A/N: OMG, I can't believe how long this took me to write. Mostly because I just didn't know where to go with it for the longest time and when I finally did, I had to deal with work, school and other crud. I'm actually editing this at work right now, while waiting for this unreliable yet annoyingly essential program we have to load. This place is so stupid . . .

I'm glad we have a new Trauma Center game coming out though. I seriously think I'd lose my sanity if it weren't for this game. Okay, enough whining . . . here we go!

Trauma Center: Illness

Stephen: Migraine

A clear strip of morning light greeted his eyes upon opening. He gave a few groggy blinks to the ceiling, taking in the sun washed tiles as a soft groan moved his lips.

"Finally awake, Dr. Clarks?"

Stephen lifted his head off the pillow at the voice, wincing slightly as the rising sun blinded him. With gritted teeth he pushed himself into a sitting position and out of the sun's direct beam. Upon feeling the warmth from the concentrated light drip from his face, he opened his eyes, their sluggish blinks taking on a confused nature at the two standing at his bedside. "Leslie? Tim?"

Each wore a wavering grin upon being addressed, feeble chuckles pushing through their teeth as they shared a quick glance. The young woman coughed lightly into her hand before turning back to the surgeon. "Dr. Clarks, before you say anything else, I'd just like to remind you that this was all his fault." Leslie said, raising an index finger towards her colleague for emphasis.

"Hey!" Tim said, glaring at the accusing appendage but earning only a nonchalant shrug from the female nurse.

"What? It was."

"Well, it wasn't . . . completely my fault." Tim stuttered slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as a faint blush came to his cheeks. "Are you feeling better, sir?"

Stephen briefly looked between them. His perplexed look grew with an arched brow. "Better?"

The two nurses dropped their smiles. Their widened eyes shared another glance, this time of concern, before turning back to the surgeon. "You don't remember feeling under the weather last night?"

"I . . . no." Stephen said. "Come to think of it, I don't even remember you coming in last night, Tim."

Leslie squeezed her surprised eyes into a glare, which she cast at the young blond haired man. "Geez Tim! You really knocked him out!"

Tim lurched back slightly, his mouth attempting to form words in his defense, as his hands rose to take over for his verbal paralysis. Stephen looked between them in the midst of their silent confrontation.

"What are you two talking about? What time is it? And . . . . why does my coat have a faint smell of rosemary?"

"That's her fault." Tim said, crooking a thumb towards Leslie. She scoffed at him. Placing her hands on her hips, she shook her head.

"I think we'd better explain."

--

Sound was constant in the halls of Caduceus, even at night. The dark sky did put a bit of a muffling blanket over the hospital but the corridors brimmed with noise all the same. A steady stream of beeps and murmurs filled the air, and mingled within it was a soft groan, drown out by a more audible pair of footsteps.

Another light moan came from Dr. Stephen Clarks. The surgeon's groomed beard did nothing to hide the uneasy grimace on his face. A whispered hiss again passed through his teeth as he grit them and massaged his temple. Slowly, he closed his eyes and ran his fingers down the side of his face. Working double shifts was exhausting and he was far from done. It was going to be a long night.

"Dr. Clarks! Are you all right?"

He winced at the sudden voice. The stabbing on his scalp flared as his eyes peeled open, revealing a very concerned nurse. Leslie stood before him, a folder leisurely pressed to her chest as she gave him a quick look over. "You're in pain. I should have a look at you."

"No, that's not necessary, Leslie. But thank you." Stephen said, swallowing the swelling grunt in his throat. "I just need to lie down for a moment."

"At least let me help you to the on-call room, Doctor." She insisted. "You look like you're about to collapse."

"That's really not . . ." his voice died down as her arm linked snuggly around his and gave a slight tug on his weight. He succumbed to the small yank, his feet carrying him for a few bewildered steps before he regained composure. "I'll be all right. I've got a migraine." A bit groan followed that statement as a wave of agony washed over him. "It's excruciating, but nothing to get worked up over."

Leslie looked over to him with a tiny smile on her face. "I'm not getting worked up." She said, the grip on his arm tightening for a moment as if she suspected he would try and break her hold. He doubted he would have been able to in his current condition anyway. Regardless, he decided to humor her, confessing to himself that he was making faster progress with the assist. Briefly the hall returned to the backdrop of murmured equipment, sans the now suppressed groans from the surgeon. That is until an abrupt crackle from Leslie's headset drew a startled wince from them both.

"Leslie, where are you?"

She gave an annoyed roll of her eyes. "Kinda busy right now, Tim."

"Are you too busy to get Mrs. Hines' file down here?"

She cast a glance to the folder she had been holding at her chest, now firmly pressed against her hip. "Do you really need it now?"

"We need it five minutes ago! We have to have the test results ready for her surgery at 6."

"All right, I'm coming." Leslie switched off the head set's two way and gave the surgeon a sheepish look. "Will you be all right from here?"

"Of course."

Her arm reluctantly left his and for a brief moment he teetered, quickly hiding his lack in balance behind a rigid stance. The nurse pursed her lips before giving him a furrowed gaze. "Let me know if you need anything, Dr. Clarks." She said, to which he gave a weak smile.

"I'll be sure to."

"Have a nice nap."

"Thank you, Leslie."

Her hurried footsteps quickly carried her to the nurse's station, the resulting echo jabbing into the surgeon's ears but he paid it as little mind as he could. The on-call room was well within walking distance from here and his aching cranium was nothing a quick bout of sleep would not fix.

--

An uneasy look gripped her face as she rushed down the hall. Her head was downcast, watching the floor tiles rush below her in the midst of her power walk. Regardless, her speed was not enough to outrun the sorrowful thoughts of the surgeon she had encountered. She had always liked working with Dr. Clarks. His kind demeanor had helped immensely when she had first started working at Caduceus. The anxiety of being selected to work on the front line of medicine had been almost too much to bear and, had it not been for his support, she was certain it would have costed her prestigious position. It seemed as though he was always there for someone, regardless of who they were or what they needed. Seldom was it that anyone returned the favor, but that did not impede on his selfless nature one bit.

She bit her lip bitterly at the thought. Her eyes flickered to the patient file she had been carrying and widened at what they saw. The name of the very man she had been thinking of was labeled on that file, scheduled to operate at six that morning come sickness or health. He had to have known it was his patient's file she was carrying, yet he muttered not a word of complaint. 'Poor Dr. Clarks . . .'

Her arm thrust out at the station's door, her inner frustration echoing the small bang of the hinges. She lifted her head as she entered and found her body jumping as a pair of glaring blue eyes met her own. The normally mild mannered Tim Ficsher stood before her, hands on his hips and lips titled into an annoyed frown.

"Where have you been?" he sighed. "I've got a lot of paper work to wade through, you know. So I'll thank you not to hold things up."

Her own eyes slimmed as she scoffed. "Well, excuse me Tim, but I have a job too." She roughly flicked her wrist as she tossed the file to him. Tim caught it unflinching, giving a curt breath as he did so. "I know we're all stressed out, but you need to keep your head on straight."

"Well," she crossed her arm. "let's see how good you keep your head straight when you find out the surgeon performing Mrs. Hines' operation is sick."

"What?" Tim opened the file, his brows lifting in surprise. "Dr. Clarks is sick?"

"I saw him not too long ago in the hallway and he didn't look too good. He has a migraine."

"Geez, he's pulling a double shift tonight, isn't he?" He ran a hand through his hair as he plopped into a nearby seat, his eyes never leaving the file before him.. "I don't think I've seen him take a break since I got here."

"Poor Dr. Clarks . . . he works so hard and gets barely half the recognition he deserves." Leslie's arms slipped from their folded position and dangled at her sides. "We should keep an eye on him."

"I don't know. I think he wants to be left alone . . ."

"We won't be bothering him. We'll just make sure he's okay. That's all."

"Well . . . let's at least let him get some sleep first."

"Oh, of course. Although . . ." Leslie's lips pursed in thought. " . . .what time is it?"

"Uh . . . quarter to midnight. Why?"

She gave a weak smile in spite of the brows that knitted her forehead. "Hm, I don't think Dr. Clarks is going to be getting much sleep at the moment."

--

Stephen hoped no one had seen him fumble for the door knob. Drowsiness and pain clouded his head and left him teetering ever so slightly. He gripped the handle and pushed the door open, his straining breaths flowing in a relaxed sigh. Clearly, he was not anticipating the horrific noise from within.

A monstrous rumble throbbed the jabs in his brow in time with his pounding heart. Stephen rigidly shot up as he scanned the darkness for the sound. The vibrating air abated as the growl died down, only to be stirred up by a second loud roar.

His tense face softened with a sigh as his eyes settled on Tyler's sleeping form. He continued on with his ground shaking snores, completely oblivious to the elder surgeon. Stephen only shook his head as he stumbled to the cot farthest from Tyler. He grimaced and pressed his hand to his forehead as he settled onto it, but a grateful sigh escaped him as he all but collapsed onto the mattress.

Exhaustion and fatigue from the headache churned his brain dizzyingly and sleep was already bleeding into its crevices. The surgeon embraced the oncoming state of unconsciousness, in epic need of the rest.

Unfortunately, Tyler's snores had other plans.

Each time Stephen felt himself about to slip into unawareness, the sawing of wood pulled him back. Stirring and grumbling unhappily, he tossed restlessly on the cot, pulling the pillow over his head to muffle it at one point, but blissful slumber still eluded him, only going as far as to stroke his aching head cruelly.

He sat up with an agitated grunt, briefly casting the sleeping surgeon an annoyed glare. He let it drop immediately, recalling that his wife had told him of his own snoring problems at one time.

Karma had a rather sadistic sense of humor.

Stephen begrudgingly peeled himself from the cot, knowing there would be no sleep for him there. He squinted as he pushed the door to the on-call room open and though he anticipated the bright hall way, another audible wince escaped him as the light pierced right through him. Scrunching his eyes shut completely, he closed the door behind him and gently pried his right eye open again. Blinking the sliver of it he managed, he did the same with his left, growing bolder as the light became more tolerable . . .

. . . and the blurred image of two nurses appeared before him.

"Gah!" The startled jump twisted his migraine painfully and two sets of arms reached out to steady him.

"Are you going to be all right?" Leslie asked as the surgeon regained his footing. He merely nodded as he touched his temple, leaving her to glance at her other colleague.

"I think this is where we step in, Dr. Clarks. The nap obviously didn't help you." Tim said.

"That's because the nap didn't happen." He muttered.

"Aw yes. Tyler's on his break, isn't he?" Leslie gave a knowing smile at the blond surgeon's rackety sleeping habits, though her crinkled brow spared a thought for the man suffering because of it.

"Let's get you to your office. We'll make sure no one disturbs you and you can get some sleep." The male nurse said, receiving a slow head shake from the surgeon.

"I have paperwork due at one."

"Paperwork? Is that all?" Tim scoffed with a grin. "I can help you with that. You'll be done in half the time."

"Yeah, leave the nerdy work to him." Leslie said. "I've got something better."

"Better?" Stephen asked. His response came in the form of both of them latching onto his arms and leading him to his office. The floor produced a mild squeak as his feet dragged, but they soon relented to the pull and carried the man to his office unresisting.

--

"There." Stephen murmured quietly as he finished off his signature, setting the pen down in favor of nursing his aching temple once again. Tim looked up from where he diligently worked on his half. "Is that everything that needs your signature?" he whispered, earning a nod from the surgeon. The nurse smiled, returning to his own forms with a rapid scratch of his pen. "Get some rest, Dr. Clarks. I'll take care of the rest."

"Thank you, Tim." Stephen smiled and slowly got up from his desk. Rubbing his face as he drowsily wandered to the office couch, he could only stare in bleary eyed confusion as Leslie entered, cradling purple candles in her arms. "I found them."

Tim paused in his writing as a perturbed expression overcame him. "Oh geez! Here we go again . . ." He sighed, earning an annoyed glare.

"I'll have you know, Yoshi, that aroma therapy is a tried and true remedy for minor ailments."

"Tried by who?"

"Me. Trust me, this'll work." She turned back to the surgeon and gestured to the candles in her arms. "They're rosemary; just the thing for a migraine."

Tim gave an annoyed roll of his eyes. "Don't listen to her. Dr. Clarks. Last time she tried this the smell lingered in the nurses' station for weeks. I still haven't gotten the scent out of my other uniform."

"Do you have something against smelling nice?"

"No, but I do have something against smelling like little . . . fruity . . . things!"

"I come to work to get away from the screaming children!"

Both nurses abandoned their banter to stare in shock at Stephen, or more specifically, the doubled over grimace he fell into after his shout. The paralysis his rare outburst caused was short lived as they quickly rushed to his side. "Dr. Clarks!"

Intelligible grunts spilled from his lips as he clutched his head, sprawling his normally neat hair in all directions. "I'll get you some acetaminophen!" Tim exclaimed before rushing from the room. Leslie took his shoulders, supporting him lightly and rubbing his back. "Here, let me light the rosemary. It'll help . . ."

"Guh . . ." he breathed and rubbed his scalp.

Tim rushed back with a water bottle and two pills tightly clenched in his hand. "Here." He said, dropping the pills in the surgeon's shaking palm. "I think you may want to give doing double shifts a rest for a while, Dr. Cla-" Tim cut himself off as he took in a few sharp sniffs. His blue eyes flicked towards the glowing candles. "Oh great . . . let me open a window. . . ."

Stephen finished off the medicine with an unsteady sip of water and shook his head. "I don't really have much of a choice at the moment. We're barely keeping up with Dr. Stiles overseas."

"That's no reason to work yourself sick." Leslie said. "We'll leave you alone so you can rest, but before we do is there anything else we can get you?"

Stephen thought for a moment as a swimming feeling trickled through his brain. "Actually, yes. Could you get me a sandwich from the cafeteria? It's been a while since I've eaten."

"Sure thing!" Turning to leave, Leslie only managed two steps before Tim's rigid cringe caught her eye. "Oh, please Tim! They don't smell that . . ." She trailed off as he slowly turned, a ghastly white coating his face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. It's just . . ." his pale eyes lingered to the surgeon. "Hey, Dr. Clarks? When exactly was it that you ate last?"

"Ah . . . it had to have been at least twelve hours ago . . . why?"

"Not again!" Tim stammered as his eyes grew large.

"Huh?" Stephen's response poured out as a heavy slur, the edges of his churning world caving down upon him at once.

"Not again?" Leslie questioned.

Tim grimaced as he glanced at her and back at the surgeon. "The pills I gave you . . . were also a sleep aide."

With that last statement rippling through his fading mind, the rest the surgeon had been seeking pounced at once and bathed him in darkness.

--

"I see . . ."

Sidney sighed, his fingers lightly pressed against the rim of his glasses while his other arm was crossed over his chest.

No response came from the nurses at first, both of them choosing to stretch out the silence as much as they could. Though the professional and composed nature of the chief director, combined with his stubbornness to not lose that composure, filtered most of his frustration, it was not enough to hide the irate twitch of his brow. The slight motion startled the two he faced, earning a nervous grin from one of them as he combed the back of his blond hair.

"Well, at least he got that much needed sleep." He said. His chuckles subsided under Sidney's sharp eyes, but his glare was quick to part.

"Though I'd prefer our resident surgeon was still conscious, with the strain on our staff at the moment, there's nothing that can be done about it now. But, given the sleep that you say he's received, I'm sure Dr. Chase won't mind picking up the work load for a few hours."

Leslie gave an uneasy grin as she rubbed her arm.

"The two of you may return to your duties, but Tim, try to be more careful when administering medicine. We don't need anymore of our staff passing out."

"Yes, sir. I apologize."

With that, the chief director departed to rouse a soon to be unhappy surgeon from his sleep. Tim pressed a hand to his forehead, giving a short and agitated breath as Leslie crossed her arms. "You are so taking the blame for this when he wakes up."

--

"Heh . . . poor Tyler." Stephen chuckled lightly.

"Yeah, he wasn't too thrilled at all . . . but everything's taken care of." Tim quipped. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Best I've felt in days."

"Great! We were just about to go for breakfast. You feel well enough to join us?"

"Absolutely. I'm famished."

"We figured you would be." Leslie smiled. "Do you need help?"

"No . . ." Stephen gingerly swung his feet and slowly lowered a foot to the ground. There was a slight tremor in his body as he shifted his weight, but he waved back the nurses that stood ready to pounce. Carefully, he placed his second foot to the floor, swaying slightly before finding his balance. "There, I'm good."

"Let's go then." Leslie announced. "Tim's buying and we're going to Waffle House."

There was not a moment of hesitation in the nurse's steps as she turned, leaving a gaping Tim and still waking Stephen to catch up. "What? No way! We are not going to Waffle House!"

"What's wrong with Waffle House?"

"Everything." Tim growled. "It smells worse than your incense."

She tossed a glance over her shoulder. "Oh, and what would you suggest?"

"IHOP."

"IHOP?" Leslie snorted. "That place is overrated. Let's go to Waffle House."

"Tch, you said I was buying, right?"

"Sure are."

"Well, that means I decide where we go and we're going to IHOP."

Leslie stopped, crossing her arms as she gave a subtle glare to her fellow nurse. "All right then. I'm buying." she smirked, leaving Tim to gape once again as she walked onward.

"No, I'm buying." he retorted. "You said so . . ."

"Well, I changed my mind."

"You can't just switch it around like that! I'm buying!"

"I'm buying!"

"I'm buying."

The nurses fell silent, taking a moment to glance at the surgeon walking idly behind them, who met their stares unflinching. "And if you two don't stop bickering, I'm going to take you to McDonald's." That stopped them both in their tracks. Stephen smirked inwardly and shook his head slowly as they both gave a cringe at the thought. "I swear, you two are as bad as my kids."

An uneasy chuckle bubbled from the nurses once again as they grinned. "Okay, Dr. Clarks, where are we going?" Tim asked.

The doctor pursed his lips for a brief moment. "How about Village Inn?"

"Village Inn?" Leslie cocked a brow to Tim. "I haven't been there in a while."

"Me neither. Sounds good."

"Good. It's settled then." Stephen smiled, placing his hands in his coat pockets as the three of them proceeded to the main entrance. The rest of the walk was spent in relative quiet, save for the facility's backdrop of sound, leaving the now clear headed surgeon to appreciate what it was like to feel well again. Though as the front doors parted, the brisk updraft of morning air stirred up a rather potent aroma. He took a moment to ponder whether or not to voice what had been plaguing him since waking, but another breath of the scent was all the persuasion he needed. "Nurse Sears?"

Leslie stopped and turned. "Yes Doctor?"

"I appreciate the effort, but I have to ask. Exactly how long is my coat going to smell like rosemary?"

--

A/N: A request for Tristan the Dreamer. It's about time we got some more Clarks-centric fics around here, ne?

And the return of my OC Tim! Yay! He's not very good at administering medicine is he? Everyone he gives medication to passes out from it! And if you're reading this on , I'm assuming you know why Leslie called him "Yoshi" – thanks to the site's chaptering system. If not, or you're reading this on deviant art, check out the Hay Fever chapter for an explanation.

Discla . . . no! I'm not going to write a disclaimer this time! It's too much work and pointless. In fact, ya know what, I claim everything! Everything! Trauma Center, IHOP, Waffle House . . . it's mine! All mine! Mwahahaha!

(is sued)

Awwww . . . .