Author's Note: Thanks for your reviews. I appreciate both the criticism and praise. I will try to implement some of your suggestions, such as adding an extra space between scene transitions. And yes, Dr. Steiglitz was sort of my way of paying homage to Alan Alda's character, Dr. Gabriel Lawrence who suffered from Alzheimer's. As always, I will try to do better. Don't own anything but the story.

Episode 7: It's All in Your Head

"You always were one bold kid, Arnold." Gerald chuckled as he smashed the racquetball down the wall.

"And you always loved saying that." They laughed as the little blue ball whizzed around the court.

"It's true, man. Of all of us, I always thought you'd be the first to kiss Helga Pataki." Arnold volleyed the ball into the corner.

"I didn't plan on doing that; I was listening to her destroy herself, and I couldn't take it any longer. It was the only way to shut her up." Gerald grinned.

"Well, most people would use their hands, unless they have other motives." Arnold gave him a weird look.

"It's been kind of awkward, everytime we run into each other. We can barely say hello to each other."

"Did you expect anything else?" Arnold sighed.

"No, but I wish it didn't have to happen under those circumstances."

"But you're not entirely disappointed that it happened?" Gerald gave him a silly grin. It was hard for Arnold to stay serious.

"How can you think of something like that when all I was trying to do was make Helga feel better?"

"Oh I don't know; Single guy, recently divorced, just lost custody of his son, and looking for comfort."

"Gerald."

"Ok, ok. It's only natural."

"I'm not looking for a relationship right now. It's too soon."

"I know, man. But if you were, you couldn't go wrong with Helga. I mean, look at her."

"Yeah, she's a real swan. I mean, she wasn't that bad in high school either. The unibrow was gone; she was starting to wear her hair down occasionally; she was even a little nicer to everyone. If I wasn't with..." At that point he looked up to see the blue ball flying towards his face. He raised his racquet at the last minute to deflect it. He turned angrily at Gerald who was laughing.

"What was that for?" Gerald caught his breath after laughing.

"Man, you should have seen yourself. You had this really dreamy expression, and your eyes were turned up towards the ceiling."

"I was just thinking of what might have been."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm serious; nothing more, nothing less."

"Well, if you're done dreaming about Helga, you can start dreaming about losing." He bounced the ball as he stood in the server's box. Arnold chuckled.

"We'll see."

"Phoebe, can I talk to you?" Vincent Wartz's voice boomed as he marched down the hallway. She looked up from the file that she was looking at behind the admit desk.

"What is it, Vince?"

"It's about Greene and Pataki." Her face fell.

"Oh, what seems to be the problem?"

"Cut the crap, Phoebe. Something's up with those two. They're barely speaking to each other. They're more awkward around each other now than I was on my first date."

"You weren't that awkward, were you, Vince?" She chuckled. He waved it off.

"I could care less what's going on between them. What I do care is their ability to function as professionals. Their ability to put whatever happened between them aside when dealing with a patient."

"Arnold and Helga are both very professional, Vince. It won't get in the way of their ability to treat patients." He smirked.

"I sure hope not. The last thing we need around here is a soap opera." He turned around and marched off. Phoebe sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, Vince was right. They couldn't let whatever happened between them compromise their ability to treat patients as a team. She walked towards the lounge. Inside, Helga was pouring herself some coffee.

"Helga." She looked up at Phoebe.

"Oh, hey, Pheebs. You want some coffee?"

"Sure, that'd be nice." She gave Phoebe a steaming cup and they sat on the sofa.

"So Helga how is everything?"

"Fine." Helga replied nonchalantly. Phoebe gave her a skeptical stare.

"Really, Helga?"

"Yeah, Pheebs, I'm fine. Are you implying that something's wrong? Did I miss a patient?" Phoebe sighed.

"I'm talking about Arnold." Helga looked away.

"What about the football-head?" Her tone turned defensive.

"Ever since that little incident, you two are barely speaking to each other. And when you do, it's extremely awkward and uncomfortable. I'm concerned, Helga."

"You're concerned?"

"Yes."

"As a friend or as the chief of emergency medicine?"

"Both. But as the chief, it's my job to ensure that our staff is performing at peak efficiency. Right now, I'm not sure that we are." Helga sighed.

"So, what do you want me to do?"

"Just try to act normal, like nothing happened." Helga rolled her eyes.

"Great advice, Pheebs."

"Well, that's my advice as a doctor. My advice as a friend is to talk to him. You're confused about what happened, and I'm sure he is too. Talk to him, Helga." She looked at Helga intently.

"It was in the heat of the moment, Pheebs. That's what he'll say, just like what he said after I told him how I felt on top of the FTI building."

"That was a long time ago, Helga. We were only nine. We couldn't tell true love from like-like."

"It doesn't matter, Pheebs. Look, I'll try to act normal around Arnold. I really will."

"And what about talking to him?" Helga sighed.

"We'll see about that." She stood up and rinsed out her mug before placing it on the rack.

"Better start my rounds." She waved to Phoebe before she left. Phoebe sighed.

"Now, who's acting like they're only nine?" She said quietly to herself.

"So who won your game today?" Troy asked as Gerald looked at some files.

"Same as always; tied at 2-2 and just when we're about to play the fifth, we realize that it's time for our shift."

"But you had the momentum going your way, right?" Troy looked at Gerald with a smile.

"Always." They laughed. The dispatch phone rang and Troy went over to answer. He listened quietly and hung up.

"We got a 21 year old boxer knocked out in the ring, unconscious, hemorrhaging, on his way from the gym."

"I thought they wore headgear."

"I thought they didn't punch that hard." The EMT's burst through the double doors, wheeling in a young Hispanic man strapped onto the stretcher. He was unconscious and had been bleeding badly. Phoebe walked over towards the stretcher. She shined her penlight into his eyes.

"His pupils are blown; we need to intubate." Gerald came over and started inserting the tube down his windpipe.

"Let's get a head CT on this kid. Tell the OR to get ready."

"Lidocaine to decrease the ICP."

"I got this, Pheebs. Ok, Sheena, let's move." They wheeled the young man towards the elevator. Phoebe turned around and nearly ran into a short, balding, older Hispanic man.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Please, please, how is my son?"

"We're taking him to get a head CT to see if there was any permanent brain damage. Your son is suffering from an increase in intracranial pressure from the blood that leaked out when his blood vessels were damaged. He may need surgery to relieve the pressure. There's also a chance that he may have permanent brain damage." The man's face sank. His voice quivered as he spoke.

"I wanted to throw in the towel; to stop the fight. He wouldn't listen; stubborn pride; he was losing in the first few rounds; I told him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. He watched Rocky too many times. He just kept getting battered, pounded in there. He told me not to throw the towel under any circumstances; I can't forget how that sounded when that guy's fist hit my son's head. God!" He started crying and held his head in his hands. Phoebe put a hand on his shoulder.

"Why don't we sit down?"

"Hey, Troy. Sorry, I'm late." Arnold walked past the admit desk.

"No worries. How was your game with Johanssen?"

"Well, it was tied 2-2 like it always is and then it's time for us to get ready for the shift?"

"But you had the momentum going your way, right?" Arnold smiled.

"Of course." Troy suppressed a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Troy opened his mouth when the doors burst open and a man in his thirties was strapped onto the stretcher. His hands were shackled with physical restraints. He was breathing quite noisily and rocking his body in almost every direction. His glasses were smashed and his face was bleeding. A police officer walked beside him.

"What happened here?"

"This creep has been prowling around the school looking at the kids. Apparently, he goes behind the girls and starts breathing down their necks. Scares the crap out of them. Well, this one girl, she doesn't take any crap from this guy. She turns around, socks him in the face."

"Hmm, do we really need to take him?"

"Well, just clean his cuts. Then we'll take care of him. Damn perverts running around the school yard." Arnold frowned at the young man. There was something vaguely familiar about him.

"Ok, I'll take it from here, officer. Thanks." He wheeled the young man into exam room 1.

"Nadine, could I get some help here?" She entered the room.

"Let's get an IV of haloperidol. Also, benzodiazepine for sedation. And bandage up his face." She nodded and left. The young man continued to breathe heavily and move awkwardly. Arnold stared at him for a minute and shook his head quickly. There was something strangely familiar about him. He walked quickly out of the room and headed into the bathroom. He splashed some cold water onto his face and exhaled loudly.

"Excuse me? Can we get a doctor here?" A young woman was helping her mother walk.

"What's the problem?" Debbie looked up from the desk.

"My mother's been complaining that her legs feel weak and a bit numb. Her face is also numb and her speech is a bit slurred."

"It sounds like she could be having a stroke. How long has she felt this way?"

"We just caught it."

"Dr. Pataki? Can you take a look at this lady? I think she's showing early stages of a stroke." Helga looked up from her chart and walked over. She smiled kindly at the woman.

"Ok, Debbie, why don't we get a CT to rule out any hemorrhage. Also, let's do a cardiac workup with an ECG and echo, ultrasound, and an EEG. Afterwards, let's get her started on rTPA." The older woman looked concerned.

"Will these tests really help?"

"I think so, ma'am. The rTPA will help dissolve the blood clot in the anterior cerebral artery. I'll check on you in a couple of hours."

"How is he?" Phoebe looked at Gerald intently. He sighed heavily.

"We managed to release the pressure and stop the bleeding." He paused.

"Well, and?"

"He hasn't woken up yet." Phoebe frowned.

"It's been almost 3 hours."

"I know." He sighed again. "It doesn't look good, Pheebs. A few more hours, and we could be looking at a coma."

"His family is waiting outside."

"Do you want me to talk to them?"

"No, I'll do it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Gerald. I'll do it." She walked towards the waiting room. She saw the father holding hands and praying alongside his wife. She sat down beside them and smiled.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Heyerdahl. I was the one who talked to you earlier." He looked up and forced a smile.

"How is he, doctor?" She sighed.

"The surgery was successful. Now we're just waiting for him to wake up.

"So he's going to be all right?" The young man's mother interjected hopefully.

"What we're worried about is that he hasn't woken up yet." Their faces fell.

"What are you saying, doctor?" She steadied herself.

"I'm saying that he could be falling into a coma." The couple was silent. Phoebe continued.

"When you signed the release forms, you were warned that in cases like these, the patient could descend into a coma. We are legally obligated to keep the patient alive unless you sign a form saying you wish for him to be taken off life-support."

"So he is dead?"

"Not exactly, sir. His vital systems are still functioning; it's just that there is no mental activity present."

"So, my son is a vegetable?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Take him off life-support." The mother whirled around, stunned.

"Julio!"

"My son is not a vegetable. I will not let him live like this."

"Julio, please. We can't make these decisions hastily." He turned towards his wife.

"Marina, can't you see that that's not our son anymore? That is just a body that needs a machine to breathe for it; that needs an IV to give it fluids. That is not our Roberto."

"There's always a chance that he would wake up, isn't there?" She looked pleadingly at Phoebe.

"Well, Mrs. Chavez, there is. But there is also a chance that he might not." She held her head in her hands and began crying again. The father spoke up.

"I want to see him. Then we will decide."

"How is he?" Arnold asked Nadine outside exam room 1.

"He just got up. The movements and convulsions have stopped."

"Ok, good. I'm going to talk to him." He opened the door and picked up the young man's chart. He stared at the name on the chart.

"Well, Craig, are you feeling better?" The young man stared at Arnold. He wheezed heavily and nodded his head.

"That's good. You know, Craig, did you have a nickname back in school?" The young man nodded his head. Arnold sat down beside him.

"Brainy, wasn't it?" He nodded again.

"Well, I wish we could have met under better circumstances, but I'm Arnold. Arnold Greene. You remember me, don't you?" The young man smiled slightly and nodded.

"You took quite a punch today. I'm glad you're feeling better now."

"Excuse me." Arnold looked up at the police officer who stuck his head in.

"He's mine now, doctor. If you'll just discharge him, I'll take him and be out of your way."

"Just a minute, officer. I just want to talk with him for a bit. Give me five minutes." The officer nodded his head reluctantly and left. Arnold turned towards him.

"Forgive me for asking, Brainy, but why did you scare that girl?" He wheezed heavily and struggled to answer.

"She wheeze wheeze reminded me of wheeze wheeze Helga." Arnold raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Really? Helga? Why Helga?"

"By wheeze wheeze herself; in wheeze corner, watching somebody, wheeze, never telling, wheeze." Arnold frowned.

"Well, Brainy, I can't say that I understand exactly what you're saying. But, I hope you get better." He stood up to leave, feeling a bit uncomfortable. As he started to leave, Brainy spoke again.

"It wheeze was you. It was always wheeze you." Arnold turned around.

"What does that mean?"

"She only watched wheeze you." Arnold scratched his head in confusion. He didn't understand Brainy at all.

"Ok, Brainy. I hope you feel better." He walked away quickly trying to forget Brainy's cryptic statements while at the same time trying to make sense of them.

"How are you feeling, Mrs. Bliss?" Helga walked into the room holding the chart. The old lady looked up and smiled.

"Better now, thank you." She replied in a tired yet firm voice. Helga sat down beside her bed.

"You were lucky that you came in early. Any later, and it would have been much worse."

"Well, I guess all my years of training weren't a complete waste, then." Helga raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I didn't know you were a doctor."

"I was a psychologist at the medical center for about twenty years and worked at PS 118 for about ten more years after." Helga raised her eyes in shock.

"Dr. Bliss? My god, it's really you." The old lady looked confused.

"I'm sorry, but did we know each other before?" Helga smiled sheepishly.

"Dr. Bliss, it's me, Helga Pataki. Remember, the girl with the one eyebrow? We talked for a while about my problems with a boy I had a crush on." The old lady squinted at her for a while and her eyes eventually beamed with clarity and remembrance.

"Helga Pataki? My goodness, you've grown. I can't believe I didn't recognize you at first."

"Well, it's been a little over twenty years."

"Yes, it has." They were silent for a while.

"So how have you been, Helga?" Helga paused before answering.

"I'm doing as well as I can. My father died recently on my watch."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Helga smiled grimly.

"It's all right. People die sometimes. It's just part of the job."

"Unfortunately." Silence again.

"What ever happened to that boy you liked, Arnold was his name?" Helga gulped.

"Yeah, actually he's an attending right here at Memorial."

"How are things with you two? Have you talked to him?" Helga looked away.

"We're friends, I guess. It's a lot easier for me to talk to him now than it was when I was nine." They chuckled. Dr. Bliss looked at Helga seriously.

"Do you still love him?"

"I don't know. I thought I was over him. It was just a silly childhood crush. I told myself throughout junior high and high school to forget about him, that he was never going to like me that way."

"But you became friends as you grew older?"

"Yeah. I guess it just happened because I just accepted that we'd never be together."

"What about now? Are you both single?"

"He just underwent a pretty bad divorce from his wife. It's kind of funny; she was the girl that he always liked but never liked him back until high school." She shook her head quickly and smiled at Dr. Bliss.

"I'm sorry; I'm burdening you with all this excess baggage. I should let you get some rest."

"No, it's all right. It's almost like an old session. You're not nearly as combative as you used to be." They laughed.

"I guess the terms "doctor" and "patient" are always relative."

"They are, sometimes. You know, Helga, if you ever need to talk, you can always come to me." She smiled.

"Thanks."

Phoebe stood silently behind the couple as they watched their son. The mother was crying and resting her head on her son's chest. He was hooked up with breathing tubes and IV lines. The father stood stoically beside the bed, fighting back tears.

"Roberto, forgive me. I can't bear to see you like this. I watched you grow up; I taught you how to box; this was your ticket out of here. You were going to be a boxer in the Navy. And now, it's all gone. You're gone." His voice began to quiver, but he continued.

"We taught you to live your life to its fullest. But this, this is not living. Your heart is beating; your lungs are breathing, but your mind is not thinking." He took a deep breath.

"We love you, Roberto. We will meet again. I promise." He held his wife tightly and they kissed their son's forehead. He nodded to Phoebe. Phoebe motioned for Sheena to come over and turn off the IV's and the breathing machine. She walked slowly out of the room and ran into Wartz.

"What happened in there?"

"They wanted their son off life-support."

"And you let them?"

"What else am I supposed to do? Patients have the option, Vince."

"We're supposed to keep them alive as long as possible."

"They didn't want that."

"We could get sued. They could twist their story around."

"I doubt it, Vince."

"You should have consulted me, Phoebe." She sighed in frustration.

"So I consult you. Then what, Vince? I get to listen to you lecture the parents on the importance of keeping their son on life support when they don't want to hear it. I get to see you disregard their wishes by refusing to take him off life support and taking all the credit when he wakes up."

"The ends justify the means, Phoebe. You know that." Phoebe paused before answering.

"That may be true, Vince. But the means make us who we are." She turned and walked away quickly, leaving Vince with his thoughts.

"Dr. Pataki?" Helga looked up from her prescription requests.

"Yes, Troy?"

"Your sister called and left a message. They've made all the arrangements for your father's funeral and they want to know if you're ok with everything."

"Thanks, Troy. I'll call her back when my shift is over." At that moment, Arnold walked behind the desk. They looked at each other and smiled half-heartedly.

"Hey."

"Hey." Awkward silence filled the room. Troy felt the tension and quickly walked towards the soda machine.

"Look, Helga, about what happened..."

"No, Arnold, it's ok. I mean, I was acting pretty immature and we should just act normal." Arnold was surprised at her response.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. We're still friends, right?"

"Yeah." She gave him a tired smile. He looked concerned.

"You all-right?"

"Well, Olga just called and said that they made funeral arrangements for my father."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Well, it had to be done."

"Yeah." They stood side by side behind the desk. A calm silence fell between them amidst the noisiness of the room.

"You know, if you need someone to go with you to the service or just anyone to talk to, you can come to me." He looked at her intently. She smiled.

"Always the concerned one, eh?"

"Always."

"Thanks, Arnold."

"My pleasure. Well, I've got a few more patients before I'm off so I better get to it."

"Yeah, football-head. No rest for the weary."

"Ha-ha. I'll talk to you later, Helga." He walked out from behind the desk and towards curtain room 2. She continued filling her charts, stopping occasionally to watch only him.