A/N: This story has a rather weird origin. XD It started from another one of the complaints I had on "Coulrophobia." When I was writing it, a small part of my mind kept nagging to me "What makes you think that Hank has one doctor? Wouldn't he be traveling too much for that? Or wouldn't whoever he works for cover his medical charges and provide a doctor?" And in the end, the golden question; "What would it be like to be Hank's doctor?" That one thought made me giggle, and I couldn't stop coming up with scenarios in my mind. So finally, I decided I would just write a story and get it all down on paper. THIS is what it's like for Hank's doctor. May God have mercy on his poor soul. XD
I'm much happier with this story than I was with Coulrophobia, mostly because I got just about everything I wanted into it. The only thing I didn't was a small part about Dr. Belhin's time in college taking some physcology classes, but eh, it's fine without it. :P
I've actually gotten strangely attached to my lovely Dr. Belhin. I'm hesitant to abandon him after how much work I put into him, so he'll probably show up in another one of my writings eventually. Whether or not he'll show up in another MC fic, I don't know.
Anyways, now that I've wanted and dilly-dallyed, let's get to the story! I hope that you all enjoy it; I worked really hard on it!~ R&R, please! ;)
~Auburn
Disclaimer: I do not own Madness Combat.
"Blood pressure's still as high as last time." He frowned and gave him a piercing look. "Have you been taking your medication?"
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I have. It's just stress, okay? Believe me, the best pills that money can buy wouldn't make a difference either."
"Then maybe you should cut back on whatever's stressing you out."
He gave a chilling, humorless laugh that made the doctor shut his mouth immediatly. "Trust me, doc. That's not gonna happen."
Dr. Bilhan sighed, but didn't push it." Alright then. I'm gonna need you to remove your goggles now, okay? And, er...the bandages around your ears, if you don't mind..."
Hank gave the doctor an almost suspicious glance, but after a moment, he slowly complied.
The scars still hadn't healed, but he had expected that. It was always the eyes that gave him more of a startle. They were dark eyes, almost black, and they'd been getting more and more bloodshot each time Hank came to see him. He carefully aimed the light into them, watching the pupils dialate. Other than the red veins practically blotting out the sclerae, they seemed to be fine. He turned off the light and picked up the otoscope.
After indicating for Hank to turn his head sideways (though he'd never admit it, he was terrified to try and move the man himself, and so always asked), he carefully inserted the instrument into his ears one at a time. Everything was normal so far. Physically, at least.
"Have you been having any incidents?" he asked as he disinfected the head of the otoscope.
"Nothing that I haven't been able to handle," Hank grumbled.
The doctor shot him a dissaproving look. "Open your mouth, please," he said. He knew that he probably sounded about as annoyed as he felt, but he wasn't in the mood to try and hide it. He understood that Hank had a rough life and a less than savory career, but did he really have to act like such a tough guy? Why couldn't he show just one moment of weakness? He knew his annoyance was a bit unfair; it wasn't so much that he was angry at Hank, but angry at himself. Angry that he couldn't shoulder burdens like that. Angry that he showed weakness when this strange, dark man never did.
He placed the depressor on Hank's tongue a bit roughly, but if the man noticed, he didn't say anything. He switched on his pen light a took a careful look inside. A bit discolored; kind of pale, but other than that, nothing out of the ordinary. Same as always. Didn't this man over get a cold or something?
Truth be told, he didn't see Hank very often. He wasn't even technically a real patient. There were no medical records, no papers except for the dollar bills that passed between them. On more than one occasion had Hank been denied entry to his office because the secretary said that he didn't have an appointment. Those situations never went well. At this point, he was just glad that he hadn't had to replace a secretary.
Despite how long Hank had been coming to see him, he really new very little about the man; basically nothing. He didn't know the man's job, or his age, or what school he had gone to; he didn't know where the man lived, what he did in his spare time; and sometimes, he got the suspicion that he didn't even know the man's real name.
Hank had explained that is was better that way, though. "Safer for the both of us," he'd said. "Mostly you."
It was a very subtle threat, so cleverly underlined in his voice that the doctor was surprised that he caught it. He would later come to the conclusion that he had only heard it because Hank wanted him to. A strange thought, albeit it a frightening one. If he hadn't needed the money so badly at the time, he probably would have denied the offer right there and cut all ties with the man. But he was desperate, and although nervous, he had agreed. Agreed to be the physician of the man that the only thing he really knew about was that he was a killer.
Not that he'd ever tell Hank he knew. It was something that stayed unspoken between them. The doctor suspected that Hank knew what he had concluded, and that he knew he knew he knew. But it was something not to be talked about. Speaking it aloud made it official; making if official meant that the doctor knew too much. "Safer for the both of us. Mostly you." Just peachy.
"Everything's normal. Was there any specific reason you came in, or did you just feel like a check-up?" As if. Hank didn't come in unless he thought that something was wrong. And something usually was.
"Well...yeah," he admitted, hesitant as always. The doctor waited patiently for him to elaborate, but all he did was give a deep signh and rub wearily at his eyes with his right hand.
The doctor remained silent.
"There's this feeling...deep in my chest," Hank finally said. His hand tightened over his heart momentarily as though he could physically grab the feeling.
"What kind of feeling is it?" the doctor inquired." Is it pain of some sort?"
"No, it's not pain. It's just..."He furrowed his eyebrows and seemed to think very hard about it. "There's this icy feeling. I just feel like I'm...colder, then everything around me."
"Cold?" Dr. Bilhan asked, frowning.
"Yeah. And not only that. It feels like...I dunno, wrong. Almost like something's missing. Gone."
"Anything else?"
"I'm always shaky," he admitted. "My skin feels chilly for no reason and just can't get warm. But I think that that's just from- well........you know."
Indeed he did. It was often hard to decide if the information disturbed or amused him. It was true that a large part of the population suffered from the exact same thing, but still; how could this man, this dark, dangerous, mysterious man, be afraid of clowns of God's sake? It was no doubt the strongest case of coulrophobia that he had ever seen, or even heard of, for that matter, flaring up without any stimulation for no apparent reason.
The doctor thought for a minute, trying to think of what might be wrong with his patient. He knew that Hank didn't have diabetes or anemia. He was rather pale, and always seemed to be tired; hypothyroidism, maybe?
"Have you had any trouble keeping food down?" he asked.
"No," Hank replied, frowing.
"Have you been gaining weight?"
"Not that I know of."
"Constipation?"
"Eh, no."
"Hair falling out?"
"Negative."
"Overall weakness?"
Hank scoffed. "Definetly not."
The doctor sighed. "Fatigue, maybe?"
Hank was quiet for a moment before answering. "I honestly don't know if I'm anymore tired than usual," he admitted. "I'm so used to not getting enough sleep, I've pretty much adapted to feeling that way all the time..."
The doctor sighed again. "Even though I know it won't be any use, may I again suggest that you cut down on whatever's tiring you out?"
To the doctor's shock, Hank smiled. Actually smiled. Jebus Christ, was his left arm tingling? "Sorry, doc, but I think that you already know the answer to that one."
Dr. Bilhan couldn't help but to slightly smile back. "You're right, I do." His smile faded, though, as he once again began to rack his brain for an answer. What in the world was wrong with his patient? Lack of muscle? Tch, as if. Raynaud's disease? No, it was in his chest, not his hands and feet. Low blood pressure? Of course not, they'd already established that it was too high. What, then?
The doctor froze as it suddenly occured to him. The fatique, the pale skin, the hallucinations; the feeling of something being gone; it all added up.
"Hank, have you been feeling alright lately?"
He was rewarded for his inquiry with a weird look. "Umm, isn't that what I came here for-?"
"No, I mean...how have you been feeling. Happy, sad...?"
Hank stared at him. "And how is this relavent to the matter at hand...?"
The doctor sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. "Hank...I think that you...might be depressed."
More blank looks. "Depressed?" he asked in an emotionless tone that made the doctor want to physically flinch.
"Yes, depressed..."
Hank shook his head. "Take my tempature."
The doctor blinked. "Excuse me-?"
"I said to take my tempature. Then you'll see what I'm talking about isn't mental or psycological or any of that shit. That this cold is physically real."
The doctor hesitated for a minute, but then pulled out a thermometer from a nearby draw. "Uh...open up," he said in a confused tone.
Hank did so, and the thermometer was plopped inside his mouth. He closed it, and all was still for a moment.
Finally, the doctor removed it and looked at the reading. And then did a double take.
Certainly, it wasn't humanly possible. Was it?
For the next ten minutes, Dr. Bilhan performed various tempature readings on Hank, sticking the thermometer just about anywhere that it would fit. But the readings didn't change. If anything, they got even worse.
The doctor stared down at the latest reading, his hands shaking slightly. He slowly lifted his head up to look at Hank, who was looking overly smug. Idiot, didn't he realize that by all laws of nature he should be dead?
"You...do you realize..." The doctor paused, and Hank raised an eyebrow.
"Realize what?"
He took a deep breath. "Hank, what do you think that your body tempature probably is?"
Hank frowned. "I dunno, maybe uh..." He seemed to think for a minute. "Low 90s, maybe? 93, 94?"
The doctor stared at him. "You do realize that that would mean you have hypothermia, right?"
Hank shrugged. "Well, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened to me. Why? How low is it?"
"Well..." The doctor faltered, uncertain. But he knew that Hank had the right to know. He continued. "Your tempature, like all people, varies between different areas. But on average......your body tempature is about 68 degrees Fahrenheit, give or take a few degrees. That means that your internal tempature is probably about 64." The doctor shook his head. "It doesn't make any sense, but......Hank, you're a walking dead man."
All was quiet after he said this, and Dr. Balhin was suddenly worried. Hank's head was buried in his hands, his body hunched over. Still, could he blame him? How does one react to that information? And worse; what did it mean?
He was shaken from his thoughts, however, as Hank's body began to shake, a small noise coming from it that the doctor didn't recgonize. He panicked, worrying that Hank was going into some sort of shock. But soon, the noise grew louder. More recgonizable. And as the doctor realized what he was hearing, he began to gape at the man in front of him.
Hank was laughing. His body actually shook from the force of it, and as it grew louder, Hank threw his head back, a grin clearly written across his face. He was laughing so hard, and once again, the doctor began to worry that this was some form of shock. But Hank's chuckles soon died down, the man shaking his head back and forth in a thoughtful, amused manner.
"Well Doc, I'm glad we got that cleared up. It's good to know that I wasn't just imagining things." He grinned at Dr. Belhin, who was still at a loss for words. And with that, Hank stood and walked out the door. "See you in a few months!" he called back over his shoulder, and then he was gone.
The doctor say motionless for a moment, thinking. What had just happened? What did it mean? Was Hank even stranger than he had thought? He didn't know what to think and he didn't know what to do.
After a moment though, he decided it didn't matter. Hank is a very strange patient, Dr. Belhin decided for the hundredth time. And knowing that wondering about it would get him nowhere, he shrugged his shoulders and began looking through the local paper, momentarily PA-ing his secretary to bring him a cup of coffee, and an aspirin.