IMPORTANT NOTE: I was so nervous about posting this last night that I completely forgot to thank two very important people. Melinda Joy and Kelly -- thank you for reading these chapters first and giving me the courage to post them. Also, thank you to my reviewers, KayleighBough and Evangelina Lilly. You two rock.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, but they sure are fun to play with.
House leaned back on the bench as his fingers frantically hit various keys on his piano, the music to Beethoven's 'Tempest' the result. His jaw muscles working in time to the agitated frenzy of his hands, he almost didn't notice when someone began knocking on his door. After a few moments of steady rapping, however, the knocking registered and House's fingers stopped striking the keys just as the song reached its crescendo. Pivoting his head in the direction of the door, he considered for a moment before finally pushing himself off the bench and grabbing his cane.
Upon opening the door, House found a fidgety Wilson fixing him with nervous eyes. House couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for his friend.
"You gonna stand there all day, or are you going to actually come in?" House asked, turning his back and heading for his couch.
"Oh, good, so you're talking to me again," Wilson said, stepping inside. When House's response was to quirk a brow, he continued, "Did you know that Cameron's leaving?"
An inexplicable look wafted across the doctor's face. "She mentioned something," he replied.
Wilson stared. "And you're just going to let her go?"
"Well, I considered confiscating her car keys, but something about it just seemed so juvenile."
Wilson shook his head in disbelief. "You're making jokes," he stated.
"I knew there was a reason I've missed you so much," House replied, the corner of his lip curling into a smirk. "You're so damn good at getting to the point of a matter."
Wilson ignored the quip. "I can't believe you're not going to do anything to stop this."
MDMDMD
Though he had every intention of making a beeline for his conference room and the security of his blank whiteboard, House found himself making a detour toward the patients' rooms instead. Limping through the seventh floor hallway, he peered in doors along the way, finally stopping when he came to one room in particular. Laying in a hospital-issued crib was a young boy, no more than two-years old, sleeping restlessly as several monitors recorded his bodily functions. House knitted his brow as he noticed the IV poking into the small boy's hand, delivering a plethora of medications and liquids, despite the fact that the hospital still had no idea what was causing his symptoms.
Suddenly, a movement at the side of the room caught the doctor's attention. His breath hitched in his throat as he shifted his eyes to a woman sitting in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair, her chestnut waves cascading around her face as she held her head in her hands. He couldn't help but notice how fragile she looked sitting there, her small frame shaking slightly in time with her breaths.
He didn't know how long he stood there, taking in the scene in front of him. But when the woman finally began to look up, he snapped back to attention and quickly began to head back down the hallway. He was stopped in his tracks, however, when a strong yet raspy voice called his name.
Though he willed himself to keep on moving, for some reason that voice had more power over his body than his own motives. "House!" It came again, this time more hesitant and much closer. Still, he didn't turn around until a small, decidedly feminine hand clasped his arm. Only then did he allow himself to turn and take in the woman standing before him.
Her eyes were puffy from exhaustion and tears, and her hair was a jungle of chocolate brown curls. Aside from that, however, the two years had been good to her. Still as beautiful as ever, she seemed to have matured from womanly child into independent woman. "Cameron," he replied, attempting a smile which really just added to the impenetrability of his expression. The next words came out quicker than he had time to pull them back, and he cursed himself afterwards. "You look like hell."
The woman before him closed her eyes and issued a soft, shaky laugh. "Thanks," she said, opening her eyes once again and studying him. "So do you."
House smirked. "Well, we can't all pull off the tragic yet beautiful look."
Cameron returned his smirk, then looked back worriedly toward the room from which she had come. House raised his brows and said, "I understand that your son's my new patient."
At this, Cameron's own expression became somewhat impenetrable and she gave a quick, short nod. "Since last night," she confirmed, her words now just as indiscernible as her expression.
"Any idea what's wrong?" he asked, opening the chart and flipping through it.
"None," Cameron replied, her frustration more than obvious. "He had a fever and swollen lymph nodes, so I took him to see a pediatrician. He was put on antibiotics, but the lymph nodes are still swollen and the fever is stronger than ever. Even after putting him in a tub of ice and giving him Tylenol. The only thing I can think of is that he's got some kind of infection, but I have no idea what it could be. I'm so careful with him, and he hasn't shown any allergic reactions. He's a healthy baby, House. He's had all his shots, he's well taken care of, he's never really even been sick. He's--"
"The picture of health, I get it," House said, finally interrupting the irate mother. Tears of frustration, anger and sadness had begun to form in her eyes, and he couldn't stand the sight.
"No, you don't get it," Cameron snapped. "I'm a doctor, damn it. I should be able to do something, I should be able to figure out what's wrong. But the only thing I've been able to do is sit by and watch my son suffer."
These last words were broken, and the tears finally began to stream down Cameron's face. Placing her hands over her eyes, she leaned into the nearest wall and let the sobs wash over her.
House cringed at the sight. He had never been able to stand seeing Cameron cry, and after all these years apart . . . As if on its own accord, his body moved forward and his arms reached out to hold the young woman as she sobbed uncontrollably. It was a clumsy sight, the shell shocked doctor cradling the frustrated and grieving mother. Nonetheless, the moment he had her in his arms, the sensations began to wash over him. The accelerated heart rate, the heightened sense of smell as he took in her unique scent of jasmine and soap, the feel of her soft skin underneath his calloused hands. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it came to a crashing end. Because suddenly a shrill cry disturbed the silence that had been their embrace, and Cameron was pushing away from him and running into the room as if her life depended on it.
"Jake!" she cried, rushing to her small son's side as he thrashed about and held onto his head, screaming as if possessed, tears pouring out of his scared, blue eyes. "Noo! Mama! Noooo!" he wailed, and House could tell that he was trying to get away from something. "I think he's hallucinating!" Cameron exclaimed, holding on to her son and fixing fearful eyes on House.
House had cocked his head to the side and appeared to be studying the small child. Had she not been so frightened over her son's sudden decline, Cameron might have noticed that a muddled expression had added itself to the already chaotic mix playing across the doctor's face. As it was, she was too preoccupied cradling her thrashing baby. A minute later, House had schooled his expression and was unlocking a supply cabinet and finding a suitable narcotic for an 18-month old. Quickly, he stepped forward and administered a dose through the child's IV line. Jake quickly fell asleep.
House stepped back and took a deep breath. "How long has he had his fever?" he demanded.
"About a week," Cameron answered, still holding on to her tiny son. "Why?"
Ignoring the question, House asked another of his own. "Has he had much of an appetite? Been tired lately? Seemed stiff and uncomfortable? Had trouble looking at bright lights?"
"Of course," Cameron responded, shaking her head. "He's been sick."
"Well, I have some good news and some bad news," he informed her. "I don't think he has cancer." Cameron's eyes went wide at the very mention of this thought. Apparently, doctor or no she hadn't led herself to believe that her son's illness could be that serious. "He does, however, have encephalitis and most likely an infection. I'm going to give him some antivirals for the encephalitis and some anticonvulsants for the seizures. Meanwhile, I'll send Chase or Foreman in to perform some routine tests so that we can find out the underlying cause. You're sure you can't think of anything that might have caused it?"
"No," Cameron insisted, her faced creased with lines of vexation. "If I'd had any idea, it wouldn't have gotten this far."
House nodded, then hesitated, seeming to take in the woman before him and her small son. Finally, he flashed Cameron a brief, tight smile and said, "It was . . . good to see you," and an incomprehensible cast clouded his deep blue eyes. Then, taking one last inscrutable look at the now-unconscious child, he quickly left the room, intent on performing his own self-medicating ritual.
Cameron stared after him, a feeling of unease settling in the pit of her stomach.
MDMDMDMD
The moment House had returned to his office, he had sent his two-member team off to perform the tests he'd promised Cameron. Of course, it had taken them a full ten minutes and several well-placed insults to leave the room after they'd discovered who the patient's mother was. So that's why you've got your knickers in a twist, Chase had replied, before being told by an impatient House that he could play with the other boys' knickers all he wanted, but he'd better leave his alone. Foreman, on the other hand, had been much easier to get rid of. The last two years had done much to strengthen the neurologist's dislike for House. Not only had the latter become more ornery than he had ever been known to be, he had single-handedly chased out the last three people assigned to take Cameron's place, not to mention Cameron herself. Foreman had no desire to be anywhere near House-the-loose-cannon, and every reason to help an old friend's son.
After they had left, House had sat in his chair and brooded for hours. By the time word got to James Wilson, he was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed the door to his office open. But open it did, and in entered Wilson, his mouth set in a grim line. From what Cuddy had told the oncologist, he figured his best friend would be a ticking time bomb by now and it was his job to ensure the fuse didn't get lit. Sure enough, the time bomb was swatting the floor with a red rubber ball, the big "keep out" sign clearly in place on his furrowed forehead.
"I hear you have a new patient," Wilson stated, stepping up to House's desk.
"You know, the nice inventors came up with knocking for a reason, Jimmy," House predictably responded. And was it Wilson's imagination, or was that ball being bounced just a bit harder? "You should try it sometime."
"I'll keep that in mind," Wilson replied. "How are you holding up?"
"Much better than my stash of scotch," House motioned to the empty bottle lying face-down in the trash. "Feel like going out and getting me some more?"
"You're drunk!" Wilson exclaimed , dumbfounded.
"Is today state the obvious day?" House questioned. "'Cause if it is, then you're annoying."
"House!" Wilson chastised. "You have a patient. A patient who happens to be the son of someone I happen to know you care about very much. How can you drink when you're supposed to be taking care of him?"
"Oh, come on, Jimmy!" House replied nonchalantly. "Blacky and the Pretty Boy are doing just fine on their own."
"So you're just going to sit here and drink while Foreman and Chase take the case?" It was more a statement than a question.
House cocked his head to the side, pretending to consider. "Yup," he said after a moment. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do. Except for one minor problem." He pointed to the trash. "I seem to have run out of my supply." With that, he fixed pleading eyes on his best friend. "Come on, Jimmy! Be a pal and go get me some more."
Wilson ignored the request. "That's great, House," he said, throwing his hands up in disgust. "Go ahead and drink. I'm sure Foreman and Chase will do just fine on their own." With that, he turned and quickly headed for the door. If House wasn't going to supervise the other two doctors, he sure as hell was.
"He has my eyes," House muttered just before Wilson reached the door.
"What?" Wilson asked confusedly, something in his best friend's voice stopping him from leaving.
"Cameron's son," House replied, staring at the floor. He had finally stopped bouncing the ball. "He has my eyes. Though I guess they could be Chase's. But seeing as how she wasn't sleeping with Chase . . ."
"And she was sleeping with you?" James Wilson asked, flabbergasted. "How did this get by me?"
House shrugged. "Didn't want to damage any reputations. You know how much I care about what other people think."
"So you just . . . kept it to yourself?" Wilson queried, his expression turning suspicious. "That's not possible. You couldn't even keep your affair with Stacy a secret."
House quirked one eyebrow at his friend, then turned his attention back to the floor in front of his feet. Once again, the rubber ball began beating a monosyllabic rhythm against the carpet.
Wilson just stared, House's confession ricocheting in his head with amazing force. Part of him was having trouble believing this was possible, but a larger part knew that House wouldn't say it if it weren't true. "How old is Cameron's son again?"
"18 months," House answered.
Wilson quickly did the math. And suddenly the ricocheting stopped, and James Wilson knew. Two years ago, just before Cameron had left, House had been suspended after being found in his office, unconscious from morphine overdose. As his best friend, Wilson had requested a spot on the review board. If the board tried to fire House, he could try to stop it. But the board hadn't tried to fire House. Despite everything House had done during his tenure at PPTH, they had recognized the need to keep him on staff. Instead, the board had placed him on suspension. And ordered mandatory physical therapy. The suspension, House might have been able to handle. The therapy was another story. Wilson issued an involuntary shudder, remembering the look on his friend's face when he had discovered the board's decision. 'You'll keep me from being fired, but you'll allow them to force me into THAT?'
Surprisingly enough, House had gone through with the therapy. It hadn't been much help, as the damage had already settled in by that point. It had, however, led House to refuse any contact with Wilson for the entire two month suspension. Cameron must have been more persistent. Clearly, Cameron had gotten through. I wonder what happened to make her run away? Wilson pondered, before realizing that his friend was still staring at the floor, his face a jigsaw of hurt and impenetrability.
"So what are you going to do about it?" Wilson queried, his tone a bit softer than it had been a few moments before.
Again, House shrugged, his eyes still not leaving the sanctity of the floor. "Cure him," he said simply, taking his beloved bottle of vicodin from his pocket and knocking back two pills.
"And then?" Wilson prodded.
House hesitated, the question playing itself in his head. Finally, he looked up at Wilson, the unreadable expression still haunting his deep blue eyes. "I don't know." And the ball went back to beating a steady rhythm on the floor in front of his feet.