Rash Decisions
Summary: After treating a man with a mysterious aliment, Cameron becomes a patient herself, prompting House to reevaluate his actions.
A/N: In all fairness, Niff deserved a co-author credit on this story because she was an invaluable help with the medical aspects of the story. Since she refused, I'll have to settle by offering her my thanks. And thanks to Gibby and Ann for their beta services. All mistakes are mine; I don't share.
Rating: Eh, let's go PG-13 for language.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything remotely connected to this show. I haven't even seen all the episodes yet. I hope I have the characterizations right, but let me know if I screwed something up. I'm not a doctor, but I write for fictional ones. Don't trust my medical presentations to be completely accurate.

Chapter 3

In the clinic, House took the file with a minimum of distaste. This was his last patient of the day before he could go home and watch the ball game. If he was lucky, it'd be another case of the sniffles, and he'd be eating pizza before the first pitch.

Walking into the room, thoughts of ball games faded.

"How did you do that?" House asked as he watched a nurse unwind the bloody towels wrapped around his patient's hands.

"We were practicing for our new act, and things really didn't go well."

He stopped and glared evilly at the wounded man. "Do you have a TV show by any chance? One that does incredibly stupid things, and then encourages kids to try it by telling them not to try it?"

"No," the man said in confusion. "I'm with the circus. I'm a clown. Out of uniform, though. Guess that fooled you."

"Yeah. What kind of act were you trying? Flossing an irate lion's teeth? 'Cause I got to tell you, dental acts always bite off more than they can chew."

"No. It was a juggling act."

"What were you juggling? Knifes?"

"Oh, no! Running chainsaws."

House lifted his head up and raised an eyebrow slowly. When the clown pointed a bloody hand and started laughing boisterously, he frowned.

"Gotcha! No, we were juggling stuffed hedgehogs. We were practicing off to the side when Louie tripped on his rubber chicken, and he bumped into Sasha and Katie, and they fell into Marko the Freak, and he tumbled over Jojo's mini-tricycle, and…"

"Whoa! Don't give away the ending," House said dryly.

"Hey, I can get you some tickets if you want…"

"No! Thanks. Can you move your fingers? Good. Make a fist. Okay, most of the cuts aren't very deep, but I'm sending you upstairs for some tests to make sure you didn't damage any nerves or tendons. Can't have a grown man in funny clothes and makeup scaring the kids with bad hands, can we?"

After completing the exam and instructing the nurse, he was getting ready to leave when the door to the room opened. "If that's Dr. Cuddy, I'm not here."

"Sorry, Dr. House, but she told me to get you."

"She can't get enough of me, you know. I'm such a stud," he told the clown with a bawdy wink.

"Dr. House! Your patient, Mr. Kelleher, went on a rampage when they attempted the lumbar puncture."

"What?" he asked quickly, spinning around in his stool.

"Dr. Cameron was injured, and so …" the nurse began, only to get out of the way as he hurriedly limped out of the room.

A heavy sensation cloaked Cameron, and flashes of pain shot through her skull. Gradually she became aware of voices. She was tempted to open her eyes to see who was yelling, but it seemed to require too much effort. When she finally recognized who was talking, she tried to force her eyelids to open.

"She's coming around."

"Thank God. Cameron, it's Chase. Come on, now. Open your eyes for me. You can do it, I know you can."

She finally succeeded, but immediately closed them as the light stabbed through her brain. Before she could try again, her stomach revolted, and she felt her body being rolled to the side. She didn't question the bedpan that appeared in front of her mouth, but gasped at the pain in her throat.

"What happened to me?" she asked weakly, unaware of the concerned looks being shared by her friends.

"It's okay. You just hit your head," Foreman said kindly. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're the juvie."

"Allison!"

"Don't yell, Foreman," she said, forcing her eyes open again. "My head hurts. He's Chase. What happened to me?"

"She's perseverating," Chase said. Before she could object, she gagged. "She's going to be sick again. Roll her over."

Cameron's face screwed up at the vile taste of bile left in her mouth, and at the pain the vomiting induced. She felt hands around her ear, and a cool, damp swap moving over the area.

"She's not bleeding from the ear. It's all from the scalp. No signs of bruising behind the ear, either," Chase said as the nurses rolled her to her back again.

Panting weakly, she followed Foreman's order to track his fingers as he moved them in front of her face. Mentally, she tried to piece together what was happening. After Chase's comments about blood, she realized the side of her face was sticky. Why did he check for bleeding and bruising? Skull fracture?

"Guys, what happened?" she asked again, this time seeing the look between Chase and Foreman. "Tell me what's going on."

"You hit your head. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I…I'm not sure. Glen. Something in the exam."

"You have a concussion," Foreman said smoothly, resting a hand on her arm. "You're confused. That's normal. Don't worry about it."

"Why does it hurt to talk? Ow!"

"Sorry," Chase said contritely. "Extreme tenderness and swelling. The arm's probably fractured."

"I was in an accident?"

"Yes, you were," Foreman stated, daring Chase with his eyes to contradict him. "And you are going to be fine. We're going to order a CT scan for your head and X-ray your arm and neck."

"MRI for the throat?"

"Yeah. And spinal X-rays wouldn't be a bad idea, either."

"Are you trying to give her cancer?" Wilson exclaimed as he stormed into the room with Cuddy in tow. They stopped when they saw the scene. "Oh, my God."

Chase and Foreman exchanged a brief embarrassed look. They'd gone overboard in their list of tests to run. Cuddy surprised them by smiling kindly. "It's okay. I understand. It's different when it's someone you know."

"She's right," Cameron said hoarsely, forcing herself to concentrate. "Shouldn't have friends treat you. Want Wilson to be my doctor."

"I'll try to consider that a compliment," he said with a practiced softness as he approached. He was part way there when she rolled herself over to vomit.

"She has a concussion. That's the third time she's been sick," Foreman said. "She was out for nearly seven minutes, and she's perseverating."

"Arrange the head CT now," Cuddy directed a nurse. "X-rays?"

"Left arm's broken," Chase answered. "According to the witnesses, Kelleher had her by the throat and was choking her. Tossed her across the room that way."

"Okay, X-ray the arm, but that's it. Chun is the ENT on call. I'll send him down to check out her throat. If he wants more tests, he can arrange them. Where's Kelleher?"

"He was restrained and sent to the psych ward," a nurse answered. "He broke the security guard's jaw before we could sedate him."

"What happened here?" House yelled as he entered the room. Seeing Cameron on the bed, he stopped short and stared.

Lumbar punctures, commonly known as spinal taps, hurt like hell, and some patients tried to get away from the source of their pain. It was an extremely dangerous and stupid thing to do – which meant it happened more times than he could count. His initial thought had been Kelleher had done just that, hurting Cameron when she tried to be damn noble and comfort him.

Looking around the room, he knew at once that something else had happened. It looked like a tornado had ripped the place apart. Supplies littered the floor, equipment was broken and blood stained the walls.

And Allison was hurt so badly they didn't bother moving her to another room for treatment. His hand clutched his cane violently as rage rushed through his veins as he stared at her.

One of the first things he learned years ago was that scalp injuries bleed profusely. Parents of hurt children would scream that the doctors were ignoring the cut while they checked for other injuries, but that was because the cuts were harmless. It was frustrating to try to explain to the parents that it just looked bad.

For the first time, he understood just how terrifying it was for them. The side of her face was crimson with blood, and it soaked the top of her jacket and blouse. A small pool had even formed on the exam table. He knew the blood was something that he didn't have to worry about, but the image was frightful.

Cameron rolled her head slowly towards the sound of his voice, but he could tell she was having trouble focusing on him. "Damn," he swore softly, grabbing a pair of gloves as he moved to her side.

"Go 'way," she whispered.

"It's okay. You're going to be fine," House said with more compassion than most of those present thought possible.

"No. Wilson. Don't want you for my doctor."

"What?"

"Leave me alone. I don't want you treating me."

Cuddy came over and grabbed his elbow. With some jerking, she finally led him outside the room. "Come on, House."

"She needs a doctor."

"And he's handling it. She has a concussion. Don't upset her. She's getting the best care possible. Allison will be fine," she said.

Her manner carried too much consideration, making him uncomfortable, and House stormed a few steps away.

"What the hell happened in there?"

"We're not sure," she answered. "Cameron went in to do the lumbar puncture. A nurse heard something; when she opened the door, Kelleher was choking her."

House spun back around. "She's sure about that?"

"I'd think so," Cuddy said with a frown.

"No. Was he attacking her, or was he having a seizure and just grabbed a hold of her? That's a big difference." House fought the urge to grab his Vicodin. His anger at the boxer's vicious attack was threatening to explode, but this was too important.

"He was attacking her, sir," a bruised nurse answered. "When Kelleher saw the rest of us enter, he tossed her away and attacked the guard next."

"No!"

The group turned in the direction of the outraged voice. Joey stood there with a paper cup of water in one hand and a prescription bottle in the other. The elderly trainer was staring at them angrily. "What did you do to Glen? I went to his room, and the nurse said you sent him to a psych ward!"

Cuddy stepped forward, smiling professionally as she reached for the man's arm. He shrugged her hand away, glaring at her. "You're Mr. Kelleher's trainer, correct? I'm Dr. Cuddy, the hospital administrator. I'm afraid we had to have him sedated for his own protection."

"Don't bullshit me, lady. Better people have been trying it before you were born. Glen was fine when I left to get my medicine. They said he'd be back from his test by the time I got back. And you don't put people in the loony bin for their own protection. What the hell did you do to him?"

"How many times has he attacked people before?" House asked.

"What? Glen wouldn't hurt nobody," Joey said, stopping when a nurse left the exam room, and he caught a glimpse of the damage inside. "Lord have mercy. That's the lady doc that was taking care of Glen. What happened?"

"He attacked her. How many other times has he done that," House repeated forcefully.

Joey staggered to a bench, sinking down and shaking his head. A hand began to rub his arm nervously. "He never hurt nobody, Doc, I swear. Glen – he's competitive, but he ain't mean. That's why I told him to never go pro, even before that kid died. You gotta have a vicious streak to survive the pros, and Glen's not that way. I can't believe he did that."

"Here. I found the chart in the mess," the injured nurse injected.

"Thanks," House said, taking one look at the last entry before swearing again.

"What is it?" Cuddy demanded.

"He was complaining of a headache, and she noted that his mood had changed. You said he was fine when you left him. How long ago was that?"

"I dunno. Maybe half an hour," Joey said weakly.

"Did you see his seizure?"

"No. It was in the motel conference room. The bankers were all late. Glen was getting hungry. I went to find us something to eat. When I got back, the maid said he'd had the seizure."

"Was he angry?"

"Yeah, but like I said, we'd been waiting on those banker…"

"That makes you upset," House said shortly. "Was he angry enough that it was out of character for him?"

"Yeah, I guess. Didn't last long, though, Doc. He was his old self by the time we reached the hospital. I'm telling you, he's a good guy."

"Damn."

"The puncture was never finished. Do you want me to do it now?" Foreman asked.

"No. You don't need to. I know what's wrong with him. Chase was right. He didn't have a seizure and hit the wall earlier. He was attacking the wall. It's transient neuropsychiatric syndrome," House said, letting out a sigh as the last of his anger drained away. "The poor bastard."

After finishing his exam, Wilson began cleaning the blood from Cameron's face himself. He winked at her when she winced. "Don't worry. I can close this with two, three stitches max. It's above the hairline, so there won't be a visible scar."

"Glad you have your priorities straight," she answered weakly.

"Of course I do. Your CT came back fine. The fracture is small; it'll heal with no troubles at all. Chun said your throat's going to hurt for a few days, and you'll have a hell of a bruise on your neck, but there's nothing seriously wrong."

"And my head is ready to explode."

"Yeah. The concussion is the only thing we have to watch out for. We're going to keep you for observation for a day or two, just to be on the safe side. It's nothing to worry about."

"What happened? And I'm not repeating myself. I wasn't in any accident. I want to know the truth. Not knowing is driving me crazy."

"No, you weren't in an accident," he said as his smile faded. "What can you remember about what happened?"

"If I could do that, I wouldn't be asking you," she muttered grumpily.

"Oh, House is definitely rubbing off on you."

Cameron opened one eye to glare at him. "No need to be rude." When Wilson merely smiled at her, she shut her eye and groaned. Her memory of the time immediately before whatever was jumbled and incoherent. "I was here. In the hospital. With Kelleher. He was upset for some reason. Right?"

"From what we can piece together. You went in to do his lumbar puncture, but he attacked you before you could finish it."

"No! Uh."

"Take it easy, Allison."

She looked at him sharply. There was something she needed to tell him; it was vital. But she couldn't remember what. Concentrating, she pursed her lips. "Transient neuropsychiatric syndrome."

"Wow, House really is rubbing off on you. That's what he thinks it is, too. The mood swing and the violence pointed to it."

"No."

"What do you mean?" he asked softly, frowning as her face scowled with effort. It was clear she was trying to remember something, but he didn't want her to push it. Confusion was a normal reaction to a concussion, and he knew it was possible she'd never be able to recall the attack in detail.

Actually, Wilson hoped she didn't. He wanted to forget it, and he'd only seen the aftermath.

"Something's wrong," Cameron said.

"What? Are you going to be sick again?"

"No, not with me. Kelleher. Something was wrong. Never started the puncture. What was it?" she growled in frustration.

"Okay, okay," he said soothingly, grabbing her shoulders gently when she tried to sit up too quickly. "I know it's disconcerting. Don't push it. You have to rest; it'll come to you in time."

"I, I guess you're right. I just feel like there's something I have to tell someone, but I don't know what."

"Look, you rest. I'll be back later to check on you. Can I bring you anything?"

"No. Thanks. And you are a friend," she said, enjoying his grin. "You're just not as excitable."

"And I didn't want to give you cancer. I like you, but I don't want you spending time in my ward."

Cameron forced a smile, watching him leave her room. After he was out of sight, she closed her eyes again, and tried to ignore the dull, constant throbbing. Her fingers worked slightly, and she winced at the pain from her arm. Flashes of what happened played in her mind, but in a random jumble. The only thing that was clear was a distinct feeling that she had to talk to someone.

She just had no idea what about.

Kelleher swung his head when the door opened and tried to lift it from the bed. "Who's there? Who is it?" he cried out.

"I'm Dr. House," a voice answered, limping into his view at the foot of the bed. He stared at the muscular man pulling against the restraints binding him to his bed.

"Why am I here? Who did this to me?"

"It's a necessary precaution."

"Why? Everyone is acting afraid of me. Why? Where's Dr. Cameron?"

"She's … indisposed at the moment. And people are afraid of you, I'm afraid," House said, sitting on the side of the bed. "You don't remember why, do you?"

"What are you talking about?" Kelleher demanded, making another attempt to free his hands.

"When you were admitted, you told Dr. Cameron that your trainer thought you'd been in a bad mood. You also told her you thought he was exaggerating. You lied. Everyone does, but I thought it was about the steroids. You actually had no idea what Joey was talking about."

"What's going on?"

"You went on a rampage earlier today. You hurt a few people."

"What?" Kelleher whispered, his limbs going limp as he stopped struggling. "No. I'd never hurt anybody. I wouldn't do that."

"Actually, you would and you did. It's not your fault, though. You have a condition known as transient neuropsychiatric syndrome."

"I'm insane?"

House swung his head a bit. "Okay, let's jump straight to the end. The 'psychiatric' part means that you are having psychotic episodes. The 'neuro-' part means that there's something biological causing your brain to do this. And the 'transient' means it comes and goes. In your case, you're experiencing brief periods of violent behavior. Afterwards, you have no memory of it."

"I am crazy. That's what you're telling me. That's why you have me strapped down like a mad dog," he said, his voice coming in uneven pants. "God. You said I hurt people. Dr. Cameron?"

"She'll be fine."

"Now you're lying."

"She'll be fine," House repeated, this time with a more even voice.

"What…what's going to happen to me?"

"Legally, you weren't responsible for…"

"No! I don't care about that. Can you cure this?" Kelleher asked hotly.

"It depends on the cause. Most of the time, in someone your age and health, the cause would be from withdrawal. But you aren't a drunk or a druggie. There are other causes, but sometimes, we never find out why."

"You can't treat me then."

House let out a sigh. "If it comes to that point, anti-psychotic medications help some patients."

"But you can't guarantee that they'll work; that I won't do this again. I don't want any treatment. Just let me die."

"Well, leaving you untreated is unlikely to kill you. And suicidal thoughts are common with this disorder."

"You don't get it," Kelleher whispered.

"You killed another boxer, and you gave up boxing. He had a medical condition that you had no way of knowing about. His death was an accident. It wasn't your fault. Neither is this. You have no control over it," House noted.

"And that makes it better? If it were my fault, I'd at least have a chance. I could try to control it. What do you expect me to do? Live the rest of my life strapped to a bed, or in a nuthouse or jail? You can't let me out with other people. I can never get married, never have kids. I'd…"

House stood up as Kelleher began to weep bitterly. "You're a fighter: fight! We don't know what's causing this yet. It's still possible to cure you. Don't give up. Give us some more time."

"Are my folks here yet?"

"I don't know. I can have a nurse check."

"Don't let them see me like this," he begged. "Please."

"All right," House said, watching sadly as Kelleher turned his head away.

House leaned against the low wall surrounding the roof, his gaze locked in the distance. Thoughts of heading home vanished long ago, and he returned to his old stomping grounds to think. It would be futile to try to sleep, and he didn't want to leave the hospital.

The stupidity of the gesture irked him. It was an emotional reaction to her attack, and it wouldn't make any difference. Cameron wouldn't know he was still there, worrying about the extent of her injuries. That he had briefly wanted to take his rage out on his own patient. She would never know how scared he had been, seeing her lying there in a pool – albeit tiny – of her own blood.

And he'd never admit to anyone how much her words had hurt him.

That fact really peeved him. He wanted her to give up on him, but he never thought how much it would hurt to actually hear her say the words. That couldn't be a good sign. He cared. He wanted her to like him. This was dangerous. You let people in, and they betray you.

To make it worse, her rejection extended into professional matters. It was bad enough she didn't want him around, but to not want House treating her really stung. He was a terrible person; everyone knew that. No sane person would want to be around him. But House was an excellent doctor, and having her doubt that cut through every wall that he'd build up over the years.

House shifted his weight and grumbled softly.

It was good that he made it clear he wasn't going to get involved. Why do something you know will be a mistake? He had enough pain already, for both of them. Neither of them needed any more. She'd asked him how he felt, and he immediately answered. It was the right thing to do.

Sure.

So why was he questioning his decision?

He lifted his hand and began rubbing his face. This was a reaction to her attack, nothing more. If he told himself it enough times, he'd might even believe it. Had he spoken too quickly? He went with his initial assessment. If he had been wrong, if she really did care…

"Thought I might find you up here."

His head snapped around quickly at the unexpected voice. Stacy walked towards him slowly, holding out a cup of coffee before her. He took it, turning away so she couldn't read his eyes.

"Thanks."

"No problem. How bad is she?"

"It's not good. The concussion is the main problem. She was out for seven minutes, repeatedly sick, perseverating," he rattled off, pausing at her confused look. "Saying the same thing over again. Broken arm, bruised throat. Probably a bunch of pulled muscles that she's not even aware of yet."

"If the hospital wants to press charges…"

"They can't," he said vaguely.

"Oh, I see. I work for the hospital, legal affairs. You can talk to me about a patient when it's relevant, but you don't have to. If they can't press charges, then it means he wasn't responsible for his actions."

"No. And do you know how scary that is? You have this big, strong guy, and he's one of the world's best at beating up other big, strong guys, and he has a condition that results in uncontrollable violent outbursts." He was silent for a minute, taking a long drink of his coffee. "A few more minutes, and he would have killed her."

"Now what? You know what he has, can't you treat him?"

"We know what he has. We don't know what's causing it. Until we figure that out, there's not very much we can do for him."

Stacy nodded, wrapping her arms around her chest. "And I heard she didn't want you for her doctor."

"She has a concussion. Not in her right mind," he answered with a shoulder shrug.

"Right. She wasn't joking when she said your first date was a disaster."

House sputtered on his coffee, pulling the cup away from his face and turning to his ex-lover. "You talked to Cameron about our date? Why would you do something like that? Why would she?"

Stacy smiled at his stunned outrage, giving him a wicked look from behind her coffee mug. "Don't you know? We have our own club. All the women in your life belong. We compare notes on making voodoo dolls. Cuddy's the head needle sharpener. She loves her job."

"Very funny. And it wasn't a date date. It was blackmail. It was the only way that she'd come back to work. I didn't have any choice."

"That was always your big problem, Greg. You always have a choice. You have to be open to the considerations."

"What about you? You have choices too, you know," he said softly.

"I love Mark," she whispered, reaching up to caress his face. "You'll always be the one that got away, but I'm not leaving him. It's over between us. I'm sorry about that, but it's the way it has to be. I found the one I'm going to spend my life with. Stop throwing away your chances. You're running out of choices."

"And just a minute ago you were saying there are always choices."

"You won't like the ones that you'll be left with. You'll be old, and alone, and all your choices are going to boil down to 'Do I want to live another day?' That's existence, not living."

"Existence is vastly underrated," he retorted with a forced levity. "Less complicated that way, at least. And I don't have to claw my way through drying pantyhose to find the shower."

Stacy shook her head and started to walk away. Reaching the stairway door, she looked back over her shoulder. "You can go through this alone or not. It's your choice. I told Cameron our first date was a disaster, too. You might still have a chance, but you won't get it up here."

After she left, House finished his coffee and swallowed more Vicodin.

TBC