Hey everyone! Sorry about the delay especially with the last chapter cliffhanger. If got a lot of writing here for you though so that should appease you for the time being. These next few weeks I'm going to be busy with final assignments and tying up loose ends at uni so I wont have much time to work on this fic. I thought it would be better to write one really long chapter than two publish one cliffhanger then have you all wait for the other incomplete half so here it is. I wanted to get it up soon so there may be a typo or two towards the end, my apologises. I've also got my favourite quote from the film Ten Things I Hate About You which got me a luchtime detention when I said it in High School Lit class- see if you can spot it! My thanks to all the readers but especially the ever faithful AineMorrigan, estrella06, Emerald124 and Caitiri for their reviews. Thanks a lot and let's hope your habit catches on. Read and Review!
The Intensive Care Unit where the hospital records had listed 'Wilson, Suellen' as the resident patient was quiet.
Silence in a hospital wasn't really unusual, it was actually closer to normal. The ER and Clinic areas were always bustling with life, voices and general pandemonium but there was usually a general quiet to the other wards. This was usually from sleeping patients, sombre family members meditating in the waiting room or the common case of death.
However the silence in Suellen's room was one of tension as she dreaded what was about to happen.
A few minutes before Foreman had arrived with a clipboard and had asked for Wilson to step outside into the waiting area where Martha sat on the sofas with a paper coffee cup. Through the glass wall segmented into narrow strips by the vertical blinds Suellen had watched as Doctor Foreman spoke to her parents. When he'd finished Wilson had been the first to talk.
They were too far away for Suellen to hear but she immediately recognised Wilson's reflex of putting his hands on his hips. She'd seen it enough times to know he was either annoyed or objecting. Suellen assumed the former as she couldn't fathom a reason why he'd be unhappy with Foreman, so far he'd done everything right and if he had an issue with her treatment he would've have spoken to Chase, the primary.
Martha stretched her neck upwards and turned her face back and forth between the standing men. Suellen could only see half of her expression because of where James was standing but her mother seemed confused, waiting for one of them to explain what they were talking about. The doctors spoke for a few seconds more then Wilson's arms fell to his sides.
Foreman had won.
Suellen watched as Wilson took the clipboard and turned his face away to say something to Martha before he signed the paper and forced it back into Foreman's hands roughly making him fumble.
Wilson walked back into the ward coolly but Suellen got the impression it was pretence. His lips were forced into a tight line too firmly as if to stop his face from making the expression his emotions wanted. His stride was heavy too, as though he sneakers were weighing down his feet as they carried all of his anxiety in them.
"What's news?" Suellen asked as cheerfully as she could but it came out as more of a croak as her throat was parched. She thought if she showed confidence maybe Wilson would incorrectly think she wasn't worried.
"You're going to need a Lumbar Puncture done," he said it straight and sat heavily on the stool Alex had threatened him with the night before. His charming ability to break bad news wasn't there as he told her that. Ever since Chase had informed them about the liver and spleen complications an hour ago Wilson had been unable to see the situation the same way.
This wasn't another one of House's cases any more and he was no longer the assisting doctor. Suellen was in real danger with two major organs failing and a rapidly declining red cell count. He felt sick just thinking about it, a jittery feeling shaking him on the inside that he couldn't throw. Professionalism told him to stay calm and remain objective but paternity told him to be afraid and behave irrationally.
"What's that?" Suellen asked with apprehension.
She knew what 'Puncture' was sure enough- a deep tear or piercing of a surface, but 'Lumbar' wasn't in her vernacular vocabulary. She guessed something medical and that lead her to think of the human anatomy and when she put the two words together she thought of something sharp in her skin.
"A needle in your spine," Wilson answered gravely looking her in the eyes to catch her immediate reaction. "Foreman needs to collect a sample of spinal fluid for some tests. He and House think you have Meningitis."
Suellen wasn't familiar with the disease but knew she should worry. The description of Lumbar Puncture was enough to rattle her but what really frightened her was Wilson's reaction. She'd never seen him behave this way. When he'd taken care of her nose he had been scattered but he was beginning to lose his grip now.
His hands were resting low on his thighs right above the knees his large fingers spread apart in star shapes with the tips curled, fingernails hidden from view by the denim they clutched. His hands had become claws desperately holding onto a lifeline slowly splitting at the centre.
Breathing through her bruised nose Suellen filled her lungs and gulped down the bubble in her throat before she spoke.
"Dad," her voice was taut as she used all of her energy to stop the nervous tremors that threatened to shake her speech. "I can keep Alex together when he's losing it but I need you to stay calm. I can't hold you together."
Suellen watched Wilson's claws spread back into fingers and he nodded his head quickly. Their eyes didn't meet though, he seemed to look straight through her as if he was busy telling himself to do what she asked rather than answering her.
"It'll be ok," he said but he didn't know if it was to her or to himself.
They weren't tortured with a long wait as soon there a shadow at the door and Foreman come in carrying a metal tray with various medical pieces balanced on top. Suellen caught a second's glance at the large needle then looked down at the sheets. Panicking wasn't the solution to her problem, she knew that she had to follow all of her doctors' instructions if they were to diagnose her and that her father, one of the country's leading oncologist wouldn't have given his consent unless he thought the test absolutely necessary.
"Should I get a nurse?" Foreman asked Wilson as he set the tray down on the cart and picked up a pair of rubber gloves.
"No I got it," he answered heavily and stood up.
He slipped one of his warm hands under Suellen's shoulder and encouraged her to lean forward. He then pulled the pillow out from behind her and instructed her to roll on her side in a quiet voice.
Confused by the private conversation between her father and his colleague Suellen obeyed his instructions with a sense of restlessness. What would Foreman need the nurse for? What was Wilson going to do while he performed the Lumbar Puncture? This test would be uncomfortable but surely it didn't deserve such a ominous reaction as the one they were giving it.
"Wrap your arms around the pillow like you're hugging it and pull your knees up," Wilson said putting one hand on her hip and another on her shoulder. She could feel the light touch of cloth on her back as Foreman untied her gown.
"Take a deep breath Sue," she heard Foreman say and breathed in deeply waiting for the pain.
There was a sharp prick in her back that made her grimace then vanished.
"That wasn't so bad," she said feeling a little surprised and secretly proud of her strength against something that had gotten her father so worked up.
"That was just the Novocaine," Foreman explained sounding crestfallen for having to tell her that there was worse pain to come.
"Isn't that the stuff dentists use?" Suellen asked with a puzzled frown twisting her neck slightly to look up at Wilson thinking he would provide an answer.
"It's a regular anaesthetic," Foreman said and finished screwing the large syringe together. His latex covered fingers touched the divot on Suellen's side between her bottom rib and her hip to help his co-ordination. The sharp tip of the needle touched the skin at the lower vertebrae and Foreman's dark eyes flicked up to see Wilson nod.
The needle broke through the skin and drove into Suellen's spine sending intense pain to every part of her body. The section of her brain that controlled sensation went into overload telling the rest of her body of the agony she was going through. The pain was suffocatingly hot and as her thoughts jumped and flared radically in her mind Suellen thought of a lobster inside a pot of boiling water with its body beginning to cook while it was still alive.
A few droplets escaped Suellen's mouth as she spluttered from shock before her teeth clashed together, pushing against each other forcefully to stop herself from screaming. Between her white teeth whimpers slipped through and from deep in her throat a gurgling whine rose.
"It's ok Honey, it's ok," Wilson kept whispering as he increased the amount of weight bearing down on Suellen to hold her steady as her fingers clawed the pillow under her chin.
"Hang in there baby," he said louder when he saw Suellen clamped her eyes closed to hold back the salty water that had started to slide down her cheeks.
Foreman pushed the syringe for a final millimetre then with great caution colleted the transparent fluid that dripped out from her spine. Holding the tube steady he sacrificed a moment's watch to look at Wilson.
The oncologist was tortured. The anguish Foreman saw in his face as he watched his daughter choke back sobs alarmed him. A sweat not caused by heat was sprouting on his brow and his Adam's Apple travelled up and down his throat with every deep nervous swallow.
Suellen was the patient, but the one coming apart was Wilson.
"Alex says you've got a friend coming to see you," Wilson said intending to take Suellen's mind away from her condition.
Foreman had taken his sample down to the lab for the Meningitis test nearly three hours ago and since then Wilson had been talking about every topic he could think of. Babbling about completely irrelevant things to keep the focus away from the fact she was dying without a know reason.
"You and my brother are getting together to talk about me behind my back?" Suellen asked indignantly, responding to what Wilson said for the first time in nearly half an hour.
She was now lying flat on her back with a single pillow under her head. Once the test had been completed Wilson had adjusted the bed to a completely horizontal position and had strongly described the importance of remaining still after a Lumbar Puncture.
"He asked me for loose change for the drink machine," he defended himself with an innocent shrug. "What's your friend like? Guy or girl?"
"You're not going to like him Dad," Suellen said bluntly.
"That's quite an assumption," Wilson crossed his arms and looked at her challengingly. "How do you know that for sure?"
"I didn't even like him to start with. Dean's like a bad dog that digs up your front garden. You shouldn't like him, but you do," she said a little surprised with her profundity considering her condition.
"Doesn't mean we'll share the same opinion." Wilson knew he was being antagonistic but he wanted to keep Suellen talking for as long as possible to stop her from lapsing into depression.
"Let's just see shall we?" she gestured weakly to someone behind Wilson and the glass door of the room rolled open.
Wilson turned on the stool to get his first look at Dean Prescot. A tall boy with a built body, he appeared shabby in the oversized jeans that stopped above his ankles and the leather jacket marked with cigarette burns and beer stains. Against his jet black combed hair and dark eyes his skin was ghostly white and his thick eyebrows were in a position that gave him an unwelcoming impression.
Wilson disliked him immediately.
Dean dropped his backpack from his shoulder letting it fall carelessly on the floor and stopped around the bed by Suellen without so much as a momentary glance in Wilson's direction. He took a long look at Suellen and his stern features shifted into an aghast expression similar to the one Hollywood stars wear in those brutal slasher films where the teenage protagonist opens a door and finds six of his friends butchered by a homicidal manic with a gardening tool.
With his untrustworthy eyes he saw Suellen's hair matted and messy slicked against her skull by the sweat that coated her skin. Her face was a mixture of unfavourable colours with the dull yellow jaundice, dark rings under her eyes, fading bruises around her healing nose and red lines of fatigue running through her eyes. Her petite lips were chapped from lack of moisture and the needle in the back of her hand connected her to three different IV bags.
"You should see the other guy," Suellen joked attempting a smile.
Dean smirked revealing the faint tobacco stains on his teeth and put his hand out so his fingers dangled limply above Suellen's hand.
"How's it going buddy?" he asked lowly.
Suellen moved her wrist to reach for Dean's offered hand, wrapping her fingers around his lengthy digits. She squeezed them gently making the heart monitor attached to her index finger push against Dean's knuckle before letting go.
"Being in hospital blows," she answered with a light sigh.
Wilson cleared his throat and both teens halted their reunion to look at him, Suellen with a questioning look and Dean with a condescending one.
"Oh yeah," Suellen said after a second and looked back at the boy standing beside her. "Dean this is my Dad, James Wilson. Dad this is my friend Dean Prescot."
"How's it going Pops?" Dean said in a stodgy voice then turned back to Suellen.
Wilson was slightly unbalanced by that, his posture slipping and his position on the stool wavering a bit. He wasn't sure what got to him more, the boy's lack of proper etiquette or the fact he'd been properly acknowledged as a father- something that hadn't happened in years.
"Please don't call me that," he said sternly and didn't try to hide a frown.
Dean raised one of his dark eyebrows and wiggled his neck and shoulders expressing his blatant disregard for anything Wilson thought and his disagreeable attitude. His eyes challenged him to start something, the black orbs twinkling with smug overconfidence.
It was that expression that made Wilson recall that they'd already met.
At the docks, the day after the Albatross had sunk where he'd pushed through the crowds to claim the child he'd thought he'd lost Dean had been the one with his arm around Suellen. He remembered the protective hold he'd had around his daughter and how when he'd gotten close Dean had nearly punched him in the jaw.
What was going on between them?
There was a sound of wood striking the floor and Wilson knew House had arrived. All three looked over to see him leaning in the doorway tapping his cane rhythmically on the tiles as he observed the scene before him with the same amount of attention he gave his soap opera.
"Excuse me Pops," he said factiously to his friend. "We need to speak. Mind stepping outside for a minute?"
"Ah, sure," the disorientated oncologist said and got off of the stool. He rubbed Suellen's arm comfortingly and promised to be back soon before he went out of the room, taking a second to give Dean a glare that said, 'Don't try anything.'
Wilson watched the two of them talk until he'd closed the door all the way. He then turned to speak to House and jumped with fright when he saw his three team members hovering side by side behind him. Together they stood just out of view of the ICU so that the patient wasn't aware of their presence.
Wilson was immediately suspicious.
"Need a consult," House began in a tone too leisurely to be true. He bore his bright blue eyes into Wilson's warm brown ones with such intensity that it unnerved him. "Patient showing all the trademark symptoms of Hairy Cell Leukemia. What would the Head of Oncology suggest to make a definite diagnosis?"
In a moment of gullibility Wilson relaxed, expelling a loud sigh and allowed his shoulders to sag. For a moment he'd thought House had come to report more bad news of his daughter's condition.
"Do a spleen biopsy," he said wearily rubbing the skin on his face which had stiffened from his recent lack of sleep and the draining hours of stress. "Get Brown to help you, Cuddy's put him in charge while I'm on leave."
"Great plan," House said an octave louder than he needed to and made a fast gesture of jubilation with his hand. "So if you'll just sign the consent form the lovely Doctor Cameron is holding we'll get an OR ready."
A cold sensation of mixed dread and disbelief trickled through Wilson's body as he realised he'd fallen straight into House's nefarious trap. He swallowed with difficulty but he held the same vacant expression for a moment more before he took control again and narrowed his eyes.
"You can't do a spleen biopsy on Suellen," he said without any room for debate.
"Well not to be paradoxical but you just said-"
"Take a bone marrow sample for analysis," Wilson snapped quickly. "Her red and platelet counts are in the dumps. Any kind of surgery is too risky in her current condition. She could bleed out and won't be able to clot."
"Bone marrow's indeterminable in her present state," House had changed his tone to compete with Wilson's and his charming eyes had hardened to match the opposing ones. "A biopsy of the spleen is the only way to know for sure."
"You can run tests for HTLV and ATLV. If she does have Hairy Cell then she should have those as well."
"Great," House lightened his tone to a nasty sarcasm, "the lab should give us the results in about six hours, which should leave us another six to work before her kidneys die. That could make a diagnosis very difficult though."
"We can start her on dialysis now to support her kidneys until the results come back."
"Dialysis is pointless when the kidneys are unresponsive to any treatment we've given her so far and even if they do respond they'll only hold out long enough for her liver to shut down. It's a lose lose situation Wilson use your head."
Beginning to panic caused by his recently awoken potent paternal instincts Wilson took a deep breath to keep up with House's objections and provide proper argument.
"I could donate part of my liver to buy some time."
"You're a different blood type," House told him feeling truly sorry for his friend but his duty to his patient stopped him from relenting. "We've already checked. Your kid is cursed with O negative blood type. You're A positive and there is no way she'd survive the transplant surgery. You said that yourself."
"What about…"
"Oh stop it Wilson!" House yelled cutting Wilson off and bringing those around him to a stop. Through the glass walls he could see Suellen and her friend looking out at them with inquisitive expressions. Then in a lower voice he spoke exclusively to Wilson, ignoring the three behind him.
"This is difficult for you but I need you to remember for just one minute that you are a doctor and to think like one. She is dying and preventing the biopsy is destroying what may be the only chance she has. We can't treat for anything else until we're sure that this isn't cancer and any other surgery will kill her. Do what you would recommend for any one of your patients."
The three younger doctors excluded from the debate wisely remained silent but watched captivated as Wilson deflated. His shoulders slumped and his angry face faded away. He craned his neck back to look up at the ceiling lights with despair as he accepted his defeat. He then pulled his head forward again and let out a shaky sigh.
"Give me the forms," he said unwillingly to Cameron who handed him the clipboard and pen with her most sympathetic expression.
Wilson's lightless eyes skipped the legal jargon and medical information going straight to the dotted line at the bottom. He put the tip of the ballpoint to the paper and signed his name in his illegible scrawl. As he added the dot to the 'I' he felt as if he'd just put the first nail in his child's coffin.
House took the document from his hands and spoke to his crew without looking at them. "Get an anesthesiologist and go scrub in. I'll bring her up in ten."
Obediently the three of them complied with his order leaving him and his only friend alone together.
The Operating Room the Diagnostics team had occupied of the simple spleen biopsy was the smallest as the procedure would only take close to twenty minutes without any hassles. Foreman was hunched over Suellen collecting the tissue sample as she lay on the table in a gown with blue surgery cloth over her chest. There was a small square in the cloth revealing her yellowed skin and the small incision where Foreman had inserted the medical tools.
Chase kept a constant vigil on the monitors to his side that recorded her heart rate and other vitals and the anesthesiologist they'd recruited stood close to the operating table in case they'd be any need for sudden sedation. Cameron meanwhile distracted Suellen from the operation with light conversation.
The plan had originally been to put her under a general anaesthetic for the process but before the anesthesiologist had administered the dose she'd grabbed his hand and asked if there was another option. Suellen told them quite determinedly that she would like to stay awake so she would know exactly what they were doing with her body.
It wasn't distrust she assured them, she just wanted to be in the loop. So as a compromise the anesthesiologist had given her a local anaesthetic to numb the area the other doctors worked on.
"I saw the books your brother brought you Sue," Cameron spoke with her eyes twinkling merrily over her cloth mask, "are they any good?"
Suellen scrunched her motley coloured face in repugnance before she made a rejecting sound. "Bah. Nothing but overrated formulaic airport novels used to distract the simple minded and those looking for an escape from their monotonous day."
"Certainly hope you don't become a literary reviewer Sue," Chase grumbled. "You'll drive new writers to suicide."
"Nonsense," Suellen couldn't say that with as much vigour as she would have liked thanks to the drugs but her expression conveyed a pesky attitude. "Constructive criticism is a blessing for writers. Helps to improve their craft. One harsh comment can spurn them into a creative frenzy that will produce a masterpiece to prove the critic wrong."
"You think Hemmingway set out to prove his critics wrong?"
"Hemmingway? Hemmingway was nothing more than an abusive misogynist alcoholic who spent his lifetime hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers!" Suellen spat vehemently. "He lacked any true talent so he made his cash writing morose pieces in minimalist style and used the Iceberg Theory to justify the lack of detail he wasn't capable of producing. It seems all you need to do to be proclaimed a 'Great American Writer' is be a reclusive bastard who drinks himself to death."
Nobody said anything further on that subject of Literature.
The anesthesiologist visually scanned his tools to make sure he'd given the right amount of anaesthetic. If this girl needed another operation before her discharge she was definitely going to be put under, no excuses accepted.
Upstairs in the viewing area Wilson sat hunched in a chair with his finger locked together tightly watching the scene below intently as House drummed his cane on the floor rhythmically. The two sat side by side in fold up chairs used for students taking notes on operations and on the miniature table by his elbow Wilson had left the sandwich wrapper and empty bottle House had supplied for his lunch shortly before.
"Kid's a total punk," he spat viciously but kept an anxious look in his eyes as he watched Foreman expertly take a spleen sample. "Has a skulking look about him that I don't like and I know from listening to him he's trouble. Got no respect and a smart mouth. Can't see why Suellen deals with him."
"You can't?" House asked incredulously averting his gaze to look at Wilson.
"Oh she's a handful," the fragile father picked up House's implication and straightened in his seat. "But she's not a bad kid. She's got a certain…let say penchant for trouble but she doesn't go looking for it. That Dean though practically has a neon sign above his head saying 'crook.' He's just bad news waiting to happen."
"Be terrible if she was involved with him," House said casually and waited for the reaction.
"You think she is?" Wilson asked frantically.
"No. I don't."
House very charitably passed up the opportunity to mess with his friend's head partly out of sympathy but mostly from the fact he was too tired to bother after working nearly thirty hours straight.
"How can you be so sure?"
"For a start he calls her buddy, not bitch, indicating feelings of friendship rather than affection and possession. He came down from Trenton by his own means so obviously there's a bond, I'm guessing from a debt or favour which tells he's loyal to her. Plus and he hasn't made a move on her, and believe me, if I was a horny teenage bad boy I would be all over that piece in a second."
"Hey!"
"Relax Pops," House rolled his eyes contemptuously at his friend's inherent paternal protection impulse and the door opened on the far side of the room.
Both men looked over to see Martha come through the door. James watched her for a second then turned his attention back to the operating theatre on the floor below considering his once wife unworthy of his regard. House took a moment more to privately appraise her and note her change in his wide library of facts and thoughts.
Martha was a far cry from the woman who had waged war with Wilson yesterday when she'd tapped her high heels impatiently and picked cotton balls off of her lavish outfit. Now she was dressed in a baggy blue woollen jumper and black leggings with runners on her feet. Her peroxided hair hadn't been teased and styled with numerous bobby pins and secured with hairspray, instead left to hang freely behind a simple headband.
Slowly she crept up beside her ex-husband holding her elbows in unease and looked down at her daughter holding conversation with the doctors who took a tissue sample.
"How is she?" she asked quietly scared of a hostile response.
"Lousy but probably a lot better than if I'd left her to you to shove more pills down her throat," Wilson said on a heavy exhale without turning his head.
"James I..."
"Don't start," Wilson raised a hand to stop her and turned his head slightly sideways with annoyance. "Now is really not the best time for you to give me a plaintive apology Martha and if you want to defend yourself don't bother, I won't give what you say a first thought, let alone a second one."
Martha's hurt face studied his to detect the smallest scrap of insincerity or weakness but she found only bitterness and resentment. House raised his eyebrows and muttered "Snap" to himself but didn't say anything to her.
"She wont listen to me, she wont let me in her room to see her not even to apologise," Martha rushed undeterred by Wilson's bid to silence her. "Alexander wont speak to me now. I know you've been running test but I haven't spoken to any of the doctors since the Lumbar Puncture. They're all coming to you. Have they found anything yet? Any ideas? I know you must know what they're thinking if you're letting them do this to her. Tell me James. Please! She's my daughter!"
As she caught her breath both Martha and House waited for Wilson's reaction. His stance wasn't changed any by her impassioned speech but he'd heard everything and was contemplating it. What he thought about it though was indeterminable. Wilson had been so out of character these past few days it was impossible for even House to predict his next action.
He wanted her punished that he knew that for sure. To shame her for slipping his child anti-depressant medication so she could avoid dealing with Suellen's muddled emotions and tormenting memories and for prohibiting the mourning of her best friend. To judge her for the years of attacking his poor parenting when she was the one who'd jeopardised Suellen's health. And for always being so damn difficult.
But did he want her to suffer? His instinctive answer was a definite yes but that would be crossing the line into cruelty and was that something he was prepared to do? To torture her in the worst way he could? Make her suffer more than she already was watching her eldest child die? Was he really prepared to do something so abominable and amoral for his own ill will?
"She is our daughter Martha, mine as well as your's. And don't for one minute think that this is any harder for you than it is for me. You got it?"
Wilson's speech after his long stretch of silence surprised both of his companions who'd been weighing the probability of him answering or ignoring the questions against each other. House had actually expected Wilson to say something cutting or dismissive, not express his possessiveness.
"They're performing a spleen biopsy-running another test," he followed up succinctly to ease her mind temporarily and to spare him from answering any more questions. "We won't know anything until we take it to the lab."
Martha nodded her head and some of the weight she'd been carrying fell away. "Can you at least tell me what the test is for?" she asked not wishing to push Wilson's generosity any further.
Her vengeful first husband looked at her then and held back the answer, unsure and tentative of her possible reaction. In that moment of uncertainty he let professionalism rule, giving her the same courteously he would to any parent asking about their child's condition under his care.
"Cancer."
What happened next happened so rapidly the impetuousness of it startled House.
Martha moved to run for the door and Wilson lunged sideways to grab her. Holding her thin arm tightly he sprang from his seat and caught her opposite wrist in his other hand. Wilson then twirled her around as though they were dancing so they faced the opposite direction they'd been in seconds before. As she struggled to release herself from his grip the walls inside Martha crumbled setting free the emotions and thoughts she'd kept at bay for fifteen years.
"Damn you James! Damn you!" she screamed hysterically as tears ran down her face and she tried to beat her fists against his chest. "How could you? It was one thing to say that you didn't love me any more but you don't even love Suellen! You don't love your kid! You don't love your kid!"
"It's ok Martha! It's ok!" Wilson shouted over her now wearing the same grievous expression as he was thrown into a frenetic state by her words. "I'll put this right! It's going to be ok!"
The sound of machines screaming and the sight of House standing brought them to an immediate halt. Before Wilson had even released her he and Martha were at the glass to see what was going on below them.
"She's crashing!" Chase shouted as he saw the flat lines on the monitors and watched the numbers drop.
Suellen's eyes were closed and her limp body unresponsive to the noise around her as the doctors moved in to help. Hastily Foreman removed the surgical tools from her body with a blood-covered piece of spleen held at the tip of the metallic point.
"You must have caused a bleed!" Cameron shouted as she flashed her tiny torch into Suellen's eyes. "Pupils unresponsive."
"No! No bleed! It's a clean job!" Foreman shouted and moved clear away as Chase raced forward with the cardiac cart.
"It's her heart!" he told them and there was a humming noise of the paddles charging in his hands. "Charging…Clear!"
He pushed the paddles to her chest making Suellen's body rise sharply off the table in an unnatural arc before it fell powerlessly back down with a thump. Her head rolled to the side but the machines continued to screech horribly.
"Not getting a pulse," Cameron said hastily holding her fingertips to Suellen's wrist then dropped it when Chase reapproached with the paddles.
"Clear!" he shouted and again the teen's body lurched skyward by the electricity sent to her heart. She crashed against the table and there was a steady beep repeating behind them.
All three doctors watched the monitor intently as the squiggly line ran across the screen recording a stable heartbeat. Once Cameron found a pulse Chase replaced the paddles to the cart and Foreman attached an oxygen mask to Suellen's face.
"Her red count's worse," Cameron said pulling the mask from her face so that her colleagues could hear her clearly. "Soon there wont be enough to supply oxygen to her body. She'll suffocate with her lungs working perfectly."
Sitting in the darkness of Suellen's hospital room Dean twiddled an unlit cigarette in his fingers. The stick of white paper looped and twirled through his fingers and over his knuckles as he sat on the cold tiles with his back against the wall and legs outstretched. Close by the machines beeped and sighed as they kept watch on her vitals and hanging over his head were three IV bags. Two clear ones of medications he couldn't pronounce and a dark red bag with 'Type O-' written across it.
The only noise apart from the machines was Suellen's heavy breaths, each puff clouding the mask with moisture. The nurses had dimmed the lights so she could sleep but she stayed awake, lying perfectly still with her eyes open a crack feeling the pain in her chest where the anaesthetic was wearing off.
Something had gone wrong in the operating room that much she could tell for herself, but none of her doctors had been around when she'd awoke. The nurses who came in to record her progress refused to answer any questions and had ordered sleep. These same nurses were the ones who had kicked Dean out at the end of visiting hours and the same ones he hid from under the bed every ten minutes when they came in. Which is why he was now hiding on the floor where the bed blocked him from sight in the hall.
"When I first saw you I thought you were going to be one of those whiny princesses," he said twirling the cigarette looking across the room into the far darkness. "Boy was I wrong."
"When I said all that cruel shit you smacked me so hard and so fast I didn't know what hit me. Made it clear you were enough to match me and any other bastard wanting to play you. You're one tough cookie Suellen."
He laughed then, not his usual nasty jeering laugh but a light and calm one that made him happy again for a moment as he studied his memories.
"First I thought you were suicidal, then insane. Then after a while I thought you were indestructible. Working like a draught horse day and night, slaving away with the sails, scrubbing floors, singing shanties and writing up every scrap of school work against any clear flat surface you could find."
Suellen sighed and looking up Dean saw that she was listening to him peacefully attempting to take her mind away from the pain and discomfort that refused to yield.
"I remember," Dean dared to go an octave louder so Suellen could hear what he had to tell her for certain. "The first storm we hit after setting out. We'd been at sea for two weeks breaking out backs heaving ropes and learning how to control the bloody ship without Skipper screaming at us. Smooth sailing all the way. Then one afternoon BAM! Grey skies, rain and the Albatross is rolling around all over the place. We were all over the side spewing and falling over like a pack of retards except for you. You held onto the wheel and took us through that storm without stopping once. Just kept her steady, watched the sea and kept going like the gutsy mongrel you are. You remember that?"
Suellen did.
Her shoulders rose up to her chin as she cringed. Behind her she could hear the rest of the crew releasing their stomach contents into the choppy waves overboard. Beneath them the schooner rose and fell, rose and fell making their stomachs flip and their feet slip.
Body excrements had never bothered Suellen before, having two much younger siblings had made her immune to pungent liquids and heavy nappies but thirteen teenagers standing in line hurling was enough to push her limit.
Suellen dared a glance over her shoulder to see Simon hanging limply over the side as bile and digested foot sprang from his open mouth. He closed her mouth again, turned his feet around and let himself fall to the deck in a heap. In one hand he held his glasses and nursed his forehead in his other. His face had gone the same green colour as the sea and his lips sticky with vomit.
Suellen felt something squeeze her chin and pull her face forward to give her a clear view of the bow.
"Don't worry about them," she heard Skipper say beside her as he pinched her bottom jaw. "They can handle themselves. You've got a job to do."
"Should I turn her away?" Suellen asked not bold enough to pull out of his hold.
"Can't run from the wind love," Skipper was pleased to hear her ask a question relevant to her task and released her chin from between his rough fingers. "Hold her north and keep her steady. We'll just have to ride this out."
Suellen was amazed at how unperturbed Skipper was. Rain drizzled in from West soaking his clothes, waves rocked his vessel and nearly his entire crew was out of action rolling on the deck clutching their stomachs. Yet there he was smiling watching the sea from behind his sunglasses holding a cup of coffee as casually as if they were docked in the Bahamas.
Feeling something move in her stomach Suellen gripped the wheel tighter and clamped her mouth shut as her body began to jerk.
"Oops wait a second," Skipper said leisurely and set his coffee down before reaching for the bucket by his feet.
Suellen deposited her own stomach content into the plastic bucket then re erected herself to check the compass before turning the wheel a notch starboard to maintain a north course. At her side she spied Skipper throwing the muck from the bucket overboard. The liquid spread and separated in the air before spiralling down into the water.
"Don't make me say it again," Skipper warned in a musical tone without even turning around.
Suellen found Skipper's ability to know about everything on board both in and out of his sight creepy and weird. It was like the man was a part of the Albatross itself. For Skipper there were only two things, his wife Alice and the Albatross, and he knew both females intimately.
After watching the sea for some time Skipper made his way back to his student and picked up his coffee which was now tepid. He took a sip looking out at the bow sighing contently after he'd swallowed black beverage he looked at the girl holding the ship on course.
She was a little pale in the face but her brown eyes were set on the sea ahead, determined to make it to port even without the assistance of the crew. The responsibility on her to keep the schooner together was enormous but she stayed firm rising to the challenge admirably.
"You're enjoying this," Skipper said his lips that were usually set in a hard line now curving.
Suellen looked at him dumbfound for a moment then looked forwards again. She gripped the handles tighter as she tried to think of an appropriate response quickly. Had that been a question or a general statement? Skipper didn't like for his crew to chat unnecessarily but leaving one of his questions unanswered would be worse. What to do?
Then after a bit more time being adamant Suellen spoke in a wavy voice.
"Oh yes sir," she said nodding timorously but didn't dare a glance.
"Good," was all he said and they didn't speak again.
Suellen wasn't sure how long she spent steering the ship through the storm. Not once did she look at her watch and nobody came to relieve her. It turned out that Mr Mcrea had ordered the teenagers below deck to recuperate on their bunks while Mr Du Pre prepared a simple soup for dinner in the galley. Suellen hadn't even noticed their departure.
The rain stopped, the wind died down, the seas stilled, the sky cleared and the sun visible for the first time in hours sank low in the sky. Suellen noted all of this but concentrated only on her duty to the ship to sail for smooth sea. Eventually when she and Skipper had been the only ones on deck for three hours Mrs Sheldon came above deck wrapped in a blue cardigan and summoned her husband.
With an order to stay on course Suellen was left alone. She let out a sigh of relief and breathed easier than she had in hours. Skipper was truly the master and commander around there. He was in charge and she respected him, she'd known she would the minute she saw him. It hadn't even been a question, she just instantly felt a sense of reverence as she clamoured aboard with her bags and walked up to him. Something about him told her he wasn't going to take any flack from her and she was now a part of the crew, that this ship would be her home for the next year with he the unquestioned patriarch.
"Cast anchor!"
Suellen heard chains rattling and sliding and turned her neck to see Shay releasing the anchor down by the stern. The sight surprised her partially because she hadn't heard him come on deck but mostly because to do something on board without Skipper's consent was a sure way to get spiflicated.
"All right Suellen that's enough."
The surprises just didn't stop coming! To hear Skipper call her by her first name made Suellen feel like she was Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole. In their two weeks at sea she hadn't heard him call anyone by their first name. So far she'd only been referred to as 'Wilson' or 'love' which wasn't affectionate, just Skipper's female equivalent for 'son.'
Reluctantly she released her grip on the wheel and watched it as it rolled back and forth slightly in each direction then came to a stop. The Albatross groaned around them as she bobbed gently in the water. They were moored for the night and it was only now Suellen realised how tired she was. Her hands were tingling red and her legs sore from standing still all day. She had an essay for Mcrea and maths work for Mrs Sheldon to get done in the next two days but her plans to write the essay draft and get Simon's mathematical assistance tonight had been abandoned now.
"Come on in love," Skipper said turning his back and descended the stairs with Suellen soon following.
In the galley Mr Du Pre was sitting in a fold-up chair reading a French magazine and nodded to her over the glossy cover when he saw her come down the stairs. Mrs Sheldon was typing away at her laptop over in the classroom area where a collection of wooden tables and chairs were positioned together for the daily school work.
"Rough day Suellen?" Alice Sheldon looked up from her screen and lifted her coffee cup to drink.
"It was ok," she said nonchalantly and wondered over to the Maths/Science teacher to see what was on screen.
"That wouldn't happen to be Friday's test would it Alice?" she asked cheekily and her eyes darted back and forth speed reading the screen.
The middle aged woman shut the top hastily and gave her student a disapproving look. When she knew that Suellen could see through her facade she showed her pretty smile and shooed her to the dining table where the loco literature lover Mr Mcrea sat. In one hand he held a battered and water damaged copy James Joyce's 'Ulysess' holding the paperback under the ceiling light with his small reading glasses perched on his sunburnt nose.
When Suellen had taken her seat opposite him Mcrea closed his book and took his glasses off with a swish of his wrist.
"Well my dear," Mcrea had an unusual voice that was something crossed between a Shakespearian actor and a pirate. "Today you performed with the intellect of Portia and the resilient character of Viola as you dealt with a problem as challenging as Hamlet's. I tip my hat to thee, fair maiden for the sea."
True to his word Mcrea took his ratty old cap off his head to reveal his fluffy hair underneath before replacing it.
"That's a slight over exaggeration Mr Mcrea," Sullen sighed with weariness and pulled his book over to her. She sat sideways on her chair with her feet perched on the next chair as she read the blurb and flicked through the pages. Then with flash over rage covering her face threw the book violently back at her teacher.
"You dog eared the pages!" she yelled bellicosely. "Some respect for the author you have! Barbarian! Readers like you deserve to have their fingernails ripped out with hit tongs and be cast into a pot of molten lava!"
From the galley they heard the cook chuckle behind his magazine. "Tre bien."
Unfazed by her outburst Mcrea lent back in his chair lifting the front legs off the floor. He patted the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out his off duty Cuban Cigar. Placing it between his teeth he lit it with a flick of his lighter and sucked deeply on the thick tube of tobacco.
Watching the smoke rise and circle in a cloud around the ceiling light Suellen remembered when she was a little girl her mother had forced James to take her for the day while she went to entertain her in-laws with her son.
Holding her mitten covered hand James had walked her through the hustle and bustle of the hospital dodging gurneys and wheelchairs to take the lift down to the morgue. There James had sat her on the cold autopsy table and had shown her the lung from one of his past lung cancer patients.
Much to her horror Suellen watched as he pushed pus, tar and other unidentified gunk out of the blackened lung and had lectured her on the dangers of smoking.
Needless to say Suellen had never felt the craving for a cigarette. She also had a rising certainty that House wasn't the evil one of the duo.
Mcrea spluttered as an open palm impacted with the back of his skull forcing his face forward making him pull his cigar out of his mouth. Suellen lifted her chin from the hand she was resting it on to watch as Skipper forced the English teacher's head forward. He gripped the smoker's head in one hand and in the other a steaming bowl of soup with two pieces of crispy bread balancing on the rim.
"Since when do we smoke at the dining table when company is present Mr Mcrea?" he asked in the loud, lucid voice he used when speaking to his teenage crew.
"Sorry Sheldon I forgot," Mcrea yielded to the captain's command and stubbed out his expensive cigar in an abalone shell that served for his ashtray.
His lesson learnt Mcrea's head was released and Skipper pushed the bowl across the table to Suellen who snatched up the spoon and scooped the hot broth eagerly. Having her breakfast thrown overboard earlier that day and no lunch had made her especially voracious.
Skipper walked off then reappeared by her side a moment later placing a Coke bottle by her wrist. Suellen halted her feeding frenzy when it entered her line of vision and immediately handed it back to him before he walked away.
"I've had my share for the week," she said holding her fingers in front of her lips to stop any soup from spraying him.
Mr Du Pre stocked his galley with supplies every time they docked carefully selecting the best foods he could find from local suppliers and sometimes buying extra extravagances like sweets and soft drink. That meant that everyone on board never received anything more than their equal share so they'd last until the next landing.
"On me," Skipper said with a swoop of his wrist and pulled the seat next to Suellen out so he could sit.
"Thank you sir," she thanked him in precisely in the way he'd instructed her and her crewmates to on induction day.
He didn't respond, something he did often, and Suellen grabbed the bottleneck. The coke bottle was one of the retro editions made from glass and sealed with a metal cap. In vain Suellen tried to pry it off with her fingers locked under the rim her T-shirt wrapped around the bottle to provide a better grip and was about to ask for a bottle opener when Skipper snatched it away.
With one of his leathery hands he pulled the jagged lid off brutally then threw the twisted cap into Mcrea's abalone ashtray.
"Here love," he grunted and put the bottle back of the table for her.
"Thank you sir."
Again she received no reply.
The only noises as Suellen soaked up the last of her dinner with her bread were the ship's soughs and groans around them as the Albatross bobbed peacefully on the water, the constant clack of Alice typing on her keyboard and the gentle swish of pages turning. The dishes clanged as Suellen stacked her spoon and empty drink bottle in her bowl to carry them to the kitchen.
Pushing her chair back she stood up ready to go to the galley when she felt the dry touch of Skipper's palm on her elbow. Immediately she stopped and gave her captain her full attention.
"You were good today Suellen," he said in an equable voice again using her given name. "You did well getting the Albatross through the storm. You'll make a fine sailor yet, I expect to see some great things from you this year."
Suellen was astonished. Had Skipper just complimented her? The demanding, callous, draconian captain of the School Sailing Ship Albatross was openly administering praise? Surely not.
But the way Mcrea's eyes peeped over the top of his book and the absence of typing told her that she wasn't imagining and that everyone else was just as shocked.
"Thank you sir I'll do my best," Suellen breathed as her chest swelled with pride and smiled broadly.
"Yeah but don't you be thinking," Skipper said potently in a tone she was better aquatinted with, "that you're hot stuff now. Just because your crewmates crawled back into their bunks today doesn't mean you've got anything up on them. You're still green Wilson. You got it?"
"Absolutely sir," she said nodding her head feverently and hastily took the dishes to the sink to escape Skipper's steely gaze.
As she held her hand under the tap waiting for the water to warm Suellen couldn't quench the good feeling in her chest that was growing and spreading to the rest of her body. The smile on her face was hard to fight with the corners of her mouth pulling up involuntarily.
In their short time at sea Skipper had praised the group sparingly never singling out an individual to acclaim their achievement or voice his thoughts. To get his recognition and praise made Suellen feel proud of herself, pleased with her efforts and delighted to have joined the crew. To hear that from Skipper was like hearing it from your own father.
"Yea I remember," Suellen's voice was thick and heavy sounding unnatural through the mask. "I had nothing up on the rest of you guys though, I just dealt with turbulence a bit better."
"Turbulence my arse," Dean's voice was strange too but that was because he was starting to crack from the cravings and had his the cigarette clamped between his teeth. "You rocked. That was a great moment."
"Not like now," Suellen said quietly as her energy to talk sapped away.
"Nah. This is a bloody shithouse moment," Dean grunted and rolled under the bed like a commando as he heard the door open.
It was cold in the lab that afternoon.
The heaters had blown a fuse that morning and the repairman who'd fixed in an hour ago gave strict instructions not to turn it up too high for the next few hours to prevent a fuse from overheating. The reflective metallic surfaces and glass equipment had always felt icy through his latex gloves but it was only now without his lab coat did Wilson realise the chilled atmosphere.
The three young doctors had no complaints as their dry cleaned long coats kept the cold out and House was snug in one of his jackets that rebelled against the hospital dress code. Dressed in only a T-shirt and jeans that gave little resistance to the temperature Wilson's skin rose in bumps lifting the hair on his arms higher than usual.
But Wilson was cold on the inside for another reason as he stood in front of an electron microscope that late December afternoon watching Foreman prepare the spleen sample for examination.
He wasn't technically meant to be searching for leukemia in the biopsy but House had wanted the best oncologist available and Wilson was determined to know the diagnosis before anyone else in his department. 'Ethics be hanged' he thought as he juggled his emotions while he watched Foreman remove the sample from its petri dish into another one and add the appropriate chemical to stain it.
He wanted to be the first to know if Suellen had cancer so he could cease worrying over her indeterminable condition and busy himself with seeking the best treatments available. But he found that he couldn't totally believe that he really wanted that.
He didn't want Suellen to have cancer, but he didn't want her to have something worse. If she was positive for Hairy Cell Leukemia then the ball would be in his court, House would defer the case to oncology and then he'd be in control. He hadn't had any control over the situation from the start.
Then again, if Hairy Cell was to blame then he wouldn't be administering treatment, he'd be delivering a death sentence. In instances such as this when the disease was so far advanced, there wasn't any chance of recovery and the chemotherapy treatments would destroy whatever strength the body had left.
But what was the alternative?
Suellen's was in a critical condition. Half an hour ago she'd had an anaemia induced heart attack on the table adding to the other multiple difficulties that were making her survival difficult. Failing liver, failing spleen, failing kidneys, fever, convulsions. All these symptoms and the only idea they had for a diagnosis condemned her.
"Sure you want to do this?" Foreman asked simply when holding the prepared sample in his hand. His face was kind and sympathetic and Wilson was glad for the thought.
He nodded with a straight face and Foreman placed the sample beneath the microscope lens, locking it in place with the metal clips.
With all eyes on him Wilson took a breath and looked into the eyepiece. He saw an ambiguous blob illuminated by the bright light beneath the microscope stage and he shifted the knobs for greater clarity.
After some further tweaking for a better view he got the biopsy sample into focus and analysed the spleen cells for any sign of Leukemia or any other cancer.
With total dedication he searched for irregular and serrated cell membranes, if the cell cytoplasm was stained light blue, irregular nuclei and any abnormal growth in the B cells that would give the cancer it's descriptive name.
A moment more and he sat up. He blinked to adjust his vision to the dimmer lighting and turned to face his expectant audience. He was about to tell them whether they could close the case and schedule the appropriate treatments or if they still had a mystery to crack.
"Definitely not cancer," he said in a wavering voice. "Biopsy's negative."
House's team shifted slightly on their feet and released noises of relief as well as ones of frustration. Their best bet was wrong and now they had even less time to discover the correct diagnosis. The risk they had taken with preforming the biopsy now jeopardised their chances of collecting any other substance samples because of Suellen's weakened condition.
"Strike," House said hitting his cane gently against the bench corner to call their attention his way. "We'll check her status and begin again. None of our tests have told us anything and every lead's been a blind alley. We'll start over in the office let's go."
Wilson reached to remove the sample from the microscope stage when Cameron's elegant fingers gently brushed them aside to perform the same task. He looked up to see her smiling charitably at him.
"Thanks," he said with a nod and swallowed hard.
Quickly and quietly he moved away from the microscope and out of the lab, walking with long strides until he was equal with House when he shortened his steps to par with his limping steps. With Foreman and Chase close behind them they halted by the deserted elevator and waited quietly for it to arrive.
The cold was no longer a problem for Wilson who now had a sweat glistening on his neck and forehead and his breathing had quickened leaving no breaks between the inhale and exhale. Noticing that his fingers were starting to twitch involuntarily he slipped them into his pockets as casually as he could.
The musical chime sounded as the elevator rattled to a halt and the doors opened. Wilson was the first in, taking a spot at the back to leave plenty of room for the others and House followed close behind. Chase had one foot over the threshold when the bottom of House's cane prodded him sharply in the chest and pushed him back out.
"Take the next one," House ordered then used the offending cane to hit the level number. The doors rolled closed with both of his male staff members giving him the 'You Bastard' look as Cameron appeared at the end of the hall.
House stayed close to the buttons while Wilson remained at the back both watching the numbers change over their heads. Nobody said anything.
Then just before the elevator reached the third floor House slapped the emergency stop button. The metal box shook on its cables as it jerked to a halt but House didn't turn around to look at his friend.
"You've got three minutes. Go," he said and kept his eyes fixed on the roof.
Right on command Wilson broke down.
Slamming both palms on the metallic wall behind him he twisted away from the door to hide his shame and pushed against the surface as his body shook with heavy sobs. His lower abdomen convulsed with every sob and from his voice box a sorrowful sound arose. His eyelids puffed red as salty tears came from his eyes and wet his cheeks. For the first time in years he allowed himself to cry.
He cried for Suellen dying painfully in the Intensive Care room. He cried for her being slipped anti depressant pills. He cried for her being ignored by him. He cried for her having to survive a horrible event and not being able to speak about it. He cried for her having lost her best friend. He cried because she'd been incumbent with her mother's duties growing up. He cried because her parents had neglected her when she'd needed them the most.
He cried for Martha because she wouldn't be forgiven for her mistake and because her daughter was dying. He cried for Alexander because with his condition nobody but his sister ever believed him. He cried for Dean because he'd travelled so far to see his friend die. He cried for Simon for having to die before his time. He cried for those parents on the dock whose children had not returned to them. And he cried for himself.
He cried because he loved Suellen but had never told her. He cried because they hardly knew each other. He cried because he'd never taken her seriously. He cried because he had rejected her all his life. He cried because he'd been too selfish to realise what he'd had. He cried because he'd been too proud to admit he'd been wrong. He cried because he'd made a foolish mistake and it was too late to fix it.
Both Wilson's vocal cords and head ached from the unfamiliar action of crying and his sight was blurry from the tears caught in the bottom of his lids. With a forceful sniff and hasty wipe of his hand he cleaned his face and steadied his breathing to an even tempo. Then with a shaky exhale he made his sore throat swallow to clear his airways and he resumed the stance he had when he'd gotten in the elevator.
"You good now?" House said still looking skyward with a complacent expression.
"Yeah, thanks," Wilson sniffed and ran his right fingers over his puffy face one more time before House pulled the red button and the elevator lurched upwards.
The sun had retired early that winter afternoon as House rubbed the list of incorrect diseases off of the whiteboard. It was only late afternoon but already dark outside with the last of the dull light coming through the heavy snow clouds fading in the distance. Inside the Diagnostics office the lights were also low and the atmosphere grey and dreary enough to rival the weather.
Foreman and Cameron sat flaccidly at the conference table their faces heavy and bodies' weary. Cameron's gorgeous hair had come free from its styling clips and ties in several places, loose stands hanging over her face and down her neck like tendrils. Foreman's shirt was crumpled and creased around the collar with long faint stripes appearing on the front. He'd hurried out of his scrubs after the surgery and had hastily thrown his coat over his clothes without care for appearance.
The doctors were tired and strained their physical capacity at its maximum and their well of ideas run dry. They'd hit wall after wall without coming within an inch of the truth. For all their tests and experiments the only thing they'd discovered was that they'd been wrong every step of the way. Now it was nearly too late.
"What have we got?" House asked, who showed no signs defeat only more passionate enthusiasm for solving the puzzle.
"Nothing," Foreman said bluntly as Cameron rubbed the back of her neck, an expression of euphoria passing over her face for a moment.
"Come on, what have we missed? There's got to be something new. What have we learned these past few hours?"
House wasn't prepared to let his fledglings have a moment's rest. He wouldn't allow for a patient to go undiagnosed. If there was nothing he could do for her once he had the right diagnosis then he'd accept that, but he owed it to Wilson to at least answer his question and provide him with some sense of closure.
Part of the reason he had pushed Wilson out of the elevator on Suellen's floor was because with his jumbled emotions and precarious state he would only foil any attempt he made of a possible diagnosis. House had other reasons than that too, but he didn't have time to consort with his sentimental side when there was work to be done.
"We've learnt nothing!" Foreman's frustration was clear in his voice. "She's worse! We've spent all this time fooling around with Lupus and Leukemia destroying what's left of her kidneys! We're back at the beginning again!"
"Whoa, whoa big fella," House said sardonically and jerked back for dramatic effect. "As I recall you were all for the Lupus and Leukemia tests and didn't have anything better."
Foreman sighed and averted his gaze so he wouldn't launch his full temper on his boss. Cameron looked at both men then back at the board. She didn't want to admit it out loud but she had to concede that the situation was hopeless. Suellen wouldn't live through tomorrow unless they had a breakthrough now.
"Doctor House?"
The three doctors all looked up to see a man in his early twenties smartly dressed in black pants and a white shirt with the mail bag Suellen had been carrying around with her the past few weeks. He looked at each of the doctors for a signal holding a handful of afternoon mail in his outstretched hand.
"Cameron will you…" House began with a gesture before turning to the board and she took the wad of letters from the temp orderly.
Nobody said anything in the minutes that followed. House rotated his cane in wide circles as his blue eyes scanned the symptoms list and Foreman lent forward in his seat pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried not to think of the patient's likely fate.
To distract herself from her troubled state of mind and to alleviate some of the strain on her brain Cameron sorted through House's mail performing her regular routine of dividing up the letters he'd read and the ones he'd ignore.
House heard her scoff then say, "Can you believe this got here today? It's dated two months ago!"
House turned around to see that Cameron was holding up a creased postcard from Mexico. There was a bright glossy picture on the front of geometric marvels rising out of orange sand in the hot dessert with Spanish writing promoting the natural marvels of the country's south. House took it gently from her fingers and curiously turned the card around to read the message scribbled on the back in Suellen's handwriting. After the first two sentences he stopped reading but his eyes remained on the postcard.
Then slowly he lowered it and looked at his two doctors with that distant gaze his stunning eyes glossed over with when he'd found the missing piece of the puzzle.
"What if we were wrong about it being environmental?" he said aloud absently.
"How could we be? Everyone else at home is healthy! You said so yourself," Foreman clenched his fingers into claws from agitation.
"You want us to test the other family members?" Cameron asked.
"No," House began pacing up and down the room with left hand moving over his lips as he translated the cascade of clues and information his brain was busy deciphering into words. "We assumed that she'd got sick here, in her regular environment, but she was overseas for six months before she got back. What if she caught something while she was there?"
"She's been home nearly a month now," Foreman pointed out but his mood was lifting. "She would have noticed something before now. We would have got more from the history."
"Not always," House shook his head with disagreement. "Sometimes diseases take time to strike. She could have been harbouring it well before it had any effect. Or something had to trigger it. Cameron you got her files from the Travel Health centre?"
There was a shuffling of paper and clipboards as Cameron scrambled for the right file amongst the various others scattered across the table. She found the fax print outs under a stack of manilla folders and read through them.
"She was clean when she went out," she told them as she speed read through the papers. "Had all the necessary shots done and had her tetanus and hepatitis ones updated. Healthy on departure."
Next to her Foreman had opened the medical files they'd requested from the Maritime Affairs Centre containing all reports and incidences relating to their patient that had occurred on board the Albatross.
"No complaints expect for a few cuts that needing cleaning," Foreman said with a shake of his head. "And a cold last July. Nothing serious."
"Does it say where they went?" House asked and there was more shuffling and sorting.
"Mexico, Belize, Cuba, Jamaica, Bahamas, Nassau, Venezuela, Dominican Republic-"
"Dominican Republic?" House repeated loudly cutting Cameron off before she'd fully listed all the places the schooner had sailed to. "The island of Hispaniola?"
"What has geography got to do with a sick teenager?" Foreman snapped his frustration returning.
"Because," House said moving forward and speaking to the neurologist as though he were an impatient child. "The island of Hispaniola is one of the places in the Caribbean Sea where the globe's oldest and deadliest parasitic disease to man is still rife. There's no immunity for travellers from Plasmodium vivax."
"Malaria?" Cameron said astonished.
House nodded and didn't give Foreman time to register his amazement before he spoke again. "It's killed more people worldwide than all the wars and plagues in history put together and kills more kids annually than any other infectious disease. Where's Chase?"
"With her," Foreman said still startled. "She needed another blood transfusion."
"Call him and tell him to take another blood sample then have him meet us in the lab. I assure you, if we put her blood under the microscope we'll see the little bastards destroying her red blood cells."
"It caused the anaemia," Cameron whispered to herself.
"Go!" barked House.
Ten minutes later Chase had met the rest of the team in the lab holding a syringe full of freshly drawn blood. House had gotten down there at such a rapid pace it would have put any other cripple to shame and he now sat on a stool before an electron microscope. One leg was resting against the stool leg while the damaged one was kept straight.
"Wilson wants a very good explanation," Chase said handing the red tube over to his boss sounding a little ruffled. "Practically tied to break my fingers so I couldn't take the sample."
"He's worried," Cameron defended.
"He's on the edge," Foreman argued.
"Then pull him back up," House said bringing all their attention to him with his eyes pressed against the eyepiece making the microscope look as if it was attached to his face. "There are more merozoites in this blood than grannies at a church fete."
He turned his head to the side so he could look at his idle staff who were all watching him with wide eyes.
"What's the matter with all of you? Never seen such a good looking doctor before?" he snapped cruelly but some of his relaxed smugness was returning. "I said she'd got Plasmodium vivax so quit standing around and start her on chloroquine!"
