I...began writing again.

Anyways, this is my way of breaking through the writer's block, so bear with me, readers! (Actually, I planned this story after I was done with Retribution, but it doesn't really matter, since these are kind of like side-stories...)

And...there are in P.O.V.'s! (My first attempts aren't good, obviously.)

Disclaimer: Don't own any Trauma Team characters, just the OC.

Alicia's P.O.V.

'Another lively morning... I suppose. Dr. Sartre and I are confined to this place, since Chief 'suggested' we should stay home. And the pathetic reason:

We work too hard.

…Perhaps she's taking the 'rewarding' a little too far? If we work too hard, why haven't the others gone on vacation?

Of course, she knows nothing of the extreme frustration here- it's been ages since I've actually have time to...tend to this forsaken place...

As for him...!

Did he just-'

I could've sworn I heard a cough. A very loud one- to make it here. "Quite the noise...Don't tell me he's-"

It only takes mere seconds to reach his room. How surprising to see the doctor, on his bed stricken with...fever...? "Let me guess, you stayed up a bit late..."

He kept still and responded with agitation, "It was nothing." What a terrible lie; he must've realized that as well.

I can't stand this. His argument and condition was poor at the same time. "Fine, you're a doctor. I'm sure you can take responsibility for your own health." At least some.

I didn't hear an answer. As usual, when he's in a less-than-appreciative mood.

'Study over welfare.' It's always been that with this surgeon. He's probably staring at me as I muttered those words, thinking I'm mocking him...

Breakfast was served, even if he didn't come downstairs. The plate would sit there on the counter...waiting.

Five minutes later, my cursed guilty conscience was at it...again. And before I know it, I'm bringing pancakes upstairs like some maid- can't stop wondering how many times I've sighed. It's just like the old days...

When he saw what I was doing, he kept his silence. All he did was put his arm over his forehead- in botheration. His meaning of 'I'm an adult now' was clearly understood.

I smirked. "It's winter. Even adults and...doctors get sick."

He was still quiet after I set the tray on the desk beside his bed. It didn't seem he was irritated with my meddling...but the remarks may have been too harsh.

"I'm assuming this is your first time ill in a while." They must have kept in good health at the prison...to avoid...another massacre. Well, at least he's free now...not that it was intended to give an opportunity for him to catch the fever...

"Yeah." That's all he could mutter; he voice was severely coarse. Anything else he might try to say I wouldn't be able to hear because of it.

Now what am I to do? Even if I'm immune to sickness, I'm not going to tolerate standing here and watching someone cough all day. "If you think staying in bed is going to help, you're wrong..." Sleep only wastes time. "One moment." As a doctor, I might as well give some support...

I'm guessing the surgeon must have removed the arm from covering his eyes. "What are you doing..?" Rummaging though the nearby shelves certainly got his attention. But he should know most of the medical paraphernalia in this room weren't his from the start- all he did was take advantage of it.

Now it's my turn to. "Pretend we're going to Resurgam in thirty minutes or so- I'm not going to bring a sick doctor to operate."

I presume he's staring at me thinking I've gone mad... or something around that boundary.

Glancing back, I was right- he was definitely suspicious, and still flat on his bed. "How about...an emergency..?"

He didn't get it. Enough with that skeptical look...

"Whatever..." Anyways, I found the jars I was looking for- they're all in hand. "Ready or not..." And without further ado, I threw them one at a time...at him. Hm. Maybe I've should have done so underhand rather than overhand...

In any case, Dr. Sartre used the pillow he was resting on effectively- blocking all of the projectiles onto the bed. I thought as much, his doctor reflexes... they may have been a factor in his fast reaction.

His red eyes widened. I could laugh at him for a while. "I was trying to tell you to get up." Right now he was sitting up. Good enough, I guess.

The doctor spent one moment glaring at me, then at the black containers. I barely made out from his voice 'was violence necessary' and a sigh. He gave up trying to clear his voice and picked up one of the larger jars. He then mouthed 'vitamins,' and turned to me for an explanation.

"The ones I threw are still usable. Take as much as you need to get better." How convenient that I brought up a glass of water with the breakfast.

He tried to mutter something, but his voice was already lost. He coughed into his sleeve and pointed to the storage shelves beside me- the ones I went through.

I turned to the shelves as the sicken doctor moved to his desk. What could he possibly mean? He was waiting for a response I can't make before eating. "Uh...are you asking about why I have those there?" That seemed the most logical question for him to ask.

He nodded.

I'm positive he knew who was the previous resident of the room. "If...one of us got sick back then, the other would've done the exact same thing just now." Details weren't too important for the doctor, as they were serve him little good.

He looked as if he understood enough. Actually, he just stared back at the jars scattered about on his bed. His expression seemed like he was plotting something.

"Hey-" And I can give a good guess at what he's thinking. "I'm not going to get ill anytime soon, so don't think about-" Wait...he's shaking his head. "You...are asking about the pills?" This game of charades is not working, obviously because he wasn't giving me much of a hint.

He held the glass of water, then gestured it at me.

"You...can't...swallow them?"

He showed hesitation.

"But, you're Albert's son-" Unless he forgot how to... "You mean, you've never taken any as a teenager?" And of course, being young meant less chance of being sick.

We were still exchanging awkward looks.

"So...this is a...first?"

He nodded.

...From a random idea one day. ;)

Good luck, Alicia, your house invites lots of trouble...