"Motor vehicle accident."

"On my way," Alfred murmured, abandoning the banal activity of distributing medications for the time being. He snagged himself some gloves and followed Arthur's lead, put-out by the fact that the man still seemed to be holding some sort of grudge against him. He could tell by his tone of voice—not quite angry but not content either. And though Arthur seldom happened to be content in general, Alfred had trained his ears long enough to catch the note of outrage in his voice.

"You're always upset with me."

Arthur entered the next room on the left with a scoff, waving off the accusation and readying his stethoscope. "That's not true."

"Yes, it is."

Their quarrel was put on hold as a teenaged boy awaited them, carrying a lackadaisical expression in his eyes. Arthur wasted no time in shining a light into both of the drowsy irises to assess his patchy awareness.

"Can you hear us, kiddo?" Alfred found himself asking, unbuttoning the boy's shirt to check him over for further injuries, mindful of his neck brace as he did so.

"Yeah… What's going on?"

"You're in the hospital. You were in a car accident," Alfred explained with a certain softness as he scanned the cuts and bruises littering the boy's chest. None of them looked to be too serious, but some of the deeper lacerations would need stitches. "You're going to be all right. We'll contact your parents—"

"No!" the boy howled, letting out the semblance of a sob as he irritated his injuries. He squirmed beneath their gazes, trembling in both pain and horror. "I wrecked my dad's car. He's going to kill me. I can never show my face to him again!"

Alfred frowned and dabbed some antiseptic at the cuts, apologizing profusely when the boy's body jerked once more. He pressed a soothing hand against the teen's shoulder to keep him still, using just enough force to get his purpose across. "Bud, your dad is just going to be thankful you're okay. A car can be replaced."

The boy didn't seem persuaded, but he didn't have much of a chance to mull over his options as Arthur knitted his brows and said, "Try taking in a deep breath, lad."

Doing as he was told wasn't easy, and as soon as his lungs had been filled halfway with air, his pain level skyrocketed again, leaving him teary eyed and restless. "I can't—it hurts. Oh, God… I'm so dead."

"Hold still," Arthur consoled and began palpating the boy's chest with extreme caution. He seemed to have his suspicions about the extent of the boy's injuries, but he didn't let on just yet. "Tell me if you feel any sudden pain."

"Aghhh—that really hurts! Oh, God… Oh, my God."

Arthur removed his hand from the sore spot and made a sympathetic noise. "I think it's a fractured rib. We'll get you an x-ray to confirm. Until then, you'll have to be on some strong pain medication."

"Please, don't tell my dad."

"Don't worry about that for now," Alfred instructed, squeezing the boy's shoulder once more to stop his hysterics. "Get your rest, kid. You need it."

Arthur nodded in agreement and readied a syringe with the pain relievers. "You're going to feel a twinge in your side now, so hold still… There we are. You might become tired or dizzy, but that's normal. Everything's going to be fine."

"Thank you so much," the boy said between pained gasps, easing only when the medication started to kick in. He watched with a sleepy fascination as the pair of men hovered over the gurney, fear dissipating as encouraging words were murmured over and over again at him.

"We won't stitch these wounds up for now. Steri-strips should be enough," Arthur announced, letting Alfred do the honor of placing the adhesive tape over the cuts. "He'll need to be under observation for any complications."

"All right, I'll finish up here."

"Also, I need to talk to you when you're done."

"Am I in trouble again?" Alfred inquired, twisting his lips into a silly smirk. "How long am I grounded for this time?"

"Very funny. Truly, I'm laughing on the inside," Arthur groused, leaving the room with an angry huff of annoyance and a swish of his white coat.

Their patient had fallen asleep by the time Alfred had finished, and it was a relief to know the boy's pain had been diminished substantially for at least a little while. When there was nothing else that could be done, Alfred quietly left the room and drew the privacy curtain to a close, stepping over to the nurses' station once more. As expected, Arthur had been waiting for him, arms crossed and gaze set in a glare as he advanced.

"If this is about this morning—"

"You're lucky Zoey has such a forgiving nature. She can't find the resolve to be angry at you, but I can."

They kept their voices hushed and rounded the corner to talk without being overheard.

"So, I've been out a few nights to clear my head. I'd hardly call that a crime. It's not like I've ever come home drunk or anything," Alfred reasoned when they were finally alone, leaning against the wall. "You know I hardly drink. I go down to the bar for the ambience, and not to get hammered."

Arthur clenched his hands into fists, even more irate upon seeing that Alfred still didn't seem to get the point of his fury. "I know you're not drinking, but that's not the issue. The real problem is that you've been disappearing without warning and returning late into the night. Zoey's right to assume you've been drinking away your sorrows, even if that's not the case. You haven't been talking to us, and you seem intent on denying any help we've tried to offer you."

"I told you already, I'm fine. I just needed some alone time. If it's such a big deal, I won't leave anymore."

"Don't act so victimized! You make it seem as though I've banned you from leaving the house. Do whatever it is you have to do, but for god's sake, Alfred, talk to us! You've been in this—this depressed state for months now! What on earth is going on?"

Alfred turned away from the interrogation, shoulders tensed and eyes darkening. "Don't ask stupid questions. I have nowhere to go. Everybody's gone, and soon Zoey will leave too."

"Tell me why you've felt the need to seclude yourself. You're fine at work and then you go home and fall into a listless state. You've become unapproachable, and Zoey's caught on to that new disposition of yours," Arthur fumed, shaking Alfred by the shoulder to get him to respond with some kind of emotion other than mild interest.

Alfred stood rooted in ground like a tree trunk for a long while, half-listening to Arthur's continuous rant. "Sirens," he whispered after a full minute, arms trembling. "I can't save anything anymore."

"You're not making any sense. I'm admitting you as a patient if you won't be rational."

"I go away at night because I scare myself, and no one should have to see that."

Taken aback at the news, Arthur tried to piece together Alfred's fragmented outbursts. "You're scaring yourself? How?"

Alfred didn't respond right away, choosing instead to stare at the wall in front of him with stinging eyes. He wondered if Arthur would ever be able to understand what he was about to say, and if he'd be even more angry with him because of it.

"I've been having some thoughts… Some dangerous thoughts that I needed to sort through. I don't know what's made them come up again, but they're there—in the back of my mind."

"Alfred," Arthur prompted, wishing he didn't have to hear this. He had considered the possibility before, but he'd never heard it from Alfred firsthand.

"I don't want to live anymore."

The answer stunned them both into silence, and Alfred waited for Arthur to react with exasperation, unable to fathom the concerned look in his uncle's eyes.

"I'm scared, Arthur… I don't know what to do. I used to think about it before—back when I first lost Mattie. I wasn't going to sit at home and worry everyone in case I did do something reckless. I was never actually going to do it, I think, but it's been resurfacing. I look at Zoey and I see him all the time. It's worse now that she's older. Have you seen the way she looks at people? The way she stands with that pensive expression? It's so familiar it hurts. Even the way she laughs—it kills me inside."

Arthur gritted his teeth and waited for his head to clear so he could handle the situation with the kind of care it required. "You damned idiot. The worst thing to do is be alone when you're having suicidal thoughts! You should have come to me straight away! Distancing yourself is not a solution."

It was hard to maintain his feelings of aggravation, however. Alfred had pressed his back against the wall again, stooped slightly and propping himself up with one hand on his knee as though he was overcome with exhaustion. He was a rather miserable sight, and Arthur knew he had to approach the other with delicacy—even hard headed dolts needed some guidance.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm going to ask you to admit yourself," he told his nephew. "You need to allow yourself to get help. I'll inform Braginsky beforehand, and he can make sure you get a separate room for the night."

"Arthur, please… I just need time."

"I've given you years to work this out on your own, and look where that's gotten you," Arthur reminded, softening his tone to get the other to be more open to the idea. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, lad. This has gone on for far too long. The claustrophobia, the bouts of depression—they need to be addressed. You'll stay under observation on the unit for a little while, and you can discharge yourself whenever you'd like, if you admit yourself, that is."

"And if I don't admit myself?"

Arthur sighed and stuffed his hands into his white coat. "Then I'll admit you, and you won't have the option of leaving."

"Arthur—"

"Don't 'Arthur' me! I'm trying to do what's best for you, and you'd do the same if I were in your position. Now, let's get your things, and I'll talk to Braginsky. You'll have to go through the usual protocol before you can be transferred, I'm afraid," Arthur decided, ushering Alfred to the nurses' lounge to retrieve his belongings.

"Everyone on the floor is gonna know I'm losing my mind," Alfred whined as he grabbed his bag and hoodie, reluctantly trailing after Arthur's brisk strides.

"And why do you care what they think? Your health is more important, and I'm sure every decent person would understand that."

"You have a damned answer for everything."

After a brief word with Elizabeta, Arthur led Alfred to an empty bed and left to get his hands on some paperwork, which would have to be filled out. He returned within a few minutes, passing a clipboard and a pen over to the younger man.

"Fill that out. You might have to wait a while until you're seen by someone."

"Arthur, this is ridiculous. I-I'm not sick!" Alfred protested, standing up from the bed to express his change of heart. "Can't we just talk this out together?"

"No. You need to speak with someone who is qualified to help, and I'm not going to suffice," Arthur explained with a serious look on his face. He made a move to leave the room but then went against the choice, realizing Alfred was too much of a flight-risk to be left alone. "Sit."

With Arthur watching him like a hawk, Alfred had no choice but to comply. He wrote down his information and sighed peevishly when Elizabeta came in to take his vitals.

"I'm fine!" he barked upon having his blood pressure taken. "You can all stop with the smothering now!"

"Your BP is high because you're under stress," Elizabeta informed him with a frown. "You need to relax, Alfred. Getting worked up isn't going to help matters."

He wanted to respond with a few profanities to vent his frustrations, but couldn't do so in front of Elizabeta, especially after the bond they had formed while working together for years. She had always been kind to him, and never hesitated to offer a helping hand whenever there was a problem.

So, he bit back his words, thin-lipped and swimming in vulnerability as Ivan finally stepped upon the scene some twenty minutes later. The psychiatrist exchanged a few hushed words with Arthur, and whatever he said caused Arthur to leave the room with a nod.

Thus, he was left alone with Ivan. It was an awkward confrontation in every sense of the word, and as Alfred sat perched on the bed, Ivan brought in a rolling stool and made himself comfortable.

"It's been a while," the doctor said, extending a hand to Alfred to properly greet him. After the formalities were out of the way, he skimmed the medical folder he'd been given with Alfred's records. "And why are you a patient today? Did you get a little tired of being a caregiver?" he asked with a sly smile, setting the folder aside after he was satisfied with the notes.

Alfred chuckled helplessly, finding it to be the best way to manage the humiliation. "I guess you could say that. I've been a little lost lately."

"Mm-hmm. Da, that's understandable. I think everyone is a little lost all the time—never certain where they are going. I assume, since you're here, that you've been having suicidal thoughts?"

"Didn't they tell you already?"

"No, I wasn't told anything, and even if I was, I don't believe gossip or rumors. I want you to tell me what's going on, not Arthur or Elizabeta."

Alfred sighed and slumped his shoulders, one hand reaching up to fix his glasses. "Yeah, I've been thinking about it. Well, I guess 'thinking' isn't really the word. It just sorta happens, y'know? It's spontaneous."

"How many times would you say you've thought about it?" Ivan asked in a very conversational tone, as though they were discussing the weather.

"Recently?"

"In the past week."

"Maybe three or four times."

"Have you ever attempted it?"

Alfred chewed on his lip and dug his fingers into the side of the bed. "Not since I was twenty."

"What happened then?"

He closed his eyes and tried to remember that hazy day, only able to recall brief images of his mother yelling at him with tears running down her cheeks as a month-old Zoey screeched in her crib downstairs. It had been a scorching summer day in their old Boston house, and the air was so thick he could taste the humidity in his mouth. The window fan blasted even more hot air at their faces, suffocating them. There had been hands gripping his upper arms, slender and constricting as he was wrenched downstairs.

"I planned to jump off a roof. My mom stopped me though… She said I was selfish for trying it."

"Did anything trigger those feelings back then?"

"Yeah, my brother. He'd died just under six months ago at that point."

Ivan folded his hands in his lap and nodded. He didn't offer any condolences, and for that, Alfred was oddly grateful.

"That must've been difficult on you."

"Heh," Alfred scoffed, hands shaking again. "No kidding. You try thinking about your closest family member burning to a crisp in a collapsing tower, and let me know how it works out for you… Damn it, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

Ivan immediately eased his concerns with a sharp interjection. "It's all right. It's okay to be upset—healthy, even. I believe in letting oneself appreciate their emotions. Tell me, how are you feeling right now? What's on your mind?"

"I feel stupid. I'm wasting my time mourning over things that I should let go of. I have a niece that still needs raising, and I never seem to be able to give her everything she needs."

"And what do you think she still needs?"

Alfred pushed down the nausea in his stomach, suddenly feeling very ill, indeed. "A mother and father—something I'll never be."

"I see," Ivan remarked, allowing for a pause in their discussion.

Alfred expected the man to be writing all this down—to be coming up with possible conditions as they went along, but he didn't make any movements suggesting those were his intentions. In fact, the Russian doctor just sat there, as though they really were having an offhand chat.

"Do you still want to hurt yourself now?"

"I don't know. It's not something I get to decide, and I don't know what's been causing it. I guess it's a whole mess of things mashed together, or I am just selfish."

Ivan furrowed and propped his chin up with one hand. "Do you think about your brother often?"

"Sometimes."

"When do you think about him?"

Alfred let out a pitiful laugh and lowered his head in thought. "When I'm standing some place high-up, or I hear sirens on the street. I look at my niece and see his mannerisms, and when I'm in front of a mirror, I can't stare at my reflection for too long. It's impossible to escape him. I don't know why I'm stuck with the memory of him everywhere."

"Were you close?"

"We were practically the same person," Alfred chuckled, carding a hand through his hair. "As kids, we were attached at the hip, and there was barely a second when we weren't together."

"That must've been nice—having someone to spend time with."

"Yeah."

"Do you spend time with others now? Are you close with anyone?"

Alfred shrugged his shoulders, and pursed his lips. "My niece, Zoey, and Arthur, I guess, but I've been pretty absent around them lately too."

"And why is that?"

"There's a lot on my mind."

"It's good to be alone every once in a while, but it's also good to talk about the things that bother you. Humans weren't meant to be independent creatures. We thrive in communities," Ivan commented with a light tone. Nothing he said was accusatory, but rather a thoughtful observation. "Now, tell me what you'd like me to do for you. Why do you want to admit yourself?"

Alfred suffered through an agonizing silence, shifting his gaze to Ivan with heavy-lidded eyes. "I need your help. I want to finally put to rest all of the horrible nightmares, irrational fears, and nervous tics. If I don't do this, I'll never be at peace with myself."

"There is nothing I can do for you that you can't do for yourself," Ivan informed, crossing his arms and meeting Alfred's eyes with a frown. "You don't seem to be a danger to yourself right now, but there are two options. You can schedule an appointment and meet with me or another health care provider in a few days, or you can stay in the hospital for the recommended forty-eight hours and speak with someone sooner. I'm going to let you choose what you want to do."

"If I go home, I'm just going to feel miserable with my thoughts again and stay out for the night."

"I can send Arthur to make sure you don't feel worse again."

Alfred scoffed and scrunched his nose up at the idea. "I'm not a child who needs to be supervised."

"I didn't say you were, but you might be more comfortable at home. It's up to you."

"I want to stay in the hospital."

And with that, Ivan nodded and took the medical folder in his hands once more. "Okay. You'll be admitted. I'll have one of the nurses—"

"Don't. I work here—I can bring myself upstairs to the unit."

Ivan seemed like he wanted to protest, but decided against it, dipping his head in appeasement as Alfred followed him out of the room. Arthur was upon them in a moment, but Ivan pacified his concerns with more hushed words.

"I'll check up on you in an hour or so," his uncle promised, aware of the patients that were still waiting to be seen by him. "Try to relax, Alfred, and listen to the advice you're given."

"Yes, mother," Alfred retorted, unable to hide the smile on his lips at Arthur's nagging. "And thank-you."

Arthur straightened his posture and nodded a brief nod, wishing he could say something that would chase away all of the other's problems. "Of course."

Alfred hesitated for a moment, unable to trek after Ivan as his heart throbbed and urged him to turn back to say a proper goodbye. He spun on his heel and surged forward to embrace Arthur with a discontented grumble.

"I hate having to listen to you."

"Oh, I thought you would've accustomed yourself to it by now," Arthur joked, returning the hug with a sigh. "Take care of yourself, until I can come and chase you down. And don't worry about Zoey, she'll be fine."

"Okay."

"You're shaking," Arthur noted before patting Alfred's back firmly. "Don't be nervous or afraid. We all just want to help."

"I know. I'll see you soon, Arthur."

"You'd better."

They both smiled at that.

"I can't believe you got in trouble on your first day!"

"Mr. Oxenstierna hates me for my awesomeness. Everyone uses their phones in the hallways," Gilbert glowered, taking a seat in the cluttered and cramped dean's office. "And now I have to wait for my dad to pick up my phone from him. He's going to make me scrub the floors at home until my hands bleed."

"That's weird though, I heard deans were lenient with those kinds of policies," Zoey mused, taking a seat beside Gilbert to wait with him. She wasn't in a rush to get home, considering the house would be empty for at least another few hours.

"They are lenient, but I think it's more of what Oxenstierna saw on my phone that really got him angry," Gilbert clarified, unable to suppress a snort of laughter at the thought. He regretted not capturing the moment on tape. "You should've seen his face."

Zoey shot him a sideways glance. "What did he find?"

She wasn't too sure if she wanted an answer.

"Let's just say they were some explicit pictures."

"Gilbert! You're disgusting!"

"What? I'm a hormonal teenager! I have needs!"

"Please, stop!"

"What? Don't tell me you've never—"

"I can't believe I'm listening to this," Zoey muttered with a shake of the head. She made her way for the door, disgruntled at what a mess high school could be. It had been a grueling day, and she'd had enough of Gilbert's presence for the time being.

Unfortunately, despite trying to make a quick retreat, someone beat her to the door.

"Hi, Mr. Beilschmidt," she greeted when the tall man crossed the threshold, a vein in his neck bulging. It was unnerving to see him fuming like a ravenous bear.

To her relief, the man settled down when he met her eyes, recognizing the familiar figure. "Oh, hello, Zoey. Excuse me for a moment," he said, storming over to Gilbert with his anger restored. In a single movement, he had snatched the teen up by his ear, making a scene in the office.

"I can explain," Gilbert began in a reassuring manner, holding his hands up in surrender. "You're too stressed—it's bad for you."

"I'll tell you what's bad for me—having to leave work again to deal with this type of nonsense!" Ludwig fumed, keeping his hold tight on Gilbert's ear. "You won't be seeing your phone for at least a month."

"But I need my phone! What if there's an emergency and I'm dying on the street with no one around to help? What then? You'll have to live with the fact that you allowed me to die! I could get shot, mugged, be sick on the subway, hit by a car, and I won't be able to give you my last dying words because I won't have a phone," Gilbert squawked, cringing when his ear was twisted. "I hope you're happy when I'm in my grave."

Ludwig rolled his eyes and swiped a hand across his weary face. He had been called to this school far too many times in the past. "I pay the bills for your phone, so it belongs to me. You can have it back when you can learn to use it responsibly, and if you do end up being shot, mugged, or in danger, you'll do what everyone did before phones existed—you'll walk yourself to the hospital or get the police. This is New York, Gilbert, there is a cop on almost every corner."

"Fine, but my blood is on your hands."

"We'll talk about this later. Wait in the hallway while I get the phone back."

It took another fifteen minutes before everything was in order and Ludwig returned to the teens, exasperated and gruff. He gave the pair of friends a long look and shook his head. "How will you ever get a nice girl like Zoey to go on a date with you if you keep doing such childish things?"

Gilbert tried not to look too bothered by the words, but his cheeks did turn a shade of pink. "What do you know about picking up girls?"

"More than you'd expect," Ludwig countered, making his way for the school's nearest exit. "I have to get back to work, so I'm bringing you with me until the shift ends. You can sit at the nurses' station with Iryna. I'm sure she wouldn't mind showing you what happens to young men like yourself when they 'pick up' too many women."

"Ugh, and you call me gross."

Ludwig only smirked in response, and moved his attention away from Gilbert. "Would you like to come with us, Zoey? I think this could be a valuable lesson for everyone."

"No, Zoey. Save yourself!" Gilbert cautioned, seizing Zoey by the arm and gently shoving her in the opposite direction. "There's still time!"

With a little laugh of her own, Zoey nodded her head and continued along with the other two. "Thank you, Mr. Beilschmidt. I haven't visited everyone at the hospital in a while."

Gilbert let out a groan and flailed his arms in frustration like a broken windmill. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He hadn't realized how much he'd needed this. The welcoming change of scenery, no matter how dull and morose it was, awoke a part of his senses that had been numb for a while. Not to mention how methodical it all was—a bracelet on his wrist, a timed schedule of when he was expected to meet with the doctor and when he was to receive meals or attend daily recreational activities.

It didn't seem like he was in the hospital anymore. Everyone seemed to be going about their way, as though they were all a component of some secret society that had been burgeoning on the fourth floor for a while.

He gave up his shoelaces and any sharp objects, feeling flustered and disappointed in himself more than anything else. He knew it was for his own safety, and that it wasn't a joking matter, so he did as was requested without protest.

Within thirty minutes, he had his own bed and attempted to sleep, pleased that Ivan had, indeed, arranged for him to have a room to himself, isolated from the other patients.

However, sleeping soon became impossible due to his rampant thoughts. Thus, he trailed over to the window and watched the setting sun with a kind of wanderlust. If he could just get away for a while—figure out what to do next—maybe he'd be better off.

He sat by the window for quite some time, only leaving when Arthur came to see him in the visitors' area, clad with a cup of his favorite blend of coffee.

"Are you going to be okay for the night?" Arthur asked, trying to ignore the blackening circles under Alfred's eyes and the smoldered features of his face.

"You worry too much," Alfred claimed, sipping the coffee and loosening his muscles as the warm beverage took away the hollowness of his chest. Thankfully, it swathed away the icicles in his stomach too. "Give Zoey a kiss for me, and tell her I'm sorry for being such a jerk."

"Do you want me to tell her where you are?"

"I don't want her to think less of me."

"She won't."

Alfred played with the sleeve of the coffee cup, eyes downcast. "How can you be sure?"

"I'll just tell her you weren't feeling well, and you're going to stay overnight," Arthur assured, stealing a glance at his watch. He couldn't stand to see Alfred in such a sullen state.

"She'll want a better explanation than that. She's not a little girl anymore."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do?"

Alfred frowned and stretched his legs out under the table they were sitting in, contemplative. "Tell her the truth. I won't lie to her anymore. Plus, I'm likely going to be here for the next two days."

"All right," Arthur agreed, sharing a despondent expression with Alfred before standing. "We'll be waiting for you to come home whenever you're ready."

"I'll try not to keep you guys waiting too long. You'd better get back to the ER. Someone probably needs help with a nosebleed."

"I wish people would understand that the ER isn't a doctor's office, but I think that's a little too much to ask for."

"Keep dreaming. Maybe one day will be your lucky day," Alfred jibed, already feeling a bit more at ease. Despite the constant fretting, and the never-ending complaints against him, he felt overwhelmingly grateful for Arthur's company. "And don't visit me every five minutes. I'm a big boy, now. I'll be okay."

Arthur nodded with a chuckle, stowing away his worries. "I know. I'll see you tomorrow morning, in that case. You don't worry about yourself enough, so someone has to."

"Well it's a good thing you're around then," Alfred smiled, though the sadness on his face had not been entirely wiped clean.

Some illnesses had to be treated by oneself.