There was a knock at the door which seemingly came from a great distance. It prompted both Betty and Hamish to stir feebly from their choice resting places. Hamish was convinced it was the grim reaper come to collect his soul. Who else would dare intrude on his death bed? This sudden realization seized him with a second of relief and then gave way to intense fright. He flailed about helplessly, wincing from the sharp pangs of acute muscle soreness.

"Go away!" he mumbled weakly and rather incoherently through his puffed up cheeks. Even speaking had become a bit of a trial with his neck and face exploded like an engorged balloon.

Footsteps retreated shortly after this exclamation.

Silence pervaded the small, fairly messy room and Hamish was surprised at how easily death gave way. He and Betty began to doze again when there was the distinct sound of a key being turned in a lock. Betty lazily raised her head and sniffed the air in apparently growing interest. The door swung open soundlessly and he lifted his head slightly from his sweat stained pillow, straining to see the arbitrator of his demise. As expected, the creature was veiled in shadows and had yet to reveal itself to him. A new sense of self preservation washed over him, and he tried to get out of his stifling sheets even though his body groaned in protest.

"Go away!" he intoned anew. "I'm not ready to die!"

"And you won't for some time," said a brunette haired woman, stepping into the light. She had a big black bag in one hand and a white cloth in the other. The cloth was covering her mouth and nose causing her words to be a bit muffled, not unlike his own. "The Mumps are rarely fatal."

Betty wagged her tail once and then laid her head back down, almost immediately asleep. Hamish squinted at the strange apparition as it made its way towards him, tiptoeing around the trash all over the place. Finally his fever clogged brain clued in.

"Dr. Ogden?"

"Were you expecting someone else, detective?" she asked as she placed her bag on the bedside table, freeing up her other hand to examine him.

She poked at his engorged throat and cheeks, making him wince and prompting him to exclaim, "Help me, doc! I'm dying!"

"Nonsense. You'll be better in a week or two."

"A week or two! Great..."

Gatsby! No that's not it-

"Scot?" prompted Julia helpfully.

"Yes!" he said pointing a finger eagerly and instantly regretting the sudden movement.

Dr. Ogden placed a cool palm to his forehead. There was such a contrast to his scorched flesh that it jolted him further into his senses.

"Your fever is running a little high." She retrieved a needle and then a small bottle from her bag. Turning away from him, she put down the white cloth and filled the object with a silvery liquid. "I'm going to give you some mercury now. It should help to bring down your temperature." Eyeing him shrewdly, "Please try not to cough on me while I do so."

"Why does that matter?"

"Besides common decency," she replied as she unrolled the soiled material of his pyjamas, exposing just above his forearm, "Mumps is contagious. It's most often transmitted through saliva." She expertly stuck the point in so that he barely felt it above all the continuous pain in his large frame.

In vain did he try to determine when someone had last coughed on him. It wasn't the season for colds and the like. Then it hit him as Dr. Ogden was preparing another needle, this time filled with a dark substance. He wasn't a man of science but he did know some things.

"Would kissing someone cause this infernal curse?"

She smiled, a twinkle in her eye. "Indeed, detective. In fact, it's a far more potent form of transmission." Detective Slorach's blue eyes darkened, apparently perceptibly. "I take it you partook about a week ago?"

"Yes," he said narrowing his eyes further, "I did. Like a damn..."

What's the word again?

"Fool?" offered Julia, the tips of her lips quivering.

He attempted to nod but it did not work very well as he had no neck to speak of, it was swollen so. Hamish settled for a verbal confirmation instead.

"It's like I've always said, women are not to be trusted." Julia gave him a hard stare which startled him a bit. Afraid she wouldn't give him his medicine he continued with, "Except for you of course, doc...and Betty here."

The bloodhound was splayed on top of a pile of discarded clothing. She was drooling quite impressively. The combined stink from the gamey dog and Detective Slorach's unwashed body and dirty abode was naturally rather pungent. Only the bravest of souls would dare tread in here at the best of times, making the doctor a very remarkable individual.

Dr. Ogden injected him and he almost instantly felt a pleasurable wave of relief cascade through him.

"Opiates?" he murmured contentedly, oozing into his bed with eyes closed.

"Quite," she said, placing the used instruments back in her bag. "I imagine that has helped with the pain somewhat."

"Absolutely." He opened one glazed over eye. "Say, doc, if Mumps is so contagious, why are you here, risking your..."

Oh come on!

"Neck?" she supplied.

As if just remembering this, she retrieved the cloth and covered her breathing apparati. "Since you refused to go to the hospital," she said with a frown, "and I am technically your doctor, I thought it rather fitting." Softer, "But more importantly, you helped bring William back to me. I can never hope to repay that kindness. Once again, I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

She had placed a hand to his shoulder and was looking at him so earnestly that he couldn't help but blush a little. Luckily this was imperceptible beyond his already ruddy complexion.

"It wasn't me, doc, Betty did all the heavy lifting."

"And who trained her?"

"Ah, yes, I see your point." She was still staring at him in that same way making him very uncomfortable. "Well, doc, I guess that's it then. I'm sure you've got more important matters to attend to."

"Not yet. I haven't finished my examination. I noticed you were fidgeting before. Tell me, detective," she said gesturing to his crotch, "do you have any testicular discomfort?"

His eyebrows jumped in surprise. "You certainly don't beat around the..."

tree, garden-

"bush?" He clumsily nodded but didn't answer her, hoping she would just let the manner lie. "Well?"

"It burns like the dickens!" he blurted out after another fiery blast scorched him below.

"Would you like me to take a look?" she asked with a smirk. At least he assumed she was smirking by the crinkles under her eyes.

Thunderstruck he yelped, "But you're a woman!"

She rolled her eyes. "And a pathologist. I assure you it's nothing I haven't seen before."

"It's all right, I'm fine now," he muttered dumbly, pulling the damp covers further up his body. The last thing he needed right now was to get aroused in any manner. Things would get considerably worse if he did.

"Very well, detective," she said with a sigh. "Then my recommendation will be the same as that of your neck and face. Apply a cold compress as often as possible. It may help to bring the swelling down." After a brief pause, "Is there anyone here to care for you?" she asked dubiously, glancing around his pig sty of an apartment. "Your landlord perhaps?"

Hamish was old and had burned a lot of bridges in his time, mostly with women. Or rather, they had always muddled things up with him, which was why he only had faith in Betty and Betsy (his blunderbuss) and little else.

He shook his head.

"Then I really must insist you go to the hospital."

He had hated hospitals ever since the age of eleven when he was forced to say goodbye to his father in one. Not to mention they were swarming with nurses. Far too many females in one space for his liking. It gave him paranoid thoughts.

"Is that necessary?" he grumbled.

"Yes, detective, it most certainly is. There's no telling when another murder will be committed. In that case, I'm afraid I won't be able to attend to your every beck and call. And you must eat to keep your strength up."

"I'm not hungry," he grumbled further, crossing his arms on his broad chest.

"A side effect of the disease. I assure you that your body still needs sustenance from time to time."

Dr. Ogden continued to give him a piercing stare. "Fine! I'll go!" Glancing at the now loudly snoring Betty, "But what about her?"

"I'm sure you can think of someone to take her on while you're away."

He thought hard for a bit. He didn't much care for the lads at his own station house but..."That constable! The dog lover! George..."

"Crabtree?"

"No, that doesn't sound right. I'm talking about the one who works with Murdoch at station house four. He's got a strange accent and never stops jabbering."

"Yes," she said with evident amusement in her voice, "that's Constable Crabtree."

"Are you sure? I could have sworn it was something else."

Dr. Ogden laughed. "Quite sure, detective."

"If you say so," he said, still not convinced. "He's the man for the job. Would you be willing to pass Betty on to his care?"

"Of course, detective. But first I shall call for a medical transport." She patted his shoulder. "In the meantime, you should get some rest."

As if her words contained magical powers, he closed his searing eyelids and joined Betty in blissful unawareness.