House had just got himself a brilliant new game. It looked beautifully old-school with pixilated green and black, because there was nothing like the addictiveness of small screen hand held games. He had his feet up, game boy in one hand and cup of steaming hot unsweetened coffee. Perfect.

The door slammed open. He could have moaned. He looked up to Cuddy, breathing flames over him. She shoved a file in his face. "Case. Now. Go." It was almost like she was too angry to speak. The idea amused him.

"Yes, mom." He gave his standard answer. She stood there, hands on her hips, tapping one foot.

He looked at her, as if surprised to see her still there. "Well?" she asked.

He eyed the door. She rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in the air. He admired her fine rear as she stormed away. He had his reasons for wanting her to leave. He winced as he tried to move, paused and popped two vicodin. He tried again and got his feet to the ground and pushed himself up, for a split second, lurching too far. He regained his balance as quickly as he could, and gripped his cane, as if hoping to transfer some of the pain. His knuckles were white.

He used his cane to hit the door of the Ducklings' room, and walked out without waiting. They hurried and caught up.

"45 year old Asian female. Dizziness, Nausea, weakness in legs, headaches, stomachaches, fevers through the roof."

"Flu," said Foreman promptly.

House looked at him, with a 'well, duh' kind of look. "It should be flu, but it's not. She's had it for 7 months now, and no one can get it to go away."

"Well, we haven't developed a cure for the common cold, you know?" Chase commented.

"If I didn't know that, would I be paying you to go figure out what it is?" House asked. "Ideas. Come on."

House fired a long list of tests to be carried out, and glared at them.

The ducklings rushed away. He pulled out his bottle of vicodin and popped another two. His pill level was getting dangerously low. He sat down heavily, his thigh cramping painfully. "House!" came a voice. It was Wilson. He'd probably seen the pill-popping episode. Great. But Wilson didn't seem to be interested in scolding him. "Hey, House. Are you okay?"

There was genuine concern on his face as he scrutinized House. House nodded. "Yeah." but even his voice was different. This pain was excruciating, hitting 13 on a scale of 1 to 10.

Wilson seemed to know this. "Oh dear." He sighed. "Come on House. Let's get you some morphine."

House shook his head, catching Wilson by surprise. "I have a patient," and his voice was still strained.

Wilson gripped his shoulder and nodded. "Okay. But if you need me, don't bother paging. Just call." He knew House would call once his patient had been dealt with. He was only human. He couldn't live with that kind of pain for long. He hoped it got better. It was one of Wilson's nightmares that Houses' pain increased without stop, and one day his best friend would die in agony. He shook himself out of it. House wasn't going to die of pain—he was too strong. Too stubborn. He'd annoy Hades himself, until he gave up.

He squeezed Houses' shoulder and walked off. House scowled. He didn't find it fair that even though he'd perfected the art of schooling his expressions, one person still managed to read him like an open book.

He pushed himself up. He supposed he'd better go and check on his ducklings.

He slammed into the lab, ignoring the protesting guard. He gave him a look, flashed his card and walked in anyway. Wilson rolled his eyes. Hard. He went to the guard and explained that House was bitchier when he was in pain. He decided it would be better to not confront his friend when he was in this kind of mood.

"Okay, children. What'd the situation?" he asked.

"Red Blood Cell count dangerously low. White cell count pretty normal. It's not an infection. Her lungs seem to be in a strange condition. They're not inflating properly." Forman recited the basics.

"Smoker?" Chase asked.

Foreman shook his head. "Checked oxygen levels in blood, they're okay, relatively." Cameron looked like she was about to clarify. Foreman cut her off. "Ration of oxygen to Haemoglobin is fine, but Haemoglobin levels are low, and her body's not getting enough oxygen."

Suddenly all their pagers went off. They pulled them out, and Foreman and Chase ran off simultaneously. Cameron stayed for a fraction of a second to tell House that their patient had seized.

He stood there, watching them run off. A pang shook his heart, but he ignored it. He pulled out his Vicodin bottle and popped another two. He peered inside and grimaced. Only two left. He'd have to go to Wilson for a refill.

He sat down and pulled the patients' file. Something was really strange about this case, apart from the fact that all the symptoms were normal. All of them were perfectly okay, and explainable. But not all together. Not in the same person. (A/N: I know it's probably not the most interesting of cases, but it's all logically derived from stuff I've learned in chemistry. It should make sense, but sorry I can't come up with weird stuff like David Shore and co.)

The first page had a passport sized picture of his patient, and her name.

Alianna Munroe

He froze. Impossible.

Well? What says the reader? Please let me know, okay?

Love,

Lady Merlin