Chapter Four: Doctor's Doctor

I was sitting in the first session of the medical conference when my cell phone vibrated against my leg. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen before answering. "Esme?" I said, softly enough not to disturb the humans around me. "What's wrong?"

"Dr Snow came back to the room because he wasn't feeling well; I think you should come check on him."

"I'm on my way, love." I pocketed the phone and slipped out of my seat, moving past the humans so smoothly that they barely noticed my passage. I took the stairs; with no one else there it was faster than the elevator.

When I opened the door to the room, I saw Esme crouching beside the sofa. Dr Snow lay there, clutching the empty ice bucket. He was so pale that his face was barely darker than Esme's hand as she brushed it across his forehead.

"Is he feverish?" I asked, already focusing on his heart rate and breathing as I went to wash my hands at the kitchen sink.

"A little," she replied.

"I'm fine," Dr Snow groaned.

I raised an eyebrow as I came to take Esme's place by his side. "You don't look fine."

"Just an upset stomach…don't need a doctor."

"Well, let me check you for Esme's peace of mind, then," I said easily. I pressed my hand to his forehead; my senses were a little off from washing my hands in hot water, but I judged his temperature to be around a hundred.

He retched suddenly, then vomited into the bucket as I supported his head. He seemed even paler when he had finished, lying back weakly. I took the glass of water Esme handed me and held it to his lips. "Just sip," I cautioned. "Do you feel any better now?"

"No…not really."

"How long have you been feeling sick?"

"Queasy all morning…just got really bad half an hour ago."

"Is there any pain?"

"No."

I wondered whether to believe him; I had heard that doctors made the worst patients. I gently palpated his stomach and abdomen, watching for signs of tenderness. Finally I pulled out my stethoscope for a perfunctory exam; it was only for show. With my vampire hearing, I could hear the faint echoes of the sounds in the rubber tubing, the sounds themselves slightly muffled and slurred together. I could hear problems better without the instrument.

"I think it's a case of food poisoning," I decided, my sense of smell giving me information most doctors would have needed to run tests to find out. "That lobster you had last night must have been tainted. As long as you don't get too dehydrated or have any other complications, I think we'll let it run its course."

"Told you I didn't need a doctor," he groaned. "Oh!" He doubled up, clutching his abdomen, and I eyed him with concern.

"Are you all right?"

"I need the toilet," he whispered urgently.

With an arm around his shoulders, I helped him to his feet and supported most of his weight until we reached the bathroom door. "Will you be all right by yourself?"

"Yes," he managed, clutching at the sink.

I pulled the door shut for him. "Call me if you need me."

Esme appeared at my side, her eyes worried. "Carlisle, will he be all right? I thought food poisoning was dangerous."

"It can be," I admitted, "but most people just feel pretty sick for a few days." I sighed, shaking my head. "He won't be attending the rest of the conference, though."

Esme flitted away as the bathroom door opened and Dr Snow appeared. He looked ready to collapse, and I was quick to put an arm around him and lead him to the bed.

"But — you and Esme…?" he protested weakly when he realized what I was doing.

"Esme can take the sofa," I told him. I grimaced slightly; not only would I miss my Esme, I would have to lie in bed and pretend to sleep. "You're a sick man; you should be in bed. Do you want your pajamas?"

"Sure…" he mumbled.

I ran my hands under the hot water again before returning to help him into the more comfortable clothes. It took away the chill, though the effects were short-lived.

He was starting to doze off as I pulled the blankets over him, but I returned once more with a glass of water, urging him to take a few sips.

Dr Snow slept most of the day, his rest interrupted only by bouts of vomiting and diarrhea. At ten o'clock that evening, Esme and I were half reclined on the sofa, leaning against each other in the middle. * "Think he'll believe I fell asleep here?" I whispered into her hair.

"Maybe he's too sick to notice if you don't come to bed," she murmured in response.

At a groan from the bedroom, I got to my feet. "Or sick enough to keep me up all night," I grumbled teasingly.

Esme laughed heartlessly; she had sympathy for the sick man, but not for his doctor.

Next chapter coming next week!

* Illustration for this scene can be found at femalechauvinist .deviantart .com [slash] art [slash] Sleepless-Night-686816724

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