To Tango on a Clock's Face
Alfons Heidrich
[Prologue: (An Unlikely Patient)]
It seemed preposterous, in her mind, that such a beautiful day seemed like the nagging tug of foreboding. Out of her large office window, stories above the mild-mannered pedestrians below, Felicie could see all of the bustling life of the very heart of Munich.
The sun, a golden orb beaming down upon the towering peaks of cathedrals, tile roofing, and colorful canvas of the marketplace tents, was high in the sky, warding off dark clouds and bringing a light blanket of warmth to everything it touched. The bells of the schools rang softly and melodic in the distance, fading into the background of lively chatter. The fair city was dry and as clean as the countryside, and it warmed Felicie's heart, if just a little.
But still, that feeling, tension drawing underneath the skin, was persisting. She felt as if something was about to happen.
She frowned to herself, quickly shaking her head. The blonde picked up her maroon mug, drawing in some warm coffee. Her eyes habitually tracked around her office, the portrait of her family, bookshelves and file cabinets, and the diploma framed beautifully on the elegant French door leading to and from her office. That in itself sent a tingle of pride down her spine.
That's right, she reminded herself, massaging her temples with a pleased smile. You are a doctor, Ms. Fleischer. You simply do not believe in silly superstitions or unfounded feelings.
She blinked suddenly at an abrupt, albeit civil, knock on her door.
Leaning back on her office chair, the doctor called, "Come in."
The head that poked through the door belonged to her tireless secretary, dressed in sharp white robes near-identical to her boss's, clipboard under one arm and a new cup of coffee in the other. Setting it down with a soft clank on wooden desk, she straightened, reading off a name on her clipboard.
"A patient is here to see you," she reported in a practiced, gently-calm tone. "Just a heads-up, in case you wanted to know: he is new to this type of facility. He says he's been to multiple local clinics before, and nothing has seemed to work. He was just recommended to see a specialist a few days ago."
"All right," she said airily, waving a hand in the air. She took another long sip of her coffee. "Send him in."
The secretary nodded, tearing off a sheet from the clipboard and resting it on Felicie's desk, breezing out the door. A few moments later, there was another hesitant knock, and the door handle slowly turned as if by magic. It opened a crack, and with further urging, the patient tentatively stepped in.
Who walked through the door was not someone she would have expected. He was of average height, purely blonde, blue-eyed, and pale skin hadn't even the slightest wrinkle. He wore honest clothes; they were dirty from work, perhaps, but still strong and well-made. She observed the man, practically a boy of eighteen, for a moment.
So young, she thought, and internally frowned. This must be something irregular… something odd. Perhaps even something serious.
One of the skills they teach you about when you are earning your degrees is to never try to panic the patient. So without a moment's hesitation, the blonde woman, not much older than her patient, stood up gracefully and walked towards her new client, sheet in hand.
She shook his outstretched hand firmly, meeting his level gaze with a cool smile. "Good day, Mr. Heiderich," she said, referring to the clinical records in her hand. "Welcome to my office. Please, take a seat over here if you don't mind."
She directed the young man to the leather seat directly adjacent to her large desk, skimming over the data as he settled into the chair. The doctor quickly rounded the desk again, and found her own chair as well. She studied the young man, interlacing her fingers.
Felicie reviewed what she memorized on the paper in her head before smiling at him again.
"So, Mr. Heiderich, it says right here that you've been visiting the clinics, but have been having no luck with your symptoms."
"That's right," he said, and she noted that his voice wasn't at all abnormal—in fact, it was kind, even, and gentle. "Every time, they told me it was just a bad cold, and you can't treat viruses, right? So they just told me to drink fluids and monitor the symptoms."
"No, you can't at all treat viruses," she agreed. "All you can do is hope they run their course. But apparently yours hasn't."
"No," he said, slightly deflated. "And the doctors back near the outskirts of Munich weren't quite sure of what to do with it. They ran tests, but nothing came up that they knew how to treat."
It was Felicie's turn to frown, and she skimmed over the sheet again. "No diagnosis, even? Hmmm… well, the doctors and nurses there are useless; we're still recovering from the war, and most people now were in it and just got a basic education before they were thrust into their position. What they said doesn't necessarily mean anything. How long have you had this so-called cold?"
His polite smile shrunk a little, but he was still making the best of it. "Five months, Ma'am."
She instantly felt a rope of frustration and blatant shock tighten in her torso, coiling her stomach into a knot of irritation. "It took them five months of symptoms to realize this wasn't your average cold? They waited that long to send you here?" She inquired stiffly.
Since it was a fairly rhetorical question, she didn't wait for his answer.
"Tsk. Truly, they are useless. Well, fear not, Mr. Heiderich. You're under my care now. I'll make sure that we'll get you well in no time. Not that you seem to be having any issues, as far as I can tell. But I know that diseases aren't always one-the-surface. Tell me, personally, what you're experiences with the symptoms are. I don't care much about the prettied-up version on the paper."
"I have coughing fits every once in a while. Everything is fine, but once it strikes, the bouts last for a while. It's starting to feel… deeper in my chest, somehow." His smile was gone now, and his keen eyes seemed to shrink as he fell back on memories.
"Hmmm…" She stroked her chin. "Well, I'm sure even they checked, but if you wouldn't mind loosening your shirt, I'll listen to your heart. I want to make sure you're at the right specialist; quite obviously I am a doctoring majoring in the respiratory system, not the circulatory and all that comes with it. It'd be nice to know if this is affecting your heart as well, and if I need another doctor."
A small tinge of red rose to his cheeks; he only ever had male doctors and was quite conservative, but he humored her request with a small tug at his belt and an unstuffing of his tucked-in blouse. Her cool hands, stethoscope between two fingers, traveled up and eventually centered above the thumping of his heart.
She listened carefully to hear any heart-related issues.
No heart murmur. No issues with the path of the blood, and the workings of the heart sounded just fine to her. He had a healthy heart. She quickly retracted her hand from under his shirt, noting muscle—whatever this disease was, it certainly hadn't deteriorated him enough to cripple or weaken him, yet, if possible at all. She paused for a few extra seconds longer than normal, moving the cool metal of the stethoscope over to listen to his lungs as he breathed in an out. She waited, but nothing sounded out of place.
She jotted down some notes on her pad. Whatever it was, it was either not too lethal, might possibly go away with the right treatment, or be so gradual she would have ample time to do more research.
She tossed her pen in an empty mug. When she lifted her eyes, Mr. Heidrich was just finished resituating his slightly-dusted shirt.
"Well, there is little time for me right now, but this is a good start for an initial meeting. I'll have to reschedule you for next week, if possible. Just hand this," she said, indicating to the paper she extended to him, "to my secretary, and you can work out whatever's fine for you. And I guess I'll see you then.
"Oh, and I know you've heard this a million times, but make sure to monitor any changes," she added seriously, scoping him over again as she was sure he was too, looking unsurely at her blue eyes.
He laughed shortly. "I'll do that," he chimed.
She walked him to the door, bringing up a more superficial question than before. Sometimes idle chatter is a nice way to become comfortable with a patient, she reviewed, her teacher's voice drifting through her mind. The more they like you the better your communication will be.
"So, Mr. Heiderich—," she started amicably, but her patient cut her off.
"Alfons," he said, and Felicie blinked, silently asking for elaboration. "Just call me Alfons. No need to be so formal."
She cracked a smile, this one genuine. This kid… he was a good person. She could tell. So, not completely under her own volition, she found her mouth moving to the words, "Then please be so kind as to call me Felicie."
He politely smiled at her, nodding. "Okay, Felicie. Nice to meet you."
"Likewise." She smiled in a lopsided manner. "So, anyways, Alfons… what do you do for a living?"
Again, she didn't expect what happened next. His mouth quirked, and turned into a big, hearty smile. His baby-blue eyes appeared to sparkle, although the young doctor was sure it was just because they walked past a sunny window. He seemed to habitually straighten with pride, tone as bright and honest as the sun lighting through the window.
"I build rockets, Felicie. I build the things that travel above and beyond our imagination."
[And so the story begins.]
{A/N: I planned on putting this on Quizilla, but I'd like to see how it does here first. :) I'd appreaciate some feedback, since, although I like the idea, I'm not too sure of the quality yet. I don't pretend to know much about medicine and doctors, but I will say I'm trying. xD}