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Second Chances	By : ZombieWithANoose Category: 1 through F > Drop Dead Fred Views: 3130 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: We don't own Drop Dead Fred and are not making any profit/money off of this.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Authors' Notes:
zombierose3: This was actually a WAY longer chapter, but I've kept you wonderful readers waiting so long that I cut Chapter 4 into two so you could get something faster. (It was over twenty pages, too) Thank you for reading and all the reviews. It means so much! And the next chapter is almost ready too, just a couple paragraphs left to edit.
**Thank you, Nicole, my bestest friend and beta reader. :)
Disclaimer: We still don't own Drop Dead Fred, and aren't making a single profit off of this story.
Chapter Four
Testing 1, 3, 4
Lizzie jolted, eyes opening as she broke from her nightmares under a grip of intense pain. Unable to breathe or move, the room around her blurred. A lead-like weight crushed her chest, sending her heart into a furious panic. She tried to scream, but only a strangled hiss escaped.
No! Oh, God please! I don't want to die, she begged, tears falling from her eyes. She fought for breath, her vision blackening, until the weight suddenly lifted from her chest and the pains vanished.
Lizzie gasped. Bolting upright, she panted hard, savoring every breath as her pulse settled and the room fell into focus. However, that was when she discovered she was not alone.
Four men in white coats stared at her, stethoscopes around their necks, and medical equipment surrounding them. She was in a hospital, lying in a bed, and wearing a patient's gown.
"Oh my God…" she whispered, unable to remember the last thing that had happened to her.
"Trouble sleeping?" asked the tallest man in the group, his smile as white as the walls of the room. Lizzie had to force herself to stop staring at how unnatural it looked.
"Nice of you to wake up," said the lighter-haired doctor beside him, brandishing a clipboard.
"What… What happened?" she asked, touching her head and trying to examine herself for injuries. Not a bruise or scratch. She felt absolutely fine now.
"Uh, I just greeted you. Rude." He rolled his eyes indignantly, clearing his throat. "I'm Doctor Bastion. This is Doctor Damion," he added, pointing to the taller man. "And the rest of this lot are my nursemaids."
"Nurses!" corrected the one with 'Axel' etched on his name tag.
"Some of us are doctors," muttered a darker-haired man.
"Not you," said Bastion. "Go sit in the corner, Orderly Cale."
"But I'm a nurse!" he argued, his lip protruding in a pout.
"Oh please," said Damion, rolling his eyes. "I wouldn't trust you with a corpse."
"Uh…" Lizzie's gaze darted between them like she were watching a train wreck hit a circus act, and she roughly cleared her throat to get their attention. "Excuse me," she said, "Hi. Could one of you please tell me what I'm doing in a hospital?" Her tone hitched with need and panic.
"Hell if I know," said Bastion, shrugging at Lizzie. "Are you sick?"
Lizzie's eyes widened. "You're a doctor. It's your job to tell me."
"Well I guess if you want me to. Mind you, the last time I played doctor I got into a bit of a legal entanglement, but if you insist—"
"Whoa, whoa!" Lizzie shoved her arms out protectively. "What kind of hospital is this?"
"He's kidding, and poorly I might add. I'm actually your doctor. They call me Doctor Axel." He smiled.
"Doctor? He just said you were a nursemaid— er, sorry." Lizzie pinched the bridge of her nose a moment to regroup. These guys had her starting to get a bit mixed up. "Nurse."
"Oh, I was, but I've just graduated."
"You have?" asked Cale. "When was this? And why didn't you invite me?"
"Because it happened just now and you were over there mouth breathing instead of partaking. Now shove off and let me do my job!" Axel snatched the clipboard from Bastion.
"Up-stager!" Bastion scoffed, plopping himself into a nearby chair and checking his watch like he were already bored.
"Now then, Miss…" Axel squinted and looked up from the chart. "It is Miss, right?" He smiled widely.
Lizzie tensed, fearing he were about to ask her for a date. Wonderful. She briefly regretted removing her wedding ring so soon. "Yeah…"
"Oh, female, eh? Check!" Axel ticked off something on the chart. "It's good that you knew that or I'd have had to check." Mumbling unintelligibly, he made another note. "Got it! 'Right then. I'm going to let my steamed colleague take over."
"Don't you mean, 'esteemed?'" Lizzie asked.
"No, he's pretty steamed," said Axel, glancing at Damion.
Lizzie suddenly regretted waking up. Maybe they had injected her with some sort of pain medication? That had to be it… or maybe she had a head injury. If only it were a head injury…
"Doctor Damion here's gonna ask you a few questions," explained Axel.
"Oh, I can hardly wait," said Lizzie.
"Do try to keep focused through your excitement. I know I can be riveting," said Damion, taking the clipboard and seating himself in the chair by Lizzie's bedside. "Now then, first question. If I were to ask you where you'd most likely sit in a room containing a sofa, a recliner, a floor, a ceiling fan, a table, a dog, and a beanbag chair, which would you say is the proper choice?"
Lizzie snorted. "A floor? Do they actually make rooms without them?"
Damion did not look amused. "You know you almost remind me of someone."
"I do?"
"It's not flattering," he said, referring to his numerous encounters with Drop Dead Fred. "Answer the question." Damion eyed her with annoyance, tapping the clipboard with a pen Lizzie swore he had just gotten out of thin air.
"I… I guess I'd say the sofa."
"Oh you do? Interesting." Damion penned the answer in the chart, then turned his gaze back on her. "Ehh!" he exclaimed like a game show buzzer. "Wrong!"
"What! How could that be wrong?"
He uncapped his pen and began to make more notes "Patient possibly suffering from dystopia," he muttered just loud enough for Lizzie to hear. "Unfortunately, that's not the right answer. Wrong is wrong. Are you going to argue with me on that because I'd love to share exactly how wrong you are." He sat back and crossed his legs in sudden eagerness, awaiting her response.
"It was a question about sitting. You sit on a sofa!" Her eyes narrowed.
"Yes, but that was the predictable answer, wasn't it? You can't get any points for that one. Honestly you've dulled me practically into a coma. I might need that bed now."
"Did I have some sort of head trauma?" Lizzie asked, feeling the stirs of an oncoming headache.
Damion smirked. "Not today, but I think I may have one from your terrible answer."
Lizzie clenched the bed sheets in her growing frustration. "Well, if you don't like my answer then what would have been correct?"
Damion smiled ever-so-politely. "We would've accepted sitting or standing on your head, doing a handstand beside someone who is sitting, sitting on the nearest person's lap, hanging from the ceiling, riding the dog, making the chairs sit on you, or simply refusing to sit at all."
"Alright. Now I have a question for you."
"Oh, this ought to be good." Damion lowered the clipboard onto his lap.
Leaning forward, Lizzie looked him straight in the eyes and asked, "Are you a complete quack?"
"No." Damion lifted his pen and scribbled in the chart. "Patient also showing signs of aggression. May need restraints."
"I think I'd like to leave." Her every limb tingled with adrenaline.
"Not until we're done."
"I don't care. I need to leave now." Lizzie looked around for a call button, finding one that said "security" and pressing it hard. Whatever was going on, she was in danger with these men and she kept her eyes locked on their every move.
The door to her room burst open, two men in security uniforms running inside.
"Something troubling you? Is the Jell-O eating people again?" asked the curly-haired one. He laughed until catching Lizzie's horrified stare. "Sorry, it's just a bad joke." His expression fell.
"My name's Favian," said his companion, "and that's Enzo. I don't see anything going on in here so what do you want? I was finishing a fine sandwich."
Lizzie squinted at her 'help.' Who did the hiring in this place? "Uh… These doctors are making me very uncomfortable and I'd like to leave."
"So?" asked Favian.
"And they weren't going to let me." Her words failed her under the weight of her confusion.
"Well then you should take your doctor's advice," said Enzo.
"But I don't want this man to be my doctor. My rights—"
"You are being held until further evaluations are complete. You're not going anywhere," said Damion.
Lizzie pulled her legs to her chest, gulping. What had happened to her? Was she sick? Kidnapped? Crazy?
"Thanks for nothin'!" Favian grumbled. He and Enzo marched out the door.
"Now… question three," said Damion.
"Three? But I think you just skipped two."
"No, I know how to count. We're on three. There is no question two. Why do we even need to acknowledge the number two's existence?"
"Um, because of math."
"Well, it's not a number I use anymore. That poppycock bastard..." Damion sneered.
"But you're a doctor. You have to use it." What was wrong with these men? So far she had no answers and a growing headache. She wondered if there was any sort of chance she could run out the door without them stopping her.
Damion shook his head. "No. That's not going to happen. Two is dead."
"But—"
"Does it bother you?" he pressed.
"Of course, but it's more of a concern."
"Hmmm, interesting, but too bad."
Lizzie openly gaped at Damion's response. "You know, you remind me of someone, too, and it's also not flattering." Flashbacks of arguments with Drop Dead Fred ran rampant through her mind.
Damion pretended to ignore her and went back to writing on the clipboard. "Orofacial myological disorder is present—"
"What the hell? Do you even HAVE a medical degree?"
"Possible Tourette's," Damion continued to write before looking up and smirking at Lizzie. "Question three… Do you find this weird?"
A violent flinch overtook Lizzie. "Are you kidding? Of course I do! If I didn't I could blame it on the morphine."
"Ohh! So close on that one, but wrong as usual." Damion ticked off another mark on his clipboard.
"But you asked me an opinion, not a fact! Right and wrong don't apply!" She was almost ready to pop this guy.
"Yes, but you see if you find this weird, then that makes you normal. If you were weird this wouldn't be weird. Weird would be normal and normal would be weird. So you just called us weird and that's WRONG; not to mention offensive."
"Someone's not getting their Jell-O come lunch," muttered Cale.
Lizzie eyed every one of them, but saved her best glare for her 'doctor.' "Look, I want some answers and I demand to see my chart and what you're writing in it."
"This chart?" Damion asked, raising the clipboard.
"Yessss." She hissed.
"The one you see right here in my hand?"
"That would be it."
"Then you've gotten your request to see it, then. Good for you. Moving on—"
"But—"
"Uh, uh, uh! We haven't finished with our diagnosis. Now you wouldn't want us to make the wrong conclusion, would you?" His eyes slanted to an expression of warning.
"Fine. I don't know what your game is, but I'll play along, so long as it gets me out of here and to some answers." And an Aspirin.
"Question four… If a child is asked to go to bed at a certain hour, yet they aren't tired and would rather have candy, what should you do for them?"
Lizzie released her hold on the bed sheets and was again thrown. Was this some sort of strange parenting course? For a brief moment she started to calculate how long it had been since the last time she'd had sex, until she realized that was an absolutely ridiculous notion since that had been several months ago. This doctor was really screwing with her mind. She had to focus.
"Umm… I guess I'd tell them they could have a small piece and if they're good maybe they'd find a surprise under their pillow when they wake up." She held her breath as she waited to see how that answer would go over.
Damion hummed in thought. "Sweet, really, but WRONG. However, I will give you half credit because that wasn't terrible." He appeared almost dejected about having to finally give her a score.
"Question five… How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"
Alright. Maybe she had gone too long without oxygen earlier? A medical doctor didn't ask people about woodchucks! "Oh, piss off…" she muttered. "Five?"
"Nope! Good job returning to that streak of yours!"
Lizzie groaned and already had a pain behind her eyes before asking her question. "And how was that wrong?"
"It's a number. There's no fun in numbers. You could've said anything else, but no. Plus, he wouldn't be a very efficient woodchuck if he only chucked five wood. Come on! Be reasonable, Elizabeth." Damion rolled his eyes and looked at her with contempt. A small bit of joy arose inside him at her swell of agony.
"Look, have I been committed or something? Is my mother outside, or is there anyone else I can speak to?"
"Do you speak to other people often? Any special… friends?"
"What?" Lizzie tensed.
Damion lifted his pen and started writing again. "Hard of hearing..." he said. "You do have a visitor coming, but there's one last question."
Hope sprung inside Lizzie at the mention of a visitor. Right now she didn't care at all if it were her mother, Charles, or someone off the street. As long as it was someone SANE. "Fine! Just get it over with."
"What is your favorite color?"
Lizzie's hands dropped from her head as she took in the question. This had to be a trick like all the others. She'd state her favorite color and it would somehow be wrong. Anxiety welled in her and she just wanted this to end. "Umm. My favorite color? Uh…"
"We're waiting… or shall I add stutter to your chart?"
Her gaze darted around as she struggled to think. "Um… I guess…"
"Ticktock!" Damion rapidly tapped his pen, rattling Lizzie even further, until she shouted the first word that popped in her head.
"Squirrels?"
The three men besides Damion gasped, whispering and nodding amongst each other before breaking out into a round of applause. Lizzie could not help, but smirk at Damion's less than pleased expression at her accidental success.
"Desperate, but… correct. Pass," he said, ticking the chart again and standing up. "Would you like some Valium to relax?"
All of Lizzie's thoughts felt as though they were tripping over one another, making her apprehensive about answering his question. Was this another test? "I guess so."
Damion smacked the clipboard against his hand. "So would I. I hear it's very good," he said, walking off toward the sink, leaving Lizzie stunned as ever.
"Never mind. Who... You said I had a visitor?"
"Did you?"
Lizzie blinked. "What?"
"Oh! You mean to say you have a visitor coming, not that you've had a visitor. I thought for a second you'd resolved to cannibalism and I must say that would've changed things with your score immeasurably under the circumstances."
Anger flit like a current inside Lizzie. "Look, I don't know who you and your friends are, but if you don't get out of here right now, and send in whoever my visitor is I'm going to put you in this hospital with me!"
"Fine," said Damion. "Send in Fred."
Lizzie's heart leapt. "What did you just say?"
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Second Chances