The Night Shift One-Shots

TC - Return - Part 1

Word Count: 956

Warnings: Vomiting, Cliffhanger  (does that count?)

A/N: So I don't exactly know where this stands on The Night Shift timeline, but I guess it's just part of the story, ignoring episodes and all that. Enjoy!

A/N2: I also want to say that if any of you understand what the image is, then let me know. I wanted to be nerdy and whatever and am just wondering if anyone understands my nerdiness and fascination into historical medicine.

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Jordan Alexander had learned two things in her three years working with – and dating – TC Callahan.

1. He never gets sick. Jordan had never seen him so much as sneeze. Injured, all the time, but he was never sick.

2. He never snoozes his alarm clock.

"Shut up!" TC grunted, fumbling on his left to turn off the alarm clock beeping incessantly on the nightstand. He rolled over and fell back asleep when it had finally been silenced. Jordan shifted to face him.

"T, what's wrong?" She asked, immediately knowing something wasn't right. She gently smoothed his fringe from his face. His forehead was hot and clammy. "Sweetheart, you're burning up!"

"Yeah, no kidding. I'm freezing." He coughed and his eyes flew open in panic. "Excuse me." He jumped out of bed and strode to the bathroom. Jordan gave him a moment, thinking he was just having a rough day and not feeling particularly polite, but quickly followed him when she heard him throwing up.

The sight that met her eyes when she reached him was nothing short of pitiful. TC was sat against the wall next to the toilet in only his boxers, sweat-drenched and panting. He was also a dangerous, pale shade of green from his face and halfway down his chest. "I think I'm sick, J," He admitted, smiling feebly, only to be cut off again as he gagged. Jordan moved behind him to pull his fringe back. Since coming back from Afghanistan only three weeks ago, he still hadn't had time to cut his hair.

"Yeah, so do I. You're not going to work tonight." She stated. TC opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it at the glare he received from his girlfriend. "I'll call in for the both of us. Stay here and I'll get you some meds – and a shirt."

"Oh, come on. You can't say you don't like it!" TC teased, smirking slightly.

"No, I can't." She admitted, "But you're sat there shivering so you're putting on a shirt. And probably some sweatpants too. Now stay there."

"Yes, ma'am." He said smiling, though he grimaced and shuddered, somehow turning even paler. Jordan saw him wrap one arm over his stomach as she left him.

Once she'd thrown TC a shirt and some sweatpants, she headed downstairs to call Drew, who she knew would step in as lead if she wasn't there.

"Hey, Jordan. Everything OK?" He asked. Something in his tone told her he knew something was up.

"No, not really. TC's gone down really sick." She explained. "He's so bad I'm not leaving him tonight. Sorry Drew but you're not getting either of us on tonight's shift."

"Dammit." He cursed quietly. "Ok, we can deal with this. I'll get Ragosa to call in some stand-ins. What's up with T?"

"He woke up on his alarm and then practically ran out and threw up. He's burning up real bad and I swear the colour of his skin right now shouldn't be humanly possible. Currently, he's sat in the bathroom wallowing in self-pity and nausea. It can't be too bad though, he's still making shirtless jokes."

"Well, that's TC for you. He never gets sick though. Any idea what caused it?"

"No, not a clue. He got back from Afghanistan nearly three weeks ago now, could it be something from that?" Jordan asked, a little concerned now.

"Unlikely, not after such a long time, but let me know if anything changes, it's a possibility if this is so sudden."

"Will do. Thanks, Drew."

"Bye Jordan." The call ended and Jordan placed her phone on the counter as she rummaged in the cabinet to find the right anti-nausea meds for TC. She grabbed a glass of water and went back to TC – leaving her phone downstairs in the kitchen.

TC was still retching when she returned to him, but very little was coming up now. "Who did you speak to?" TC asked, leaning back against the wall and slicking back his sweat-soaked hair. Jordan didn't get a chance to answer as he suddenly tensed up, clutching at his left calf. "Ow, ow, ow – cramp." He explained, rubbing out the visibly cramping muscle in his lower leg. He relaxed ever so slowly as the cramp retreated. Jordan sat next to her boyfriend – who leaned on her shoulder – and rubbed circles into the back of his hand.

"I spoke to Drew, and he said that it's fine, he'll get a couple of stand-ins in, and to let him know if anything changes. He also said that it's unlikely, but you might have picked something up when you weren't stateside." She muttered, answering his earlier question. TC tensed but didn't move, only just lifting his head off of her shoulder.

"Wait – SHIT!" he swore loudly, then stilled again and began counting on his fingers. "J, what's the date?"

"Twenty-seventh, why?" TC didn't answer, just continued to count on his fingers, the same rhythm and numbers over and over again. "T, what's going on?"

"I got back three weeks ago, right? On the fifth?" Jordan nodded. "I need you to take me to the ER, right now – but don't touch me or anything I may have thrown up on or drank out of." He got to his feet, grabbing the sink as his head suddenly span, regained his balance, then strode through to the bedroom to put on some more publicly acceptable clothes. Jordan followed suit.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, or just leave me here panicking?" She snapped, grabbing her car keys and ushering TC out of the house. 

"I'm not one hundred per cent sure yet, someone will have to run some tests, but I think it's -