Patient files. Tonns of patient files. And tonns of injured, drunk and sick patients. Crammed in the ICU, waiting for a doctor to come and take care of them. Unconscious, awake or passing out. There are a lot of them.
Dr. Robert Chase slammed down a file, sighed deeply, and picked up another. It was an easey, yet tiring case: a young boy - Jeremy, according to the chart – with a cropped leg and face. Got injured in an accident. There are a lot of victims here from accidents. Chase shook his head, wich was starting to ache, and headed to the patient lying on the nearest bed.
He was a quite nice boy, but his pale face was disfigured with cuts and bruises; his eyes full with tears of pain and fear; his short-sleeved shirt torn, his trousers dirty and ripped in several places. He was holding his leg, gasping in pain every time the gash made contact with the fabric of his pants. Her mother was holding his other hand, a with a concerned look on her face, stroking her son's hair gently. When Chase arrived, she stared at him, tears marking her cheeks.
- Don't worry. – Chase ensured the mother, as he stood beside the boy's bed, and looked at his wounds. – Those things can be fixed.
- Oh, god… – whispered the mother in relief, her voice hoarse of crying.
Chase grabbed a syringe full of local anaesthetic, and inserted it near the wound on the boy's calf.
- This will keep your leg numb while I stich it up. – he said. He began to clean the wound with disinfectant, moving his hand carefully. – Do you wanna tell me what's happened? – he asked in a calm, soothing voice.
- Well… I was just hanging out with my friends… one of them already had a license… he brought his dad's car out of the garage, and got everyone in it… it sounded like great fun… but… there was that other car… a jeep, maybe… we crashed…
- It's definetely not your fault. – smiled Chase softly. – It's okay.
He started to stitch up the wound, working with secure hands. He got ready soon, then covered the gash with bandage. He took care of the smaller bruises too; there was one on Jeremy's left cheek, and one on his right hand. When Chase fixed those, he told Jeremy that he has to spend the night here for observation, and then left him alone with her mother and the nurses bringing a gurney with them, to help the boy to his room.
Chase put down the file, realizing he's very tired. He decided to take a break after six hours of monoton work. He passed through the doors of PPTH, and sat on a bench outside. He looked around himself. There were patients, who were enjoyong the fresh air, but mostly doctors, talking, having lunch, or just taking a rest from hospital duties. Chase saw Wilson talking with one of his patients. He knew that guy, who was a terminal brain cancer patient, and he had tried to deal with his condition for months. 'If I were in his place' Chase thought, 'I would have gone crazy. I'm lucky I'm not him.'
He layed his back against the bench, and shut his eyes tightly. His headache was starting to get worse, and he suddenly felt very tired and weak. Maybe it's just beacuse of the ICU hours, he thought.
- Hey, Chase!
Chase looked up, tired. Wilson stood in front of him, gazing at the blond's face with a concerned look.
- You look very tired. What's up? – he said, as he sat down beside Chase.
- Mhm. ICU. – Chase muttered, closing his eyes again, and covering them with is left hand.
- You have been working all day? – Wilson asked, frowning at him.
- Yeah. – the blond murmured.
- You have to stop.
- No. I just took a break. Now I'm going back.
Confirming what he said, Chase stood up vigourosly, but immediately dropped down onto the bench. Wilson catched him quickly and helped him onto the seat, staring at him with a worried look.
- Chase, are you sure you're okay? – he asked, looking at Chase's pale face.
- I'm… I'm okay… – whispered the young australian doctor with a weak voice. Wilson shook his head furiously.
- Come on, lets get you home. I'll drive. – he said, as he helped Chase up, who was now feeling very dizzy.
- No no no… I… don't need… I'll go home… just after I have finished the…
- No. – Wilson shook his head with anxiety. – There's absolutely no way I'm gonna let you finish the ICU hours. You're going home to have a rest. You might be terribly sick.
Wilson guided Chase through the parking lot, all the way to his car. He opened the back door, so Chase could lie down on the back seat. Chase was sweating, his breathing was weak and abnormal. Wilson decided to check his pulse; it was too fast. Very fast…
- Oh my god, Chase… we have to get you back to the hospital now! – he cried, helping Chase up again. The young blond was too stunned to stand; suddenly, his head threw back, he grabbed his chest, winced in pain, and then remained silent.
Wilson was panicking, but he knew what he was going to do. He lifted Chase up in his arms, and started to run towards the hospital. He had never run so fast in his intire life. He saw a nurse, and shouted at him.
- He's having tachycardia! We need to defibrillate him, now! – he yelled. Several nurses rushed to him, as he quickly layed Chase onto a bed, and reached for the defibrillators.
Knock him out once. Knock him out twice. Wilson pressed his fingers to Chase's neck, and felt the feeble, weak pulse beating. Weak, but it was there. He sighed in relief. Chase was back.
- Get him a room. – he ordered the nurses, who quickley put Chase on a gurney, and rolled him to an empty ward.
He looked at Chase's face, wich was pale and skinned. The pained look still remained on it. Wilson sighed again, then turned around, and headed to the elevator. He quickly got to his destination, wich was House's office. He pushed the glass door, and looked at the team sitting at the table. Cameron was arranging patient files, Foreman was sipping a cup of coffee while filling out a crossword. House was sitting at another chair, his legs crossed on the table, and he was absently throwing his grey-red tennis bowl with the brown oak cane.
- Hey, everyone. – said Wilson. – I got an interesting case for you.
Everyone looked up. This is sure going to be interesting for House, Wilson thought. Let the games begin.