Bullet With Butterfly Wings [Thom/Holmes]

[Waddle]

Oh, how long had since he had slept? The question plagued Owen, because the answer was not that long ago. He'd gotten to sleep at a decent hour, woken up at a decent time, and had had a small nap in the break room since then. So why did he feel simply exhausted? He decided that it was the coffee. Glancing down at the empty cup he had clutched in his left hand, he released his grip slowly and wiped his hands uneasily on his khakis before looking back at the paper on the table before him. A patient's records. A mysterious set of symptoms with no connection whatsoever. People watch this kind of stuff on TV... This shouldn't happen to people in real life, especially not a sixteen-year-old girl who's all her da has. The patient was, indeed, a sixteen-year-old, with a father who had, in a panic, explained to Owen about how she was all he had. These thing could-- no, will-- kill her, and there ain't a thing that fits these damn symptoms!

He ran a hand back through his hair, sighed, stood up and left the break room, leaving the cup on the table but taking the patient chart with him. He wandered over to Martha, who attended the front desk. Setting the chart down, he sighed again. "Can't make heads or tails of it," he mumbled briefly to her. "Girl's gonna die if we don't help her soon."

Martha looked up at him, her eyes wide. "You never give up..." She leaned closer to him and whispered quietly, hardly loud enough for him to hear. "Owen.. You don't look so well." He shook his head. "Just tired, 's all." He refused to meet her eyes, instead staring at the chart. He felt like an utter failure. Not the funny kind of failure, either. Not the kind where you would shout 'FAIL!' and everyone would forget about it in a couple days. It's all different when a person's life's at stake. He gave Martha a small wave and turned to leave.

He managed only a couple paces before she shouted after him. "Doctor Robins!" She always called him Doctor Robins when other people were around, just like he called her Nurse Jones. Just between the two of them, it was Owen and Martha. "You forgot Mr. Jenkins's chart." She waved the chart in the air. Owen turned on his heel and strode back to the counter. "Oh, right, thanks." He tripped on his own two feet on his way there and grabbed the countertop to steady himself, laughing. His laugh was dry and cracked, though he didn't realize it. He cleared his throat and took the chart. His hand brushed Martha's ever so slightly. She gasped.

"Owen..." She grabbed his hand and stared down at it, then up at him. "Owen, you're hot!" He laughed again, this time, sounding more normal. "Oh, well, thank you, nurse, but isn't that a little unprofessional?" People had already stopped to stare. Martha stammered a reply. "N-n-no! I mean, you..." She put her other hand to his forehead. "You're temperature's off the charts. Why didn't you tell anybody?!"


Owen put a hand of his own to his forehead. No wonder he'd been feeling bad all day... "I-- I never noticed..." And then, just like some sort of movie, his legs suddenly turned to jelly and he slumped to the ground, twacking his head hard against the corner of the counter, and everything went black.

Martha, on the other hand, starting shouting her head off. "QUICK! Someone, get over here! Call Holmes! I don't care if he's on break, get him here, NOW!!" Martha didn't do well under pressure. She felt somewhat faint herself. The feeling multiplied as she glanced at Owen and saw him convulsing on the ground. Another doctor ran over and knelt down beside the Aussie, turning him on his side. He took out a flashlight and opened Owen's eyelid, shining the light into it and taking note of the reaction. Martha was pushed aside by a nurse, and she fell gratefully into the chair she had been occupying earlier. What was going on? Well, obviously, Owen was sick. But a sick person didn't faint and start having a siezure in the middle of the workday. They coughed, stayed at home. Now people really were staring at them.

Owen must be pranking us... But no. She glanced at him, and knew in the pit of her stomach that he was not playing around. He wouldn't joke about this. Would he? They had him on a stretcher now. He had stopped shuddering. His breathing was shallow and harsh-- painful-looking. Martha could only stare after him as they wheeled him away to a room. Confused and shocked, Martha stumbled to her feet and rushed to help disperse the crowd that had gathered.

[Augustus is a SWOObat]

Holmes stuck more toilet paper in the sink and turned the water on. He watched the paper get wet, and slide down the stuffed pipe. The water rose, and along with it the corners of Robyn Holmes' lips. He left the water on, and walked past the row of flooding sinks, content with the chaos. He had made it his job to make the lives of others miserable. Ever since Thomas Harper stepped into his life for that brief moment, but that brief moment had messed up his entire life so horribly, it could never be fixed. All the puzzle pieces were there, except for one. Thomas Harper had taken that one, and had ripped it to shreds. Holmes would do anything to get that puzzle piece back.

In truth, Robyn had always been caustic and bitter, but he had had redeemable qualities. Now he was just twisted, hollow shell of a man, the only reason he still breathed was so as not to insult the memory of his son like his wife had. He shoved the door open in his normally rude way. Not bothering to see if he had hurt someone, he walked quickly through the hallway in a vain attempt to avoid work and everyone else.

"Sir! Doctor Holmes, sir! Sir!"

Robyn cursed under his breath. He turned around sharply, obviously irritated "What?!" The teenage volunteer nurse stopped dead in her tracks, tears already welling up in her big, innocent eyes. If Holmes was still a little human inside, he would care. "Well?? Get on with it!" The nurse shook as she talked, frightened and feeling small. "D-Doctor Robins is seizuring.." Something resembling emotion stirred in Robyn Owen Holmes at that moment. Panic only a parent could know blossomed, and he strode down the corridors with a new found sense of urgency. No longer was he walking to get out work, or to avoid people, or for his own selfish desire. This wasn't about him anymore. Nostalgia hit there, hard.

His pager had beep several times. He was young, just starting out as a doctor. In fact, it wasn't even his shift. He wasn't here as a doctor, but as a soon to be father. The hospital was understaffed at the moment, and had asked him to fill in, only for an hour or two. Robyn had so badly wanted to be there for his wife, but money was tight with the kid coming, and he needed all the extra hours he could get. His pager beeped one last time. He checked it and immediately knew what it meant. Robyn missed his child's birth. Panic for his wife, panic that the child wouldn't love him like it was suppose to, panic he'd never get to see it all exploded from wherever people feel from. His long legs began to work, taking long strides down the corridor. All his irrational anxieties began to creep into his imagination, amplifying them by ten. He began to run, ripping off his coat and dropping his beeping pager. The moment he saw his son, his first and only, all his fears disappeared, but caused knew ones to take their place. What if he wasn't a good father? What if his kid grew up bad? What if he couldn't provide for his wife and child? A smile from his wife assured him that it'd all be okay. Oliver, as his son would be called, changed his life, and made it bigger. Robyn Owen Holmes was no longer just one person. He felt what Olly did.

Holmes blinked away the memory, and walked faster. He got there and shouted at the stretcher men to move. Those two were awkward and clumsy. The hospital couldn't afford to fire them though. He picked up Owen in his own arms, ignoring the crying nurses and such, and moved him to a room he knew to be empty. Holmes started patting Owen's cheek, "Owen, wake up. Don't go to sleep." He couldn't do much else until a nurse showed up with the proper medication. Holmes tried to remain calm. If Owen didn't wake up, he would have lost his son for the third time. He couldn't handle that. Holmes had lost so much already.

[Waddle]

Behind Owen's eyelids, his eyes flicked back and forth, taking in the extremely confusing scene before him. A huge mutant penguin stared down at him, eyes glowing green. What should have been white on its stomach was the same sickly tint of green as its eyes. Owen's neck was getting sore from craning back to meet those eyes. I will not lose. I will not blink. After a minute, the penguin dropped its gaze and flopped belly-down on the ground. The impact shook the earth, shattering the glass they had been standing on. Owen and the penguin were sent falling into darkness. Normally, this might have frightened him, but, for some strange reason, it didn't. He couldn't feel the normal signs one would when falling: no stomach lurches, no pounding heart, no panicked thoughts of smashing into the ground and splattering like an over-ripe fruit.

He stirred as he started to feel something he didn't like. Pain. His head was splitting with it. He couldn't feel his feet or hands. Wincing, he opened one eye and was momentarily blinded by bright light. His watery eyes adjusted, and he made out the face of someone he knew. A smile touched his parched lips. "Holmes..." Then he realized something. Holmes was right in his face. Jerking into full awareness, Owen let loose a startled yelp and pulled himself away from his boss. "DAMMIT, MAN!" Owen tottered on the edge of the bed and snatched at Holmes's arm to steady himself. All the blood rushed to his head, and lights flashed before his eyes. Panting, he stilled himself, wishing his migraine would go away. He moaned. "Wha' happened, Holmes?"

But he didn't give him enough time to reply before he started saying his thoughts aloud. "Last thing... Martha handed me the chart... Told me I was hot." He smiled very stupidly. "But then she said I was hot to the touch. Then... the counter." His hand reached up to his forehead. He didn't doubt that it was black and blue from its meeting with the edge of the counter. "Then nothing..." He was pretty sure that he was lucky that he didn't remember that had gone on during that time of nothing. "This'll be great reputation for the clinic..." He chuckled dryly, then coughed. The smile disappeared and he stared at Holmes, eyes squinted somewhat.

[Augustus is a SWOObat]

Robyn leaned in closer, and noticed the bulge of Owen's corneas moving rapidly back and forth under their lids. It was known as R.E.M. It was the state that dreams occurred. A little smile curled onto his face when Owen said his name. It felt as if an ocean of relief crashed down on him at that moment. Owen was awake. Holmes tried to show nothing, and because of years of practice, he successfully hid all traces of unwanted emotions behind an angry scowl. "No need to shout." Holmes started running through the motions as Owen chattered, checking Owen's pulse, the dilation of his eyes, etc. None of it seemed out of the ordinary, except for Owen's temperature.

Holmes looked up to see that dumb smile of Robin's. He wanted to smack it off.. but in truth, he wanted to hug Owen tightly. That smile meant he was okay, and that meant the world to Holmes, though he'd never admit it. He wanted to do more to ensure his safety, but the nurse had yet to come with the IV and other equipment. What was taking her so long? Robyn pulled up Owen's eyelid, and flashed a light right in his eye. Those green eyes and hazel rings brought back more memories. With mixed emotions, Holmes both welcomed them and repulsed them.

Holmes got to hold his son. He didn't know how something so small could make him happy. Oliver didn't have to do anything. All he did was sit in Robyn's arms, breathing quiet and steady. Holmes walked jauntily around the room, making soothing noises to the baby. His wife looked on tired, but satisfied. Oliver had his nose, but his mother's long eyelashes. It made him happy to see the resemblances between them. It made him feel more connected with his new born son. Oliver let out a bubbly giggle, and opened one eye to peer at his father with curiosity. His green eyes had always been a mystery to Holmes, seeing as both his and his wife's eyes were brown. The eyes of his son faded, and were replaced with Owen's identical ones. It made Holmes long for his real son, because deep down, he knew Owen was no Oliver.

Martha had panicked the second Owen hit the floor. She panicked when the clumsy stretch boys attempted to lift him, and panicked when they dropped him. She panicked when mean Doctor Holmes picked up very sick Owen in his arms and carried him away to God knows where. It was a surprise she hadn't fainted. In a moment of clarity, she thought to call someone. Martha pulled up Owen's employee file, and under the "Contact in case of emergency" section, only two names were listed. The first was a simple "Mo. His full name is murder, so don't even ask." and a phone number, and street address. The second had even less information. "Thommy Boy!" and the same phone number as "Mo", though the address wasn't listed. The blank for "Relation?" was left just that, blank. Martha assumed Thommy Boy and Mo lived together, seeing as their phone number was the same. Her fingers shook as she pressed the buttons, dialing it wrong several times and being forced to try again. Finally, she got it right.

The phone rang, and Thomas made a bee-line for it. Thom loved answering the phone, still be fascinated by how it worked.

"Hello! My name's Thomas. T-H-O-M-A-S. This is me telephone. You're callin' it." Mo never liked it when Thomas answered the phone, seeing as Thomas had the tendency to reveal personal information. He looked behind his shoulder to make sure Mo wasn't in the room. Momo would take the phone away from him, like he always did.

"OWEN'S REALLY SICK." In Martha's head, she had had everything planned, but nerves made everything go wrong. She said it blunt, tactless, and panicked, instead of smooth and calm like she intended.

Thom's usual smile flickered before dying completely. He knew that sick didn't mean dead, but the way she said it made Thom think other wise. "..What?" But Thom didn't wait for whoever to reply. He dropped the phone, and ran to Mo's room. It was Momo's day off, and he was sleeping in. Thomas shook him awake. "Moeteski! The hospital called, and Owen's really sick! Wake up, Wake up, Wake up..!"

Martha heard a bang as the phone hit the floor, and still in her moment of clarity, didn't waste time with vain "Hello?"s. Instead, she moved swiftly and gathered up the necessities before heading off after Holmes. As soon as she entered the door, all her courage and resolve dissipated. She stood as nothing more than a weak-kneed nurse. Her head got light, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Martha hit the floor with a small thud, all the equipment came down with her. Holmes just rolled his eyes, and picked up the IV. He didn't wait for Owen to brace himself, nor did he warn him. He just slipped them as gently as possible into their correct place. Holmes hadn't said much, too afraid his voice would falter and ruin his poker face.

[Waddle]

Mo jumped out of his skin as Thomas shouted at him. "Owwie?! Sick? How?!" Either way, he leaped to his feet and began to hurriedly pull on his shirt. He'd made a habit of sleeping in at least his jeans. Caution and, honestly, some fear caused him to such actions. Tugging on a pair of shoes, without lacing them up, he turned back to Thomas. "C'mon. The clinic, I'm assuming?" He didn't wait for the answer before pulling the door open and hurrying out. Noting the phone lying on the floor, he snatched it up and put it back on the receiver before spotting his wallet on the counter - How the bloody hell did that get there? - and tucked it into his pocket before rushing out the door.

Owen smiled at Martha, but knew she was going to pass out. She wasn't a good nurse. She'd passed out once before whilst catching a glimpse of a surgery on a patient. She was decent with a needle and normal, if lower-level, nurse jobs, but she was stressed. When her face went pale, Owen half moved off the bed, but stopped. Holes would only berate him. So, with a guilty conscience, Owen watched the nurse hit the ground. You pass out right in front of her eyes. She passed out in front of yours. So now we're even. The needle suddenly digging into his skin caused him to start, dragging his eyes from the unconscious woman. "You could be a little more graceful..." he informed the doctor. "I mean, come on, you trying to bust a vein?" The ridiculous smile returned, this time, etched with weariness. He could feel it dragging under his eyes, and if his eyes were closed for more than a blink, they burned. "That'd be even worse reputation for this place. The chief of medicine killing the resident. With a needle." For some reason, the thought didn't seem humorous. He went silent for a few seconds, then continued his almost non-stop torrent of words. "What's wrong with me?"

He had to know. He was terrified of what it could be. Memories of his own father, sick and dying, came back to him. He didn't want to end up like his father. But Da had malaria... And that's only catchable from mosquitoes in tropical regions. Scanning his recent memories, he focused on the flight to Canada from Australia. One stop. One hour. One island in the Philippines. Butuan. A possibility. He let himself fall back onto the hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

The thing with fear was that it made you believe the worst, even if you tried to ignore it. Fear was causing him to believe that he had gotten malaria, already, even though his sensible side desperately tried to fight his reasoning. No. I'm just... tired. From working so hard. And the coffee... that cannot be good for me.

Mo strode into the clinic, and his first sight was the janitor leaning on his mop, watching him and Thomas. But Mo didn't spare him any more than a glance. He went straight to the desk and cleared his throat to gain the attention of the nurse sitting there. "Excuse me, yeah, um, we got a call from a nurse here. She said that our friend Owen Robins is sick." He was a little pale with worry, but his voice was composed and calm. Best to stay calm. If you're the calm one, you can see everything goin' on. Excitement clouds the thoughts.

[Augustus is a SWOObat]

Holmes couldn't find the strength to speak. He couldn't answer Owen, because he honestly didn't know. He wanted to believe that there was nothing wrong. No father wants to admit there was something wrong with their child.. even if Owen wasn't really his kid. "I don't know.. not yet." He couldn't say another word, not even if he wanted to. His hands started to shake, and he couldn't look Owen in the eyes. Holmes did his best to be more gentle, but he wasn't exactly known for being delicate. His shaking fingers didn't help.

Thomas had never had much that meant a lot to him. His mother was nothing. He had never known which man was his father, but it was highly likely he had met him before. Every man Thom had ever met probably slept with his mother at one point. Ireland hadn't had anything special for him. Thomas became a little more human inside after leaving, but before that.. he was a horrible kid.

Paulbert.. or maybe it was Jimothy; It was a weird name. Thomas couldn't remember, but it wasn't like he was trying very hard. Pauly stood there, hand on his hips, rocking on his heels. He was good-looking, tall too. He kept clean, tucked in his shirt, wore a nice belt, had his hair swept to the side. His mother was probably going through a phase. She was in no way picky, but never had she gone for someone so.. Ken doll. He looked so foreign, too clean, in Thomas' dirty, broken-down house. Thomas was just a scawny kid who had yet to grow into his feet. Pauly was just waiting for Catyln to finish getting ready. This was just an awkward meeting between a boy and his mother's newest goal. Thomas picked up a big box filled to the top with foil, keys, bottle caps and the like. He had to go hide them, under the ground, in the trunk of a tree; it made no difference. "Let me give you a hand there, son."

"Don't touch me!" His shout mixed with the grating sound of metal hitting the floor. Thomas pulled back, disgust apparent. He pulled his turtleneck up a little higher. "Why touch me when you can screw me mother as much as you want? Unless you like little boys." Thomas sneered. "Sorry to say it wouldn't be much of o' surprise. Men like you can't hardly be called men 't all." Pauly, or maybe it was Jimmy, didn't take to kindly to this. He was a man from the states, only passing through Ireland. Men from the states always had the biggest egos and never took accusations of this kind well, but he was trying to keep his calm. After all, he wouldn't want to mess up his evening all because of a tramp's son. But Thomas wasn't going to let him go, "Oh. I see. You like men with a little more meat on 'em, huh? I'm not cuttin' it for you? You want a man with muscle, who'll make you feel safe and hold you ti-" A vein on Pauly's forehead became more obvious with every word, his fist clenched, and in only a matter of seconds would he pull back and let Thomas have it. A sick excited smile slid across Thom's face, but that wasn't what made him stop. His mothers voice broke through the tension, and Thom's smile quickly turned to a wide-eyed frown of despair. He had been so close. Only a few more pushes before he ruined another night, another relationship for his mother and all her piggish men. "Thomas! Don't. talk. to. him. like. that." Catyln's teeth were clenched, and she looked as if she were going to do what Paulbert wanted to, but no. She thought of something that'd be far worse. The whore of Ireland turned to the man whose name she wasn't even sure about herself. "I'm sorry about my.. son." She took precautions not to spit the word out, though she couldn't hide how much she really liked him. Something didn't sit right with Paul, and he honestly planned on cutting the date short right there and then, but the way Catyln's finger ran up and down his chest quickly made him forget. Thom's mother sent him a glance before she kissed Paul's mouth, slowly trailing down his neck. "Come on, Honey. Let's go." She whispered, still kissing his neck. Paul, of couse, had no objections, and let himself be led around like a dumb dog. Catyln stopped right in front of her son, a cold dead expression plastered over her face. "No one loves you." And she pulled her boy-toy out of the door, all giggles and smiles now. Thomas just stared after her, his eyebrows pulled down angrily. As soon as the door closed, he knocked over chairs, set all the dust into the air, broke things, kicked all his shinies, smashed his box flat. "Like you know what love is, you whore! If that's love than i don't want it!" He howled at the shut door, not caring if she couldn't hear.

Thomas had been following after Moeteski without really seeing anything. He stared at his feet, too pre-occupied with his memories. That had been so long ago, or at least it felt like it. At that moment, he really didn't want to love, anyone or anything. He had found littly Olly, but that had ended badly. It just strengthened his conviction that love wasn't worth feeling. It was too big of a hassle. Mo and Mo's family shook his conviction, giving him a taste of a real family. Owen broke down the conviction completely. His memory left him in a morose mood, and the thought of losing Owen was a little too much. When had they reached the clinic? Thomas finally took his eyes off his feet, but one look at Owen in a hospital bed made him cry. He clung to Mo, not caring if he was touching anything. Thom's legs were too weak to go over to Owen, but a little bit of him didn't want to. What if he got closer and saw really just how sick he was? He could look fine from a distance, but what if Thomas got closer and saw just how pale and paper like his skin looked, or how dull his eyes were? Thomas took a little step back, just to get a little farther away from Owen. He was so occupied with worry for Owen, he didn't notice a ghost from his past sitting right next to his sickly friend.

Holmes didn't want to share Owen. He had just gotten the IV in, and didn't have anymore excuses to keep them out... but that wasn't going to stop him."Get out!" He shut his eyes, and kept his head facing the floor. Only family was allowed in here, and to Holmes, he was the only family Owen had. He pinched the bridge of his nose and mentally willed them to not say a word and just obey. But that wasn't likely.

[[It's long.. but most of it is completely unrelated to anything. Sorry, Hattypus. >> I got sidetracked.. and i just couldn't delete it. Hopefully there's enough related stuff for you. *stares at mess of a post* ..I'm not entirely sure it's a post. D:]]

[Waddle]

No matter how hard he tried to find the words to comfort his boss, he just couldn't. It was mainly the way that Holmes actually seemed to be choked up that threw Owen off. Holmes was a cold-hearted bastard, and this new side of him was going to take some getting used to. The man's hands were trembling. He wouldn't meet Owen's eyes. Did he know something that Owen did? Was he keeping it secret? Owen liked to believe the best of people. He was foolish when it came to that. He wanted to believe that Holmes actually did care about him. It was all giving him such a headache. Instead of confusing himself further, Owen stopped thinking about it and closed his eyes, quickly finding solace as he slipped into a doze.

It didn't last long, however. The Owen stirred, disturbed from his sleep by someone sobbing, and tried to block it out. Holmes's half shout jerked him from the nap with a start, and his eyes fell immediately on Thomas and Mo standing just out side the doorway. He couldn't help but grin at them, even though Thomas was bawling into Mo's shoulder. When he looked at Holmes and saw his boss's stressed expression, the smile faded somewhat. The old man's shouted words sank in and became clear. "Aw, let 'em come in, Holmesie. They ain't harmin' no one." His throat was scratchy, and he quickly cleared it, hoping his voice hadn't cracked.

Mo, with one arm around Thomas, was already the room before Owen had said anything. He was beaming from ear to ear in an attempt to dissipate the deadpan atmosphere. Clinics, hospitals, they're all the same, got that... feeling that makes you want to shudder. Well, it makes me want to shudder, at least. He managed to untangle himself from Thomas and sat the boy down in a chair on the wall opposite the bed. "Thomas, now, look at him - he's just fine! Aren't ya, Owen?" He turned and put his back to the wall, crossed his arms and quirked an eyebrow. That was when he noticed the nurse passed out on the floor. He grimaced - how embarrassing for the poor girl. Being the gentleman that he was, Mo pulled her up and positioned her in the last remaining chair in the room. He gave up after two attempts when he couldn't manage to prop her head on her hand, elbow on the table; instead, he simply let her slump to the side and resumed his previously held position beside Thomas.

"Fine as good as bloody aces, at the second," he replied, attempting to match Mo's enthusiasm and only getting half way there. Every part of him felt tired, but he didn't feel 'sick'. He knew he was - one didn't simply pass out and start seizing on a regular basis without having something wrong with them. But, all of a sudden, he was confident that it was nothing he couldn't handle. Ah, damn those two, they always get me so optimistic, even when Thom is bawling like a calf separated from the herd. You can't help but love 'em. He shook his head, wishing that Martha was anywhere but here right then, for her sake. The other nurses would never let her live it down if it became common knowledge that she had passed out in the middle of the floor.

[Augustus is a SWOObat]

[*totally forgot about Martha* I love how no one up to this point has tried to help Martha. Blooky's such a scruffy gentleman. =D]

Thomas let Momo sit him down, probably because he couldn't do it himself. It was a good thing Mo still had his head, because Thom had completely lost his. He slumped forward, balancing his elbows on his knees and his hands cradling his head. His gloves were already slick with tears. Fine? FINE?! Thomas looked up at Mo, and gestured angrily to sickly looking Owen. "Ara be whist, Moeteski. Don't lie to me! He looks like crap!" Thomas started crying again. He didn't want to talk anymore, let alone look at Owen. He just buried his head back in his soggy gloves. Thomas might have been hurting both their feelings, but at the moment he wasn't aware of anything really. Not even Martha.

Martha by this time, leaned too far to the right. Her head smacked Thomas in his bony shoulder, waking her up. Thomas didn't take any notice. She looked up, remembering her embarrassing moment... in front of Doctor Robins. Her face got really red, and her posture matched Thom's. She wasn't crying, but her hands were just there to hide her shame. Martha wasn't going to cry. She just assumed whatever Owen had was curable. He was a doctor, couldn't he just fix himself? Martha hadn't been in the hospital long, but she already like Doctor Robins. As long he was kept away from coffee, he was charming and smart.

Holmes looked at Thomas and Martha with something similar to disgust. Thom was breaking down, and Martha just sucked at her job. Moeteski was more favorable. At least he didn't over-react, though maybe he was under-reacting. That was fine by Robyn, he was keeping a brave face, which Holmes thought could be admired. Too bad Holmes admired no one, not even himself. He didn't want anyone to stay, not even Martha. She'd just mess things up even more. A little thought flickered as Robyn noticed the wet mess Thomas was making... That'd cause a lot of trouble for the Janitor. Holmes liked Moeteski enough to let him stay without making an excuse. In reality, Doctor Holmes wouldn't let anyone stay in the room, he was only doing it because he knew Owen would like it. "Fine. Stay. See if i care." Holmes leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest, pretending he didn't care. He kept sneaking a peek at Owen though.

[Waddle]

[That's one reason I love him I'm sure Thom would've if he hadn't been so upset- never mind. He probably wouldn't have xD
P.S. You play Holmes perfectly.]

"Looks can be deceiving," Mo stated automatically. Oh, how unoriginal can you get, Mo? He scratched his chin, watched Thomas helplessly for a moment, then just shook his head. What could he do? Thomas couldn't be helped in the mood he was in. Well, if Owen, say, jumped to his feet and started dancing, Thomas might feel better. But that didn't seem likely. Even still, Mo couldn't help but to peek a glance at the Aussie just to make sure. No, no hope there. It was obvious from Owen's pale, exhausted face that he wasn't going to do any dancing soon. Mo looked to the older doctor reclined by Owen's bed and instantly recognized him as Owen's boss, Holmes. Owen jabbered about him constantly, everything from complaints to compliments. He even does look like the Sherlock Holmes in that new movie...[/color] Normally, Mo might have snickered, or downright laughed. But right then, he was too concerned for his young friends' welfares for that. Yes, Thomas was included in that, since it appeared he would be the first to achieve crying his eyeballs out. So instead of laughing, Mo jerked a nod to the gentleman and put a hand on Thomas's shoulder in an attempt to calm him.

Beaming, Owen glanced from Holmes, to Thom, to Mo, then to Martha, then back between the four of them over and over again. "Thommie-boy..."[/color] he tried helplessly. "C'mon, now... Don't cry, c'mon..." Owen hated it when people cried. Especially his friends. Especially over him. Good thing I won't be at my own funeral... Not alive, that is. A sudden fit of coughing tore through him, violent enough to knock him back onto the pillows after half a minute. He gasped for breath in the few seconds he was allowed before another fit took him, and this one wouldn't give up, no matter how hard he tried. A half yelp and half cough escaped his lips as pain wracked his torso and spread numbness through his legs. Clutching feebly at the blankets on the bed, he squeezed his eyes shut and mentally begged his own body to stop hurting.

Mo's grip tightened on Thomas's shoulder, but quickly released after a moment, right after remembering Thomas didn't necessarily appreciate being touched. Instead, his hands found something better to do - crack the other's knuckles as Owen coughed himself hoarse. He didn't notice that it might be taken offensively. It was just a nervous habit. When a full minute and a half had passed, and Owen still hadn't recovered, Mo couldn't handle the silence anymore. He turned to Holmes, eyes wide with worry, hands now rubbing together, one over the other. "Isn't there anythin' you 'n do?"[/color] he demanded quietly. "You're a God damned doctor!"[/b]

[Augustus is a SWOObat]

Thomas honestly tried to stop crying, but it just seemed like he couldn't. And, of course, something completely irrelevant came to him at that moment. W-Where is all this water coming from..? Thomas never drank excessively, [Eating is another story.] but it seemed like all the water he consumed was quadrupled and poured out from his eyes with no end in sight. He felt so pathetic, even more so standing next to Moeteski. Thomas was emotional and weak, while Mo was strong and manly. It had always been this way. He being the less desirable of his company. It was true where ever he went; South Africa, Germany, Canada, Australia. Owen was charming, which just pronounced Thom's awkwardness. Owen was too charismatic to get sick. Thomas stood up and wiped his wet face with the inside of his elbow. With head down, he walked over to Owen's bed, only stumbling once. He looked up at Owen for the first time since he entered the room. It was worse than he thought, but Thomas was so sick of crying. He curled up on Owen's bed, nestling close to Owen.

Holmes watched Thomas in plain disgust. He isn't much of a man. To Robyn, Thomas was too short, too weepy, too creepy, and too weak. "Hey!" The idiot's sleepin' in a sick man's bed. "Get off of him! You wanna di-" Common sense told Holmes not to finish that sentence. Holmes hadn't meant to exaggerate, but he knew people would take him seriously... People like Martha. She snapped her head up from her shame position. "Owen's going to die..?" That was far worse than fainting. Owen was the only reason Martha still worked in the clinic. If Martha was left alone with Holmes, she would be in tears everyday, like the other nurses that never got to interact with Dr. Robins. Martha started crying again, though the other crybaby in the room didn't join her. Thomas just stayed curled up next to Owen, to apathetic to move. His eyes remained dry, and his face remained expressionless. If this was what being a man was, Thomas was doing well.

Holmes was getting fed up with all the stupidity in the room. "Mary, get out and bring we a real nurse. One that doesn't faint on the job!" He started to mumble and curse under his breath about how horrible it was to have to deal with nurses like Martha. "I'm not a magician. I'm a doctor. Give me time and I'll figure out what's wrong with Robins."Before it kills him. Holmes had a good idea of what it was, but it'd be irresponsible to just start treating him without a positive test.

[Waddle]

Owen felt weight settle onto the part of the hospital bed he wasn't taking up and opened watery eyes. The sight of Thomas swam in his vision, and he quickly blinked them away, leaving him with the fuzziness of his poor eyesight. Putting a hand on his friend's arm, he smiled warmly and tried to think of something to say. Unable to come up with anything, he looked up at Holmes, Martha, and Mo. "No need to be as cross as a frog in a sock, mate," he beamed. His voice was cracked and dry. He cleared it and tried to change the subject. He looked around, squinting at the vague outlines of the table beside the hospital bed and anything else he could almost see. "Anyone see my glasses? God knows I’m blind without them..."

Mo winced as Holmes shouted at Mary. The poor girl still looked faint, and a small whimper rose from her throat as she replied, "Yes, sir,"[/b] and fled the room. Rubbing his blind eye in an old habit, Mo sighed and stared at the floor, his mind racing over what little information he had. He was no doctor. He didn't know what these symptoms could mean. He was a damn cop. He looked at the bedside table, straight where Owen had been looking a second before. "They're right there," he said, gesturing to the table. He didn't know how bad the young man's sight was. When Owen only started blankly at him, Mo moved over, picked up the glasses and set them on the doctor's nose. "How do you keep from losing everything you own?" The Aussie replied with a snort of something close to disgust.

"Oh, I usually just tie strings to them and tie them to my belt. No, I normally just remember where I set my glasses and can find them again." Owen pushed them farther up the bridge of his nose with a pompous but fake sniff as he continued in a snotty voice. "You see, the power of the mind is a marvelous thing - not that you would know anything about it."[/b] He grinned. Mo scoffed. "You're too much like your boss, Owen Auden Robins," was his reply. Owen wondered briefly how the man could remain calm in any situation, how he could keep that small smile on his face without it appearing fake. He just shook his head and chuckled dryly.

He turned a bespectacled gaze onto his boss, one eyebrow quirked skeptically. "Maybe if someone got off their lazy ass and actually took part of the doctor's work, they wouldn't be runnin' a clinic that's slowly fallin' 'part like a' old clock."[/color] It was likely that Holmes would soon get fed up with Owen's ever-constant taunts and hinted complaints. But Owen, it had been discovered, was the only one in the clinic that could do such a thing without being permanently fired. Owen was rarely taken seriously, but Holmes, for some reason, did. Some of the time. More often than not, Owen simply received a hit to the back of the head with a newspaper and a dirty look. An all too sweet smile split his face. "Not that I'm pointin' fingers or nuthin'."[/color][/size]

[Augustus is a SWOObat]

Holmes was at his breaking point. Owen was still acting so normal. Thomas was crying. Martha was crying. Maybe tears are contagious. The thought made fresh tears slip. They crawled down his cheek and dropped onto his lap. He covered his face so no one would see, and bowed his head low in shame. When was the last time he had cried? He pretended not to remember, but he knew. It was the moment he found out his son was dead. This was like a second death for Olly. Owen, the man he used to replace his son, was as good as dead. Sure Holmes was a doctor, but he was still human, and his human head told him Owen looked like crap.

Thomas was breathing so heavily. It seemed like his lungs were having trouble keeping up. Understandable, seeing as he was crying hard enough to fill a lake. Owen's clammy skin felt horrible. His salty tears that still clung to his face, though he stopped crying, felt terrible. Thomas cuddled closer, ignoring every physical and emotional feeling. Thom wasn't a doctor, and he wasn't smart enough to be one. He never tried back when he was in school. Heck, he never even finished highschool. But even Thomas knew what a dying man looked like. "You better not die.."

[Waddle]

Owen stared at Holmes. Slowly, he took off his glasses, rubbed the lenses with his shirt, and replaced them. His mind was blown. Holmes? CRYING?![/color] Something swept over Owen, through the pure exhaustion, through the fogginess of his brain. It was something he didn't like. Panic. Holmes was crying. That wasn't good. Thomas told him not to die. That was REALLY not good. Owen looked from his boss, to his friend, then between them, trying to find words. He didn't want them to know he was worried. Maybe, if he was strong, then Holmes would stop crying. Maybe, if he didn't act sick, then Thomas would realize he was touching someone and would freak out like usual. But Owen couldn't force himself to do even that. He couldn't make himself calm down. His breath was quick; his chest tight with that panic, that damned panic! He finally remembered the last person in the room who wasn't panicking and looked to him.

Brain working double-time, Mo was trying to piece this together. Owen had often mentioned how Holmes treated him different from the rest of the doctors. Sometimes it was a good different, most of the time, it wasn't a good different. Now Holmes was crying, Thomas was telling Owen not to die, and Owen was staring at Mo with pure panic in his green and hazel eyes. What the hell am I supposed to do? I'm not some God damned doctor![/color] Mo was pretty sure he'd thought that once already today. He had been hoping Holmes would take the situation over, but now, it didn't seem like anyone was going to. Mo wasn't usually the one to take things over, but it was time someone put a stop to this.

"Holmes," Mo snapped, "stop crying like a baby, get off your ass and go help out your doctors for once. Thomas, damn, at least give Owen a little inspiration and not some choked order that makes him panic and get off of him. Owen, stop looking at me with terror-eyes and get some sleep, or try." He added the last to words as Owen opened his mouth to protest, probably to say something like 'But I'm not tired!'. When the boy's mouth close with a click, Mo knew he had been just about to say that. Mo moved a step aside so Thomas could get off the bed easily, but he offered a hand to his friend - not that he thought the young man would take it. It was almost never when Thomas accepted someone touching him. Mo just thought he should try to at least take the sting out of his orders by offering help. Not that it would work.

That was what happened when people turned suddenly from an adviser into a leader. People stopped liking them, started resenting them for it. A father figure that gave clues and hints was someone admired and respected. Someone like Holmes, someone who ordered, was feared, hated, but still respected. Mo just hoped that Thomas and Owen wouldn't take his orders the wrong way. Mo wanted the same thing that the rest of them did - he wanted the Aussie to be alright. But they weren't going to do that if they all sat around sobbing. It sure didn't do anything for Owen's spirits. It sure didn't do anything to explain why his skin was faintly yellow and clammy, why he looked so exhausted, why he wasn't joking and laughing and shrugging this off like it was nothing. If Owen wasn't doing one of the three last options, then something was terribly wrong.[/size]

[Augustus is a SWOObat]

Holmes stood up, pissed as hell. Dumb Martha and Cry-baby-boy. You two and your stupid contagious tears. He wiped away his liquid shame. He showed weakness, which wasn't like him at all. He had endured hell, and hadn't flinched, but something like this made him bawl. He mumbled something about blood tests and rushed outside. Being away from Owen and the mess that he was renewed his hardened heart. Holmes shouted for a nurse, and one showed up in a matter of seconds. They knew not to make him wait. "Get a blood test on Doctor Robins... Make sure not to let Martha Jones touch it." He added as an after thought. Martha did a lot of the blood work, because most nurses were squeamish. Martha was squeamish too, just not as much as the rest of them. Holmes had a feeling she'd cry all over the blood sample. He didn't know if tears effected the outcome, but he'd rather avoid the chance.. that was why he wasn't testing the blood himself.

Back in the room, Thomas had actually grabbed Mo's hand and gotten off the bed, despite how much he really wanted to stay and how much he really didn't want to touch Mo. "Sorry.." It was selfish of Thomas. If Owen was meant to die then there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening.. of course that didn't stop him from wishing. "I'm just being a cry baby. You'll be fine, wombat friend." Thomas didn't know how Owen could not be tired. He was exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionally. "Mo.. Do we have to go.. or can we stay?" Thomas looked up at Mo with pleading eyes. He knew Mo would want to leave Owen in peace to sleep, but Thomas couldn't bring himself to leave Owen alone. What if this was the last time he saw his friend? Thomas shook the thought away. He was being over-dramatic. This was Owen, happy, cheerful Owen. Nothing could kill Owen, not even a deadly disease.. nope.. not even that..

For some reason, Thomas' thoughts didn't seem very positive. He couldn't think of anything positive to say. A nurse walked in, announced that Owen had malaria, and walked right on out, just like that. Now he knew it wasn't him who was negative, it was the situation and it's determination to remove anything even remotely positive from the situation. For a second, it didn't even register to Thomas. Did the negative situation just get worse? Owen was definitely not going to sleep now.

Holmes had gone to check on the blood results. It was malaria.. When he came back to check on Owen he ran into a nurse exiting his room. "What were you doing in there?" His question came out as a growl. ".. Informing Doctor Robins.." Holmes wanted to give her a good back-handed slap. "What the hell is wrong with you?! That isn't your decision to make." Holmes shoved her to the side and entered the room in his usual angry manner. "Owen. She lied. Dumb nurse doesn't know what she's talking about. It isn't that serious." Of course it was, but Owen didn't need to know that.

[Waddle]

Owen didn't really want Thomas to leave, but he did at the same time. Thomas's comment had made him worry, but his presence made him feel better. Everyone being there made him feel better, just because they were there. Had they not been there, he would probably be choking on his own worry, almost in tears, panicking. Now what proud guy did that? He couldn't really help it. He felt... weird. Like his mind had been restarted, like on a computer. Sometimes the computer would mess up, but once you rebooted it, it was fine. Wait... Am I comparing my brain to a computer? I really am messed up. Owen let his head fall back onto the pillow, the smile drop away, and closed his eyes. He could only hope as to what Mo's answer was. It took a few seconds for it to sink in that Thom had just called him his 'wombat friend'. Right then, he was too tired to care.

It was a quick decision. After basically making everyone in the room do something, Mo knew he had to relent somewhat. He doubted he could even force himself to say no as he glanced over Thomas's shoulder to the now exhausted-looking Owen. "Of course we can stay, if they don't run us outta here."[/b] When the nurse came in, said Owen had malaria, then walked back out, Mo felt his stomach turn for the young doctor.

Owen stared blankly at her for a moment. Then he started blankly at the door as she left. He'd stopped breathing, his stomach twisted itself into knots. He wanted to vomit again. He was pretty sure that if anyone else in the room had been crying, that he would have been too. He couldn't stop himself from choking as his stomach tried to force itself out his mouth. But he didn't lean to the side of the bed, didn't even try to keep down what wouldn't come up. The choke soon died, and Holmes burst into the room.

He was angry, as usual. But Owen could see it in his eyes - he was lying. Owen's half-open eyes shut and he sighed. "Don't bloody lie to me, Holmes."[/b] His voice was hardly above a whisper. "Don't fuckin' lie."[/b] He didn't want to think about it. He wanted it all to go away. One hour in that swampy, run-down excuse for an airport. Damn Butuan.[/i] Not even the brief thought that he could sue Butuan could amuse him. He couldn't actually sue the city; he wouldn't even want to if he could. It was his own fault he was in this situation. His brain was just trying to make him laugh at himself. It failed utterly. He rubbed one hand over his face, trying to wake himself up, but he was already slipping into the bliss of sleep. He liked sleeping. Dislodging his glasses by accident, he repositioned them on his nose and looked at the three others in the room.

He made himself smile. Through the numb pain of his massive headache, through the fog of exhaustion, he forced himself to smile. For them. It may have been fake as a Barbie doll, but he felt proud of himself for being able to make his face move. What had happened to just a minute earlier? He had been laughing! It may have been scratchy and rough, but it was laughter. "Let's just be glad there ain't no mozzies 'round here."[/b] It took a second for him to realize they wouldn't understand what a mozzie was. "Mosquito"[/b] It had taken a couple of weeks for him to stop using the majority of Australian slang, but sometimes he would just to get under people's nerves. And other times it just slipped up.

If he'd been able to sink further into the bed, to get away from them, from their stares, he would have. It was impossible to miss the pity, the worry. They may have tried to hide it, but they weren't doing a good job of it. Owen wanted them there, but wanted to be able to look at him without looking like... like that.[/i] Owen rubbed one dry eye underneath his glasses. Shouldn't he be panicking, like he had been for a second? Holmes had not reassured him. If anything, he'd made things worse, but Owen was too tired to give a damn about it. He would think about it later. After some sleep. His eyelids fluttered, stayed open for just a second, then half-closed. He shook his head and took off his glasses, setting them on the table beside the hospital bed. "I'm sorry, but I'm either gonna fall asleep with my eyes open or closed, but either way, I'm callin' it a night. Day. Whatever it is."[/b] He knuckled his eyes, left them closed and fell asleep almost before his hands touched the bed again.[/size]