Part 4

"Is it in yet?" Evan asks as he lay in the bed, one hand covering his eyes.

"Just about…" Hank assures him as he finishes inserting the I.V. needle, "there. See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Evan puts his hand down and looks at the unit pumping liquid into his body. "I still think it's totally unnecessary."

"You nearly collapsed in the hall."

"My legs were just a little shaky," Evan counters.

"Your fever is up to 103.4."

"It's only really dangerous if it goes above 106."

Hank jerks back, surprised. "Where did you learn that?"

"You don't wanna know."

"Fine," Hank shakes his head, "but typically the body stops its own rise in temperature when it gets to that point. Do you want to know how it ends up going above its own limit?"

"Uh, based on your relentlessness, here, I'm going to go out on a limb and guess dehydration?"

"Exactly, which is what I was trying to tell you in the first place."

"Fine, fine, whatever, rub it in a little while I'm down and defenseless. I'll think of a good comeback to all this when my brain stops frying inside my skull."

"It doesn't start frying until your temperature gets above 106, remember?" Hank smirks.

"Ha ha – funny. You should do stand-up. And speaking of standing, I couldn't help but notice you didn't attach the bag, there, to one of those stick things with the wheels. How am I supposed to get to the bathroom to puke?"

Hank reaches down beside the bed and lifts up a big plastic bucket.

"Oh ho, no," Evan laughs, then realizes Hank is serious. "Oh come on, a bucket? That's so third grade."

"Evan, you were puking in a bucket two weeks ago at T.J.'s party."

"It's T-Jay, emphasis on the 'Jay'. He's gonna be like the next big rap star or something - and drunken puking is totally different."

"Oh this should be good," Divya says as she leans in the door frame, yet again. "Your door was open so I let myself in. I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all," Hank tells her, "I sort of assumed you'd be dropping by, anyway, after hanging up on you earlier."

"Can I finish my explanation, here?" Evan asks, and waits until he has their full attention before continuing. "Okay, so puking in a bucket while you're drunk is actually a sign of maturity because if you think about it, if you can keep your head enough while you're at, like, the height of your drunken demonification to remember that you shouldn't be puking into your host's tulips or on their five-thousand dollar Persian rug, then kudos are in order for being courteous enough to find yourself a bucket. Puking in a bucket while you're sick, though, just means you're too lazy to walk down the hall to the bathroom."

"Or too weak," Hank tells him, "which you've already proven you are right now."

"What exactly happened, anyway?" Divya asks.

"I'll explain downstairs. Come on," Hank says, leading her out the door.

"Hank," Evan calls out, "I.V.'s make you have to pee, don't they? What happens when I have to pee?"

"You have a bucket," Divya says slyly, shutting the door behind her.

"You can't," Evan laughs, "You can't be serious, right? Divya? Gah, would you guys quit doing that! Hank?"

The door opens back up and Hank pokes his head in. "Just call me if you have to pee, okay? Now go to sleep."

"All right, an answer, that 's all I wanted. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Hank responds, gently re-closing the door.

"So far he's been following the course of Mr. Brinkley's flu exactly," Hank explains.

"Yes, he is definitely looking a bit more green around the gills than he was yesterday," Divya frowns.

"And if he stays the course, tomorrow will be worse."

"But isn't that pretty much where it ended for Mr. Brinkley? By the fourth day he was feeling better, right?"

"That still isn't gonna make tomorrow any easier. Tonight, either – I want to monitor him throughout, make sure he's doing okay."

"Would you like me to stay and help?" Divya offers.

"No, go home, I can handle this."

"I was only asking to be polite. You were supposed to say yes."

"Really, Divya," Hank states, "You don't need to stay."

She puts her hands on her hips as she talks. "So, you were up early this morning, intend on staying up all night, and hope to continue to be alert enough all day tomorrow should he take a major turn for the worse?"

"I was an ER doctor, Divya. It's not like I haven't taken double-shifts before."

"And you're a concierge doctor now, with a PA standing right in front of you willing to help out, and a sick little brother upstairs who is depending on you to be ready to get him through tomorrow. I'll watch him tonight while you get some sleep and we can trade off in the morning. Deal?"

Hank takes in a deep breath, then slowly nods his head. "Okay, it's a deal," he tells her, "But you have to promise to wake me up if anything goes wrong."

"Of course," she assures him, and they shake on it.

The clock on Evan's nightstand reads 4:00 am when Divya enters, holding a cup and a thermometer. She sets the cup down and leans over Evan, gently shaking him awake.

He groans, "Weren't you just here like ten minutes ago?"

"That was two hours ago. Now open up," she orders softly, placing the thermometer in his mouth when he complies. She pulls it back out as soon as it beeps, her jaw setting as she reads the results.

"Is my brain frying yet?" Evan asks, trying to sound funny but just coming out sounding tired.

"No, but it's getting there. You're at 103.9 now."

"Do you guys know you sound like radio announcers every time you read my temperature?" He gives her a small smile, then adds, "Why haven't I had to pee yet?"

"Because you were dehydrated to begin with and whatever your body isn't soaking in is probably getting burned up."

"You knew that would happen earlier, didn't you, when I was asking about it?"

"I might have," she grins, "Do you want your ice chips now?"

"Ice chips?"

"You asked for them last time I came in, remember? I told you if you managed not to throw up by the next time I checked on you, I'd bring you some."

"Huh, I don't remember," he says, shaking his head, "but since you went through all the trouble…"

Divya reaches around him to help him sit up just a little, but stops when he suddenly tenses.

"Ow, wait, stop," he says, gripping her wrist.

"What's wrong? What hurts?"

"Mmh, my back's kinda sore," he says, breathing through the pain until he relaxes, a signal that it has passed. "Probably from all the bending over the toilet, right?"

"And the general strain vomiting tends to inflict on the muscles, yes. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine, it's gone now." He pushes himself a little higher onto his pillows, then reaches for the cup of ice.

"Slowly," Divya instructs when he begins to just tilt the whole cup towards his mouth, "Let them melt one at a time before taking another, okay? You'll have an easier time keeping the water down that way."

He nods, leaning his head back on the baseboard and shutting his eyes as he lets the cool ice melt on his tongue. He stays that way for a bit, even after the ice has long disappeared.

"You know I went to Mr. Brinkley's every day, right?" he finally asks, keeping his eyes shut.

"Yes…" Divya answers, confused as to where this is going.

"He was being a total whiner on his third day – Hank was cool about it, but it drove me nuts. If I get like that today, I give you permission to slap me."

She thinks about her response to that for a second before speaking. "Evan, as many times as I would have loved nothing more than to smack that smug grin off your face, you are a patient right now and that makes you part of our business."

Evan lifts his head up and looks at her, giving her a crooked smile. "And you never mix business with pleasure. Right, I got it."

She smiles back, then merely nods at the cup in his hand. "Eat your ice so you can go back to sleep. It should be your brother checking in on you next time."

"Thanks, Divs," he tells her sincerely.

"I'm just doing my job," she replies just as sincere.

Nodding, he quietly places another ice chip on his tongue.