AN: Thought I start fresh with a different direction, a couple of changes of setting, plot and occupations, anyhow I came across some books about social working and I thought about Helga being a social worker and I got some feedback from the social media group pages that it was an interesting professional for her so I thought about doing that, and Arnold is still a doctor;) So let's get this baby started

Love

C

XOXO,

Summary: years after traveling around the world with his parents, Arnold thought he get back into society by taking up residency at one of Philadelphia's hospitals, and is faced with things just as heartbreaking as those in the remote parts of the world; The abused children being brought in by a familiar blonde social worker; tug at his soul like nothing he's ever known. As for Helga being a social worker is a rewarding job, but also a constant reminder of her troubled youth, and takes everything one day at a time—unable to form a relationship with anyone except the children she rescues. When they meet up Arnold he thinks he might have found what he's been looking for, but to get the life he wants, he has to breakthrough Helga's emotional barriers and make her realize that his healing touch might be just the complication her life needs...

Anatomy Of Melancholy

Chapter 1

Staring at the house, she felt time spin away, and it was like she was the kid in that hellhole, unknowingly waiting for someone to save her before it was too late. For a few seconds, she was that little girl again, helpless, scared and hungry, dying inside little by little. But then she shook it off and jerked herself out of the past. One more time Helga Pataki said silently, you can go one more time. It was a constant game that she always played with herself. Just how much misery could she heap on herself before she decided on that she's had enough? You can do this, she's always telling herself. I Can do this one more time. It was the same game she played yesterday, last week. last year and tomorrow she'll do it again. Just one more time. And again the day after that and the day after that; for as long she could, and she'd still keep playing the little mental game and putting one foot in front of the other, one heartbreak after another. Because even though the heartbreaks were massive, often, and gutwrenching, there were bright moments. Reuniting a kid with his mom after she finally managed to get straight. Placing a foster child with a family he'd love, who would love him. The victories didn't always outweigh the losses, but they made the losses more bearable.

Helga had been told, more than once, that she didn't look old enough or strong enough for the profession she had chosen. At twenty-six, she was certainly old enough and strong enough but she often wondered if they were right about the strength part. Yet this was Helga G Pataki that they were talking about. And it was the very same strength that helped get her threw dark times in her life. So many nights, she went home feeling empty and useless, convinced nothing she'd done had made a difference, and nothing ever would. Then she'd get a call that adoption for one of her foster kids had finally gone through. Or she'd watch as one of the parents she dealt with worked her way through night school just to make something of herself so she could take better care of her kids. Those were the very reasons she kept on doing this, and one of those happy things would happen in the end for this one, too. She couldn't quit. Couldn't give up. I can do this. Just one more time. So once more, she stood in front of a squalid, run-down apartment and braced herself for what she might find inside. Physically, Helga didn't look like much. She was a slender woman, almost too slender, but no matter how much she tried to put on weight, she couldn't ever do it. Of course, half the time, the crap she saw in her job killed her appetite. She bordered on too skinny, but she didn't see it changing anytime soon. If she were a little taller, it wouldn't be so bad. Helga had probably would enjoy that sexy, willowy look so much taller, an equally slender woman managed. But she was barely five feet nine and she looked more like a waif than anything else. Her eyes were sapphire blue, set in a pale face that would never tan, her hair a nondescript golden blonde. It was wildly curly, thick, and a pain in the ass to manage. There had been a time when she'd longed for that straight, sleek look that was oh so popular, but unless she wanted to spend an hour or so a day washing, drying and then flat-ironing out the curls, it wasn't going to happen. So instead, she kept it pulled back from her face in either a tight knot or a braid. Anything else took too much time. Same for makeup. Technically, her job was a nine-to-five, but it rarely worked out that way, and after nine, ten, and twelve hours on her feet, any makeup she might have put on would have been worn off, so she rarely bothered with makeup, either. No, Helga knew she didn't look like much, but she hadn't let it stop her before, and she wasn't going to let it stop her now, either. This place reminded her too much of that, nothing more than a reminder little shithole where she called home, for years, alone, back when she'd still been a teenager. Helga figured she should count herself lucky. Due to the circumstances of her horrible upbringing, it was living hell of living in that house, to her it wasn't considered home, why hell living the shadows of her older perfect, the golden child and a poor excuse for a sister who hogged all the attention of the very people who were supposed to be her parents too never gave her the fucking time of day and having to live up those expectations to a father who could never get her god damn name right to a point where Helga always wondered if that was on purpose and it wasn't a mistake, and then there is her other who was always three sheets to the wind and could never seem to let go of the bottle, never knowing when the next shoe was going to drop.

For Helga graduation couldn't come soon enough, the college of her choice was her one-way ticket out of that hellhole, Columbia University and worked her way through grad school, and studying abroad in France; but not before saying goodbye to one the person who always seemed to have her best interest at heart, Dr. Carole Bliss; yes Helga can admit she was hostile and cynical at first she had grown to like Dr. Bliss had earned her trust throughout all the sessions and would remain in touch, Dr. Bliss, when Helga had mentioned in an email that she was considering being a social worker and with her luck. Dr. Bliss had a friend Barbara Maitland and wrote a recommendation letter, that Helga was the perfect candidate. Helga's own personal guardian angels. Helga was now living and working in Philadelphia, and now in the back of her head, she could still Barbara's hoarse raspy voice "Baby I ain't nobody's angel," Barbara had taught and trained, said to Helga more than once. She desperately wished Barbara was around for some advice and a little comfort even a swift kick in the ass would work. But Barbara had retired four months ago, and she was living the high life out in Vegas with a rich widower a good twelve years younger. Still, Barbara didn't have to be there for Helga to know how she would respond. Girl, get your ass in gear and get in there. There's a kid who needs you. You focus on her and not on the hell that's around you. Because make no mistake, the hell she's in is worse. You know, because you've been where she is. Focus on the kid. It was what had gotten her through before, and she knew it would keep doing just that. How much longer am I going to keep this up? Helga thought. Just one more time, she told herself, perpetuating the mental game. But the rational part of her head, the part that wasn't cringing in disgust, already knew the answer. Helga would keep going until she just couldn't go anymore. Because that was all she could do. Barbara had probably asked herself the same thing, over and over. If Barbara had given up before handing the position over to her, Helga wouldn't be here. There was no way she was going to miss out on a chance to help somebody the way Barbara and Dr. Blidd had helped her. Helga stared up at the ramshackle, filthy house. It was a squat two-story that looked like it had been split into eight little apartments. The front lawn was littered with garbage, cigarette butts, and other stuff Helga didn't want to look at too closely.

"You okay?" Helga looked over her shoulder at Officer Wayland Bennett and nodded "let's get this over with"

If she thought the outside of the house had prepared her for the inside . . . well, it wasn't the first time she'd been wrong. Wouldn't be the last. The inside of Shayla Reynolds's home smelled of rotting food, unwashed flesh, and filth Helga couldn't even begin to guess at. Helga knew she had probably seen worse, but she couldn't remember when. What really sucked was that there was a little girl here, all alone, and God only knew how long she'd been here. There weren't many places for a child to hide. Less than seven hundred square feet, it boasted a whopping two rooms. The main room served as a bedroom, kitchen, and living room. The sofa bed, tucked into a recessed alcove along the back wall, was open, the mattress bare and covered with stains better left unidentified. On the mattress was an open pizza box, and Helga figured it was a good week old. It looked like mold was forming in the crust.

There were only two doors in the entire place. The entryway where Helga and Officer Bennett stood, and then the other one, on the back wall. Helga assumed it was the bathroom. So far, it didn't look like the little girl was anywhere in the main room, so hopefully, she'd find her in the bathroom. Bingo. When Helga pushed the door open, she saw the shower curtain shift. It rustled a little, and when she called out, a pair of big blue eyes peeped around the edge to look at her.

"MAN, can you believe we actually signed up for this?" Arnold smiled a little as he heard two of the newest interns moaning over their coffee. He'd asked himself that question more than once during his residency, and yeah, even now after he'd been on staff at Temple University Hospital for the past year. It had been worse during residency, though. It could make or break a doctor. Working twenty-four hours, forty-eight hours straight, longer, sometimes. Catching a fifteen-minute nap and living on chips and pretzels and whatever else could be found in the vending machine. No, his residency definitely had not been the highlight of his life, but it had been worth it. Arnold hadn't gone into medicine for the money. Of course, the money was nice. But he'd done it for the challenge. Every day brought a different one, although sometimes the only challenge was to keep from laughing at some of the stupid shit he saw. Like the nineteen-year-old mother who had brought her two-year-old child in, complaining that the medicine they'd given her daughter to help control the vomiting had actually made it worse. Turned out the mom had been making the poor kid eat the suppositories, and when they explained, again, how to administer the medicine, the mom had freaked out. Dealing with mothers who thought the temperature of 99.6 meant the kid had Asian bird flu or that a headache was a sure, definite sign of meningitis. Or worse, dealing with the kids who were taken away from their parents or found wandering in the streets, malnourished, abused, and all but broken inside. Broken bones when some genius figured a chair was a good enough replacement for a ladder or lacerations when the kitchen knife slipped—they often made up a lot of the patients they took care of at Temple. They weren't the most fun, but they were part and parcel.

Not every patient coming through those doors was bleeding from twenty different lacerations and drowning in his own blood. Which was a good thing? Working in the ER was a rush; it was no surprise Arnold had gravitated to the medical field once he'd finished his training six years ago. By the best teacher, he knows and that was his mother. He'd started on the courses he'd need to go from field medic to physician while he was still in working with his mother. He'd finished medical school in record time, and his residency had landed him here. He hadn't planned on staying. Temple wasn't a bad place to work, but he hadn't planned on staying in Philadelphia. He planned on going back home he missed all his friends and he missed the old neighborhood, But there was something about this place. He just couldn't leave. The place got into his system. Working the ER got into his system. He wouldn't have found anything quite like this anywhere, how he'd long to be back in Seattle yes, there were hospitals in Seattle. There was no logical reason he couldn't find a hospital in Seattle, but he didn't want to and in the old neighborhood but what was the point anyway everyone probably has all moved on and it was when he was around twelve years old and after the San Lorenzo trip that it was his choice to go. And they've all probably had moved on anyway. Traveling around the world with his parents and going on wild expeditions from Africa, Southeast Asia to South America, etc Arnold Shortman graduated from Yale for their medical program earning him a Ph.D. and doctorate. He liked Philadelphia and having the pleasure to run the steps like Rocky; The place just felt like home as if thought he was back in the old neighborhood again, Temple University Hospital in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania is an academic medical center in the United States. Not far from where he staying, in which thankfully he had run into his old teacher Mr. Simmons who does a pilot program for bright but underachieving teens at the notorious inner-city high school, had offered him room and board and Arnold promised to pay him back after he got his first paycheck. Mr. Simmons told him as long as he made his keep that could stay as long as he wants. he liked his colleagues hey saw their share of drunk drivers, college pranks went bad, and just the normal senseless things humans did to themselves and one another.

Unfortunately, they also saw their share of the cruel things humans could do to one another. His shift last night had started with the exam of a rape victim, followed by an attempt to save the life of a pregnant mother who'd been hit by a drunk driver while she was crossing the street. The mother had gone into premature labor and had died on the table shortly after delivering her baby boy, nearly two months early. The baby was probably going to be okay, but he'd grow up never knowing his mother. As Arnold had tucked him into the incubator, he'd bent over the little guy and whispered, "You'll do okay, man. I came early, and all I had was my dad, and I made it just fine." Still, it had been depressing as hell to escort the grieving father to the baby's side. Arnold hadn't been able to resist sizing the guy up, and he'd liked what he'd seen: a guy fighting to hold it together when all he wanted to do was a break—and then the awe in his eyes as he stared at his son. Yeah, that little guy would be okay. Sometimes, life really did suck, and yeah, sometimes, he still had a hard time believing he'd willingly signed up for this. But he had no plans of giving it up for something a little less stressful, a little less heartbreaking. Sometimes, Glancing up from the workstation, Arnold caught a glimpse of blonde hair just before a woman disappeared around the corner. Wouldn't you know . . . Arnold's very own heartbreaker was here again. "You find what you're looking for, Arnold?" For some weird reason, his own question from months earlier popped into his head.

Yeah, he had a feeling he might have finally found it, but he hadn't managed to go after it yet. His heart skipped a beat or two as he recognized Helga Pataki, and automatically, he ran a hand through his hair. Catching himself, he grimaced in disgust. He was coming off the end of a long-ass rotation, and he'd slept in the doctors' lounge last night. Looked it, too. He kept meaning to find a clean pair of scrubs and get a shower, but every time it looked like he'd have more than ten minutes, some other emergency came up. Or he had a chance to grab a cup of coffee and a rather tasteless vending machine sandwich. The food would win over cleaning up; he could clean up later. It had been nearly a good four hours since he'd had a chance to sit down for longer than five minutes. The hours he'd pulled were definitely going to show. Clothes wrinkled, in desperate need of a shave and a good five hours of sleep—at least—there was no way Arnold could hope to look any more presentable than he already did. That really sucked, because there was no way he wasn't going to hunt down Helga.

"Here, Arnold. This one is yours. I can't do another abused kid tonight." His boss and sometimes friend, Dr. Dwight Howell, came up and deposited a chart on top of the pile in front of Arnold. So much for tracking Helga down. That pile was already reaching epic proportions, and he scowled as the stack started to list to the left. He caught them before the charts could topple over, and he straightened the stack automatically before looking at the name and skimming the nursing notes. Dehydrated, abandoned; despite the disgust curdling in his gut, a faint smile curved his lips. Escorted in by the social worker Helga Pataki. A few minutes later, though, he decided it was a pretty shitty trade. Unfortunately, seeing Hela with a case like this wasn't ever good. His young patient, Ella Reynolds, was four years old, small for her age, and she had the oldest eyes he'd ever seen. She had the same bitter acceptance in her eyes that he had seen ever seen back in their school days. Her mother had left her alone in the house while she was out "working." Prostituting—Shayla Reynolds had been arrested four times, and each time, her child went into foster care. Each time, she'd gotten Ella back. There wouldn't be a fifth time. Shayla's last john had beaten her to death, literally. If the cop responding hadn't recognized Shayla's battered body, Arnold didn't want to think about how long Ella might have stayed hidden in her apartment.

"Hey there, pretty girl," Arnold murmured as he sat on the wheeled stool in front of his silent patient. Arnold wasn't naive. He knew what kind of bad shit happened in the world, and he wasn't afraid to face it. Coming into this field, he'd known it wasn't going to be a cakewalk. But he hadn't necessarily expected it to be harder than what he'd walked away from. The carnage, the cruelty, the thousands of battles happening in the world the average citizen knew nothing about, it was rough. He'd Her mother had left her alone in the house while she was out "working." Prostituting—Shayla Reynolds had been arrested four times, and each time, her child went into foster care. Each time, she'd gotten Ellie back. There wouldn't be a fifth time. Shayla's last john had beaten her to death, literally. If the cop responding hadn't recognized Shayla's battered body, Luke didn't want to think about how long Ellie might have stayed hidden in her apartment. "Hey there, pretty girl," Luke murmured as he sat on the wheeled stool in front of his silent patient. Luke wasn't naive. He knew what kind of bad shit happened in the world, and he wasn't afraid to face it. Coming into this field, he'd known it wasn't going to be a cakewalk. But he hadn't necessarily expected it to be harder than what he'd walked away from. The carnage, the cruelty, the thousands of battles happening in the world the average citizen knew nothing about, it was rough. He'd loved being a Ranger, but he'd seen stuff that could break a strong man.

He'd gone into the army, and the Rangers, because he wanted to make a difference somewhere in the world. In places like Iraq, Afghanistan, and Colombia, people knew bad shit was going to happen. Here, in his home country—he couldn't quite explain it. He knew it, yeah, but actually seeing it was different. What people did to their own flesh and blood. Even to total strangers. And the kids were the hardest. Logically, considering the shit his mom had put Quinn through, Luke should have been a little more prepared. But then again, he doubted anything could have prepared him for the sad little girl in front of him. "Can you open your mouth for me, Miz Ella?" he asked gently. She did so obediently and without making a sound or moving an inch. He wished she'd cry. There was something so completely messed up with a four-year-old little girl sitting as still as death while a doctor probed and prodded at her. And she continued to do it throughout the entire exam. When the nurse drew blood, she didn't even blink. When he laid her down and did the required physical exam, probing her belly, checking her genitalia for signs of molestation, she simply lay there like a little doll.

By the time Arnold had finished his exam, he was wondering if she could talk. Helga Pataki stood at Ella's side and smoothed a hand down the girl's tangled, filthy hair. "You're a brave girl, aren't you, Ella?" Finally, some kind of response. She flicked a glance up at Helga and then looked back down at the floor. stood at Ellie's side and smoothed a hand down the girl's tangled, filthy hair. Finally, some kind of response. She flicked a glance up at Helga and then looked back down at the floor.

"I'll be back in as soon as I can," Arnold said softly. Unable to resist, he reached up to touch the little girl's face, but she froze. She didn't move, flinch, or pull away; she reacted the same way a wild animal would, retreating inside herself, as though if she were still enough, quiet enough, he wouldn't see her. Sighing, Arnold let his hand falls to the side, and he left the exam room.

"Poor baby," Sarah Hensley said. A registered nurse with a friendly, freckled face, Sarah was more likely to laugh than cry, more likely to defend than attack. But when Arnold glanced down at her, she had a mama bear look on her face. There was an angry light in her eyes, and she met his gaze and said, "That girl's mama needs to burn in hell." Flipping through the rest of the chart, Arnold murmured his agreement. "According to the report, she's probably doing just that right now. Her john beat her to death a few days ago. Kid's been alone in their apartment for God only knows how long."

"That poor baby doesn't look like she's had a good meal in weeks. Longer." Arnold glanced at her. "Maybe you should see about getting her something to eat. Some chicken nuggets or something from the cafeteria." Sarah smiled. "And maybe some ice cream. Ice cream always makes my kids feel better." An hour later, Arnold went through the lab work on Ella. He'd wanted to get to it before this, but another trauma came in, and he'd been called in to assist with that. His legs felt leaden as he walked to the room where Ella and Helga waited. Seeing that small, sad face was hell. Before he opened the door, he took a deep breath and counted to ten. Didn't help. He still had an ugly little knot in his chest, and he didn't know whether he wanted to snarl and break something or just cuddle the little girl against his chest and promise nobody would ever hurt her again. Ella Reynolds and the other little kids like her were going to break his heart all right.

AN: That is for now folks let me know what you think;)