Disclaimer: I don't own House, nor its characters.
Author's Note: Thanks again Pandorashollow and Georgina for listening to my rants on symbolism ; )
Also, my medical knowledge consists of watching Discovery Health and looking up random diseases on Web MD. So, don't look too hard ; )

Nothing There

House walked away from the hospital's pharmacy carrying a nice plump bag containing Vicodin-filled bottles. It was that time of year again. The secret stashes needed refilling. As he made his way back to his office, he noticed that even though it was the middle of the day nobody seemed to be walking around the hospital. Passing by the Clinic, he saw an oddly deserted nurses' station. No whining patients or crying babies waiting for their turn, and most importantly, no Cuddy. Going to the pharmacy always meant having to pass through the valley of fire and brimstone of stupid patients and annoying nurses, and coming before the judgement-seat as Cuddy told him just how many hours of clinic duty he had missed that week. Multiple secret stashes were essential for survival. But as those had also been running low lately, it had been a voyage he had been compelled to undertake; at least today it seemed he would make it back unscathed.

Walking into his office he turned the TV on to find that a new episode of General Hospital was starting. He peeked into the conference room and saw that his team was also gone, probably diligently doing one of the many tests he had ordered for the patient. He sat down on his chair facing the TV, propped his legs up on the desk crossing them at the ankles and turned up the volume.

Diverting his attention for a second towards his desk, he realized there was a large plate barely able to contain a perfectly triangularly sliced Reuben. He stretched out his index finger and lightly poked it. It was cold. Maybe Kutner thought it was his birthday. He had lost track, who knows? Maybe it was. Without further hesitation House filled his mouth with one of the corners of the juicy, pickle-less sandwich. Needing a drink, he found a nice 32-ounce soda sweating big, icy condensation droplets sitting beside the plate. Turning back towards the TV he was pleasantly surprised to find that the nurses in the show were exposing a lot more cleavage than usual. He smiled mischievously through his mouthful of Reuben. Things were good.

A slight pain shot through his right thigh. He needed Vicodin. He decided to go ahead and finish his secret, secret, secret stash before moving on to his new bottles. Leaning over, he took out his Lupus textbook. Opening it he only found a bottle-shaped hollow. Throwing the book aside, he took out his Sarcoidosis text—nothing. Gingerly carrying his increasingly throbbing leg off the desk, he picked up his cane and limped around checking all of his other office hiding spots. After finding no bottles in the drawers of the desk, anatomical models, the cushions of his chair, or any stray pills in his blazer pockets, and making a mental note to burst into Cuddy's office as soon as he had the strength to walk there, he hobbled back to his desk and impatiently picked up the prescription bag.

Ripping it open he took out a bottle and struggled to unscrew it. Finally loosening the cap and letting it drop to the floor he tipped the bottle towards his hand only to discover that it was empty. Breathing fast and hard in anger and frustration he took out another bottle and shook it to make sure he could hear the little pills moving inside. He again struggled to open the bottle as his sweaty hands trembled with the struggle. Using all of his strength he popped the cap in a forceful move launching the contents of the bottle across the floor of his office. He attempted to bend down and pick up the pills, but his burning leg quickly gave way and he barely stopped his fall by gripping the edge of the desk. Panting from the rapidly increasing pain, he dropped the now empty bottle and massaging his thigh slowly stood up straight. He angrily tore the prescription bag in half letting the remaining bottles roll across his desk. He quickly grabbed the closest one. Wincing in agony and frustration he desperately tried to get this bottle open. His fingers couldn't focus, the pain was too intense. Dropping the bottle, he again tried to bend down and pick up one of the stray pills. The weight was too much for his leg. He collapsed unto the floor. Laying among the pills, and desperately grabbing one, he quickly turned on his back and popped it in his mouth. There was nothing there. His mouth was empty. He examined his hand front and back—nothing. Turning back on his stomach he struggled to find more pills through blinding pain. His hands frantically combed the carpet.

There was nothing there.

"House"

"House"

A very annoying whisper opened his eyes to the sight of the circular bottom of a red mug and Kutner's slightly worried and confused face. The true reason for his awakening was soon apparent as his leg gave an agonizing throb. He immediately dug his hand into his pocket, fingers closing around the cool plastic bottle. He quickly opened it and popped a pill in his mouth that mercifully, did not disappear. He looked down and saw he was sitting in his lounge chair. He examined his clothes. They were yesterday's. He must have fallen asleep here after his differential with Cameron. His leg hurt the way it only could when he missed a number of doses. Judging by the level of the pain now, he must have forgotten at least two of them last night.

A small shuffle turned his attention back to Kutner, standing over him somewhat unsure of what to do with himself; still holding out the red mug of coffee towards him. House's grumpy stare made him retreat slightly. House ignored the mug.

"I'm ok now, Mommy. I've got my blankie" he mocked as he rattled his Vicodin bottle at him and popped another pill.

"I just thought…you were—"

"I'm not the patient" House simply remarked.

He glared up at him, waiting.

"Uhh..." Kutner put down the mug and fumbled in a folder taking out last night's rounds of test results. House took and examined them, eyes narrowing more and more as he read. He struggled out of his chair, taking his cane and limping into the conference room.

Thirteen was already there. Foreman sat in a chair in the corner of the room, immersed in a newspaper. Both Kutner and Thirteen looked at him with a degree of uncertainty as he picked up a marker. Ignoring the disturbing idea of what they might have seen or heard as he slept, he faced the board, unfolded his paper from last night and started scribbling down theories.

"House—"Thirteen started.

"I'm not the patient" House emphasized, rolling his eyes.

"No—the patient..."

House turned around to find a newly arrived Taub holding an image up to the light around which 13 and Kutner had crowded around.

"I was getting another MRI" Taub spoke putting the image down, "His spleen is severely enlarged. I don't know how it…yesterday it was normal." He remarked, baffled. "At this rate we only have a couple of hours before it ruptures." He finished through a sigh, handing him the image.

House held it up to the light. The upper left corner of the abdomen showed a gigantic mass.

"We have to operate" He said plainly

"We can't" Kutner argued "The patient just had cardiac arrest last night. We had a hard time controlling his tachycardia. There's a good chance his heart won't—"

"If we don't remove the spleen he'll die anyway" Taub explained.

"We can't take a risk like this! We need to wait at least a couple of hours. Wait until his heart stabilizes" Thirteen disputed.

"We don't have a couple of hours. If the spleen ruptures, like it could at any moment, the tachycardia will only get worse." Foreman put in as he folded the newspaper.

"We'll wait a couple of hours" House finally spoke, coming out of his thoughts "Then we do the surgery, no matter what condition his heart is in"

The new team shuffled and sighed in grave agreement. Foreman scoffed as he picked up his coffee mug.

"Ideas people" House loudly spoke, rapidly scribbling on the board, bringing the team out of their reverie. As he wrote, he glanced towards his right at the vacant desk in the corner of the room. How in the world had she known where his porn was? Did she…no, there was no way, although the idea made him smirk inwardly. What else did she know? He wondered as he remembered her knowing smile and raised eyebrow as she had sat in that chair, sharpening a pencil, butting into his case.

"umm, House?" Thirteen asked amused.

House looked back at the whiteboard to find that the word he had been scribbling had trailed off in a line towards the bottom corner of the board.

"You know better than to interrupt me during one of my many epiphanies" House covered "See? Now I've lost it. You have killed our patient." he commented covering the view of the line on the board with his body as he quickly erased it.

Taub loudly cleared his throat "Leukemia" he repeated. "Blood tests came back inconclusive. His lymph nodes were only slightly swollen. We need a biopsy"

"No biopsy" House said "We can't move or sedate the patient." He picked up the test results. "These were done yesterday. The spleen wasn't enlarged yesterday. Run them again."

As Taub started walking out of the room, everyone's pagers began to go off in quick succession. Kutner read his first. "There's a bruise on the upper-left quadrant of his abdomen"

"His spleen has ruptured" Thirteen realized, looking up from her pager to House for guidance.

"We need to remove it" House said as he started to walk out of the room.

"He won't consent" Taub stated

Everyone stopped and looked at him.

"Yes, hard decision" House sarcastically said

"Hmm...I wonder if I should let the doctors stop my massive internal bleeding" he mocked as he made for the door.

"I worked to convince him for four hours just to do a liver biopsy" Taub explained.

"That's because you guys are useless at this" House said as he walked out the door of the conference room.

"Come up with more theories" he called from the hall. "Foreman, you're in charge"

"I'll be honored" Foreman sarcastically sighed to himself as he got up, putting down his coffee and picking up a marker.