The Grand Campaign for Hygiene [Roderich and Francis]

Most of the time, much to Roderich's chagrin, his emails to the administration went ignored. It was greatly frustrating to him, since he had a great many suggestions on how to improve the hospital and prevent nosocomial infections, and he knew part of the problem was his own fault--most people didn't browse medical journals on the weekends and send out a good five or six messages between those two days alone. He had realized recently that the sheer volume of his correspondence had probably made the administration set on ignoring him, and if he wanted to get anything done, he would have to march down to the offices of those in charge and pester them in person.

So he did.

He headed down one day to speak to the administrator himself, promising that it would be only a few minutes, and afterwards dropped a folder full of studies and recommendations on the man's desk. There had been a brief, tense exchange of glances, and then Roderich had gotten the opportunity to explain that above anything else he'd like to start a campaign of hygiene awareness, because multiple reports and his own eyewitness accounts had confirmed that hygienic practices were becoming unacceptably lax. He rattled off statistics showing how the incidence of MRSA, C. difficile and tuberculosis cases were increasing, shuffled around in the folder for papers that showed what other hospitals had done to combat infections spread by staff, and all in all his 'few minutes' ended up becoming a half hour and taking up his lunch break that day.

It was worth it, though. Some of the things he wished to instate would have to be reviewed by the board, which would take weeks, but three days later he received a small amount of money for use on awareness signs and posters. He wasted little time in having a whole stack of them printed off and laminated, and came in on a Saturday morning--when he was ordinarily off work--bound and determined to put them up everywhere.

Somehow, it seemed that in spite of how long he'd been working at the hospital, he'd never noticed quite how large it really was. The ground floor alone took forever to cover, and while he certainly had run off enough signs, he was already feeling kind of winded by the time he was onto the third floor. Standing with an industrial-sized roll of tape and a brightly colored 'when should you wash your hands?' sign in hand, he glanced about, wondering if he could recruit anyone to help him. Who did he know that came in on a Saturday...

The sky is blue. The birds are singing. Well, not like he can hear them, but it was still a brilliant day out - most importantly, a saturday. So Francis asked himself the question again - why was he working on such a nice saturday. Well, he answered himself patiently, it's because you skipped a day to go on a date and got caught by the matron. So it's weekend shift for the next three weeks... he sighed.

The matron is...an incredible woman. And we shall leave it as that for the time being.

Saturday is incredibly busy - besides the usual duties, there's also a many-fold increase in visitors. Somehow that increases the number of times doctors and nurses gets called into the ward - what a surprise. Francis had just finished being interrogated by the family of a patient who had an appendectomy (before it ruptured), technically the guy could have discharged today, but his family insisted on keeping him here for another day - just in case. Since they've managed to convince the doctor, Francis was in no place to say anything. But that doctor had left him to answer all their queries and sneaked off himself. After almost two hours of answering the most trivial of details, visiting time was finally over. Francis had very gladly invited them to leave. He became ever so convinced of the notion that Americans are paranoid.

Just as Francis was ambling back to the staff lounge for a break, he ran into a familiar person in the hall way. Dr Edelstein (Roderich Edelstein, to be exact. Francis had taken some efforts to find out what the R. on his name tag stood for. It didn't prove to be too much of a challenging task really, especially when you've made friends with the administrations people. Apparently they all knew this doctor too well, for he submits tons of paperwork, on a regular basis, and recently even more than usual for some project he's planning to implement in the hospital) was standing with a rather troubled expression holding a bunch of posters and what seems to be rolls of tape in his hands. Just as Francis thought that maybe he should turn back and find somewhere to hide, the doctor caught sight of him.

As Francis approached, Roderich's gaze zeroed in on him like a hawk. Ah, Mr. Bonnefoy. Not someone Roderich would have expected to see working weekends. From what Roderich had gathered, the man had an active social life. Perhaps he'd been called in to assist with something?

However, it didn't look as though he were busy with anything right now. Roderich had gained a certain amount of skill at telling when one of his co-workers was unoccupied--nothing in hand, relaxed posture, slower gait. Francis currently met the criteria, and Roderich seized the opportunity to stride up to him, stare unwavering.

"Good morning," he said politely. "Could you assist me with something? I'd like to get these posters up throughout the hospital, but I fear it's a bit too much for me to do alone. If you could at least help me get this floor done, that'd be very appreciated."

He offered a smile. Judging by Francis' deer-in-the-headlights look, it probably came across as threatening, so he dropped it a moment later, resuming his usual calm expression.

Alas, it was too late to turn in any direction as the doctor walked up to him. By the looks of it, he is probably holding a grudge against Francis for the, ahem, innocent prank he played on the doctor in their last meeting. To the onlooker it might seem that the doctor was perfectly polite and even rather friendly, but to Francis, the more composed and civil the doctor was, the more ominous it seemed.

He was rather convinced that it wasn't just his imaginations.

But since he has been pretty bored for the past few days (for a lack of easily embarrassed people to tease and pretty girls to flirt with), he decided to give up searching for a possible excuse and answered, "Doctor Edelstein! Haven't seen you in a while, hope things are going well between you and..y'know? Girls always like to complain when you spend time working on weekends instead of being with them..." he trailed off.

"Anyway, I'd be glad to help but....", an (intended) meaningful pause, "It'd be much appreciated if you could have a word with the matron for me - you know to say that I'm helping you with some stuff...she's been keeping too keen an eye on me recently.." he laughed a little nervously.

"Oh, and..."

((p.s. i loved your use of the 'deer-in-the-headlights' expression :D))

Roderich just stared at Francis as the nurse remarked on Braelyn--well, his exclusion of a name showed that he probably still didn't know who Roderich was dating, just that he was dating someone. Which, all things considered, was not that terrible of a situation. At least, he could more easily pass it off as idle gossip than a more specific claim.

For the moment he settled on meeting Francis' remarks with a look of mild confusion, as though he didn't at all know what he was talking about. Only when the subject turned back to work did he regale him with a response.

"I'll her know," he said. Well, more likely he was going to find someone else that would pass the message along to her, instead of tracking her down himself. He also nearly added a sarcastic 'I can't imagine why' to Francis' claim of her keeping an eye on him, but held his tongue. No need to be insulting when he was asking for help, here.

"And what?" he asked.

[lol, I'm glad you liked that~]

Seeing how Dr Edelstein didn't meet his comment with any vehement objection, but instead offered a look of indifference, Francis thought for a moment that maybe he had guessed wrong. But he recovered after realizing that the doctor, after their last encounter, has probably found out that he gives more away while trying to deny facts. Well, guess he should be just happy that the doctor isn't after his life after their last meeting. Though it might be a little too early to judge - who knows what tiresome chore he has to do for the doctor this time?

"And, " he sounded a little apologetic, "I left my wallet at home today, so if you could buy me lunch....?"

Roderich immediately wondered whether Francis was lying. If, like people normally did, Francis kept his driver's license in his wallet, he could have possibly driven illegally to work that morning. While the idea of Francis getting in trouble for that was honestly pretty amusing, his forgetfulness also seemed wholly irresponsible to Roderich--what did he think he was doing, walking around without his money or credit cards or whatever else he had in there? Of course there was the possibility that Francis was actively lying, too, though Roderich didn't know him well enough to determine the likelihood of that. Either way, his instinct was to take the high ground and not reward Francis' behavior.

But that instinct was confounded by the fact that he was still trying to get the nurse to help him, and to that effect--and any tasks that he might want to recruit Francis for in the future--he had to be nice. He debated a bit with himself, then resolved to just get Francis a cheap slice of pizza or something. It wouldn't teach the nurse a lesson, but heck, it probably would be a service to Francis' patients to make sure he didn't pass out from hunger.

"I'll get you something," he said guardedly, making sure Francis knew he wasn't going to be able to mooch a feast off of him. On second thought, he added a stipulation: "If you'll help me do a few floors."

"Thanks in advance!" Francis said while breaking into a smile, "I had to borrow money from the receptionist to pay for my cab fare this morning...ah, you know how hard it is to get up on a saturday?" he gave the doctor a look, "Alright maybe you don't...Anyway, it didn't seem too nice to borrow too much from her. So, thanks for the treat," he concluded with a friendly pat on the doctor's shoulders.

It had been pretty entertaining to observe what seemed to be an internal debate on the doctor's part.

Looking at the pile of posters in the doctor's hand, Francis tried to be as cheerful as possible, "So, what do I do?"

Ah, so he did take a cab. Good for him. Roderich's generalized disdain must've shown through, though, by the way Francis didn't wait for a reply. In all honesty, Roderich did know--he'd already downed a good three cups of tea to pull himself out of drowsiness--but if Francis had allowed him a response, he probably would've failed to mention that and given a little speech on determination and obligations instead. Better to appear that he had himself together through sheer force of will instead of caffeine.

The pat on his shoulder made him stiffen. That wasn't the kind of contact he was used to, or that he much approved of in a work setting. He cleared his throat before answering, keeping his tone calm and formal.

"I want one of these up on the wall between every four rooms. Try to position each close to a doorway, to ensure that they'll be seen." He pulled a long strip of tape off of the roll he had in hand, handing it to Francis for him to rip pieces from. "Try to alternate subjects as well."

He gave some of the posters over, ensuring that the handwashing ones were mixed among the hand sanitizing ones and the ones that detailed how best to don and remove protective gear.

Francis heaved a silent sigh of relief when he successfully moved the topic away. He had half expected the good doctor to launch into a speech about social responsibility or something equally useless and incomprehensible like that - which he would have had to bear through because he really had no cash with him. Blame's on the hospital cafeteria of course, which doesn't take credit cards. As the saying goes, when in Rome, do as the Romans do: living on credit is so integrated into the American lifestyle that no one can resist. Even cabs take credit card these days.

Plus, the move cost quite a bit (he had to make sure they packed his things properly right?) and it clashed with the end of season sale - so there. Point being, Francis was really out of cash. (Thus it was proven that your account balance can really hit zero, or negative even when you overdraw.)

He has therefore tended to avoid places that doesn't accept credit this few days - but one can't afford to stay away from his workplace. The places that he usually goes to (note: mainly bars) aren't affected, so it hasn't caused much inconvenience anyway. The main problem is with lunchtimes in the hospital - if only the matron wasn't so keen on checking up on him every other hour, he could have gone out for a nice sit down meal (at somewhere that takes cards for goodness sake.)

Good thing payday's in a week's time.

Surprisingly what the doctor has requested help for this time wasn't hard at all, just really menial. Francis took the stack of posters from the doctor and said, "Alright, got it - so I'll just need to do that for the entire floor right?"

Roderich hadn't been aware that the cafeteria didn't take credit cards--largely because he very rarely bought anything there. He'd regularly bought lunch for his first week of work or so, but once he'd gotten things settled at his home, he'd gladly taken up bringing his own food. There was just something about the way he'd never been afforded the opportunity to witness the servers change gloves or wash their hands or check the temperature of the food with a thermometer (which had to be cleaned before sticking it into the next dish, naturally) that had always drawn up unpleasant possibilities and made him lose his appetite before he even sat down with his lunch.

Him eating little for lunch was generally not something he could take well, either. The day he'd skipped it to pester the administration had resulted in him stumbling lightheaded through the hallways until he'd gotten the opportunity to wolf down a granola bar and an apple during a short break between patients. He was constantly too thin to go without eating for long, in spite of his attempts to remedy that. It was annoying and something he was a tinge insecure about--but then again, he'd figured for years that he was too gangly to be anything approaching attractive, so it was an insecurity he'd pretty much gotten used to.

"We're going to cover the whole floor, yes," he said to Francis. "I'll start at the other end and we can meet in the middle. Then we'll head upstairs and keep going."

He didn't bother to mention how many more floors he wanted to get done--he still had himself fully restrained in don't-want-to-scare-the-hapless-nurse-away mode. Francis could guess if he wanted to, or note how many posters were left once they'd finished this floor. At any rate, the nurse was going to earn that lunch.

So it's not just this floor...

Francis should probably have felt the alarm (that signals excessive work oncoming) go off at the mention of "keep going", but it was too late to protest. The most he could do now was to enjoy the cheese (or at least the notion of having some cheese eventually) while being caught in the mousetrap. At least, this would get the matron off his back for a little while.

Five and a half minutes into the job however, he was starting to have some second thoughts about it.

He glanced over at the doctor, who was currently focussing his whole attention on aligning the poster at right angles, and was filled with a sense of half admiration and half commiseration. It's a difficult feeling to describe.

(Ffft, that image made me crack up. Oh Roderich. XDDD)

When Roderich set out to do something, he was certainly not the type of person to do it sloppily. He thus felt the need to have each poster neatly oriented, applied to the wall with...well, not love exactly--more like a scientist's attention to detail. He did manage to keep up a good pace in spite of such attention, and cast periodic glances at Francis to make sure that he wasn't hesitating.

At one point he caught Francis' gaze. His brow tightened a tinge as he tried to interpret it--was that pity he saw? What had he done to deserve that? He felt himself redden slightly as he continued, hoping Francis wasn't questioning his sanity (like quite a few people he knew had done already, much to his chagrin.) Perhaps if he explained himself a bit...

"There have been studies, you know, that a series of measures like this can really increase the frequency of hand hygiene compliance in hospitals," he remarked. "One saw an increase of about twenty percent over the course of only three months. And I've looked at both national statistics and the information this hospital is required to report--the rates of hospital-acquired infections we're seeing right now is shameful, considering how something as simple as handwashing can prevent them. One patient in twenty gets one, on average."

He gave a sigh, allowing his formal tone to falter and expose some honest weariness. "I'm tired of treating so many cases of MRSA and tuberculosis. I'm tired of having to administer vancomycin and linezolid and hoping that the side effects won't be awful. For goodness' sake, we're professionals here. We should be better about keeping these diseases in check."

As he concluded his rant, a nurse came by, asking after Francis. Roderich promptly informed her that Francis was assisting him for now until around lunchtime and told her to pass the message on to the matron. There--he'd kept the first part of his half of the bargain.

Francis hadn't expected the doctor on catching his gaze and going further to explain himself, so he could only manage to respond to the clarification on the doctor's part with a slight nod and a noncommittal "hmm, I see". Strings of numbers and statistics generally do not sit well with Francis.

He was trying to think of a reply to the doctor's highly-viewed problem of disease spreading when the nurse (sent by the matron to check up on him, that is) saved him from any further lame replies. (He was pretty sure that anything he can say along the lines of 'whoa, that seems tough' would come out sounding sarcastic rather than genuine, so he might as well save the effort).

Seeing how much the doctor cared about the problem of hygiene, Francis suddenly felt a bit more self-conscious while putting up the posters - good thing he was trained well in his early days to do hand washing thoroughly, at least there is one thing among all the guidelines in the posters that he actually follows out of habit. (He wasn't that sure about the protective gears part actually.)

A mental note for future reference: take care of hygiene regulations when working with Dr Edelstein.

Oh, he should have known. As he saw the glaze of disinterest pass over Francis' eyes, Roderich mentally kicked himself for even bothering with the statistics. He also mentally made a note to keep the number-crunching at a minimum when it came time to do the seminars on proper handwashing the administration had promised he could schedule. Less numbers and more pictures would probably be the way to go. He'd have to come up with a very flashy powerpoint...

He managed to finish the rest of the floor in relative silence, responding once the inquiry of another passing nurse--this one not looking for Francis but simply wondering what they were up to. After he gave a quick explanation, she regaled him with a rant about the horrible hygiene habits and self-righteous attitude of most doctors she knew, which Roderich generally agreed with. The doctors always were worse offenders than the nurses when it came to remembering to sanitize their hands--it was a psychological thing, he thought, related to the fact that their hands were visibly soiled less often. He encouraged the nurse to confront any offender she encountered and she assured him that she would, heading off to see another patient.

Soon enough, he and Francis finished. Roderich glanced around at the walls and, deeming them suitably covered, checked his watch. It wasn't quite lunchtime yet--time enough for them to start on the next floor up.

"Good work," he said, then promptly negated any positive connotations that statement might've had by adding, "Let's go upstairs."

Francis carefully pasted the last poster he had on hand and heaved a sigh of relief. It was not easy working with such precision, plus, he felt that the doctor had gone rather quite after his last outburst. Maybe he had said something wrong? Francis was generally a guy rather careful about his speech (by his standards) - so Dr Roderich Edelstein turned out to be a more sensitive guy than he thought. Either that or the good doctor just realised the futility in talking to him. Oh well. At least he guessed they were going to take a break now, seeing how they have finished the piles of posters on hand.

Which is why Francis felt a little incredulous when the doctor coolly said to continued upstairs. But what can he say - the doctor had completely taken control of his fate duties for the day when Francis agreed to help. Upstairs it is then. He smiled as he gave the doctor a little nod.

Roderich literally took the stairs, passing by the elevator--he was in no real hurry, after all, and he supposed he could use the exercise. Once on that floor, he passed off a new batch of posters to Francis (he had quite the enormous pile still, most of which he left sitting on the ground, taking only as many as he felt he and Francis would need,) advised him to start at the other end of the hallway like before, and set himself to the task with the great seriousness in which he did most everything.

He answered the questions of a curious individual or two as he went on his way--one of them, a technician, wasn't nearly as passionate about the subject of nosocomial infections as the nurse he'd spoken to earlier, and practically groaned as Roderich mentioned the seminars and workshops he was hoping to drag the staff to. That reaction, of course, went far from unnoticed by Roderich, who promptly launched on a fairly gruesome description of one of his c. difficile patients, emphasizing how their infection could have been prevented if some careless individual had only remembered to clean their hands. The technician hurriedly backed off.

When the repetitive work was finally finished and the floor fully populated with hygiene reminders, Roderich checked his watch again. He and Francis seemed about due for a break.

"We can have lunch now," he said, picking up the remainder of the posters. "Let me get my lunchbox and drop these off in my office, first. I'll meet you down in the cafeteria."


(Gosh, I'm so late. XD I've been busy with school and sick with a cold (over which my inner Roddy is chiding me about my hand hygiene. XD) Sorry about that.)

((no worries, i'm very late too >< plus my muse has been pretty dead recently. hope you're healthy and well by now!))

Francis gave a small sigh of resignation (with a slight hint of amusement) as the doctor managed to scare away another 'innocent' passerby with his passionate speech on the grand campaign for hygiene. Dr Roderich Edelstein seemed to be one of those headstrong people who never gives up on their convictions, and finds it ridiculous why no one understands them. True that they can get on your nerves sometimes, but not that Francis hates it. If anything , he often admires how these people always seem to be radiating in confidence. Dazzling...

And so, finally they have finished up this floor as well and it's actually almost past lunch hour. So it was relief to Francis when the doctor finally relented and mentioned 'lunch'. Though it came as a surprise that he packs lunch. Francis wondered how many years it has been since he last saw someone eating from a lunchbox - the doctor indeed belong to a rare species of human beings.

Lunch was something akin to a strange, precise ritual for Roderich, really. As he stepped into the cafeteria, lunchbox slung over his shoulder, his gaze raked about his surroundings, searching for the proper place to preform it. When he spotted Francis, he gave him something that nearly-but-not-quite broached a friendly smile, then promptly strode towards a table near the far corner of the cafeteria. He preferred eating in his office, but he had been in this place enough times to know that table to be relatively unfrequented.

He waved Francis over, set his lunchbox on the table and opened it, retrieving a long, rolled-up piece of paper towel. He spread it out like an enormous placemat--the table surface looked clean, but there had to be numerous species of bacteria and viruses festering on it--and began setting his food atop it. He'd brought a sandwich, a cup of applesauce, a metal bottle of water (which had come from his kitchen sink and was filtered to a ridiculous degree) and a small plastic bag of trail mix. His spoon was enclosed in a plastic bag as well, wrapped to ensure its sterility like a surgical tool. He placed everything very deliberately, putting his bottle of hand sanitizer on the paper towel last before reaching for his wallet, almost as an afterthought.

"How much do you need?" he asked, sifting through his cash. It was sort of a loaded question--anything too high would grant Francis the Raised Eyebrow of Intense Disapproval, at the very least--but he had promised, and it was only polite to inquire.


(Whoo, off hiatus now. My apologies for the wait.)

"Ah, I thought you were going to buy me lunch," Francis smiled as he trailed off - he hadn't really expected the turn of events, namely the fact that the doctor brings his own lunch to work. Maybe it was the meeting at the gift shop that planted in Francis the impression that Dr Edelstein buys food from the hospital. Clearly that was not the case for lunch. Does he pack all his meals? It might be a question worth asking, Francis thought rather bemusedly.

So now the situation rendered Francis unable to do the acceptable norm of something called social mimicry - that is to have the same thing as the doctor for lunch, or at least to have something of similar value.

"Well, as they say, beggars can't be choosers. I'll take however much you'll be willing to spare me," even if it's just half of your sandwich, Francis nearly added. Or maybe even especially so because it is a homemade sandwich by the good doctor himself - which is slightly (or rather very much indeed) intriguing.

"I am," Roderich corrected, fishing out a few dollars and handing them to Francis. "Go find something you like."

It wasn't that he was feeling particularly generous. He had simply intended to finish everything he'd packed by himself--partly because his fretting about his immune system lead into a good amount of fretting about nutrition, and partly because he had as of late been trying not to look as underweight as usual. Besides, he recalled that much of the cafeteria food ran cheap. This wouldn't cost him dearly.

"I've heard the pizza is good," he remarked, then added cautiously, "Though, I would only buy it if they just put it out fresh. Sometimes they leave it sitting for a quite a while. I'd also advise you against the burgers--I know for a fact that they don't cook them to 145 degrees."

Francis wasn't particular happy to have to eat lunch in the cafeteria in the first place. The comment from the doctor didn't help, no. It was probably not a good idea to have suggested the cafeteria really. (Though if he had said he wanted a treat outside in some fancy restaurant, he doubt the doctor would even take him seriously. Besides, there was the whole matron thing to contend with.)

"...I'll go have a look," Francis replied with a weak smile.

Looking at the display of food didn't really help either (in fact quite on the contrary). Francis was pretty certain he can fix up something far more decent - if only he had the ingredients and a kitchen. It's not like his standards are that high - or so he thinks. (For someone who only goes for michelin-star restaurants, it's rather hard to tell what exactly his standards are, right?) And it's not like he refuses to eat badly-cooked food, if the situation calls for it he will - he just can't seem to comprehend why people would waste perfectly good ingredients by not cooking things right. (which was his exact sentiments during the time he was in boarding school. in England.)

Just as he was thinking about having to make a choice between something he didn't really like and something that he really didn't like, Francis noticed the fruit bowl at the end of the line beside the cashier. Thanks to whoever started the healthy-living campaign, he now can have some lunch.

So armed with two bananas, an orange, apple and a pear, Francis headed back to the table at the far end.

Roderich raised an eyebrow as he saw Francis returning with nothing more than fruit. He understood perfectly well, even sympathized, and so selectively chose not to comment. He rubbed sanitizer onto his fingers, then extended the bottle to Francis as a courtesy.

"You can use this," he said. "If you neglected to wash your hands."

He was almost certain that that if was a since, but seeing that Francis was not about to touch a patient, Roderich's usual confrontational approach was not warranted here. Besides, he knew from experience that while he would welcome any reminder to cleanse his hands, other people tended to consider it a personal affront--something akin to calling them filthy. He still had a few floors he'd like to drag Francis off to, so ticking him off wasn't the best course of action.

That offer made, he broke into his bag of trail mix, chewing thoughtfully for a few moments. As the silence got a tad awkward, he made an attempt at small talk.

"How has your work here been thus far? I hope things haven't been too difficult."

"Let's just say, I think I understand your concerns about the food here now...and leave it as such," Francis said as he sat down. Following which the doctor promptly handed him a bottle of hand sanitizer, pocket-sized - obviously for personal use. Instead of being offended, Francis was rather slightly intrigued by the idea of how swiftly Dr Edelstein had produced the bottle - as if he always carried one around and used it all the time. Come to think about it, he probably does.

He accepted the bottle (taking a glance at the label while at it -- you never know what kinds of information may come in use in future) and spread some of the jelly-like substance over his hand. Francis never quite liked the idea of hand sanitizers (basically, he couldn't really wrap his head around how adding more stuff to your dirty hand could make it cleaner). Plus it's slightly ...icky and often smelled weird. But considering how the doctor was staringlooking at him expectantly to clean his hands, Francis (rather relunctantly) rubbed the slightly gooey sanitizer over and around his fingers.

...Nut and chocolate... so he really does like chocolates!

Just as Francis was studying the contents of the rest of Dr Edelstein's lunch, the doctor started (rather awkwardly, one must admit) with a question.

"It's been enjoyable," Considering the number of pretty nurses and admins he managed to chat up in the few weeks he's here, "I would say, things are going pretty well," Then considering how the matron now has her eyes on him, "I'd prefer a little more...flexibility in the routines though," but otherwise, life is almost as sunny as the weather.

"How about the good doctor? Had to do much overtime this week?"

sorry for the super late reply! (and the slightly odd question at the end..)

The hand sanitizer easily had 75% ethanol in it--a good amount more than the average store-bought kind. Of course, nothing but the industrial-grade stuff would do for him. He didn't always have the opportunity to wash his hands, and he definitely wasn't going to clean them with anything less than the best.

It was getting progressively more difficult not to read into whatever Francis was saying. Visions of Francis flirting with the nurses and generally idling about popped into Roderich's mind at the word well, and he caught himself in time to keep the frown off his face.

"Flexibility is difficult to find here," he remarked. "It doesn't matter what line of work you're in. About the only thing vaguely reliable about my schedule is when I arrive and go home. There's always some unexpected case to throw my plans askew."

Yep, there was no way he could have made time for the posters during the week--some nurse would have surely tracked him down in the midst of his efforts and pleaded with him to visit the likes of some chemo patient that seemed to have contracted candidiasis overnight. Being a specialist did give him the luxury of generally clocking out before evening every day--thankfully, as his residency had taught him that he'd let himself be dragged from case to case until some odd hour of the morning otherwise, workaholic as he was--but his lineup of patients was always apt to change.

"No. No emergencies came up, thank goodness." He took a sip of his water. "Contrary to what you might think, I'm not usually here after six."


(Took an unannounced hiatus, sorry!)