Note: I apologize for this chapter being a week late. Last week I had surgery to remove half my thyroid and a very small tumor that was growing on it. Since then, I think my brain has been giving me oneshots to process. While I hope to have the rest of this fic up on time from now on, I should warn you that I'm now on vacation for the next two weeks. (Insane, I know.) If there's a chapter late again, it's because I don't have internet access when I need it. Also, on an entirely different note, I now present you with chapter names! Enjoy.
Chapter 4: Stating Facts
The tension in the room is palpable as Cuddy lets the glass doors close behind her, the panic from outside bleeding right through. Cameron takes a cautious breath, her chest feeling tight. Suddenly she isn't sure which worries her more—the situation outside, or the chaos she knows is about to break out in front of her. She's not naïve enough to think that they can come together as a team in a situation like this; they've killed that hope for her enough times in the past. She's instantly torn between wanting to assert herself and trying to avoid further conflict than what she knows is coming.
"So," says Foreman. He looks back and forth between Chase and Cameron, eyebrows raised expectantly.
"There's no reason we have to let this break us up," says Cameron, because it doesn't hurt to try.
Foreman laughs bitterly. "In case you hadn't noticed, that happened about three weeks ago."
"I think it's safe to assume that we're all gonna be advocating for ourselves," says Chase. He looks at Cameron and shrugs apologetically. She tries to tell herself it's reasonable, that she should accept it as a part of both of their natures. Some days, she wishes it was more a part of hers.
"Well, if we're talking leadership skills, that puts both you and Cameron at a disadvantage," says Foreman. Off Chase's scandalized look he continues. "I'm just stating the facts. Cameron has no leadership skills, and yours consist solely of ass kissing and laziness." He's in Blunt Mode, which never fails to anger Cameron. Scientific though it may be, she can't imagine speaking with no consideration for the people around her.
"If we're stating facts," counters Chase, "you were the one who two hours ago wasn't even viewing this situation as a crisis. You've got no tact."
"If we're stating facts, neither of you is winning that award right now," Cameron interrupts. Chase freezes for a moment, looking back and forth between her and Foreman. He gives her a look of silent apology again, but doesn't do anything to openly support her.
"I have the best experience for this type of situation," says Foreman.
"Neurology?" Chase scoffs. "If this is an epidemic of hemorrhagic fever, they're gonna need supportive care, not brain surgery. That leaves me best prepared."
Immunology, thinks Cameron. Immunology is unquestionably more applicable than neurology. And I was the one who recognized the symptoms for what they were. But she doesn't say anything.
Foreman turns to Cameron and crosses his arms over his chest, head cocked in the essential picture of ego she's come to associate with him. "I'm not taking orders from him."
"Too bad," says Chase. "I'm not taking orders from you."
"Would either one of you take orders from me?" asks Cameron. She's asked it before, but this is the first time it hasn't been in hindsight. She has a real chance here, she knows, but somehow she still can't bring herself to break into the argument in earnest.
"No," says Foreman firmly. Chase gives her an agonized look, obviously wanting to please her, but keep his shot at authority all the same. Cameron sighs, allowing herself for a moment to consider the thought that his answer would unquestionably be different had he still been trying to win her over. She would be hurt if she hadn't seen this side of Foreman so many times before. Moments like this, she can't stand either one of them, and she suddenly wonders if after being trapped in here with them for three weeks, she'll still want anything to do with Chase.
"So you won't work with me or Cameron." Chase leans against Cuddy's desk, though he looks anything but relaxed.
"Pretty much, yeah." Foreman rocks forward slightly, like he's trying to assert his authority already. He looks like House, Cameron thinks, then suddenly wonders whether her former boss is trapped inside the building as well.
"We're not gonna be bullied into agreeing just because you're threatening noncooperation." Chase moves to stand even with Foreman, but only manages to look ridiculous thanks to their height difference.
"I'm not threatening anything," Foreman insists.
"Right, you're just stating facts."
Outside, two nurses go by the door, escorting a young pregnant woman who looks pale and unsteady on her feet. She's in obvious need of medical attention, maybe seriously ill, and suddenly Cameron can't stand the pettiness that's going on around her. They've never been particularly well-suited to each other in situations like this, but when it comes to treating patients, they are unquestionably a team. The facts of their recent unemployment, of this epidemic, of the absence of clear authority, are threatening to undermine the little bit of cohesion they do have. Outside, people are waiting for much-needed guidance.
"Stop," says Cameron, and both men turn to look at her, surprised. "You saw how fast that man went from sick to dead. If this is an epidemic, we don't have time to waste arguing. We are going to lose patients thanks to our infantile inability to put our egos aside for two minutes."
"What do you suggest?" Chase looks taken aback.
And he should, thinks Cameron. They both should know better than this by now.
"House is the obvious choice for this," she says. "He's the infectious disease specialist, but he's not here. If we're stating facts, any of us is equally well cut out to run these differentials. It's going to be the three of us anyway. I say we draw a name and choose that way. Easy, efficient, and nobody has to be labeled as any less capable than the others."
Chase and Foreman stare at her silently as Cameron reaches over Cuddy's desk and picks up a blank sheet of paper. She tears it into three strips and writes her name on one of them. Chase and Foreman do the same, then hand the pieces back to her. Cameron dumps pens out of a mug on Cuddy's desk, and puts the pieces inside.
"Foreman can draw," she says, not giving Chase a chance to protest.
"Thank you," says Foreman.
He plunges his hand into the mug, taking the time to wad the paper up into the palm of his hand before drawing it back out. He turns his eyes up for a second in what Cameron thinks is a suspiciously religious gesture before meticulously uncrumpling the name he's drawn. He takes a moment to read it, sighs heavily, then looks back up. "Chase."
"This is stupid," House proclaims loudly before biting into one of the French fries Wilson has brought up to the Diagnostics office from the cafeteria for himself.
"What is?" Wilson asks tiredly, shifting his plate behind House's computer and taking another bite of his burger.
"This quarantine. I mean, I can see why they'd want the clinic locked down, but there's no reason why we should have to be. They're more likely to infect all of us by keeping us here while they're taking supplies in and out." House uses his cane to hook the lid of his laptop closed, and leans forward to grab another fry with his free hand.
"Oh, so instead we should go infect the world. I can see how you would think that would be a good thing," says Wilson. He picks his plate up and puts it on his lap.
"Oh, we're not going to infect the world," says House. "Marburg isn't airborne. The only people infected are the ones who treated the incredible bleeder."
"House, even the CDC can't agree on the mode of transmission of the hemorrhagic fevers. But I'm guessing you think you know more than they do." Wilson finishes his burger, and picks up one of the few fries left.
"Of course I do," says House. "The real mystery here is how the stuck piglet got infected to begin with. Everybody's so concerned with the fact that he was bleeding. Nobody seems interested in why. There's never been a case of Marburg in the U.S."
Outside the glass, two young women are whispering fearfully, standing very close together. Noticing them, House gets to his feet and makes his way across the room with ridiculously exaggerated sneaking motions. He watches them for a moment, decides that they're uninteresting, and wraps hard on the glass with his cane. The two women jump, and one of them starts crying. The other turns to glare at House, who shrugs innocently.
"You're right," says Wilson. "This is a bad idea."
"The quarantine?" House looks suspicious.
"No, just the part where they let you loose on the hundreds of panicked victims for twenty-one days." Wilson turns around and waves apologetically at the two young women. The one who isn't crying gives him the finger.
House feigns innocence. "How am I supposed to do my job if I don't talk to the patients?" He snatches another fry off Wilson's plate on the way back to his chair.
"What job?" Wilson quickly eats the last three fries before House can find a way to get to them too. "You have no team and no cases."
"I'm an infectious disease specialist!" protests House, pretending to be shocked. "We've got an outbreak of a rare disease here. And a really, really cool one at that."
"Wait." Wilson sets the empty plate on the edge of House's desk, and tries to get his head around everything he's just heard. "You're going to try and diagnose the clinic patients? From outside the quarantine?"
House looks excited. "Do you think I could get Cuddy to let me in?"
"No!" Wilson throws up his hands, exasperated. Exhaustion, worry, and guilt are shortening his usual tolerance for House.
"Too bad." He gets up and erases the whiteboard. "We'll just have to work with what we can get. They do have telephones down there, don't they? I mean they're not actually in Africa. Just stealing its diseases."
"House. You fired your team. You can't even look at the patients. Who are you going to run your differential with?" Wilson sighs heavily.
"Well, you," says House, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"Me?" Wilson sputters. "I have patients stuck here!"
House writes BLOOD in red marker, then stops and points. "You also have ketchup on your tie."
Cameron watches from the front row as Chase stands in front of the gathering of limited clinic staff. He looks nervous, she thinks, and suddenly she's glad that she isn't the one facing all of these panicked people. Empathy is something she's good at, but detachment isn't, and she knows she's going to be spread too thin by the end of this. These people deserve someone who's able to keep a level head. She only hopes Chase won't give in to his natural tendency to let himself be manipulated.
"Our primary concern is to determine whether all of these people are sick with what the man who died this morning had," says Chase. "Judging by the symptoms, we suspect one of the hemorrhagic fevers."
A murmur of shock goes through the room, and Cameron looks around. Cuddy is sitting beside Foreman, and she nods stoically as all eyes turn to her. There are several young doctors in the room who Cameron doesn't recognize, and half a dozen nurses. Everyone here is aware of the scope of the situation they're dealing with, and their panic is only minimally more controlled than the patients'. Chase looks uncertainly at Cameron, and she nods.
"It's important not to let the patients here you say that. Until we know for sure, we've got to take every precaution not to start a rumor panic here. Since there have been no previously reported cases of any of these viruses in the United States, it's unlikely that everyone here is sick with the same thing. We're unsure what the initial symptoms are, so our first goal is to examine all of the patients here and isolate anyone whose symptoms are more severe than the others'."
Cuddy nods again, but Foreman is rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Two of the nurses behind Cameron start whispering, and she suppresses the urge to turn around and glare at them. It isn't their fault they're scared, she reminds herself. This is the kind of situation none of them ever expected to find themselves in. It's the stuff of horror movies, not real life.
"Then we'll run a differential using those symptoms." Chase inclines his head toward Foreman and Cameron, and the rest of the staff turns to look at them as if on cue. "If this is a hemorrhagic fever, the onset of symptoms will be extremely rapid. We don't have any time to lose. Take precautions to protect yourselves from fluid to fluid contact. If you think there's a chance you've been exposed, you are to report it to me immediately. I'd like to ask everyone to proceed to the exam rooms. See as many patients as quickly as you can, but be sure to be thorough."
The crowd gets up in a rush, and there's a moment of awkwardness where everyone tries to avoid running into each other. Cameron jumps at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder, and turns to find Chase standing behind her.
"You think this will work?" he asks softly.
Cameron raises her eyebrows, giving him a look of gentle disapproval. "An hour ago you were willing to fight Foreman for this job. Now you don't want it?"
"I didn't say that," Chase protests. He lowers his voice further, leaning closer to her ear. "I just can't help thinking if anything goes wrong…"
Cameron shivers, though she can't say if it's from the thought that finishes that statement, or the sensation of his breath on her neck. "If anything goes wrong, there might not be anything any of us can do about it."