Daily Drama (In American TV Shows)

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.

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.