A Challenged Life
A/N I don't own a house let alone THE House. Also, this is an Alternate Universe which is set in the second season but Thirteen is on the team and there is no Cameron.
When the three fellows of Dr. Greg House reported for work on an early Monday morning, their world was turned upside down. Or so they thought. None of them would guess that one day soon, one of their lives would be irrevocably changed. Right then though, the three junior members of the Diagonistic department would be stunned into silence over the sight that befell them.
House was already in the conference room, already studying a patient's chart and wearing a grin. Any of his juniors-indeed anyone who had spent a day working with him, would easily say House being happy was dangerous. So forgoing the typical coffee grabbing and crossword solving routines of the day, his team took to their seats.
"Patient presents with paralysis, delirium, and convulsions. Differential diagnosis." House threw three copies of the patient's file on the table towards his team.
This was too surreal. House, being excited over a case that to all concerned seemed typical and boring! House never did boring, not unless he was trying to avoid clinic duty or had some other plot in hand. And since the team knew they had covered his hours, it could only mean House was up to something.
"Come on people! The man doesn't have much time!" House goaded his team.
Ideas were thrown about only to be shot down each in turn by their boss for an hour. House sighed and finally rapped his cane against the table.
"Foreman, the patient was staying at the Marriot on fourth street, find me something!" Foreman stood up and faced his boss.
"I did the last break-in, Thirteen and Chase haven't done one in a while!" Foreman protested, more out of principle than out of any real annoyance.
House shook his head. "Break into a hotel, you crazy or something? No, you'll be using the key that he gave us!" House handed his fellow the key that he had indeed stolen from the patient's backpack. "As for Thirten and Chase, Terminal is on labs and Blonde-"House turned to his Australian fellow, "will get the history." Chase nodded, tugged on his lab coat that he hadn't bothered to put on earlier, and left the room like the obedient fellow he usually was.
The Cheshire cat grin House wore went unnoticed by the Australian.
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Chase knocked twice on the patient's door before letting himself in. The patient, a young man with brown hair stared back at him. Chase guessed the man was in his late twenties. "Hi, I'm Doctor Chase," he looked down at the file, "and you must be Ethan Turner." He smiled at the patient, who while alert looked bewildered.
"How did I get here?" Instantly Chase knew why House had seemed in such a good mood and why he'd been drafted into getting the patient's history. House probably had some elaborate scheme that involved embarrassing him. It was par for the course for his boss.
"Ah. Don't meet many fellow Aussies in the States. Judging by your accent, I'm guessing you're from Queensland?"
"Yeah. . . I don't know where I am, or where here is." The man tried to shift but since he was paralyzed was unable to do so instead his eyes fell on the iv snaking in his wrist. He paused for a moment and suddenly shot his eyes up to the doctor. "States? As in not our states, but the United States?" The heart monitor began to rapidly beep.
Chase made for the locked medicine cabinet and withdrew a syringe. "Ethan, I'm going to inject a medicine in your line that will get your heart rate under control." With practiced ease, Chase slid the vial of Lorazepam in the iv. Instantly the monitor showed the patient's heart rate was back to normal.
"Yes, you are at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in New Jersey. We'll get it figured out." He assured the man. Ethan nodded as his eyes drooped, a side effect of the Lorazepam. Chase knew that sleep wasn't far off and cleared his throat. "I'll leave you to sleep in a moment but if you would answer a few questions for me first, that would be helpful."
" ." Ethan's eyes were glazing over but he fought against sleep.
"Well, I'd ask if you've been out of the country, but it seems that question is unnecessary." Chase smirked. "Have you eaten anything unusual in the past several weeks?" Chase recalled the symptoms that had been discussed and written in the file. A food allergy or rotten food could potentially cause any of the three mentioned.
"No. Nothing unusual, except Yanks would probably say Vegemite is unusual." Ethan gave a mirthless laugh. Chase chuckled and jotted on the file.
"Yeah, Americans just don't get the goodness of Vegemite. Most seem to love peanut butter though." Chase gave a theatrical shudder.
"Do you remember anything odd happening recently?" Chase was at a bit of a loss on how to precede. It was always difficult to know which questions to ask when the patient was dealing with the loss of memory. He made certain to jot that finding on his report, so that it would be added during the next DDX.
"No. Just my mates and I went down to Morton Bay recently, spent the day there." Chase nodded; he was very familiar with the Brisbane territory having spent many days of his youth there and other prime surfing areas.
"Speaking of mates, have you seen any of them with you since waking?" The Intensivist attempted to ferret out if Ethan had any friends here who would be able to fill in the missing gaps. Also, he was curious of how the man had ended up in the hospital. Either strangers had noticed he was in distress or friends had taken him to the hospital.
Ethan's face scrunched up almost comically as he pondered the question. "No." He finally answered, "I don't think so." Chase nodded, it was usual for a patient to be hesitant on basic questions when they had been doped up with various medicines. The Lorazepam had been one of several medicines given to Ethan since he was admitted. A quick glance at the iv stand told him that he was on an anticonvulsant, morphine as well as fluids. He made a mental note to stop by the admittance desk to see how Ethan came to the hospital and with whom he had come with. The information really should have been in the file but as the file didn't mention the patient's nationality, Chase wasn't holding out for small wonders.
"That's ok," he assured the other Aussie in the room. Ethan looked like he was wearing out, so Chase took a glance at the his monitors and prepared to leave the room. Before he even got out of the room, the patient was asleep. He noticed that Ethan's arm with the iv was beginning to drop off the bed and not wanting him to pull the iv out, crossed over the room and set his arm on the bed.
That's when he noticed the mark on the patient's neck.
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A few minutes later, Chase walked out of the now sleeping patient's room. He grit his teeth and plastered on a smile to a trio of nurses who were not so subtly ogling him. He was so going to get House for this. No matter that Chase kept his private life secret; he knew his boss knew Chase hated anything to do with back home. It wasn't Australia per se but the memories of his life there. The Intensivist was sure that House had given him the duty of taking the patient's history to simply taunt him. For what, he did not know, probably on some whim his insane boss got. Perhaps he was bored. Chase didn't know, but at the moment he really didn't care.
Instead of going straight back to the Diagnostics department, he made a detour into a nearby private restroom. He kept up the smile until he had closed and locked the door. Once he was sure he would not be interrupted, he leaned against the sink. He so did not need House's games today especially. His whole body ached with a dull throb and his forehead felt a tad warm, such as when he had caught the flu early into his fellowship. He dreaded having to tell House he might be getting sick, as his boss was not overly known for his caring nature. Still, he reasoned with himself, he could not risk infecting a patient with whatever he was getting.
Sighing, Chase turned on the tap of the sink and splashed some water on his face. After he had meticulously scrubbed his hands and arms, he reached for a paper towel in the holder. White hot pain tore through his chest, sending him to his knees and sprawled on the cold floor. He clutched at his chest and barely remembered to turn his head to the side as pain-induced nausea ate at him and he vomited. Then he knew no more.