The return to work was every bit as grating as Chase anticipated. Cameron flitted back and forth between smothering and avoiding him. Did he and House talk at all? Was he really supposed to be back at work already? At the same time, she clearly wasn't comfortable and took every excuse she could find not to be around him: the lab, the clinic, anything. Foreman was no better. He was even more disregarding of Chase than usual. He spoke slowly and too loud, as though Chase was already deaf and somehow deficient. Chase finally snapped at him to lower his voice. Foreman looked to House for support with a long-suffering roll of the eyes, like it was such an inconvenience putting up with Chase. The tension got so bad House was actually relieved when he was ordered to take on a new case. Maybe a new challenge would get the three of them out of each others' hair.
He was in luck. Their newest case was better than he could have hoped for. A mobster turned witness in a coma. Vogler was convinced that the man was faking and wanted him out of there fast, so House was looking for ways to drag this out as long as possible. Besides, the ex-mobster's older brother (still very much a mobster) was pressuring him to stall.
Unfortunately, that plan hit a snag. After treating a hematoma, Joey the mobster woke up. The kids were ready to release him back into federal custody, but House refused. Even if the hematoma had caused the coma, as Chase rhythmically suggested, what caused the hematoma? House wasn't discharging his patient until he knew. Vogler had other ideas. When he went to check House's work and found the coma patient eating lunch, he put in a call to the Justice Department and had him shipped out immediately. House stormed into Cuddy's office, ready to tear into the both of them, when his pager went off. Joey had barely even made it out of the parking lot.
"His livers worse," Chase announced.
"Comatose?" House asked.
"No," Cameron complained. "Completely different symptoms than the first time."
"Serology tests came back positive for Hep-C," Chase announced.
"Hep-C is a chronic condition," House tapped his marker on the clear board. "You don't think this is an acute situation?"
"Coma, vomiting, abdominal pain," Chase shook his head. "Hep-C explains everything."
"Except for the suddenness of the onset," House insisted. "Think about it. You get home one night. Your wife hits you with a baseball bat. Likely cause is the fact you haven't thanked her for dinner in eight years, or the receipt for fur handcuffs she found in your pants. Sudden onset equals proximate cause."
"He also has high estrogen levels in his blood," Chase said, looking over his results again. "That's indicative of a chronic condition, not acute."
"One test," House scoffed. "What do his other liver tests tell us?"
"Normal albumen levels point toward acute," Cameron piped up.
"Uh-huh," Chase grumbled. He wondered if maybe Dr. House agreed with Foreman and suddenly thought him incompetent. "And why is her test better than mine?"
"Because she's cuter," House said. Cameron blushed and squirmed horribly. Even in his bad mood, Chase had to smirk and wonder just how much drama he'd missed out on in his absence. "Though it's close. Do a liver biopsy. When the results come back we'll know what we're looking at. "
"Why wait to treat the Hep-C?" Chase asked. "We know he's got it. If it's the overall cause, Joey gets better that much faster."
"Right," House said. "Then he gets to go testify and you get a gold star from Cuddy."
"Then what's the downside?" Chase asked. "Or is that the downside?"
"Do I need a reason for not wanting you to get any stars?" House asked. He got three confused glares for his trouble. He was disappointed. He thought at least Foreman would catch why he didn't want to tell mobster Bill why his brother was being treated for an STD. "Fine, start the treatment. It's all your idea. Don't even mention my name. There's nothing wrong with your theory, go." They all rose from their seats. "But in the "humor me" department, Foreman, get a biopsy."
Foreman and Chase went together to see Joey. Chase waited until Foreman got the sample he needed and was on his way to the lab before he started his own work. And when he told Bill what his brother had, and especially how he may have gotten it, he was glad he'd waited. He wouldn't have wanted anyone witnessing that scene. Verbal barbs he could take easily enough now, but physical attack was different. It took a lot for Chase not to punch the mobster back, even without Foreman or House there to snicker.
On his way to the lab, Foreman passed Cuddy's office. A moment later, Vogler stepped out and caught up with him.
"Is that for the federal case?" Vogler asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "How's that going?"
"We've identified a chronic condition and started treatment," Foreman said professionally. "But we're still looking for an explanation for the acute onset. Sorry, Mr. Vogler, but that's really all I can say."
"I understand," Vogler said. "I suppose that means he's not going to be checking out any time soon, though."
"Doesn't look like it," Foreman agreed.
"It's just such a drain," Vogler sighed. "Especially considering how many cases Diagnostics even covers."
"We may not take on much," Foreman said. "But the patients we do take on would die without us."
"Maybe," Vogler said. "But if your team is the last resort, do you really think it makes sense to dedicate so many regular funds to it? I mean, it seems all I hear around here is what an asset House is. But if he's such a whiz-kid, why does he need three other doctors working for him? And for what, one case a week? Don't any of you ever consider moving on to something, I don't know, more challenging?"
"Working for House is a challenge," Foreman said cautiously.
"I'm sure that's a fact," Vogler laughed. "Well, anyway, you've got a case now, so enjoy it while it lasts, huh? I'll let you get back to work." He turned around and headed back to Cuddy's office, leaving Foreman frowning in the halls behind him.
Meanwhile, House was dealing with one of the most irritating forces in his world: a repeat clinic patient. A teenager was fretting over his baby brother, who had managed to shove yet another object up his nose. Last time it was a toy cop.
"Ah, this is all my fault," the boy, Henry, moaned. "Last week I showed him a magic trick…"
"Pulled a quarter out of his nose," House guessed. "It's a classic." He was about to pull out the offending object when another big brother, Bill, stormed in.
"Dr. House," the mobster snarled.
"Got a crisis here!" House said. He pulled his hand away as the squirming and screaming toddler tried to bite him.
"Stop!" Bill said firmly, pointing at the baby. The kid froze immediately and House was able to pull a small plastic firefighter out of his nose.
"That's a neat trick," House complimented.
"They have to believe you'll really hurt them," Bill said. House took it under advisement and led Bill back to his office so they could talk privately. "Your people insulted my brother," Bill complained.
"What, they put romano in the parmesan cheese shaker again?" House asked.
"Said he was a crack-head or a homo or something," Bill snapped.
"Those idiots," House said. Chase must really be off his game; he was usually much better at handling patients with discretion. "How many times am I going to have to send them through sensitivity training? Nobody's saying he's a homo; that would be really, really bad. So let's put a nice, friendly spin on it. Let's go with: he got raped in prison. I saw the jailhouse tats, put it together with the blood tests…"
"There were rumors," Bill admitted. "But Joey never said anything about…. If people find out he's being treated for Hep-C… Feds get that chart, someone says something to somebody. Word will get out. And then Joey's manhood, his rep, is destroyed."
Eventually House was able to appeal to Bill's sense of mafia honor. They let Chase treat for Hep-C, but dummied up a phony record calling it a poisoning. Later that evening, as they were heading home, House and Wilson found a surprise waiting in House's parking space.
"I'm serious," Wilson was too busy lecturing to notice at first. "Cuddy's secretary has been to the photocopier all day with your records. It's all they're looking at in there. All day today and yesterday."
"My car has been stolen," House exclaimed. Wilson frowned at the subject change until he realized, yes, House's car was missing. But something else had been left in it's place.
"Or rein-CAR-nated," Wilson said as he stared dumbly at the 1965 red Corvette in House's parking space. He picked up a piece of paper stuck in the windshield wiper, a pink slip. "A gift from the Arnello brothers."
"You know, they're gangsters, sure, but they're thoughtful, too," House grinned and ran his hands over his prize.
"You can't keep it," Wilson said. "It's a graft."
"No, no, no, no," House objected. "Uh-uh. Graft is if I tell them I'll only make it better if he slips me a couple bucks. A payoff for something I'm not supposed to do. If I'd asked for the payoff (which I didn't), I would have done the bad thing anyway. So there's nothing wrong with this."
"Right," Wilson drawled. But he couldn't help imagining riding in this thing himself. He'd have to get House to drive him around more now.
"Damn," House said reverently. "'65. Perfectly restored. What do you think a guy like Joey would do if someone turned down a gift? That's kind of an insult, isn't it?"
"He might hurt you," Wilson smiled. "It's definitely possible."
"I'm screwed," House shrugged. "Gotta take the car."
The next day, Chase's mood had not improved. He was sitting in House's office with a progress report on Joey's treatment. His glare hadn't let up since he deliberately messed up House's coffee earlier that morning. House finally caved and asked what his problem was.
"I find out the brother's sick, try to fix it, and I get smacked," Chase complained. "You lie and falsify documents, and you get a car. How is that fair?"
"If you like, I'll give you a ride home today," House offered smugly. Hell, he'd give Vogler a ride if the man would take it. Anything to show off his new toy. "Besides, your treatment isn't working. Hep-C is under control, but the liver's still deteriorating.
Chase nodded ruefully. Through the glass he saw Foreman and Cameron come back from into the conference room, hopefully with indicative test results. He got up from his chair to join them, but stopped when something familiar caught his eye. Sitting on House's desk was an open dictionary of American Sign Language. Chase picked it up and laughed.
"What is this?" he asked.
"I'm learning any swear words you might try to slip by me," House shrugged. "If you ever work up the guts call me an ass, I want to know."
"House, I'm Australian," Chase said. He signed as he spoke, and House watched with fascination. "The sign language I use is called Auslan. American Sign Language is different." House's face fell, but Chase was grinning brightly for the first time in weeks. "No worries. I'm taking a class on ASL soon. Just in case." He tapped the book. "You want to tag along?"
"You are so much more trouble than you're worth," House grumbled and tried to slam the book shut on Chase's fingers.
Chase entered the conference room feeling much better. He got House and himself two fresh cups of coffee, correctly prepared this time, and sat down ready to work.
"All right," Chase said. "If it's not the Hep-C, what's causing the liver failure? Foreman, did the biopsy show anything?" Foreman shook his head, but House already had a new theory.
"Finding number two," he said. "Toxins."
"No," Cameron scoffed. "He's only 30 years old and his job doesn't expose him to heavy metals or environmental – "
"He's a 30-year-old mobster," House said. "He doesn't have a job that results in accidental exposure to toxins; he has a job that results in intentional exposure to toxins. Someone's poisoned him. So you all need to go find out which poison it is before whoever it was succeeds in killing him."
The three of them filed out, but Chase hung back. He's asked Cameron about the tension between her and House the day before. She got upset and muttered something about how people don't respect her and House didn't even like her. Chase tried to comfort her, assured her that he respected her and House didn't like anybody, but somehow he suspected her problem had a lot more to do with the latter than the former.
"Did you need something else?" House demanded when he saw Chase hesitating. "You test for poisons in the blood. First, get a needle and…"
"So, you don't like Cameron, eh?" Chase interrupted. House snapped his mouth shut and glared. Chase smirked, waggled his eyebrows once, and went to catch up with his co-workers.