I'm going to be gone for a week, and so I thought I'd thought I'd leave this as a little going away present for everyone. Originally it was written for the Lancre lj community's Carrot-a-thon. It is still un-beta'd, so forgive the errors.

Carnivorous Vegetables (C/A) if you squint.

Discworld © of PTerry. I own zilch.

Is There a Doctor in the Yard?

By Jess Idres

Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson was always visible in Ankh-Morpork- it didn't hurt that he was six foot six and nearly as broad across; with the amount of 'krimsa', as Corporal Nobbs called it, he managed to make the entire city disappear into the background. People liked having Captain Carrot around (unless the issue of tax-paying was brought up).

So people noticed when Captain Carrot was missing from the streets of Ankh-Morpork.

"Ah-CHOO!"

Commander Samuel Vimes looked up from the paperwork he'd been avoiding to meet Sergeant Angua's gaze. Her tires and slightly concerned gazed told him everything he needed to know. Both of them looked to the sneez-ee, one very large Carrot who had obviously seen better days. "Captain, are you sick?"

Carrot, who was for once distracted from his usual attentiveness during his daily reports with Commander Vimes, look up from the hanky Angua had given him. "Only a small cold sir, it's nothing, really."

Vimes pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you sure? You look rather pale."

"I'm fine, sir, honest."

"You've been coughing and sneezing all day. I know, I heard it from here- and you were on Gleam Street."

"Just some bad road dust, sir."

"You're shivering."

"Just a cold breeze, sir…"

"It's 75 degrees outside, Carrot." Vimes waited as the Captain of the Watch sneezed loudly. "You're eyes are bloodshot, too."

"Just the dust sir- maybe I'm allergic to something in the air?"

Carrot had been a part of Ankh-Morpork for six years- if he was allergic to something, Vimes would eat his ruby tights.

"Carrot, you do know you're not supposed to lie to a superior officer, correct?"

The Captain straightened to his full height and saluted. "Yes, sir!" The effect was immediately ruined by a coughing fit.

Vimes looked at him, nonplussed. "I don't suppose I could order you to lie down, Captain?"

Carrot straightened again. "Sorry, sir, but there's a lot of work that needs to be done…." Whatever else might have been said trailed off and Carrot, still saluting, collapsed to the floor with a thud that shook the entire Yard.

Vimes stood up a little to see over the mounds of paperwork. His Captain was now sprawled out on the floor of his office, unconscious and whistling thanks to a horribly stuffed nose. Angua nudged her fallen boyfriend on the shoulder with her boot. Getting no response, and thoroughly exasperated with his stubbornness over the whole issue, she kicked him lightly. Still no response.

Vimes sighed. "Look, you stay here, I'll get Sergeant Detritus or Constable Flint to take him to his room."

"I can manage him, sir," Angua said, pulling Carrot up by his arms, "He's big, but not too much for a werewolf to handle…" She tried to sling his arm over hers, and failed miserably. He slid back to the floor. "…Er, maybe not. Yea gods, what the hell have you been eating?" He didn't answer.

In the end, Detritus was called, and got Carrot into his small bed. Vimes sent Sergeant Colon, who now seemed to be perpetually on desk duty, to Doctor Lawn's office to see if he could spare some time to look him over. Despite Igor's magic with limb reattachment and other such medical miracles, something like a fever was not generally covered in his training. Igors traditionally served people who evolved past colds- and both Vimes and Angua believed that Carrot wouldn't be cured only by having his lungs and nose replaced, no matter what Igor insisted. Colon came back a little later, saying that the doctor would drop by in a couple of hours.

Angua found a couple of extra blankets that Nobby hadn't nicked in a small closet off the end of the hall. She tried her best not to tuck the sick man in too tightly, for all that he deserved it. Really, she'd been trying the past three days to get him to take it easy; you can only take so many muffled coughs before you consider taking matters into your own hands. But Carrot, like most boyfriends, didn't really listen to her concerns. She'd finally enlisted the help of Commander Vimes simply because Carrot would be more likely to actually listen when Vimes told him he was sick.

After fussing about for a while, trying desperately to remember anything that might help a human ailment, she sat back in the chair, frustrated and feeling quite useless. Carrot still was asleep, now thoroughly tucked in with a cold washcloth on his forehead, and occasionally blowing a snot bubble. Not exactly his finest moment, to say the least.

Corporal Ping stuck his head in the door. "Captai- Uh, oh. Erm…" For most watchmen, a woman in a man's room usually meant interruptions were the last thing they were looking for. It took him a moment to register that although Carrot was in bed, Angua wasn't in there with him and still remained fully clothed. "What's wrong with him?"

She shrugged her shoulders, thinking it was rather obvious. "Sick."

"Sick!" Ping, like many of the newer watchmen, had a hard time believing their unflappable Captain was human.

"Yes, Corporal, Carrot's sick. That does happen, even to him. What do you need?"

"I, er, was hoping to file my report with him. Um, have you called a doctor?"

Angua pinched her nose. That's right, everyone always filed their reports with Carrot, because either Vimes glared at you for adding to his paperwork, or ignored you entirely. She'd tried to explain it to the Commander the last time he asked why everyone was so scared of him. "Look, give it to me. I'll make sure he gets to it as soon as he's able, ok?"

Ping looked back and forth between his unconscious Captain and the Sergeant, as if trying to make up his mind. "Um, ok. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Can you heal someone with your touch?"

"What? Uh, no…"

"Then, no, Corporal, we can manage. Send Doctor Lawn up when he gets here, ok?"

Ping nodded hesitantly as he placed the report on the small table by the door. He smiled weakly at her and scuttled back downstairs, his hand over his mouth. If this was something strong enough to take out Captain Carrot, Ping could only imagine what it might do to a 'normal' member of the watch.

Calling oneself a normal member of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch was a bit like saying you were a normal life form on the Planet Earth. Between the Golems, trolls, dwarfs, gnomes, and other species that had decided that the Watch was right for them, the application form had been altered so many times that Commander Vimes had suggested they simply start off with "Tell us what you think we ought to know about your person…" and work from there. The Golems were still arguing over the gender box.

Between Corporal Ping and the arrival of Doctor Lawn to Psuedopolis Yard, news of Carrot's condition spread quicker than any germ among the watchmen. Angua, who had temporarily left Detritus with orders to keep Carrot in bed even if it meant the use of force while she went to grab a few change of clothes, heard everything from the rumor Carrot was going to keel over any minute, speculation he had been poisoned by the assassins guild, to the very dangerous idea he'd caught Klatchian spotted fever. There was probably even more, but they'd been smart enough to hush up about them when she came into view.

Although Commander Vimes did hear them, later on; and had promptly pointed out that lycanthropy was NOT a sexually transmitted disease, and the next one who brought it up would get Shades duty for an entire week.

The sniffling wreck of the Captain of the Watch was awake when Dr. Lawn made his way up to the upper floor of the Yard, although 'awake' and conscious were two very different words. He'd only managed to grunt or mumble any responses to the questions Angua had tried to ask. He hadn't even realized the doctor was in the room a good four questions in. "'M not sick." Was all he'd managed to say about it anyway.

Doctor Lawn raised a gray eyebrow, and managed to push a thin glass tube filled with red liquid between Carrot's pressed lips. "Captain, as much as I like to believe you, I happen to know even the healthiest watchmen- human or dwarf, do not run a temperature of 102. Oh dear. Have you been exposed to undue amounts of the Ankh lately?" Carrot, despite being the largest dwarf on the Disc, squirmed at the cold touch of the stethoscope.

Angua snorted. "He fell in twice last week, trying to catch a runaway cart."

"Eaten anything that hasn't agreed with you?"

"He normally eats at Glimet's Delicatessen, and likes dwarf bread. I don't know if anything can disagree with him."

"Any unusual stress?"

"Just the usual hassles of trying to do everything himself around here."

Dr. Lawn nodded, fully used to supplemental commentary. "How long has he been under the weather, as they say?"

"Three or four days. The big idiot doesn't know when to quit, though."

"Ah."

Carrot looked up at Angua, obviously upset, before once again staring at the glass tube under his tongue, as if willing it to go down. He moved to try and take it out, but Angua slapped his hand. He just couldn't win.

Sam Vimes was having a very, very hard time trying not to laugh as the giant of a captain was reduced to a child between Doctor Lawn's ministrations and Angua's scathing comments. Never in the life of him would he suspect that the honest and rather simple captain was even capable of the pout that cause the glass to bob up and down. Perhaps he ought to keep one of these thermometer devices handy, for the next time Carrot suggests he take it easy.

After what seemed like forever, Doctor Lawn finally finished poking and prodding. "Well, it seems young man that thankfully you've got nothing worse than a mild case of the Ankh Flu. I recommend hot liquids with four or five days of bed rest and you'll be back chasing criminals in no time at all." The finality of the prognosis was emphasized with the bang of his bag snapping shut.

Carrot, Angua and Vimes gaped.

"Four or Five days, do you know how hard it was to keep him in bed for four hours!" Angua moaned. "I guess I can go see if Igor can lend me a couple of strong restraints…"

"Four or Five days of dealing with those pompous idiots by myself? Captain, you really don't do anything small, do you." Vimes shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Five days of having to try and remember everyone's name, damn…"

"I'm not sick!"

"YES YOU ARE!" Three head turned to glare at Carrot.

Defiantly, he tried to stand up and disprove them. His legs, however, were being much more sensible about the whole thing and collapsed underneath him.

Angua sighed. "I'll go get Detritus…"

It went all down the Via Cloaca from there. First, every watchman, hardly believing that Carrot could get sick, had decided to check the truth of the matter for themselves. Some, like Nobby, came around again to make sure he wasn't faking it, or even worse, in the hopes of catching it to get out of duty.

After that, several guild representatives had shown up to once again complain to the captain about Commander Vimes, being far too chicken to complain to him themselves, of course. Upon hearing that he was ill, many had assumed this was an excuse of some sort and marched up to see him anyway, only to be confronted with one angry werewolf staring at their jugulars. While most of the watchmen had been smart enough to leave the issue well enough alone, Guild presidents got to where they were with a certain amount of detachment from reality that was a dangerous thing outside their respective professions. Carrot had hid under the covers when both Boggis of the thieves guild and Lord Downey had both offered to send over their guild physicians.

Angua refused to even let Queen Molly of the Beggars Guild in the room. In Carrot's weakened state, who knows what he might have caught breathing the same air as her.

The Patrician had been rather understanding about the whole situation, to Commander Vimes' surprise. Unsurprisingly, Vetinari had already heard the news- although, unlike everyone else, he got the ailment right- and Vimes had returned from his daily meeting at the Palace with a jug of chicken soup from the kitchens and small bottle of concentrated tea.

"How's he doing?" Cheery had come up with a fresh load of washcloths and bucket of relatively clean cold water. Carrot was, as far as she could tell, asleep, though with the amount of noise he was making it was hard to tell.

"Not so good. I think he may be hallucinating." Angua leaned back on the cot she'd nicked from the crash room. "He called me 'Mummy' a few minutes ago."

"Well that's not so bad, is it?"

"He though Vimes was a duck an hour ago."

"Oh dear."

"Thankfully, Doctor Lawn says this is normal and his fever will probably break in a day or two. At least the visitors seemed to have stemmed off from yesterday."

"Um, speaking of which, what did you do to last guild doctor?"

"I just told him that if he didn't let Carrot get some rest, he'd get a close, personal view of his own pancreas."

"Ouch."

"Well, hopefully they've learned their lesson and will at least give him some time to recover now. I mean, it probably can't get any worse, barring him catching something else…"

But it did get worse. Eight times worse, in fact.

The Seamstress Guild has always had a soft spot for the honest, kind, (and let's face it, very nice looking) Captain of the Watch ever since he'd arrived to Ankh-Morpork. Quite a few of the girls were still quite enamored with the young man, adopted dwarf or not, and had longed hoped that with a few minutes alone with him would surely clue him into the fact that they were meant to be together. It didn't matter that Carrot's involvement with Sergeant Angua was well known, in fact for some girls that seemed to just make it all the more exciting.

Or at least find out what was behind that large protective. They were seamstresses, after all.

So at the news that the poor young man was deathly ill, they felt it was a woman's duty to go take care of their true love, no matter what anyone else had to say on the matter. As word spread among the guild, more young ladies decided to tag along until a full regiment of 16 girls were marching their way to Psuedopolis Yard, before Mrs. Palm could find out and stop them. Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs, both on desk duty, had a hard time doing anything but gape at the delegation. Finally they mutely pointed to the stairs. No man could ever argue, let alone get a word in edgewise with that much estrogen on the opposition.

As soon as they were up the stairs, Colon and Nobby grabbed the few younger watchmen and ran as fast as they could out the door. They were men, true enough, but Sergeant Angua wasn't, and she was in a nasty mood anyways. And when the fur flew, the safest place would out of the Watch house. Quirm was always nice this time of year…

"What do you mean we can't see him?" Isadora Millweed demanded, trying desperately to get around the blond sergeant that stood between her and the nice young man on the other side of the door.

"Because he's sick, and he needs his rest." Angua growled. She should have seen this coming, really, but this was ridiculous. They were Seamstresses, for gods sake. Didn't they have a little common sense?

"But we've come to take care of him!" said another girl.

Angua grimaced. Yeah, right. She could smell their 'intention' a mile away and rest seemed to be the last thing a lot of these girls had in mind. "We've got plenty of help already, ladies. Thank you, but no."

Vetinari looked up at soft rap at his door. "Yes, Drumknott?"

"There's an emergency clacks from Psuedopolis Yard, sir…only this can't be right." He looked down at the paper in confusion. "It says they're under attack…by Seamstresses, sir."

Vetinari didn't even blink. "I suppose it has something to do with the young Captain being sick. Inform Mrs. Palm of the current situation. I think she'd prefer her girls in one piece."

Drumknott nodded and returned to the clacks tower.

"Why do you get to decide who takes care of him, anyway?" Several of the girls looked at Isadora worriedly. There was something about the sergeant that suggested to the smarter ones that perhaps this wasn't best line of questioning. Her stare made their necks itch.

"First off, as a sergeant of the Watch, I have a lot more say than you do on this subject, and…" Oh, bugger it. This is probably the only thing that might get these girls to budge. "I'm his girlfriend. So you can just shove it."

The look Isadora gave her was not encouraging. "You? What's so special about you?"

That was the last straw. "Ok, now you're going to get it!" And with that, Angua lunged at the little twits.

Through the haze of clogged orifices and a pounding headache, Carrot wasn't sure what was going on outside his door. It sounded rather awful, whatever it was. He sniffled. But Angua had made it quite apparent that he'd be drinking through a straw, cold or not…

Commander Vimes tried not to wince as Sergeant Angua glared at him from Sergeant Detritus' grip. Thankfully she was still human, and none of the seamstresses seemed to have been given anything worse than a fat lip. Mrs. Palm had thankfully arrived to see that the girls had been well deserving of the few punches that had landed home. "Alright, Detritus, you can let Sergeant Angua go."

"You alright der, Sergeant? You look pretty tired."

"She's had a pretty rough couple of days, Sergeant. I think it may be best if we suggest no one is allowed to visit Carrot until he's in better shape." Angua nodded wearily. She could deal with a nap at this point.

Mrs. Palm shuffled her girls downstairs, then turned to the Watchmen. "I do apologize for my girls behavior. You can be sure it will not happen again." She leveled her gaze at Angua. "Do take care of him, won't you, Sergeant? I daresay we all feel much safer when we know he's on the streets."

"Um, of course, ma'am…"

"Good. Now, good day gentlemen, lady."

Vimes, Detritus and Angua watched her daintily pick her way down the stairs and out of sight. "Next time, I think I will let them take care of Carrot. Let's see how long they last holding romantic thoughts while he's calling them Mr. Popsicle."

Finally, two days later, Carrot's fever broke. Doctor Lawn was called to pronounce him fit for duty, and Angua trudged home for a long, hot bath and some clean laundry. Needless to say, Commander Vimes was much happier this time around when Captain Carrot and Sergeant Angua were in front of his desk. "How are you feeling, Captain?"

Carrot beamed. "Oh, much better sir, but I think I'll be happier being able to do my job again."

"Good, good. I'm just glad that's all over with. Now-"

"Ah-CHOO!"

Everyone froze. Angua brushed her nose. Carrot and Vimes looked at each other and then at her.

"This is going to be a long week." Vimes said to nobody in particular as Carrot gently guided Angua down the hall, despite her feeble protests.