Erik watched with fascinated detachment the movement of the second hand in the doctor's watch while he measured Erik's pulse. The watch was too fast. It would be at least half an hour ahead by the end of the week. Nonetheless, imprecise as his watch was, Erik knew the doctor would notice his slow, erratic pulse. Just like he couldn't possibly oversee the other symptoms. Erik's hands were always cold and clammy. The base of his nails had a faint bluish tint. His pallor was too pronounced. He was still overcome with nausea and dizziness whenever he tried to sit upright. And he was so tired. . .
Finishing his exam, the doctor fished a notebook and a fountain pen from his pocket. He sat on the chair beside the bed, and Erik couldn't help but wonder at the equanimity the man displayed. Despite the fact that Erik was not wearing his mask, Doctor Albaret kept addressing him like he would talk to any other person. He didn't avert his gaze from Erik's face, he didn't show the slightest trace of pity or disgust when he looked at the ravaged features. When he sounded Erik's lungs or heart or took his pulse, it was with a firm, professional touch. And he talked to Erik directly and politely, not with the condescension with which other doctors had treated Erik in the past. The condescension with which one spoke to a wounded beast.
"Have you been eating, Monsieur Devaux?"
The question caught Erik by surprise, lost, as he had been, in his thoughts. It took him a couple of seconds to find an answer.
"Not much."
"How have you been sleeping?"
Erik raised his eyebrows.
"Not very well," he admitted.
If the doctor treated him with professionalism and earnestness, the least he could do was return the gesture.
The doctor nodded and wrote something down on his notebook.
"You have to eat better, Monsieur Devaux. Despite the nausea. I'll order you to drink chamomile tea every evening. I think you'll need a new measure of your prescription as well," he said nodding towards the bedside table, where an almost empty bottle of medicine stood.
Erik couldn't help a sneer.
"Will it help?"
The doctor stopped writing and regarded him evenly.
"I think you know that, such as things stand, nothing will really help, just like we discussed last time. The only things that might help are food, rest and will to live."
Erik had to make an effort to hold the gaze of the doctor. Erik had always known there was no cure for his condition, and that, if he wasn't killed, the most likely cause of his death would be another heart attack. He also knew that the symptoms he was showing now were not good signs at all. He had made his knowledge clear to the doctor from the start, wanting to avoid any kind of patronising attitudes. To his astonishment, doctor Albaret had taken Erik's straightforwardness in stride, acquiescing even in discussing the course of treatment and the composition of the medicine to be prescribed.
"I meant the chamomile tea," Erik explained.
The doctor's stance relaxed. A smile hinted at the corners of his lips.
"Anything that contributes the least to make you sleep will be beneficent. It was my grandmother's favourite remedy. And grandmothers are always right, aren't they?" he asked more lightly as he returned to his scribbling.
"I wouldn't know," said Erik.
It came out with more sharpness than he intended. The doctor's fingers tightened around the fountain pen.
A silence followed. It was interrupted, at last, by the ripping of paper as the doctor detached the sheet from his notebook. He handed it to Erik.
"It's the same medicine, and still the same dose," the doctor commented. "A spoonful, three times a day."
"It'll be better if you give the instructions to Darius," said Erik handing the sheet back. "He's much better at following doctor's orders than I am."
"I'd rather discuss them with you, Monsieur Devaux. You are, after all, the one most concerned with your treatment."
"Well, that's a matter of perspective," Erik sighed, leaning his head against the mound of pillows.
To his surprise, the doctor shook his head, disapprovingly.
"Monsieur, I think you should. . ." he made a pause. "Please excuse me if I'm being rash. But you will not make it unless you take this into your own hands."
Erik regarded the doctor, wide eyed, incapable of conceiving the fact that anyone who was staring directly at his face spoke of his demise as something else than a good riddance. The man took a deep breath, as if he was going to plunge into a deep pool, and continued.
"I've witnessed your daughter's love for you." At that, the doctor's eyes darted down, but his voice didn't falter. "I think it would be an immense injustice to deprive her of her father at such an early age."
As soon as he stopped speaking, the doctor's gaze rose again and focused on Erik's features. Erik was stunned.
"I pray you think about it, Monsieur Devaux. I wish you a good afternoon."
The doctor stood up and extended his hand. Erik took it. A cordial, firm grasp seized his cold, bony fingers, and then the doctor made his way out. Erik was unable to utter a word until the door had closed behind the man.
"Good afternoon to you too, doctor Albaret," he whispered.
Exhausted, he let his head fall on the pillows again. He closed his eyes.
Not five minutes later, the door opened and the pattering of small feet crossed the room. Gracie sat on the edge of the bed, beside him. Erik didn't open his eyes, fighting the shame, the feeling of exposure, the deep ingrained instinct to cover his face. She lay down, nestling against him, as had become her custom during the last few days. Erik's arm curved around her.
Had the good doctor sent her to his room to strengthen his argument?
Did it matter?
For once in his life, Erik resolved it was not worth thinking about the base motives of mankind. Gracie was there, with him. That was enough.
He turned his head and brushed the top of her head with his twisted lips.
Author's notes: Wow! So many reviews! I wanted to thank you personally: Moomoo-sama, Nicole Gruebel, Sue Raven, Sat-Isis, Allegratree, Allonym, Leesainthesky for reviewing. Really, your words are encouraging, especially when you comment about specific parts of the work.
I hope you liked this chapter. Any comments, questions, critiques... well, you can click on the small button on the left. It will only take a couple of minutes, and it will make me really happy!
