Hey, long time no update!
Thank you, as always, for the reviews; they truly do help. Love and hugs, ya'all!
I know it's been a while. I spent a week trying to come up with where to go from where I left off in Chapter Two, couldn't, and then went back and added a whole bunch of crap to the end. (And then I went absolutely insane and wrote three more chapter at the speed of light. They're kind of bad, so I'm waiting to post them until I can fix them. Makes sense, right?) But anyway, I would suggest that maybe you go back to Chapter Two and read from House and Cameron's last conversation. Might make this one a little easier to figure out. :)
Chapter Three:
Instead of heading toward the clinic, I find myself moving in the direction of the courtyard. I need fresh air in a bad way. I step outside and listen to the sounds of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Really, this is just chaos too large for the walls of the hospital to contain; the staff is still sitting around waiting for someone to die, and the families are still pacing anxiously waiting for a miracle.
I am surprised to see that Isabelle is part of this mix. She doesn't fall into either category, though; instead, she's sitting at a table under a tree talking on a cell phone.
"My sister's in the hospital," she informs whomever she's talking to. The tone of her voice suggests that she's talking about trivialities such as the weather; this is not the panic-stricken sister I saw in the clinic only a few hours ago. "They don't know what's wrong with her yet." She shrugs nonchalantly as if the person on the other end can see her. "We came in to make sure she wasn't pregnant –" She breaks off, listening. "I know. What can I say, she's a slut. So anyway, we were just sitting there and this doctor was checking her out…No, literally, checking her out…No, I'm not kidding! And meanwhile, Becca's going on about how she was in love with that jerk, Darin, and all this kind of stuff, and then she just stops breathing." A scream audible enough for me to hear it twenty feet away bursts from the cell phone, but Isabelle doesn't even flinch. "It was pretty weird, but the doctor did CPR and now she's fine. My parents are freaking out, like she's dying or something. You know they wouldn't even be here if it was me. Then again, I wouldn't ever be in the same situation Becca's in…" She pauses for a moment, then sees me. She frowns. "I'll call you back later. People are eavesdropping on me." She hangs up and glares at me. "Do you listen to everybody's phone conversations, or am I just special?"
"It's hard not to when you're slurring my good name," I say, sitting down. "I was not 'checking her out.' She's a minor, and I kind of like being in relationships that won't get me arrested." Probably why I'm not in one at the moment, I muse silently.
"It's okay, you know," she assures me. "You're a doctor; it's your job. And she's kind of pretty, if you like that empty look in her eyes and her idiotic disposition."
"You really love her, don't you? The way you talk about her is so affectionate."
Isabelle rolls her eyes. "Please. There are days I wish I'd never see her again."
"Then don't look in the mirror."
She looks surprised for a moment, then glances at me and laughs shortly. "Ha. Aren't you a barrel of laughs?"
"I think you've fooled everyone else, but you can't pull the wool over my eyes. I see all, I know all. Kind of like God, except without the unconditional love part. I saw the expression on your face when she stopped breathing. You were scared. And why would you be scared if you weren't afraid of losing her?"
"Do you believe in ghosts, House?" She catches me by surprise, both with the question and the way she refers to me. "I do. And she's already around enough of the time. I don't need her haunting me 24/7, day in and day out, for the rest of my life. As it is, I'm already stuck with her until I'm 18."
"She's not that bad," I lie. "She's a hell of a lot more sociable than you are."
"Can't you get in trouble for saying that?" she wants to know. The look on my face must be as blank as my mind. "The h-e-double-hockey-sticks thing, I mean."
"Most doctors have potty mouths," I inform her. "And don't try to change the subject."
"And here I thought you people must be at the height of morality."
"You're the last person I would have expected to be so naïve." I lean in close. "What you need to hear is this: stop being so catty. It would be one thing if it were effortless, but it's not. You work hard to be so standoffish, and no one can respect you if you make yourself miserable. Trust me, it's much more daring to stick up for your sister in your little group of friends than it is for you to hurt your family by pretending you don't care."
"There's not a doubt in my mind that I love her. But I am ashamed of her." She holds up her hands helplessly, balancing the weight of the two sentiments. "She's one of those people you can talk to for five minutes and feel like you've known her your whole life. The problem is, she's also one of those people that you immediately know doesn't give a damn about values and morals. Who wants to spend a lifetime acquainted with someone like that?"
"Well, I always say, 'Clean your finger before you point at my spots.'"
She squints at me. "I'm pretty sure Benjamin Franklin was the one to coin that phrase."
"He learned everything he knew from me." My beeper goes off; Cameron is after me again. "I'd love to stay, but I have to run. Dr. Cameron needs me."
"Yeah, well, I'll sure miss all your wonderful advice," Isabelle mutters, and I distinctly hear her add something under her breath about me being a hypocrite. I choose to ignore it.
I take the elevator up to the ICU, where Cameron is. She's standing outside of Becca's room, looking in on her only about every fifth of a second. I stiffen immediately; Cameron, while overly compassionate and far too connected to her patients, has never been a watchdog. Something very bad is going on.
"What's up?" I ask, staring in at Becca. This is one of those times I'm really wishing I had x-ray vision, and it's even for a valid reason: there are three nurses standing around her, reading her monitors, checking her temperature, fluffing the pillow under her head. I can't see what's going on at all.
"She passed out a couple minutes ago," she explains, her eyes dark. "Barely any warning at all – she was watching t.v., and then all of a sudden she got nauseous and everything went black."
"But it wasn't another heart attack," I say, a statement, not a question.
"Just a fainting spell," she confirms. "But she was out cold."
I feel my eyebrows knit. "Interesting," I say.
"Scary," Cameron corrects me. "House, she's fifteen. She might be pregnant. She's having heart attacks and fainting spells. None of this is normal."
I put my hand to my heart. "Get out! And I thought it was just another day in the life of Rebecca Marie Donahue."
"What do you think it is?" she wants to know.
I wag my finger at her. "Cheater," I accuse. "Stop trying to copy me."
"I show you mine, you show me yours?" she tries.
"The time will come for that," I promise. "Until then, play your hand close to your heart."
She sighs. "This isn't a game, House. This is someone's life. Shouldn't we be working together to save it?"
"'Working together,'" I muse. "That would be great…if this were an elementary school. We're in a hospital, Cameron. We lie, we cheat, and we keep secrets. It adds some color to these white-washed walls we call home."
"And it takes color from your patients' faces if you're not careful," she reminds me. "Holding back theories that could save someone's life is the surest way to hurt them in the long run."
"And here you guys are always telling me to wait until we're sure. No wonder I toss and turn at night, wondering what to do."
An RN steps out of the room to talk to us. Well, she talks to Cameron, anyway; she's avoiding eye contact with me, an odd thing to do, considering what an amiable, gentle fellow I am. "She's alright. It could have been dehydration. We gave her some water, and she seems fine now."
"Thanks," Cameron says absentmindedly, stepping into the room. "Becca, how are you feeling?"
"Better," she says. "Have my test results come?"
"Not yet," Cameron replies apologetically. "When we get them, you'll be the first to know. Anything you need?"
"I'd like to see my sister," she says. "Where is she? Is she okay?"
Cameron looks at me expectantly. "She's barely keeping it together," I fib out of a pitiful attempt at compassion. "She's downstairs with your mom, worried sick about you."
"Awww, that's so sad!" Becca says, but she's grinning happily. It must be nice, knowing people care enough about you to stay as far away from you as they can. "Can you ask them to come up to see me?"
What do I look like, her butler? "Oui, mademoiselle," I say a bit too sweetly, ducking out of the room in the direction of the safety of my office. I can hear her giggling a mile away; I should know better than to waste even the crudest sarcasm on people like her.
I lose myself in the world of Game Boy and all concept of time escapes me.
The next time I glance at the clock, it's half past three in the afternoon. Goodie, I think. Potty break time. I rise from my chair just as Chase comes into the room.
"I was just leaving," I inform him.
"We've got test results," he replies.
I wait a moment. "Well?" I say when he doesn't recite them to me.
"She's not pregnant," he says.
I purse my lips together. Diagnostically, it would be much better for us if the results had been positive, but I suppose, in this business of saving lives, that one can only hope to keep as many people out of harm's way as we can. That includes innocent fetuses, even if someday they grow up to be annoying, smelly people.
"I see," I say slowly.
He studies me quizzically. "You were counting on that, weren't you?"
"I was," I admit. "We could have diagnosed her with some obscure pregnancy condition, gave her a few pills, maybe done a little minor surgery, and sent her home. Her parents would be sufficiently humbled, and the joy of another tiny little life would be due to enter the world in a matter of months. What would be better than that?"
"Oh, I don't know, the fact that she can stay in school and make something of herself," he says.
"Yeah, well, if we don't find what's wrong with her soon, the only way she's going back to school is if we wheel a gurney laden with her dead and rotting carcass to her classes," I say.
"I'm sure the school would appreciate that."
"Considering the evidence that her brain function is next to nothing anyway, they'll hardly notice," I reply.
"What's our next move?" Chase asks, crossing his arms impatiently.
"Get everyone in my office by four," I instruct him. "It's time to put the cards on the table and see who has the winning hand."
And that, my friends, is Chapter Three. It was...short. For me, anyway.
But tell me what you thought, because I'd love to know.
And, on an unrelated note, I took a trip down Memory Lane and re-read my very first fan-fic story ever...It was a very humbling experience, to say the least. I'm getting better, right? I hope... :)
Chapter Four should be up soon.