Full Moon
House sighed and opened the glass door. The waiting room was full of people. Sick people. Not acute, needing immediate medical care, just your garden-variety sick people. Six hours a week. At first he tried to do it in hour increments, but he found that more intrusive than one shift all at once, so he moved it to one day a week. Like eating your veggies, just hold your nose and swallow.
A quick scan of pallid faces and runny noses revealed no one suffering from River Fever, Ebola or any other interesting malady. He went behind the glass partition to review the sign-in sheet. HIPPA compliance, the act that required that all patient information be kept confidential, now dictated that even something simple like a sign-in sheet be kept under lock and key. Damned nuisance.
He eyed the administrative assistant who was coordinating patients. "So Miss Hunter; who has the most interesting symptoms?"
She rolled her eyes. "Dr. House, you know no one here is interesting. You could knock out a bunch of these people in five minutes, most of them have the flu and they want someone to confirm that they are just as sick as they feel."
"So kind of them to share their virus with the rest of us. Looking for that anti-biotic too. Well, tea and sympathy is all they'll get from me." Send in the first victim."
She clucked, "Sympathy? You?"
He shrugged and went to the break room for some water before heading into the exam room.
A young woman sat on the table. It may have been cold in the room, but it didn't account for the slight tremble in her hands. He nodded at her and read her chart, "So, it says here that you feel fatigued and headachy. What else bothers you?" He felt the glands in her throat.
"The war in Iraq and slow-poke drivers." She instinctively tilted her chin up to give him better access.
"Ah, a smart ass. Not too sick to crack wise, that's encouraging. Any other symptoms? How's your appetite?" He noted a swelling in her throat.
She thought for a moment, "now that you mention it, I've lost a bit of weight, but I've been under some stress lately."
"I'd like to take blood, but you'll need to be fasting." He scribbled in the chart and then filled out a prescription, "take this to Miss Hunter, she'll schedule your labs and a follow up appointment."
"Blood work? So it's not some weird flu? The young woman asked.
"I don't think so. I'm doing a test for hyperthyroid. You've got all the symptoms. Does it run in your family?" He continued to note the chart.
"No. Is it serious?" The young woman became teary-eyed.
"Well," House consulted the chart, "Miss Oliver, it's easily managed with medication. There are no big lifestyle changes. Don't fret, you'll be fine." He got up to leave.
"What causes it?" She wasn't going to let it go.
He sat back down. "Usually it's inherited. You might get it from thyroid surgery or some untreated problem like nodules. Sometimes you just get it."
She shook her head, disbelieving. "I don't think so, it doesn't make sense. Is there some other way? Some other thing?"
House paused, "well, there's one other way. Tell me about what you eat."
Here she smiled, "Oh, I'm very healthy. I try to eat only organic foods. We go out to Buck County and shop at the stands. I even bought organic hamburger. I doubt very seriously that it's something I eat."
"And I'm becoming more and more convinced that it is. So when did you get Bossie and how much have you consumed?" His eyes sparkled with interest.
She huffed. "You don't understand. This place was immaculate. I had twenty pounds. I try not to eat red meat too often, but it's so delicious and it's easy enough to grill up a patty on nights when I'm too tired to cook."
"So let's assume that out of twenty pounds that you had eighty patties. How much do you have left?" His pen was poised over the chart.
"Ten." She admitted guiltily.
He put his pen down. "Let's try something radical. Let's do nothing."
"Nothing? I don't understand."
"Bring me the remaining hamburger, I'll have it tested. What I think happened is that some of Bossie's thyroid got ground up in your burgers. Most butchers know not to trim around the thyroid gland, but some get a bit over-zealous. You don't get this in commercial meat any more, but you might get it in off-beat sources." He explained patiently.
"Off-beat, like farm stands in Bucks County." She sighed, "And I paid five dollars a pound. Damn. Now where am I going to get burgers?"
After making arrangements for the testing of the hamburger House retreated to the break room for a bit of a respite before facing the next patient. He noticed that Cameron had signed in for her stint in the clinic as well.
Rather than seeing another patient right away he decided to head over to see her. He found her in one of the exam rooms speaking with a patient. She was holding an MRI and a radiology report.
"So based upon this report you'd like me to prescribe a refill of your…" she checked the name on the empty bottle, "Vicodin." She squinted at the report.
House entered in at the tail end of the statement. "Vicodin? That's strong stuff."
"Good morning Dr. House. This is Mr. Norman, he had an accident four months ago resulting in two desiccated disks." She showed him the MRI.
House looked at the films, "ouch."
"The pain is miserable. I'm nearly crippled." The laconic Mr. Norman reported. Belatedly he noted House's cane and bit his lip.
"Only nearly? You don't know what you're missing. Raise up your leg." House commanded.
Cameron nudged him, "I've got this," she informed him sotto voce.
"Oh please let me," He implored. "I have so few pleasures."
She turned her palms up and shrugged.
Mr. Norman made a big effort to raise his leg. House grabbed it and tossed the shoe aside and stripped the sock off. He took the end of an instrument and ran it up the sole of the foot. The toes twitched. He then pinched the Achilles tendon and Mr. Norman cried out in protest.
"Uh huh. So what do you make of this Dr. Cameron. You've got this MRI, with this response."
Cameron smiled, "well, as I initially suspected, Mr. Norman must have the wrong MRI." She moved to throw it into the trash can.
"Hey! That's my MRI!" Mr. Norman protested violently. "Gimme that; it cost me a fortune."
"I'll just bet," House observed, "at least 50.00. So did you get it from a guy in the parking lot at Memorial?"
"Wh-What?" Mr. Norman stammered; the jig was obviously up.
"Quite a business in MRIs out there. Look Cameron, this one has his name and social security number on it. Very nice work." He turned his attention back to Mr. Norman, "I suggest that you walk out of here and never come back. You might want to tell your friends that we're on to you here. Go pull that crap at Mercy." He opened the door and indicated that Mr. Norman should walk through it and keep going. He turned to Cameron, "Is there anything these desperate addicts won't do to get their fixes?"
"So you have no sympathy for him?"
"None. Speaking of which," he quickly popped a pill from his supply. "I had stopped in to see if you wanted to get some lunch with me later. We can talk about…things." He waited impatiently at the door, trying to affect an air of nonchalance.
Cameron gulped. She was still angry with him and she was trying to maintain a respectful distance. "I wish I could, but I'm going to lunch with…" she didn't have a lie ready, and she was as transparent as glass.
"With someone who likes you? Please. Grow up. I know what you're doing and you're only punishing yourself. I'll meet you back here around one." He stalked out, not giving her a chance to respond.
"Aye, aye Captain," Cameron said under her breath as she noted the chart. She knew she was playing a game and she hated herself for it. Where she used to be warm with him, to welcome his conversation, she now turned away, avoiding him. If that weren't possible, she resolved to be ultra-professional with him. And he had been right, she had been punishing herself.
House was directed to his next patient. An 18-month old baby. The mother tried to control her little girl, but she wiggled and squirmed.
"Good morning Mrs. Stafford, I'm Doctor House, who do we have here?" He regarded the small child suspiciously.
"Good morning Doctor, this is Alicia and she's been a very sick little girl." As her mother pronounced her name, the cherub smiled, batted her eyelashes and projectile vomited copiously on the floor. House, sensing impending doom, had the good fortune to be out of the way of the flux.
"You have a genius for understatement. What do you feed her?" He shined a light into the child's eyes.
"Mostly baby and toddler food from jars. I brought the ones with me of the stuff she's eaten in the past three days." She handed forth a canvas carrier bag filled with glass jars. "Do you think her food has been tainted?"
"I'm assuming that with the vomiting there is also diarrhea." He unscrewed the lid of the remains of 'chicken 'n dumplins', smelled it and capped it immediately. "I'd puke too." He shuddered. He felt Alicia's forehead, she was slightly warm.
"I've gone through a box of diapers. Poor baby." She found a safe spot on the baby's head and gave her a little kiss. Alicia reached for House's stethoscope and tried to put it in her mouth.
"I see she's at the stage where she wants to taste everything." He noted. "Tell me what you were doing about three or four days ago.
Mrs. Stafford pondered for a moment. "Let's see, that was Friday. We went to Gymboree, then we met a friend of mine at the mall, then we had her Easter pictures taken. In fact, we got them back yesterday."
"Do you happen to have them with you?" House asked, noticing a colorful envelope sticking out of her commodious purse.
"Yes. Did you want to see them?" She asked hesitantly.
"Very much." He held out his hand and she handed him the envelope.
In the pictures Alicia wore a pink dress and posed with rabbits, baby ducks and chicks. "This is the cutest thing I have ever seen." He remarked dryly, as he thumbed through the photos. "This one, where it looks like she kissing the chick..." He held it out to the mother.
"Oh, right. She's not actually; she's not real clear on that concept yet. Isn't it great how the photographer made it look like that though?" She smiled at the photo. It was the one she was sending the grandparents.
"Very astute of you. She's not kissing that chick; she's tasting it. She's also probably getting a nice dose of salmonella." House handed back the photos. "We'll need a stool sample to be sure, but it's my opinion that Alicia has salmonella poisoning."
"Oh my God! What do we do?" Mrs. Stafford clutched Alicia, causing her to cry.
"I don't think it's that severe. Keep her on clear liquids and yogurt. Get the kind with the live cultures. That will help restore the beneficial bacteria to her digestive tract. Try strawberry, most kids like that one. Keep her hydrated, if she likes Pedialite, get her that. Keep an eye on her. It lasts about five days. If it's not clearing up by Thursday or if she starts to run a fever, bring her back immediately. Salmonella takes a long time to clear out, so be sure you wash your hands well with plenty of hot water and soap after every diaper change."
"So she's going to be okay?" The mother asked, relieved.
House assured her, "she'll be gnawing the electrical cords before you know it."
At around one the clinic thinned out so House poked around looking for Cameron. He didn't think she'd dare try to duck out on him. He found her updating a chart in the records room. "So here you are. Are you ready?"
Cameron sighed, "I don't think that I…"
"Coward. Come on, you've got nothing to lose. Come eat a limp salad with me. Even better, let's sign out and we'll run across the street to the sandwich shop. They have crisp salads there."
Cameron picked at her fruit plate as House tucked into a club sandwich. She was so choked up with emotion that she found it hard to swallow. House didn't seem to be affected at all.
"Your food's getting cold." He pointed out. "You're going to have to talk to me sometime." She remained silent; he tried to read her, but came up empty, "Are you looking for another job?" He reached for a pickle from the half-filled bowl on the table.
"Well, shouldn't I be looking for another job?" she put her fork down, sending a grape rolling onto the Formica table.
"Why? Because I don't like you?" He spooned some cole slaw onto his sandwich.
"That's only part of it. You don't respect me." She allowed the sadness of the situation to flood her face. She was dancing around the truth. She liked him, she was attracted to him and he was indifferent to her.
"I respect you as much as I respect any of the other doctors."
"You don't respect them either." Cameron pointed out.
"So why does it matter then? Aren't you in good company? Don't you respect your colleagues?" He challenged her.
"You're twisting everything around. The point is that you don't respect me, you don't like me and frankly I don't know why you hired me in the first place." She gave her plate a shove.
House was amused at her petulance. "Does this act work with other people?"
Cameron felt her face flush, "Act? You think I'm just acting?"
"You're milking it. It's pretty good. I'd rather deal with this, than with some crap you've learned out of a book." He leaned back in his chair and sipped his cream soda.
"What do you want me to say?" Cameron was lost. She couldn't admit…anything. Not to him at any rate.
There was silence. The sounds of a busy restaurant wafted over their table as they each waited for the other to speak.
"Nothing I guess." House replied, "If you have nothing to say, then don't say anything."
Cameron could feel the tears brimming in her eyes. She did have things she wanted to say and there was no way to say them. You can't admit that you have a crush on your boss, especially when he claims not to like you. "I don't have anything to say." He seemed relieved; she continued, "If you don't."
"What would I have to say?" He countered.
Cameron knew that if she lost her temper that she'd lose the control she had over him. The mere fact that he was here proved that he was upset with her behavior. If he really didn't like her, he'd ignore her until she went away. She inhaled deeply, to steady her nerves. "I think you've said enough."
"This sounds like dialog you'd hear on my soap. You know and I know that there's something going on here. Let's just get it out in the open, deal with it, and move on. Come on…the kids hate it when we fight." He said quietly, hoping she'd forgive him.
"No." She said, hoping to imitate the tone that he used when he said it to her.
"Cameron…" he started, "Allison, how do we get back to where we were?"
"I am not going to open up to you so that you can hurt me. I don't trust you." She felt one tear slide down her cheek. She dabbed it with her napkin.
"Oh Christ. Do you want me to apologize? What?" He knew she was pulling the strings. He knew it and he didn't care. He wanted to take it all back. He wanted his girl back. He cursed his weakness.
She knew she had defeated him; she was triumphant and sad at the same time. It scared her to have this power over him. Her pride wouldn't let her let him off the hook. "I don't want you to apologize. Why? If that's how you feel, that's how you feel."
"What I feel isn't important, don't you see that? What I'm talking about is a relationship where we're comfortable with each other. I don't want to walk on eggshells around you. I say what I say, I do what I do. I'm not a nice person, don't expect that from me."
Cameron considered what he said, "What I feel may not be important to you, but it's there. It's real to me. I'm not like you. I care what other people think. I care what you think."
"So what do we do now?" House took out his pills and fiddled with the cap. He had pain, but not the kind that Vicodin could help.
Cameron took out a ten and left it on the table. "I don't know. I don't." She gave him a helpless look and walked out across the street, back towards the Clinic.
House paid the check and walked back to his office. He didn't know if he was angry enough to play Dramarama's 'Anything, Anything' or sad enough to play or Ultravox's 'Dancing with Tears in My Eyes'. He settled for Ultravox and let the lush instrumentation wash over him.
He let the song repeat for about thirty minutes. His eyes closed and nothing but music in his head, he had hoped for a revelation, but nothing appeared. He tried to concentrate on paperwork and when it got to be around six he turned everything off and packed it all up for the trip home.
It was a warm spring evening so he put the top down and headed towards the shore. The moon hung full and fat in a cloudless sky. "It explains clinic, but what explains Cameron?"
He drove along the shore, so empty compared with summer, when it teemed with people all looking for a good time. At about nine he realized that he couldn't drive away what was bothering him. She wanted an answer. If he was going to keep her, he had to give her what she wanted.
Later as he got ready for bed he wrestled with what was good for the department and what was good for him. "Tomorrow, I'll make it right."
Author's Note:
This started out as a straight up "medical oddities" type of fic and then it got hijacked. Go figure.