Disclaimer: The folks in this story do not belong to me, unfortunately. They are the creations of the good people of the Fox network. But ya'll know that.
I haven't written anything in a very long time, so I can only hope that this isn't too bad. Please R & R. Enjoy.
The urgent shrieking of the heart monitor seemed to be the only sound left in the entire hospital, and had momentarily frozen three of the four doctors in the room. The patient, something of a John Doe who had gone largely unidentified for the past four days, had a calm look of repose about himself, as though he knew that the black man holding the defibrillator paddles would try again, this time with positive results. His lax facial muscles gave an appearance of utter oblivion. He was oblivious to the fact that Dr. Foreman had already used the paddles over forty times with the same morbid outcome; oblivious to the fact that his heart could no longer beat unaided; oblivious to the fact that his brain was unable to control his body any more; oblivious to the fact that in a few short moments, his life would be over. The once steady beeps of the monitor that marked each beat of his heart began to lose their consistency, coming later and later, until they were finally replaced by the high-pitched whine that signified heart failure. A flatline. Death. The surprisingly sudden death of Dr. House's patient. It was unclear as to whether the other doctors in the room were shocked more by the death itself, or by the realization that House had been unable to prevent it.
Three heads snapped around as one to face the monitor when the empty screeching was abruptly cut off. Their eyes came to rest on the hand of Dr. Chase as it slowly drifted away from the machine's OFF switch. The fair-faced young doctor looked grimly to House, waiting for him to call it. House frowned in what could easily have been interpreted as simple annoyance, swallowed, glanced down at his watch, and managed to grind out, "Time of death, fifteen forty six." With that, he spun angrily around on his cane and left the room, calling over his shoulder, "Clean him up", knowing that they would comply. They always did.
The air outside in the hallway felt much cooler than that of the tiny exam room. Perhaps it was simply the excess of life that seemed to move around House so freely as he made his way wearily to the elevators. Inside the room, he had known from the start that they were going to lose the patient, and that knowledge had seemed to thicken the air before House, Cameron, Chase and Foreman had even begun to work up a sweat trying to save the man. The elevator "dinged" softly, and House got on, sighing slightly with the doors as they closed. He tried to ignore the quiet music floating from the background that was mocking him, vowing silently to fore a memo from Cuddy banning all facets of happiness within the hospital whenever a patient died. Of course, he had to remind himself that that happened almost everyday.
House was glad when he could finally get off the mocking elevator and start to limp his way down the hall towards his office. It was hard to fathom just how calm and unaffected he felt after losing his patient. Two floors up, a life had just come to a violently messy ending. Over the last four days and nights, House had even almost begun to like the guy. Almost. He had quite possibly been the happiest, most content bum House had ever treated. When the guy had been admitted to PPTH with a sudden and rather mysterious onset of limb paralysis, he hadn't been worried in the least. Calling himself simply Eddie, he'd done nothing during the countless tests that he was administered but talk about his fabulous "home" and his many, many friends. And while his home didn't sound like much, House had to admit that the man seemed to have been blessed with countless friends. They had gotten the idea that Eddie had risen to some level of leadership and respect amongst a sad following of derelicts and junkies. House shook his head, walking into his office. He hadn't liked Eddie. He had admired him.
The lights inside the office were off, and House elected to leave them that way. Setting his cane down on his desk, he began to collect items and haphazardly throw them into his bag. He would take home Eddie's file, along with a half-dozen other assorted odds and ends that he didn't need belt felt somehow reassured by, and go over every last detail of the case. It wasn't like he doubted himself or thought that he might have made some fatal error. It was simply curiosity, along with that all too familiar and agonizing frustration that came with his inability to diagnose Eddie. Many doctors might simply have bagged and tagged Eddie and had some anonymous nurse wheel him on down to the morgue to never be given so much as another thought. He would have been buried before the grave had even been dug, or rather before a cemetery ad even been selected. Why should anyone care about his death, more or less what had been the cause of it? They shouldn't. House did.
Unable to locate one of his texts, House heaved his second sigh of the afternoon and let himself melt into his chair. It was only a little after four o'clock, but he was more than ready to go. However, he knew Cuddy would have his ass if he skipped out early; he had three hours of clinic duty beginning at five, but as far as Cuddy was aware, he was still breaking his neck over Eddie's case. Not wanting to give her a reason to come screaming after him, he pulled out the case file and began to scrutinize it.
The door to the office quietly swung open and more of the hallway's cool air flowed in, followed by Dr. Cameron. House didn't look up at her. He knew that her face would be sad and pale, and her brown eyes would look as if the slightest breeze might shatter them, dropping thousands of tiny crystalline tears to the floor, and at that particular moment he wasn't in the mood to sweep up the mess. Ignoring her, he continued to study the charts, waiting for the words that he knew would come.
"Are you okay?" They were quiet and somewhat timid, and House could easily detect the sadness and concern behind them. And he had to admit that they sounded ridiculous coming from Cameron, the one person who was probably the most upset over Eddie's death.
He finally looked up at her and spoke, trying not to sound too harsh, but knowing tat he did. "I'm surprised that you're not still upstairs sitting with the body and holding its hand."
She shrugged, brushing a long strand of brown hair away from her face. Or maybe it had been a tear. House could never tell these things with Cameron. "You know its not your fault, right?" she asked him with just a little bit too much concern in her voice.
Cocking his head slightly to one side, House allowed that one to sink in before answering. It would always be beyond him just why Cameron spent so much of her time and energy trying to keep other people from being upset. She was rarely, if ever, successful.
"Of course I do." House answered his rising annoyance more than evident in his voice. He was angry over what had happened, but at the same time, he found something bitterly ironic in Eddie's situation. "But then, hey! You never know." He got to his feet and leered at her. "It could have been. Something I gave him could have caused the cardiac arrest. Or some drug that he took two weeks ago could have caused it. Or maybe Foreman or Chase accidentally sneezed on him. So I suppose I can't really say at this moment what killed dear old Eddie, but if it will make you happy, lets just pin it on Chase for now. He has no conscience, so I doubt that it'll bother him too much. Happy?" He spat these last words out sarcastically. For all House cared, it could be his own fault. He just was not anywhere close to the mood that he would need to be in in order to finish this discussion. Cameron looked at him, a mixture of disgust and confusion on her face.
"How can you joke around like this? Eddie may not have been some rich white guy willing to donate millions to the hospital…"
"Oh, I'm betting you're right about that."
"…but he was human and I'd expect even you to show him a little respect. Or any kind of emotion really." She was angry with him now. The concern that had been in her voice only moments before had completely evaporated, leaving behind only dry, abrasive sand that she now used to try and hurt him. "But no, I come down here thinking that you might actually give a crap about someone other than yourself, and what do I find? You, being an ass just like always. Why can't you pretend just for a minute that Eddie's death might…I don't know, bother you? Can't you for one moment give him some respect, or, or…" She turned away, searching for her answer somewhere out in the hospital's parking lot. "Or dignity or…" Slowly and sadly, she faced him again. "…remorse? Sadness?"
The force with which House's cane came slamming up onto the desk surprised even him. Ignoring the look of fear that had so quickly washed over Cameron's face, he took a step towards her, venting all of the pent up rage that the last few days had given him. "Remorse? I don't have time to be sad about some junkie that I didn't know. He's dead, and it's because I couldn't find out what was wrong with him fast enough to save his life. So yes! I am bothered by it, but it happens. We lose patients all the time in this damn hospital, and there's a reason for every one of their deaths. Right now, I'm bothered because I don't have an explanation for Eddie. I tried everything and he's still lying upstairs dead, and I do give a damn about it, but I don't have time to go around doctor to doctor crying on everybody's shoulder over it like you" he was yelling, and he knew it was scaring Cameron, but he was way past caring. "They don't pay me for that. They pay me to fix people. If they didn't, I wouldn't be going home tonight with the damn case file to study and figure out just why in the hell I couldn't fix him!"
House turned angrily back to his desk to finish packing his stuff, expecting Cameron to go storming from his office, upset and angry because he was an insensitive bastard. She'd probably tell Wilson who, consequently, could confront House and demand to know why he was "so mean" to the girl. However, he truly did not give a damn, and he didn't give a damn about Cuddy not getting to see his shining face in the clinic this at five. She could assign him as many extra hours as she damn well pleased, but he sure as hell wasn't goin-
"We."
Squinting his eyes in tremendous annoyance, his torrent of angry thoughts interrupted, he looked behind him to find Cameron still standing there, arms crossed. He rolled his eyes, struggling to remain patient with her. He couldn't understand why she wasn't letting this go. "Why are you still here?" He demanded. "Yelling usually indicated things like, oh I don't know, anger, unhappiness, you name it. When your boss fusses at you, you're supposed to take the hint and"
"You said you couldn't fix him. You couldn't help Eddie. You meant we."
House was silent. Maybe if he tried ignoring her again she would go away and leave him be, although he somehow doubted it very highly.
"House, you're not Superman. Eddie died this afternoon because none of us could hit the right diagnosis. You aren't the only doctor in this hospital, believe it or not." While her words were meant to be kind, House couldn't help but feel like Cameron was still berating him for something. She still had that accusing glare in her eyes, and her posture suggested that she was still incredibly incensed with him.
Zipping his bag shut, house gave her a dark look. "I should be." He muttered more to himself than Cameron. Hoisting the backpack, now heavy with books and other things, he didn't even look at her as he passed her on his way out, but he did say, "Go home Cameron. Go sob into your pillow. Call a girlfriend, tell her all about it. Eat ice cream and watch a Lifetime movie. Whatever. Just do something, for God sakes." As house pushed through the door, he heard her call after him, "I don't think that I'm the one who need to do "something"." He pretended not to hear it, letting the door glide quietly shut behind him. However, truth be told, House had heard her words louder and clearer than perhaps anything he has heard in is entire life.
He just didn't know what they meant.
As the door came to a gentle stop within its glass frame, Cameron had half a mind to run out after House and shake him. Or slap him. Or do anything that might knock some amount of sense into his head. Closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath, she tried to understand, or rather to simply accept the knotted up ball of emotions, if that was indeed what they were, that dwelled somewhere in the convoluted mind of Greg House. She blew the air out much more violently than she had perhaps intended and crossed the room to take the seat behind his desk. The urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake until she got tired and he started to act human began to fade, and was replaced by her own momentarily tangled knot of emotions. Cameron idly toyed with the over-sized pink and gray tennis ball that had somehow earned itself a full-time position on the desk, thinking. It was certainly rare to see one of House's patients die. While his methods were classified all too often as "unconventional" and "dangerous", one had to admit that the mortality they produced was outstanding. But the whole time that they had been treating Eddie, his disease had always been several steps ahead of them. If it had been so frustrating as to rub Chase the wrong way, Cameron knew that it must have been maddening for House. And the fact that Eddie and House seemed to have developed some kind of semi-friendly rapport made it all worse. Of all the patients that House could have been civil to, he had picked the one that died. Cameron felt certain now that he'd be even more reluctant to see patients face to face than before.
She blew out another sigh and tried to focus on something other than her frustration with House. She swiveled the chair around and let her eyes run over the countless volumes of medical dictionaries and journals that House kept close at hand. Deep in thought, Cameron stared at the various titles and vaguely wondered if the cure for Eddie's unknown disease might be found in one. It was highly unlikely though, as House would have brought the most likely candidates home with him to study.
The door behind her opened, and for one very brief moment she thought that maybe House had returned. But in turning around, Cameron had to admit to herself that she was much happier to see Wilson come walking in. He stopped in front of the desk and gave Cameron a weary smile which seemed to fade away as he spoke.
"I'm sorry about Eddie. Foreman told me just a few minutes ago."
Putting the tennis ball back on the desk, Cameron sank back into the chair and shrugged. "His disease was progressing too fast for us to keep up with. There wasn't much we could do for the guy."
Wilson pulled o wry face and took the seat opposite Cameron and House's desk. He looked thoughtfully towards the ceiling, searching for some words of wisdom for the younger doctor. At a loss, he simply sighed and said, "That really blows." It got a small smile out of Cameron, which was good enough he supposed. But almost an instant later it disappeared, to be replaced by a frown. "How do you stand it?" she asked.
"What?" he asked back, confused.
She leaned across the desk towards him, toying again with the tennis ball. "You're an oncologist. At least half of your patients are more than likely going to die. The only thing that you can do is buy them a little more time and try to make them comfortable. So, how do you stand it?"
Seeing where she was going, Wilson thought a moment before answering. "I guess I just try to find peace in the fact that because I gave a patient three more months, they got to spend it with their families. When they die, it doesn't come as such a shock." He could tell this didn't satisfy Cameron, but it was the best he could do. He was slightly surprised. Cameron may have been young, but she certainly wasn't inexperienced. By now she had to have learned how to cope with death, or at least as well as a doctor could. Changing the subject, he looked around the room and then over into the adjoining one.
"Where's House?"
Cameron's expression immediately darkened, and she crossed her arms irately. "He packed up his stuff and left. Said he was going home." She stated matter of fact, as though it were a crime.
"Then maybe he went home" Wilson suggested, beginning to feel uneasy. It was evident that she was angry with House for something. He should have realized that from the start.
Standing up, Cameron walked over to the window and looked out at the rain. She hoped House was getting thoroughly soaked riding his motorcycle out in the downpour. It didn't appear as if she had heard Wilson's comment.
"I swear he must be the most infuriating man on this planet."
Careful to remain neutral, Wilson offered, "Yes. He could be…the Earth's a pretty big place though."
Cameron gave him a look that wasn't quite as angry as the last one. "Yeah, I know. Still, he just got his stuff and walked out. It was like Eddie didn't even matter to him." She sat back down, looking as confused as Wilson had ever seen her. "I don't understand how he can do that after what happened. If it had been me, I'd have stayed and figured out what went wrong or…or…something."
Wilson sat forward and managed to look confused, worried and incredulous all at once. "Wait. You're not suggesting that House should stick around feeling guilty and taking the blame, are you? It's not his fault Eddie died."
"No! I'm just saying that he didn't seem to feel anything at all." She thought a moment. "Or at least not at first. I mean, when I came in here it was like he had forgotten the whole thing. Then he got mad and started ranting about how he couldn't diagnose Eddie and he couldn't save him and he couldn't figure out the problem. I'm saying that House really sounded like he thought it was all his fault. He thinks he killed the guy."
Wilson frowned. "So are you upset that he didn't react, or that when he did he took all the blame?" He was now completely baffled by Cameron's train of logic. But he also knew her to be very insightful to human behaviour, especially when it came to House. Wilson had known House since med school, but at times it seemed like Cameron was the only one who diffuse the mess of wires in the man's head.
"I'm not upset." She explained. "It just worries me a little I guess." She looked tired and her hair had taken on that stringy quality that suggested a long, hard day had passed. "House pretended not to give a damn more than he usually does, then he snapped and basically said that he feels extremely guilty about Eddie."
After a moment's contemplation, Wilson replied. "I see what you mean." Although he wasn't as clear on the matter s he would have liked to be. "You think House feels like Eddie's death is his fault, which is unusual."
Cameron just looked at Wilson for a moment as if he was unbelievably thick, then nodded. "It's just not the normal reaction we see coming from him, that's all."
"Well normally, his patients don't go into sudden cardiac arrest and die."
"I know that. But normally he accepts the fact that some unknown condition killed them. Like I said, with Eddie, House is going around acting like he did it."
They were both silent then for a few minutes, deep in their own thoughts. Cameron was concluding that House, for some strange reason, had been more affected by Eddie's death than the deaths of other patients while Wilson was thinking that although House may have gotten closer to a case than he usually might and gotten bad results, this was just Cameron over analyzing things, constantly looking for someone to fix. All the same, her description of House's reaction did seem a little off, therefore making her concerns somewhat valid. He sighed, standing to leave. He had patients.
"Look. I'll talk to House. If you're right and he's riding himself about this thing, I'll make him see some sense. If you're wrong, well…" He didn't finish, as he wasn't sure what the other option might be. Cameron nodded understandingly. "Thanks." Wilson pulled a wry face, walking out.
"Anytime."
