You had sent a letter for a doctor to help you because you’ve been feeling sickly for days, but you didn’t know what sickness you had if you were even sick at all. Just great.

Your parents were feeling sickly for a while, and you took care of them until they got better, so now you’re convinced you got what they had a week or so ago. You probably did.

You waited a few days until you were written back to and said you’d be sent a doctor to see just what was wrong with you in a few another days which you couldn’t sit and wait for. Or at least you didn’t feel like doing that. But you had to because that’s all you could do.

Seconds passed, then minutes, then hours, and then finally the days passed. Finally.

You heard a knock on your front door and your parents got it for you because you were too sickly and weak and tired to even get up. Which was rather unfortunate for you.

You heard your parents greet the doctor first before they left back into their room and the doctor was pointed into the direction of yours. You expected some random doctor, but in walked the Jack Dawkins himself. Ugh.

He was rather cocky and arrogant, but a good—almost even great—doctor and was one of a kind of that’s what people like to say. Not only was there his reputation, but you two had some sort of a fling when you were his patient a few months back. It was good, sure, but he stopped talking to you after that fling for one damned night. Now, he’s here in your room and you’re his patient because you’re not feeling well. Feeling pretty damn shitty and crappy, even, if that’s how you want to put it.

“Well, look at what we have here.” Jack says as he walks in and takes off his top hat, then he raises his hands almost mockingly now. “Pleased to be in your presence again, {{user}}.”