Chapter 6 - My Own Advice

Holmes cursed again, feeling the sting of the cold, and of a kind of unrequited love. Sort out your feelings later! You’ve got to House inside before he freezes! That was easier said than done with one arm. His other arm, the one that had taken the knife for House, was still killing him. His bottle of nearly untouched Vicodin was still sitting on the table next to his bed. The only two pills that had gotten into him were the ones House had shoved down his throat. “Damn it!” Holmes muttered as he caught his hurt arm on the doorframe. It started bleed again. With one hand, cringing with pain, he dialed the hospital, calling for an ambulance. With a grimace of effort, he got House up on his couch. He laid a thin washcloth on House’s head, placing an ice pack on that. Then he trudged upstairs. It was time to get ready for work. He didn’t think he was going to sleep much…not with that death in his head…the one that was his fault…

Black dress shirt, silver tie, black dress pants, shoes shined, and finally the black suit jacket. He yanked his tie straight and ran a comb through his hair attempting to get it to lie flat. He tossed the comb down suddenly, as he had used hurt arm to style his hair out of habit.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. “Damn it! If House is just calling me for the hell of it again, he WILL be dying!” Declared Nurse Gerry to her friend, a secretary named Rebecca Runnels. “Good luck with that Ger.” She said flatly. House wasn’t her favorite person in the world.

House kept hitting the “call” button, and banging his spoon loudly against his empty plate. “I’m all out of ice cream!” He complained to the nurse. “Right away Greg.” She said with a false smile. “Bastard…” she muttered. House leaned back and smiled, using his cane to reach his cell phone.

Ring. Ring. Holmes, who had been in trance, thinking of what had happened, was awakened suddenly. It was four in the morning. “Diagnostic medicine, Holmes speaking.” He said in a wear voice. “Where the hell are Chase and Cameron?” the voice on the other end questioned roughly. “House, it’s four AM. They’re probably sleeping, like normal people.” Holmes answered. He felt a radical depression. House was in the room next door to where Charles had killed himself the day before. House’s voice again snapped the young “doctor” out of a trance. “Then, since you’re here, I’ve got a case for you hotshot.”

House was sitting in bed when Holmes appeared at his door. House threw a folder at him. “Twenty-Eight year old male. Night terrors, violent shaking, and difficulty breathing.” Holmes was going to protest, but said nothing. “Alright. I’ll write up a report for you when the case is done. For now, here’s your prescription.” Holmes handed house a yellow sheet. “You’re prescribing me Vicodin?” House asked incredulously. “I’ve worked with you long enough to know it’s hell on earth if you don’t have your candies.” Holmes said flatly. He tossed a small orange bottle to House.

“Night terrors are more common in young children, because they can’t express their fear.” Holmes recited to himself. “The shaking and breathing…sounds like anxiety…the night terrors could tie in with that…but it would have to be something big. Holmes grabbed his arm as pain jolted through him. “You can’t handle this little bit of pain? That man killed himself…all because you couldn’t do your job…” Holmes berated himself. “I might as well have put that dagger across his throat, for all the good I did him…” Holmes left leg twitched, and his heart started to race, but he pushed it aside. “No…If I can’t figure out this case, then I’ll quit. I’ll turn in my lab coat, and quit.”

Chase woke up first, looking at the sleeping angel next to him. A memorable night for sure. “Cameron…come on, time for work.” Cameron rubbed her eye sleepily. “Already? Time flies when you’re having fun.” She said, smiling at him. Chase grinned back at her and got up, fixing his hair while she headed for the bathroom.

Holmes had draped his lab coat over the back of his chair, the narrow pool of light offering no distractions. “Anxiety…what causes that?” He thought back. I have no idea what caused mine…it just kind of showed up…It’s hard to believe just a year ago I couldn’t sleep at night, couldn’t eat…and now I’m working in a hospital…where I killed my first patient…If I had just been a little quicker… Holmes shook his head, almost violently, shaking the thought aside. He needed to figure out this case. He didn’t want to quit, but he would. But another image of Charles drawing the blade across his neck shook him to the core. He let his head drop into his hands, feeling defeated.

Chase and Cameron walked in, smiling and laughing. Chase turned the light on. “House must not be here yet…” Chase spied Holmes reading a book in the corner, a case file opened next to him. “Couldn’t wait for us?” Chase joked. “Oh, sorry. House wants to see you both. He’s in room 238.” Holmes supplied, trying to keep his voice chipper. He knew he was failing miserably. “As a patient?” Chase asked incredulously. “Yeah.” “My God, what happened?” Cameron exclaimed. “Hit a patch of ice in front of place last night. He’s got a concussion, a small one, but he admitted himself.” Chase and Cameron exchanged glances. “You know he’s more miserable as a patient than as a boss, right?” Chase asked, eyes narrowed. “Hey, I don’t have a helluva lot aside from work, and I’ve had worse bosses than him. At least he’s good at what he does.” Holmes retorted with a derisive snort and a wise-acre grin. Chase shrugged as if giving Holmes permission to believe whatever he wanted. Cameron tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at Holmes, who whole body below his neck was shaking.

“You wanted to see us?” Chase asked the bedridden House. “Are you okay?” Cameron asked. “Peachy. That new guy is totally cool! He gave me more happy pills!” House shook the bottle, looking satisfied. “That’s not a good th” “What did you need?” Chase cut Cameron off, with a look that plainly said “He needs those things, for our sake!” “I need you two to do clinic duty. Don’t help the new guy with that case. Just tell him this: If he doesn’t figure that case out, or he gets help, he’s fired.” Cameron immediately protested. She might have picked Chase, but she still had a thing for the underdog. “House, that’s mean! Give the guy a break!” Holmes used his cane to hook his phone again. “Yeah, you’re needed here.” House barked into the phone. “I’m going to tell him, since I can’t trust you two soft-touches to give him the business.”

Holmes entered the room, staring at the three doctors, all of whom seemed imposing. “Let’s skip the “how are you” stage. I’m telling you this, so there’s no excuse if you screw up: Figure this case out on your own, or you’re fired.” Chase and Cameron looked over at Holmes, curious as to what his reaction would be. It wasn’t what they expected. “That works for me. Except, if I can’t figure it out, I’ll quit. I shouldn’t be here, and I know it.” Holmes had spat the last part, not even looking around the room before storming out.

House shrugged. “Interesting attitude. If I had threatened Chase with that, he would’ve crapped his silk britches.” Chase looked away, rolling his eyes. “So, clinic duty, my little cherubs! Off you go! Big brother needs his rest.”

Cameron had the first patient. It was a thirteen-year-old girl, who had been dragged in by her mother. “She’s been coughing and sneezing, and she’s just burning up!” the mother exclaimed. “Mom! It’s a cold! Get over it!” Cameron could appreciate the girls’ attitude; that was about how she felt. “Let’s just be sure.” The girl coughed. “How long has this been going on?” “Since yesterday! You know, I couldn’t even get in yesterday! I don’t know how this hospital runs, but…” Cameron tuned her out, writing out “Tylenol” on a sheet. “Here you are. Have a good day.” Cameron forced a smile across her smooth features. “You’re asking me to drug my child?! How dare you?!” Cameron put a hand on her forehead, irritably pushing her bangs out of the way.

Chase’s luck was about the same. “So you were explaining gun safety to your eight year old, when you shot yourself with a BB gun?” Chase’s exasperation was obvious. “Well, you know, boy’s never to young to learn.” Chase nodded, stifling a laugh. “Well, if you head down to surgery, they can remove the BB. Where, exactly did you shoot yourself?” “You don’t want to know.” The man chuckled. Chase agreed that he probably didn’t.

Holmes meanwhile searched a thick book. “I’m sure it’s anxiety…let me see…patient history…there is none…that figures. Much like that Charles guy is now history… A nasty part of Ekyt’s mind told him.

Holmes knocked on the door. “Mister…Preston, right.” “Y-yes, that’s me.” A nervous man with thin-framed glasses answered. “I’m Doctor Dan Holmes. I’m in charge of your case, and I just have a couple questions for you.” “Su-sure. You look a little young…” “I get that all the time. Now, does your family have a history of anxiety problems? Or stress?” “N-No. That’s h-hereditary, right?” “Not always. It can be triggered by a crucial event, or by nothing at all at any point in life.” That seemed to make Mr. Preston more nervous. “Yo-you seem nervous…” he pointed out, a shaking figure aimed at Holmes. “I am. I’ve had it for thirteen years.” Looking serious, Holmes asked him “Has anything happened lately, something that might give you a reason to be anxious?” “N-no! Why?” “Well, you’re showing symptoms of Post-Traumatic stress disorder.” Holmes admitted. “Is that- ba-bad?” Holmes nodded. “It could be.” Okay, what do I do next before this guy winds up like Charles? Um…I’m missing a symptom…shaking, shortness of breath…What is it? The Night Terrors! I hope there’s a good story for that. Otherwise, I can kiss my job goodbye. And why shouldn’t I? It’s my fault that guy died…I shouldn’t be here, risking other lives… “Tell me about your night terrors. Do they have any theme to them? Some recurring incident?”

Mr. Preston thought for a moment. “Th-they always end with a bloody car crash…” he stammered, grasping his bed spread, holding so tight his knuckles turned white. Holmes nodded understandingly. “Did you know someone who died in a car crash?” Holmes asked him. “W-Well, my m-mother.” He choked out between tears. “I was driving the car! A truck without it’s light on hit the passenger’s side. Mom died…and it’s all my fault! I should have died! Me! I’m going to hell, aren’t I?” Holmes couldn’t answer for a moment. He sounds like me…but it wasn’t his fault… For the first time, Holmes felt a realization of the truth. People died. There wasn’t always someone at fault. You couldn’t feel guilty for being alive while someone else was dead. If you made your best effort to keep them alive, didn’t that make you a good-enough person?

“Mr. Preston.” “Please, call me Rod.” “Rod, you’ve got post-traumatic stress disorder. That’s causing your depression, and the nigh terrors. And, you’ve got anxiety. I know you’re not going to like what I’m going to tell you, but you deserve to know the truth. Something they didn’t tell me when I was diagnosed. It’s not life threatening, and can be controlled with the right medication. What you have to do is take the medication I’m going to prescribe, and you’re going to have to confront what happened. Understand, it’s not your fault.”

Cameron and Chase were listening as per House’s orders. Cameron looked at Chase as they watched Holmes talk to the man. His manner, which had been so shaky, seemed to have redeemed itself. He was talking clearly, making sense, and telling the truth. “If you need any help, feel free to call the hospital, they’ll direct you to me, or to a psychologist.” “But, how do I come to terms with this? I mean, I did my best” “You’ve just started Rod. You just said it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t.” Holmes wrote out a prescription for Clonopin, and handed it to the man.

“Here you are House.” Holmes tossed the folder onto House’s lap. “Chase tells me you were a different person telling the man what happened. Did you finally decide to join the grown-ups?” “No. I needed to follow my own advice. And I did.” Holmes gave House a small nod and grin, and left him. House read the report, something he didn’t do often. Cuddy came to visit him. “I heard what you did House.” She told him, shaking her head despite her smile. “As rough as it was, you made the right move with him.”

Holmes looked out the window from the diagnostics office, watching the snow fall. “Follow my own advice, huh? I don’t now where that came from, but it’s not a bad idea.” He said to himself, closing his eyes against the white backdrop. He heard a set of footsteps. He tried to gauge them. It wasn’t House, and the person moved lightly. Female, most likely. Cuddy would have said something by now, so he guessed it was Cameron. It seemed like just as Holmes was getting a shot of confidence, SHE had to come along. Without his guilt, he could focus freely on how Chase and Cameron were together. Judging by the footsteps, Cameron hadn’t noticed him yet. Holmes silently slung his briefcase over his shoulder, and ducked out the door.

Lisa Cuddy looked at the clock. 5:30. About time to quit. So Holmes should be… “Come in.” Cuddy said at the knock. Holmes entered, placing a folder on her desk. “Poor guy.” He commented. “Have a good night Lisa, if I don’t see you?” “Where are you headed? Not pulling another all-nighter?” Holmes smiled tiredly. “I’ll be in early. Right now, I’ve got to follow some of my own advice.”

Start Track: Closing Time by Greenday

Cameron watched, not really surprised, as Holmes left the room. Cameron understood she had caused him some pain. “Holmes…you can always trust me. I hope you know that.” She whispered.

House got up out of bed, limping over to the mirror. He checked his eyes. Close enough. He put on his normal clothes and limped to the elevator. As he waited for it to come, he rested his chin on his hands. When the doors opened, he hopped inside and hit the button with his cane. He had done the right thing with the young intern. House pushed that out of his mind as he downed the two Vicodin he had in his hand.

“We have gathered today under God’s eye, to celebrate the life of Charles Phaelyn.” A priest began. The church was empty, save for a handful of people. Holmes stood by the door, his head bowed in prayer. He took one last look at Charles peaceful body, nodding to himself, understanding something for the first time. He slipped out the back of the church, out into the snowy day. He jammed his fedora on his head, stopping under a street post. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but it had gotten dark. He looked up at the light. “Time to go home.”

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