Mein Hertz
Chapter 3 – Heart

When Houdini returned to the waiting room, he found Adelaide pacing the floor just as he had done not so very long ago. As soon as she heard the door to the emergency ward open, she turned to face him, her eyes wide and the corners of her mouth pulled down.

"I was beginning to get worried," she said. She approached him, wringing her hands in trepidation. "You were in there for such a long time. I was starting to think something had happened."

"No," Harry said immediately, suddenly feeling bad for monopolizing so much of the time with Doyle. "Nothing happened. I just…didn't want to leave him," he admitted, hanging his head.

"It's fine," Adelaide replied. "I know you're worried about him and…we're hardly going anywhere. Take as much time as you need."

"Don't you…" Harry began, but then he paused. He wasn't sure if it was the appropriate time to ask, but Harry was hardly one to begin censoring himself now. "You've already been gone from Scotland Yard for such a long time. I know you're concerned about Doyle, but how much longer are you planning to stay here? Don't you need to get back?"

"If I am going back," Adelaide responded, turning to approach the windows.

Harry frowned, taking a few steps across the room and coming up behind her. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "What do you mean?"

"Part of the reason I became a cop," Adelaide reminded him, looking back over her shoulder at him, "was to find out what had happened to Benjamin. You know that. Now that I have my answer…what's the point?"

Harry tried not to let it show that it almost felt like the entire floor had given out from under him. Harry had come to rely on their little detective team so much, it nearly made him feel crazy to think about it not continuing. Things were absolutely changing too much, too fast. First Doyle ends up in the hospital with a bullet wound, his entire life hanging on the line. Now, Adelaide wasn't even sure that she would continue with her police career.

The changes that that alone would mean were almost too much to think about. Even if Doyle did pull through, there was no way they could continue their crime-solving without her. It was only because of her in the first place that Merring let them become involved in police work at all. The chief inspector was already becoming fed up with the meddling as it was. Without Adelaide, Houdini and Doyle taking it upon themselves to put their noses in official police business would never fly. Even if they were better at solving the crimes than the police were.

Harry needed this – needed their team – more than he could put into words right now. Then again, he couldn't let his reasons for wanting Adelaide to remain a cop seem selfish. Far be it from him to try and convince her to stay in a career path that wasn't right for her. The thing was, he did think it was right for her. Very much so.

"The point is," Harry said quietly, "that you liked what you were doing. Any fool could see that. You can pretend all you like, but it was clear every time you found a new lead, every time we figured out who did it. Are you saying you wouldn't miss that – the thrill of the chase? Are you saying you could leave it all behind and let those criminals get away? Because God knows no one else at Scotland Yard knows what the hell is going on. And let's not forget," Harry reminded her next, "how long and hard you fought to even become a cop in the first place. How much work, how many hours you had to put in before they even felt confident enough to take a chance on you. You would throw that all away?"

Adelaide glanced at him briefly before turning back to the window. She appeared caught off guard and didn't seem to have a response for him right away. After a moment of silence, she finally shook her head and said, "I don't know. But that hardly matters right now, does it? We have a lot more serious things to think about right now, because I'm not leaving the States until we at least know he's stable." Turning to face him, Adelaide asked, "How is he?"

Harry shook his head, putting up his hands. "He's still unconscious, although.-" Harry shut his mouth quickly, thinking better of what he had almost told Adelaide. "He looks horrid," Harry continued on quickly before she could question it. "He's pale as a sheet and looks so weak."

"And I'm sure he'd be so happy to hear you say that," Adelaide chimed in, desperately trying to lighten the mood. It didn't work.

"I wish he could hear me say that," Harry said wistfully. "I'd tease him about it all he could stand and then some. I'd hound him about it until he was chasing me around his room with his pillow to try and shut me up. Shutting me up is a pretty big task after all, you know."

"Tell me about it," Adelaide agreed. "But…I'd like to go and see him for a while," she said, glancing past Houdini to the emergency room door. "As horrid as he looks."

"Go," Harry said, stepping aside to allow her to pass and gesturing towards the door. "I'll be right out here. I'm not going anywhere."

It was nearly an hour later when the door the emergency ward opened again to reveal Adelaide rejoining him. Had Harry really been in there just as long? He suddenly felt bad for leaving Adelaide out here all by herself, because Harry felt like he was going crazy with only the four walls and the view of the parking lot to look at.

Harry immediately got up from his seat where had had forced himself to sit down for a while. He could only pace the floor for so long. "Any change?"

Adelaide shook her head sadly. "Unfortunately, no. He's still unconscious and…he still looks horrid, I'm afraid."

"I wish he'd at least wake up!" Harry muttered in frustration, clenching his hands into fists. "I don't think I'd feel quite so bad if we could at least talk to him and get a response. I hate seeing him lie there motionless."

"I know," Adelaide agreed. "It feels wrong. Even though he spends hours behind a desk, just seeing him lying there…" She trailed off before changing the subject. "But since there hasn't been any change for a while, perhaps we should go back to the hotel, get something to eat-"

"Are you mad?" Harry cut her off, hoisting himself off the chair. "That's where Doyle got shot. It'll be a cold day in hell before I ever set foot in the Kind Edward Hotel again. Just thinking about it makes me feel sick." He threw back the sides of his suit jacket, placed his hands on his hips, and stared off in the other direction.

Adelaide paused and swallowed hard before she replied. "You're right. That's also where Benjamin…" She stopped, not needing to say the words. "What was I thinking? But we don't have to go back there. It's New York. There are plenty of hotels."

Harry raised his left index finger, pointing at the door to the emergency ward. "It doesn't matter, because I'm not leaving until I know he's okay."

"Harry…"

"I'm not leaving him," Harry repeated firmly.

"You heard the doctor," Adelaide said. "There's nothing more we can do. It's all up to him now-"

"And don't you think he might fight a little harder if he knew I was here?" Harry asked. "If I left and something happened to him while I was gone, I'd never be able to forgive myself. Just like I wasn't there for my mother when she-" he broke off, sucking in a sharp breath of air.

"You can't possibly-"

"I can and I do," Harry interrupted. "Maybe if I was there, I could have done something for my mother. I might have been able to get her to the hospital before it was too late."

"Doyle's already at the hospital," Adelaide pointed out.

"I'm not leaving," Harry said again. "I told you, maybe he'll fight harder if he knows I'm here for him." He laughed, but it was a strange, awkward sound – something between a sob and a chuckle. "I can at least bother him enough that he'll want to get up and murder me. I'm good at that."

This brought the tiniest smile to Adelaide's lips, and that was when she realized that she was fighting a losing battle. There was absolutely no way she was going to get Houdini out of here short of knocking him out and dragging him. When he decided on something, it was nearly impossible to change his mind or to convince him that he was wrong. She knew that from personal experience.

Nodding, Adelaide finally gave in. "All right. You're not leaving. But…would you at least come and get something to eat with me?"

It was so very ironic. If Doyle's life wasn't on the line, Harry would have given a limb to hear Adelaide ask him that. As it was, as much as Harry wanted to take her up on her offer, Doyle's well-being was still more important. Harry could just imagine the smug look on Doyle's face if he knew that – that Harry was willing to pass up a dinner invitation from Adelaide in order to stay by Doyle's side.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "What did I just say?"

"Harry," Adelaide said, "we haven't had anything to eat since breakfast this morning. It's dinnertime now, and you must be starving."

Harry scrunched up his face in disgust, turning back to face the windows. "I actually haven't had much of an appetite since I saw Doyle collapse and blood pooling on the front of his waistcoat."

Adelaide came up behind Harry, placing a hand on his back. He almost had the urge to shake it off, but he didn't, and he didn't know why. It still felt oddly uncomfortable – her touch – but at the same time, he wanted it. He needed it. He craved it. As uneasy as it made him feel, he also found a strange sort of comfort in it.

And it was official, Harry decided. He was going crazy. He didn't know what he wanted anymore or why. He was seeing and hearing things that couldn't possibly be real. Now that he didn't know where his life might lead now – if he would even have Doyle and Adelaide anymore at all – he really wondered if he just might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"Just a little something?" Adelaide tried. "It doesn't have to be much. Perhaps just some soup and tea to help settle your stomach? It wouldn't do Doyle any good if we made ourselves sick in the process. We have to keep out strength up if we're going to be any help to him."

Harry shook his head defiantly, and Adelaide wondered if anything short of heaven and hell could change the man's mind about anything.

"I don't want to leave," Harry said. "At least not until I know he's going to be okay. I can't."

Adelaide took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm herself from the frustration she was currently feeling. "Will you at least eat if I bring you something?" she tried next. "You have to eat."

Harry let out a soft breath. Looking back over his shoulder at Adelaide, he said, "You're just like my mother used to be, you know that?"

"I'll take that as a compliment," Adelaide said. "But is that a yes?"

Harry sighed heavily before he gave in. "Fine. I don't know how much I'll be able to eat exactly, but I'll try."

"Good," Adelaide. "I'll be back in a little while." She turned to leave, but she didn't get very far.

"Here," Harry called to her. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out the wad of money that he always had with him. Removing his money clip, he pulled a few bills away from the rest and held them out to her.

"I don't need the money," Adelaide protested. "I told you, that was one thing Benjamin did leave me. You can't exactly take your money with you when you fake your own death. That would be a bit of a giveaway."

"Take it," Harry insisted, beginning to sound a bit desperate. "Please. There's not a lot I can do to help Doyle, but…I just want to feel like I'm doing something. That I'm helping in some way." Harry growled in frustration. "I take control of situations, okay? It's what I do. There's absolutely nothing I can do here to make me feel like I'm in control, but I have to do something at least a little bit helpful and constructive. So please, humor me a little bit, would you?"

Adelaide's expression softened and then she smiled a bit. She stepped forward, reaching out her hand with every intention of taking the money and then going on her way. But that wasn't what she ended up doing. As soon as she touched Harry's hand, she stopped. Her hand tightened slightly around his, the money all but forgotten in between their fingers.

Harry's thumb instinctively moved out from under her grasp to rest on top of her index finger. Harry's mouth opened in a silent sigh of contentment, but the expression on his face was one of pain. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, to cling to her with everything he had left in him until this entire nightmare was over. She might be all he had left, and he wanted to hold on to her with all his might, like he would never let her go. Like he would never let something bad happen to her too.

But Harry had promised her that that would never happen again. He had kissed her and it had been wrong. He couldn't do this. He wouldn't do anything to push her away, because he had already decided that he'd rather have her as a friend than not have her at all. She had made it quite clear that that kiss had not been okay, and she had forgiven him for his moment of weakness. So why was she still holding on to his hand like she didn't want to let go either?

Harry was waiting for her to take the money and go, but she made no such effort to do so. She kept clinging to his hand, staring at him with an expression that he couldn't quite place. When he looked harder, however, he decided that it had to be concern over Doyle, didn't it? She appeared slightly pained and a bit sad, so he couldn't think of any other possible explanation. It was only fear about Doyle's well-being, and she was desperately searching for the same kind of support that he wanted right now. Nothing more.

It quickly became too much for Harry to keep up the physical contact with her, too painful, so he turned his hand over, taking hers with it. He pushed the money into her palm and pulled his hand out of her grasp.

"Just soup and tea, okay?" Harry asked in an effort to break the tension that had settled between them. "I don't think I could stomach much more than that."

Adelaide didn't respond at first, but then she gave one single curt nod. "I won't be long," she said before turning on her heel and bustling out of the room.

Pressing a hand over his eyes, Harry swore under his breath. Why had he ever kissed Adelaide in the first place? It was only making things between them now much more complicated than they had a right to be. Why couldn't he just maintain better control of his urges? Then they wouldn't be in this terribly uncomfortable position when all they really had a right to worry about was Doyle's life.

Harry desperately began to wish that he could talk to Doyle about all of this. Harry hadn't even told him about the kiss he had shared with Adelaide in the first place, and out of respect for Adelaide, Harry chose to keep it that way. But now, when things felt like such a shambles between them, a part of Harry wanted nothing more than to confide in someone. His best friend.

Although if Doyle was a smart man – which he was – then he already knew that something had happened between the two of them. Doyle had walked in on Harry and Adelaide right after their kiss, and he'd had that knowing twinkle in his eyes even then. But Doyle was nothing if not discreet, and Harry knew he would never bring the subject up on his own. Sometimes, just sometimes, Harry wished that Doyle could be a little more outspoken like he was, and then they wouldn't have these terrific secrets between them.

But Doyle wasn't here. He was lying in a hospital bed unconscious, and Harry had absolutely no one he could confide in about this. It was a horrible, almost strangling and suffocating feeling. Harry felt like he could scream with the intensity of it all, but he couldn't even do that. Not in a hospital, and as Harry had already made quite clear to Adelaide, he wouldn't be leaving any time soon. Not until he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Doyle was going to be okay, which was most probably going to be a very long time. But Harry knew all about endurance, and he was willing to stay there for as long as it took.

There was a small table and chairs in the corner of the waiting room where Harry and Adelaide shared an almost completely silent and awkward dinner. At least Adelaide had been right about one thing, however – Harry had turned out to be much hungrier than he thought he was. As soon as the warm soup hit his stomach, it seemed to open up and begin growling for more. The brick that had been present there for the last ten hours suddenly felt like it was dissipating, and Harry didn't feel quite so sick anymore.

After he devoured his soup – which earned a knowing smirk from Adelaide – Harry settled back into his chair with his cup of tea. He hoped that like the soup had calmed his stomach a bit, the tea might help to sooth his jangled nerves, but Harry didn't think that would happen until he knew Doyle was going to be okay.

As the sun began to sink towards the horizon, Adelaide decided to leave. She had gotten another hotel and wanted to get back to her room before it got completely dark out. A part of Harry wanted to go with her to make sure she made it there safely, but he knew she wouldn't be keen on that idea. She was more than capable of taking care of herself as she always told him and Doyle, and Harry didn't want to do anything to rock the boat any more than he already had that evening. Besides, Harry couldn't leave Doyle.

A nurse was kind enough to bring Harry a blanket, and he tried to get as comfortable as he could in the waiting room. The chairs were stiff and hard, and there was nowhere for him to lie down, however, so comfortable wasn't really a possibility. Pulling off his jacket, Harry folded it in half and placed it against the back of a chair, forming a sort of makeshift cushion. Then he pulled up a chair to rest his feet on, and pulling the blanket around himself, tried to lean back as much as he could in the chair he was sitting on. It was going to hurt in the morning, but Harry was no stranger to pain, and this would just be more of the same. Something he would put up with in the interest of staying close to Doyle.

Harry tried to sleep, but he couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, he only saw Doyle getting shot over and over again, like someone had pasted moving pictures behind his eyelids. Doyle kept collapsing back against the railing, that ugly pool of blood spreading out on his nice clean waistcoat. Speaking of which, Harry had spent a pretty penny on that suit, and he intended to remind Doyle of that once he woke up.

In the end, Harry settled on simply staring down at the nice soft blue blanket he had pulled around him. Anything was better than the images that plagued his vision when he closed his eyes, and he was hoping that sleep would eventually come to claim him anyway.

The darker it got outside, however, the more uncomfortable Harry became. He thought it was because of the blackness that began pressing against the large windows that took up the entire wall. At least before, he could use the windows as a distraction, staring out at the parking lot to see the horses, and buggies, and cars coming and going. But now, it was becoming so dark outside, it almost felt like a wall closing in on him rather than windows. Harry wasn't claustrophobic and darkness in and of itself didn't bother him, so he wasn't quite sure why this was making him so uncomfortable. He supposed it was just because he didn't have much else to look at except the walls, and chairs, and the blanket covering him, and the doors of the waiting room. There were a few oil-burning streetlamps near the entrance to the parking lot outside, but hardly enough to make out much of anything. It was just Harry with his thoughts.

Every little noise that Harry heard made him jump. Being in a hospital, of course, the loud and random noises were nearly constant throughout the night. Every little time he heard the slightest stir of moment, Harry would sit up straight in his chair, looking around for the source of the noise. He was almost expecting the doctor to come out into the waiting area to deliver some horrible news about Doyle. But no one came.

Harry supposed that no news was good news, but at the same time, he began to wonder if anyone would tell him if anything bad did happen. They would tell him eventually, certainly, but Harry was worried that it would come much too late to do anything to help Doyle. Harry wasn't sure what he could possibly do to help anyway, but he seemed to have this crazy idea that if Doyle was on his death bed, Harry might be able to do something. He'd be able to tell Doyle to fight, just as he had before. He'd be able to drive Doyle so absolutely crazy with his wit and banter that Doyle wouldn't be able to do anything but get up and tell him to shut the hell up already. Just something. That wasn't completely crazy, was it?

So Houdini took to watching the door to the emergency ward closely, looking for any sign of movement beyond. There was a window conveniently set into the door. The glass itself was frosted, yes, but Harry could still make out movement and shadow behind it. Every time the slightest noise roused Harry from his rest, he would jump up, eyeing the window in the door for any hint that the staff might be springing into action. When still nothing happened, Harry would try and make himself comfortable again and eventually, he did fall into a fitful doze.

Harry wasn't sleeping though. Not really. It was the place in between asleep and awake when one can still hear things going on around them, but they're still not fully conscious or aware of what's happening either. Harry hated that feeling. It reminded him of being sick when he'd be much too uncomfortable to fall into a deep sleep, but he'd manage to doze off here and there out of pure exhaustion. When Doyle's life was on the line, however, Harry would put up with it and so much more.

Doyle was worth it. Harry only hoped that he'd have the opportunity to tell Doyle that eventually. That Doyle wouldn't slip away alone, not knowing how Harry felt. Perhaps that thought was bothering Harry more than anything – that Doyle might die alone just like his mother had. At least Harry knew that his mother was aware of just how much he loved her. He never failed to tell her and to try and make her feel special every single day that he was able. Harry was only sorry that she had died in that hotel room all by herself, with absolutely no family or friends around her to speak of.

Doyle tried to tell him that it was probably for the best. She had gone quietly and peacefully, probably in her sleep with no conscious thought of what was happening. Others, Doyle said, were not so lucky.

But Harry didn't want Doyle to die alone. Moreover, he didn't want Doyle to die not knowing how Harry felt. The minute Harry heard the least bit of commotion going on in the emergency ward, he was going to go barging in to find out what was happening. If it was indeed Doyle that was losing the battle, Harry was going to go and be with him. Harry knew that the doctors probably wouldn't approve of that – they'd want him to leave so that they'd have the room to work – but Harry didn't care. If Doyle's condition worsened, Harry was going to plant himself on the edge of Doyle's bed, and come hell or high water, he wasn't going to move. He was going to hold Doyle's hand and repeat over and over again that Doyle was his best friend. Harry wanted that to be the last thought on Doyle's mind – if at all possible – when he left this world.

Harry wasn't going to be left with the same guilt he endured every single day over his mother. He wouldn't. At least with Doyle, he had a little bit of a chance to try and make things right with the man.

Harry only hoped it wouldn't come to that. He felt like Doyle had so much more left to do, so much more left to accomplish. Despite Doyle's best efforts to the contrary, Harry had a very sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't let Sherlock Holmes stay dead. Harry kept imagining the reaction of Doyle's fans if the consulting detective were to return, and Harry couldn't quite let go of that thought. Doyle still had more Holmes stories to write, Harry was sure of it.

And not just that, but Doyle had a family to continue to care for. He couldn't leave them behind yet, not so soon. Not when his children were still so young. Harry was a grown man and losing his mother was slowly but surely killing him. He couldn't imagine what Mary and Kingsley would go through without their father. Doyle had to be there for them. He had to be there to give his daughter away at her wedding. To see his son become an author like he kept claiming he would (and not a magician, of course). Doyle had to be there to see his grandchildren come into this world and grow.

It just wasn't right. It wasn't fair that Doyle might have to miss out on all of that because of Benjamin's ridiculous schemes. Harry thought that it was probably a good thing that Adelaide had ended up killing Benjamin. If she hadn't, Harry thought he just might be seeking Benjamin out right now in order to pay him back for what he had done to Doyle.

Eventually, Harry's through began to grow muddled. He thought he must have fully dozed off, but he wasn't quite sure. All he knew was that he heard those awful hospital noises again, which stirred him awake. He felt drowsier than he had before, so he simply turned his head to the left, not getting up from his chair. He eyed the emergency ward door through his current veil of sleepiness.

That was when he saw it. For the first time all night, Harry saw movement coming from behind the door. This caused Harry to jump straight up into the air, suddenly feeling more awake than he ever had in his entire life. He wasn't sure that this activity had anything at all to do with Doyle – there were other patients in the ward, after all – but he wasn't taking any chances. The blanket that he'd pulled around himself fell to his feet. Harry jumped over it, launching himself at the door to the emergency ward and wrenching it wide open.

Harry looked wildly back and forth, his eyes going over the flurry of activity and trying desperately to make sense out of what he was seeing. His sleep-fogged eyes, however, didn't seem to want to register anything. All he could see at first were blurs and colors and movement. Harry took a moment to rub at his eyes harshly, desperately trying to get them to focus.

Harry then stared down the hall to his right, where Doyle's room was located. His was the very last door down on the left, and Harry suddenly knew that that was indeed where the commotion was coming from. A doctor exited this room, shouting some sort of orders down towards the other end of the hall. Harry couldn't wrap his mind around what was being said. It was probably a bunch of medical jargon that he wouldn't understand anyway, but Harry's heart was pounding much too loudly in his ears for him to make sense out of anything.

It reminded Harry of being locked into his water torture cell. The water would essentially cut off his sense of hearing and obscure his field of vision; he'd be left with nothing but a bunch of garbled yells from the people in the audience and swirls of colors and lights. Nothing made sense to him; it was just chaos. Then and now.

There were also nurses coming and going from the room, some of them shouting orders as well while others carried supplies back and forth. It was a sea of people, one which Harry readily launched himself into. He carefully made his way in between the doctors and nurses, closing in on the door to Doyle's room. That was, until someone grabbed a hold of his arm.

Harry barely even noticed it. In fact, he tried to shake it off and continue his movement across the floor. But the hand held on even tighter.

"Mister Houdini-"

Harry gave his arm a violent shake again, but to no avail. "He's my friend! I need to be in there with him!"

Harry finally turned around to see who the offending hand belonged to. It was one of the nurses he had seen bustling about the ward before.

"Mister Houdini," the nurse said again, "you can't be in there. They need all the room they can to work. You'd just be in the way."

"In the way," Harry repeated, his tone scoffing. "Right. I'm his friend," he said again, his voice softer this time. "There's always room for one's friends."

"I told you, they need the room to work," the nurse said again. "You can see him once they get him stabilized again."

"But…" Harry began, but then he trailed off again. His gaze went from the nurse and then back down the hall towards Doyle's room. Harry was only about fifteen feet away, but at the angle he was standing, he couldn't quite see into the room itself. Perhaps that was a good thing. A part of Harry wanted to know what was going on with Doyle, but then a part of him didn't. Harry was almost terrified of what he might see inside the room. Was Doyle bleeding again? Had his stitches come loose? Was there blood all over the bed and his sheets?

That was what Harry kept fearing the most – that Doyle would keep bleeding until he had nothing else left to bleed. The thought made Harry feel sick again, and he partially wanted to run in there, doctors and nurses be damned. Harry would press his hand over Doyle's bullet wound and hold it until the bleeding stopped. Harry knew that that was probably the most insane idea he'd had yet. He knew nothing about medicine, but he knew enough to know that wounds didn't work that way. And as the nurse had said, he'd just be impeding the work of the staff anyway.

"What happened?" Harry asked, his voice a whisper. He still wasn't so sure he wanted to know, not really, but at the same time, he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"His heartbeat became extremely weak," the nurse said, "due to the blood loss he suffered. They're trying to get it back up."

Harry let out a long and ragged breath. He almost felt like crying again, but he wouldn't. Not there. Not in front of half of the emergency ward's staff anyway. Despite what the nurse had said, Harry at least wanted to see Doyle, to know he was still fighting. He had to see him.

Harry began inching down the hall, closer to Doyle's room, dragging the nurse along behind him.

"Mister Houdini-" the nurse tried again, her grip on his arm growing tighter.

"I just want to see him," Harry said a bit desperately. "Please." He took a few more steps, and the nurse let him go, perhaps convinced by the distressed tone of his voice.

Harry finally progressed down the hall far enough to see around the frame of the doorway. At first, he only saw the nurses and doctors, hurrying about Doyle's bed and speaking in rapid tones. Harry stood his ground and wished that one of them would move so that he could see his friend.

When that did happen, however, Harry suddenly wished for them to move back into place so he couldn't see the horrible state that Doyle was now in. Harry thought Doyle had looked bad before, but it was nothing compared to what he looked like now. Doyle was even paler than Harry remembered. His color seemed even weaker yet than his sheets, the whiteness of the cotton emphasizing just how much blood the man had lost. His complexion was almost grey, and it made Harry think of ghosts, and skeletons, and all sorts of dead things. This inevitably made him think about being trapped in that cemetery, of being buried alive and having to try and claw his way out through the ground that held nothing but death.

This made Harry shiver, and he tried to block those thoughts from his mind, but still, there they were. Just as the images of Doyle being shot over and over had seem pasted over his eyes out in the waiting room. Would Harry be burying Doyle in that same ground very soon? Would he be saying goodbye to one of the last people he had left in this world, just mere weeks after he had said his final farewell to his mother?

Harry simply couldn't accept this, damn it. There was that ambition of his, coming to life inside of him again, making him go and get what he wanted. Except now what could he do except let Doyle know that he was there? He knew he wouldn't manage to even get to the doorway to Doyle's room before the staff would be all over him, so he did the only other thing he could think of.

"Fight this, Doyle!" Harry began shouting at the top of his lungs. He felt the nurse tightening her grip around his arm again, and he knew the staff wouldn't allow this to go on for very long, so Harry tried to make it fast. "Don't make me say goodbye to you too! I'm right outside your room and I'm not leaving until I know you're okay! I'm here, okay?"

"Mister Houdini-"

"I'm not putting you in the ground too!" Harry carried on as if he hadn't even heard the nurse speak. "Do you hear me, Doc?! Don't you make me do it! Don't make me tell your children that you died over here, thousands of miles away from them! They're waiting for you to come home and you can't let them down! You're all they have left now, and you can't leave them alone! I know you can't!" Harry's voice finally seemed to hit a snag, because his next words were nearly swallowed up in a sob. "I know you're not going to leave me alone."

Harry wasn't even sure if Doyle would have heard those last words or not, but he wasn't quite sure if he had it in him to say anything further. He thought if he opened his mouth one more time, he just might begin sobbing out loud, and he wasn't about to let that happen. At least, not where so many people could see him.

Besides, it appeared as if the staff had had enough of his disruptions. Many of them had stopped to stare at him and several of them were shushing him and motioning at him to be quiet. This only made Harry wish that Doyle was there to shut him up. Doyle was good at that. Better than probably anyone else. Except maybe Adelaide. He wasn't sure.

"Mister Houdini!" the nurse said again, her tone much louder and firmer this time. "We can't have you in here if you're going to be shouting! You're disrupting the patients!"

"Good," Harry said, turning back to face the nurse. He grabbed at the bottom hem of his waistcoat, which had become rumpled and wrinkled in his brief struggle with the nurse. "They need to be disturbed a little."

Trying to maintain the last shred of dignity he had, he turned on his heel and quickly retreated for the door to the waiting room, his head still held high. Pretending he hadn't just completely lost his sense of decorum and screamed at the top of his lungs in the middle of a hospital emergency ward was surprisingly easy. Anyway, where Doyle was concerned, it was more than worth it, and Harry would do it a million times over if he had to. Even if it meant sacrificing his public image a little.

When Harry returned to the waiting room, he resumed the pacing he had done when he'd first arrived. Back and forth, first to the bank of windows, and then back along the row of chairs towards the emergency room door. Again, he found himself staring at the door, waiting and hoping for it to open, but it remained still. The chaos was still going on behind the door, however – doctors and nurses running back and forth from Doyle's room and yelling orders to each other.

Sighing, Harry turned back to the blackness of the windows that almost seemed to be pressing in on him. Harry wondered if he should go and find a phone so that he could call Adelaide at the hotel and let her know what was happening. But he really wasn't keen on getting any farther away from Doyle than he already was.

Besides, it was very late. Harry retrieved his trusty pocket watch from his waistcoat to see that it was nearly two o'clock in the morning. Adelaide would probably – hopefully – be asleep by now. He wasn't sure if she'd be sleeping any better than he was, but he didn't want to disturb her if she was. Not to mention, there wasn't much she could do now anyway, except worry. Wouldn't it be better to wait until a less ridiculous hour and let her know then when he'd probably have more information about Doyle's condition?

So here was Harry again, alone and with that very familiar sense of dread that was growing to consume his stomach once more. He wondered if this was what his life would eventually become – nothing but loneliness and the knowledge that he'd lost or driven away anyone that had ever been close to him. That feeling would hang over him like a dark cloud, just like it was now, but worse.

Harry couldn't do this. He couldn't. He couldn't put one more person in the ground, least of all his best friend.

Feeling defeated, Harry trudged over to the chair where he'd dozed off before. The discarded blanket was still pooled on the floor at his feet. He stepped over this, dropping heavily into the chair. He placed his elbows on his knees and slumped over, burying his head in his hands and threading his fingers through his dark curls.

The sobs that he had fought to contain before were suddenly rising up inside him, and this time, he did nothing to stop them. He sat there and he cried, his back heaving violently from the force of it all. He suddenly wasn't worried that someone would walk in and catch him – the great Harry Houdini – crying. When it was all said and done, did that really matter anyway – if people saw him crying? All that mattered was Doyle, and Harry was more terrified than ever that he had seen his last days with his friend.

At long last, he let the tears fall freely, because he just didn't care anymore.

To be continued…