Title: Hex

Rating: T

Genre: Angst/Drama

Pairings: No specific pairings - Friendship

Summary: After "treating" a patient for a serious condition, Dr. House starts to exhibit the exact same symptoms himself. But it's nothing he can medically cure with a perscription - It's demonic possession.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I'm trying to make these chapters really long, so that's why it's taking me a little bit of time to get them up. I hope the length makes up for the wait. Enjoy :D

Hex - Chapter 3 Peaches

"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell."

- Oscar Wilde

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"What do you mean there's no tumor? You cut my son open for nothing!" The father raged and Cameron grimaced a little at the huge outburst coming from the little man. Anyone would have thought the father would be happy. Maybe his son wasn't going to die so soon. She looked down at the kid laying on the bed with his head shaved and bandaged up. He was sleeping, but surprisingly, his color had improved dramatically.

"Yes but-" she started to say that it was actually a good thing. It meant that now maybe the kid had some sort of chance.

"Did you not hear me? You cut open my son's head, and you were wrong!" The father raged again.

"Mr. Adler, all of our tests proved that your son definitely has a brain tumor. It was very easy to detect.." Foreman piped in, in that calm voice of his to try and explain the situation better.

"So what's wrong with Jason then?"

"Dad, stop." Jason had his eyes open and he was trying to sit up a little bit. He coughed and Chase offered him a small cup of water.

Mr. Adler spun around and went to his son's bedside.

"I'm fine, stop yelling at them. I was going to shave my head anyway," Jason smiled and Mrs. Adler laughed through her tears as she gripped his hand so tightly it was almost turning purple.

"His stats are all up again.." Chase noted, looking at all the monitors while the parents gushed towards their son. "This is bizarre," he added and looked over at Cameron and Foreman who stood at the foot of the bed. Foreman quickly paged House.

They all looked at the happy family "reuniting". The kid looked like at the worst, he had a small cold. He looked like he could just get up and go home at anytime. Something very rarely seen in terminal cancer patients.

-----

That night House sat at his desk with a mystery laid out in front of him. The lights were off and only the soft glow of a lamp illuminated the documents. He sat in his chair, the cane between his legs, his chin resting on the handle. Usually when he was trying to crack a case he'd do something to which another would consider a distraction. He'd kick back with his ipod, play a few games on his gameboy, or watch tv until the solution just crept up and bit his brain. Not this time though. He just sat and stared at two MRI scans of the same patient, taken only a day apart. One had a massive tumor, the other one was clean. He dug his chin into the handle moved in small circles completely stumped.

How was that even possible? How can someone have a tumor one day and have it disappear the next without a trace? How can a patient be dying one day and then talking about baseball the next? How?

House leaned back in his chair and let his head roll back as his gaze fixated on the ceiling. He tossed his cane from the right hand to the left again still in deep thought. About what?

He was hungry. For.. Teddy Grahams! But what kind.. chocolate, vanilla, or those chocolate chip looking ones.. He would have to go with chocolate. Biting off their little heads was just too sweet. He liked to play with them in front of Wilson and mimic their voices ("Nooo don't eat mee..."). --

Okay stop it, back on track. That's right. The magic David Copperfield 'Now you see me, now you don't' tumor. The one that liked to play peek-a-boo. Peek-a-boo .. What did that game mean anyway? How could that ever impress a child? If he ever had a son, his kid would call him an idiot for just putting his hands over his eyes. It wasn't "cute", it was lying, and very bad lying at that.

A fly buzzed around near the ceiling and started lowering itself to House's head. He brought his cane up and went to swat it, but it zigzagged and flew off. What was with all of the flies all of a sudden?

House sighed and looked back down at the scans. He was so tired and if he wasn't able to figure out this whole thing tonight, he was afraid he never would. He pushed away from his desk in preparation to go on home when that damn fly buzzed past his face again. He watched it for a few seconds and then moved rapidly and caught it with his right hand.

"Gotcha.." he smiled devilishly and looked at his tightened fist. He could feel it squirming within his grip. After a few seconds of satisfaction , he opened his fist into the air.. to find it empty. No fly.

House looked at his hand, turning it over.

Why did he keep playing Jesus? Why was everything around him disappearing?

Without another thought, he stood up slowly and started on his way home.

-----

He was dreaming. But he knew he was dreaming - so was it really dreaming? It wasn't one of those stupid dreams where he was running naked through a football field; He didn't even seem to be in the dream at all. In fact, nothing was in the dream. Nothing physical that he could identify anyway. More like.. colors, textures and feeling. And not a good feeling either. No, this wasn't the fluffy teddy bear, Valentines, Santa Claus feeling.. this was something he wouldn't be able to explain for a billion dollars. It was just.. strange. And unnerving.

Making it into work that morning was almost a challenge for House. His alarm clock didn't go off again but his trusty biological clock had decided to jar him awake and nearly at the right time. It wasn't just his own body kicking his ass out of bed, the nightmare-ish vision he'd had while sleeping had jolted him awake. He didn't know whether it had been the weird dream, or the fact that he hadn't eaten in a while, but there was a small headache developing at his left temple as soon as he passed through the Princeton-Plainsboro doors. He had a feeling that it was going to get a lot worse as he entered the clinic packed with screaming kids (snot) and cooing parents. Flu season. Just peachy and grand.

House made a dash for the elevator like he had done the previous day, even though he wasn't scheduled for the clinic. If Cuddy saw him, he was sure that he would insist that clearing out the clinic was more important than him up in his office catching daytime TV, and bouncing a ball against the wall to waste away the hours.

Maybe today he would get a new case.. He thought that, but strangely didn't even care whether he did or not. He felt almost indifferent. Not caring. Whatever attitude today, and he wasn't sure what had caused it. He made it into the elevator before an old man could drag his IV pole over first, and pressed his floor button about 6 times before leaning back and letting the doors close. Still got it.. House mused.

His pace was slow, and he relied more on his cane with each step towards his office. He had popped a few vicodin before coming into work as usual, but for some reason the sweet sensation wasn't fixing his leg like it was supposed to. His whole freaking day was off, and from what? A busted alarm clock that he wanted to throw at the wall? A stupid headache that he never, ever got? The old man with the IV pole downstairs racing him to the elevator?

House dropped his bag on his desk when he noticed the small mess he had left behind the day before. The MRI scans. The puzzle was back to haunt him and make him stare at the wall for another 24 hours. He collapsed into his chair and brought out his bottle of pills. The bottle was quite light. He only had one left. How could he not have noticed that one before? Great, time to make another big deal about the whole thing with Wilson. He took the pill, recapped the canister and looked down at the scans again, hoping maybe a night of sleep (right, that's what it was) would have refreshed his vision. Time to play a little Sherlock Holmes and get down to business.. in a few hours.

He pulled his bag down to his lap and began sifting through the contents when he sensed a prescence was going to bug him from the door. He didn't look up and just hoped whoever it was would just go away.

"If you're looking for your brain in there, I have some bad news.." Wilson piped from the door.

House made a face, but didn't look up. "Oh darnit, that's right, I packed it in that blue tupperware two days ago.." He looked up and gave his friend a disgusted face, "So that's why my dinner yesterday tasted so funny."

Wilson sighed in amusement and took a few steps closer to House's desk. He was probably looking for a loose vicodin, judging by the empty bottle sitting on the corner of his desk.

"So the kid was released," he told House instead andstuck his hands in his pants pockets this time. House didn't seem to hear him and pulled a tiny game cartidge out of the bottom end of the bag and looked at it as if he'd just found a hundred dollar bill.

"Final Fight, I've been looking for you everywhere!" he exclaimed with glee and then turned to look at Wilson, "I'm sorry, did you say something?" He tossed the bag on the floor.

"Nice to hear you're still just as concerned with your patients as always.. The kid was released," Wilson smirked and informed him once again, watching as he pulled out another game and put his beloved Final Fight in the gameboy.

"Jesus Christ you mean?" House finally put his gameboy aside and leaned back in his chair looking up at Wilson. "So can you tell me why his tumor disappeared? I missed the last episode of the show where it turns out it's really his twin brother who came in here yesterday, the one who's dating his sister's wife but secretly cheating on her with his massage therapist, the foreign immigrant named Rocco."

Wilson stalled and gave him a look, "Seriously, you watch too much TV. But no, I have no better explanation than you do at this point. Even that ridiculous chain of words you just rambled off at me a second ago."

"You checked him out yourself?-" House started to ask, but was interuppted.

"Inside and out."

"Clean?-"

"Clean."

"Well I guess little Jason can run back to all his baseball pals and then cram into his mother's van so they can all go get icecream after winning the little leagues," House shuffled aside the MRI scans. He wouldn't get rid of them just yet, but probably save them in a "vault" so he could pick them up in forty years to see if he could figure out the mystery then. Until then however, the puzzle had got the best of him.

"He's eighteen years old, I hardly believe he's going to be competing in a championship for twelve year olds," Wilson retorted and started on his way out of the office. He paused, his hand on the door handle, knowing full well that House hadn't heard the kid speak of baseball, "How did you know he was into baseball?"

House shrugged.

"Hunch."

-----

"Fiddle dee dee, fiddle dee dee, the fly has married the bumblebee." House sat in his chair with his forehead resting on the edge of his desk, staring at the floor. "Said the fly, said he, 'Will you marry me and live with me sweet bumblebee?' Fiddle dee dee, fiddle dee dee, the fly has married the bumblebee."

Silence.

"Oh they're just not trying anymore are they. That was the stupidiest nursery rhyme I've ever heard." He didn't raise his head as he talked to himself.

His headache had not went away. Of course not, it was inside his head, it was comfortable and wasn't going to leave. In fact it had dialed it up a notch, so much in fact, that he was partly resting his head just for the coolness of the desk under his forehead.

"House," a female voice alerted him from the door but he didn't raise his head. The voice wasn't important enough for that sort of exertion.

"Dr. Greg House is happy to inform you that he is not in right now. But if you'd like to leave your name and number, don't, because he won't get back to you. Don't leave a message after the beep."

"House-"

"Beeeeeeeep."

"House, the clinic downstairs is packed and three of my doctors called in sick, this flu season-"

"What part of don't leave a message after the beep don't you understand?" House raised his head to look at Cuddy who was full inside his office now with her hands linked together. She was trying to ask him to be nice and do her a favour.

Cuddy raised her eyebrow and crossed her arms. "No need to be snippy about it."

"No, snippy would be me not sugarcoating what I would really like to say, now which version would you like to have the pleasure of hearing? Hm, Lisa?" he narrowed his eyebrows and asked her without really expecting an answer. She would just give him and look and leave his office without another word, that's what he was hoping for anyway.

She didn't answer his rhetorical question, as he expected.

"You look like crap," was all she said instead.

"Gee, ya think?" he made a face. Cuddy left and he was grateful. He actually hadn't planned on being that, dare he say rude, but the words had just flowed out before he could even think of them. The headache was what was bothering him the most now and he was starting to get sensitive to light, which was always a bad sign. Maybe he could catch some ZZs in his office before anyone raced back to consult Father House.

-----

Colors.. textures.. what the hell is this?

"Dr. House-"

"What!" he sat up quickly now awake and then immediately groaned from the light and rubbed his aching neck.

Cameron stood at his door holding a folder and looking wearily at him, wondering if she really should have woken him up. He had been sitting at his desk, cane knocked over onto the floor, forehead down on the smooth surface of his desk. But she knew that he was just most likely bored and needed a new case to work on. Something to get his mind off the strange tumor with the last one. She knew he couldn't stand it if he couldn't solve the big mystery. The file she held in her hand he could probably solve though.

"Well if you're just going to stand there, then take your clothes off or something," House rolled his neck around trying to loosen out the knot that had devloped after sleeping in the awkward position.

Cameron ignored his perverted comment and walked forward with the file. Cuddy was the one who had brought her attention to the case, and she had recommended Cameron run it up to House because she had visited him earlier.

"I think you might be interested in this one," she held out the file for him to take. He didn't even acknowledge it, but instead picked up his empty vicodin cansiter and scowled.

"Not interested," he dismissed and then spotted his cane laying on the floor. He must've leaned it up against his desk before he drifted off, passed out, or died - one of the three. His leg was killing him as he started to lean over to pick the hunk of wood off the floor.

"Patient presented with severe abdominal pain, pain in the throat, diarrhea, vomiting, and loss of vision-" Cameron started to recite from her memory of the case notes. Her eyes trailed to House struggling to grab his cane, wincing as he leaned over, his right hand grasped around his thigh.

"I said, I wasn't interested." He said between grunts. Cameron sighed and walked to the side of his desk to just grab his cane for him. No use for him going through all of this trouble if she was fully capable of helping. Right as she was about to bend down, his cold blue eyes were burning on her and yelling at her to stop. She took the hint and backed away, wondering if she should really be pushing this or not.

Cameron stood there for a few more minutes being tortured by the uncomfortable silence and staring at House attempt to pick up the cane, him making all sorts of facial expressions. Suddenly his head snapped to her direction.

"So do you mind?" he exclaimed angrily, eyes showing pain and embarrassment. Cameron shook her head slowly and whispered, "Sorry" in response before scurrying out of the office.

House took one last effort and grabbed his stupid cane off the floor. His temperature was up, he could feel it. Just peaches, now he had a fever. Peaches.

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