a bit, please? I had my lunch at school."

"Not my fault, is it."

"No, but..." Robert exhaled quiet frustration, the useless breeze fluffing up the few strands of blond hair that weren't clinging sweatily to his forehead. "Please? Just a sip of the juice would be good. I won't backwash."

"Ugh." Chris glared at him and, with slow malice, tipped his head back to receive the last few measured gulps of juice. He turned the empty flask upside down over the carpet to show just how futile any more requests would be. "There. Now rack off will you? You're annoying."

Robert's expression flickered through hurt to something harder. "Yeah, and you're a bogan."

"Am not!"

"Are too. My dad's head of the department, what's yours?" That did it. Chris finally broke eye contact with the brawling robots, and it was obvious he'd been stung. Probably because Robert's father had a nicer car, and Robert went to a nicer school and had stacks more homework to show that he was smarter, too. Chris Ridley probably didn't even know what Latin was.

He watched as Chris pushed his hand into the container of glistening fruit chunks, and pulled it out wet. "There, now piss off like I said."

The projectile was aimed for his head but Robert caught it with a fierce kind of triumph, only conceding a few drips across his shirt and collar. He stood, uncurling his fingers around his prize and shoving it into his mouth, palm and lips stained red. The strawberry was cold and tasted unreasonably sweet.

And... itchy.

It began as a tickle in his throat, a nothingy sort of irritation that he shook his head and coughed lightly to clear. He shouldn't have tried coughing, because once he did it became impossible to stop, until the harsh hacking sounds dried out to a helpless wheeze. Sweat was coming off him in buckets, but he didn't feel hot anymore. He felt cold. Clammy. Distantly, he was aware of Chris getting in his face, saying his name over and over. It sounded hazy, like echoes bouncing off the stalactites in an underground cave.

He was clearly going to die. Robert didn't know what he'd done to deserve it, but he could feel it coming for him as the room rolled in dizzying circles. There were things a person was supposed to do before they died, but in his rising panic Robert could only think of one. He scratched out, "Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord-"

Hail Mary, full of grace.

The Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou amongst women,

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,

pray for us sinners,

now and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

Robert crept back to consciousness with the words of the rosary in his mind and an unsettling feeling of grasping to remember how many he'd said. Next came a Glory be, or another repetition, but which? His fingers twitched, missing the beads he kept count on.

"He's back. Robert. Robert, can you hear me? You've had a nasty shock, but you're going to be just fine."

Fingertips gently pushed up his eyelids and shone a light far brighter than sun through stained glass across each pupil. As the afterimage began to fade, Robert recognised Doctor Ridley kneeling over him, a small fleet of department nurses at his back. He reached to tug at the mask covering his face; it felt restrictive and the elastic was too tight. Doctor Ridley shook his head.

"You leave that there for now, and we're going to get you into a bed."

Robert had concerns. He had homework - Latin, and something about igneous rock in a textbook he hadn't even opened yet. He was sweltering in the heat, and being stuck in a bed was about the last most enjoyable thing he could think of, but his legs were far trembling far too much for him to do anything about that now. One of the nurses was lifting him up, while Doctor Ridley reached out to ruffle his damp blond hair and smile. "You'll be 'right."

He saw Chris as he was taken out into the corridor, peering up at him with a look that mingled fear and deference. Almost dying definitely trumped any other retort Robert could have made. He saw his own father, too, standing in front of the door emblazoned with his name. As Robert was carried down toward the wards, Rowan Chase nodded once, then turned and went back inside.