Victims of Circumstance
Summary: Quarantined in the clinic,House and his team try to find out what's wrong with a comatose young woman.
A/N: Thanks to Niff and Marlou for looking this over. All mistakes are mine. I don't share.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with the show, and I am not a doctor. Don't trust my medical information to be completely accurate.

Chapter 2

Cameron watched her supervisor hobble off to the bathroom, frowning as he disappeared from view. Despite his attitude, she knew he was in more pain than normal, and it was only a matter of time before he took his last pill. That would provide a temporary solution, but once it wore off, he'd be on the first step of withdrawal.

The entire staff knew from experience what that meant, and it concerned her. He was an addict. Addicts went to extraordinary lengths to get their fixes. Once, he had gone without his Vicodin voluntarily, but that wasn't under the stress of a quarantine situation. Patients got on his nerves, and he was stuck in here with them. If he broke quarantine to get to the pharmacy, there'd be hell to pay. Even his medical reputation wouldn't help him.

Worse, she had no idea how to help him. Even if he had a personality transplant, and admitted he needed assistance, there was his pain. Patients in chronic pain often became addicts; it was a medical fact. Their need became psychological over time, but the underlying physical pain still existed.

As the young diabetic and his mother approached, Cameron pushed down those thoughts. She had patients who she could help. With any luck, they'd figure out what was wrong with Jen Hopper and be out of quarantine before House entered withdrawal.

She smiled as she escorted Ms. Richards and her son into the exam room. She quickly skimmed his chart while he settled on the exam table, and his mother tried to hover without being too obvious. The mother's nervousness was as clear as the realization that her son was old enough to want some privacy, and the domestic scene touched the doctor.

"How are you feeling today, Adam?"

"A little thirsty. Do you think you could find me something to drink, Mom?"

His mother tilted her head in surprise. After a beat, she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "I don't know. It may take me a bit. Say as long as this exam takes. Do you think you can handle me not hanging over your shoulder that long?"

Behind the cover of the chart, Cameron smiled tenderly as Adam dropped his head with an embarrassed grin. "Thanks, Mom."

"Next time just ask. You know the doctor would consider thirst a symptom."

"Right, Mom. Bye!" Adam said, lifting his hand in a parting wave. Once his mother was gone, he turned to Cameron, but didn't return her smile. "So, am I going to die?"

The directness of the question startled her, but she quickly recovered. His chart explained his attitude; his doctors diagnosed him at an early age, but it took time to get his diabetes under control. He'd been seriously ill several times. That gave him a legitimate reason to be scared, but she didn't want to upset him. "Why would you ask something like that?" she asked calmly.

"I have juvenile diabetes. I know what that means."

"It means we need to find out why your blood sugar levels are off."

Adam let out an impatient sigh. "I learned to inject myself before my friends knew how to skateboard. Every night before I go to bed, I check my feet for infection. School knows when a bug is going to break out 'cause I get sick before anyone else," he said. His matter-of-fact tone didn't completely disguise his concern. "The last time I got sick it nearly killed me. I'm not dumb"

"I know you're not," Cameron said softly, trying to reassure her charge. "But you shouldn't listen to that kid out there. He's panicky, and he's making everyone else that way."

"You know, that's how I knew I was really sick. Mom and Dad – anytime I had a question, they'd answer it. Then they started taking me to all these doctors, and they told me I had diabetes. My folks stopped answering my questions until they found out I was looking stuff up on my own. I like it when my doctors are honest."

Cameron sat down on the stool and rested her hand on his arm. She couldn't tell him they were watching him like House's 'canary in a mine'; it was cruel. But he understood his condition, as well as someone his age could. He knew he was at risk.

"You're right. The diabetes means you're more likely to catch infections. But we don't know if what that woman has is even contagious yet. I don't want you to worry about it. We're taking care of her, and I'm going to take care of you," she directed him.

"So why are we locked up in here?"

"It's a precaution. There are one or two things that are contagious that have the same symptoms she has. Until we rule those out, we're keeping everyone here. Even if it is something that you can catch, we can treat it."

"Okay."

Cameron shot him a quick grin as she moved to a cabinet. "Good. Now, it's not likely that you caught something from her, but there're a lot of people with viruses out there. Those you can catch. It's not serious, but it feels terrible. I'm going to keep you in here, and see if we can prevent you from getting that bug. Sound like a plan?"

"Sure."

"All right then. I'm going to have a nurse take some blood, and I'm going to need a urine sample from you. You know the drill. Once you're finished with that, we'll check you out, and see why your blood sugar level was off."

Adam took the sample cup she handed him and watched her with an intensity unnerving for someone his age. There was a calm acceptance in his eyes that bothered her. "I'll let you know if I start feeling sick. You know. If I start coughing or getting sick to my stomach. So you'll know if I caught whatever that lady has."

Shocked, Cameron nodded and hurriedly exited the room. Once outside, she closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. He was too mature for a kid; he'd already lived a rough life. She'd yet to develop the detachment necessary to handle terminally ill patients. Pushing away from the door, she hoped he wouldn't provide her with any practice.

"What are you doing?" Dr. Cuddy asked incredulously.

House shot her an annoyed glance over the top of his Game Boy. "Trying to save the world. That's kind of a big thing. Maybe you should go bother someone else."

"I don't believe you," she snapped, grabbing the toy from his hands angrily.

"You're responsible for anyone crushed by that asteroid."

"We have patients. We're quarantined."

"That about sums it up. Except you forgot one thing. And I'm bored. Give me back my game."

"I thought you were the expert in infectious diseases. Why the hell aren't you doing anything?"

"Well, I was trying to stop that asteroid from crashing …"

"This isn't funny."

House straightened up in his chair behind the nurse's station, making a half-hearted attempt to take his Game Boy back. "No, this isn't funny. But I'm waiting for test results. The others are looking after the girl. There's nothing else I can do."

"Yes, there is. You're going to treat some of the other patients."

Raw pain shot through his leg, and he concentrated on keeping it under control. That took effort, and it wasn't fun. Add on the aggravation of having to deal with patients, and it was a guarantee that he'd be popping his last pill quickly.

House didn't say that, though. Cuddy would say that it meant that he was taking the Vicodin for something other than the pain. And that wasn't true. He needed his pills. For his pain. Just his physical pain.

He shrugged. "No can do. I don't have any shoes. Or socks. I'm pretty sure that's not sanitary. If I can't go into a McDonalds that way, I don't think I can treat patients. Please tell me your hospital has higher health standards than a fast food poisoning factory."

Cuddy pulled a pair of slip-on surgical booties from her pocket and tossed them at him. "Given the circumstances, I think those will do just fine."

"I don't," House groused, looking at the pinkish booties in disgust.

"Fine," she answered, a slow smile forming as she held up his Game Boy. "Do you want to see how long it takes me to get this into more pieces than your TV?"

"That's blackmail."

"I consider it motivational speaking."

House started to answer, but a loud swearing from the other side of the desk caught his attention. Standing up painfully, he stared disbelievingly at Cameron as she slammed the phone down on the receiver. When she noticed the questioning looks directed her way, she pushed a stray lock behind her ear and took a deep breath.

"That was the registrar at the university. I told them I needed to talk to Jen's parents. They won't give me the phone number. Instead, they called the Hoppers, and they're now on their way to the airport."

"What's the school's number?" Cuddy asked, quickly calling.

"We need to talk to them," Cameron muttered as she stepped to the side.

"You may want to work on your understatements. That one was fairly lame," House said, making a face at the scowl she directed his way.

"Is this all a joke to you?"

"Do I look like I'm laughing? No TV, no video games, no lunch, no Vicodin. Nothing in that list sounds like fun to me. Oh, and I'm stuck in here. You can't tell me you wouldn't rather be somewhere else."

"No, and I would have been, except for you," Cameron admitted shortly.

"Me? What did I do?"

She looked away for a moment, but instead of backing off, she crossed her arms defiantly over her midsection. "You didn't show up for your clinic duty. I stayed here to cover for you."

"How very noble, but that's your fault. No one made you do that. I certainly didn't ask you to."

"Sorry, I actually care about the patients and my responsibilities. If you had showed up, I wouldn't even be here."

House actually grinned broadly as he shook his finger at her. "I see where you're going with this. If it turns out this kid has an infectious disease, you'd have been a vector that spread it throughout the city. You'd have infected all those poor, unsuspecting people. Thanks to me, you didn't. You're welcome."

Cuddy's swearing drowned out Cameron's retort. After slamming the phone down, she turned angrily. "They won't give me the phone number! I told them we're in the middle of a damned medical emergency, we need to know what Jen did before coming to school, and they won't give me the phone number. They have 'rules' about privacy."

"That's too bad," House said, giving her a pointed look.

"Too bad?" she repeated coolly.

"But every organization has its own rules. It's a necessity to make sure things run the way they're supposed to. You don't like it? Too bad! We all do things we don't like. At least that's what you told me."

"Guys, this isn't the time," Cameron said, belatedly trying to calm things down. Instead, House pointed at Cuddy's glaring face.

"Oh! Nice Linda Blair impression. Keep her away from pea soup. And crucifixes. Don't want to traumatize the kiddies out there with that scene," he added, turning to Cameron. Seeing her expression, he rolled his eyes and grabbed a folder. "I think I'll just go and see some of these so-called patients."

Cameron exhaled loudly before looking towards Cuddy. "You said you contacted the state health department? Turn them loose on the college."

"They already have a team heading to the university to find out who she's been in contact with. If they can't get the info, I'll let the CDC deal with the school," Cuddy said as she turned to her secretary. "Get me the Iowa State Police, then find out how many airports there are around Ames, Iowa. Let's see if we can catch her parents before they get on that plane."

"Anything they can tell us will help treat Jen."

Cuddy let out a derisive snort. "And get this quarantine lifted before I kill House."

Cameron stood silently as the hospital administrator stormed towards her office. "Remember to sell tickets," she called out.

Chase stood over the bed, carefully examining the stats displayed on the readout for any sign of change. Hearing someone entering the room, he shot a quick glance backwards, nodding as Foreman walked up.

"How is she?"

"Not good," Chase answered softly. "The ice bath lowered her fever to under one-oh-five, but she's still in a coma. Her other stats are good, though. Heartbeat, respiration, blood pressure and EKG are normal. Whatever she has, it's not affecting her heart or lungs."

"Well, it's not meningitis or encephalitis. I got the results back on the spinal fluid. The protein level is a little high, but nothing that would be causing this type of trouble. At this point, I'd say the coma is a result of the fever."

"If that's the case, how long do you think it'll be before she comes out of it?"

Foreman shook his head. "I don't know. Depends on how severe the damage is. We don't know how long she was in a coma before anyone spotted her. Is the medication having any effect?"

"If it is, it's too early to know," he said, looking at the unconscious woman watchfully. The ice bath lowered her fever, but they'd have to wait to see if stayed down. Her nodes were still swelling, and that concerned him. "If it is the plague, it's probably too advanced to be treated."

"It's not the plague," Foreman insisted.

"You don't know that."

"And you don't know that it is. Come on. A lot of things cause these symptoms. Hell, we don't even know what all her symptoms are. The plague's rare."

Chase folded his arms as he leaned against the wall. "Rarer than getting bit by a rabid patient?"

Foreman raised an eyebrow, but a hint of a smile formed after a few seconds. "Okay, maybe not that rare. My money is still on TB."

"Betting on patients? You're getting more like House all the time," Cameron said as she walked in. "And that's not a good thing."

"Wait a second. You like House. Or you did. Something's changed," Chase said, moving to stand by her side. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," she said with an eye roll. "I'm the first to admit House has … issues. And Eric's picking up his bad habits."

"Gossip later. You don't think it's TB?" Foreman asked.

"Not with a clear chest X-ray," she said, hanging it from the light box.

"And it's not meningitis or encephalitis," Chase said. "Which leaves the plague as the most likely cause. How much were you betting?"

"Did you get the CBC back?" he asked, ignoring the last comment.

"Yes, but it's nonspecific. There's minimal leukocytosis, which confirms infection. You'd think with the way the nodes are draining, it would be higher."

"We need to show this to House. Infectious diseases are his specialty," Foreman said. "Where is he?"

"Treating patients," Cameron told him, smiling at the shocked look her colleagues exchanged.

"House? Tall, scruffy man with the limp and major attitude?"

"Yes, Eric."

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Chase asked. "I mean he's never pleasant even when he isn't in withdrawal."

"It's never a good idea for him to be around people," Foreman said, giving Cameron a warning look. "He's trouble."

House took the chart from the nurse and read over it as he approached the exam room. So far, he'd avoided any of the exceptionally annoying patients. He half-wondered if that was just chance or if Cuddy arranged it. "Arm pain," he said to himself. "She gave me the pulled muscle. Great."

Entering the room, he noticed the well-dressed attorney walking the room restlessly as he barked directions into his cell phone. Seeing House, he held up his hand and shot out a last list of instructions before hanging up.

"Sorry about that. This case is important."

"Oh, I see. Nothing like my time," House said sarcastically as he pulled the stool over.

"Sorry, again. I didn't mean it that way."

"Of course not!"

"We've been working this case for months. The workers were suing for unpaid overtime that the owners didn't owe. I thought we finally worked out a compromise, but I need someone in the meeting with the judge."

"I can't tell you how exciting all that is, Mr. Rudd. Or do you prefer Esquire?"

Rudd sat on the exam table with a grunt. "Tony is fine. Nicotine withdrawal. Do you have any idea what that's like?"

House gave him a short look over the top of the folder. "Personally, I prefer not to kill the lining of my lungs, but I can imagine."

"It's not fun. You wouldn't happen to have a nicotine patch, would you?"

"I don't think so. I'll have a nurse check. Says here you've been having arm pain for the last three days."

"Yeah, it starts here," Rudd said, pointing to the top of his left arm and moving it toward the elbow, "and runs down to here."

Taking out his stethoscope quickly, House motioned his hand for Rudd to unbutton his shirt. After listening carefully for a few minutes, he pulled back and began moving Rudd's arm in different directions.

"Is there any chance you pulled a muscle playing tennis? Pushing the lawn mower? Burying incriminating evidence?"

"No, I have a secretary to do that for me," Rudd said in a stage whisper. "I don't do a lot of exercising. My schedule is too crowded."

"Right. Always some work to do. Which is the definition of a workaholic, if I'm not mistaken."

"I'm driven," Rudd said.

"With a high-stress job," House said, hobbling quickly to the door and calling for a nurse. On the way back, he stopped at the medicine cabinet. "Here. Stick that under your tongue. And here's some aspirin. Chew it. It'll help."

"I suppose it is. At least my clients don't die on me."

"No, but they do dream of killing you," House said with a wide-eyed look.

"Those are my opponents' clients. Or so I hope," he said with a chuckle. It quickly turned to a grimace. "God, this tastes terrible. I'll give you that: you don't have to worry about your patients wanting to kill you."

House didn't respond to that except with an innocent smile. Standing up, he moved behind Rudd and listened to his breathing as a nurse began sticking electrodes on his chest. "Have you been short of breath lately?"

"Not that I've noticed."

"Yeah. You don't exercise. Have you moved enough to get short of breath? No, lie down. Stay down. Good boy."

"I know. I need to exercise more and cut back on the smoking. I get that from my family doctor all the time. What's with the oxygen mask? Come on. Right now, I just want to know what's wrong with my arm."

"Humor me. It's not like you're going anywhere. This nurse is going to hook you up to an IV for some medication, and she's going run some tests. Don't keep her waiting while you're on the phone. I hear she knows all the best places to bury bodies in Jersey."

"I hear you, doc!"

"But you don't listen, do you?" House muttered after telling the nurse what blood tests to run and exiting the room. He was heading to the nurse's station when he heard the tapping of heels behind him. Thoughts of spinning around quickly with his cane held out passed through his mind, but Cuddy was beside him before he had time to act.

"Damn."

"What?" she asked in confusion.

"Oh, nothing. Where's my Vicodin?"

"On the other side of the quarantine. I thought we went over that already."

"You talked. I ignored."

Cuddy shook her head. "Why doesn't that surprise me? Don't answer that."

"I need my medication."

"No, you think you need it. We've been over this before, but I'm sure you ignored that as well. Since you're so good at ignoring, why don't you concentrate on not thinking about the pain? Ignore it."

House made a face at her. "That's counterproductive. To think about ignoring the pain means that you have to think about the pain. And that makes it hard to ignore. Is that too confusing for you?"

"You're hopeless," she sighed. "You seem to be surviving clinic duty."

"Besides having to deal with a patient that's killing himself, everything is just dandy! If you ignore the fact I'm trapped in here with you. There's an angry mob in the waiting area. And what the hell is going on?" he barked suddenly.

Cuddy turned around as the commotion started in the waiting area. A person in a blue biosafety suit carrying cleaning equipment entered the clinic from the hallway she'd set aside as a staging area. As the figure moved closer to the knocked over chairs where Jen Hopper had passed out, the crowd nervously backed away.

"Great timing. The water buffaloes were just settling down," House muttered angrily. "Nothing to worry about folks! He's here to clean up."

"Then why is he in that suit?"

House turned his head slowly, fixing his eyes on the surly teen that had started the earlier panic. After getting the unconscious woman out of the clinic, they'd blocked off the spot she passed out, but that had been unnecessary. The other patients had voluntarily avoided that section of chairs. While he knew it was necessary to disinfect the area, he also knew it wouldn't take much to start another stampede.

"Because it's the law," House said without hesitation. "All kinds of stupid laws about that sort of thing. Your tax dollars at work."

"You mean the government is going to cover up our deaths. They'll toss our bodies in a freezer somewhere, and then after everyone is dead, they'll start a fire in here, and tell everyone we died that way."

"Kid, I warned you about suturing your mouth shut. I will do it."

Cuddy yanked on his jacket sleeve and moved in front of him. "Shut up," she whispered at him.

"But I have a get-out-of-jail-free card," he whined, pulling out the attorney's card from his pocket. "Well, I think the lawyer will be alive for the trial."

"Mr. Rudd? The one you said had a pulled muscle."

"He does. Just not the one I expected. Look, the brat is scaring the herd. Just a few sutures. Please?"

As the crowd grew more nervous, she seemed to consider the idea, but gave her head a quick shake. "No!"

"You never let me have any fun!"

"Grow up," she murmured before facing the crowd. "Everyone, if I can have your attention, please. That gentleman in the suit is here to disinfect the area where the young woman passed out. It's nothing to worry about, and there are no government conspiracies."

"What about the aliens that took over Broadway?" the teen demanded. "Or the killer iguanas that wiped out that New Mexico trailer park? You try to hide that stuff, but those of us that know the truth know… uh, the truth. Yeah."

Cuddy just blinked her eyes at him. Most of the crowd mimicked her motion, but House seemed to enjoy the spectacle. He rested against the station, and leaned over to Wilson when he joined him. "Did you bring any popcorn?"

"I didn't realize it was my turn. Is this entertainment?"

"Oh, this is great. I thought that kid was just annoying. And ignorant. Turns out he's a total nutcase. But he's distracting the crowd, so I'm not going to tell him to shut up as long as the spacesuit guy is here."

Wilson folded his arms as he listened to teen's explanation of how a cult controlled Hollywood through mind control. "I don't know. That one actually sounds believable. How else do you explain a remake of 'The Dukes of Hazzard'?"

House snorted disbelievingly. "Jessica Simpson in short shorts. Who needs an explanation?"

"Some people like a plot to go with their movies."

"Plots are overrated," he said as the three younger members of his team joined them. "Don't you have patients to treat?"

"Don't you?" Foreman countered. "Besides, we got some of the test results back."

House took the reports from their hands and spread them out on the nurse's station. "We should be doing this in an exam room."

"They're all in use. We're treating the virus patients in the waiting room," Wilson said, taking the X-ray and holding it up to a light. "Chest is clear."

"So's the spinal fluid," Chase said, watching as Cameron left to take a phone call. "I think we're dealing with the plague."

Shaking his head, House flipped rapidly through the pages. "Where's the stain from the node aspiration?"

"It's not done yet."

"Why? It doesn't take long. The lab does know this is a priority, don't they?"

Wilson shrugged. "It only takes a few minutes when you aren't working under quarantine. And you have a free lab tech to work on it. You don't think she has the plague?"

"Low probability, but it is possible. There are too many other diseases that present this way. My money is on the TB."

"Told you, Eric," Cameron said as she rejoined the group. "But the chest X-ray was clear."

"Which means she doesn't have pulmonary tuberculosis. There's skeletal TB to consider; it doesn't always affect lungs," House noted, screwing his face up in thought as he read through the other test results. "It's not syphilis or HIV. We don't have anything to compare the titers against for the rabbit fever, but that was never high on my list."

"That was the school. I left a message with the zoology department. Jen does work with their animals – reptiles," Cameron said.

"Salmonella is the most likely disease to get from a reptile," Wilson said. "And it doesn't leave you in a coma with draining lymph nodes. Of course, you can get parasites from scaly and slimy things."

"But they probably feed the rodents to the reptiles. That's still a possible vector," she added.

"You're both forgetting the obvious," House interrupted. "Whatever she has, she probably contracted it before she left for school. She's only been here two days. Very few diseases incubate that fast, let alone get to the point of coma."

"What about something from a farm animal?" Chase asked. "Or there could be rats and mice in the barns."

"Not everyone in Iowa lives on a corn farm with Shirley Jones singing about surreys," House said.

"That's Oklahoma."

He turned to Wilson and raised his eyebrows. "Whatever! And do I want to know how you knew that?"

"My grandmother was very fond of musical theater. I had to go to at least one show every month with her when I was a kid."

"Sounds nice," Cameron said.

"I hated it. Grade school is not a good place for a boy to go around singing Broadway show tunes. I really had a reputation as a nerd."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what all the other kids thought about you," Foreman said with a grin.

"There was no question in that regard," Wilson replied before addressing Cameron. "What about mono?"

"I don't think she's interested," House said lowly, turning to give his friend an icy stare. "You'll have to share your germs with someone else. Like your wife."

"No! Doesn't infectious mononucleosis present this way with immune disorders?"

The others turned to her, but she shook her head slowly. "I don't think that's what she has. Most of the time, mono in an immune compromised patient presents with a ruptured spleen. There's no indication she's having any trouble with it."

"Most of the time," Chase repeated. "What about the rest?"

"Patients with X-linked lymphoproliferative syndrome do react to Epstein-Barr the way Jen has, but…"

"But," House said, dropping his head beside Chase's. "The 'X-linked' part means it only affects boys. So unless you really screwed up that initial exam, our patient doesn't have it."

"Now what?" Foreman asked.

"Chase, keep an eye on her. If the fever starts to go up again, get her back in the ice. Let's try to keep her brain from getting fried. How's the diabetic kid?"

"So far, he's not sick, and he knows you're using him as a guinea pig."

"Why did you tell him that? And he's a canary. That's much more hygienic sounding than pig."

"I didn't have to tell him. Adam knows he'll probably be the first person to get sick if it is contagious," Cameron said.

"Keep an eye on him. Foreman, go ahead and run tests for Epstein-Barr and parasites," House started to say, pausing when a yell came from the waiting area.

The crowd had been distracted by the teen's wild stories, but they'd kept an eye on the suited man disinfecting the area. When he moved to a new section, the crowd edged away from him. Eventually, they ended up heading towards an isolated corner. The corner wasn't empty though, and the lone woman who'd taken shelter there was now screaming.

"Great," House muttered as people began to panic again.

TBC