His pager's electronic ring broke Dr. Alfred Jones away from the book he'd curled up with in the break room. Glancing down, he noticed it was a message from his boss, and quite an urgent one at that. He was immediately expected in the office. Considering the amount of patience Dr. Kirkland possessed(none, especially not with him), he'd have to hurry.
Getting up, he stretched his arms over his head to loosen some of the tension in his back and tried to adjust his hair and glasses a little. Making his way to the office, he dodged the hundreds of agitated people hurrying past him, always the case in a hospital. Before he entered the office, he tried to make himself a little more presentable, but quickly gave up on it. It wasn't like the state of his hair really mattered.
„Afternoon, boss." he said easily, entering the spacious room. He and Dr. Kirkland had known each other long enough for some familiarity to settle in.
„Good afternoon, Dr. Jones. You don't have time to sit down, because I'm briefing you for your second assignment as a stationary house call doctor. And yes, you are going to take this case, if only because this patient is a very important figure in New York's culture network," he paused to rifle through the papers on his desk and unearthed a folder of patient's records, „and extremely influential people have hinted there could be a big donation in for us if we cure him."
Alfred listened numbly to the slew of words. Being subjected to a high-speed rant was normal when you worked under Dr. Kirkland, and worrying about the moral gray-area of taking a case because of donations was useless, considering that, in Dr. Kirkland's own words „All the money we receive goes towards saving people's lives.".
And a new car every once in a while. But most of it was about saving people.
„Okay," he said, not about to argue with someone who was responsible for his career climb and could be just as responsible for his fall. Besides, the case might prove interesting, „what exactly am I treating?"
„The patient's condition is a periostitis of the radial thyphoid, affecting the left arm. It was diagnosed fairly early, so the chance of full healing is about 70%, provided he gets enough rest and the proper treatment. And your job is to supervise that treatment from the patient's home, make absolutely sure he doesn't use his arm, and aim for regaining the full mobility."
Alfred hissed through his teeth. „Bah. That can be really painful. Is the patient already informed he'll have a doctor staying with him?"
„Yes, he is. He won't be leaving home, of course, so he has also employed a housekeeper."
„Allright. So, what's his name, then?"
Dr. Kirkland raised his brows – which looked quite impressive in his case – and fixed him with an odd look.
„His name is Ivan Braginski."
Alfred stared at his boss in mute disbelief. Of course he trusted himself to treat an early-diagnosed case of periostitis, but...
„The Ivan Braginski? The most promising violinist of the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, and you want me to treat his arm?"
He definitely wasn't lying when he said there was a donation in for us...
„The very same, I'm surprised you even know who he is, though," he added under his breath"So, will you or won't you take him as your patient?"
Alfred was a bit offended. He might look more like Christina Aguilera concerts than orchestras, but it was unfair of his boss to assume he had no real culture. Well, that ought to surprise him, then.
He remembered the violinist quite clearly, from a concert that he'd visited. A fair-haired young man with broad shoulders and an odd eye color he'd noticed even from his seat. The Russian-born man had a lot of talent, that was certain.
„Sure I'll do it. When do I start?"
„Yesterday would be favorite. Go home, pack your things and call me so I can tell you where he lives. You can read his records on subway, but there isn't anything else that's notable. And of course, I'll need your autograph, here." with that, he held out a contract. Alfred was already familiar with the new practice of living at a patient's, most often because they couldn't or wouldn't leave home or required supervision. He scanned over all the clauses and sub-clauses, noticing that his would-be patient had already signed his name, in the shaky letters of someone not quite familiar with the Latin alphabet. Alfred signed the document with a scribble that might or might not have been his name.
On returning home, he packed a week's worth of clothes and a washbag in a carry-all, along with other necessities. He was given the address of his new patient, and left for the apartment in a house in the suburbs.
The area was a nice one, several new apartment buildings surrounded by parks. Carry-all slung over his shoulder, Alfred made his way to a high building with yellow walls, and rang the doorbell. He was aware of the impersonal eye of a camera watching him. A voice cracked by static issued from a speaker.
"You would be the doctor, I expect?" The voice was surprisingly young, and slightly accented. Alfred affirmed that he was in fact the expected doctor.
"You will have to use the staircase, I fear. It seems that the elevator is out of order again."
Luckily, the violinist's apartment wasn't too high, but he was still breathing a little heavy when he reached the specified floor. He was just used to working elevators.
The door opened before he could ring, and he was met by his new patient, who looked quite different than he'd done on stage. For one thing, his arm was in a sling and he had a tired, bedraggled look about him. He was also much taller than Alfred remembered. He positively towered.
"Good afternoon, Doctor...?" he said, beckoning Alfred in with his good arm.
"Jones." Alfred said, looking around the apartment, tidy except for a mass of sheet music spread over every flat surface, giving the place the appearance of a snowstorm's aftermath.
Ivan followed his eyes, a slightly pained smile spreading over his face.
"Being unable to play, I have tried my remaining hand at composing. But my muse seems to have taken a temporary vacation," he sighed, and sat down on the couch heavily,"Hopefully temporary. I would offer you some tea, but it's horribly difficult with only one hand. Nadya should be coming by any minute now."
A/N: Periostitis is an inflammation of a layer surrounding the bone, and the radial thyphoid is a part of a bone in the forearm.
Also, everything I know about medicine comes from wikipedia and House, so I apologize for potential fail.