Every day I see how the story grows on all the websites, which makes me feel very good. Every week, the story reaches hundreds of people across all the sites, allowing me to interact with dozens of people who leave their comments.
As I write this,
On WebNovel, there are 99 reviews, with 1,355 major fans, and 129 people have given a heart to my profile.
On Scribblehub, there are 101 readers, 2 reviews, 543 favorites, and 4 people follow my profile.
On RoyalRoad, there are 99 followers, 38 favorites, 19 ratings, and 3 reviews.
On Fanfiction, there are 51 favorites, 43 followers, and 7 reviews.
On Archive of Our Own, there are 365 kudos, 77 bookmarks, and more than 11k hits.
And finally, on Wattpad, there are 7 followers and the story has 148 stars.
On average, this gives more than a hundred active readers.
I just want to say, truly, thank you all for reading this nonsense that I write.
Enjoy.
---
"What did you think?" Mom asked with a big smile on her face, still holding the disposable camera in her hands.
"It's..." I said, pausing, unable to find the words.
"Beautiful? Perfect? Amazing?" Mom asked excitedly, taking another picture.
"Unexpected," I replied carefully, placing the framed article back on the table.
"It was a surprise that David wanted to do. Your mom and I thought it was a good idea," Bob admitted with a proud smile on his face. "You don't like it?" he asked, his smile fading for a moment.
"Don't be silly, Bob. How could he not like it?" Mom asked, snorting. "You loved it, right?" She asked me, much more serious than she had been all night.
"Yeah," I replied after a few seconds, not really sure how I felt about it. "It's just that it caught me by surprise," I continued, smiling slightly.
"Oh PJ," Mom said excitedly, taking my head in a hug. "You completely deserve it. You have worked harder than anyone on your dream."
"It's the first of many articles that will be written about you, I'm sure," Bob added proudly, putting his hand on my shoulder.
"The final words from Dr. House were beautiful, don't you think?" Mom asked, carefully holding the framed article, looking at the newspaper with affection. "I didn't know the man held you in such high regard. I have to thank him."
"A bit superfluous in my opinion," Sheldon said jealously from his seat.
"Young man," Mrs. Cooper reprimanded her son, widening her eyes in annoyance, making him immediately fall silent.
"Yes, they were very kind words," I responded, ignoring the boy. It was impossible that House had said something like that unless Dr. Cuddy promised him something incredible.
Georgie, next to me, let out a weak laugh. "Everyone will be talking about you at school tomorrow, again," my 'friend' said amused.
"Yeah," I replied with a growing headache.
"I think it's awesome, now you're famous. Maybe you'll appear on television someday," Missy, sitting between Teddy and Gabe, said in amazement.
"That would be perfect. I can't wait," Mom said dreamily as if it were already a fact, carefully hugging the framed newspaper.
The 'party,' where only the Coopers were invited, didn't last much longer. For the rest of the night, after answering some questions about the article and giving a brief summary of its importance in the medical world, each group started their own conversation.
I could notice that while Teddy and Missy were talking excitedly about whatever they were discussing, Gabe, who was sitting with Sheldon reading comic books, constantly glanced at Missy, possibly involuntarily.
When the Coopers returned to their own house at the end of the night, now completely exhausted, I decided that the joke of giving gifts to my siblings had lasted long enough.
"Amazing!" Gabe exclaimed excitedly, quickly opening the small box and taking out his portable console and some games, ignoring everyone while playing on the living room couch.
"This is beautiful, thanks, PJ," Teddy said, looking at all the clothes I had bought her. For the first time since she arrived home, she gave me a big hug.
"No problem, Teddy Bear," I said, returning the hug to my sister, with the article now hanging on one of the walls in the house in my central point of view.
"You didn't have to get us gifts, son. It's your money," Bob said gratefully, holding his new wallet.
"Yeah, you didn't have to do that," Mom said, looking at the earrings in her ears with a big smile, obviously not really meaning it.
"Nonsense, the gifts weren't very expensive anyway," I said, half-lying to avoid making Bob, especially, feel bad about receiving the gifts.
While Teddy and Gabe continued inspecting their gifts in detail, Mom and Bob started cleaning up the remnants of the party.
"Do you need help with anything else, Mom?" I asked, bringing more dirty dishes into the kitchen.
"Oh no, you must be very tired. Go get ready for bed," Mom said with a loving smile, insistently shooing me out of the kitchen.
"All right then," I said, leaving what I had in my hands. "Thank you very much for the party, Mom, really," I continued, truly grateful before leaving the kitchen.
The hot water in the shower reminded me of all the exhaustion in my body. After finishing my nighttime routine and dressing in pajamas, I was completely ready for bed.
"PJ?" Gabe asked weakly from his own bed, holding his new console.
"Yeah," I replied, forcing my eyes open in the dimly lit room.
"Do you think I'll ever be in the newspaper someday?" my brother asked, with a hint of nerves in his voice.
"Why?" I asked, worried that the whole party and all of Mom and Bob's words had affected Gabe and Teddy without me realizing it.
"Just because," Gabe replied after a few seconds of silence.
"Then answer me this: do you want to be in the newspaper?" I asked, lifting my head a bit to see the little boy on the other side of the room.
"Yes, I think so," Gabe replied, staring at the ceiling, with the small console resting on his body.
"Then I don't see why you can't appear in the newspaper someday," I said, returning to my comfortable pillow. "You have much more talent than I do in other things, Gabe. For example, the guitar," I argued. "As long as you keep working hard like you do now, I bet my car that someday you'll be much more famous than me," I assured him.
"Do you really think so?" my little brother asked in almost a whisper.
"Yes, but don't worry about it right now. You're only eight," I joked. "For now, you just need to focus on enjoying your childhood."
"You know I'm ten," Gabe muttered, annoyed but obviously amused.
"Really?" I asked exaggeratedly, "you're already an old man, you need to start looking for a girlfriend," I joked.
"Don't be gross," Gabe immediately responded, throwing one of his pillows at me.
"Gross?" I asked, amused, throwing the pillow back. "You didn't seem so grossed out with Missy earlier," I insinuated exaggeratedly.
"Missy is my friend," Gabe immediately denied my insinuation. "I'm going to sleep. Don't be gross," he quickly said, not intending to dwell on the topic, turning off his console and turning his body away from me in silence.
Amused, I allowed my body to relax once more, quickly falling asleep.
The next day, after my entire morning routine, when I grabbed the keys to 'Debbie,' I once again saw the framed article hanging on one of the house walls.
"Maybe not many people have seen it," I murmured to myself with some hope, despite knowing it was empty hope.
When I parked my car in the school lot, almost immediately, and before I could even get out of the car, I noticed once again how people's attention was drawn to me. I could feel a headache starting again.
Trying to ignore the dozens of teenagers shamelessly murmuring about me, I quickly walked to my locker.
"Why didn't you tell me about this, idiot?" While I was looking in my locker for my things for the day, I suddenly felt a hit on the back of my head with what seemed to be sheets of paper.
"Ah," I exclaimed, pretending to be hurt, as I discovered who it was. "Kat, I didn't know until I got back yesterday," I explained, pointing to the weapon the girl had used—a newspaper with my face on it.
"Not that, you won a Nobel Prize," Kat exclaimed, pointing to the newspaper she was holding, attracting even more attention from people around us.
"I didn't win a Nobel Prize. Dr. Thomas and Dr. Murray won it; I just helped a little," I clarified quickly, raising my voice a bit so others could hear too. The last thing I needed was for everyone to think I had won a Nobel.
"Besides, I knew you were going to study at the hospital with some doctor. Dad said so, but you're 'an essential part of Dr. House's diagnostic team'?" Kat incredulously asked, hitting the newspaper in her hand again while reading one of the lines from the article.
"It's not much. I just read a lot of medical books and give some ideas," I explained quickly, again trying to mitigate the rumors that would circulate in the school during these days.
"And saving the life of a newborn baby and his mother, that's also an exaggeration?" Kat asked, increasingly agitated for some strange reason.
"I learned the theory for helping in a delivery a while ago," I explained again.
"So it's true," Kat said, strangely defeated. "That's why Dad wanted you to come to dinner," she murmured slowly, crumpling the newspaper in her hands while nodding. "Congratulations on the article," she continued before turning and walking away slowly.
"Kat," I said, puzzled by my friend's behavior, trying to stop her.
"SuperStar, or should I say Hero," Brock exclaimed cheerfully, hugging my shoulder before I could approach Kat. "My dad was very surprised when the newspaper arrived and found out the local hero was the one who bought 'Debbie,' and my mom was very happy that you were my friend," my robust friend said, squeezing my shoulders while laughing.
"I'm glad the article was useful for you," I said, playfully pushing my friend to separate myself from his embrace.
"You have no idea. Whenever I go with you now, I can go anywhere I want," Brock said, doing a little dance.
"Me too. Mom didn't believe you were my friend," David said, arriving from the main hallway of the school. "She told me not to leave your side because you're a 'good influence,'" my friend said sarcastically.
"What do you mean by that? Of course, I'm a good influence on you hooligans," I said, pretending to be offended, hitting my friend's shoulder.
"My mom said the same thing. She adores you. She thinks if I stick close enough to you, some of your 'genius' might rub off on me," Georgie said, arriving at that moment and greeting everyone.
"I don't think that will work for you, buddy," Brock said, patting Georgie's shoulder sympathetically.
"You're not funny," Georgie said, annoyed, pushing Brock's hand off his shoulder while Brock laughed.
"How are you dealing with the attention?" Alan asked suddenly from my side, surprising me once again out of countless times.
"One of these days, I'm going to surprise you," I said, annoyed, trying to lightly push my friend on the shoulder, failing spectacularly as Alan moved his body, avoiding my arm.
"You can try," my calm friend insinuated, smiling slightly.
"Are you okay?" I asked, ignoring his joke. Looking closely at Alan, he had deep circles under his eyes and was a bit pale. He looked tired.
"Yeah, don't worry, 'medical prodigy,'" Alan said, avoiding my gaze, walking towards his locker.
The day continued along with my headache. The attention directed at me didn't cease, not even in the classroom. Fortunately, unlike last time, I hadn't heard wildly exaggerated stories about the article. At least with it being written and accessible to everyone, there wasn't much room to add or change things.
At the end of school, I couldn't leave the grounds faster without breaking some law.
My headache drastically reduced while driving, feeling the wind on my face and listening to the music I had chosen weeks ago. The drive passed quickly.
"Congratulations, Dr. Duncan," upon entering the door I always used at the hospital, Mom's fellow nurses were waiting to surprise me with the nickname they had already chosen for me.
Once again, a growing headache attacked me.
After thanking all the nurses I encountered, even some residents who apparently wanted to meet me, I managed to head towards House's office, not without greeting and thanking the congratulations of everyone I met.
"Dr. Wilson?" Upon entering House's office, the first doctor I encountered was surprisingly Dr. Wilson at the lounge table in the Diagnostic Department, with a lot of papers and various files. He looked obviously stressed.
"Ah PJ, congratulations on the article," the man said, smiling.
"Thank you very much," I replied to the kind man. "What are you doing here?" I asked, puzzled, pointing to all the papers on the table.
"His office mysteriously flooded with sewage," on the other side of the room, with the same newspaper open covering his face, Dr. House said dryly. "They have to replace the carpet, the walls, and possibly all the furniture."
"Yes, 'mysteriously,'" Dr. Wilson said, pressing his lips in annoyance.
"'I don't just see PJ Duncan as an image of my younger self or an apprentice. I see him as a son whom I respect and even admire. I'm proud of him,'" ignoring Dr. Wilson, House read with disgust, closing the newspaper with a snap.
"Beautiful words," Dr. Wilson said with a big smile while filling out documents on the table.
"Too cheesy for anyone with balls," House affirmed with disdain, leaving the article on the table.
"I liked it, thank you very much for your words, Dr. House. I didn't know you held me in such high esteem," I said immediately, seizing the strange opportunity to tease the man.
"You know me, kid, I'm a sentimental," dripping each word with sarcasm, House said as he stood up and walked slowly towards me.
"Well, I appreciate your words," I said nervously. He was obviously planning something; his attitude and the expression on his face were clear. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to the skills lab. I need to practice a new suture," I continued, placing my backpack in its usual place.
"Oh no, no," House slowly shook his head, holding my shoulder. "You and I have work to do," he continued, grinning sinisterly.
"Is there a new case?" I asked.
"No, it's been a while since we've gone to the clinic, you and I, 'son.' I think it's a great opportunity to continue your medical education," patting my shoulder a couple of times, he continued before leaving the office.
"Be strong, PJ," Dr. Wilson said, smiling sadly while clenching his fist.
Outside the office, following House towards the hospital clinic, "Impressive article, right?" House asked with an arrogant smile on his face. "So impressive that obviously quite a few people read it," he continued.
"Where are you going with this?" I asked, intrigued.
"What do you think happens when a bunch of people read that there's a 'medical prodigy' who can be found every week in a free clinic saving the lives of anyone who needs it?" House asked, smiling wickedly.
House somehow timed his words perfectly, because just as he finished his question, we arrived at the clinic doors, which were open and filled with people. Nurse Fryday, who usually worked with another nurse at the clinic reception, was there with five other nurses, frantically admitting people.
"Let's see, the average consultation takes about eight minutes if you do it quickly, so if my calculations are correct, you should be done by the end of the week," the man said, amused. "Look everyone, it's PJ Duncan, the prodigy," House shouted sinisterly before I could stop him, drawing the attention of everyone in the clinic.
House, much faster than a man with a cane should be able to move, quickly dodged the small crowd of people approaching me.
Everyone who came up to me started talking simultaneously, asking questions, introducing themselves excitedly, some describing symptoms, and even a few accusing me of being a fraud. Almost cornering me against a desk, people were talking over each other, raising their voices to the point of shouting.
"Silence!" Inside the clinic, with an incredibly powerful shout, the usually sweet older woman, Nurse Fryday, silenced everyone. "Dr. House and PJ will see you in order. If you do this again, I will call the police," she threatened, moving the small crowd. The woman reached me and, grabbing my arm, dragged me inside the clinic to the office that House always used.
"By the way, congratulations, PJ. I read the article; it was beautiful," the nurse said before closing the door.
"That was terrifying," somehow already inside the office, sitting with his feet up on another chair, House said falsely, holding an open magazine.
"That was unnecessary," I said angrily, walking to the bed inside the office.
"On the contrary, I found it very necessary," House countered sarcastically, amused.
"I don't understand why you're punishing me," I said, rubbing my eyes in frustration.
"Oh, this is not a punishment, kid," closing his magazine with fake surprise, House said. "It's just a way to prevent 'fame' from going to your head. That's how lousy doctors are made, and remember, I am your mentor," theatrically continuing with a hand on his chest.
Before I could say anything else, the office door was knocked on and then opened a second later by Nurse Fryday again, with a man behind her.
"PJ Duncan, I read about you in the newspaper," the man, about forty years old and overweight, obviously excited, quickly entered, shaking my hand enthusiastically.
"Here you go," handing me a chart, Nurse Fryday said with a forced smile, glancing sideways at the excited man.
"Thanks," I said uncomfortably, trying to pull my hand away from the other man as the nurse left the room.
Finally getting my hand back, I gestured for the man to sit on the bed in the center of the office and moved slightly towards House.
House, ignoring the patient in the room, was completely focused on his magazine. "Here," I said, stretching out my hand with the chart, trying to get House's attention.
"Oh no," after looking at the papers for a second, the man responded. "You can handle this, and obviously, he came just for you," House continued, pointing to the inexplicably excited patient.
It was true; since he entered the room, the patient hadn't taken his eyes off me, smiling broadly.
Seeing the man's odd smile, I sighed, resigning myself to the situation. "What brings you here today, Mr. Robert?" I asked, reading the name and other details on the chart.
"Oh, yes, cough cough," apparently remembering where he was, the man said in surprise while obviously faking a cough. "I have this strange cough that started a few days ago," completely changing his expression, he added. "Is everything in the newspaper true?" he asked, seemingly forgetting about his 'illness.'
This was going to be a very long day.
Like that patient, many others came just to talk to me or see me up close. Many others only came to ask questions, incredulous of the words in the newspaper, and very few came for an actual medical consultation, all type one patients.
After seeing dozens of patients, our shift finally ended. House, who had done nothing but read magazines and play with his video game console the entire time we were in the office, was the first to notice the time.
House stood up, stretching his arms, closing his eyes with a big smile as he let out a long, contented sigh. "Sitting all day is bad for your back; I'm exhausted," the man explained sarcastically, smiling.
"I'm glad you can finally get some rest," I responded to him as sarcastically as possible before leaving the office.
"Oh come on, kid, you have to admit it was fun," House said, following me out of the office.
"Oh yes, I love being treated like an exotic animal in the zoo," I responded sarcastically to the usually bitter man while handing over the chart of the last patient, an elderly woman who was clearly only interested in meeting me.
"Don't be ridiculous," House exclaimed as we walked towards the diagnostic lounge. "At the zoo, people don't make sexual advances on the animals," he declared with an arrogant smile. "At least not so openly," he added with irony.
Ignoring the doctor's jokes, I continued walking, feeling chills down my spine. I hoped the joke was just another of House's strange inventions. Unfortunately, for some reason, many older women came to the office with obvious intentions, no younger than Dottie or Meemaw.
In the diagnostic lounge, the other three doctors who should be there were now sharing a table with the still-stressed Dr. Wilson.
"Look who's here," Chase exclaimed, standing up with a big smile. "The prodigy of the moment," he added mockingly as he approached me. "Congratulations on your appearance in the newspaper."
"Thanks," I said forcedly, feeling another pang in what had been a headache all day, ignoring Chase's wide smile.
"Don't bother him, I'm sure he's had a tough day," Cameron said as she passed by her colleague. "I passed by the clinic a few hours ago," she explained sympathetically. "Congratulations on the article, by the way. It's the least a prodigy like you deserves," she added with an immediate smile.
Yes, I couldn't wait for the newspaper article to be old news.
After saying goodbye to everyone, including those I met in the hospital corridors, I headed towards Case; I needed to hit something.
Changing into my training clothes in Case's lot, I walked, stretching my arms.
Tim, who usually arrived a few minutes before me, was already warming up in front of Case, who was oddly sitting in a small garden chair, watching my muscular friend.
"PJ," Tim greeted me cheerfully, stopping his warm-up.
"Ah," Case said, looking at me for a few seconds with a raised eyebrow, smiling sinisterly. "The prodigy is here," he added, pulling out the cause of my headache from one of the chair's armrests, pointing to my face printed in black and white.
"I knew you were smart, but not that much," Tim said amusedly from the concrete floor. "I've had a pain in this shoulder for a few days, do you think you can fix it?" he added, moving one of his arms slowly with obvious interest.
Great, they obviously read the article. I felt foolish for hoping they hadn't read it. I could only close my eyes for a few seconds and sigh, "I can take a look if you really need it," I said, approaching my muscular friend.
"Really?" Tim asked, surprised.
"Yes, despite what the article says, I'm not a doctor yet, but I've studied a lot," I explained, checking the range of motion in Tim's shoulder. "It's probably just a grade one strain. Try not to lift much with this arm, put some ice on it, and if the pain persists by the end of the week, you can go to the hospital for a check-up at the clinic," I said after examining his shoulder.
"Thanks, man," Tim said, kindly patting my shoulder.
"No problem. You should also wrap your shoulder to compress it," I said, stretching my arms, preparing to warm up and train.
"How well do you know anatomy?" Case, who had been silent during Tim's shoulder examination, suddenly asked, seemingly interested.
"I'd say pretty well," I replied. After hundreds of hours studying dozens of different anatomy books, I had the subject pretty well mastered. I could probably pass an exam at any moment, though I'd need to study a bit more to ensure a perfect score.
"Really?" Case asked, raising one of his eyebrows as he stood up. "Go ahead," he said, opening his palms and tilting his head, discreetly asking for proof.
I just wanted to hit one of the bags, maybe practice some submissions with Tim, even a small sparring session would be fine. "Okay," I said, taking off my shirt, feeling defeated. "Scapula, clavicle, humerus, glenohumeral joint, acromioclavicular, sternoclavicular, deltoids, rotator cuff subscapularis, supraspinatus, infraspinatus, teres minor, biceps brachii, triceps brachii, coracobrachialis, musculocutaneous nerve, radial nerve, obviously the brachial artery," I began describing, pointing to where each structure should be on my own body.
I was completely focused on the description of each anatomical structure, continuing the anatomical journey down to my hand. "And its blood vessels, the superficial and deep palmar arches, mainly formed by the radial, ulnar arteries, and their branches," I finished, moving my hand.
Case and Tim shared a look of complete surprise. "Are you some kind of government experiment?" Case asked, snorting.
"I just read a lot of books," I immediately explained.
"I read a lot too, and I can't do that," Tim declared, smiling incredulously.
"Start warming up, shrimps, bridging, and granby rolls, then drills of sweeps and escapes, passing guard, and guard retention," Case ordered, fortunately for me, cutting off the topic.
After several minutes of warm-up, Case instructed Tim to do ground and pound drills with one of the bags that Case had obviously made himself.
"We're going to take a step further in your training," Case said ominously, with his usual frown in front of me. "How advanced are you with the notebook?" the man asked.
The notebook was one of the many notebooks Case had made by hand, detailing various submission techniques.
"I've studied many, but I haven't had the chance to practice them properly," I responded to Case, wiping the sweat that was dripping into my eyes.
"Good, we'll focus your training on that for now," Case said, taking a position on the ground. "Let's start with an armbar," he ordered, gesturing with his hands.
"Alright, you showed us you know anatomy," Case said with a small smile as we began the drill. "Right now, you have an error in your grip," he continued as we reached what should be the armbar. "I'm pretty sure you know the range of motion a arm should have," he said, surprisingly calm despite supposedly being in an uncomfortable position due to my grip. "From where we are now, how can you cause the most damage?" he asked.
Holding Case's arm, I hesitated for a second. During most training sessions, I could imagine the type of traumatic damage we could cause to anyone by applying the techniques, but it had never occurred to me to think about maximizing the damage.
"Don't hesitate, you're not looking to hurt me right now, it's just training for if you ever need to use it," Case said calmly, seemingly noticing my hesitation. "I'll be fine," he assured.
"Alright," I said, pressing my grip and repositioning my hips, always thinking about pressing on the shoulder nerves. I knew exactly where to apply the pressure and how to do it.
As soon as I began to apply a bit of pressure, Case tapped my leg. "Okay, stop," he exclaimed, making me release his arm immediately.
Pressing lightly on his shoulder, Case nodded slightly with a strange, excited smile. "Let's continue."
And like that, the days passed. At school, each day was filled with more Christmas decorations. I made an active effort to ignore the attention from my classmates.
At the hospital, which was also filling its halls with small Christmas decorations, as House had predicted, the clinic was still busy. Fortunately, fewer people were coming in each day just to try and meet me, and the cases that did come in were mainly straightforward.
With Case, as he had said, my training had focused on submission techniques. Each day, it became easier to apply my anatomical knowledge almost naturally to the techniques Case had already shown me.
Friday marked the start of winter break. With much more free time during the week, my friends made sure to impose plans to fill my calendar.
The weekend, which I would normally spend doing something with my brothers, I spent with my friends in plans that, given the number of teenagers, seemed normal, at least in Medford: mini-golf, movies, and going to the mall to, according to David, Brock, and Georgie, meet girls. Aside from greetings mainly directed at me, none of us had any interactions with any girls.
On Tuesday, two days before Christmas, after going to the mall once more with my friends and coming back from a fairly uneventful day at the hospital, a truck I'd never seen was being unloaded of luggage by a guy who seemed a few years older than me, quite robust, outside Meemaw's house.
"Good evening," I greeted the guy across the street as I got out of my car, surprising him as he was lowering one of the apparently very heavy suitcases.
"Oh," he said, letting out a high-pitched squeal and dropping the suitcase he was holding. "Oh, howdy," he greeted respectfully, immediately lowering his arms and changing his attitude and tone of voice upon seeing me.
"Hi, sorry for scaring you," I said, approaching him and offering my hand for a handshake. "PJ Duncan," I introduced myself as I shook the robust guy's hand.
"Cameron Tucker," he said, returning the handshake firmly. "But you can call me Cam," Cam continued with a friendly smile.
"Are you related to
Mrs. Tucker?" I asked, remembering how Meemaw had said not long ago that she had invited her family with the betting money.
"Yes, she's my aunt Connie," Cam responded, seeming oddly uncomfortable, apparently not knowing how to stand still.
"Cameron, are you almost done with the luggage? Aunt Connie says it's almost time for dinner with cousin Mary," a woman, equally robust and surprisingly identical to Cam, came out of the house, speaking in an annoyed tone. "Oh, and who might this be?" she asked, stopping for a moment surprised upon seeing me, with a smile that immediately made me feel in danger.
"Pam, this is PJ Duncan. PJ, this is my sister Pam, who is twenty years old," Cam said, emphasizing the last part as he introduced us, staring intently at his sister.
"Nice to meet you, PJ," Pam said, approaching and taking my hand in an oddly sweaty handshake, with the same unsettling smile.
I don't like this.
"Likewise," I replied, discreetly wiping my hand as I took a small step back.
While the two siblings exchanged strangely competitive looks, I felt increasingly insecure. In a moment of the brief seconds this occurred, Pam somehow lost, walking back to Meemaw's house, annoyed.
Cam, who had stayed behind, watched his sister walk all the way inside Meemaw's house before turning back to me with a smile as if nothing had happened.
"What were we talking about?" he asked, clasping his hands together below his abdomen.
"You were unpacking," I quickly said. "I have to get back home," I continued, pointing to my house. "It was a pleasure meeting you," I finished, feeling an increasing need to quickly return home.
"I hope we meet again sometime," Cam said, somewhat defeated, clapping his hands together loudly now in front of his chest.
Crossing the street back to my house, I couldn't shake a strange sensation. Glancing discreetly, I found Cam staring intently as I walked back. Why does he do that?
"Alan?" I called, paying attention again to my house. Next to my car, apparently out of nowhere as usual, my usually calm friend was standing with a clear bruise on his face.
"Hey, do you think I could stay at your place for a few days?" Alan asked almost in a whisper, avoiding my gaze.
"What happened?" I asked, concerned, approaching my friend.
"My mom left," Alan admitted, seemingly embarrassed. "So, do you think your parents would be okay with me staying for a few days?" he asked again, lifting his face and seriously looking me in the eyes.
"Of course, come on," I replied confidently after a few seconds, absorbing the information. I wasn't going to let him go back home.
"Thanks," Alan said, relaxing his shoulders with relief in his voice.
"Hey," I said, putting my hand on my usually calm friend's shoulder. "I got your back, remember?" I asked, smiling slightly.
"Oh my," Cam exclaimed from across the street in the same high-pitched voice he had used when he first saw me, making both Alan and I turn in surprise.
Once again holding a suitcase in his hands, completely focused on Alan and me, Cam seemed embarrassed upon noticing our stares, quickly turning and running back into the house with incredible speed.
"New neighbor?" Alan asked, puzzled.
"He's family of Georgie's," I explained.
"And he's really gay," Alan affirmed, smiling slightly.
Oh.
---
**Author Thoughts:**
As always, I'm not American, not a doctor, and not a fighter.
I've decided not to write the article for the moment, possibly in some future special chapter like the previous one, as a continuation or something similar.
There's really very little, almost nothing, of information about the past of some *Modern Family* characters, and Cameron is one of them. I remember not having watched the series completely (I stopped around when Alex enters university), and I only recall some comments made about Cameron's family, some by his sister and others by his father.
I don't really know much about his adolescence, and I'm not so familiar with his young adulthood either. I know he's supposed to have studied arts at some point, but I'm not sure if by this point in his life (18 years old) he's already in university or just leaving high school. I'll probably think about it for the next chapter, and have a plan for what I'd like to build of his character in the pre-*Modern Family* stage.
Also, for those who watched the movie *The Accountant*, at some point before Christmas, Alan's mom (Christian and Braxton's mom) abandons them. I decided it would be just a few days before Christmas, so this is basically the beginning of Alan and his brothers' life with only their father.
Another chapter has passed, so new thanks are in order. I would like to especially thank:
- keyakedo
- RandomPasserby96
- 11332223
With that said,
I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.
Thank you for reading! :D
PS: PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW.
PS2: It is possible that this chapter has more errors than usual, I did not have time to completely review the chapter, in fact I am writing this the day before publishing.
And we're back!!!
Thank you all so much for your movie recommendations. Even though I didn't respond to any of the comments, rest assured that I read each one of them.
I also discovered why I have to study so hard during exam season. There were very few movies recommended that I hadn't already seen. I spend more time watching series and movies than studying (procrastination).
---
With Alan behind me, we entered the house, which for several days now, like almost the whole town, had been completely decorated with the Christmas spirit.
"Dad," as we entered the house, Bob was on the sofa in his usual spot watching television.
"Hey champ, you're back," the man said cheerfully, turning around, "oh, you're Alan, right?" Surprised for a second to see my quiet friend, Bob asked.
"Yes, good evening, Mr. Duncan," Alan immediately replied, giving a barely visible small smile.
"Did you get into another fight?" Bob asked, standing up and looking closely at Alan's bruised face, then searching my face intently.
"No," I replied, glancing sideways at my friend.
"It was just a training accident," before I could continue with any explanation, Alan said, just like he did with me so long ago in school.
"You guys need to be more careful with your training," Bob said with a forced smile, looking again at the bruises on Alan's face, "well, I'll leave you. Feel welcome, Alan, this is your home," he continued, turning his attention back to the TV as his program returned from commercials.
"Speaking of which, Dad, is it okay if Alan stays here for a few days?" I asked.
"Sure," Bob replied immediately without taking his eyes off the television.
"Perfect, thanks, Dad," I said, indicating to my quiet friend to follow me as we walked to my room, "I told you so," I said arrogantly, lightly tapping Alan's shoulder.
"It's just for a couple of days until everything calms down," Alan murmured again with a bit of embarrassment.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked gently as we entered my room, not wanting to force him to talk.
"Maybe later," Alan said, setting down a backpack he was carrying on the floor of my room.
"I understand," I said immediately, knowing nothing good would come from being insistent. "Hey, Kiddo," I said, noticing a strange sound coming from the small video game console I had given my brother. I found him lying on his bed playing with the small device.
"PJ, when did you get back?" Gabe asked, completely surprised, tearing his attention away from the console's screen.
"Just now. Have you been playing with this thing all day?" I asked, approaching the child and almost snatching the console from his hands.
"What time is it?" Gabe asked shamelessly, trying and failing to grab the console back from me.
"It's time for you to go touch some grass. Come on," I said, taking him by one leg and lifting him off the bed to place him carefully on the floor.
"Really?" Gabe asked with frustration, still trying to grab the console I held above my head.
"Yes, let's go throw the ball around for a bit. There are three of us; it'll be fun," I said, hugging his head tightly after throwing the video game console onto my bed, out of his reach.
"I know counting can be a bit difficult for you, but there are two of us," Gabe said arrogantly, pushing me to free his head from my grasp, "one, two," he continued, pointing at me and then at himself.
"And Alan," I said slowly, pointing to my incredibly quiet friend.
"Hello," Alan greeted, raising one of his hands.
"Ah," Gabe exclaimed almost immediately, hiding behind me, "how long has he been there?" he asked, peeking out from behind my back.
"I've been here the whole time," Alan replied, nodding slightly.
"That was totally a Batman move," Gabe said, visibly excited, pointing at my friend.
"Yeah, he's like a ninja," I agreed, nodding slightly with my brother, "well, let's go play."
Gabe quickly grabbed the ball, being the first to go out the door, seemingly eager to play. I could see him walking excitedly towards the street, possibly because he hadn't spent time like this in a while.
"I didn't even ask you if you wanted to play," I said, walking alongside Alan, remembering my lack of consideration.
"Don't worry, it sounds fun to throw the ball," my friend replied without changing his expression.
As we played, throwing the ball to each other, shortly after, from the Cooper house, Georgie with a complicated expression on his face, followed closely by Cam, approached.
"Alan?" Georgie asked, surprised, seeing our quiet friend.
"He's going to spend a few days at my house," I explained while greeting Georgie, "Hey Cam, right?" I greeted the robust boy again.
"Correct," Cam said, obviously forcing depth into his voice, nodding firmly, "throw me that," he said, preparing his hands in front of his chest.
"So, Cam, where are you from?" I asked, throwing the ball weakly, fearing he might not catch it from our brief introduction minutes ago.
"Missouri," Cam responded immediately, showing I was wrong to judge him, catching the ball with obvious ease and throwing it back with much more strength and speed than I had, straight into Alan's hands, who caught it effortlessly.
Seeing that everyone in the circle could throw and catch the ball without much effort, apart from Gabe, the game continued for a few more moments in awkward silence. Cam, who had been acting strangely rigid since the start of this new interaction, was the most uncomfortable, swaying on his feet, looking at the others present.
"How is Missouri?" I asked, seeing no one else planned to continue any conversation, visibly relieving Cam.
"It's not much different, apart from the weather. At this time, we would need coats to be outside like this," Cam responded immediately, theatrically spreading his arms before closing them again in embarrassment, "we have the usual tornadoes, and on the farm, we have pigs, cows, and chickens, nothing really interesting," he continued, obviously returning to his exaggerated act.
"Sounds great," I said, somewhat uncomfortably by the general discomfort around me.
Alan was always this quiet, Georgie obviously had some degree of reservation with his uncle, and Gabe, being a child, I couldn't expect him to start a conversation with someone nearly twice his age.
"Yeah," Cam said, still swaying on his feet and touching the tips of his fingers together when it wasn't his turn with the ball, drawing out the word.
I couldn't stand much more of the uncomfortable silence. Possibly, if Georgie and Cam weren't so painfully uncomfortable, it would be pleasant. I also couldn't ignore the guest from Missouri by focusing on a conversation with any of my friends or my brother.
"So... are you guys on the football team with Georgie here?" Thank goodness, Cam asked, taking the initiative in the conversation, addressing Alan and me.
"Yes," my quiet friend responded simply, nodding.
"Alan here is the fullback, and I'm the quarterback," I explained, avoiding letting the conversation die once more, "and what about you? Do you play back home?" I asked, strangely receiving an amused look from Georgie.
"Yes, in fact, I'm going to play for the University of Illinois as a starting offensive lineman," Cam responded joyfully, causing a change in Georgie's expression. Apparently, my friend had no idea about that fact.
"Oh, then you must be really good," I said kindly, causing Cam to smile much more, shedding some of his body's rigidity.
"I've been part of the varsity team since my sophomore year," Cam admitted, raising his head with false embarrassment, "you guys aren't bad either; you have a great arm and excellent aim, and you have surprising reflexes," he added, pointing at me and then at Alan, with exaggerated praise.
"Thanks," I said, throwing the ball once more, "so, the University of Illinois, do you know what you want to study?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation going.
"Art," Cam responded instinctively, raising his hands slightly with great emotion, making Georgie, who had found something in common with his relative, look at him with a certain degree of disappointment again.
"That sounds fantastic," I said, smiling at Cam, ignoring my friend's reaction, "and how does that work? Do you want to make music?" I asked again.
"Music, sculptures, paintings, but above all, theater," the robust boy said with a big smile, making a small bow, "though my dream has always been to be a clown," he said slowly, studying my reaction.
"Clown?" I asked, surprised.
"Yes, I love clowns," Cam said seriously. "I was even thinking about going straight to Clown College."
For a long moment, I didn't know how to respond to such a revelation. I had no idea Clown Colleges existed, though it made sense somehow.
"Sounds quite noble. There are studies indicating that laughter significantly improves people's health in one way or another," I started to say, but Cam interrupted me, completely excited.
"I'll be doing a doctor's work," Cam declared fancifully, spreading his arms almost perfectly ninety degrees from his body.
"I was going to say 'helping doctors' work,' but yeah," I said, though it seemed Cam wasn't listening, murmuring things to himself.
Still in his head, surprisingly maintaining the same arm position, to Gabe and Georgie's amusement and embarrassment respectively, he began to dance lightly in place.
"That's a great argument," Cam said suddenly, snapping out of his reverie and pointing at me, "you know what, I'm going to show you my act. I've been working on it; it's obviously beginner's work, but I think I do quite well," he continued excitedly, causing Georgie next to him to start coughing aggressively.
"Maybe one of these days; it's almost dinner time," I said, trying to be as polite as possible to decline his offer.
"Yeah, sure," Cam said, also noticing Georgie's reaction and apparently remembering the situation, he said again, deepening his voice, "and what about you? Planning to study anything?" Fortunately, he asked, keeping the conversation going.
"Actually, yes, I'm going to study medicine," I replied easily, finding it somewhat amusing how the conversation connected.
"Uh, that sounds difficult," Cam said, throwing the ball to me with much more force than anyone else on the team, except maybe Brock, seemingly embarrassed. Georgie snorted with amusement, and Alan smiled slightly. "What?" Cam asked, worried that he might be out of an inside joke.
"PJ is like Sheldon, but not," Georgie replied after thinking for a few seconds.
"He even appeared in the newspaper," Gabe proudly boasted.
"PJ the local hero," Alan dictated with a slightly arrogant smile, saying more words than he had in the entire interaction.
As Cam's surprise grew, my chronically strange headache also appeared.
After playing for a few more minutes, Georgie and Cam were called from the Cooper house. Back inside, Alan, Gabe, and I walked to my room to put away the ball.
"Cam is pretty funny," Gabe said suddenly. "Being a clown, what nonsense," he added, snorting and shaking his head.
"I don't understand it either," I said seriously, looking at my brother. "But that doesn't mean it's okay to make fun of someone else's dream," I continued. "If you keep doing that, no one will be honest with you," I warned, throwing a small towel I use to wipe off sweat during practice at Gabe's face.
"Yeah, yeah," Gabe said, throwing the towel to the floor in disgust and rolling his eyes in frustration.
"Mom says dinner is—Oh," Teddy, who had opened the door without knocking, said from the doorway of our room before suddenly stopping.
"What?" I asked, puzzled, looking at my sister. Following her gaze, I saw my quiet friend halfway through putting on a clean shirt.
"Yeah, no."
"Thanks," I said seriously, stepping in front of Teddy and locking eyes with her to stop her from trying to look behind me.
"Yeah, you're welcome," Teddy said dazedly, nodding robotically and walking away from the room.
"Really?" I turned to my friend once my sister was out of sight.
"It was dirty, sorry," Alan said with his expressionless face, pointing to the shirt he had been wearing previously. I couldn't tell if he was truly sorry or not.
"Yeah, it's not your fault," I said, ignoring the strange feeling the whole interaction caused in me.
After changing my dirty shirt for a clean one, we went to dinner.
Mom was completely fine with having Alan in the house, simply surprised to find a guest.
As every day after dinner, Bob, Gabe, I, and now Alan too, went to the garage to train with some weights. With Case, my training was still focused on submissions, so I generally didn't train much with strength exercises.
Alan, who for obvious reasons didn't find the idea of training entirely pleasant, accompanied us for a few minutes before going back inside to take a bath.
"Is he okay?" Bob asked worriedly, looking towards the garage door several seconds after my quiet friend went inside.
"Why do you ask?" I asked, lifting the barbell easily off my chest, concerned.
"He's really quiet, isn't he?" Bob continued, helping me add a few more plates.
"He's like Batman," Gabe affirmed, carefully lifting a pair of dumbbells. "You only notice he's there when he wants to be," my brother continued with a big smile.
"I think it's just his personality," I assured Bob, not wanting to reveal Alan's secret and damage his trust in me. "He doesn't have a problem being in a conversation, maybe just starting one," I added.
"Well, you should invite him more often; it's nice to meet a respectful teenager once in a while," Bob said pretentiously.
"Oh, poor you," I said exaggeratedly with feigned exasperation.
"Yes, poor me. Lift that thing; you've rested long enough," Bob said, smiling amusedly as he lightly pushed my head, helping me take the barbell off the rack to continue our workout session.
The next day, early as my biological clock compelled me every day, I woke up. Alan, as last time, wasn't in what he had claimed as his corner of my room. The blankets and pillows he had used for the night were perfectly arranged and folded to one side of where my friend had slept.
If it weren't for his backpack still on the floor of my room, I might think he had left.
"Didn't train again?" I asked. As last time Alan was at my house, my friend was sitting on one of the garden chairs, disturbingly quiet, staring at the horizon.
"No reason to do it, at least not here," my friend responded calmly without seeming the least bit surprised.
Using an empty chair beside him, I sat with Alan, appreciating the beauty and tranquility of our backyard, listening to the birds sing and the occasional distant dog bark.
"You have to do something about your dad," I said without hesitation, loud enough for only Alan to hear. "It's not right; he can't hurt you under the excuse of training."
For several seconds, the only response I received from my friend was long sighs. "I know," he finally said. "But right now, he's all my brothers and I have."
"That's not true. I'm sure if you seek help, anyone will help you and your brothers," I argued immediately, shaking my head. "Heck, you could live with us as long as you need. We'd just have to set up the garage for the two of us, and my room could be for Gabe, Braxton, and Christian," I continued. Money wouldn't be an issue; my investments generated enough monthly income that the expenses of three more people in the house wouldn't be a problem. I could even buy another house right now.
Laughing slightly, much more than I'd seen him do in the past few weeks, Alan shook his head. "Of course, you'd offer something like that, 'local hero,'" my friend said teasingly, punching my shoulder playfully. "You know that's not possible," Alan continued, a slight hint of sadness on his face.
Yes, I knew.
"But thanks a lot for even offering," my friend added, with a barely visible smile, nodding.
"It's the least I can do," I said sincerely. It was very difficult to do nothing when a friend of mine was a victim of some degree of domestic violence. But given the time and the special conditions of his family, I feared that child services would separate Alan and his brothers. I couldn't be the reason Alan lost what remained of his family.
"Letting me stay here for a day is more than I could ask for," Alan said, lowering his head, still with a small smile.
"You can stay as long as you need. You saw that my parents don't mind," I reminded my quiet friend.
"Yes, I saw that," Alan said, looking towards the house with a certain longing in his voice. "But I think I prefer to spend Christmas with Braxton and Christian. At least they deserve that these days," Alan added seriously.
"They can always spend Christmas with us," I said slowly, gauging my friend's reaction.
Standing up while shaking his head, Alan said, "Your mom is awake; I think she's going to make breakfast," stretching his body slightly.
"What?" I asked, puzzled, turning to the kitchen window. A moment later, Mom, in her robe, much more put together than she should be just waking up, entered the kitchen, heading to the fridge cheerfully. "How did you know?" I asked, surprised.
"I heard her," Alan simply responded before walking into the house.
"How?" I asked, following my friend. It was impossible; I hadn't heard anything.
"Oh, boys, you're awake. Good, help me," Mom said cheerfully as she saw us enter, first handing Alan a large bowl with a bag of flour. "We're going to start making cookie dough," Mom continued with a big smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Duncan. Tell me what to do," Alan said kindly, ignoring my question entirely, as he washed his hands in the sink.
"We're going to start with the cookie dough. I have the recipe around here somewhere," Mom said, looking through the kitchen drawers. "Come on, PJ, help me find it," she ordered, moving her hand insistently as she kept searching.
As time passed, the other family members also woke up. Mom had bought materials for decorating the cookies, making it an entertaining activity, even for Alan, who surprisingly didn't have much skill in decorating despite incredible control of his hand's small movements.
When the cookies for decorating were finished, almost as if waiting for the occasion, the house phone rang. "I got it," Gabe quickly stood up, running to the phone to answer the call.
"PJ, it's for you," my brother said, pulling the phone away from his face with a certain degree of disappointment.
"Hello?" I answered as I took the phone.
"Mr. Duncan, you have a call from the North Pole, a Mr. Nicolas," a voice, obviously House, said on the other end of the line, in an exaggerated attempt at a cheerful voice.
"What do you need House?" I asked, closing my eyes with a bit of exasperation.
"Come on, kid, it's Christmas. Have some spirit," House said sarcastically.
"I'm not sure what you consider Christmas spirit," I replied, matching his sarcasm.
"You're right," House admitted. "I need you to come to the hospital today; we have work to do," he continued, and before I could say anything, he hung up.
"Truthfully, I was planning to spend all day at home for Christmas, but sure, I'll go to the hospital," I said to myself with the sound of the open line on the phone before hanging up.
A few hours later, Alan had already packed the few things he had unpacked from his backpack. "Are you sure you want to go back home? You can spend
Christmas with us," I said to my friend as we sat in my car.
"Yes, I want to spend Christmas with my brothers. Don't worry, PJ, I have everything under control," my calm friend assured me, keeping his eyes forward.
"I understand," I said reluctantly.
Finally outside Alan's house, my friend, despite having a completely stoic expression when seeing his home, still took a few seconds to finally gather the courage to open the car door.
"Thanks for everything, PJ," Alan said with his very small smile, nodding slowly. "Really."
"I already told you, there's nothing to thank," I said, bumping his fist as a farewell, starting the car once more and waiting for my friend to enter his house.
Once again, Alan simply closed the car door and stood completely still, waiting for me to leave before walking to his house.
After a few dozen uncomfortable seconds in which Alan didn't move, I accelerated away from my friend's house, seeing in the rearview mirror when he finally walked toward his house once I was far enough away.
When I arrived at the hospital, after greeting and wishing happy holidays to almost all the nurses and doctors I passed in the hallways, I reached the clinic, where House, the day before, had surely in his sadistic crusade, ordered me to come to work.
House, who was sitting in the nurses' bay with Dr. Wilson, had behind him a tower of what I knew were delayed charts. "Look who arrived, the wonder boy," House said sarcastically when he saw me.
"Dr. Wilson," I greeted the other man present, momentarily ignoring House. As always, Wilson returned the greeting with a kind smile.
"It's a Christmas miracle that you're here today, kid," House said, moving his feet off one of the desks and taking the first chart from his mountain. "We're doomed to useless labor, but if we do it together, I'm sure we'll finish faster," he said theatrically, handing me the file.
"Fourth circle of hell," Dr. Wilson said while filling out his own papers. "And no, charting goes a lot faster when you eliminate all classic poetry, not when you take advantage of PJ."
"I'm here because you told me to be here, and I don't think it's a good idea for me to fill these out. If the insurance finds out, you'll lose your license," I said, putting the chart back in the pile of files.
"Writing down what we already know to be read by nobody, I'm pretty sure Dante would agree that qualifies as useless," House replied to Dr. Wilson while throwing small paper balls. "And there's no problem, kid. You were there for most of these cases; none of those people in suits with sticks up their butts will know the difference between what you write and what I don't," he said, smiling. "Besides, it will serve as training. I think so," he added ironically.
"I don't think it's a good—" I was saying, but behind me, Dr. Cuddy, who had suddenly appeared, interrupted me.
"You're over two weeks behind in your charting," Dr. Cuddy exclaimed angrily, suddenly receiving one of the small paper balls House was throwing. Raising her hands, intrigued, she stared at House.
"Oops," House said, feigning regret. "I missed."
"What are you, eight?" Dr. Cuddy asked, exasperated.
"Could an eight-year-old do this?" House asked, making a completely immature face.
"You'd better stop, or it'll stick that way," Dr. Cuddy said seriously while taking a chart from the pile of charts House had.
"It'd be better than what he normally has," I said, reading the first of the charts in the tower, causing Dr. Wilson to nod in agreement.
"You have a patient in exam one?" Dr. Cuddy asked House while reading the papers in her hand.
"Yeah," House replied shamelessly, "but, see, I'm off in a couple of hours," he continued, checking his watch.
"She has been waiting for you for an hour," Dr. Cuddy said seriously, extending the chart to House. "PJ," she continued, handing me the chart when House didn't take it, before leaving, staring intently at House with a frown.
"Melancholy without hope," House said, closing his eyes in frustration. "Which circle is that?" he asked Dr. Wilson.
"All of them?" Dr. Wilson responded doubtfully.
"Yeah," House said, standing up in agreement. "Come on, kid, you have to be there so you can fill that out," he continued, pointing to the chart in my hand.
Defeated, I sighed, following House to the exam room, silently bidding farewell to Dr. Wilson with a slight nod.
When we entered the exam room, three nuns were waiting, surprisingly unperturbed by having possibly waited for over an hour.
"Hi, I'm Dr. House, and this is Stanley Donen," House said after recovering from the surprise of seeing nuns in the exam room. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked.
"Stanley Donen?" I murmured, asking House.
"Show them your hands, Augustine," one of the nuns said, lightly tapping the shoulder of the nun in the middle. "It looks like stigmata," the same nun continued nervously as Augustine showed House and me her damaged hands, likely due to some allergy.
"Pius," the older nun present scolded the nervous woman.
"You must be all the talk around the 'holy water' cooler," House said sarcastically, inspecting the hands for a moment. "Been washing a lot of dishes recently?" he asked.
"I help out in the kitchen," the nun with the damaged hands admitted.
"Anything new in the kitchen?" I asked.
"We just got a donation of saucepans and pots this week," the nun responded with a kind smile.
"Should have spent your time saving souls," House said, unable to resist. "It's easier on the hands."
"The dish soap is the same as always?" I asked, ignoring House.
"Yes," the older nun and the patient responded simultaneously.
"It's contact dermatitis," House immediately affirmed.
"You're allergic to the dish soap," I explained, seeing the nun's intrigue.
"Nonsense," the older nun immediately said. "We've always used that soap; why is there a problem now?" she asked House incredulously.
"I've been a doctor for years, and he's almost a doctor," House said, feigning offense. "Why do I have to keep assuring people that I know what I'm doing?"
"A person can develop an allergy to things they're exposed to repeatedly and for a prolonged period," I explained to the nuns, ignoring House.
"The good news is," House said, walking to one of the drawers in the exam room and searching through the boxes, "free samples." With a box of Diphenhydramine in his hand, he handed it to the nun, nodding strangely cheerfully.
"It's an antihistamine. It'll stop the allergic reaction," I explained to the woman.
"Take one every eight hours," House said seriously. "It might make you feel a little sleepy, and get some of that over-the-counter cortisone cream," he continued.
"Thank you, Doctor and Stanley," the nun said kindly.
"That's not my name," I murmured uncomfortably.
"You want some water?" House asked as the nun took a pill from the box.
"I have some tea," the nun said kindly, declining as she received a small cup of tea.
"Well, you just relax for a few minutes," House said, nodding slightly. "That stuff works pretty fast. Let's go, Stanley," he continued, smiling arrogantly as he walked out of the exam room.
"Four minutes, impressive," Dr. Wilson said, looking at his watch as he continued working on his charts.
"Don't make it so easy, Wilson. Even the kid can make a joke out of that," House said as he walked towards the other doctor.
Taking the top chart from House's tower of charts to start filling it out, I laughed.
"Doctor?" the older nun said from the exam room we had just left. "I want to thank you for your patience," she said with a slight smile, strangely looking at House.
"Is she talking to you?" Dr. Wilson asked, equally puzzled.
"Is she?" I asked, exaggerating my terror.
"I don't know," House said, equally puzzled, looking behind him. "She's certainly looking at me."
"It's good to get a secular diagnosis," the woman said. "The sisters tend to interpret their illnesses as divine intervention."
"And you don't?" House asked, amused. "Then you're wearing an awfully funny hat," he continued, pointing to the nun's hat with an ironic smile.
"Oh boy," Dr. Wilson said, incredulously taking his things from the desk. "Excuse me," he continued, hastily leaving the clinic.
"If I break my leg, I believe it happened for a reason," the nun explained. "I believe God wanted me to break my leg, but also I believe he wants me to put a cast on it."
Before House could respond with something likely insulting, the remaining nun in the exam room, who wasn't the patient, came out completely worried. "Doctor! Something is wrong," the woman exclaimed, causing both House and me to rush back into the exam room.
Upon entering the exam room, I found Sister Augustine clearly struggling to breathe. "Lift her chin," I ordered as House walked in.
"Sister, you're having an asthma attack," House said immediately, arriving at the same conclusion as me. Walking to one of the drawers to get epinephrine, he continued, "I need you to relax. Roll up her sleeve," he ordered me after speaking to the nun. "I'm going to give you epinephrine; it'll open your lungs and help you breathe," House explained while injecting the medication into the woman's arm.
"What happened?" the older nun, who had entered behind us, asked nervously.
"Did she take the pill?" House asked while discarding the used syringe.
"Yes," the nun who had called us a moment ago responded, still completely frightened.
"It's probably an allergic reaction," House said calmly.
"She's allergic to an anti-allergy medicine?" the older nun asked incredulously.
"You figure somebody's out to get her?" House asked sarcastically. "How are you feeling?" he asked Sister Augustine, seeing her calm her breathing a bit.
"Better," the nun responded in a murmur, still breathing heavily.
"I'll put you on some steroids instead," House said, taking out his small prescription pad.
"Is my heart supposed to be feeling so funny?" Sister Augustine asked, touching her chest worriedly.
"What Dr. House injected is adrenaline," I explained, taking one of her wrists. "It makes your heart beat fast," I said, feeling the woman's pulse and gradually falling silent. "But not this fast. House!" I exclaimed as I helped the nun lie down.
"Get a nurse," House quickly ordered one of the nuns while taking his stethoscope to listen to the nun's heart. "Somebody get in here!" he shouted a moment later after listening.
"Call a code," I ordered when the on-duty nurse entered the room, helping House open the nun's shirt.
"She's having pulseless ventricular tachycardia," House said. "Charge up a defibrillator," he ordered the present nurse.
"I'll start with the chest compressions," I said, pushing House's hand away and beginning the procedure.
While the response team began connecting the nun to the portable monitor, I focused on performing the compressions correctly. "Charge to two hundred," House ordered with the paddles in his hand. "Clear," House said, placing the paddles and delivering the shock once everyone's hands were clear.
It took another two minutes of compressions and another shock to get a normal sinus rhythm.
"We need to admit her," House ordered once more.
When we left the room a few seconds after a group of nurses left with the patient and the two worried nuns, Dr. Cuddy was waiting with a deep frown. "To my office," she ordered sternly, holding a chart in her hand, and walked briskly toward her office.
"Five dollars, and you take this?" House asked me, raising one of his eyebrows.
"I don't think that'll work for Dr. Cuddy," I replied immediately.
"You're right. I'm too handsome to be mistaken," House said with feigned disappointment, walking toward Dr. Cuddy's office. "Start with the charts," he ordered before entering Dr. Cuddy's office.
---
**Author Thoughts:**
As always, I'm not American, not a doctor, and not a fighter.
Two weeks without a chapter have shown me that there are truly people who eagerly await updates of this novel week by week. I would like to thank absolutely everyone once again. I have never achieved anything in my life that makes me feel as special as reading comments asking when the next update will be. Thank you.
The previous "chapter" will be removed in a couple of hours, to prevent those who are reading in the browser from having errors when searching for the new chapter.
Another chapter has passed, so new thanks are in order. I would like to especially thank:
keyakedo
RandomPasserby96
11332223
With that said,
I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.
Thank you for reading! :D
PS: PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW.
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