Chapter 9

The three ducklings made their way to the Leider's address where a quaint single-story house waited to be searched; though an obviously older designed home, it was in decent shape.

Chase pulled the front door's key from his pocket with a shrug, "He seems normal to me."

"As normal as House can get," Cameron smiled as she watched the door being unlocked. She followed the Aussie inside with Foreman trailing behind to shut the door.

"You guys don't find it weird that he hasn't done anything… ethically-compromising?" Foreman asked as he dug through his bag for the radiation detector.

Chase scanned the interior of the house, finding it in nice condition, "He hasn't had a reason to."

"That or his mind has been preoccupied," the neurologist hit the power button, which immediately emitted a crackling sound from the transmitter. "He's gone along with everything in a cautious, none-invasive manner. That's not the House I know."

Cameron went into the kitchen to start her task, "What would be preoccupying his mind?"

"He doesn't exactly have much to consume his mind," Chase pulled out his biosensor to turn it on. "His Vicodin seems to be doing its job, Stacy's out of the picture, and he's bumped Foreman back out of command." His brow furrowed as he attempted to program the complicated device. "No offense, but it doesn't seem like he has anything else to think about."

"I didn't mean it like that," she defended sympathetically as she turned the tap water on. "Just because he doesn't talk about his personal life with us doesn't mean he lacks one."

"True," Foreman said as he began monitoring various devices in the living room. He let out a small chuckle, "Yet extremely hard to believe."

"Why?" Cameron asked with a bit of a curt tone. She opened the fridge, "There's more to House than just diagnostics and a disability."

Chase stood in the living room's doorway with the utmost concentration on trying to figure out the biosensor. "Yeah, there's also plenty of sarcasm and hookers," he muttered dryly as he pressed various random buttons.

Foreman laughed, "And don't forget the drug addiction."

"Come on, you guys," Cameron scolded lightly from her stooped position in the fridge; she never liked this kind of talk.

"We're just kidding, Cam. Relax," Chase assured her.

"Well, maybe you are," Foreman joked. He barely got to finish his sentence when Chase's cell phone began to ring.

Flipping it open, Chase put it to his ear, "This is Chase."

"Did you find anything yet?" House's voice asked.

"Haven't even started," he confessed as he started walking down the main hall. "I can't get this damn detector to work right."

"Forget it," House sat down at his desk. "Where's John's room?"

"It's Jake," the Aussie stuffed the biosensor back into his bag while peering in and out of the rooms. The last one he came to was full of 'My Little Pony' memorabilia, "And I can't even find a boy's room, let alone Jake's."

"Does the house have a basement?"

"Yeah, but I figured it was probably unfinished, the stairs are at least," Chase went back to the door that led to the basement.

House tossed his over-sized tennis ball into the air, "Check anyway."

At the base of the stairs, Chase found himself in a room whose walls were covered in Van Halen and Hendrix posters. He shook his head at House's uncanny ability. "You were right, Jake's room is definitely down here." A tall tower of CDs immediately caught the practiced-guitarist's eyes; he read over the titles absently. "What is it I'm looking for in here exactly?"

"Nothing, but now we know his room's in the basement," House thought for a moment. "Is there a storage room down there?"

"A storage room?" Chase repeated as he glanced around, there was one door in the basement. He walked over to it, and pushed it open with a bit of necessary force; the sound of humming machinery filled the acoustically challenged cement room. "Storage room," he confirmed as he attempted to flick the light switch on, but nothing resulted. Much to his luck, the small basement windows let in just enough light to reveal the silhouettes of the contents in the room. "You think the problem's in here?"

"I take it the furnace is in there," House assumed, evading Chase's question. "Take a nice big whiff and tell me what you think."

Chase shrugged though he knew House couldn't see him, "It just smells like honey or something sweet. If there's a distinct smell I'm suppose to notice the air freshener's throwing me off."

House smiled to himself, "You actually see the air freshener?"

"Well, no, but-"

"How many people do you know that worry about the odor of their storeroom?" House asked skeptically.

The Aussie rubbed his forehead at the potent fumes, "Some…people are anal like that."

"A single, working mother of two does not have the obsessive-compulsive desire to make sure her storage room is fragrant," House argued. "Does the rest of the place smell like that?"

"If it does it's not as strong as down here because I didn't notice," Chase confessed. He reflected over House's words, "You mentioned the furnace earlier, you think that's what's poisoning Jake? It's emitting a toxin?"

"It's a hunch I have," House replied. "Make sure you get the furnace's model, maker, and service record. We need to see if they've had any problems with it in the past."

Chase pulled out a small notepad as he scanned the large heater for the information stickers, which were at the base of the front panel. He knelt down on one knee to get closer, only to immediately regret his actions, "Damn." He lifted his knee back up to see his pant leg was now soaked clear through.

"Did you find it?" House asked, needing Chase to pick up his pace.

"Hold on," the intensivist knelt back down to read the label and write it down in the notepad. "It's an Auxilaire 224, made by Beta."

House leaned back in his office chair, "And the service record?"

Chase squinted against his increasing headache at an attempt to read the faded pen on the chart, "I can't make it out."

House took a moment to weigh his options, "Get the others and come back to the hospital."

Chase stood up, putting the notepad back into his pocket, "But I haven't even gotten any samples yet."

"I'm sure the others have collected enough useless samples as it is. Get back here now," he instructed before hanging up abruptly. The sudden urgency in House's voice compelled Chase to do as he was told.

House stood at the counter in the diagnostic lounge, pulling on a pair of latex gloves when he heard the door swinging open. Foreman lead the group of returning ducklings into the room with a defining strut of confidence that House knew always brought up interesting news. The neurologist set down a small vial of liquid onto the table top, but the three doctors stopped for a moment to throw a few curious glances House's way.

"What is that?" House asked, looking to it with a cock of his eyebrow.

Foreman laughed, "What do you think? It's what's killing Jake."

"We found a can of the pesticide chlordane in the garage," Cameron explained. "It was extremely common before the year 1988, when it was banned because of the health risks it caused."

"Thanks for the history lesson," House furrowed his brow. "The kid's mom still kept some even though it's illegal? She's naughtier than I thought."

"We think she may not have known about it's ban," Foreman replied. "The bottle was old, probably came with the house when they bought it."

"It's been known to cause leukopenia, which reduces the white count, which causes infections," she looked to House hopefully. "It explains everything."

House nodded, but then stopped suddenly to look at her, "I didn't tell you to look for pesticides."

"No," Foreman directed House's attention to him, "but when no significant radiation was showing up, I thought I'd make better use of my time. And apparently it's a good thing I did, or else you would have completely bypassed it."

"House, it explains everything," Cameron repeated.

"Yes, it does," the diagnostician paused for a moment before flinging a defiant finger in the air, "but just for fun, let's say your wrong."

"What?" Foreman gave him a flabbergasted glare. "House, you sent us to their place to find the toxin, we found it, and now you are rejecting our idea? It all fits; there's no more mystery; puzzle solved."

"Nope. The pesticide may be a piece to a puzzle, but not our puzzle," He argued.

Cameron sighed, "It explains everything."

"Sirens," House said out of the blue as he ignored his allergist and neurologist.

Foreman shook his head in frustrated confusion, "What?"

"Or Seirenes, as the Greek would call them," House looked to the white board full of symptoms to focus his train of thought on.

"Why are we talking about mythology?" Chase finally spoke up as he rubbed his throbbing temple.

"Sirens would sing melodies that would cloud the minds of sailors," House began. "The longer the crews listened to the voices, the closer they came to their downfall. The singing was so pure and irresistible, they had no idea that they were being fooled, and so continued on without hesitation. The sweet songs would disguise the fact that the crew was being lured into rocks and cliffs, ultimately causing their boats to crash. Every member aboard the ship would have a slow death by drowning or becoming seafood."

Foreman let out a breath in annoyance, "I don't know what you're getting at, but-"

"What if," House interrupted, giving a warning glance to his neurologist, "the toxin that is killing him is like the Sirens? It was never suspected to be harmful because of it's appeal, until it was too late."

"I assume you have a toxin in mind," Cameron said.

House glanced between his three ducklings, "Benzene."

"That is a common mutagen," the immunologist nodded, "but how would Jake have been exposed? He doesn't live near an industrial plant, or a gas station, or anything."

"Crude oil contains lots of benzene," House explained. "Oil-burning furnaces, like the ones Beta makes, are a common way for families that are scraping for money to save financially on electrical bills. The benzene in the oil evaporates at the high temperatures and infiltrates the lungs, killing off bone marrow, increasing risk for infections-specifically lung infections, and speeds up cell division. The result after several years? Benign tumors."

Foreman folded his arms over his chest, "But how-"

"Here's where it gets interesting," House went on. "Benzene is heavier than air, and will remain at the lowest place possible, the basement."

"Where Jake's room is," Chase added briefly.

"And here's the kicker," House grabbed an empty syringe off the kitchenette counter. "This particular toxin smells sweet, so sweet no one would suspect the possibility that it can beat your bone marrow's hiney in a fight."

"It's a great theory," Foreman conceded, glancing uneasily at the needle in his boss's hand. "It fits perfectly, but then again, so does the pesticide."

House grinned with a nod, "It's benzene."

"There is no treatment for benzene poisoning," Cameron pointed out. "We could only treat the symptoms, including a bone marrow transplant, but if your wrong-and Jake has something else- that will destroy his new bone marrow as well. We need proof, House."

"We would have had proof if you had let me grab a sample of the furnace oil," Chase mentioned condemningly.

"The oil is substandard if you ask me," He replied, making his way over to Chase. "We have something much better, and more concise." Foreman's eyes widened when realization hit; he lunged at House, but was only just too late. A gasp came from Cameron as House swiftly pierced the needle through the Aussie's clothes and into his flesh, bringing about a startled exclamation from Chase.

"Are you mad?" The intensivist watched in utter shock as House attached an empty cartridge to the syringe.

"Chronic benzene poisoning results in symptoms that are identical to Jake's," House started to enlighten the others calmly as he slowly extracted some blood. "Acute benzene poisoning can take place after just several minutes of intense exposure; causing dizziness, drowsiness…" he paused to look at Chase, "and headaches."

An infuriated stare covered the Aussie's features, "You set me up."

"Not intentionally," House replied. He twisted the cartridge off, and withdrew the needle gently from Chase's arm. "Though it was convenient, wasn't it?" He tossed the blood sample to Cameron, "Get a tox screen on this. When my diagnosis is confirmed, set up a bone marrow transplant for our little rock star."

"You were willing to put my life on the line just to confirm one of your damn theories?" Chase asked furiously.

"Don't get your panties in a wad," House limped over to the biohazard bin, and tossed the syringe in. "I knew how long you could remain exposed without significant damage, you'll be fine given a few hours of fresh air."

"Regardless, you knew I was walking into a toxic area," the fuming Aussie began approaching his boss. "And yet you still-"

"Whoa there," House stopped Chase from coming any closer with the butt of his cane. "No use contaminating me too."

"Inhaled toxins aren't contagious, you know that," Chase grabbed the end of House's cane, and moved it off his chest.

"I'm not worried about your breath." The diagnostician nodded to the large dark spot still on Chase's khakis. "Either you piddled yourself, or that's benzene."

"Oh my-" Cameron looked to her colleague's pant leg, "We have to call the state health department." She quickly made her way over to the phone.

"You have stepped completely out of line, even for you." Foreman shook his head with aggravation, "We need to be getting Jake on a transplant list, setting him up on a routine of medications to ease his symptoms, and getting him started on radiation treatments, but we can't because we have to waste valuable time cleaning up your mistakes."

"It will take less than an hour," House was beginning to grow irritable towards his team. "Cut him out of his clothes, seal them in a bag, and the health department will pick them up. Unless you're unbelievably inept-"

"We wouldn't have to be doing this at all if you weren't such a self-absorbed ass," Foreman interrupted. When he saw he was not going to receive any reply from House, he promptly left the diagnostic lounge. "Let's go, Chase."

House watched them leave in silence before turning his attention to the petite doctor who stood by the phone. "Did you get a hold of them?"

"They're on their way," she answered.

"Then why are you still here? You have things to do," House glanced at the vial of blood before he began to head to his office.

"Chase could take legal action, House," Cameron reproached with an intensely quiet tone.

"'Could' being the imperative word here." He stopped to pop a Vicodin into his mouth before turning to her. "I think I'm in the clear."

Cameron inclined her head at him, "You think he won't?"

"I know he won't."

She flung her arm towards the door where the two doctors exited, "He has every right, you just-"

"I never said he didn't have the right," House shifted his weight with annoyance. "Chase is a people-pleaser, he hates confrontation, and he hates to tick people off. Sure he can't help himself sometimes, and he gets into meaningless spats with the team, but overall if he can avoid conflict, he will."

"He should sue you," Cameron folded her arms angrily. "Foreman was right, you have gone way too far."

"Oh, lord," House groaned, dropping his head back. "Here comes the lecture."

"There are other ways we could have confirmed the diagnosis," she began passionately. "Test the oil, test the vapors, test the family members, or just through yourself in there and test your damn self. But don't put other people's lives at risk when it isn't necessary." She planted her hands firmly on her hips. "Chase works so hard to do a good job, and-yeah-he screws up sometimes, but it doesn't help when you are constantly criticizing his every move. His dad obviously didn't appreciate him; he left. His mom obviously didn't either; she killed herself. And now you show him that his efforts mean nothing by endangering-"

A small smile formed on House's lips, "You pity him."

"What? No," Cameron shifted her weight, a bit flustered by his accusation.

"You feel bad for him," House nodded. "He never had a mommy or daddy who would pat him on the back and tell him 'good job' or do cheers on the sidelines of his life. Now your just mad because I'm not indulging his need for compliments."

"Statistics prove that some healthy encouragement can boost someone's overall performance," Cameron replied. "I don't tell him he's done good when he hasn't, but you don't even acknowledge it when he has. You don't acknowledge any of us when we do well."

House began to limp into his office, "Tough love."

So much for House's lack of ethic compromises. Chase pulled the last of his scrub uniform over his head once he had made sure to wash his skin off thoroughly; his headache was beginning to ease, but the rash on his shin was as apparent as ever. On the other hand, it was not his right to complain. He would take a skin irritation over immune system death any day, just as he was positive Jake would feel the same. Jake and his family were probably anxiously awaiting the biopsy results, and Chase hoped that he would be given the opportunity to tell the Leider's the good news: no cancer. Just as long as Foreman or Cameron hadn't already done so. He tied his laces before getting up to head out of the locker rooms, but upon opening the door, he nearly ran into a familiar face.

"Cameron, what are you doing?"

"I just wanted to make sure you are doing alright," she glanced to the floor before looking up at him again. "And I wanted to see if that offer for a drink was still good."