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adelineTitle: As Every One Else Seems To Think We Are (1/2)
Author: Adeline (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gossy16)
Fandom: Heroes + House, MD
Rating: PG-13
Summary: written forhebrew_hernia who requested the following in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
heroes_gleeweek : After three weeks in a coma with no apparent cause, Nathan has Peter moved to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital under the care of distinguished diagnostician, Dr. Gregory House. Ensuing hilarity optional. I'm afraid I might have dropped the ball on the hilarity, but hopefully, this is still enjoyable for you. :)
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. Obviously.
Notes: This is obviously AU for various reasons, not the least of which is timeline - picking up from both Fallout and Words and Deeds. Further, it should be acknowledged that all I know of medicine, I've learned from TV. And, occasionnally, Wikipedia. I expect there to be atrocious inaccuracies in that area. ;) Lastly, in my haste to get this posted before the new Heroes episode tomorrow (omgYAY! ^_^), I've left this shamefully unbeta'ed. You can all flame me for any grammatical and literary crimes.
Thanks tofrayen for willing this into happening. XD *hugs*
Days away from election day, when the campaign reaches its peak, Nathan's visits at Lenox Hill are turning more and more heads in the halls - certainly far more than proper discretion or privacy allow. He spends his time dodging prying eyes and thinking bitterly of how wrong the timing of this all is. Fucking caustic timing the universe could conjure up.
Peter has only ever wanted to be a nurse; never a doctor. Had he wanted to be a doctor at any point in his life, maybe Nathan would remember some of the lingo, maybe it would mean something to him that Peter's intracranial pressure was well above 50 on good days, maybe he'd even have an amateurish foggy theory of his own regarding the mysterious cause of his encephalopathy. Anything that might help make the smallest figment of sense out of this. But all of his life, God knows why, Peter has always wanted to be a nurse.
The press is beginning to inquire about him, and Nathan has to be convincing with the new lies he tells. Not a word has surfaced about the Odessa stunt; he's made sure. But the questions they ask instead, Nathan has brought them on himself with an earlier speech, a convenient story he had told without prompt, to defuse a scandal threat. This, now, doesn't seem like such a trivial thing.
"My brother is in the hospital," he offers, leaving out any details. Meantime, his mother is drowning herself in gin and tears. "Peter's doing well, better every day," he says, almost automatically, and smiles. "He won't be able to make it here tonight, but we're expecting him back soon. "
The smile really is the kicker: it must be assured, show not the slightest trace of doubt, or fear, or even faked joy, or anything else that would make Nathan Petrelli look weak. And so, what if a small part of it is another slight distortion of truth? Nathan can live with the sour irony in knowing that it would be used against him later, if...
Peter, naïveté and stubbornness thriving in coexistence, thinks he's a hero. Heroes don't perish in stupid, sudden, inexplicable comas. Princeton-Plainsboro, New Jersey, Nathan heard from one of his advisors, holds one of the best diagnosticians in the world (and surely, Nathan would have known this long before, if Peter had, at any point in his life, ever wanted to be a doctor).
When the world doesn't end the day after elections, Nathan makes the calls for Peter's transfer to be arranged immediately, throwing his new weight around for the first time. It doesn't feel as exhilarating as he always anticipated it would, and it takes three more days for his request to be accessed.
"We appreciate the thought. (Smile.) Thank you. I will pass it on, thanks. Thanks. (Don't stop smiling.) Thank you for you concern. Thank you very much. (Don't overdo it.)"
***
As soon as House enters Cuddy's office that morning, before he can even remind her where he met Detective Tritter in the first place, she's pitching a case to him. Except it sounds more like an order, and less like a pitch, but old habits die hard.
"So, the guy's been in a severe coma for almost three weeks, which places the morbidity rate well above the 90%... Do they think I'm some kind of miracle worker or something?"
"Well, you know," Cuddy rolls her eyes for show, "last ditch efforts to save a loved one, I mean, they're obviously pathetic morons, right?"
"Right. They must be, if they fail to comprehend the term 'brain-dead'. What have you been telling them?"
"I told them you're the best we have - which was exactly the reason why they requested you - and you would see the patient as soon as you were available. Which you are now."
"Oh, is this a rerun of those old 'Let's Teach House Some Humility' episodes? 'Cause I've seen them all - they weren't that good to begin with." When Cuddy only glares, House heaves a dramatic sigh, halfway resigned. "This is hopeless. Even for me."
"I'm sure your ego can take it."
"I knew it," he eyes her mock-suspiciously. "Petrelli... Big donator's offspring? Murder Inc. protégé?"
"Uh, not all of us have ties with the mafia; and no, not yet."
"Yet? You are selling this poor man's rich family false hope?" House takes the file from Cuddy's hands. "So it's true, what they say. Your evil knows no bounds."
She puts on her best laconic expression, "Also, his EEGs have shown no recess in activity whatsoever, and intermittent increases in beta, theta and gamma rhythms. Hey, maybe Foreman can get a new ar--"
House is out of the room before she can finish that thought.
***
The new doctors ask him to give Pete's medical history again, and is he sure he's not forgetting anything, anything at all that might have seemed insignificant, and Nathan purses his lips to not snap at the condescendence in their questions. He goes through all the main points again: depression running on their father's side, Peter's broken arm when he was 8, the bad bout of influenza when he was 15. It's really all he thinks could be of relevance to say.
Dr. Foreman tells him his brother's GCS score is 5, so there's not much they can do but wait. Nathan doesn't know what that means. No one bothers to really explain, but they tell him to prepare for the sadder outcome, and Nathan exhales a dejected puff at that, and pinches the bridge of his nose again when they exit, maybe a little harder than he usually does, and God, he just wishes Heidi were here. "I've been preparing for so long," he mutters to no one.
"Interesting, that," a gruff voice provides, and Nathan jumps a little. He didn't hear the glass door slide open. "Now, why is it, Congressman?"
He turns to face the crippled, tactless diagnostics specialist useless to diagnose (to cure) Peter, and effortlessly makes up detailed stories of rock climbing, free skiing, snorkeling and other thrill-seeking adventures with a lot of active verbs in them.
House breaks eye contact briefly and interrupts the monologue, supplying new possible fictitious memories. "Ooh, what about sky-diving? Bungee jumping? None of that?"
It's impossible to glare down a man who plays dumb so well, Nathan finds out, so he ends up asking what it is the doctor wants to know.
"I realize hiding embarrassing truths is a wise career move in what you do; but, I assure you, it plays a very counteractive role in how lives are saved. If you didn't care whether your brother lives or dies, you wouldn't be here."
***
Wilson is mildly surprised, come the early afternoon, not to have heard from House about lunch. Down in the cafeteria, he's completely stunned that his friend hasn't said one demeaning thing to anybody since they left his office. When House doesn't so much as blink when he piles up a few extra bags of chips on his tray, Wilson is vastly bewildered. "House," he starts hesitantly, "is anything wrong?"
Then House pays for both of their lunches, and Wilson knows there definitely must be. "Say your brother was found," House starts after they sit down, "in a severe coma. Glasgow under 8. How much would you give to get him his motor ability back? Or would you value the verbal more? Tell me."
Wilson, appalled as he is at the prospect, endeavors to place the hypothesis in context. "New York congressman's brother?"
House nods absently. "Cuddy's after their money."
"And?"
"And I can't," He keeps his voice low. "I don't know what's wrong with him. I've got nothing."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean, no herniation, no stem brain damage, no virus, no nothing." He pauses. "No tumor, either."
Wilson frowns in interest and quite helplessly shrugs. "Abnormal posture?"
"Decorticate, nothing the increased ICP can't explain. It's a perfect, perfectly healthy, perfectly active brain. Except for the symptoms."
"You've tried everything?"
"All the usual, and then some, but no biopsy - try to shave his hair, brain explodes."
"And no outstanding lie can account for any of this?" Wilson is again incredulous. "Really?"
***
Nathan is joined on the roof by his wife in the evening. He needed a breather from the bleakness, the room, the smell that he still hasn't been able to get used to. Wordlessly, she wheels over to where he stands and slides her hand in his. He asks about the kids and smiles, and she asks about Peter. Nathan's grip relaxes and tightens around her hand, but his eyes turn back to the horizon line. "It's not the first time, you know. That he jumps."
"He," Heidi isn't sure how to respond. "He jumped?"
"In Odessa, at the school" Nathan explains, though even he doesn't quite understand. "From five stories high. It's what the police report says." A moment passes where he scoffs half-heartedly, and lets go of her hand. "Sounds crazy, doesn't it? He doesn't have a scratch to show for it." He lowers his head, almost bashful, and starts pacing slowly. "Last time was in Manhattan a couple weeks ago. You remember, of course."
"He didn't fall," the question dies with realization.
Nathan shakes his head, and looks up again. "He jumped from a rooftop. Higher than this. He called me before, he said, 'hey, look what I can do'. And then he jumped." The memory of Peter's confidence fleets a smile across his lips.
"Because he thinks he can fly," Heidi offers softly, pieces of her own mind getting jumbled into their approximate places, and if she wants to cry remembering the accident, she hides it well, grips the handles of her chair just a little more tightly. "Doesn't he?"
"Yeah," Nathan confirms, stepping onto the ledge of the roof himself. "Maybe still does." Then he takes a step in, toward her, off the ledge and the oddest of natural things happens: gravity doesn't reclaim him. He's hovering two feet over where he should be standing, and if he remembers Peter's pure childlike joy at doing the same thing, he doesn't let it invade him, stares down at the terrace just a little more longingly.
"I don't know how this happens, or why," Nathan says. "I never wanted it."
He hasn't touched down yet when Dr. Chase walks in on the scene, seeking his approval for more high-risk, low-success-rate treatment approaches.
(Continued in Part 2.)
Author: Adeline (
gossy16)Fandom: Heroes + House, MD
Rating: PG-13
Summary: written for
hebrew_hernia who requested the following in heroes_gleeweek : After three weeks in a coma with no apparent cause, Nathan has Peter moved to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital under the care of distinguished diagnostician, Dr. Gregory House. Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. Obviously.
Notes: This is obviously AU for various reasons, not the least of which is timeline - picking up from both Fallout and Words and Deeds. Further, it should be acknowledged that all I know of medicine, I've learned from TV. And, occasionnally, Wikipedia. I expect there to be atrocious inaccuracies in that area. ;) Lastly, in my haste to get this posted before the new Heroes episode tomorrow (omgYAY! ^_^), I've left this shamefully unbeta'ed. You can all flame me for any grammatical and literary crimes.
Thanks to
frayen for willing this into happening. XD *hugs*Days away from election day, when the campaign reaches its peak, Nathan's visits at Lenox Hill are turning more and more heads in the halls - certainly far more than proper discretion or privacy allow. He spends his time dodging prying eyes and thinking bitterly of how wrong the timing of this all is. Fucking caustic timing the universe could conjure up.
Peter has only ever wanted to be a nurse; never a doctor. Had he wanted to be a doctor at any point in his life, maybe Nathan would remember some of the lingo, maybe it would mean something to him that Peter's intracranial pressure was well above 50 on good days, maybe he'd even have an amateurish foggy theory of his own regarding the mysterious cause of his encephalopathy. Anything that might help make the smallest figment of sense out of this. But all of his life, God knows why, Peter has always wanted to be a nurse.
The press is beginning to inquire about him, and Nathan has to be convincing with the new lies he tells. Not a word has surfaced about the Odessa stunt; he's made sure. But the questions they ask instead, Nathan has brought them on himself with an earlier speech, a convenient story he had told without prompt, to defuse a scandal threat. This, now, doesn't seem like such a trivial thing.
"My brother is in the hospital," he offers, leaving out any details. Meantime, his mother is drowning herself in gin and tears. "Peter's doing well, better every day," he says, almost automatically, and smiles. "He won't be able to make it here tonight, but we're expecting him back soon. "
The smile really is the kicker: it must be assured, show not the slightest trace of doubt, or fear, or even faked joy, or anything else that would make Nathan Petrelli look weak. And so, what if a small part of it is another slight distortion of truth? Nathan can live with the sour irony in knowing that it would be used against him later, if...
Peter, naïveté and stubbornness thriving in coexistence, thinks he's a hero. Heroes don't perish in stupid, sudden, inexplicable comas. Princeton-Plainsboro, New Jersey, Nathan heard from one of his advisors, holds one of the best diagnosticians in the world (and surely, Nathan would have known this long before, if Peter had, at any point in his life, ever wanted to be a doctor).
When the world doesn't end the day after elections, Nathan makes the calls for Peter's transfer to be arranged immediately, throwing his new weight around for the first time. It doesn't feel as exhilarating as he always anticipated it would, and it takes three more days for his request to be accessed.
"We appreciate the thought. (Smile.) Thank you. I will pass it on, thanks. Thanks. (Don't stop smiling.) Thank you for you concern. Thank you very much. (Don't overdo it.)"
***
As soon as House enters Cuddy's office that morning, before he can even remind her where he met Detective Tritter in the first place, she's pitching a case to him. Except it sounds more like an order, and less like a pitch, but old habits die hard.
"So, the guy's been in a severe coma for almost three weeks, which places the morbidity rate well above the 90%... Do they think I'm some kind of miracle worker or something?"
"Well, you know," Cuddy rolls her eyes for show, "last ditch efforts to save a loved one, I mean, they're obviously pathetic morons, right?"
"Right. They must be, if they fail to comprehend the term 'brain-dead'. What have you been telling them?"
"I told them you're the best we have - which was exactly the reason why they requested you - and you would see the patient as soon as you were available. Which you are now."
"Oh, is this a rerun of those old 'Let's Teach House Some Humility' episodes? 'Cause I've seen them all - they weren't that good to begin with." When Cuddy only glares, House heaves a dramatic sigh, halfway resigned. "This is hopeless. Even for me."
"I'm sure your ego can take it."
"I knew it," he eyes her mock-suspiciously. "Petrelli... Big donator's offspring? Murder Inc. protégé?"
"Uh, not all of us have ties with the mafia; and no, not yet."
"Yet? You are selling this poor man's rich family false hope?" House takes the file from Cuddy's hands. "So it's true, what they say. Your evil knows no bounds."
She puts on her best laconic expression, "Also, his EEGs have shown no recess in activity whatsoever, and intermittent increases in beta, theta and gamma rhythms. Hey, maybe Foreman can get a new ar--"
House is out of the room before she can finish that thought.
***
The new doctors ask him to give Pete's medical history again, and is he sure he's not forgetting anything, anything at all that might have seemed insignificant, and Nathan purses his lips to not snap at the condescendence in their questions. He goes through all the main points again: depression running on their father's side, Peter's broken arm when he was 8, the bad bout of influenza when he was 15. It's really all he thinks could be of relevance to say.
Dr. Foreman tells him his brother's GCS score is 5, so there's not much they can do but wait. Nathan doesn't know what that means. No one bothers to really explain, but they tell him to prepare for the sadder outcome, and Nathan exhales a dejected puff at that, and pinches the bridge of his nose again when they exit, maybe a little harder than he usually does, and God, he just wishes Heidi were here. "I've been preparing for so long," he mutters to no one.
"Interesting, that," a gruff voice provides, and Nathan jumps a little. He didn't hear the glass door slide open. "Now, why is it, Congressman?"
He turns to face the crippled, tactless diagnostics specialist useless to diagnose (to cure) Peter, and effortlessly makes up detailed stories of rock climbing, free skiing, snorkeling and other thrill-seeking adventures with a lot of active verbs in them.
House breaks eye contact briefly and interrupts the monologue, supplying new possible fictitious memories. "Ooh, what about sky-diving? Bungee jumping? None of that?"
It's impossible to glare down a man who plays dumb so well, Nathan finds out, so he ends up asking what it is the doctor wants to know.
"I realize hiding embarrassing truths is a wise career move in what you do; but, I assure you, it plays a very counteractive role in how lives are saved. If you didn't care whether your brother lives or dies, you wouldn't be here."
***
Wilson is mildly surprised, come the early afternoon, not to have heard from House about lunch. Down in the cafeteria, he's completely stunned that his friend hasn't said one demeaning thing to anybody since they left his office. When House doesn't so much as blink when he piles up a few extra bags of chips on his tray, Wilson is vastly bewildered. "House," he starts hesitantly, "is anything wrong?"
Then House pays for both of their lunches, and Wilson knows there definitely must be. "Say your brother was found," House starts after they sit down, "in a severe coma. Glasgow under 8. How much would you give to get him his motor ability back? Or would you value the verbal more? Tell me."
Wilson, appalled as he is at the prospect, endeavors to place the hypothesis in context. "New York congressman's brother?"
House nods absently. "Cuddy's after their money."
"And?"
"And I can't," He keeps his voice low. "I don't know what's wrong with him. I've got nothing."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean, no herniation, no stem brain damage, no virus, no nothing." He pauses. "No tumor, either."
Wilson frowns in interest and quite helplessly shrugs. "Abnormal posture?"
"Decorticate, nothing the increased ICP can't explain. It's a perfect, perfectly healthy, perfectly active brain. Except for the symptoms."
"You've tried everything?"
"All the usual, and then some, but no biopsy - try to shave his hair, brain explodes."
"And no outstanding lie can account for any of this?" Wilson is again incredulous. "Really?"
***
Nathan is joined on the roof by his wife in the evening. He needed a breather from the bleakness, the room, the smell that he still hasn't been able to get used to. Wordlessly, she wheels over to where he stands and slides her hand in his. He asks about the kids and smiles, and she asks about Peter. Nathan's grip relaxes and tightens around her hand, but his eyes turn back to the horizon line. "It's not the first time, you know. That he jumps."
"He," Heidi isn't sure how to respond. "He jumped?"
"In Odessa, at the school" Nathan explains, though even he doesn't quite understand. "From five stories high. It's what the police report says." A moment passes where he scoffs half-heartedly, and lets go of her hand. "Sounds crazy, doesn't it? He doesn't have a scratch to show for it." He lowers his head, almost bashful, and starts pacing slowly. "Last time was in Manhattan a couple weeks ago. You remember, of course."
"He didn't fall," the question dies with realization.
Nathan shakes his head, and looks up again. "He jumped from a rooftop. Higher than this. He called me before, he said, 'hey, look what I can do'. And then he jumped." The memory of Peter's confidence fleets a smile across his lips.
"Because he thinks he can fly," Heidi offers softly, pieces of her own mind getting jumbled into their approximate places, and if she wants to cry remembering the accident, she hides it well, grips the handles of her chair just a little more tightly. "Doesn't he?"
"Yeah," Nathan confirms, stepping onto the ledge of the roof himself. "Maybe still does." Then he takes a step in, toward her, off the ledge and the oddest of natural things happens: gravity doesn't reclaim him. He's hovering two feet over where he should be standing, and if he remembers Peter's pure childlike joy at doing the same thing, he doesn't let it invade him, stares down at the terrace just a little more longingly.
"I don't know how this happens, or why," Nathan says. "I never wanted it."
He hasn't touched down yet when Dr. Chase walks in on the scene, seeking his approval for more high-risk, low-success-rate treatment approaches.
(Continued in Part 2.)
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Re: So, tell me more...
Date: 2007-01-23 12:11 pm (UTC)