Dr. Sebastian Charles decided that House probably did him a favor, mental case or not. The shouting match they had earlier had fueled his commitment to the cause. He placed House on the same level as the pharmaceutical companies who wouldn't share their precious meds to the people who need them simply because it wasn't profitable enough. In House's case, however, the neurotic cripple couldn't even bring himself to treat, much less see, patients unless they're either famous or their illness is very unique. Not much difference between them; selfish is selfish.
He turned his gaze from the media men preparing their equipment—damn, those lights are hot!—to Dr. Cameron talking quietly to Dr. Cuddy out in the hallway. Judging from the deepening scowl on the older woman's face, Cameron has just updated her on the reason behind the state of his room. Sebastian wished he could witness Dr. House getting the boot.
He looked back at the mob setting up their equipment in his room, sighing. Dr. Allison Cameron was the kind of woman he'd been missing out on his life since he committed himself to his quest—sympathetic, bright, funny, and an excellent negotiator, if she'd managed to last this long under the tyranny of Dr. Gregory House. The fact that she was also a knock-out beauty was simply an added bonus.
Well, at least he got to know a girl like her before he died…
Charles looked back out the room; Cameron and Cuddy were still in conference, and it seemed that Cameron managed to calm down her superior. Pity—House's termination would have done PPTH a world of good.
Charles was making his plight—the plight of millions known—when Dr. House stormed the room once again.
No…
"What the hell do you think you're doing House!"
Dr. Cameron was horrified. She thought she was witnessing House's fall from sanity, firsthand.
He's making a spectacle of himself on nationwide television by refuting the diagnosis!
Dr. Lisa Cuddy was thinking of something else as she witnessed PPTH's star doctor wave a 600-Watt camera light on the face of the world's most famous doctor. She recalled her last words with House a few hours ago before she left for the press con.
If you screw this up, I will personally cleave your head from your neck, House!
Meanwhile, in another part of the hospital, two doctors are sharing a bag of chips between them. They are fully fixated on the drama unfolding on the TV set in the patient's room, the patient himself conveniently comatose and unable to do anything about them.
The doctors were thinking rapidly different thoughts as House proved himself right when Charles started to go into cardiac arrest.
Dr. Foreman wondered if he should be relieved that House won't get fired or chalk it up as another stroke of luck for the brilliant son of a bitch. Then, he remembered what House just told him, and he told himself to just sit back and enjoy what may be his last few moments working in this hospital.
Dr. James Wilson reached into the bag for another chip before passing it back to Foreman. He was making some mental notes about House's cameo appearance on the press con so that he could have some ammo for future use.
Unbeknownst to either of the men in the room, the other man lying down on the bed briefly opened his eyes, blinked, and then closed them.
The reporters had to clear the room. Cuddy assigned that duty to herself as Cameron attempted to resuscitate Dr. Charles. House stood back and watched. He looked at Cuddy, who shot him a glare that would've sent Sharon Osbourne into hysterics. Personally, the eye shadow Cuddy was wearing wasn't softening the glare much.
House didn't care. He turned to look at Cameron, who successfully revived the patient and supervised the nurses into doing the necessities. He's done his job—by this time, he'd be back to his Sudoku game if the stubborn martyr-wannabe did everyone a favor and kicked off for the Savannah in the sky.
Dr. Sebastian Charles lives, though, and House still had to find the other half of the equation.
Cameron was relieved. Charles was stabilized and will be monitored carefully from now on.
She looked down at Charles, looking very peaceful and unruffled in his unconscious state. Cameron's heart jumped as she was suddenly assailed with a case of déjà vu.
A stark hospital room. Monitors, IV drips, and the sound of beeping—sights and sounds that did nothing to block out the inevitable.
Allison looked down at the figure on the bed. Just a few months ago, this man exchanged vows with her, looking down at her with eyes full of love and gratefulness. He never opened his eyes since his collapse, and he's been on life support for three days now.
Her husband looked a lot like Charles after the doctors finished removing some fluid that accumulated in his lungs. As she was thinking this, her hand moved in a gesture that became second nature to her during that trying time.
Something stopped her, though, and she turned to find Dr. House standing in one side of the room, staring at her. In the split second that Cameron had a good look at his unguarded expression before he changed it, she could have sworn that she saw something in his intense blue eyes.
"I…"
"Don't fix him up for the funeral just yet," House said crisply, acting like himself. What a relief. "We have to find out what's killing him first before he gives up and send himself to the mortuary."
House popped a Vicodin and swallowed it before he hauled himself up from the wall and limped for the door. Cameron didn't know what else to say.
"Let me know when he wakes up. I'll give him the meds this time."
"Fantastic debut on TV you made there, House," an amused Wilson said, as he walked up to his friend hobbling for the pharmacy. "You'll get the Razzies for sure, no doubt about it!"
House rolled his eyes before he replied in mock excitement, "Gee, y'really think so, Jimmy-Jim-Jim!" He completed the performance with some exaggerated touches on his stubble. "I should shave and prepare my speech. Oh, no—I can't be seen with this!" He waved his cane in front of an amused Wilson. "I have to go find my pimpin' cane with the cubit zirconia-studded handle and gold-plated trim. Think my old tux will fit? Haven't worn it since you and Julie got married."
Wilson chuckled. House approached the pharmacy and rattled off a bunch of meds to the long-suffering pharmacist, which included a new bottle of Vicodin. Wilson's humor abated a little as House popped a Vicodin before turning around and limping for the elevators.
"Now that you've proven Charles doesn't have TB on national TV," Wilson said, "How're you going to convince him to take the medicine this time?"
House looked at Wilson and winked before replying, "Oh, yea of little faith." He reached out and tweaked Wilson's nose rather sharply, making Wilson yelp in pain and rub his nose in discomfort. "If he won't take 'em, I'll get a funnel from Maintenance and shove them down his throat."
Later, House left Dr. Sebastian Charles triumphant. His threat of giving a bogus autopsy report to the gentlemen of the press would be enough to get the stubborn white witchdoctor to take modern TB medicine for sure.
As he sauntered for the elevators, House spotted Dr. Chase on his left, also making for the elevators. The handsome intensivist looked up from the file he was perusing into his boss's face and curious blue eyes met shrewd blue eyes for a moment.
House knew where to find some answers.
Chase knew that look.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Chase!" House called out in a cheery voice that wouldn't have fooled Santa Claus.
"Good afternoon, Dr. House," Chase replied cautiously, looking sharply to the right and left of him for a possible exit route. No such luck.
House smiled a smile that raised alarm bells in Chase's head. The two men reached the elevators just as they opened. House kept the doors open and invited Chase to enter first. Chase wished he could fake a page so that he could have a viable excuse to run for it, but he never could say no to House like Foreman or Cameron. He entered the elevator like a person being led to the executioner. House followed him inside.
"Let's talk…" House began as the doors closed.