Four hours, seven minutes, and twenty-three seconds after Foreman's eye-opening lecture, House was still moping about in his office. Foreman was wrong; he couldn't think anywhere, he could only think here. What good would it do to go watch the patient suffer? He'd been watching that all week. Let someone else deal with it. His job was to solve the puzzle, not hold the patient's hand. And this particular puzzle seemed to be missing a few pieces.
"Okay, that makes us 0 in 6," House said as nonchalantly as he could manage while crossing "Toxic Shock Syndrome" off the board. "The floor is now open for anymore bright ideas."
"Toxic shock syndrome was our best bet," Chase replied, obviously frustrated. "It accounts for everything."
"Then we're missing something," House told his fellows while keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the hopeless board.
"I know you don't want to hear this, but there is a rather likely possibility that we haven't explored," Cameron began slowly and sympathetically. "Cancer."
"It isn't cancer," House's tone didn't change, but his voice was quieter.
"House, think about it. Multiple system failure, compromised immune system –"
"It's not cancer!" House yelled suddenly, slamming his marker back into the tray, turning swiftly and walking quickly out the door; abandoning his cane. Cameron rose to go after him, furious that he would just walk away from this after being so stubbornly insistent about making it his case, but Foreman's hand on her arm stopped her.
"Don't," he told her in a tone that he knew she would respond to. For a moment Cameron was confused, staring at him questioningly, but his eyes told her everything she needed to know. Maybe House would finally go to Wilson.
"Dr. House! Dr. House!" a small voice called out from seemingly nowhere, and before he had a chance to turn around, House felt a tiny pair of arms wrap around his legs. Stumbling slightly, he managed to find his balance and looked down to see a set of big, green, familiar eyes smiling up at him.
"Hey there, Bambi. Did you miss me?" he did his best to smile back.
"Uh huh," she nodded vigorously. She was wearing a brown, curly wig now, and it bobbed back and forth slightly as her head moved.
"Angel!" a man's voice suddenly called out. House looked up to see a tall, balding man running toward them with one arm stretched out. Firmly but gently, the man took a hold of one of Bambi's arms and pulled her back slightly.
"I am so sorry," a fairly short, green-eyed woman said as she ran up to stand next to the man. Hmm, bald head, green eyes – yep, these were definitely Bambi's parents. "I just don't know what got into her."
"It's fine," House assured them. "We know each other. I'm a doctor here."
"Oh, are you an oncologist?" the green-eyed woman asked politely.
"No, but I do a lot of consultations in that area," he lied. Had this moment occurred a five days ago, he would have very politely explained how he and his oncologist boyfriend ate lunch in their daughter's hospital room everyday and that he was teaching her how to gamble in his free time. The kid had quite the poker face. She even beat Wilson out of twenty bucks. However, he was in a hurry today and was desperately trying to come up with a way to get rid of them as quickly as possible.
"Mommy, daddy! He's Dr. House! He's the magic man that gave me my bow!" Bambi exclaimed excitedly, panting the pink bow stuck to her chest.
"Ah, so you're the famous Dr. House," the bald man said while placing both his hands on either of Bambi's shoulders. "We've certainly heard a lot about you."
"Really?" House didn't care.
"Oh yes. It's Dr. House this, Dr. Wilson that, constantly with her," the dad gave his daughter's shoulders a small squeeze. "She's very fond of you both." Upon hearing Wilson's name, House decided to seize the moment.
"Dr. House, guess what! Guess what!" Bambi beat him to the punch. "I get to go home today!" That's right. Wilson had said something about her going into remission.
"Wow! That's great!" he exclaimed, pretending for her sake to be surprised. Bambi giggled the way only she could.
"And when I get all better, my daddy said he'll teach me to be a hunter just like him!" House had to suppress a laugh at that one. Of course Bambi's dad would be a hunter. The irony was almost too much for him to handle maturely.
"Good for you! Recover from a potentially deadly illness just in time to get your head shot off by some half-brained Dick Cheney wanna be," House spoke cheerfully enough that Bambi wouldn't realize exactly what he was saying, but bluntly enough for her trigger-happy parents to get the message loud and clear. Bambi's dad gave a little cough in what seemed to be a feeble attempt to clear his throat of some imaginary mucus.
"Right, well, come on, Angel. Let's let the nice doctor get back to work. I'm sure he's very busy."
"Okay, daddy," Bambi never lost her smile. Any outside observer witnessing the scene might wonder if the girl were born with any emotion other than happiness, but House knew better. Although he had met the child when she was very close to remission, Wilson had told him stories. He knew the sadness and anger and pain this seemingly blissful five-year-old had gone through. Maybe that was what kept House from being a total ass in her presence. It seemed a lame excuse, though. Such facts had never stopped him from being himself before. "Bye, Dr. House!"
"See ya 'round, Bambi," he gave a little wave. Her parents eyed him wearily as they led their daughter away, both looking slightly confused at the unfamiliar nickname. House stood in place for a moment, watching them round the corner before continuing on his way.
Although his meeting with Bambi had inexplicably cheered him up a bit, his dreary, sullen mood returned immediately as he stood outside Wilson's hospital room in the ICU. On his way down, he had had every intention of going inside. However, as he stood in front of the glass window looking in, he found his feet unable to move. Wilson did not look like himself. He was nearly as white as the sterile hospital sheets that surrounded him, his hair was damp and plastered to his forehead as a result of the still dangerously high fever, tubes ran from everywhere; from under the blankets, his arms, his mouth… He'd had two seizures since his lungs had failed, and they were still no closer to figuring this out. Sighing, House spared a glance at his mother and winced. The woman really did look bad. Sitting awkwardly with her head lying back, curving her neck over the back of the chair slightly as she took what had to be the world's most uncomfortable nap, she looked nearly as pale as Wilson. One of her petite hands held gently to the sick man's even in sleep, and suddenly House felt a stabbing pang of guilt. For the first time since Wilson had gotten sick, he realized exactly why his mother was exhausting herself in his lover's hospital room. That was when it hit him, like a freight train to a stalled Pinto. He'd figured it out.
He knew what was wrong with Wilson.
Meanwhile, Cameron, Foreman, and Chase sat in the conference room in mid-debate.
"We can't just sit here. Whether Wilson has cancer or not, we're wasting time he may not have," Cameron argued.
"Would you relax for a second?" Foreman replied. "A few minutes isn't going to make that big of a difference."
"He's right, Cameron," Chase backed him up. "House knows what he's doing. He wouldn't do anything that would put Wilson in danger."
"Not on purpose, but –" Cameron was interrupted by the sound of three pagers going off.
"It's Wilson," Chase announced needlessly. Instantly, they were on their feet and heading out the door.
"House, what –" Cameron began as she, Chase, and Foreman entered the room to find House skimming his now glove-covered fingers through Wilson's hair, his face only inches from the other man's head. However, she was immediately silenced by House as he put a finger to his lips then pointed to his still sleeping mother.
"What are you doing?" she whispered quietly.
"Human granulocytotropic anaplasmosis," he whispered in response, continuing his search.
"What? A tick-borne disease? It's winter," Cameron replied.
"Barely. Besides, it doesn't matter. The tick could have been living on their dog, hiding on their clothes, or even stuck to her teddy bear," House explained.
"House, who are you talking about?" Chase whispered in question.
"Bambi," House said. "She's a little cancer kid of Wilson's. Her dad's a hunter. He goes hunting; a tick catches a ride on daddy's favorite hat. He comes to the hospital, hugs is daughter; the tick jumps ship. Cute little green-eyed girl paints a picture for Dr. Jimmy; Jimmy's maternal instincts kick in, and he gets a hug of his very own. Our ineffectual, parasitic friend spots the Boy Wonder's luscious, thick head of strawberry scented hair and goes for the gold."
"That's quite the theory," Foreman whispered skeptically.
"Not anymore," House responded while leaning in even closer and seeming to pinch the skin just behind Wilson's left ear. "Now it's quite the fact." Carefully, he lifted into sight the wriggling, fat, black parasite. Foreman and Chase wore matching expressions of shock. Cameron's nostrils flared as her face contorted in disgust.
"Chase, start him on doxycycline. Foreman, Cameron, run a blood-smear microscopy and do an IHC staining to confirm," House ordered, picking up the empty water glass next to Wilson's bed and dropping the parasite inside. Then, taking off one of his gloves, he wrapped it over the open end of the cup and began to shake it. "If you need me, I'll be in my office," he informed them, shaking the cup from side to side like a maraca before twirling out of the room.
Three hours, twenty-seven minutes, and fourteen seconds after his miraculous epiphany, House sat outside his office on the balcony he shared with Wilson. He held a vile of colorless liquid horizontally at eye level with three fingers on either end, moving each side up and down like a seesaw; creating makeshift waves. The door slid open behind him, but he didn't acknowledge it. Maybe if he ignored the intruder they would go away.
"House?" Damn. Cameron. He wasn't sure he could handle another lecture without demonstrating to her some of the more violent things he could now do with his pain-free leg.
"Busy," he responded shortly.
"With what?" she questioned skeptically but kindly. House instinctively knew her eyes had settled on the tube in his hands.
"Aqua fortis," he told her.
"Um..?" she had no idea what that meant.
"Nitric acid," he continued matter-of-factly.
"Where'd you get nitric acid?" Cameron asked, obviously not sure what to make of his behavior.
"Swiped it from one of the labs," he answered.
"Why?" questioned the very confused Cameron.
"Voodoo ritual. What else?"" he replied, sounding serious. Even though he couldn't see her, House could feel Cameron rolling her eyes. "Did you want something or does the back of my head just turn you on? Never knew you had a thing for bald spots. Chase'll be devastated if he has to shave the back of that silky, golden head to keep you interested." Cameron took a deep breath, and House could almost hear her counting slowly to ten in her head.
"I just came to tell you that the blood-smear revealed morulae in the cytoplasm, and the examination of the serum samples showed a significant rise in antibody titter. It's definitely HGA. We should start to see some improvement by this time tomorrow," she informed him professionally.
"That's not the only reason you came all the way out here to find me. Seeing how I already knew you'd find all of that, such an action would have been a completely stupid thing to do. And, while you are endlessly annoying, you are not completely stupid. Which can only mean you have another heartfelt speech hidden in those sorry excuses for breasts," House said coldly, finally turning his head to look at her. A hint of anger struck the woman's face. That was more like it.
"You need to go back there," she told him sternly.
"Can't. Voodoo ritual, remember?" he replied.
"You're not the doctor anymore. You did your job. You figured it out. It's time to go be the loved one now," Cameron elaborated.
"Are you insane? You know I'm allergic to any form of affection! Are you trying to get me killed?" House exclaimed sarcastically.
"I can't believe you're joking about this!" yelled the appalled Cameron.
"How long have you known me?"
"Wilson almost died, and you're acting like you don't even give a damn!"
"You're absolutely right! My best friend is laid up in the ICU hooked to dialysis, a respirator, and God knows how many other things; seizing every twenty minutes because a fever is slowly melting his brain, and I couldn't care less!" House shouted, standing and approaching her dangerously as he spoke. "What a brilliant diagnosis, doctor! You must be some kind of psychologist or something!" Cameron took a careful step back.
"House, I was just –"
"I know what you were doing! You were doing what you always do – sticking your nose where it doesn't belong! Now why don't you run along and cry on your girlfriend's shoulder and leave me to deal with this the way I choose!" House emphasized his statement by pointing sharply at the door as he spoke. Cameron's jaw set roughly as if she were literally biting back a retort.
"At least come inside. It's freezing our here. You'll catch your death," she told him. Her voice was quiet again, but a hint of self-confidence could still be heard. Before House could reply, the woman turned sharply and re-entered the hospital.
Letting out a heavy sigh, House turned back around and resumed his previous position. He was holding the vile in his left hand now, so he used his right to uncap it. White fumes began to billow out immediately, blending like fog in the soft evening breeze. House, however, paid no attention as he reached down beside him to pick up the plastic cup and remove it's rubber covering. Using a pair of tweezers, he reached inside and grabbed the squirming parasite. Squinting, he examined it as a jeweler might a diamond, hatred pulsing through every inch of his body. Then, very carefully, he held the tick over the open vile and dropped it inside. Quickly placing the cap back on, he once again shifted it horizontally, and began making tiny waves; smirking with perverse pleasure as he watched the parasite dissolve slowly into nothing.
End chapter 14. I hope you enjoyed! Thank you to everyone who reviewed. You are all amazing. Keep 'em coming. My muse uses them for energy. Next chapter: Hidden secrets come into the light. (See I can be dramatic like the Fox commercials! It's actually kind of fun! Now all I need is that TV voice over guy...)