"What's happened?" Cameron moved through the glass doors of the hospital with a speedy foot, barely ten minutes after Foreman alerted her to what had happened in Rogue's room.
"Our patient just had another seizure, big one too. According to the guy that was in her room, she was also speaking in gibberish, just like before we removed the brain tumor" Foreman had been on call for that night, and therefore had front row seat to what had occured barely one half-hour previous. "I've got her under sedation right now." The two doctors bypassed the usual route of elevators and jogged up the oak stairs, taking them two at a time with the second floor ICU their final destination. Their footsteps landed with echoes in the mostly empty building.
"Did you call House and Chase yet?"
"Right after I called you, not that I expect to see either one of them." Foreman pushed the metal door of the stairwell open and ran out in the direction of Rogue's room, Cameron hot on his heels.
"Did you check her Ivs? Maybe a nurse-"
"That was the first thing I thought of. All at the right levels. This is something else." Dr. McCoy, Professor Xavier, Scott and Remy crowded the hospital room, all anxiously awaiting the doctors.
"What's happening? I thought you said Rogue was all better." Scotts tone existed somewhere between worry and accusation.
"There was a brain tumor located in her frontal lobe. Unfortunately, it would appear that there's another factor at work." Foreman's tone was neutral as he clutched the metal clipboard close to his chest. Glancing down at the paper, he continued. "The good news is that by removing the tumor, her formerly uncontrollable powers are now controllable. The placement of the tumor was such that her powers were constantly on." This seemed to appease the young man, who stuck his hands in the pockets of his khakis and leaned back against the wall, keeping an ever-watchful eye on the goings on of the room.
"How much danger is Rogue currently in?" Professor Xavier asked.
"Right now, it's hard to tell. She's just gotten out of major surgery, so there's a small chance that this seizure could be nothing more than a fluke. However, we're going to run some tests to make sure." As Foreman addresed the concerned men in front of him, Cameron was busying herself by studying the printouts from the numerous machines that were monitoring Rogue's condition.
"But Rogue was talkin like she was before de surgery." Remy questioned.
"I'm sure it was nothing. Many people act unusually right before a seizure." Cameron spoke before her colleague had a chance, giving Remy another warm smile before heading out of the hospital room along with Foreman.
"I've so trained you guys well. Really, I'm proud. My little ducklings are already lying at an eighth grade level." Standing just outside of Rogue's room, separated from the crowded condition within, stood House, his cane in one hand and a paper cup of coffee from a high-end coffee shop in the other. At the sound of his voice, both of the young doctors jumped, not expecting to hear the gruff articulation of their mentor at the late hour.
"What-What are you doing here?" Foreman spoke first, his question coming out more accusatory than intended. If it affected House, however, he didn't let show, merely taking a sip of his coffee and standing in his jeans and sport coat as though it was early afternoon and not the
deep recesses of twilight.
"I work here. Didn't you get the memo? Now, are there any more stupid questions?" House took another sip of coffee, never losing the smug appearance that he had been wearing
ever since surprising his two diagnosticians.
"We didn't lie. We told them exactly what happened." Cameron's tone made it painfully obvious that she did not wish to discus what House was hinting at, least of all in such close proximity to Rogue and her caretakers.
"Sure, lie some more. That'll fix everything. Now come on, we've got a white board getting lonely on the fourth floor." As House turned with his cane and headed toward the elevator, Foreman shook his head at House, while Cameron let out an angry breath through her nose and followed, her stress already hitting a dangerous level, especially considering the late hour.
As the three doctors climbed aboard the elevator, the doorway from the stairwell was thrown open with a violent thrust. Onto the black tile stepped the seething form of Logan, the blood of a certain Louisiana native the only thing on his mind. Using his inborn stealth, he crept through the shadows that lay scattered across the poorly lit hallway. He let three claws extend from his right hand as he caught the tall form of one Remy Lebeau. Ducking behind a thick column that stood tall no more than fifteen feet from the entrance of the room where Rogue lay in a hospital bed.
I knew that stinkin' Cajun was no good. Shoulda acted on my instincts the first time I smelled those damned cloves he's always smoking. When I'm through with him, Logan thought with a cruel grin, What he did to Rogue's gonna seem like a vacation. He took a deep breath, saying a small thanks that his healing factor worked just as well on alcohol as it did with bullets. Once Scott moved out of the way, leaving a clear path from the column to Gambit, Logan let his inner animal take over, fully becoming the Wolverine he was known as on the cataclysmic battlefield. He sped across the speckled linoleum with a cutthroat fervor, silent even with a pair of thick leather combat boots decorating his feet. Before anyone in the room had time to blink, Logan had bolted into the room and had Remy's neck in the makeshift vice that formed between Logan's left forearm and the wall, the claws from his free hand held steady no more than a millimeter from Remy's distinct eyes, eyes that right now flashed a deep red with fear.
"What'd you give the kid, Gumbo? Huh? I know you drugged her!" Logan snarled through gritted teeth as Dr. McCoy and Scott both quickly distanced themselves from the altercation, both well aware of Logan's notoriously short fuse. Only Professor Xavier made no attempt to distance himself from the fray, his wheelchair remaining motionless.
"Logan, what is the meaning of this?" Despite his obvious disadvantage, Charles' soft but firm voice seemed sufficient to break Logan from his animalistic spell, and his claws retracted back under his skin. His forearm, however, did not move, continuing to constringe Remy's larynx as the young man gasped and sputtered for air.
"This Cajun poisoned Rogue, Chuck. I don't know with what, but I aim at gettin some answers." Logan punctuated his explanation with a quick thrust of his arm into Gambit's neck.
"That is preposterous. Unhand him now, Logan." Logan complied, but the small growl that emanated from the pit of his throat said that he was anything but happy about. Remy hit the floor in a heap, taking in deep, greedy gulps of air as he massaged his throat.
"What do you want me to do? Just sit by while Rogue gets poisoned?"
"Not at all. I merely expect you wait for some semblance of proof before attacking one of my students. If your suspicions prove correct, we will deal with Mr. Lebeau in the proper, lawful
manner."
"Remy ain't poison no one, least of all de femme." Remy's breathing had slowed nearer to it's normal pace, and he was slowly pulling himself back up a standing position. A tense,
nervous air settled over the room as Remy, Logan, and Charles exchanged glances for a silent eternity of an instant.
"Logan, I need you to head back to the mansion." Charles paused, already expecting to hear Logan's protests.
"Why? Just because I roughed the Cajun up a little, you're sendin me back to Bayville?"
"Not exactly. Earlier in the evening, Ms. Munroe contacted me. She informed me that she was having some degree of difficulty controlling the children, and was wondering if one of us could return to assist her in her duties." The mention of Ororo Munroe immediately ceased any further protests.
"Which one of those runts is givin Ro trouble?" Logan asked with both concern and menace in his low grumble, fully turning his back to the man he had so recently been intent on disemboweling.
"She didn't mention any particular children, only that she required assistance. I informed her that I would choose between Scott and you. Your attack on Mr. Lebeau only fortified the decision I was already going to make." Logan contemplated the information for several mute seconds before responding.
"Fair enough, Chuck, but who're you gonna get home once Rogue's better? I don't exactly think Cyke can fly."
"Piotr will be returning with the van."
"Fine, but I want Gumbo comin home too." Remy's eyes grew as wide as dinner plates at this request.
"No way is Remy comin home wit you! You gonna tear me ti shreds and dump me in de woods somewhere."
"Thought you were innocent, Cajun. If you didn't do nothin, then you got nothin to fear from me." Logan tossed over his shoulder with a hoarse tone and jack-o-lantern grin that contradicted every word.
"Logan,if I grant such a request, do I have your word that Mr. Lebeau will remain unharmed?" Logan merely grunted out an agreement and grabbed a piece of Remy's trenchcoat, draggin him behind as he stomped out of the room.
"Prof, you can't leave me wit dis madman. I ain't gonna survive!"
"Relax, Gumbo. We're just gonna have a nice conversation during this little trip." Remy's continued protests could be heard down the entire length of the hall, the normally suave and composed Cajun now fearing for his life. Once the two could no longer be heard, Hank turned to Xavier as Scott continued to stare at Rogue's lifeless form.
"Are you positive that leaving Mr. Lebeau with Logan in an automotive was an altogether...wise decision, Professor? Logan appeared much more tempestuous than usual."
"Logan will not harm Remy in any way, Hank. Despite any paternal instincts Logan feels toward Rogue, I believe that his feelings towards Ororo are currently primary."
"So Ms. Munroe didn't really contact you?" Scott asked, finally breaking his long silence.
"Scott, I would hope that you would expect out of your elders than outright lies." Xavier admonished, however the urbane Brit still allowed himself a small smirk.
Two floors above the altercation between Logan and Remy, House leaned on his cane,
standing next to the white board he and his team knew so well.
"Ok, of all of our patient's very crtitical symptoms, we've managed to solve her problem of how to get busy in the backseat of her boyfriend's car. Important, yes, but I doubt she's going to care that much about make-out point if she's dead."
"If it's not a tumor, the next best candidate is probably some sort of vitamin deficiency."Foreman stated sagely, slouched over his coffee, the late hours obviously affecting him despite his best efforts not to show it.
"Lead poisoning is a much more likely candidate." Cameron declared, directing her response more towards Foreman than House.
"Whatever it is, if it's not in the brain, it's in the blood. Cameron, get another MRI, just to definitively rule out any lingering brain infection. When that comes back negative, test her blood for porphyria, hepatolenticular degeneration, and thiamine deficiancy. And grab McCoy when you take the blood. He probably loves fiddling with those lab machines. He'll be in heaven.. Foreman, you're on call until when?" Foreman glanced up from the brown liquid slowly cooling in his black ceramic mug, already knowing what his boss was going to request of him, simply dreading hearing the words. Slowly, he let his answer pass his lips.
"Eight o' clock."
"Good. At nine, go do what your people do best." House's smirk seemed to defy Dr. Foreman, taunting him to say something. Instead, he just made a small nod of agreement and took a large gulp of his coffee. Then, a realization hit him in mid-swallow, almost causing him to spray hot coffee over the table in front if him.
"Wait a minute. Our patient lives in Bayville. That's over four hours away! With rush-hour traffic, probably five at least."
"Bring something good to listen to."
Remy felt like collapsing right onto the well-trod carpet of the front foyer of Xavier's mansion. Even with several cups of gas station coffee coursing through his veins, his body's need to sleep was at the forefront of his dimming consciousness, the caffeine doing nothing to alleviate his tired eyes. Despite what he had feared in the hospital, Logan had not used the term conversation as some sort of euphemism for one-sided fight; the older man had genuinely conversed with the teenager. However, of Logan's many unique talents, the gift of gab was not one of them, so Remy had spent the entire trip back to the institute hearing, in graphic detail, what the Canadian was going to do to him if he ever hurt Rogue. Remy was also assured several times that only reason Logan's fantasy was still just that was due solely to the Professor. Remy didn't need to be told the Professor deserved a large thank you once Rogue was safely back at the institute.
Rogue. Logan's parental doting over her only served to remind Remy of the huge hurdle he would have to bestride once Rogue was better. Remy leaned against the wall below the grand staircase, promising himself to only rest his eyes for a second. The next thing he felt was a powerful hand smash down on his shoulder, jerking him out his short rest so violently he thought his heart might stop.
"Quit dozin, Gumbo. You got a date with the Danger Room." Remy rubbed his eyes in an attempt to remove the sleep that crowded them.
"Ya know, not everybody round here got de same healin factor you got, mon ami." Logan made no attempt to respond beyond chuckling under his breath and smacking Remy on the back, pointing with his other hand in the direction of the Danger Room. Remy let a yawn die a slow death in his throat as he shuffled toward the showers and locker room. T'ink Lebeau. You gone up aginst worse dan dis an come out lookin like a million bucks. You gotta get back ti dat hospital.
Doctor Robert Chase pushed open the door to the clinic portion of the hospital, preparing himself for a full eight hours in the clinic. After storming out of House's office after the unexpected arrival of Dr. McCoy. Chase had been incredulous at the behavior of his boss. Dr. House, the man who had made torturing the nursing staff into it's own sport, was not only treating a mutant but working with one. Chase had been wrapping his brain around that conundrum the entire time he had spent in the clinic the day previous. He walked up to the nurse on duty, choosing simple pharyngitis cases over the more complicated cases offered by his boss.
"Hello, Dr. Chase checking in." The nurse, who was one he hadn't seen before, ceased her typing and looked up, peering over her rimless glasses
"Dr... Chase, did you say? You have a patient in exam room one. He asked for you specifically." This didn't catch Chase completely by surprise. He had long prided himself on having an excellent bedside manner, and being able to connect with the majority of the patients he treated. In Chase's eyes, it was the thing that put him above the level of the other doctors. He put on his best "humble" voice before responding to the nurse.
"Requested me personally? Did they say what was wrong?"
"No, but he seemed to be favoring one leg. He said you would know exactly what to do." She was definitely new; any other nurse would have simply repeated the number of the exam room and focused her attention back to the computer screen in front of her. Chase, however, was feeling eight miles high after hearing about this patient. In a last ditch effort to keep his ego intact, Chase bid goodbye to the nurse and strutted off to exam room one, ready to heal his latest patient. When he pushed open the door, however, he received quite a surprise.
"My leg hurts doctor. I just don't know what to do." House stated in a crushingly sarcastic tone, not even bothering to look up from the cheap gossip magazine he was reading while using the examination table as a makeshift recliner.
""So take some Vicoden. What are you up to, 120 milligrams?" Chase 's gaze was cold, his voice bitter with cold ire.
"I'm staying strong at eighty, thank you very much. Now get in here and close the door. "
"What do you want, Dr. House?"
"Right now? For you to close the door." Chase made an exasperated noise and rolled his eyes, but still complied with House's request.
"You're wanted in the lab. Cameron and Dr. McCoy are already there, running blood tests." House stated flatly, his attention returned fully on the magazine grasped in his hands. "Hey, what's your opinion on Suri?"
"I don't care about Suri, and I don't care about any mutie's blood." Chase made a move toward the door, but what came out of House's mouth next stopped him dead in his tracks.
"You care about paying your rent?" It was meant to sound tossed off, like an afterthought, but both men in the room knew that it was anything but. Chase slowly turned back to face his boos, who let his eyes linger on the page he was reading for several seconds before making eye contact with the young intensevist. "What about food? You care about eating?"
"Excuse me?"
"Food. You eat it. You may have heard of it. " House hopped off the table and limped over to Chase, standing only five inches taller than the blonde Australian but towering over him as though he were a lowly field mouse.
"What-what exactly are you insinuating?" Chase demanded, his temper rising rapidly.
"It's called an ultimatum. You can either do your job, or you can start looking for another one. His voice carried none of the misanthropic sarcasm that was usually present, instead holding the same flat, serious tone that his normally expressive blue eyes possesed.
"Are-are-are you-" Still not completely believing the cold words his boss was speaking, Chase attempted to spit out a response, but House cut him off before he had the chance to get his thoughts organized.
"Look, I don't know where the bad mutant touched you, I don't really care, just get your skinny British ass up to the lab before I fire you for drinking on the job." House threw open the door to the exam room and limped out with a noticeable speed, not wishing to spend one more minute in the clinic than was necessary. Chase made no attempt to follow, merely yelling one last question once realization hit him.
"Wait! Drinking on the job?" Chase jogged out to confront Dr. House once more, but all he could see was House's retreating form.
"Everybody lies." Then House was gone, some mystery destination that lay far beyond the walls of the clinic. Chase stood there, staring at the doors of the clinic, his fists clenched white in wrath. Had any other doctor, any other person, suggested terminating Chase's employment on such fictitious charges as drinking on the job, Chase would have dismissed the idea without second thought. He would have considered the threat either black humor or completely hollow, with no probability of a follow through. House was the exception, however. Chase knew that his boss was the one person so stubborn and so insane that he would not only fire the young Australian, but would probably get a laugh from doing it. Chase had to exert very little effort to conjure up a mental image of House chuckling maniacally while ruining the career Chase had toiled so hard to attain with one fell swoop. Taking a deep breath, Chase quietly informed the nurse that he had to leave the clinic due to an urgent case, then walked from the clinic to the first floor elevators concentrating solely on keeping his growing rage in check, wishing to do nothing more than lay one good punch at the end of his boss' nose. Had Chase been concentrating more on his surroundings and less on his own introspection, the young doctor might have noticed the person standing off to the side of the lobby across from the clinic. The person who was the source of most of Chase's ire, leaning on his cane, his face a mask of pure smugness at getting his way through sheer stubborn will.
"Stormy, need ti talk ti ya fo a secon."
"I will listen, child, but only so long as you refrain from referring to me by that silly nickname."
Foreman sped down the seldom traveled road that led to Xavier's mansion, one of his many Miles Davis albums wafting from the sound system of his car. He choked back yet another yawn, the fast food coffee and doughnuts not working nearly hard enough to keep sleep at bay for the exhausted neurologist. What had kept him going was his overactive brain, trained to operate on even the most minute traces of sleep from years of studying for tests in Hopkins. At the moment, his highly productive brain was busy kicking itself, comparable to every other break in Foreman had performed under the eye of his peculiar boss.
I go to court, find a judge who's got enough damn heart to not throw me in jail until the rapture, do my community service, swear I'm going to turn over a new leaf, and then what? I get hired solely because of some perverted voyeuristic fantasy perpetrated by my boss!
Foreman would have continued to angrirly muse on the particulars of his hiring unceasingly had it not been for the red and white convertible that roared around the curve like a bat out of hell, nearly knocking Foreman off the road and frightening any lingering sleep out of his body. Foreman pulled off to the side of the road and attempted to gain the license plate number of the careless speeder, but the sports car was already out of sight, gone in a cloud of tire rubber and dust. The young doctor merely let out an annoyed breath and let his head sink a little on his shoulders.
Perfect beginning to my day, he mused bitterly.
Roughly one half-hour after the incident with the speed demon, Foreman arrived at Xavier's institute. To be more specific, he arrived at the high gate that surrounded the mansion and it's exapansive grounds, the barricade standing tall and erect like castle walls.
The reluctant burglar ran his hand over his short hair as he paced back and forth in front of his car, several feet from the golden colored gate.
"How exactly does he expect me to get in here?"
Ring the doorbell. They're expecting you. Hearing the calm voice, Foreman immediately stopped in his tracks. He hadn't seen anyone standing around, but that didn't mean anything.
"Hello? Is someone there?" Foreman asked hesitantly, not sure what he would do if anyone answered.
I'm Professor Charles Xavier, the owner of this mansion. I'm speaking with you telepathically. This statement sent Foreman for a loop. He was fairly positive he wasn't crazy, and he had heard Dr. McCoy mention briefly that Xavier was a telepath. Still, there was another person in his own head, a thought Eric had never even considered in jest.
"You're in my head?" Then he probably-
Yes, and I know why you are here. There is a small panel to the right of the entrance. Ms. Munroe will open the gate.
"Wait, you know why I'm here, and you have no problem with it? And how did you know I was coming here?" Formena realized how bizarre it must look for anyone watching, but at that moment it was the least of his worries.
Ms. Munroe informed me when your car appeared on our security systems. I reached out, using my powers, only to ascertain that you were not a threat to my students. We have to be cautious, especially considering the strong anti-mutant sentiment that permeates all walks of life. As for your purposefor coming to the institute, while I find your boss' method most unorthodox, I can clearly see that you only mean well. I have no issue with your inspection. With that, Foreman could feel the calm voice in his head dissipate, leaving him staring at the small metal panel that lay, as Xavier had said, to the right of the gate. Foreman shrugged his shoulders and approached it, pressing a small button that came into view as he got closer. Pressing it, he heard a feminine voice eminate from the small speaker, surprisingly clear for an intercom system.
"Good morning, Xavier institute." The voice sounded like regal British, but there was another accent at work as well, blending well.
"Umm...Hi, I'm Dr. Eric Foreman, from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital I-" Eric was cut off by the woman, which was fine with him, as he had no idea what he would have said next.
"Ah, you must be here to inspect Rogue's room. I will meet you at the front steps." The intercom clicked off, and a still dumbfounded Foreman slowly walked back to his car and started the engine, letting the car crawl forward through the now open gate. He rounded the car around the tall fountain that lay in the middle of the long driveway similar to a rotary and parked in front of the low front steps where a platinum haired African woman already stood in waiting.
"Good morning and welcome to our home. My name is Ororo Munroe. Charles told me to expect you." Foreman reached out and shook her hand, still apprehensive about the entire situation. Ororo seemed to sense this, and calmly led him inside, where Foreman stood in slight awe at the size of the place.
"Follow me, Rogue's room is on the third floor. If I may ask, what do you expect to find here?"
"More than likely, nothing. However, my boss believes that everybody lies." Foreman had never been greeted by the owner before breaking in to the house, but there was a first time for everything, and as first times go, Foreman preferred the gentle, maternalistic African woman to an angry man with a shotgun.
"He distrusts people so much he would break into their homes?"
"He's...different." Foreman said finally after several minutes. Ororo merely shook her head as Logan approached them both quickly, impedeing their climb up the grand steps.
"Hey, Ro, you seen Gumbo around here?"
"Sorry, Logan. Perhaps he is in garage, working on his motorcycle." Ororo clearly did not hold the same nervous fear of the muscular man that Foreman did.
"Hmmm, he probably would think he could hide from me down there. Hey, what are you doin here? You get bored with treatin Stripes or something?" Logan pointed an accusatory finger at the doctor.
"Dr. Foreman is here inspecting Rogue's room."
"What're you inspecting for?" Taking a deep breath, Foreman spoke, doing his best to keep his voice steady.
"Anything. Many times, the cause of a disease is something environmental. If that's the case here, we'll be able to heal her." If the answer pleased Logan, he didn't show it.
"Fine, Ro'll show ya Rogue's room. I've gotta go find Gumbo. He's gotta a date with the Danger Room. With that, Logan stalked off down the stairs in the direction of the garage as Ororo merely led Foreman in the opposite direction.
"Gumbo?"
"Merely one of Logan's pet names for one of our students. Come, Rogue's room is on the
next floor."
The room was a clear-cut study in contradictions. One half of the room was decorated in bright colors, pinks and purples, as though a rainbow had taken up sewing as a hobby. Lain on the bright pink pillow lay a stuffed purple dragon. It was clear to anyone that this half was the den of a sixteen year old girl, from the posters of Mandy Moore and The O.C. to the numerous Harry Potter books stacked on the dresser. The other half of the room, seemed to be, in contrast, that of not a teenager but Sylvia Plath or Pauline Reage. Anything that wasn't black was some sort of dark color, usually a deep green or blood red. There were no stuffed animals on this side of the room, only several highly graphic action figures in a row that were labeled "The Infernal Parade." Foreman thought that was all too appropriate in describing them.
"The right side of the room belongs to Rogue, the other side of the room belongs to her roommate, Katherine Pryde."
"Thank you. Has her roommate been showing any similar symptoms?"
"I don't believe so. She should be around here. If I should find her, I will ask her." Foreman began dutifully examing Rogue's side of the room as Storm looked on in quiet observance.
"What about eating? Do you serve everyone the same thing, or do the students cook whatever they want?"
"We eat together in the main dining hall. Cooking duties rotate throughout the week between several students, however I believe that Rogue and Kitty purchased a small refrigerator several months ago." Foreman noticed the small machine as soon as Ororo mentioned it. The one thing in the whole room that seemed to bridge the gap between the polar personalities that inhabited the room. Foreman opened it eagerly, but found nothing contained within but diet sodas and a few frozen dinners. Foreman stared at the harmless edibles and grimaced, shutting the door as quickly as he had opened it.
"So what did you find in the mansion?" Cameron questioned of Dr. Foreman. Having spent the majority of the day in the lab talking with Henry, Cameron had been eager to hear about the mysterious headquarters of the teenagers. The three, plus Dr. Chase, who spent the time buried in a book, periodically shooting belligerent looks toward Dr. McCoy, sat in the conference room awaiting the arrival of Dr. House so that the latest in Rogue's condition could be examined.
"Other than a room that looked like it had multiple personality disorder, nothing much. Certainly nothing that would explain her condition." Foreman looked back down at the glowing screen of his laptop, spell checking his report before sending it to the printer.
"Yes, at first glance one would assume that Rogue and Kitty would be bitter enemies. However, they are now nearly inseparable friends, despite their obvious differences." Hank adjusted the glasses perched on the end of his nose.
"Well, great as that is, it doesn't help us diagnose her." Foreman trudged over to the printer opposite him and snatched the printed sheets. As Henry was about to respond, House came strutting into the room, the un shaven frown on his face a clear tell that, other than his encounter with Dr. Chase early that morning, he had not found the clinic enjoyable in any way. Once he noticed Chase, however, his eyes brightened.
"Dr. Chase, glad to see you could stay out of the bottle long enough to join our diagnosis." House's comment elicited nothing more than an agitated eye roll from the blonde doctor House snatched Foreman's report with a muttered "gimmie" and began to pour his eyes over the printed words. After reading over the same word several times, House quirked an eyebrow and let the paper fall to his side.
"Dr. Cameron, what did the blood tests show?" Cameron's eyes widened slightly, but she recovered quickly.
"Nothing. No viruses, no infections, no poisons. The only thing out of all the tests that came back abnormal was a slight increase in her phenylalanine." At hearing this, House limped over to the desk in the corner of the room and snatched up Rogue's admittance file. He grimaced for a moment, then called out to Dr. McCoy.
"Dr. McCoy, how long's the patient been underweight?"
A/N: Another wondrous chapter complete. I wanted this one completed a couple days ago, but then I suddenly got slammed with three different things that I didn't expect, nor did I need. However, I got the chapter completed, and I suppose that's all that matters. Hopefully, I'll have the next chapter up by Friday. To everyone that's read and reviewed so far, You have my deepest thanks. And to those of you who aren't reviewing-what's stopping you?