First, do no harm #6 - Painful
Title: First, do no harm (Part 6: Painful)
Author: Lab38
Rating: PG
Word count: 2365
Pairings: House/Chase, friendship only...
Spoilers: Yes! For the S4 finale and the first few episodes of S5... Particularly *heavy spoilers* for the S5 episode "Painless"!
Disclaimer: Don't own anything... You know the drill.
Summary: Part 6 of the "First, do no harm" series, which centers around the events of the Season 4 finale and the early episodes of Season 5. This part takes place directly following the episode "Painless" (somewhere mid-season 5...). -- Chase wants to talk to House; as usual, House is being difficult...
A/N: This one takes place directly following the episode “Painless”, in which a suicidal chronic pain patient confronts House about his deteriorating condition. In front of Chase... - Hope you enjoy! :)
Painful
“So…” Chase slowly entered House’s office, still wearing scrubs. Somewhat uneasily leaning back against the edge of the desk, he glanced down at his former boss, who was currently stretched out on his recliner warily returning his gaze.
“How many more bad days lately?”
House just scoffed at the question, turning his head slightly to the side, apparently not at all interested in having this conversation.
Chase’s gaze still rested on him, assessingly. “Have you tried switching meds? Or supplementing with anything?”
No response.
“Have you at least told anyone?” After a brief moment of silence, he added more softly: “Have you told Wilson?”
House abruptly turned his head at that, throwing Chase an angry - and slightly warning - glance. “This isn’t any of your business.” Then he nodded towards the door. “Get out.”
Instead of following the rude order, Chase simply shook his head crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’re right; it’s none of my business. - Unless,” he hesitantly searched House’s gaze, his tone more careful now, “...this is starting to get unmanageable for you.”
There; it was out.
House simply rolled his eyes in response. “I’m not our patient! And I’m not suicidal…”
Chase slowly shook his head again, trying to remain calm. “I didn’t say you were! But this case can’t have left you unaffected. I just want to make sure it didn’t - ”
“Inspire me?!” House challenged.
“I was gonna say ‘depress you’…” Chase patiently met his angry gaze.
“I’m not depressed.”
“But you’re in pain,” Chase countered without hesitation.
House didn’t dispute that one, instead just averting his gaze again, looking decisively uncomfortable.
“I’m just saying,” Chase continued more carefully, “it doesn’t need to get any more out of hand…”
At that, House abruptly looked up at him again, eyes glaring. “Oh, really?! That’s so good to know, because I was actually starting to worry that an 8 on the pain-scale after half a pound of Vicodin might just be a bad thing!” Shocked by his own outburst, House abruptly looked away again, face flushed, with anger or embarrassment Chase didn’t know…
Letting House’s words hang in the air for a moment, he finally replied with a small nod. “Okay. So the meds obviously aren’t working well right now… - Since when has it been getting worse?”
Just a shrug.
But Chase wasn’t deterred that easily. “Before or after your injury…”
“What injury…” House frowned in obvious confusion.
Briefly wondering just how many different injuries the other man might have suffered lately, and deciding he didn’t really want to know, Chase patiently clarified: “Before or after the crash.”
Anger once again flared up in the other man’s eyes. “This is not psychosomatic.”
Chase just shook his head again. “I didn’t say it was! I’m just saying it could be trauma-related.” He nodded slightly towards the leg. “If the nerves were - ”
“It’s not trauma-related.” His tone didn’t leave much room for argument.
Hesitating briefly, Chase finally replied with a slow nod. “Okay… But - one way or another - the increased pain might still be related to the events of the last couple of months. - Why don’t you,” he shook his head slightly, “see an orthopedist? Get the leg checked.”
House threw him another angry glance. “Because this is not an orthopedic issue. - It’s a pain issue.”
Chase just nodded again, fighting for patience. “Then see a pain specialist.”
House seemed about to reply something, but then he suddenly narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why are you suddenly so interested in this?”
Chase attempted a casual half-shrug, but he didn’t fully meet House’s annoyingly intense gaze. “Must be Cam rubbing off on me…”
House regarded him for another long moment, seemingly considering this, before finally replying with a small shake of his head. “Nope! Don’t believe you…” His tone was light, but he was still staring at the younger man, apparently waiting for a more elaborate explanation.
Considering his options for a moment, Chase finally expelled a long breath, resigning himself to the fact that - if he really wanted to get House to open up to him - the least he could offer was a little bit of honesty in return…
Shaking his head slightly, he steeled himself for the mockery ahead.
“Your leg is obviously getting worse.” He flicked a brief glance at the limb in question, before raising his head slightly to once again meet House’s critical gaze. “I know it has been before, but you’ve always put up a fight. Tried to do something to get better; or at least not any worse…” He took another deep breath before finishing bravely: “This is the first time it feels as if you might be losing that fight…”
When all that met his statement was stunned silence, he went on a little more insistently, trying to reign in his rising agitation: “I’ve known you for 5 years House, and I’ve never even heard you say the words ‘I’m hurting’! - And now you suddenly call yourself a cripple complaining you can’t get to the phone on time, massage your leg during differentials, and talk about bad days in front of your patient and half the OR staff! - I’m not just gonna ignore this…”
House snorted at that. “Well, you don’t seem to be having much of a choice, seeing as I’m not gonna talk about this any more…”
Briefly glancing towards the ceiling in obvious frustration, Chase seemed to be searching for the right words for a moment. He finally went on in an unusually quiet tone of voice: “I know that the last couple of months must have been hard for you. - But you cannot just give up now. You need to let someone help…”
House eyed him silently for a long moment, a strangely blank look on his face. Then he suddenly just shrugged slightly. “I’m not giving up. - As I said: I’m not our patient! I’m not the one they found sucking at his tail pipe…”
Chase held his gaze unflinchingly. “Not yet.”
House eyed him incredulously at that, tone an interesting mixture of pained and amused. “You seriously think I’m about to kill myself?!”
Chase abruptly lowered his head at that, automatically avoiding the other man's intense gaze. - When he finally looked up again, his expression was completely unguarded. “I think,” he replied slowly, “that there’s only so much anyone can take. And I don’t want to look back on this day sometime, and ask myself why the hell I ignored the closest thing to a call for help you’re probably capable of…”
He was vaguely aware of how pathetic he must be sounding to the other man, but decided to simply ignore it for now.
“You’re fighting non-stop for each and every one of your patients; whether they like it or not. Even when they literally beg you to please just let them die. Hell, even when their own families have long since given up on them! - Why can’t you just this once let someone fight a little bit with you, too…?”
He could read the shock on the other man's face, until House suddenly turned his head towards the door in a vain attempt to hide his emotional reaction.
When it became clear that he wasn't about to reply anything, Chase calmly continued: “I mean, I get it. This is a difficult situation… You’re obviously still not really talking to Wilson again, and you’re never talking to anybody else. - But you need to come up with something, some way to let someone support you; because like this,” he vaguely gestured into House’s general direction, “you are going to kill yourself. One way or another…”
As if on cue, House suddenly winced, one hand reflexively going to his obviously painful thigh. He started to squeeze firmly somewhere right above his knee, but if his pallor was any indication, the action only seemed to be making it worse. Swallowing what sounded like a low moan of pain, he finally used both hands to carefully pull the leg towards him until it was no longer fully extended, the heel of his sneaker now resting against the edge of the ottoman. Then he firmly started to rub the side of his leg, his expression - by now - more angry than pained.
Quickly scanning the room, his eyes finally came to rest on his jacket that was hanging over the back of his chair. Flicking a brief glance at the only other person in the room, he urgently nodded towards it. “Chase…”
Following the other man’s gaze, Chase nodded slightly in understanding, ridiculously grateful for the distraction. - When he handed the jacket over, he already heard the tell-tale rattle of House’s pill bottle inside one of the pockets.
When House flipped the lid open and swallowed what looked like a handful of pills dry, he nodded slightly towards the medication.
“Who writes your scripts for you at the moment…”
Silence.
House seemed a little more relaxed again and had closed his eyes for now, one hand still gently kneading his thigh.
“Wilson again?”
That got him a small movement vaguely resembling a nod. - Which was actually more than he’d hoped for…
Chase concentrated on sounding clinical when he finally spoke again. “Then you need to talk to him. At least tell him you need an adjustment of your medication. - That’s nothing unusual in chronic pain management; you know that, House…” His tone was almost imploring by now.
When he still got no response, he couldn’t suppress a small sigh. “House…”
“No.”
Chase frowned slightly at the vehemence of the statement.
“Why not?”
“Because,” when House finally looked up at him again, his expression was suddenly completely unguarded, “a small adjustment of my medication won’t be enough.”
“Okay…” Chase tried to process the unexpected information, voice rising slightly towards the end of the drawn-out word. “So, tell him you need a big adjustment. Wilson’s a doctor, House; he knows how these things are…”
House seemed to consider that for a moment, but then he just shook his head, picked up his cane and slowly started to push himself to his feet. - Chase couldn’t help but notice how carefully he held himself, how gingerly he was still moving the leg…
“No.” House had already half-turned towards his desk, clearly signaling the rapidly approaching end of the discussion.
“Why not? House, it’s - ”
He was abruptly interrupted by the sound of House forcefully striking the surface of the desk with the flat of his hand.
“Because,” he suddenly replied much more loudly, “it would be too much!”
Usually, Chase probably would have just left the room at House’s tone and the slight threat in the other man’s posture. - But this was too important…
“For you, or for him?” he finally returned in a pointedly calm tone of voice.
House abruptly averted his gaze at that, letting his head hang slightly, one hand still resting on top of his desk, the other by now tightly gripping the handle of his cane.
Chase was still regarding him calmly. “Just because you think he has other things on his mind right now, doesn’t mean you have to suffer through this alone…”
House snorted at that. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not he has other things on his mind…”
After a very brief moment of hesitation, Chase replied with a small nod, everything suddenly falling into place. “But you do give a rat’s ass about whether or not he’ll leave again.” He didn’t miss the small wince his words caused. “He won’t leave again, just because you’re unwell, House…” he desperately tried to reason with the usually so rational diagnostician.
“I’m not unwell!”
Chase scoffed at that. “No; right… You’re the picture of health right now.” He once again took in the other man’s sunken features, his pale complexion, the deep lines of pain surrounding his eyes.
This time, House shook his head in what might have been opposition, or what might just have been denial. “He won’t hear any of this.” The words sounded final.
Chase just stared at him for a moment, clearly unhappy with his decision, but also freshly out of arguments. - He finally nodded his head reluctantly, before half-turning towards the conference room, trying to come to terms with the fact that this was - after all - House’s own life. And that he had every right to make his own decisions; however bad they turned out to be…
His gaze suddenly fell on the white-board that had already helped to save so many lives. Had in fact helped save a life today. A life that - in the end - hadn’t even wanted to be saved anymore…
Chase suddenly nodded again, this time with determination instead of his former display of resigned acceptance.
“Okay. - But Wilson’s not the only doctor in this building…”
He heard House snort softly at that. “Are you volunteering?” Clearly a challenge.
Chase just shrugged in response, once again turning towards the other man, firmly meeting his tired gaze. “Got all the diplomas! And I also happen to have a prescription pad…”
House made another incredulous sound in response that resembled a pained half-laugh. “Believe me… You don’t wanna get involved in this.”
Chase countered without hesitation: “Believe me… I wouldn’t wanna stay out of it.”
He thought he saw a flicker of surprise in House’s eyes, but if he had, it was gone again as quickly as it had appeared. - But maybe, just maybe he actually had a chance here…
“Look… Let me just draw some blood, and we’ll talk about alternative treatment options…”
“Absolutely not.”
Chase rolled his eyes at the other man’s categorical decline.
“Then let me draw some blood, and tell me what you wanna try.”
When House just threw him a very skeptical glance in response, he quickly continued: “I’ll write for whatever you think is best for you… Risky or not. Crazy or not. - As long as you’re willing to try something, I’ll write for whatever you tell me.”
“I very much doubt that,” was House’s dry reply.
Chase kept his gaze fixed on the other man, then replied with a calm half-smile that he hoped reflected his determination. And confidence.
“Try me…”
TBC…
A/N #2: Just a quick reminder due to a personal message I recently received... I am NOT A NATIVE SPEAKER! I can assure you I'm doing my very best, and any spelling or grammar mistakes or awkward formulations are certainly not meant to annoy you guys! - So, I am really very grateful for any comment or critique, but if you're thinking about sending me insulting emails regarding (amongst other things...) my "pathetic attempts to use the English language", please just keep in mind that this is a *hobby* for me, that I'm really doing my best, and that you could always just skip my stories... :)
(*hugs* to all the rest of you!! I didn't mean to sound rude, just wanted to clarify my situation...)
Author: Lab38
Rating: PG
Word count: 2365
Pairings: House/Chase, friendship only...
Spoilers: Yes! For the S4 finale and the first few episodes of S5... Particularly *heavy spoilers* for the S5 episode "Painless"!
Disclaimer: Don't own anything... You know the drill.
Summary: Part 6 of the "First, do no harm" series, which centers around the events of the Season 4 finale and the early episodes of Season 5. This part takes place directly following the episode "Painless" (somewhere mid-season 5...). -- Chase wants to talk to House; as usual, House is being difficult...
A/N: This one takes place directly following the episode “Painless”, in which a suicidal chronic pain patient confronts House about his deteriorating condition. In front of Chase... - Hope you enjoy! :)
Painful
“So…” Chase slowly entered House’s office, still wearing scrubs. Somewhat uneasily leaning back against the edge of the desk, he glanced down at his former boss, who was currently stretched out on his recliner warily returning his gaze.
“How many more bad days lately?”
House just scoffed at the question, turning his head slightly to the side, apparently not at all interested in having this conversation.
Chase’s gaze still rested on him, assessingly. “Have you tried switching meds? Or supplementing with anything?”
No response.
“Have you at least told anyone?” After a brief moment of silence, he added more softly: “Have you told Wilson?”
House abruptly turned his head at that, throwing Chase an angry - and slightly warning - glance. “This isn’t any of your business.” Then he nodded towards the door. “Get out.”
Instead of following the rude order, Chase simply shook his head crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’re right; it’s none of my business. - Unless,” he hesitantly searched House’s gaze, his tone more careful now, “...this is starting to get unmanageable for you.”
There; it was out.
House simply rolled his eyes in response. “I’m not our patient! And I’m not suicidal…”
Chase slowly shook his head again, trying to remain calm. “I didn’t say you were! But this case can’t have left you unaffected. I just want to make sure it didn’t - ”
“Inspire me?!” House challenged.
“I was gonna say ‘depress you’…” Chase patiently met his angry gaze.
“I’m not depressed.”
“But you’re in pain,” Chase countered without hesitation.
House didn’t dispute that one, instead just averting his gaze again, looking decisively uncomfortable.
“I’m just saying,” Chase continued more carefully, “it doesn’t need to get any more out of hand…”
At that, House abruptly looked up at him again, eyes glaring. “Oh, really?! That’s so good to know, because I was actually starting to worry that an 8 on the pain-scale after half a pound of Vicodin might just be a bad thing!” Shocked by his own outburst, House abruptly looked away again, face flushed, with anger or embarrassment Chase didn’t know…
Letting House’s words hang in the air for a moment, he finally replied with a small nod. “Okay. So the meds obviously aren’t working well right now… - Since when has it been getting worse?”
Just a shrug.
But Chase wasn’t deterred that easily. “Before or after your injury…”
“What injury…” House frowned in obvious confusion.
Briefly wondering just how many different injuries the other man might have suffered lately, and deciding he didn’t really want to know, Chase patiently clarified: “Before or after the crash.”
Anger once again flared up in the other man’s eyes. “This is not psychosomatic.”
Chase just shook his head again. “I didn’t say it was! I’m just saying it could be trauma-related.” He nodded slightly towards the leg. “If the nerves were - ”
“It’s not trauma-related.” His tone didn’t leave much room for argument.
Hesitating briefly, Chase finally replied with a slow nod. “Okay… But - one way or another - the increased pain might still be related to the events of the last couple of months. - Why don’t you,” he shook his head slightly, “see an orthopedist? Get the leg checked.”
House threw him another angry glance. “Because this is not an orthopedic issue. - It’s a pain issue.”
Chase just nodded again, fighting for patience. “Then see a pain specialist.”
House seemed about to reply something, but then he suddenly narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why are you suddenly so interested in this?”
Chase attempted a casual half-shrug, but he didn’t fully meet House’s annoyingly intense gaze. “Must be Cam rubbing off on me…”
House regarded him for another long moment, seemingly considering this, before finally replying with a small shake of his head. “Nope! Don’t believe you…” His tone was light, but he was still staring at the younger man, apparently waiting for a more elaborate explanation.
Considering his options for a moment, Chase finally expelled a long breath, resigning himself to the fact that - if he really wanted to get House to open up to him - the least he could offer was a little bit of honesty in return…
Shaking his head slightly, he steeled himself for the mockery ahead.
“Your leg is obviously getting worse.” He flicked a brief glance at the limb in question, before raising his head slightly to once again meet House’s critical gaze. “I know it has been before, but you’ve always put up a fight. Tried to do something to get better; or at least not any worse…” He took another deep breath before finishing bravely: “This is the first time it feels as if you might be losing that fight…”
When all that met his statement was stunned silence, he went on a little more insistently, trying to reign in his rising agitation: “I’ve known you for 5 years House, and I’ve never even heard you say the words ‘I’m hurting’! - And now you suddenly call yourself a cripple complaining you can’t get to the phone on time, massage your leg during differentials, and talk about bad days in front of your patient and half the OR staff! - I’m not just gonna ignore this…”
House snorted at that. “Well, you don’t seem to be having much of a choice, seeing as I’m not gonna talk about this any more…”
Briefly glancing towards the ceiling in obvious frustration, Chase seemed to be searching for the right words for a moment. He finally went on in an unusually quiet tone of voice: “I know that the last couple of months must have been hard for you. - But you cannot just give up now. You need to let someone help…”
House eyed him silently for a long moment, a strangely blank look on his face. Then he suddenly just shrugged slightly. “I’m not giving up. - As I said: I’m not our patient! I’m not the one they found sucking at his tail pipe…”
Chase held his gaze unflinchingly. “Not yet.”
House eyed him incredulously at that, tone an interesting mixture of pained and amused. “You seriously think I’m about to kill myself?!”
Chase abruptly lowered his head at that, automatically avoiding the other man's intense gaze. - When he finally looked up again, his expression was completely unguarded. “I think,” he replied slowly, “that there’s only so much anyone can take. And I don’t want to look back on this day sometime, and ask myself why the hell I ignored the closest thing to a call for help you’re probably capable of…”
He was vaguely aware of how pathetic he must be sounding to the other man, but decided to simply ignore it for now.
“You’re fighting non-stop for each and every one of your patients; whether they like it or not. Even when they literally beg you to please just let them die. Hell, even when their own families have long since given up on them! - Why can’t you just this once let someone fight a little bit with you, too…?”
He could read the shock on the other man's face, until House suddenly turned his head towards the door in a vain attempt to hide his emotional reaction.
When it became clear that he wasn't about to reply anything, Chase calmly continued: “I mean, I get it. This is a difficult situation… You’re obviously still not really talking to Wilson again, and you’re never talking to anybody else. - But you need to come up with something, some way to let someone support you; because like this,” he vaguely gestured into House’s general direction, “you are going to kill yourself. One way or another…”
As if on cue, House suddenly winced, one hand reflexively going to his obviously painful thigh. He started to squeeze firmly somewhere right above his knee, but if his pallor was any indication, the action only seemed to be making it worse. Swallowing what sounded like a low moan of pain, he finally used both hands to carefully pull the leg towards him until it was no longer fully extended, the heel of his sneaker now resting against the edge of the ottoman. Then he firmly started to rub the side of his leg, his expression - by now - more angry than pained.
Quickly scanning the room, his eyes finally came to rest on his jacket that was hanging over the back of his chair. Flicking a brief glance at the only other person in the room, he urgently nodded towards it. “Chase…”
Following the other man’s gaze, Chase nodded slightly in understanding, ridiculously grateful for the distraction. - When he handed the jacket over, he already heard the tell-tale rattle of House’s pill bottle inside one of the pockets.
When House flipped the lid open and swallowed what looked like a handful of pills dry, he nodded slightly towards the medication.
“Who writes your scripts for you at the moment…”
Silence.
House seemed a little more relaxed again and had closed his eyes for now, one hand still gently kneading his thigh.
“Wilson again?”
That got him a small movement vaguely resembling a nod. - Which was actually more than he’d hoped for…
Chase concentrated on sounding clinical when he finally spoke again. “Then you need to talk to him. At least tell him you need an adjustment of your medication. - That’s nothing unusual in chronic pain management; you know that, House…” His tone was almost imploring by now.
When he still got no response, he couldn’t suppress a small sigh. “House…”
“No.”
Chase frowned slightly at the vehemence of the statement.
“Why not?”
“Because,” when House finally looked up at him again, his expression was suddenly completely unguarded, “a small adjustment of my medication won’t be enough.”
“Okay…” Chase tried to process the unexpected information, voice rising slightly towards the end of the drawn-out word. “So, tell him you need a big adjustment. Wilson’s a doctor, House; he knows how these things are…”
House seemed to consider that for a moment, but then he just shook his head, picked up his cane and slowly started to push himself to his feet. - Chase couldn’t help but notice how carefully he held himself, how gingerly he was still moving the leg…
“No.” House had already half-turned towards his desk, clearly signaling the rapidly approaching end of the discussion.
“Why not? House, it’s - ”
He was abruptly interrupted by the sound of House forcefully striking the surface of the desk with the flat of his hand.
“Because,” he suddenly replied much more loudly, “it would be too much!”
Usually, Chase probably would have just left the room at House’s tone and the slight threat in the other man’s posture. - But this was too important…
“For you, or for him?” he finally returned in a pointedly calm tone of voice.
House abruptly averted his gaze at that, letting his head hang slightly, one hand still resting on top of his desk, the other by now tightly gripping the handle of his cane.
Chase was still regarding him calmly. “Just because you think he has other things on his mind right now, doesn’t mean you have to suffer through this alone…”
House snorted at that. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not he has other things on his mind…”
After a very brief moment of hesitation, Chase replied with a small nod, everything suddenly falling into place. “But you do give a rat’s ass about whether or not he’ll leave again.” He didn’t miss the small wince his words caused. “He won’t leave again, just because you’re unwell, House…” he desperately tried to reason with the usually so rational diagnostician.
“I’m not unwell!”
Chase scoffed at that. “No; right… You’re the picture of health right now.” He once again took in the other man’s sunken features, his pale complexion, the deep lines of pain surrounding his eyes.
This time, House shook his head in what might have been opposition, or what might just have been denial. “He won’t hear any of this.” The words sounded final.
Chase just stared at him for a moment, clearly unhappy with his decision, but also freshly out of arguments. - He finally nodded his head reluctantly, before half-turning towards the conference room, trying to come to terms with the fact that this was - after all - House’s own life. And that he had every right to make his own decisions; however bad they turned out to be…
His gaze suddenly fell on the white-board that had already helped to save so many lives. Had in fact helped save a life today. A life that - in the end - hadn’t even wanted to be saved anymore…
Chase suddenly nodded again, this time with determination instead of his former display of resigned acceptance.
“Okay. - But Wilson’s not the only doctor in this building…”
He heard House snort softly at that. “Are you volunteering?” Clearly a challenge.
Chase just shrugged in response, once again turning towards the other man, firmly meeting his tired gaze. “Got all the diplomas! And I also happen to have a prescription pad…”
House made another incredulous sound in response that resembled a pained half-laugh. “Believe me… You don’t wanna get involved in this.”
Chase countered without hesitation: “Believe me… I wouldn’t wanna stay out of it.”
He thought he saw a flicker of surprise in House’s eyes, but if he had, it was gone again as quickly as it had appeared. - But maybe, just maybe he actually had a chance here…
“Look… Let me just draw some blood, and we’ll talk about alternative treatment options…”
“Absolutely not.”
Chase rolled his eyes at the other man’s categorical decline.
“Then let me draw some blood, and tell me what you wanna try.”
When House just threw him a very skeptical glance in response, he quickly continued: “I’ll write for whatever you think is best for you… Risky or not. Crazy or not. - As long as you’re willing to try something, I’ll write for whatever you tell me.”
“I very much doubt that,” was House’s dry reply.
Chase kept his gaze fixed on the other man, then replied with a calm half-smile that he hoped reflected his determination. And confidence.
“Try me…”
TBC…
A/N #2: Just a quick reminder due to a personal message I recently received... I am NOT A NATIVE SPEAKER! I can assure you I'm doing my very best, and any spelling or grammar mistakes or awkward formulations are certainly not meant to annoy you guys! - So, I am really very grateful for any comment or critique, but if you're thinking about sending me insulting emails regarding (amongst other things...) my "pathetic attempts to use the English language", please just keep in mind that this is a *hobby* for me, that I'm really doing my best, and that you could always just skip my stories... :)
(*hugs* to all the rest of you!! I didn't mean to sound rude, just wanted to clarify my situation...)