Reunions

Author note: I do not own any of the characters from House; they belong to David Shore.

Chapter One – Case Study

It was about two o'clock in the morning, and the stragglers who were still hanging around the alleys and were still coherent enough to be paying attention could see a dash of blonde blur rushing out ofSotto 128, one of Princeton's more well-known night clubs.

"Oh, I'm going to be so fucked!" the blonde girl, who was dressed in a black mini-skirt, a tight-fitting black top, and three inch black heels, yelled as she rushed out to her car, her brunette friend following after her, waving her arms in a somewhat dismissive stance. "I promised I'd be home two hours ago – I'm so fucked!"

"Oh come on, Candy – you're nineteen years old, why are you so afraid to get home late?" the other girl asked, chuckling. "I mean, come on, what else is there to do on a Friday night in Princeton?" She grinned widely, still trying to keep up with the girl ahead of her.

"I am gonna catch hell like you would not believe," Candy replied, shaking the door handle of her black BMW frantically. "Oh come on, open! Open! I'm not even going to have time to change – oh hell." She stared at her car, giving the handle another yank as she began to feel slightly dizzy. In a frantic moment, she began to wonder if someone had perhaps drugged her drink, she'd be WARNED this could happen, but less than the fear of being drugged, her mind was swarming with how much she was going to get yelled at once she got home and inevitably got out. "Karen!" Candy wailed, before her eyes seemed to slip closed off her own accord. The next thing she heard was ambulance sirens, and then it was all another blur.

"You ran a car into her HOUSE?" Chase's incredulous voice rang out through the walls of the conference room.

"Yes, I did," House replied simply, turning his head towards Foreman and Thirteen. "Would you like me to repeat it so you both can hear it as well, or can we move on to the… hmm… patient who's potentially dying?" Foreman gave a frustrated sigh.

"Candace Aaronson, nineteen years old. Collapsed while out at a nightclub…" he relayed. "So far, she's not really presenting with, well, anything – other than that she collapsed suddenly. Why are we even taking this case?"

"Trying to avoid the new boss," House replied, tapping the whiteboard with his cane. "So I took the first case that had the vague potential of being interesting. Also, so I didn't need to keep answering questions about how or why I drove my car into Cuddy's house." He looked over at Chase and glared. "Could just be overexertion from dancing all night," he looked at Thirteen and smirked. "I know I've had that problem myself – just give her an IV and see if that clears things up."

"Already did," Thirteen replied, reaching up and playing with a lock of her hair and trying to disregard House's seemingly nonchalant and almost happy behavior after ramming his car into his ex's house, causing her to transfer to another hospital, and only narrowly avoiding being thrown in jail. "It doesn't seem to be helping; if anything, she seems to be getting worse. And we haven't been able to get in touch with any next of kin – I keep just getting a voicemail." House shrugged and looked at her.

"All right, so what do we know now?" he asked, picking up a marker and writing on the whiteboard.

"That an IV isn't working?" Chase pointed out unnecessarily.

"Go break into the house and check for toxins," House replied, pointing to Taub and Thirteen. "Chase, go talk to the patient and get a full history. Foreman…" He gave a long pause and then looked away, before looking at Foreman again, "Do my clinic hours."

"I am not doing your clinic hours!" Foreman protested angrily.

"Okay, then, distract the new boss while I go home and pointedly do not do my own clinic hours," House replied. "Whatever floats your boat." He limped back over to the door and then out again, leaving the team staring at each other.

"So, what's up with him?" Foreman asked. Thirteen shrugged.

"Just let him be – obviously the whole Cuddy situation is affecting him more than he'd really like to let on," she told him harshly, then looked over at Taub. "So, where's this address?"

"Looks like she's living at 515 Bank Street," he responded, reading off of the patient's file. "Let's go."