Chapter 8 - Identity Crisis

Wilson found Holmes working, just as he had expected. “Holmes, I have a question for you.” Dan looked up from his laptop. “YOU have a question for ME? (laughs) Shoot.” “Why are you working so hard?” Wilson asked, smiling as he played his ace. “Pardon me?” Holmes said, narrowing his eyes. “Nobody works this hard on such a consitent basis. Ever since that suicide, you’ve been different…” “That would change anyone Wilson.” “No, not psychologically, not totally anyway…your mannerisms are different. I mean, you used to let your shoulders slump a little, but now you’ve got them military-straight, and I keep expecting you to salute me. You’re throwing yourself into your work for some reason.” Holmes ran a hand through his hair. “I just” Holmes pager buzzed angrily at the same time as Wilson’s. Exchanging glances, they hurried out of the glass and steel diagnostics office to Cuddy’s office.

Cuddy was waiting for them. “Holmes, how’s your arm?” “It’s getting better.” He said. A blatant lie, because at that moment a surge of pain struck it. “Really, I’m fine.” “Good to hear…even if it is a lie.” She said, exchanging glances with Wilson. “You know, you can relax…and it’s okay to go home and sleep (Right Alchemest?!).” She looked at Holmes’ rigid posture. “I’ll be fine.” Holmes said quietly. “Alright, I paged you because you have a case, and you’re the only one here. Wilson, I paged you for…” her voice trailed off. “Could I have a minute with him Dan?” “Oh, certainly, I’m sorry Lisa. I’ll get right on that case.”

Holmes opened the manila folder, studying it’s contents. “Seizure is the only symptom so far…no history of epilepsy…in good shape, average weight for his height…alcohol problem…recently rehabbed…”

Since the suicide (Or Cameron’s rejection), Holmes was indeed different. He was becoming increasingly intolerant of his own shortcomings. The way he dressed and carried himself was more like an executive than a doctor. He didn’t roll up his sleeves when reading anymore, didn’t loosen his tie. Shirt tucked in, shoes shined, hair perfectly combed. And work-wise, no lunch (without studying), no breaks.

He read through the case file again, almost hitting Chase and Cameron. “Sorry about that.” He muttered distractedly, heading to the patients room. “What the hell is up with him?” Chase muttered, wiping some lipstick off his collar. “I’m not sure…he took the rejection pretty well…the suicide?” she asked. He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.” They continued the walk to diagnostics, forgetting Holmes for the moment.

“Mr. Carmichael?” Holmes asked. “That’s me.” The African-American man answered. “I’m Dr. Holmes, I’ll be working with you.” “You aimin’ for the military son?” Mr. Carmichael asked. “No, just trying to stay professional. Now, if you don’t mind, would you tell me when you had the seizure?” “’Bout a half hour ago. I was walkin’ outta my AA meeting, when I collapsed.” Holmes wrote that down. “Okay. Any history of liver problems, head trauma?” “No sir Admiral.” The man joked. Holmes dropped his rigid manner briefly. “I’m sorry about that. You can call me Dan.” “Mos’ people know me as Marshall.” The man in the bed offered. “Alright Marshall. Let me take your answers back to the lab and I’ll have some answers for you. A nurse will be in momentarily to run a couple of tests.” Holmes gave him a small grin before leaving.

As soon as he was out the door, his posture snapped back to rigid, eyes straight ahead. He opened the door to diagnostics and yanked a book of the shelf, opened his laptop, and said a hollow “Good Morning” before handing the case file to House. “60 year old male, African-American, seizure, history of alcoholism, sobered up for ten years, drank yesterday.” Holmes said in rapid-fire succession. House yawned. “You on fast-forward? Take it easy general. Sounds like an alcohol withdrawal to me.” “It didn’t come across that way.” Holmes argued. “He wasn’t depressed, talked clearly,” “We’ve got nothing else to go on. So, we do what we’re paid to do: nothing.” House leaned back. Chase and Cameron looked over at Holmes. He stood up and walked toward the door. “I’ve got clinic duty.” “No you don’t.” Chase said. “I’m covering for Dr. Bosco.” Holmes said crisply.

“What is up with him?” Cameron asked. “Well, a man kills himself in front of him, you pick the Euro-trip reject (nods at Chase) instead of him, and he’s in pain. So he’s perfectly normal.” “Why is it you can’t accept he might need us?” Cameron asked tersely. “Why can’t you accept that there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s not your charity case Cameron, that would be Chase.”

Ann and Charles Dalton were waiting to see Holmes. “We requested you personally Dr. Holmes. Charles is having” “Trouble eating.” Holmes said with a sad smile. “Yeah. How did you…” “I’ve been there. Charles, buddy, what’s your favorite food?” “Chocolate!” the boy exclaimed. “Good taste! But what’s you other favorite food?” “I like burgers!” he said, happy to be helping. Holmes took a candy bar out of his pocket. “Is this okay with you Ann?” He said, aiming to give the kid some candy. “Oh, of course. You can take it honey.” She told Charles. “Here buddy, eat up.” Holmes said. Just as he expected, Charles’ muscles spasmed, and he began to breathe heavily. “If you need to spit it out, go ahead.” Holmes said kindly. Charles did just that. “What do I do?” “He’ll be okay. Make sure he drinks a lot, I’d suggest Ovaltine. The food thing…it’s going to take a while. I know you don’t want to hear that, but you should know the truth.” Holmes said. “Thank you Dr.” “It was my pleasure. Just so you know, the next symptom for me was withdrawl from peers, and then trouble in gym class. Come see me if that happens.”

“This is weird…” Chase muttered. “What’s that?” Cameron looked over onto his computer screen. “Didn’t he have a fever of 101 just a couple hours ago?” “Yeah…We’d better tell House.”

“His fever disappeared? What does that tell us.” Holmes and Chase spoke up at the same time: “The body fought off the infection.” They looked at each other, surprised. “Any other symptoms?” House asked, readying his marker and white board. “Sleepiness, and confusion. I get the impression he lost his short-term memory.” Chase suggested. “Could be the early stages of Alzheimers.” “Or it could be more physical. Maybe a tumor.” Holmes replied, going back to his crisp tone. “No tests just yet…Holmes, you go monitor him.” Holmes left, while House turned to his team. “While WE monitor HIM.”

“Okay Marshall. Let me just check your eyes…” “Damn, son, put the spotlight away!” Marshal grumbled. Holmes wrote down “Sensitivity to light” in his notebook. “Do you feel anything right now?” “I’ve got a headache goin’ pretty good. Damned chourus of jackhammers goin’ off.” He said.

“Sensitivity to light…headache…what does that mean? Let me see…we haven’t heard from Cameron yet today. Cameron shrugged. “I think it’s a tumor.” House looked around the room. “Cancer is the popular answer…so we’ll test it. Have Wilson do a brain scan. Holmes, you monitor the test and assist Wilson.”

“Okay, everything’s ready. Holmes, you all set?” “Go for it Wilson.” Wilson injected a small amount of radioactive material into Marshall. “I’m not seeing anything unusual.” Holmes stated rigidly. “Me neither.”

“Brain scan is clear. No tumors.” Wilson announced. “Wilson…did Holmes mention anything to you about his new attitude?” “I brought it up. He just said he was trying to be professional. Frankly, he is. But I think something is eating at him, no matter what he says. It could just be his arm, but I think there’s something there…Something he’s not telling us…”

“How are you feeling Marshall?” Holmes asked the next morning. “How good can I be If I’m lyin’ here?” “Point taken.” Holmes returned. “Damn, it’s cold in here!” Holmes checked the temperature in the room. It was 75 degrees. “That’s a little better.” Marshall said. Holmes hadn’t touched anything. Then Marshall turned and vomited over the side of the bed.

“He had chills, but they went away. That indicates infection.” Holmes stated solidly. “Infections…but what if Mr. infection met Mrs. Infection, they bred and had kids… Them the kids went off to college and the parents died… He has an Abscess of the Brain. So, that means…drugs! Happy time!” House said, pumping a fist. “Start him on the Metronidazole, and we’ll see where he goes. In the likely even I’m right, we can send his now-cured @$$ out-of-here!” Holmes pager buzzed. “If you’ll pardon me…”

“Come in.” Cuddy said at the knock. “Holmes, glad you’re hear. We need to have a little chat.” “We?” House took a seat too. “I’m in trouble for something?” Holmes guessed. “No. You’re being a stiff, hard-working @$$.” House said. “That’s kind of you to say. But I don’t see the issue.” Holmes said, spreading his hands. “Well, you see Dan, the issue is that you’re working hard, and very well, but” “But you’re an asshole otherwise, and that’s not why we hired you. You’re supposed to be the bedside manner. So shape up!” House exclaimed. “I think what Dr. House is saying is that it pains us all to see that something is bothering you, and that we want to offer our support.” “Is THAT what I said? That’s not what I mean! What I meant was.” “Stuff it House!” Cuddy warned. “Thank you Lisa, House. I assure you, there’s no problem. ”

“It’s not an abscess of the brain.” Cameron told the team. “He’s getting worse. His fever is back, and he’s not eating right. He threw his steak at the nurse, telling her to get him real food.” Holmes buried himself in a book. “That’s all parallel with the abscess…but his tissue isn’t expanding…The sensitivity to light is different…” House was bored, spinning his cane around “Holmes…did he move much when you were in there?” “No, especially his head.” House rapped his cane on the desk. “We have it. We’ve been aiming too high. What’s lower than the head, but really important?” “Heart?” Holmes offered. “No. Spine. Do a Spinal Tap.”

Holmes went to visit Marshall. “I ain’t getting’ better, am I?” Marshall said, serenely looking out his window. “Yes and no.” Holmes said. “You’re hedging the question. You’ve got something on your mind too. If you’ll pardon me son, I’ve got to lay down. All this excitement got me tuckered out.”

Holmes looked at him sadly, guessing death was next. He was wrong.

“He’s in a coma.” Holmes told them. “Bacterial Meningitis.” House finished. “So we were right with the infection all along.” Chase muttered. “Second-guessing yourself isn’t always smart. Sometimes it’s as dumb as Chase wearing spandex.”

Start Track: Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Deep Blue Something

Holmes was sitting Marshall’s bedside, shaking his head. His military manner was lost, replaced by one of despair. “I wish I had known…Thanks for something Marshall. Thanks for telling me what an @$$ I’ve been. If you ever wake up, I’ll tell you that then too.” He got up and left the room.

House watched Holmes leave, apparently dispassionately. He took two Vicodin and made his was toward the elevator.

Chase and Cameron were in the middle of a passionate kiss in front of the hospital in the New Jersey winter. The snowflakes decorated Cameron’s pretty face, making her even more radiant. Holmes tried not to notice that, instead talking to Wilson.

“So, what did Cuddy want?” Wilson blushed. “Oh…well…she’s looking for a sperm donor.” Neither said anymore. “I see you’re not the admiral anymore.” Wilson said, breaking the silence. “Nope. I guess it was an identity crisis. But now, it’s time to find out who I am…”

You are not authorized to comment here. Your must be registered and logged in to comment