Chapter 2: Laughter isn't always the best medicine

House looked up from the chart at the teenage girl, swathed in the latest nauseating fashion, sitting on the examining table. Her mother, attired almost identically as her much younger child, stood possessively nearby, absolutely glaring at House. And he didn't even do anything yet. Except make them wait. Well, that wasn't his fault, but it sure was fun.

"You fainted during gym, Cammie?" he asked, wincing at the girl's name. It was short for Camilla-Lee. Yeesh. Parents and their stabs at originality.

"Yes, they pulled me out of class immediately, so I brought her here - three hours ago," the mother said, nearly growling. Maybe she had a deviated septum, House thought ruefully.

"You work at the school?"

"I'm the 12th grade English teacher."

"How nice for you." House looked back at the chart. "Do you eat enough, Cammie?"

"Of course she does! Just because she's thin doesn't mean she doesn't eat!" the mother shrilled. House winced again, glanced around furtively for earplugs, or a muzzle. "She's a cheerleader! She works out. Cammie, show him your muscles."

Cammie slowly lifted the bottom of her shirt. House leaned in, all doctor-like, then tsked.

"Madam, that's not a six-pack. That's her digestive track," he observed thoughtfully. "See, if I press in here, it's all squishy-like." He did for good measure. Cammie winced, and her mother nearly screamed.

She did deftly swing around and push his hand away. "Cammie is not anorexic, if that's what you're thinking! She eats everything on her plate."

House eyed the sticks both mother and daughter called arms. "Then perhaps you should start feeding her more."

"This is absurd. She fainted. I demand to have a CT-scan, or whatever that damn test is you doctors use to study the brain!"

"Honestly, while I don't mind taking your money, it would be better spent buying Cammie here some Twinkies and Ding-Dongs."

The mother stepped up to him, and he sought his cane for support, and as a possible weapon.

"Listen, Doctor, I'm the patient, I have insurance, and I want that damn test!"

House sighed and opened the door.

"Fine, let's go outside to fill out the paperwork. After you."

Head held triumphant, the mother stalked out.

And House slammed the door behind her, immediately locking it.

He grabbed a tongue depressor and returned to Cammie, ignoring the pounding and screaming her mother was doing on the other side.

"Now, Cammie dear, please stick out your tongue for old Doc House, hmm."

Cammie, eyes on her mother, but a slight smile on her face, obliged.

And there it was, clear as day. Well, more dark as night, but still very classic.

"Cammie, do you eat everything your parents give you?"

Cammie nodded. House threw away the depressor.

"And do you let it stay with you?"

Cammie stared at him, at his suddenly quiet face, and slowly shook her head.

"Now, Cammie, what you are doing to your body is very bad. You're causing your esophagus, that's where the food goes down and, in your case, comes up, to be worn away by your stomach's acid. Not to mention you are too thin because your parents apparently don't feel like feeding you that much to begin with."

"My mom diets a lot, so we have to, too."

"Fashion consciousness is one of the worst diseases we modern doctors see everyday." House pulled out his prescription pad. "I'm going to give you two prescriptions."

He handed her the first one, with just a name written on that one. "That's a therapist I know. She can't take a joke, but damn she's smart, and easy to talk to. I want you to give that one to your mother."

He then handed her twenty dollars.

"And I want you to keep that, go to the nearest 7-11, and buy junk food." He went to the door. "But don't eat it all at once. You can get a stomach-ache."

"What if Mom - "

House twirled his cane. "I'll feed her something very high in fiber. Camilla, this is serious. If you keep this up, fainting will be the least of your problems."

He opened the door. Arms folded, the anger radiated off the mother. He walked past her and up to the nurse.

"I need a CT scan in exam room 1, plus any blood tests that are really expensive."

He hobbled away, throwing back to the nurse. "Oh, what the hell, do a full body scan while you're at it. She has insurance," he added, gleefully cackling as he retreats down the hall.

He was midway through his evil villain mwuah-haha when he ran into Cameron, radiating her own anger. House gulped and immediately fixed a huge grin on his face.

"I just prescribed Twinkies to a bulimic. Am I sadist or what?"

Cameron crossed her arms and glowered. House refused to let her bad mood interrupt his euphoria over dealing with that obnoxious, anal-retentive mother.

"Some people might also say I'm a masochist, but actually I think I'm just a hedonist."

Still no response.

Oookay…"Say, aren't you missing your little lap dog, what's-her-name."

"I told her you wanted her to accompany Foreman on his rounds."

"You lied, how sexy. Or should I be worried…"

"Damnit, Greg," she threw up her hands, pressed her back to the wall. House looked sideways at her, slowly reshifting his stance to face her.

"Why did you stick her with me?"

"Because I'm hoping you two will get in a catfight, preferably somewhere where the hospital's security cameras can capture it." He paused, contemplating. "Preferably involving a big vat of lime jell-o."

Cameron looked down, her bangs shaded her eyes from House.

"Do you think she's - "

House sighed, and fought hard to not reach out and sweep those bangs away.

"She's a challenge from Volger, that's all."

Cameron looked up, but not even House could diagnosis what was going on in her eyes.

"And you like a good challenge."

"Why does everyone think that? Have I ever said I like challenges? I like things nice and easy, like any other red-white-blue-blooded American."

That got a smile. House relaxed, without showing it of course.

Cameron patted the hand that clutched the cane. It tingled, in the good way.

"Just be careful, House. You know how Volger liked to use women to get to you."

Cameron slid off the wall and down the hall. House, left by himself, did allow himself a sincere smile. Cameron was becoming very fun to play with.

"See, women are a challenge and I don't like women!" he shouted after her, getting a look from an elderly couple as they passed him. He couldn't resist bowing to them. "Yes, that's right, I'm gay. What do you think I have this cane for?"

The elderly couple moved faster, which was not that easy for them. House smiled more and hobbled off, whistling to himself.

Twinkies for a bulimic. I crack myself up.

XXX

"The boy was brought in two days ago with a gunshot wound to the leg," Foreman read off the chart as he and Stevens walked down the hall of the critical care unit. "He and his brother were out in the woods, hunting."

"Hunting? Is it duck season or rabbit season?"

Foreman grinned. "Neither, it was very illegal, but since they didn't actually shoot anything - "

"Except each other," Stevens added, popping in a stick of nicotine gum. She offered Foreman one.

"I don't smoke."

Stevens shrugged. "Neither do I."

Foreman raised a brow, continued reading. "Because they didn't shoot anything, no charges have been filed. Wow, the bullet hit the femoral artery."

"From deep in the woods? How's he still alive?"

"A farmer heard the shots, got a tourniquet on, just in the nick of time."

"Okay, but if he's a GSW," she paused to pop her gum, "why were you called in for a consult?"

Checking the chart, he answered, "He's suffering from tremors, eyes, hands, dysarthria, and ataxia."

Stevens whistled. "Excessive blood loss resulting in oxygen starvation to the medulla?"

Foreman closed the chart, shoved it under his arm. "Guess that's why we're here. And House said you should accompany me today?"

"No, Cameron wants me to think that. Suits me just fine. Eric and Erica, on the case. Has a nice ring to it. Like some sappy ABC show."

Foreman couldn't hide the grin fast enough. "So, you haven't seen House today at all?"

"Not yet. Why?"

They arrive at the room. Foreman's eyes dart up to Steven's hair, but only for a moment.

"Oh, no reason."

Foreman followed her in, taking his eyes off her hair to see Immanuel propped up in bed by pillows and shivering, his eyes darting around so much Foreman wondered where the fly was the poor boy was watching. His younger brother, Elijah, was curled into a chair in the far corner, looking out the window. Foreman saw in the chart Elijah was okay, although a psychologist noted he hadn't spoken much since arriving.

"Arre yyou ttwwo ssuppossed to bbe ddocctterss," Immanuel hissed, teeth knocking. As best as he could, the boy was staring at Stevens.

"Yes, I'm Dr. Foreman, and this is Dr. Stevens."

"She's not a doctor. Doctors don't have pink hair," Immanuel continued, eyes narrowed, rigid, as the spasm halted. "Only freaks have pink hair."

He started to laugh, screeching actually, until the spasms started again and he returned to watching the invisible fly. Foreman and Stevens exchanged glances and went to the separate brothers.

"Okay, Immanuel, I'm just going to ask you a few questions, and I want you to answer them to the best of your ability, okay?"

Foreman couldn't tell if Immanuel nodded his head in agreement, or if it was just the effect of whatever disease or condition had him in its grip. Either way, he began going down the questions and tasks to check for impaired mental abilities. Stevens meanwhile softly approached the nearly catatonic Elijah. Smiling broadly, she squatted down to be eyelevel.

"Hi, my name's Erica, what's yours?"

Elijah glanced at her, until her hair caught his eyes. She smiled more. And Foreman wondered why she did it. Catches people's attention.

"Elijah," said a little voice from the little boy.

"Hi, Elijah, how are you doing?"

Elijah glanced past her to Immanuel, who was scowling at Foreman. Elijah shivered, stuffed his hands out of sight.

"Is my brother going to die?"

Stevens looked over at Foreman, whose furrowed brow didn't give her a warm fuzzy feeling.

Elijah shivered again and squeezed himself tighter. "It's my fault."

"I'm sure you didn't mean to shoot him."

"Not that." Elijah returned to looking out the window.

Stevens own brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Elijah?"

But Elijah was silent. "Elijah, I'm sure your brother isn't mad at you."

"He's always mad now."

"I'm sure once he gets better, he'll be back to normal, be the fun brother he was before."

Elijah looked up at her, and for a moment his eyes wouldn't stay still.

She blinked, and it was gone. Was it even there? Might've been the lighting. She filed it away, as the little boy stared at her without even seeing her.

"Immanuel, can you hear me?"

Stevens jerked up. Immanuel's spasms had grabbed him and were violently shaking his little body, playing him like an accordion, as the laughter bubbled up and then shot out in a torrent of untamed fury. His face was all screwed up, ticking and trying to open a mouth far wider than it should be as that laugh poured out.

"That's not him! That's not him!"

Elijah screamed and ran out of the room, barreling past Stevens, his little hands furtively trying to shut off the sound of his brother caught in this - thing's - throes. Stevens wanted to run after him, but Foreman was shouting at her to grab the syringe filled with sedative as he did his best to restrain the boy, who, despite Foreman's obvious physical advantage, was clearly getting the better of the doctor. Stevens quickly injected the boy and Foreman continued his restraint until the laughter and spasm died to a whimper.

"What happened?" Stevens gasped.

"I don't know. I was just asking questions when all of a sudden he snapped, slapped the questions away, and started - laughing."

They both looked down at the boy, who even at rest shivered involuntarily.

"Did you learn anything from his brother?"

"No, but I get a feeling this didn't start with the gun shot."

Again, up went his eyebrow. Stevens decided she'd start counting how many times he does that. "Just a hunch, nothing really."

"You seemed to be able to get him to talk pretty good. I even saw you smile sincerely."

Stevens turned fully on Foreman, brandishing the syringe she still held. "And if you tell anyone, so help me-"

"Excuse me, what's going on?"

They turn to see a man and a woman standing in the door way. The man wore a rumpled suit while the wife, dark of skin and hair, wore a simple dress of exotic colors and design. By the way Elijah was clinging to the woman's legs, they were clearly related.

"You must be - "

Stevens was stopped when Foreman grabbed her arm, removing the syringe she was now brandishing towards the parents.

"Go tell House what happened. We need everyone on this," Foreman quietly instructed, passing her his notes. Stevens eyes lit up, forgetting there were even two concerned people staring at them.

"Nice to meet you," she quickly offered to them as she left. Left alone with the parents, Foreman slipped into official mode.

"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, I'm Dr. Eric Foreman, I'm a neurologist asked to consult on your son's case."

"Our son was shot," Mr. Anderson asserted, meeting the doctor squarely. "Does he have nerve damage in his leg or something?"

"Sir, there's a possibility the spasms troubling your son are due to brain damage, suffered around the time of the accident."

Mr. Anderson said something to his wife in a language Foreman didn't catch. Mrs. Anderson, face like a mask, turned Elijah around and they left the room.

"We were told that was because of the blood loss, that it would clear up."

"Were it simply due to blood loss from the wound, it would have cleared up by now with the plasma infusions he's been given."

Mr. Anderson looked down at his boy, his square jaw clenched and hard.

"So what is it then?"

"I don't know, we will need to run some tests," Foreman responded. "Sir, I have to ask you some questions, about your son's mental state before the accident."

The man's attention ricocheted back to the doctor. "My son is not crazy."

"I didn't say that. I do need to know if you noticed any personality changes, mood swings, or problems moving and speaking before he was - shot."

A blacksmith could've used Anderson's chin for an anvil. "My son was perfectly fine before. And as soon as we can, we're taking him home."

Anderson stalked out to find his wife. Foreman sighed, scratched his head. That man is gonna love House. And vice versa. He retrieved the chart from the ground and started ordering tests. But he had no idea if what he was ordering were going to help.

That laugh. He shivered. What could explain that?