Chapter Text
Mornings are an absolute bitch.
Arjun never quite liked them. Everyone assumed he’d be a morning person - academic topper, star athlete and all - but he absolutely wasn’t. He hated having to get out of his warm, cozy cocoon, force caffeine down his throat and wait as it fried his nerves into wakefulness. In retrospect, he should’ve considered this before he’d chosen to become a doctor. No point complaining now.
He kicks his blanket, swings his legs off the mattress and stumbles into the bathroom. Last night was worse than usual. An emergency consult at 10:30 p.m. had somehow dragged on till 2, which meant that his usual 5.5 hours of sleep had been cut down to 3. That’s not nearly enough, but he’ll manage. Internship had been way more brutal. At least now he has some autonomy. He can take off if he wants, but he’s not going to.
He blearily looks at his face in the mirror, lathering facewash on his palms. Arjun doesn’t know its name; Nakul had bought it for him about a month ago. He’d sworn that it had magic anti-aging, or anti-tanning properties or something. Arjun had scoffed at the time - but he hopes Nakul’s right. He’s definitely looked worse - but the reflection staring back at him doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. His dark circles have gained a purplish tinge, his cheeks look hollow and a little starved.
The facewash doesn’t help. He didn’t expect it to, but it would’ve been nice. He glances at the clock - checking whether he has time for a quick shave. He doesn’t. Guess stubbly Dr. Arjun’s making a comeback today. As if the nurses didn’t gossip enough about him.
He puts on his pre-cleaned and pressed suit, courtesy Draupadi - his sister-in-law. If competency took the shape of a human person, Arjun swears it would look like her. A lawyer by profession, caretaker of 5 by compulsion - she’s a superwoman in every sense of the word (though he’d never tell her that out loud. Reputations.) It’s only because she sends their cook to his house every other day that Arjun has food to eat. She remembers all these little things about the five brothers - Food for Arjun, band-tees and cassettes for the twins, that perfect tie for Yudhisthir’s meeting. And of course, Bhim would be a mess without her. Truly, the entire family lucked out when she’d accepted Bhim’s proposal.
In his suit, Arjun feels a bit better, a bit more like himself. The breakfast’s good, but honestly, Arjun just doesn’t have the capacity to appreciate its taste. The only thing left for him to do is make some coffee. He’s considering dosing it with RedBull, but he’s probably ruined his health enough for a few lifetimes. He dazedly watches the machine as the coffee brews - dark brown, frothy liquid filling up his mug. He brings it to his lips, taking a gulp despite the temperature. To him, coffee is purely functional. He hates the taste, hates the bitterness it leaves behind in his mouth and how much it costs to buy coffee beans that don’t taste like crap. But if he’s going to be treating patients all day long - he’s going to have to deal with it.
There was a time he’d actually liked coffee. With milk and some sugar, maybe a dash of caramel and whipped cream if he felt like it. By the window, at 8 a.m, with warm sunshine filtering through. And the company that came with that carefully brewed cup.
Nope. He doesn’t go there.
He drains the cup in four gulps, messily dumps it back into the dishwasher and makes his way out. Mumbai booms into life around him, but Arjun’s not really looking. At one point, he’s tired of all the taxis honking, so he turns on the radio. It’s playing bad Punjabi music - the kind Nakul forces Sahdev to listen to when he wants to annoy him. It doesn’t help Arjun’s mood or exhaustion, but it’s definitely better than the traffic orchestra outside his car window.
Twenty minutes later, he pulls into the parking lot of the hospital. This isn’t his usual spot at the basement - he’s parked at the front, right next to the entrance. It’s tall and huge - TATA MEMORIAL HOSPITAL - written in bold font, with “Department of Atomic Energy, Government of India”, right below it.
Arjun still remembers walking through the gates of one of (if not the) best medical institutions in the country, a naive, enthusiastic 24-year old just out of MBBS. Now, 7 years later, at 31, he runs much more on caffeine than motivation, but he can’t say that the sign doesn’t make him a little proud.
He locks his car and strolls into the hospital. He checks-in, smiling at a few nurses. As he walks past the hallways into the Radiology department - he glances at a group of what looks like first-year MBBS students. He gives them a small smile, watching as their faces light up at any acknowledgment from a senior doctor.
The hospital’s quite lively today. Tata Memorial Hospital, one of India’s premier cancer institutions, tired of the doom and gloom that came with delivering cancer diagnoses on a daily basis, had decided that every month, some event would be hosted to lift everyone’s spirits - both for staff and patients. Arjun usually doesn’t participate (mostly because he’s always working) - but he always tries to catch musical acts. Partly because his younger twin brothers drag him to it, partly because they’re usually good. He unconsciously smiles as he walks past the Christmas tree, watching two bald kids find presents under it.
“Dr. Arjun!” A voice calls. He looks up to find the grinning, slightly manic face of Dr. Eklavya, a third year resident - directly under Arjun. He looks much too enthusiastic for someone who’s pulled three all-nighters this week - but Arjun appreciates it.
“How are you here already, sir?” Eklavya asks. “You left only 6 hours ago!”
“Duty calls,” he replies dryly.
“Can I get you a coffee, sir?” he asks.
“Not necessary. Have you checked with Dr. Jagan on the 2 a.m. case?”
“Yes, sir.” Eklavya replies promptly. “Dr. Jagan is suspecting chronic gastritis, but Dr. Mehta’s still reviewing the scans.”
“Good.” Arjun replies. “If antibiotics don’t work, tell Dr. Jagan to schedule an endoscopy.”
“Got it sir.” Eklavya responds, scribbling away on his clip pad.
“Oh, and make sure to go through the MRIs I left on your desk. I’d like your opinions on them.”
“Sure sir.” Eklavya replies. With that, he turns on his heel and sprints away - likely to Dr. Jagan’s office. Arjun’s given him enough work to keep him occupied till lunch at least. There’s two other residents - Dr. Naren and Dr. Anjali. Arjun’s not technically responsible for them, but he is the senior-most staff of the radiology department right now (Dr. Ashwini is on yet another vacation with her third husband) - so he’s got to check on them too.
He enters the resident’s room, finding Dr. Naren. The second-year is hunched over a computer, staring intently into the screen, trying to discern something in a plain radiograph.
“The fracture was on the clavicle, Naren.” Arjun corrects, making him jump. “Stop looking into the sternum.”
“Dr. Arjun!”
“Save the greetings,” Arjun says, waving dismissively. “Where’s Anjali?”
“She’s…she got calls for a consultation.”
“Really?” Arjun asks, lifting an eyebrow.
“Yes sir.” Naren says.
“Hmm.” Arjun hums. “Well, let her know I want coffee on the way back. Iced Americano. Decaf. Oh, and she’s on night duty this week. Schedule switches.”
“O-Okay sir.” Naren stutters. He’s caught them in a lie; but he’s got better things to do than discipline irresponsible residents. He goes through a stack of scans Naren was supposed to have flagged last night.
“75% of these aren’t urgent.” Arjun says, sorting through the pile. “And this MRI? That’s early signs of a stroke. Page the neurology department.”
Naren nods, apparently too stunned to speak.
“That’s all.” Arjun says. Naren promptly leaves.
He goes to his office, blazer carelessly thrown on the ottoman Yudhisthir had painstakingly picked out for his last birthday. The first scan pops up on the screen, then the next. His morning passes in shades of grey and outlines of organs. Sometime before noon, Anjali enters with his coffee, tight-lipped and guilty. Arjun accepts it absent-mindedly.
Hours pass. Lunch comes and goes. His back stiffens; he gets off his desk and walks around the department hallway for a bit. A few consults, a few patients, and one emergency - he’s done for the day. Anjali is on duty, and while he doesn’t trust her even half as much as Eklavya, she’ll suffice. He picks up his blazer and heads out. On the road, traffic lights blur into headlights and streetlights. His house is dim, grey - but all he wants is a place to sleep.
On his desk, the coffee lies, forgotten.