Author: Naja Melanoleuca PM
Is brutal honesty better than false hope? Foreman, Cameron, and Chase have to deal with an ethical question and whether optimism, pessimism, or realism offers the most solice at night.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Angst - R. Chase & A. Cameron - Chapters: 3 - Words: 32,628 - Reviews: 79 - Favs: 45 - Follows: 49 - Updated: 02-15-06 - Published: 12-31-05 - id: 2728783
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N Hello all and Happy New Year! I've done a story about Chase and House and Chase and Foreman, so I thought it would be fun to do one about Chase and Cameron. The differences in the way they approach things is so glaring it is sort of fun to work with. This section is just a start and the plot will get more developed in the next chapter. I just wanted to get this out while it was still New Years.
11:30 am December 31st
Chase collapsed flat on his back on his sofa, propping one foot up on the arm, a bottle of water balanced on his stomach. He had just finished a 20 k run and he was enjoying the feeling of not having ice cold air whipping past his face and freezing his lungs. His ears were almost ringing from the silence. He lied there for a while, just sipping water and listening to his fish tank bubble. He was hoping he could fall back asleep but no such luck, he was too hungry. Cass, his best mate, had called him at 8am from Sydney, piss drunk and smooching into the phone to try and mimic a New Year's kiss. They made it a tradition to call each other on New Years every year if they weren't together. They would have been this year if it weren't for stupid House.
He was glad to be back inside. There was a storm brewing outside and it was going to be ugly. The sky was a dark slate grey, already starting to loosen its moisture on the world in the form of heavy, wet snow and freezing rain. Chase was lucky that it had held off until his last kilo or so. When he had been a child, he had loved storms. He had grown up on the beach and would spend hours watching the savage raging of storms out at sea. The violence of them both frightened and intrigued him and their volume drowning out the sounds of his parents fighting. He would imagine what a true costal monsoon would be like, having not seen one until he was much older. Even as he grew into adulthood, his love of rain and thunder continued. When his mother had been dying, he had spent hours sitting on a park bench in the rain, letting the downpour soak him to the bone. He had abstractly hoped that the baptism by nature could wash away his sins or at least be used as penance. You could scream as loud as you wanted in the middle of a storm and no one would hear you.
He got up to make himself something to eat and seethed about House. He had asked months ago, in May in fact, if he could have at least five days off around New Years. He had worked Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labour Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, and Christmas day with the promise that he could take a longer vacation and go home. Cass had wanted him to accompany her to some big name director's party. He was supposed to simper and smile, look cute and not be too intellectual, in short act like a retarded trophy husband and make sure she didn't make an ass out of herself. It was not necessarily his favourite thing to do but he really wanted to see his best mate and he really needed to go home for a while. He missed the sound of the ocean and smell of the sea. And he supposed he had to make a very unpleasant visit to pay his respects, January 1st was of course his father's birthday. But House had decided four days ago, that he was going to go with Wilson to Las Vegas for New Years, leaving Chase with only two days off, which was not nearly enough time to go home. He needed a minimum of five days since it took 30 hours just to get down there and over 24 to get back.
Chase opened his ice box and scanned the grim contents, half a loaf of bread, a bottle of vegemite, some suspicious looking Styrofoam containers, and half a chocolate cake given too him by one of the nurses in radiology (House and Wilson had eaten the other half before they left). He opted for canned soup and vegemite on toast instead, saving the cake for dinner. He returned to the sofa, flipping through the channels. He didn't usually use his table unless he had company. He happily settled on an X-Files marathon and enjoyed his meal. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with the rest of his day. Tomorrow, he would go to mass and light a candle for his father, since he couldn't go to his grave in person but today was up in the air. He had already gone for a long run, done his laundry, and cleaned his flat from top to bottom. The movies would be a zoo, plus he didn't like going by himself anyway. He thought about going to the shore so he could at least see and hear the ocean even if it wasn't the one he was used to but it would be nothing more than a nightmarish morass of drunks and revelers tonight and he wasn't in the mood. Everyone he knew was either out of town, busy, or at work. In a way this was almost as depressing as Christmas but at least then he had been at work. He guessed he should at least go to the market and get some food for the weekend.
He huddled on his sofa, watching Mulder beat up Krycek for his betrayal and he chuckled, "I know how you feel, brother. One mistake and no one ever lets you forget it." He lounged there until the end of the episode, drinking his tea, before deciding it was time to have a nice, long bath. Chase well realized that his pension for soaking in hot baths made him seem a little like a Nancy-boy but he didn't care. He loved the feel of the water moving across his skin and the warm of it. Chase was pretty laid back about discomfort. He could ignore a lot of little annoyances but the one thing that he couldn't ignore and that he really hated was the cold. New Jersey didn't have cold like the mountains. In Switzerland or Northern Italy it was cold but it was dry and you warmed up after being indoors for a few minutes. Here, the cold was damp and seemed to seep into your bones, making time drag from one dreary, grey day to the next. The threat of snow or sleet seemed to always hang in the air and it sapped the energy out of him. He had found that sitting in an extremely hot bath helped ward the chill away a little bit.
He stripped off his layers of clothes as he walked towards his downstairs washroom and took a quick shower to clean himself off. The bathtub was for soaking not cleaning. Just has he had gotten the water to the perfect temperature and picked out the perfect music to relax to, his pager started its shrill trilling. He ground his teeth in frustration. It was probably House calling from Las Vegas asking him to wire him money. He scrolled through the message, it was from Foreman. It read, "Come in IMEDIATELY. Multiple bus accident. Don't take interstate."
He turned the TV to a local station, just in time to see an overly stylized anchor read the new about a multiple vehicle accident involving several tour buses and a tractor-trailer carrying crude oil. The interstate was shut down and emergency vehicles were having a hard time getting to the wounded. He stood, dumb founded for a moment, before he shook himself into action. He pulled back his solar shades and could see a dark plume of smoke rising from the west at the same time he could see it on the television. He shivered at how bad it must be for him to see it from miles away. He quickly toweled himself off and got dressed in several layers of warm clothes. He would bike across the park rather than driving, it would be faster.
Before he knew it, he was throwing his things down in their conference room and heading down to the clinic on the second floor, assuming patients would be there. He was again shocked at the magnitude of the wreck. There were injured people everywhere, some sitting and standing because there weren't enough gurneys for them. It looked like a war zone. If this was what the placed looked like when the emergency vehicles were having a hard time reaching the wounded, he hated to see what it would be like if they had free access. He grabbed several gloves and looked around for where to go. Cuddy stood in the center of it all, barking orders, immaculately dressed. He also spotted Foreman in the corner, working on an injured man. He opted for Foreman rather than Cuddy.
"Foreman." He called by way of a greeting. "Is there any rhyme or reason or do we just choose someone and start working?"
"Chase, help me with this guy. We need an X-ray and MRI of his leg." Foreman told him. Chase stood still for a moment. The man in front of Foreman was clearly injured but his injuries were not life threatening. He looked around and noticed people who looked much worse. But before he could answer, he heard Cameron yell his name.
"Chase, I need you." He walked over to her. She stood beside a small toddler, who had clearly been crying. "Help me try and find his mother." Cameron asked him. He gave her just a ridiculous of a look as he had given Foreman. That was a job for a med student or a nurse. But again, before he could tell her that he thought he should actually treat a patient, Cuddy bellowed at him.
"Dr. Chase!" He was unable to stop his reflexive flinch at her harsh tone. "Get downstairs and start assessing people's conditions, only work on the critical ones. If they can be moved, move them up here. And don't work on anyone beyond critical." She told him with a pointed look. He understood her meaning all too clearly. 'Don't waste time on someone that can't be saved.' He nodded and headed towards the stairs and was stopped again by her. "And Dr. Chase, your priority is saving lives, then saving organs."
If he had thought that the second floor was bad, it was nothing compared to the actual ER on the first floor. The first thing he registered was the smell. It stank of blood, vomit, urine and feces. Then there was sound, people writhing and screaming in pain or despair. The lights were bright and glaring. This was not his ideal place to work, being so different from his beloved ICU, where thing were quiet and dim.
"Dr. Chase." Dr. Standish, the head of ICU and Anesthesia hailed him. "Good to have you here, son." Dr. Standish was a fifty something year old ex-army doctor with a strong Alabama accent, baldhead, and round belly. He liked things honest and by the book and was always there with a kind word or encouragement when someone needed it. He could not have been more different than House. "You take that bay over there." He pointed to curtained off area. "Get people stable then divide them up by injuries. If they are too far-gone, then consider if they can be a possible donor. If they can, do your best to keep them alive long enough to find the family, if not make them comfortable till the end." He put a large hand on Chase's shoulder. "If we all get through this, I'm buying the drinks."
"Ok." Chase answered and headed towards his bay. He took a deep breath, steeled his courage, and opened the curtain. The sight that met him almost made him close it again. There were 15 people lined up, three deep and five rows. They were all bleeding and with slow respirations. He looked over and noticed that Carol and April were his two nurses. He thanked God for that small favour and set to work.
He looked up at the clock and noted the time at 12:45, when he started working. He didn't notice the time again until Foreman came to get him at 5pm. He couldn't have told you how many patients he worked on or what their names were. He just remembered injuries and signing more death certificates than he wanted to. It really wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. After the first two people he sort of went into autopilot. He didn't have time to think or analyze, just act, which was good because if he were thinking, then he would start to panic because he couldn't save everyone.
This lack of thinking time was seriously starting to get on Foreman's nerves. He prided himself on his ability to figure out complex problems with little information. However, there was nothing to figure out with most of these patients. They were hurt and they needed help, no mystery, just the mechanics of medicine. He found it stressful and dull, normally Chase took care of this sort of thing for their team. Even moving to work with the other neurologists hadn't helped to alleviate his dislike of the situation. They all spent more time arguing with each other than working on patients. Maybe Chase was right and most neurologists were pompous asses.
Cameron was perhaps the least equipped to deal with the influx of patients. Being an immunologist made her supremely qualified to do research, lab work, or statistical analysis, but actually dealing with severely injured patients was not high on the list of skills required. She wasn't good at patching people up and moving on quickly. It was in her nature to stay until the patient was 100 better not just stable or put back together. She wanted to answer every question she was asked with caring and honesty, there just wasn't time. Soon Cuddy realized that Cameron wasn't working out as an impromptu ER doctor and moved her on to getting medical histories. This, she much preferred because it allowed her to talk to people and bond with them. She could make them feel better through her caring and kindness rather than slapping a bandage on them and moving to the next down the line. She worked on this until Foreman found her.
Foreman moved on to the next patient, a young girl with dark brown hair and blue eyes. She wore small jeans and a sweatshirt that read, "I love New York" over top of a picture of the New York skyline. He guessed her age around five years old. Her eyes were red and she had clearly been crying. "So, what seems to be the problem?" He asked her quickly, trying to move her out of the way and on to the next patient. She stared at him with big eyes filled with tears. She was cradling her arm. He switched tactics. "What's your name?"
"I want my mummy." She told him in a distinctive borderland accent.
"We'll find her in a minute." He reached for her arm and she kicked out hard, connecting with his upper thigh and just grazing his left testical. She also started screaming. No wonder she had been in an exam room by herself.
"Get away from me. I want my mummy!" She wailed at the top of her lungs in a piercing childlike voice.
Foreman backed out slowly, trying to catch his breath. Once the fear of blinding pain subsided he decided to bring in the re enforcements. He went looking for Cameron. He found her sitting down with a family discussing someone's allergies. He had no remorse interrupting her. He could think of few things worse than being trapped with a patient's family, trying to wring useful information out of them while they whine and cry.
"Cameron, I need you." She excused herself and walked over to a still slightly hunched Dr. Foreman. "I have a patient I need you to look at for me."
"Why, are they having some sort of allergenic reaction?" She questioned as she followed Foreman down the hallway. "Do they need lab work done?" She tried again after Foreman shook his head.
"No, she needs someone with no balls." Foreman said as he opened the door.
Cameron turned and smiled devilishly back at her friend. "You should have called Chase then."
Foreman looked down at his watch and decided, that he and Cameron were taking a break when they were finished with this kid. It was nearly five and he had been working for two hours without a break. He needed a drink and to pee.
Not two minutes past before he heard screaming, thump, and Cameron emerged, rubbing the side of her face, a small fist mark visible in red. "Maybe we should get Chase." Foreman suggested, hating to admit that generally speaking, Chase was the best with difficult patients.
"Yes, let's not keep all this fun to ourselves." She agreed, assuming that Chase was somewhere relaxing rather than actually working.
The two headed downstairs to find their missing compatriot only to be met with a whirlwind of activity, sites, and smells. It took them three tries to get someone to even stop long enough to talk to them and even then, the nurse just pointed them in a vague direction where they found all of the intensivists, even Dr. Gardner, who had left for maternity leave four days earlier.
Cameron was slightly put off by the gruff, business like manner of all the staff down here and was about to turn around and try her luck with the bratty child again, when they found Dr. Standish. Foreman immediately approached him. "Dr. Standish, we are looking for Dr. Chase. We need to borrow him for a few." The normally jovial man seemed subdued but was more than helpful.
"He's in Bay 3. Have him take a break when you are done with him. He hasn't had one yet." The man went back to working on an older woman with multiple burns.
"Thank you." Cameron called to the elder doctor as they headed towards Bay 3. The two paused by the curtain, able to look in, but Chase was too busy to notice them. He was working on a woman in her early 30's with severe burns on the lower half of her body. He had three IVS opened and her BP was still in the toilet. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that she wasn't going to make it, even though she seemed relatively alert.
"So, what's your name?" He asked her as her as he tried desperately to figure out what was tanking her blood pressure. He had no x-rays, no CAT Scans, no MRIs and no ultrasound. He was working blind.
"Francis." She answered through clenched teeth. She was pretty and clearly wealthy.
"Nice name, I'm Dr. Chase. I'll be working on you."
"Lucky me. At least I have a nice piece of art to look at."
"My name's Robert, not Art." He joked with her as he finally found that there was a massive pulmonary bleed. She was bleeding into her lungs and the fluid would eventually collapse her them and suffocate her even with treatment. The IVs were the only thing preventing her from bleeding to death but they were adding to the fluid that was collecting in and around them.
"I didn't say your name was Art, I said you were a piece of art. A very beautiful piece of art." She told him, gazing up at him. Foreman covered his mouth to snicker, even as Cameron was riveted watching her fellow duckling work on the patient.
"You shouldn't talk to me like that, you're married." He pointed at her hand as he hailed April over to get him some morphine.
"I can look, I just can't touch." She was shivering from shock.
"You're a flirt." He teased her with a smile as he took the needle from April and injected far more morphine than necessary. "This is to help with the pain and let you sleep. Do you know if your husband has been contacted yet?" He asked her.
"He was in the car beside me. I don't know where he is." Her eyes filled with tears.
"What's his name? We'll find him for you, don't worry. Just try and relax." He told her as he discarded the needle and brushed her hair back from her forehead with a gloved hand. He smeared her own blood on her forehead but it wasn't like it mattered. She would never wake up again to see it. In almost no time her eyes were closed and he looked up and shook his head "no" at Carol. The nurse understood and wheeled the gurney to another bay, where her death wouldn't disturb the living and Chase got ready to move to the next patient.
Foreman pushed his way in before Chase could start on the next person. Cameron hung back a moment, wiping her eyes. When she had first come to PPTH, she had been slightly put out that she was never rated as the patient's favourite doctor when it came time for discharge reviews and surveys. They rarely asked to have her do the aftercare and sometimes they even asked for second opinions. It had galled her that Chase was almost consistently the highest rated doctor on the team at least by the patients, even if she and Foreman tended to not think that much of his skills. Patients loved him and thought he walked on water. She couldn't understand it until the first time she had watched Chase, when he hadn't known she was there. She had never realized how kind and empathetic he could be with people. That was why she couldn't reconcile his kindness with his basically giving up on his last patient.
"Time for a break, blondie." Foreman told him, trying not to consider the implications of that much morphine on that depressed of a system.
"Foreman?" Chase looked up squinting. He had not even heard the other doctor approach.
"Come on." Foreman motioned for the Aussie to follow him.
"I'm busy. I don't need a break yet." He protested. The young man in front of him couldn't be more than 15 years old. He had a chance, if Chase could find a surgeon to get him into and OR immediately.
"We need you upstairs, Chase, for a consult." Cameron told him, gently tugging on his sleeve. She was not comfortable being down here. There were too many people that needed help. She wouldn't know where to expend her considerable energy. This was definitely more fast pace and stressful than she was used to. Her short stint through the ER in med school had been enough to dissuade her from ever wanting to work in a place like this again.
Chase was going to protest again that there were too many patients and not enough doctors. He had to stay down here but he felt a small hand on his arm and looked down. "It's ok, Chase. Go take a breather. I'll take over for you." Dr. Hope Gardner said. She was perhaps Chase's best friend in the hospital, a fellow intensivist and wicket gin rummy player. She always brought him home cooked meals and tried to fix him up with cute nurses. She was the only person that called to check on him a few weeks ago when he was out with strep throat and she was also 9 months pregnant with twins.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Go get some coffee, take a walk, and play with your fellow housekeepers. I think I can do my job for awhile." She teased him.
"Promise you'll call if you get tired. I'll be back in 15 minutes."
"Half and hour." She corrected him and set to work.
Chase followed Foreman and Cameron through the curtain and out into the ward. The other two made their way quickly to stairs, while Chase lingered for a moment in front of another curtained bay. This one was dark, quiet and deathly still. On impulse he crossed himself and hurried after the other two before they realized he was lagging behind.
He pushed through the heavy steal door of the stairwell and found Cameron and Foreman waiting for him on the other side. The concrete stairwell was dim and quiet compared to hustle and bustle of the ER. It took Chase a moment to adjust to the change. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, noticing that he still had a bottle of morphine in it. "What did you guys need?" He asked. He wasn't in the mood to talk but he wanted the other two to stop staring at him. Did they see that he had purposely overdosed the last woman he had worked on? Did they approve? Did they even understand why he had done it? She wasn't the first, and he had a horrible nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach that she wouldn't be the last either.
"We have a patient upstairs and we need a consult." Foreman told him. He felt petty and foolish for pulling Chase away from critical patients just to bust his balls by making him deal with a bratty child. But, there was a part of him that realized that Chase probably needed to be taken away from all that death and stress for a few minutes. He thanked God, that he had chosen neurology, where you had time to think and study rather than make snap decisions like Chase was being forced to do. Foreman didn't even want to think of what the therapy bills for the entire hospital would be like after this.
"You need a consult from me?" Chase questioned.
"Yes." Cameron answered, feeling a bit out of place. Ever since Foreman had been promoted briefly and she had slept with Chase, she felt strange around them both. She felt like she needed to defer to Foreman and to defend Chase. The problem was that often those two impulses were at odds with each other. She usually chose to side with Foreman because she usually agreed more with him. This rarely seemed to not bother Chase, which in turn bothered her. She didn't want to think that their one night had meant absolutely nothing to him.
"What's going on?" The Aussie asked. The two were acting strange. He really didn't think he could handle a fight with them right now. He could just here Foreman blaming him that he had let Francis die because he was too lazy to help her and Cameron guilt him by saying that Francis's husband would never be the same without her. It wasn't like he didn't know these things. They didn't understand. There was nothing he could have done. The time it would have taken to work on her would have cost at least three other people their lives and there was still no guarantee she would live. He had been making that same type of decision for hours now and just thinking about it and everything else made him want to throw up. "Do you have the file?"
"Here." Foreman handed it the younger doctor. He noticed that Chase seemed anxious and uncomfortable. He wondered if the blonde thought they were going to go after him for putting that woman out of her misery? He wouldn't. He probably would have done the same thing that Chase had, only without all the talking. There was nothing that could be done for her so there was no reason to waste time on her. It was an inefficient use of a resource. Chase had to see that.
"All is says is that she might have a broken arm?" He paused. "She is awake and alert. Why do you need me?"
"She was being difficult. You're good with kids. And I think she may be from Australia too." Cameron offered from Chase's left. She was having a hard time looking at him. He had just let a woman die for no reason. She was still talking and breathing, there was still hope. She had seen her fellow duckling pull people back from much worse shape. Why had he given up on that lady? She was disgusted that Chase thought a few smiles and some banter could make up for his utter lack of effort to save her.
"You couldn't find anyone else?" He snapped. Both of the other two stared at him like he had grown a second head. Chase didn't snap at people. He didn't yell, he didn't get mad, he didn't do anything. Chase was always calm and even no matter what. He immediately forced himself to relax. He needed to tone down or they would start to realize how hard he was taking this. He knew he didn't have a right to take it any worse than anyone else because they were all in it together. He knew he would be expected to be strong and emotionless in the face of death and suffering so he made sure that he was. "Let's go look at her." He said mildly and headed upstairs.
The three reached the room and Chase paused outside, taking a purple glove from Foreman's pocket and blowing it up into a large hand shaped balloon. He then tied the end off with tape and quickly penned a cute face with a surgical marker. Cameron had always distrusted Chase's penchant for uses toys and distractions when dealing with younger patients. She preferred to spend time with them and get them to trust her. She hadn't had to use anything to make Andy like her but Chase had to bribe her with tickets to see bugs or something.
Chase opened the door a crack and squeezed the glove, which now looked a bit like a chicken, through the space. "Mind if we come in?" He asked the little girl. He could hear her crying.
"Go away!" She yelled.
"Can't. Mr. Chicken here is missing his mate and needs to see if he is in there. Can we come in just for a minute?" He asked again. He bobbed the chicken-glove up and down every time he talked.
"Ok." She said, but scooted back as far as she could on the table. Chase poked his head in, making sure she wasn't going to throw anything at him. He then slowly entered, shutting the door behind him. He moved towards the cupboards and started to look through them.
"Sorry about this, we'll be out of your way in a moment." He mock apologized. He then sighed. "Can you hold him for a moment?" He handed her the chicken-glove. She took it with her good hand and looked at it, tipping it from one side to the other. "Thank you." He continued to rummage through the drawers till he found what he was looking for, a blue glove. He blew it up and started to make a second one but didn't say anything to her.
Soon, the natural curiosity of children won out over her fear, mostly because Chase wasn't staring at her and was keeping his distance. "What are you doing?" She asked in a small voice, choked with tears. She snuffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Chase pulled some tissues out of a dispenser on the counter and handed them to her, still not making eye contact.
"I'm making him a friend. He's here by himself and needs a friend to keep him company. This place isn't nearly as scary if you have a friend." He commented as he started to draw exaggerated eyelashes on the girl chicken.
"Why are you helping him?" She questioned again, her tears slowing.
"Because I'm a doctor. I like to help people." He gave her a shy smile. "Besides, like I said, it's kind of scary around here if you don't have a friend and I don't have one either."
"Me either." She said dejectedly.
"My name is Dr. Chase, by the way, what's yours?" He sat down on the stool so he was now at her level, not towering over her. He well remembered how scary it could be to be a child alone in a hospital. When he was a little boy, his mother had often injured herself while drinking or doing drugs. He would go with her to hospital and sit in the waiting room praying and hoping his father would come and find them. He remembered that seeing the doctors standing all around him, while he sat, staring down at him and talking was very scary. It made him feel like he couldn't ask them questions or even talk to them like people. It was unbelievably intimidating. Because of that, he made it a point to always try and put his patients and their families at ease. He made sure not to stand over them but sit beside them if he could, like with Gabe and Luke. He tried to talk to them like people, not specimens like he had down with Kayla. And he tried to make sure that he took pauses for questions in conversations so that they were more like discussions rather than a doctor talking at a patient. These were simple things that made people feel infinitely more comfortable around him than they did around Foreman or even Cameron. House had recognized these things early on and noticed that of all his fellows, Chase had a bedside manner the most like Wilson's.
"Diana Mansfield." She told him and finally made eye contact with him.
"Diana like the princess?" He asked her.
"Yes. My mummy named me after her."
"Well you're mum must be very smart then, I'm sure you are a little princess too." He smiled at her again.
"You talk funny. Are you from London? Daddy says people down there talk like they have marbles in their mouths."
"I most certainly am not from London. I am from Melbourne, Australia. And I do not talk funny. Americans talk funny." He winked at her, noticing that she had her head tilted to one side. "Do you know where your mummy and daddy are?" He asked her.
"No." Her eyes started to tear up again. "We were on a bus with other people from our group and then mummy was handing me to someone and I don't know what happened." She started to cry in earnest again.
"Shhhh, sweetheart, don't cry. We'll find them They may have been taken to another hospital or they could be here looking for you. But I'm sure they would want you to be a big girl and be very brave for them." He told her as he sat beside her on the table. He tried to ignore the fact that Cameron and Foreman were watching through the window. They were making him nervous.
Soon she turned around and buried her face in his side and cried even louder. "I don't know how to be brave. I want my mummy."
"I know. I bet I know what would make you feel better." He smiled at her again even as he rubbed her back. She was getting tears and snot all over his lab coat, which sort of grossed him out. He was very good with kids, but he didn't really like them per se. All of the crying, leaking, and whining quickly started to grate on his nerves.
"What." Her eyelids were drooping and she was leaning more and more against him.
"Why don't you let me take a look at your arm? If it is hurt, I can help." He suggested.
"Ok." She sniffled, still not letting go of the chicken-glove. She allowed him to take her wounded arm in his now gloved hands. It wad definitely broken.
"We need to get you an x-ray." She started to look like she would cry again. "Don't worry. It won't hurt and he can go with you to keep you company." He pointed to the inflated glove.
"Ok." She mumbled and leaned over, vomiting on Chase's shoes and the left leg of his scrubs. He rolled his eyes skyward and tried to remember that it wasn't her fault.
"She'll be right, honey. Just calm down." He mumbled as he quickly cleaned up the mess. He then sat down beside her again to clean her face off. He noticed then, that one of her eyelids was drooping farther than the other. At first he had assumed that her eyelids were low because she was tired but the unevenness of it worried him. "Diana, sweetheart, can you look at my finger?" He held his index finger out in front of her face and made her follow it from side to side and then up and down. Her eyes were not tracking smoothly and one pupil didn't move. "Did you hit your head at all?"
"I don't know." She mumbled. He stood up to hail Foreman in. "Don't go." She called after him, grasping at his coattail.
"Don't worry. I'm just going to get a friend of mine, Dr. Foreman. He is going to help me make you better." He explained as Foreman entered. She ducked behind Chase. "Don't be afraid, Dr. Foreman is a very nice man. He won't hurt you."
"I'm more worried about her hurting me." Foreman smiled and joked, keeping one eye on the kid's feet. "What's going on?"
"Horizontal and vertical nystagmus, ptsosis, head tilting, left pupil is fixed and unreactive, vomiting, and memory loss." Chase explained quickly.
"It could be neurological." Foreman commented,
"That would be why I called the neurologist." He snipped. Wanting to change his pants. "Get her a CAT Scan. My 'break' is almost over. I have to get back downstairs." Chase turned to the frightened little girl. "Dr. Foreman is going to take care of you for awhile so be brave for him. I'm going to go try and find your parents." He lied to her.
"Bye bye." She said childishly to him. He waved and smiled, heading out of the room.
Cameron stopped him as soon as he exited the door. "Do you need help finding her parents?" She asked.
"The little girl's parents, you said you were going to find them."
"I lied. I need to find some pants that don't have puke on them." He headed towards the laundry to find a new set of scrubs.
"But you told her."
"I have to go back downstairs. If you feel so horrible about her being alone, you find them." He snapped, not looking forward to the prospect of heading back to the war zone that was the ER but guilt driving him to return as quickly as possible.
"Fine, I will." She turned and walked off, determined to find the little girls parent. She did this the same time Foreman tried to figure out the puzzle of what was causing her symptoms and Chase worked to save people who couldn't see him and would never remember him.