Does this look malignant to you?

Francis honestly didn't like being at the hospital, or around snooty doctors that believed they knew everything about every kind of medicine and disease out there. But when his life was on the line then he really didn't give a second thought to visiting a certain British doctor. It was only a few minute drive from his apartment as he was soon hurrying through the cold almost barren halls of the Axis Memorial Hospital with his Ver hiding in his inside coat pocket.

It was a good thing that Arthur had mistakenly told him where his office was, and that he knew Arthur was in the room almost twenty-four seven, rarely going back to his home for some reason (probably because he was afraid the world would fall apart if he wasn't there to fix it, or some equally arrogant reason). He took a turn and headed towards the stairs to the upper level of the hospital, a common habit of his- he couldn't really recall the last time he used the elevators.

Hurrying out of the stairwell and into another stark white hall, Francis rapped quickly on a closed door- the name plate hanging next to it very clearly stating the one and only "Doctor Arthur Kirkland". He couldn't wait for the Englishman to get his lazy but out of the chair and opened the door quickly. "Kirkland!" he called, voice carrying an edge of whine.

"I... I think I'm dying! Really this time!"

It was true that Arthur did rarely leave his office -he had a small pillow tucked under his desk in case of a sudden need for a sleepover at his desk to keep watch on a patient. And it was for a very good reason indeed. When he was at his house, people came to talk to him about things he didn't really know or care about (gossiping schoolgirls the lot of them, damned Yanks didn't know what the hell was going on with Manchester across the sea and only cared about their ass-grabbing hand-ball game thing).

So, Arthur never went home because when people visited him there, the stupidity levels always rose. When he was in his office and people came to visit him, it was for advice, a guiding hand or merely to consult his opinion on some diseases, patient or one of his papers. There, he was safe from most talks of what happened on LOST or whatever other shows were filtered through the telly.

Except for that one apprentice he had been sent. It'll look good on your records. Oxford had said. Good for your social skills and bedside manner. They had said. But at this rate, Arthur was going to lose his only safe place against the outside world.

Sighing, he put down his tea and pulled off his glasses, rubbing his face. "Come right in Bonnefoy..." he mumbled between his fingers.

The Frenchman was already in front of Arthur's desk, holding out his arm and staring at the Briton with a mortified look on his face. "This- this boy... during my clinical hours- chicken pox-" he stuttered, Ver peeked out of his jacket, peering at the doctor curiously and letting out a little growl, sliding back into this hiding place.

"I think I may 'ave caught it- I washed right after but I don't think I 'ave ever had it before and that mother just... just shoved him right into my arms! S'il vous plait Kirkland help me- I don't want to die- I have to much to live for-" he rambled, starting to slip progressively more into French until it was a stream of incoherant babbling.

People had told him before that he overreacted a lot of the time, or that he might even be a hypochondriac- or looking for attention, but Francis just saw it as a healthy fear for his own well being.

"Mr. Bonnefoy..." Arthur stood up very slowly, walking around the oak desk before taking the Frenchman's shoulder, shaking him violently. "Remember what we practiced? STAYING BLOODY CALM." he raised his voice at these last few words before forcing Francis into a chair, sighing and getting to his own knees, looking up the blue eyes. At times the man could really be a child.

Taking the arm carefully, Arthur let his eyes trace over the small mark, a smirk playing at his lips. "You think it's chicken-pox? Well, that's very seriously, we may have to put you into intensive care." he sat back a little. "That or smallpox which means we're really in for some serious trouble."

Smiling sheepishly as Arthur yelled at him, Francis was more than used to this treatment from the Brit. The shaking was a little new though and given his panicked state, the slight smile on his lips quickly left as soon as the doctor examined his arm. His blue eyes widened as Arthur spoke, the words making his throat go dry and his face pale.

"I-Intensive- care?!" he questioned, voice rising almost to the point of breaking as he looked down at his arm again. "S-Smallpox?! Mon Dieu! Help me Kirkland!" he demanded, leaning over and taking Arthur's hands in his own, almost to the point of tears.

Arthur wiggled his hand out of the Frenchman's grasp, smacking him on the top of his head. "Intensive care for you being a dolt." Carefully, he let his fingers move over the mark before digging his thumbnail in, then again, promptly making a small searing white 'X' on the spot.

"This, is what we in the medical profession call a mosquito bite." Arthur stood up, turning back to his desk, shaking his head. "You should really be learning this yourself Mr. Bonnefoy and I know we say that self-diagnosis is wrong but really, at times... I just ask you to exercise a little thought and logic before bursting into my office."

Flinching and then cursing as Arthur hit him and then, very rudely, assaulted his arm with his nails. He glared slightly up at the Brit and huffed, even as his ferret crawled up his chest and wrapped around his neck. "What was zat for?!" he grumbled, rubbing his arm. "And I was just worried! There is no reason for you to be rude about it!"

He sighed again and glanced down at his arm, admittedly a little releaved that it had just been a little mosquito bite- but a little worried as well.

"A-And... what about zat West Nile?"

"God above-" Arthur sighed, getting to his feet again, resting the back of his hand against Francis' forehead, reaching into his coat pocket, pulling out a pen, "Any aches or pains?" he asked, voice monotone, having done this spiel a thousand times over, "No fever, any major headaches?" This was ridiculous, Francis didn't have West Nile, not in a thousand years, Arthur would bet his entire career on that fact.

His fingers trailed down, touching the sides of his neck, feeling. "Lymphs look fine, not swollen at all.... One last thing we can check. Arthur still had the same bored look of his face as he reached down, pulling up Francis' shirt.

"Ahh-" Francis watched Arthur, shaking his head slightly as he went through the questions. Really, he'd even done this a few times and he really should know the signs by now but the mosquito bite- "Non... non and-"

He blinked, stairing down at Arthur as the Brit pulled up his shirt- Oh... the rash- he thought, still shifting a little bit and feeling his abdomen tighten automatically as they were exposed, his abs becoming a little more prominet. "You really do not 'ave any bedside manner, do you?" he murmured quietly, arching an eyebrow.

"That, or... you just really wanted to look at my stomach~ Which is it?"

The Brit deliberately ignored him. Getting hit on when the French intern was around had simply become part of daily life and after a few days with the man he had gotten over the flush that pinked his neck at the tips of his ears. "No rash." he murmured, fingers touching the muscles for a moment before walking around Francis, pulling up the back of his shirt, "And nothing here."

"As for the topic of my bedside-manner," Arthur faced him again, frowning, "I'd suggest you learn how to treat yourself with having a fit before speaking about my manners." he raised an eyebrow, "You're lucky I haven't kicked you out yet."

"Well 'ave you ever thought that I simply like your second opinion?" Francis glanced around as Arthur lifted up the back of his shirt, his view obscured by white fur. "And you didn't answer my question!"

The Frenchman was definately feeling more confident by now, like he normally did when Arthur told him he was just fine- granted, in more harsh of terms. He smiled slightly up at the Brit, winking. "Does that mean that you did just want to see? Be cause you know a full trunk exam requires a patient to strip- I would really feel better if you were absolutely positive."

Arthur felt the burning at his neck and pulled at the collar of his shirt, a little helpless for a moment. "No, I do not want to see you strip for me." he said, shaking his head, "This is highly improper, you would know if you had a rash on your back or not!" There, the burning went down a bit and Arthur let out a little breath he had been holding.

"It's not West Nile, you're not dying, is there anything else you'd like me to check before you come bursting back in here in, oh, say, five minutes?"

Francis stood up, setting Ver on Arthur's desk to sniff around and waddle over the Brit's papers. "Well if you gave me a thorough exam I wouldn't have to come back~" he hummed, watching the doctor carefully and sizing him up. "I know you stay in here much too much. You should go out and actually... live a little, non?"

A sly smirk slipped onto Francis' face and he quirked his head a bit to the side. "You are really an old prude though, aren't you?"

Arthur stared at ht tiny little... thing on hi desk and tried not to smash it's skull in with one of his medical books. That would be so hard to explain to the custodial staff... Instead, he merely shot a piercing stare at the Frenchman. "Yes, I am an old prude." he said vehemently, "Which is why I'm the MD working on my PhD and you are just an intern."

Sitting down in his chair, Arthur let out a long breath, rubbing his face. "There is nothing to live out there, I'm needed here, I belong here, why would I leave?"

Not missing the look Arthur had given his dear Ver, Francis picked her back up and cuddled her slightly, pursing his lips. "Listen. If I had had my choice then I would be in France right now, not here in this... disgusting hospital, so do not lecture me on where I should, or shouldn't be because for not even wanting to be here- I am not doing half bad."

He sighed heavily and shook his head, turning slightly to leave- Arthur was probably just going to yell at him for priorities after that statement. "I was merely going to ask you out for some drinks- but seeing as your job is so important zat you do not need anything, or anyone else I will just go. Merci for looking at my arm," he mumbled the last part, trying to hold the squirming ferret in his arm, only to have her jump out, scurrying under the desk.

Arthur watched the small animal bolt under his desk and immediately jumped out of his chair, sitting on his desk, crumpling a few papers. His shoulders hunched and he shook slightly. Very, very, very, slowly he turned to Francis, eyes flaring, anger in every line of his face.

"Mr. Bonnefoy." he said quietly, each syllable laced with ice and scorn, "I have let that little thing stay around your neck out of the kindness of my own heart. It does not, however, belong anywhere else. Do you understand me? Because next time I see that little... bugger, anywhere else but in your possession, I'm going to have it exterminated."

Francis bit his lip, trying to hold back a snicker as he watched Arthur fly out of his chair and onto his desk- This is better than those mouse and women skits. He hurried over and clucked his tongue. "Oui... oui I just- let me just-" he kneeled down, getting on all fours and trying to grab the little girl out from under the Brit's desk, failing.

"Merde- she... thinks I am playing-" Francis murmured, pressing his face to the floor to look for her, blinking as he lost sight of her. Unfortunately for Arthur, Ver has made her way up the side of his desk, waddling over to him and climbing into his lap.

Arthur had to hold back the absolute scream of rage that threatened to explode from him. He didn't move, still staring daggers at the Frenchman, thinking about every single medicine he could think up and shove down his throat. Surely the mixture of chemicals- The brit shook his head, riding it of the thoughts. "Mr. Bonnefoy..." he breathed, "You better get this thing off of my right this instant or I swear-"

He let the threat hang in the air while his fingernails dug into his desk.

Quickly sitting up again, Francis blinked and smiled slightly, quirking his head. "She likes you," he murmured, standing up carefully as Ver curled up in Arthur's lap, nuzzling and letting out a small squeaky yawn. He hesitated, not quite wanting to disturb her. "Oh come on Kirkland... She's just a ferret, her name is Ver remember? Just pet her- she doesn't bite I promise!"

It was a stretch, he knew, to even imagine Arthur liking his pet- but he wasn't willing to give up yet. Especially since Ver liked him, which was a little odd- when his parents had visited she had hidden from them, not coming out until they left back for home.

It was a scary few days to say the least.

Arthur stared at Francis as if he had just suggested that he cut off his own pinkie and use it to pick his own nose. "P-Pet it!?" he demanded, voice edging on panicked, his eyes closing, "P-Please just get it off of me! I'll do anything dammit-" he swallowed. "Hell I'll even go out for drinks just get the stupid thing off of my lap!"

He was still trembling. Small animals were alright when they didn't have the ability to bit you with sharp teeth. Rabbits were fine, soft and fluffy, but this thing... was like a furry snake!

"Well first of all. She is not a thing, stupid, or an it. Her name is Ver and I would prefer it if you refered to her that way," Francis huffed slightly, still trying to tone down the grin that was plastered on his face from his superior's reaction. Really, all the girl wanted was a nice warm place to curl up and sleep and Arthur was acting like she was about to attack him.

This was priceless just in itself.

"And what all do you mean by... anything~?"

But the offer was to die for.

"I AM NOT IN THE MOOD FOR GAMES," Arthur shouted at Francis, cheeks now red as he stared helplessly at the small... ferret in his lap. "GET THIS BLOODY FUCKING THING OFF OF ME BEFORE I PERSONALLY RIP YOUR COCK OFF."

He took a deep calming breath, fingers itchy for a smoke. "Fuckfuckfuck-" he murmured to himself, closing his eyes.

Blinking at Arthur, Francis was a little taken aback, shaking his head quickly before grabbing Ver quickly out of his lap, cradling her and letting her hide away in his coat. "Shh.. shh it's alright cher," he cooed quietly to her, scratching the base of her tail as she slumped back into his pocket.

"You really shouldn't yell- could've scared her," he muttered, giving Arthur a rather unimpressed look. "And... why did you threaten my cock of all things? Do you have... what they call- a gutter mind~?"

Able only to murmur something weak in reply, Arthur slumped back into his chair, opening a drawer, pulling out a lighter and a small pack, tapping out of the small smokes out before getting to his feet. Slowly pushing the window you, he lit the end, taking a deep breath, exhaling heavily. There... much better, calmer.

"I'm not really in the mood Francis- Mr. Bonnefoy." he said, his thumb rubbing small circles into his temple. "Please... Is there anything else?"

Francis hesitated, walking over and pulling off his coat, hanging it on the back of Arthur's door to keep the small ferret far away from the Brit. He headed over towards the window and leaned against the wall, quirking his head. "You know smoking is bad for you," he murmured. "Especially in a hospital."

"You're a stress smoker, aren't you?" he questioned after a moment's pause. "Ver really scared you that badly?"