Chapter 2.

The blinds were drawn shut, no sound came from the apartment. On Conrads bed, blankets built a small mountain. An empty glass on the bedside table. Next to it a clinical thermometer.

"Conrad?"

Nic stepped to the bed and sat down on the edge carefully. Only when she put her hand on the sleeping figures shoulder did he stir. Two sleepy eyes looked up at her. His forehead wrinkled.

"Hey."
"Hey," she greeted back as she stroked her cool hand through his tattered hair.
"Devon said you are ill."
With difficulty, Conrad turned to face her.

"Yes, I'm not feeling so well. Maybe I caught that bug little Jasper was coughing all over the place. Thought it would be good to stay at home for the day."
His voice sounded scratchy and painful, his eyes looked glassy.

Her hand sought and found his forehead, he closed his eyes in relief and leaned into her touch.
The nurses eyes narrowed, she could feel heat radiating from his forehead.
"Did you take your temperature?"

Conrad nodded.
"Something around 102."
"When was that?" Nic went into full nurse mode.
"This morning at six. Felt like I did´nt get any sleep that night."

Her eyes widened.
"102 that early in the morning?"
She reached for the thermometer.
„Open up".

He obeyed, taking the device under his tounge and closing his eyes, leaning his aching head against the pillows.
After a few seconds the device beeped, Nic took a look and shook her head.

"103," she announced disapprovingly. Conrad swallowed.
"Did you take something for the fever? Ibu? Paracetamol?"
"Had nothing tangible," he replied.

He found it more and more difficult to keep his eyes open.
"Great," she snorted, giving vent to her anger. What kind of doctor did not even have the simplest fever medication at home?
"I go shopping. Do not move from the spot."

She did not seem to have to say that twice, because when she looked back she just saw Conrad sliding back into a lying position and pulling the blankets almost over his head. He really did not seem to be doing well. Nic swallowed and reached for her bag to drive to the nearest pharmacy.

After a short trip to the pharmacy and supermarket for some fruit, soup ingredients and ginger ale she returned to Conrads apartment. The scene seemed to have changed little as she unlocked the door and, this time quieter than the first time, entered the apartment. Her eyes immediately went to the bed, but she was stopped in her tracks. The sheets had been thrown back, the bed was empty.

"Conrad?" She asked aloud. No Answer.
"Conrad, where are you?" she asked again when she saw the beam of light from the bathroom.

Hesitantly, she went to it.
"Conrad, is everything okay?"
Carefully she pushed against the door, it was just ajar. The sight before her briefly froze her. Conrad was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall next to the toilet. His hair was sticking to his forehead, he was shivering.
His eyes were closed.

"Conrad, what happened?"
Two quick steps and Nic was down on her knees next to him, cupping his burning face with both hands.

"Conrad, look at me." Nic demanded as she gently patted his cheeks. With difficulty he raised his eyelids, only to let them sink again after a moment.

He looked terrible and was breathing heavily. Before he could answer, he swallowed.
"I got sick, and wanted to get to the toilet. But I'm so finished up, I can not get up again."

"Did you vomit?" Nic asked as she reached for his wrist to check his pulse. Weak and thready. His skin radiated heat and the T-shirt he was wearing over his pajama pants was soaked in sweat.
"Yes, but nothing comes out. Have not eaten since yesterday at noon."

Now in daylight she could see the dark circles under his eyes and unhealthily reddened cheeks standing out from his pale skin.
"Come on, you can´t sit here on the cold floor. Let's get you back to bed",
Nic said as she helped him up, put his arm around her shoulder to support him, leading him back to the main room. She felt that he must feel really terrible, spoken by how he was leaning on her, letting her take some of his wight.

"Do you think you need a doctor?" Nic asked as he sank heavily onto the bed.
"I am a doctor," he croaked.
Nic snorted.
"Yes, and we just figured out, you didn´t even have some paracetamol at home. A fine doctor you are."

The long nightshift and his stubborn behaviour visibly consumed her nerves. But Conrad was too busy with himself to really listen to her. Immediately he wanted to curl up in an embryonic posture, but Nic sighed and stopped him. "First you drink something and take the medication. And you need a fresh T-shirt."

Needing that amount of help made Conrad feel absolutely uncomfortable, even in his foggy mind. He should take care of himself. But it felt also strangely soothing to have Nic taking charge. So for once he let her fuss over him, reaching him a fresh shirt and handing some pills with a soothingly glass of cold water. Once he swallowed and was allowed to lay back, resting his aching back against the backboard, he looked up to her.

She smiled a crooked smile and wanted to turn away, but he lifted his hand towards her.
"Nic."
He looked so vulnerable in this position, so she took hold of his hand and let him pull her onto a sitting position on the edge of his bed.

"Thank you." His eyelids where only halfmast and his voice sounded hoarse even in his own ears. In the dim light he could see how tired she was. His heart made a jump of guilt as realization dawned to him. He furrowed his eyebrows.

"You just came home from night-shift."
Nic felt a twitch in her heart. Coming home? Which home? His or theirs?
"You should rest." He continued.

She smiled and ruffled her free hand through his hair.
"You are the one who needs rest."
"But you too," he insisted. "Come here."

He patted his hand on the free space next to him.
"I don´t think I´m contagious." He smiled his crooked smile.