Going Mad

Disclaimer: Don't own. Just for fun.

Summary: House worries about the health of one of his doctors after he was exposed to an illness.

A/N Spoilers for "Histories." In fact, this episode won't make sense unless you have seen "Histories."

Gregory House walked out of the farmhouse into the farm. His leg felt so much better. He didn't need a cane. He didn't need Vicodin. He didn't need anything. He didn't know why, though.

Cuddy and Cameron, both dressed in overalls, walked up to him, on the left and right, respectively. Cuddy had a piece of straw in her teeth, and carried a large shotgun.

"Yep," she drawled. "Nuthin' we can do now. Gotta shoot 'im." She handed the gun to House. "It's yer turn."

House looked at Cuddy in amazement. "Shoot whom?"

"Why, him, of course. He's gone mad. Got bit, and now there's nuthin' we can do."

House just stared. Cameron suddenly grabbed his right arm. "Come, now! We don't want him to suffer!" She dragged House along.

Walking over with Cameron, House found Eric Foreman chained to the fence. He was in his labcoat and formal clothing, but he was acting quite - dog-like, truth be told. He was foaming at the mouth, and his eyes were going in all different directions. He lunged at House, but the chain attached to his neck pulled him back.

"Go, on," said Cameron. "Shoot him."

"That's ridiculous. I can't - " House looked at Foreman. He lunged at House again, and this time the fence uprooted. House began to run, thankful that his leg was all better now. Foreman was chasing him, so House, feeling he had no choice, aimed the gun, and fired...

"Aaaaaaaa!" House sprang up in bed. He was bathed in a cold sweat. What a wird dream.

The next morning House met Foreman as Foreman was getting himself some coffee.

"So, Dr. Foreman."

"Yes, Dr. House?"

"You have been getting all of your shots, right? You know, after the rabid woman bit you."

"Of course, I'm a doctor."

"Patients lie. Doctors are the worst. They lie the most when they are patients. So make certain you get all of the shots. You don't want to go mad, do you?"

"No, House. No, I don't."

"How's the arm?"

"Better. Still a little numb."

"Well, make certain you get checked up. I'd hate to see you die, or anything. Where could I ever get another black neurosurgeon for the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission." He thought a second. "I could get Spearchucker Jones - except that he's well, you know - fictional. And old. He served in Korea."

"Spearchucker Jones? You mean as in the guy in MASH?"

"Well, so there you have it. You'll have to make certain you take your shots. I can't afford to lose you. Replacing you would be - next to impossible! It would be very inconsiderate of my black surgeon to die and screw up my whole quota!"

After House left, Foreman smiled. He knew House well enough to realize that what House was really saying, in his own perverse way, was that he was concerned about Foreman's health. But of course, it would destroy his reputation to admit that he actually, you know, cared about anyone other than himself.

It also struck him that House could get away with making comments that from anyone else would get a month's worth of diversity and sensitivity training. He supposed that the reason for this was that (a) House was a good enough doctor that he could get away with anything, (b) because House was so deliberately offensive to everyone that no one took him seriously, and (c) because when it came to what really mattered to House, curing patients, he didn't care about race, color, or creed - he would try just as hard to save anyone.

House was meanwhile rifling through some files. Good. Foreman had received every treatment he was scheduled. No need to worry about him foaming at the mouth and going insane. Rabies was a horrible way to die. Well, no need to worry now. Foreman was safe.

"Well, now," said House, mainly to himself, "now that he is out of danger, how will I torture Foreman today?"