I promised a new chapter soon, didn't I? Well here it is, hope you like it. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. This OS is kinda bittersweet but next one will definitely be lighter. The writing is a little messy on purpose as I tried to stick with the confusion the title suggests.

Galimatias : n. Nonsense; gibberish; confused and unmeaning talk; confused mixture.
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Galimatias

Walking around the hospital is like tracing the borders of your territory. You enjoy the ownership, the control. That is, of course, until you pass by his conference room one morning and find an empty and chaotic office before you. At that point, you still can't sort out your feelings. Confusion, fear, helplessness? No idea.

All you can see is the deep vermilion blood spread all over the grey carpet.

He said he wanted Ketamine.

You have a quick call to make. These are your grounds, your hospital, your incompetent security staff. Everything here belongs to you. House is paid with your money. And yet the decision you have to make is jeopardizing his life. Again.

You bang your head against the wall because of him.

Logic leaves you somewhere between the ER and the observation room. You feel bad, frustrated, everything gets so mixed up in your head that you can't comprehend, analyze, dissect; you can't pause. Usually, he says black and you say white and he's the one telling you in which direction you should be heading.

Second bullet is out. Stitching.

"Hey, glad to see you" he says groggily when he finally wakes up, "last time, Cameron was there. You're hotter."

You raise your eyebrows. Cameron? You're confused; you haven't seen her around lately. At least he knows who you are; the Ketamine doesn't seem to have screwed him up as much as you predicted. You check his pupils, his heartbeat and let your hand rest on his arm.

"How long have I been out?" He tries to sit up but you force him down on your hospital bed.

"Almost three days. Stop talking, you should rest."

And you should maybe finally head home for a shower. Something tells you that after staying up for seventy-two hours straight, you might also need some sleep.

You heal, you forget, you make amends.

Two days later, he looks even better.

"You did it, didn't you?"

"What?"

"The Ketamine. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't want to risk a placebo effect. How's your leg?" You try not to be overly enthusiastic but if he managed to get all the way down here to your office, there might be hope that everything did work out fine.

"Pain free." He says. And watches you smile.

He loves your smile.