Dr Beckett and Mr Hyde
By Ann3
Writer's Note: Just taking a quick break from my By Its Cover series to get this wee bit of nonsense scribbled down. Don't blame me - blame a brother who phoned me last night bemoaning the fact that he has a stinking cold. Awww, bless ! And with the famous saying that doctors make the worst patients... well, even our sweet wee Carson must get colds, right...? ;o)
So yes, she's the very happy girlfriend of the dishiest medical doctor in Atlantis. But Laura's about to experience every medical doctor's girlfriend's worst nightmare.
As always, I hope you enjoy !
"Waaaaaa-choooooo…!"
"sniff..."
"snuffle..."
"Waaaaaa-choooooo…!"
She loved him. From the top of his adorably tufty head to his gloriously ticklish toes, she loved him. But two days in to this mission from hell, Laura Cadman's love for her hero was under serious threat.
Carson Beckett, CMO of Atlantis and the sexiest thing Scotland had ever exported, had caught a cold. And boy, didn't she know it.
Until two days ago, she'd regarded the scene before her as nothing more than a charming myth. Living that myth for real, though, she now dryly reflected, had proven what her mother had always told her. Medical doctors, especially medical doctors with stinking colds, really did make the lousiest patients.
The patient in question was, unsurprisingly, still in bed. Or rather, a disaster area that passed for a bed.
With its covers in such a tangled heap, it was tricky to see where the bed ended and its occupant began. But then a shaggy dark head emerged at its centre, prompting a rapidly stifled giggle of laughter. Chronically sick medical doctors, it seemed, had no sense of direction where pillows were concerned.
A few moments later, two bleary blue eyes cranked themselves open, blinking at her with the heart-melting appeal of a newborn seal. And all those years of finely honed military training dissolved into fits of helpless, unstoppable giggles
"L – La'ra…? Wha's – Wha's so blo'dy f'nny…?"
Wisely taking the fifth on that point, Laura just grinned as she continued to savour the scene before her. He was gorgeous when awake, adorable when asleep, but when caught halfway between the two…? And struck down by what, in his own gorgeously congested words, was a 'blo'dy p'g of a c'de…?' Well, Dr Carson Andrew Beckett was, beyond doubt, the most cuddily adorable thing on the planet.
Seemingly, to Laura's relief, forgetting his earlier question, Carson then levered himself upright – putting those notorious, big blue eyes to perfect use as he went, all out, for the loving girlfriend sympathy vote.
"'ve – 've g't a c'de…" he sniffed at last, a trembly lipped pout de-ageing him by three clear decades – any doubt that he did, indeed, have an absolute stinker blown, literally, to the four winds by yet another sneeze.
"Waaaaaa-choooooo…!"
"sniff..."
"honk..."
"A re'l bu'ger 't is t'o…" came the somewhat pointless elaboration from within half a box of Kleenex.
"No kidding…" Laura retorted, fighting a losing battle against helpless, utterly love-smitten laughter.
Despite its position in the midst of deep ocean, Atlantis had yet to experience a real pea-souper, but – well, at least when it did roll in, Laura Cadman now knew where to find the city's makeshift foghorn. And with a nose glowing as redly bright as that, he'd make a pretty neat homing beacon to boot.
Beyond all the laughter at his expense, though, the love of her life was clearly feeling genuinely rotten. It took something pretty drastic, really extreme, to drag Carson Beckett from his beloved Infirmary. And something really serious, sickness or injury-wise, to lay him so completely low as this.
Beneath that mop of wild, child's-finger-stuck-in-socket hair, his face was unhealthily flushed – glassy, unnaturally bright eyes struggling to focus through the fever which still raged beyond them.
Still, Laura thought, glancing proudly at the tray in her hands, he was bound to feel better soon. A little bit of TLC, a good bowlful of the unfailing, universal remedy for stinking colds, and…
"Wha' – Wha' dis…?"
Dryly congratulating herself for being able to translate barely coherent Scottish, Laura frowned. Okay, so the Commissary's offerings could be indistinguishable at times, not to mention inedible. But surely a bowl of chicken coloured soup with bits of chicken in it couldn't be that hard to identify.
"What's what, Carson…?"
"Dis…!" Carson elaborated, staring at the bowl before him as if faced by a rampaging Wraith. Not giving her a chance to reply, he then brought the puppy dog in his eyes out for another run.
"Don' l'ke ch'cken… pr'fer 'mato…"
Not knowing whether to laugh, cry or wash his face in a bowl of soup, Laura forced out a smile.
"Tomato…?" she clarified, biting her cheeks against the appeal of a saucer-eyed, hopeful nod. If Carson Beckett had been half as much a handful when sick as a child as he was when an adult, then – well, wherever she was, his no doubt grey haired wreck of a mother had Laura's every sympathy.
"Okay…" Laura went on, dryly wondering how often Gracie Beckett had said the self same thing. "If I get you some tomato soup instead, will you promise to try and eat some…?"
Two sets of dimples now joined the continuing assault on her patience as Carson nodded in happy eagerness – the all important afterthought lost in an especially ill-timed sneeze as Laura headed on her way.
"An' don' f'rget the… th-waaaaaaaa-chooooooo…!"
By the time she returned, twenty minutes later, he was at least looking a little more presentable – greeting her with something approaching his usual smile as Laura set her load down in his lap.
All that ended, though, as that smile fell into a frown of abject disappointment.
"Di' ye no he'r me askin' ye to r'member the d'nkies…?"
Two hands that were tucking a napkin into his collar somehow resisted the urge to strangle him instead. Once sure that she'd brought those hands under control, Laura then tried to do the same for her voice.
"Dunkies…?"
Thankfully oblivious to how close he'd just come to being dunkied himself, Carson nodded.
"Ay', lass… d'nkies… ye kn'w, wee d'nkies o' bread, to… well, ye kn'w, to – to dunk…"
As another eyebrow warningly rose, so the hand in upraised 'invisible dunkie' demonstration froze in mid-air – the panic-fuelled afterthought which then followed met with a helpless, nodding grin of approval.
"Bu' – Bu' th's is fine' l've… I – I wouldnae w'nt to put ye to 'ny tro'ble…"
"Good save…"
Without dunkies to slow him down, Carson managed, albeit still slowly, to finish his first meal that day – Laura's relief at this welcome achievement vanishing as she then rested a hand against his forehead. He'd felt feverish that morning, as the virus had tightened its hold. Now he felt downright volcanic.
"Jeez, Carson, you're really burning up here, and… eeeeeew…!"
"Ay', lass, I'm swe'tin' up a bit…" Carson agreed sheepishly, pulling a face of embarrassed disgust. Even though he couldn't smell its consequences, he could still feel thereeking dampness below him. From a second night of fretful tossing and turning, his shirt was soaked. His bedclothes weren't much better.
Oh, to be cool and comfortable again, able to stretch out and sleep in dry, crisply fresh bedsheets.
Laura had been thinking the same thing, since she now gave his thigh a gently motivating slap
"Right then, Kilt-Boy, out you get… come on, get that cute little butt of yours into the shower…"
"Sh'wer…?" Carson echoed, blinking back at her with all the comprehension of a potted plant. Muzzily putting two and two together and coming up way beyond four, he then swallowed – hard.
"I – I re'lly dinna th'nk I c'n, love… I – I mean, m'ybe wh'n I feel a b't b'tter, an' stronger, an'… b'sides, I dinna think we'd both fit in th' cub'cle, an' it'd be awfu' slipp'ry, an'… wha's so f'nny…?"
Still helpless with laughter, it took Laura a clear minute to compose herself enough to reply – and even then, her words could barely be heard above a backdrop of spluttering giggles.
"Nice thought, lover boy, but I meant for you to hit the shower… alone… while I hit the laundry…"
"Oh, ay', lass… aye, r'ght…" Carson nodded in still addle-brained, adorably innocent agreement – the redness in his face rising from a subtle flush to full-blown beetroot as realisation finally dawned.
"Oh…! Oh, ye – ye meant for me to… an'… an' I thought ye w'nted to… to… oh, crap…"
Too helpless with laughter to reply, Laura gave him another, gently prompting shove instead – unable to resist a quick throwback to another bashful scientist as Carson frantically adjusted his sheets.
"Seen it…!"
Glaring back at her, with all the dignity he could possibly muster, Carson then took a deep breath. Calculated his route. Braced himself. Tightened his grip on those sheets. And fled for his bathroom.
Sorely tempted to follow him, just to disprove his theory on cubicle size, Laura somehow resisted. Besides, she reasoned, still clutching her stitch-ridden sides, he'd made a typically practical point. He really did need to get his strength back first.
Still wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, Laura then stood to study the disaster area in front of her. If four years in the Marines had taught her one thing, it was how to strip and re-make a damn good bed.
As fastidious in private as he was as CMO, she knew Carson always kept two spare sets of sheets. First things first, though. And while dry and unsoiled, that mattress got flipped over anyway.
Smiling in anticipation of his response, Laura briskly shook out a fresh undersheet and set to work. Absorbed in her task, she didn't even hear that the sound of rushing water behind her had stopped – a soft, thankfully bung-free brogue causing her to spin, and then grin, in pure pleasure at his reaction.
"Bloody hell, lass…! You've – You've got hospital corners there, an'… an'… everything…!"
Modestly shrugging her shoulders, Laura finished tugging the last of those corners into place – casting a final glance at her handiwork, before coming to fondly loop her arms around his waist.
"Well, you know me, I aim to please…" she grinned, loving pushing back still shower damp hair – noting, in genuine relief, that ten minutes under a refreshingly cool shower had worked wonders.
His cheeks were still a little flushed, his eyes still clouded with tiredness from a restlessly fretful night. But the smile on his face was an absolute picture as Laura led him back to a bed that was more a work of art – the protest which followed reminding her, as if reminders were needed, why she loved him so much.
"Bu' – But all th's work you've put into it, lass… I – I mean, don't think me ungrateful, love, but… well, I – I mean, the way I'm tossin' and turnin' right now, I'm going to ruin it for ye, an'…"
"…and the worst that could happen is that I have to re-make it again…" Laura finished for him – gently gagging him with her hand while coaxing him, thankfully without further protest, to lie down.
"Now, can I get you anything else before I let you catch up on some shut-eye…?"
Already semi-asleep in crisp clean linen, Carson blinked up at her, mustering an equally drowsy grin.
"No, love, I'm 'kay… though m'ybe some juice for my throat, that'd be nice…" he murmured – raising a mischievously hopeful eyebrow as he stretched out under those deliciously fresh sheets. "An' maybe jus' a wee cuddle or two for the rest o' me…?"
Even as she snuggled, still laughing, into his arms, Laura Cadman knew she'd end up regretting this. In fact, the chances were that, in a few days time, she'd be sneezing, snuffling and spluttering too. There was already a telltale tickle developing in the back of her throat.
But by then the tetchy Mr Hyde would be a distant memory. Her adorable Dr Beckett would be back.He'd be the one mother-henning over her, fetching her soup, fussing over her and changing her bedclothes. In return, she'd be the one making his life utter hell.
Snuggling closer, Laura allowed herself a thoroughly wicked smile. What a highly entertaining few days they promised to be…!