|No Rest for the Wicked
Author: ilovetvalot PM
When his dreams are plagued by the ghosts of ex-wives one, two, AND three, what does a visit to esteemed sleep therapist, Dr. Charolotte Dickens reveal? ELEVEN chapters.Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Romance - D. Rossi & Jennifer J./JJ - Chapters: 11 - Words: 16,043 - Reviews: 32 - Favs: 14 - Follows: 7 - Updated: 12-08-10 - Published: 11-24-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6500630
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: My co-author and I would like to announce that our core stories (Sunday and Monday weekly publications) will be on hiatus for the weekend after Thanksgiving (an American Holiday on November 25, 2010). Due to familial obligations, we do believe there will be a week break on those ongoing stories. We will continue to publish one-shots and shorter stories through the holiday week.
Also, we're drawing near the close of our first annual Criminal Minds Profiler's Choice Awards. WE CURRENTLY HAVE SIX DAYS LEFT TO VOTE FOR OUR FAVORITE AUTHORS AND STORIES. Please remember to try and spare a few moments over the upcoming days and VOTE for your favorite authors and stories in the "Profiler's Choice Awards" at "Chit Chat on Author's Corner" forum. You have through the end of November 30, 2010 to let your voice and vote be heard, and we want to hear from each one of you. If you don't know much about forums, links can be found through either my profile (ilovetvalot) or my awesome co-author (tonnie2001969). Remember, anyone that wants to help advertise the awards has our unending gratitude, and there is also a short blurb you can use on our profile pages.
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No Rest for the Wicked
Yawning widely as he paced the small examination room of his childhood friend's office, David Rossi shook his head. Damn it, Noah had better have some freaking answers before he lost what was left of his mind.
And unfortunately for him, that moment was rapidly approaching.
It had been over three weeks since he'd had a decent night's sleep. Twenty-one days. Five hundred and four hours. Too freaking long! Glaring at the closed door to his own personal torture chamber cum exam room, he heard the muffled sounds of conversation in the hallway, Dr. Noah Faulkner's deep timbre familiar to him. Come on, Noah. Get in here and give me the newest wonder pill.
Exhaling a relieved breath as the short man's portly frame bustled in, Dave muttered with a glare, "About time, Noah. Moss was growing under my feet in here, man."
"Still no more patient than you were the last time I saw you..."
"...three weeks ago," Dave retorted grimly, nailing the good doctor with a pointed stare. "Those little Ambien pills you gave me aren't doing the trick, Noah. I'm still not resting."
Raising one eyebrow, Noah asked, his best professional voice in place, "Not sleeping or not resting, Davey? There's a distinct difference."
"Well, the pill gets me to sleep," Dave admitted sheepishly, leaning back against the black exam table, "but, I'm still having the damned dreams...so I don't feel like I've slept."
"Well, if you're sleeping, the pill is doing its intended job," Noah replied evenly, ignoring the fierce stare of his oldest friend. Rolling his eyes, he intoned, "I can't cure dreams, Dave."
"Noah," Dave groaned, scrubbing a hand over his whiskered jaw, "there's got to be something you can give me...some kind of dream blocker or something."
Sighing, Noah dropped down on the stool at the foot of the exam table. "Dave, I've run every physiological test I know to run. You're body is sound, my friend. I'm afraid it your psyche that might be damaged," he chuckled.
"Are you saying I'm a nut?" Rossi sputtered, his spine stiffening as he realized his doctor was not at all sympathetic to his current very-real plight.
"We already were aware of that, Davey," Noah returned dryly, arching a brow.
"I'm not crazy, Noah," Dave growled. "I'm sleep deprived. These damned dreams I keep having are going to be the death of me!"
"Which is why I'm referring you to a sleep therapist," Noah nodded, not bothering to look up at Dave. If he had, he'd have witnessed the aggrieved expression taking over his oldest friend's face.
"You're sending me to a fucking quack, Noah? That's your idea of a diagnosis...pass me off to some new age hippie?" Dave asked incredulously, his cheeks flushing with agitation. "Not fucking way," he shook his head furiously, barely resisting the urge to run screaming from the building. "Just prescribe me another pill...a sedative, this time. Something that will have me waking up next Tuesday, well rested and happy as a clam."
"No can do," Noah shook his head, still scribbling in his patient's chart. "I like my medical license, thank you very much. And Charlotte Dickens is not a new age hippie, as you put it. She's a much respected sleep specialist that concentrates in dream therapy."
"She's a obvious quack that's gonna charge me thousands of dollars to tell me I have mommy issues. I've heard about these fruit loops, Noah," Dave shook his head in disgust. "They're charlatans, out to make a quick buck."
"Listen, Ebenezer," Noah retorted, spinning on his stool to face his obstinate pal, "you're options are limited here. I can't find a medical reason for your problem. Which means the problem is up here," he stated, tapping a finger against his temple. "Dr. Dickens can help you analyze these dreams you're having and get to the root of the problem. I'm telling you, Davey, she's a well respected member of the medical community. I've got patients that swear by her."
"Tell me, are those patients being medicated?" Dave grunted sarcastically, his earlier feelings of doom and gloom once again coming to roost.
"Say what you want, Scrooge," Noah shook his head, "but her record speaks for itself. Hell, Dave, what do you have to lose at this point?"
"My wallet," Dave muttered under his breath, crossing his arms defensively over his broad chest. "C'mon, Noah. There's gotta be something you could try without sending me to some witch doctor."
"Dave, I've run every test in the book. You're healthier than a man half your age," Noah returned, scanning the stubborn man's chart one last time. "This is NOT a physiological issue we're dealing with. Thus, it's out of my hands. You don't pay me enough to take on the job of your personal shrink."
"I don't need a shrink," Dave spat angrily, once again doubting his friend's medical training. Why the hell wouldn't the white coated man listen to him? He was a perfectly sane, rational man. He just needed to get rid of these pesky dreams and he'd be right as rain. There had to be a pill for that, didn't there? If they had a medication that could keep Mr. Happy playing for hours without a break, he could certainly find one that would allow him eight hours rest uninterrupted by dreams of the three former Mrs. Rossis, couldn't he?
Looking at his adamant friend, Noah shook his head. "What the hell are you so scared of, Davey? This woman is a board certified, card carrying physician sanctioned by the AMA and everything. The way I see it, you're desperate. And this woman promises most patients she can have them sleeping through the night, dreaming peaceful dreams, in four sessions or less."
"Is there a money back guarantee on that?" Dave snapped, his dark eyes flashing as he paced the length of his room. "All I need is for it to leak out to the media that David Rossi is seeing some head shrinking putz just when my new book is being released. They'll have a freakin' field day!"
"Dr. Dickens keeps her sessions entirely confidential," Noah said patiently, watching his rattled friend move around the room, his footsteps heavy against the linoleum. "Honestly, Dave, there's no shame in it. Not in this day and age."
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dave paced back to the exam table, flopping back on it with a heavy sigh. "Fine," he said grudgingly, his resolve beginning to crumble. "Set the damn appointment up for me. I'll go."
Ripping a sheet of paper off his prescription pad, Noah grinned smugly. "Already did, ass hat," he declared, waving the paper at his buddy. "She's expecting you at 8:30 tomorrow morning. Don't be late. I had to call in a favor to get you that slot."
"I'll be there, Noah. You just better hope this works," Dave returned, glaring at his friend. "Or I really will need that suite you've been promising me at Bellevue Sanitarium."