Chapter 521: Martin is a good doctor

In the somewhat confined space of his dressing room, Leonardo sat alone on a rocking chair, the dim light casting shadows across the room. He appeared to be dozing, his body swaying gently with the rhythm of the chair.

Stirred by faint noises, he lazily opened his eyes, scanning the room. Noticing nothing amiss, he picked up a dart and, with a half-hearted flick of his wrist, threw it. By some stroke of luck or perhaps skill, the dart found its mark, hitting the bullseye.

Leonardo's thoughts drifted to plans after work, contemplating where to meet models and unwind. But, unexpectedly, images of Martin and Nicholson intruded into his reverie, causing him to shake his head in mild annoyance. Despite himself, he realized he somewhat missed those two troublemakers.

Suddenly, a bizarre sound snapped him back to the present. It was as if a rocket had ignited beneath him. He leaped up so abruptly that the rocking chair almost toppled over.

To his horror, a dozen mice, startled by the commotion, scurried out from hidden crevices in the walls. Some, in their panic, headed straight for Leonardo.

His scream echoed through the room as he bolted towards the door with a speed he didn't know he possessed. Frantically, he tried the handle, only to find it locked from the outside.

More mice, disturbed by his movements, joined the frenzy, darting chaotically around the small room. A couple even brushed against his feet, causing him to leap up, his heart racing.

Clinging to the window above the door, Leonardo's desperate cries for help filled the air. He mustered all his strength, pulling himself up, his face, then shoulders, and chest appearing through the window.

In his panic, he resorted to his trademark intense expression – furrowed brows, wide eyes, and a roar for help. But his plea halted abruptly.

Just outside, he saw the very faces that had haunted his thoughts – Martin and Nicholson. Both were wearing thick leather gloves, each holding a mouse by the tail. Their eyes gleamed with mischief as they stared at Leonardo's startled expression.

Martin, playfully swinging the mouse, taunted, "Been practicing my aim. Not perfect, but from this distance, I think I can hit your face."

Nicholson, joining in, said, "Leo, open wide! My target's your mouth. Come on, cooperate!"

Leonardo, caught between fear and indignation, shouted, "I thought of you as brothers, and you treat me like a cat's plaything?"

Martin shot back, "Don't flatter yourself! What cat gets scared and screams at a mouse?"

Leonardo, trying to maintain some dignity, pleaded softly, "Have a heart, guys. Help a brother out here."

Nicholson feigned a throw, causing Leonardo to flinch and lose his grip, falling back into the room with a thud and a scream.

As he landed, he felt something beneath his foot. Looking down, he saw a mouse, unfortunately crushed under his weight. The room, once a place of solace, had turned into a scene of chaos and bizarre brotherly intervention.

Leonardo, his nerves stretched taut, found himself in the midst of a peculiar triumph. The once-dreaded mice, now fleeing in terror, seemed insignificant. Overcoming his fear, he seized one of the deceased rodents by its tail and flung it out the window with a defiant cry, "Consider this a gift!"

Outside, Martin's reflexes snapped into action. He swiftly dodged the airborne object, taking cover beside the door. The dead rat splattered against the opposite wall, splashing Nicholson with an unsavory mix of blood and guts.

Unfazed by the gruesome scene, Nicholson, with a lifetime of outrageous experiences under his belt, looked at the mess on his sunglasses, then at the rat on the ground, and gave Martin a thumbs-up. "Your radical therapy worked!"

Unlocking and swinging open the door, Nicholson was immediately engulfed in a hasty embrace by Leonardo, who had just bolted out of the room.

Nicholson, clasping Leonardo tightly, teased, "My good brother, you've finally conquered your inner demons!"

"Get off me! Let go!" Leonardo protested, feeling the sticky residue from Nicholson's glasses smear onto his own face.

Martin, standing aside with a look of distaste, urged, "You two clean up already!"

Leonardo, seeking solidarity, turned to Martin. "What about me? Don't I get a visitation hug?"

As the trio bantered, it was clear that their friendship transcended any semblance of normalcy. Nicholson released Leonardo and made a grab for Martin, who swiftly evaded, keeping his distance.

Nicholson called out, half in jest, "You disloyal jerk!"

Martin, evading further contact, watched as the crew's cleaning team and rodent control squad rushed into the dressing room to tackle the aftermath.

Half an hour later, a freshly showered and changed Nicholson and Leonardo rejoined Martin.

Leonardo, pointing accusingly at the pair, demanded, "Was this your idea of therapy?"

Nicholson, ever the opportunist, quickly deflected, "It was all Martin's brainchild, not mine."

Martin, visibly frustrated, retorted, "You're the one who called me for this, remember? You even helped plan it!"

Leonardo, still simmering, shot back, "You call this treatment? Did you even consider how this could've made things worse?"

Martin, attempting to bring reason to the chaos, insisted, "Facing your fears is the best way to overcome them!"

Leonardo, his pride slightly restored, boasted, "Only because I'm strong. In anyone else's case, this could have driven them mad!"

Martin, ever the planner, reassured, "Don't worry, I've got Dr. Laura on standby."

Nicholson, joining in, added, "I've already booked you a room at the Presbyterian Hospital's Psychiatric Center. Martin's covering the bill."

Leonardo, half amused, half exasperated, muttered, "How did I end up with you two?"

Martin, keen on validating his unconventional methods, asked, "Still scared of mice?"

Leonardo, striking a confident pose, declared, "Scared? Me? Bring on a hundred more, I'll take them all down!"

Martin, seeking affirmation, asked both of them, "So, my therapy worked, right? Should you start calling me Dr. Martin?"

Nicholson and Leonardo exchanged a glance, their camaraderie unspoken yet evident.

Just then, Scorsese approached, witnessing the trio's playful banter and mock bravado. Seeing them together, he couldn't help but feel a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"These three," he thought, "together they could drive anyone crazy."

Turning to Leonardo, he asked, "You okay now, Leo?"

Leonardo, stretching casually, replied, "

In the cramped confines of the dressing room, the scene unfolded with a mix of horror and bizarre triumph. The aftermath of Leonardo's accidental crushing of the mouse was gruesome, its internal organs scattered in a morbid display. Yet, in this macabre moment, Leonardo felt an unexpected surge of empowerment. With a newfound resolve, he stomped again, squashing the poor rodent's head into an unrecognizable mass.

The remaining mice, witnessing this, scurried away in terror. Leonardo, a mix of adrenaline and relief coursing through him, seized the lifeless mouse by its tail and hurled it out of the window, declaring, "Here's a present for you!"

Outside, Martin's quick reflexes came into play as he dodged the flying object, taking cover beside the door. The dead rat hit the opposite wall with a sickening splat, splattering Nicholson with blood and viscera.

Nicholson, unfazed by the gory mess, glanced at the fallen rodent and then back at Martin, giving a thumbs-up. "Your extreme therapy actually worked!"

He unlocked and opened the door, and Leonardo, propelled by a mixture of fear and triumph, barreled into Nicholson's arms.

Nicholson, embracing him, rubbed their faces together, exclaiming, "My brave brother, you've conquered your deepest fear!"

"Let go, let me go!" Leonardo protested, feeling the sticky remnants from Nicholson's glasses smear onto his face.

Martin, observing the messy reunion with disgust, ordered, "Clean yourselves up, both of you."

Leonardo, not missing a beat, turned to Martin, "You're here to see me. Where's my hug?"

As the trio interacted, their unique bond was apparent, transcending any conventional sense of camaraderie. Nicholson, releasing Leonardo, made a move towards Martin, who quickly sidestepped, maintaining his distance.

Nicholson called out in mock anger, "You disloyal jerk!"

Martin's call to action brought in the studio's cleaning and rodent control teams, who swiftly entered the dressing room to address the aftermath.

Half an hour later, a freshly showered and changed Nicholson and Leonardo emerged, rejoining Martin.

Leonardo pointed accusingly at them, "Was this your idea of therapy?"

Nicholson, ever the scapegoat, deflected, "This was all Martin's doing, not mine."

Martin, his frustration evident, retorted, "You're the one who asked for my help with Leo. And you even contributed to the plan. How can you say it's not your doing?"

Leonardo, still fuming, questioned, "This is your idea of treatment? Did you consider the consequences if it made things worse?"

Martin, earnestly, replied, "Sometimes, confronting fear directly is the best solution."

Leonardo, with newfound bravado, asserted, "I'm strong enough to handle it. But in another person's case, this could've been disastrous."

Martin, ever the problem-solver, reassured, "I've already reached out to Dr. Laura for professional help."

Nicholson, trying to lighten the mood, quipped, "I've booked you a stay at the Psychiatric Center of Presbyterian Hospital. And Martin's footing the bill."

Leonardo, exasperated yet amused, exclaimed, "How did I ever get mixed up with you two?"

Martin, seeking validation, asked, "So, are you still scared of mice?"

Leonardo, puffing his chest out, boasted, "Afraid? Not at all! I could take on a hundred more."

Martin, looking for affirmation, inquired, "So, did my therapy work? Am I not a genius? Shouldn't you call me Dr. Martin now?"

Nicholson and Leonardo exchanged a knowing glance.

At that moment, Scorsese approached, witnessing the trio's playful rivalry and antics. Observing them, he felt a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"These three together," he thought, "are a recipe for madness."

Turning to Leonardo, he asked, "You okay now, Leo?"

Leonardo, stretching and regaining his composure, replied, "

"Ah, it's like I'm hitting my stride again," Scorsese declared with a renewed vigor, his eyes twinkling in the dim light of the room.

He glanced between Martin and Nicholson, sensing an unspoken tension that always seemed to linger in the air whenever these three were together. It was an enigma he couldn't quite decipher.

Leonardo, ever the mediator, sauntered over, his footsteps echoing slightly in the spacious room. He slung his arm around Scorsese's shoulders, a gesture of camaraderie. "Director, I'm taking a breather today," he said with a reassuring smile. "Tomorrow, I promise, I'll be back, full of energy, ready to give my all."

Scorsese nodded, concern etching his features. "Of course," he replied, his voice laced with a mix of worry and affection. "But you three," he added, fixing his gaze on each of them in turn, "try not to stir up any trouble on set, alright? This crew is a serious bunch. They can barely tolerate your antics. Except for Leo, perhaps."

Martin, feigning solemnity, placed his hand over his heart. "Fear not, director," he declared with mock seriousness. "I'll keep these two in line," he said, nodding towards the others with a playful smirk.

Before anyone could counter his statement, Martin clapped his hands together. "Let's head out," he announced, leading the way out of the building. As they strolled towards the parking lot, passing by the various studios rented for "Shutter Island," the setting sun cast long shadows across their path, painting everything in hues of orange and purple.

Suddenly, Martin's gaze locked onto a familiar figure in the distance. Heath Ledger was there, ambling towards them with a four-year-old girl by his side. The sight of him seemed to freeze time for a moment.

Heath, noticing them, paused, an unspoken conversation passing between them through their eyes alone.

Martin, however, chose not to engage, walking past without a word. The air was thick with unspoken words and memories.

Heath watched them go, a complex mix of emotions flickering across his face. "Dad, what's wrong?" the little girl tugged at his hand, her voice pulling him back to the present.

"Nothing, sweetheart. Let's go find your mom," Heath replied, his voice gentle as he scooped her into his arms and headed towards the studio.

Once they were out of earshot, Martin broached the subject. "Heath's here on set?"

Leonardo, always quick to stir the pot, chimed in with a mischievous grin. "Heard something about him and Michelle Williams. Rumor has it he's been hanging around, maybe trying to rekindle something."

Martin rolled his eyes. "Leonardo, spare me your gossip," he said dismissively.

Unperturbed, Leonardo continued, "I was thinking of setting you up with Michelle for a drink tonight. She seems... lonely."

Martin shook his head. "That's all in the past. I prefer to look forward, not backward. Dwelling on the past doesn't do me any good."

Nicholson, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally spoke up, his voice tinged with amusement. "Since when do we lack for company, gentlemen?"

The three of them reached the car and drove off towards the hotel, where they retreated to Leonardo's luxurious suite. Inside, the mood was light, almost celebratory, as they gathered around with drinks in hand.

Martin uncorked a bottle of whiskey, pouring three glasses. Nicholson picked up his glass, raising it slightly. "To missed invitations and unattended pre-wedding parties," he said, a hint of jest in his voice.

Leonardo downed his drink in one gulp, his face momentarily clouded with thought. Martin, ever observant, probed, "Is this about Giselle's engagement?"

"Me? Sad over a woman?" Leonardo scoffed, draining the rest of his drink. "I'd never sacrifice the entire forest for one tree."

Martin refilled his glass, a knowing smile on his lips. "That, I believe, is the truest thing you've said all evening."