Delirium
by Your Undoing
Plot summary: Someone is heartbroken. Someone else has a potentially cataclysmic secret. And everyone's favorite doctor has another impossible patient.
Author's Note: And so begins my second multi-chapter House fic! I'm hoping to get more expansive with this one; this time, everyone (except Foreman… sorry, but does anyone actually like him?) gets some time in the spotlight. Please note, this does NOT take place in the same universe as Personal. This takes place in Season 4, so if you're not up to date with House's final decision regarding his team, this will spoil it for you. This does include one small spoiler for future episodes, in that I use Thirteen's name (Remy Hadley, according to spoilers). Also, simply because I dislike Foreman and honestly don't know if he's going to be a permanent member of House's team or not, I've decided to cut him out. Yup, that's all there is to it. I'm sorry if you like him, but I don't and it's my story to tell. Anyway, that's pretty much all you need to know to read this. Enjoy!
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"…Here's your soup, dear."
The woman smiled mechanically, exposing a missing tooth on her lower jaw. She held the plastic bowl out with gloved hands, the same pasty green color as her apron and cap she wore over her hair.
"I hate green."
She cocked her head, the fixed smile tightening slightly. She stretched her arms out further; a few drops of the mushroom bisque sloshed over the edge.
The man across the counter from her took a step back. His dark eyes narrowed beneath heavy eyebrows, which contracted sharply.
"I hate green, get it away. I don't want your green," he moaned. His white sneaker squeaked across the linoleum floor as he stepped further back. The men in the line behind him followed his movement with wary eyes.
"Move along now Mr. Avogadro, this soup is brown. You're holding up the line," the woman purred sweetly. Her smile stretched tighter still, lips barely moving as she spoke.
"No. NO!" he moaned louder, drawing his hands up to cover his face. "They all hate your green too, listen to them! They hate it too! There's too much green!"
The man in line behind him took a tentative step backwards, his already twitching hands shuddering violently. The woman behind the counter narrowed her eyes at those hands, her smile melting off her face. It was replaced by a sneer of disapproval.
"Mr. Avogadro, you're scaring the other patients," the woman purred again, her smile snapping back into place as she turned her attention back to the man across the counter from her. "No one else is speaking, and I certainly don't hear anyone complaining about the color scheme. I don't want to tell the nurse to up your dose again," she added, her smile once again disappearing; this time it was replaced with a sympathetic frown.
"Up the dose… up the dose again and again, that's all you do. You're drugging us to keep us here, that's how it is. I know how it is, I know!" Mr. Avogadro cried. His hands were still clutched to his face as he stumbled blindly backwards.
His shoulder gave a sharp jerk as a pasty green gloved hand gripped it tightly from behind. Its owner smiled the same mechanical way the cafeteria woman had; though her sleek black hair and dark red lipstick suggested she held a significantly higher position in the establishment.
"Get off me!" he yelped, hands scratching uselessly against her grip. His voice echoed off the high ceilings, sending a reverberation back down that sounded both less human and more terrifying. "Get off, get off, get off, get—"
"Mr. Avogadro, that will do," the woman said softly.
"What are you doing to me?!" he yelped louder, voice cracking. His hands jumped down to his legs, and he scratched his knees frantically.
"Mr. Avogadro, everything is fine," the woman said. She motioned for the frozen line of men to continue down the counter. "Would you come with me please?"
Mr. Avogadro ignored her. He was hitting his legs now, pounding his knees and calves.
The woman rolled her eyes. "What in the world—" she began.
"I can't feel my legs," Mr. Avogadro whimpered, grasping at them desperately. "I can't—"
He fell to the floor with a crash.
"Mr. Avogadro?"
"I can't move them," he moaned, tugging at his shoes. "What did you do?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
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"Congratulations."
House swiveled around, raising his eyebrows at the woman grinning up at him.
"Did I win something? Oh PLEASE say it's Hannah Montana tickets! Please oh please oh please oh…" he faux-whispered, crossing his fingers and waving them about ostentatiously.
"I have a case for you," Cuddy announced loudly, thrusting a file into his chest with a smirk.
"But mom!" House whined. He arranged his face into a particularly disappointed expression.
"His name is Alex Avogadro. His legs are paralyzed for absolutely no reason that the ER can see."
House rolled his eyes and pushed the file back into Cuddy's arms.
"He has a blood clot. Yippee."
"If it was a blood clot, that would be a reason. I just said there ISN'T a reason… yet. It's your job to figure it out."
He groaned. "No. I'm going home."
Cuddy glared at him sternly. "I am your boss and I say you take this case."
He ignored her, instead turning around and trudging towards the double doors beneath the neon 'EXIT' sign. "See you tomorrow, Cuddles!"
"House!" she snapped. The clicking of her shoes echoed loudly across the mostly empty entryway as she scurried to catch up.
"Not listening," House sang as he reached towards the door handle.
Cuddy stopped and crossed her arms. "I forgot to mention one thing," she said, her tone suddenly sing-song like to match his.
House didn't turn around, but his hand froze an inch from the handle.
"Alex is a ward from The Sequoia Hills Mental Institution," she announced triumphantly.
House swiveled around. "Why didn't you say so?" he demanded, plucking the file out of her grasp and flipping it open. His lips curled up in what appeared to be an involuntary smile.
"I always knew you liked crazy people," Cuddy said, raising her eyebrows, "but compared to five seconds ago you seem downright giddy."
"Yeah yeah," House muttered, flipping through the charts in the file. "So there's no evidence of a clot or a stroke... cool."
Cuddy nodded vaguely. "So you'll take it?"
"If it gets me out of clinic."
Cuddy cocked her head. "I'll think about it. Now go save the guy."
House made a face. "At your service."
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"Raise your hand if you love nuts."
Kutner, Taub, and Hadley jerked their heads up as House pushed in the door, tossing a file down onto the glass table. Kutner shrugged and raised a few fingers into the air, only to lower them upon seeing the disapproving expression on Hadley's face.
"I like nuts," Kutner muttered hesitantly. Taub smirked.
"Good," House boomed, limping over to the whiteboard. "We're treating one."
Hadley's expression was dubious. "Excuse me?"
House smirked at her from over his shoulder, then turned back to the whiteboard. "Alex Avogadro… 25 years old male, suffering from Schizophrenia. He's been living at The Sequoia Hills Mental Institution since he was 17." He backed away from the board to admire his work; it was now titled 'CRAZY GUY'.
"What's wrong with him?" Taub asked, picking up the file and flipping it open.
"Besides his inability to exercise sanity? Leg paralysis. No evidence of a clot or stroke. Go."
"Tendonitis," Kutner piped up immediately.
House shrugged one shoulder. "Highly doubtful, but MRI his legs when we're done here."
Taub's eyes flickered back and forth across the patient's charts. "How about Multiple sclerosis? If he's already insane, then the neurological symptoms would be hard to detect."
House shrugged the other shoulder. "Cool. MRI his brain, too. Say the nuttiness is a symptom… diagnose from there."
"Could be drugs," Hadley suggested.
"He's been in a mental institution for nearly ten years, how do you suggest he got his hands on narcotics?" Taub asked, raising his eyebrows at her.
"Those places are full of prescription drugs," she snapped back, holding out her hand for the file. Taub obediently handed it to her with a smile, looking thoroughly un-phased. "…It says here he's taking Risperidone, but who knows what else he got his hands on?"
"Risperidone can cause muscle stiffness and pain," Kutner pointed out, his eyes flicking towards House for approval.
House rolled his eyes at Kutner. "God, you're so needy. Like an Indian Chase."
"We should screen him for drugs," Hadley suggested loudly, cutting off what surely was going to be a comeback from Kutner. "Just to rule it out."
House made a face. "Have you no faith in our government? Unless they're letting him pop pills like candy—"
Taub coughed, grinning at the Vicodin bottle peeking out of House's pocket. House cleared his throat loudly and continued;
"Ahem… If it was drugs making him crazy, he would have suddenly gotten crazy while at the mental ward. Since he was sent there for a reason…" he trailed off, motioning for Hadley to check the folder.
"He tried to kill his gym teacher," she supplied, frowning at the contents of the file.
"See? He was nutty before he got his hands on the Risperidone. And since the paralysis is new, there's no way that it would be onset by a drug he's been taking for eight years."
Hadley looked put-out.
Kutner wrinkled his nose with thought. He looked up suddenly; "What about ALS?"
"Don't be ridiculous," House spat.
Kutner shrank back into his chair. "Fine…" he muttered.
"Lyme disease?" Taub offered.
"Were you not paying attention?" House asked exasperatedly. "He's been crazy for eight years! He would be long dead."
Taub shrugged apologetically. House sighed.
"I give up…" he said, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. "Just do the MRIs."
"What, tonight?" Kutner asked confusedly.
"Of course," House said as he limped over to the door.
"It's already eight o'clock!"
"Better go fast then."
"Hey wait, where are you going?" Kutner demanded.
House grinned. "Home. I'll check back in the morning. Toodle-oo!"
The three doctors at the table looked around at each other incredulously, but House was already out the door.
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"I've known you long enough to be able to tell when something's wrong, Allison."
Cameron looked up at the familiar sounding Australian accent. Chase was difficult to make out in the shadows of the group of lockers next to him, but his signature dirty blonde hair still managed to catch the light.
"Hey," she said softly, drawing her legs up onto the bench next to her. She cocked her head with a tentative smile.
"Hey," he replied; the concern in his voice was apparent. He sat down next to her with a slight sigh. "Are you alright?"
She nodded vigorously; a few locks of blonde hair fell down from her loose ponytail.
"I'm fine," she said lightly. "How are you?"
Chase smirked. "I'm just wondering how you could possibly consider that I would believe that."
"I'm fine," Cameron repeated, fixing Chase with a severe stare.
"No you're not," Chase said quietly, reaching a hand out to cup her chin. "You've been crying."
Cameron quickly averted her eyes.
"Are you happy, Allison?"
Chase's voice was soft and non-accusatory. He scooted down the bench until he was pressed up against her side. He stroked her cheek with his index finger, willing her to meet his eyes again. Cameron bit her lip, but turned her face towards him obediently.
"Yes."
Chase's anxious expression tightened.
"I'm trying as hard as I can to make things perfect between us," he said softly. Cameron nodded, her eyes glittering in the dark as she blinked rapidly.
"I know," she said softly.
Chase opened his mouth as though to say something, but then furrowed his brow and looked away. He sighed, and turned back to meet Cameron's eyes.
"You've been down ever since you stopped working for House. I pretended it was just me being paranoid, and that you were just feeling uprooted, and that things would settle down and get better."
Cameron made a slight croaking sound. Chase held up his hand, taking a deep breath.
"No, listen. I know you. I know you'll never be completely over him."
Cameron looked away sharply, sending a few more strands of blonde hair cascading down to frame her face.
"Allison, I was prepared to sacrifice my pride and be okay with the fact that a tiny portion of your heart would always belong to the jerk that had made us all miserable. I knew I could never have all of you, but I thought I could have most of you. I was okay with that, because I love you."
Her face was still turned away from him when she responded faintly;
"I'm over him. And I love you too."
Chase wiped at his eyes roughly before bringing his hand down to lean upon his mouth.
"I'm trying to believe that," he croaked into his fingers.
Suddenly, Cameron turned and buried her face in his neck, arms wrapped around his shoulders. Chase drew his arms up around her instinctively, pulling her in tightly.
"Believe me," she whispered into the folds of his shirt.
Chase kissed the top of her head with a reluctant sigh.
"Just prove it to me, alright? I want to see you happy."
"I am happy," she mumbled back. "I'm really happy."
Chase sighed again.
"Really."