Thanks ever so much for all the wonderful, reassuring reviews. I guess I should make an effort to improve my writing, but my goal for this chapter is to stop exploiting my low self-esteem with the whole "boohoohoo, my writing sucks" spiel. You'd be surprised how hard it is to get off the self-deprecation, though…

Hmmm, but yes. Moving on to slightly more interesting topics – well, not really – I am hereby updating my disclaimer, in case any of you forget that I do not own House. And finally, I'm pleased to announce the arrival of the sixth chapter!

Chapter Six:

Work ended on a morose note yesterday, and today isn't looking much better. I come into the Department of Diagnostic Medicine to find my team, disgruntled and dismayed, staring mournfully into their coffee cups.

"I take it you've all heard the news," I comment, striding to the coffee machine. "We've got a time bomb hanging over our heads now, limiting our genius, cutting off our flow."

"We can't figure this out in 24 hours," Cameron says forlornly.

"Technically we only have the rest of the workday," Chase replies. "Our clock started ticking last night at approximately 5:30."

"So how many idiots does it take to diagnose a patient?" I ask conversationally.

"More than you four, that's for sure."

"Dr. Wilson," I say, glancing at the figure who dares to darken my door, "do you have something useful to contribute, or are you just wasting my time?"

"I brought those macadamia nut pancakes you seem to like so much," he offers, holding up a Tupperware container.

"Come in," I invite after considering this for a moment. "Set the pancakes on the table, but say nothing."

"Yes, sir," he says dutifully, obeying my orders.

Cameron takes it upon herself to find paper plates and plastic utensils. The five of us take a few moments to pile Wilson's pancakes onto our plates and drench them in syrup. I begin to speak, my mouth only half-full – I do have manners. "As I recall, we each took a possible cause of the heart attacks and evaluated them. What can you tell me?"

"I tested her for the most common allergens," Cameron says. "Most came back negative, except for peanuts."

"Peanuts, eh?" I say. "I like it."

"The family has known about the allergy since she was three," she adds hurriedly. "Becca says she hasn't had any peanuts since then."

"What's her reaction like?" I ask. "Are we talking little itsy-bitsy hives, or something more fun like anaphylaxis?"

"Nothing more enjoyable than anaphylaxis," Jimmy comments dryly, reaching for a second pancake.

"Children are to be seen and not heard," I say. "Oncologists, on the other hand, are not to be seen or heard. They're too ugly. So technically, we're already breaking one rule. Don't make us break another."

Cameron stifles a giggle and continues. "Anaphylaxis," she replies, "which, just so you know, is entirely different from a heart attack."

"Still, it's something," I muse. "Look into this further. Next?"

"I had STDs," Chase volunteers.

"Is that supposed to surprise me?" I ask.

He glares at me. "My only logical guesses would have to be cardiovascular syphilis or AIDS."

"And what about illogical guesses?"

"They're pointless."

I lean over and put my mouth in his ear. I know, I know, he's waiting for me to whisper a few tender sweet nothings; no such luck. "Hello?" I bellow. "Is there a brain in there or just empty space?" I yodel for good measure, then step away to let his ears stop ringing. "I'll ask you again: do you have any illogical guesses?"

"I'm sure I can come up with something," he mutters.

"And what about you, Toxin Boy?"

"Well, I've always wanted to be a superhero," Foreman chuckles, taking out a stack of notes.

"You're the Batman to my Robin," I say. "I do all the work, and you just wear the lab suit and look pretty."

"And yet I'm the one who did the most research on this case," he says.

"You only get points for coming up with something we can actually use," I remind him.

His more or less amused expression fades as he presents his findings. "Any substance taken in a great excess could cause a breakdown of the circulatory system. I'm still narrowing down the specifics, but even after that, we'll have to try our luck. There are far too many tests to run to look for all of them."

I grimace. Teenagers, in my experience, do stupid things, but most of them would rather smoke pot than sprinkle arsenic on their cereal. It's unlikely that Becca, even with her extensive experience with rare and illegal substances, has come in contact with any of the things we'd be testing for.

"Who had clots?" Chase asks.

They all glance at me expectantly. "The MRI revealed nothing," I inform them. "No clots, no other abnormalities."

"Now what?" Cameron asks.

"You haven't considered cancer," Wilson reminds us as he crumples up a napkin.

"Pray tell, doctor, what kind of cancer causes heart attacks and fainting in a teenage girl?" I ask.

He pauses, reflecting on hismany years of medical training. "None that I can think of," he says finally, "if the cancer is playing by the rules, that is."

"Since when does cancer play by the rules?"

"It's generally well-behaved for me, but I suppose around you it doesn't have any fun unless it's sneaky."

"Is that some sort of bizarre compliment alluding to my towering intellect and mad diagnostic skills?"

"If you like."

"Oh, stop, you're making me blush," I say, pleased.

"Let me take a look at the MRI," he suggests.

"Why?" I ask defensively. "You don't trust me to let you know if I see a huge black spot in the middle of her heart? I'm no oncologist, but I think I know what a tumor looks like."

"They always do," he replies. "Then I come along and show off my diagnostic skills."

"Oh, did Julie give you some for your birthday?" I ask. "I'd love to sit and debate the matter further, but you seem to forget we have a life hanging in the balance here. Wilson, if you think it's a tumor, take these –" I hand him the MRI scans "– and go crazy. Foreman, continue in your narrowing; Chase, find me some real STDs; and Cameron…give her a peanut and see what she does."

"Sure, the family will love that," she mutters, standing up.

"Don't you remember how thrilled they were when they found out what a delightful taste she had in beer?"

"I'm going to the clinic," she calls as she steps out the door.

Chase, Foreman, and Wilson look at me expectantly. "I'm certainly not the fastest one of us," I say. "I'm not going to catch her."

"You know," Foreman says, "I think I'll go with her."

"Me too," Chase adds eagerly. They both stand up and hurry out the door.

I glance at Wilson. "Are you going to abandon me too?"

"Abandonment means there's something there to leave behind," he says knowingly.

"Was that supposed to be deep and thoughtful?" I ask. "I can see why Julie cheated on you. There's not a romantic bone in your body."

"How would you know?"

"I have x-ray vision. I'll do a full-body scan to prove it if you like."

"I wish I had x-ray vision," he says forlornly, glancing a passing posse of extremely attractive young medical students being given their inaugurational tour of PPTH.

"You have an overactive imagination; that's good enough," I reply. "What do you have to do today?"

"Budget reports, a few follow-up calls to make on treatments, I'm scheduled for three hours in the clinic after lunch, and – oh yeah – there are these people that come into the office sometimes that need help. Patients, I think they're called. Ever heard of them?"

"Scary little devils, aren't they? I barely escaped with my life the last time I saw one."

"Tell me about it." He stands up. "Well, I'm off into the jungle."

"Bring me back a souvenir," I remind him as he walks to the door. "Native girls wearing coconuts and grass skirts are hot."

"If I escape with my life," he promises, and he is gone.

Free time is only useful if you do something constructive with it, which is exactly why I'm hiding in my office, counting ceiling tiles and contemplating Becca's case. I know we're missing something. We always are, at first.

Someone raps on my door and I momentarily avert my eyes from the ceiling to see who it is. Oh, damn, it's Cuddy. Better act like I'm working.

"My God, House, slow down," she says hurriedly, coming in. "You still have five hours to find out what's wrong with her. You might get hurt, working so hard."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "You know, I was just hoping you'd give me permission to relax."

"Come up with anything good yet?" she asks, sitting down in a chair in front of my desk.

"Not a thing," I reply. "All my team's fault. I even did an MRI."

"Can I see the scans?"

"They're with Wilson. He's looking for cancer."

"As if you couldn't find a big black spot on the scan."

"Try telling Super-Doctor that."

We are both silent for a moment. "Okay, I'm sorry," she blurts out.

"For what?" I ask, truly surprised. This is news to me.

"You were right yesterday," she admits. "I should have stepped up to the plate and handled the parents myself. It's my responsibility. You did your job after you found them; I should have done mine."

I stand up, lean across the desk, and touch her forehead. "Hmmm, no fever," I conclude thoughtfully. "Something's up. This isn't the Cuddy I know."

"I'm owning up to my mistakes."

"Well, in that case, I'm sorry too," I reply. "I am also sorry you didn't step up to the plate. Would have made my life a hell of a lot easier. Imagine, we could have kept the patient for one, possibly even two more days! As it is, we only have a few hours."

"Yeah, listen, about that…" she says.

I wait expectantly, then realize she's waiting for an invitation. "About what?" I ask. "Cuddy, is this going to be bad news?"

"Depends. Would you consider your glass half-empty or half-full?"

"I don't have a glass. Just spit it out; I have things to do." Like play video games.

I can see her mentally crossing herself. "The parents are taking her home," she says in a rush.

"I beg your pardon," I say politely after a moment of hesitance. "I didn't quite catch that. It sounded like you said the parents are taking her home, but because that is contrary to reality, you must have said something else."

"Well, actually –"

"Speak up, for those of us who are old and walk with a cane."

She purses her lips. "You know, I might be mistaken. Let me go check." She stands up and goes out into the hall. I lag behind her. She reaches room 211 and steps in. I see from the doorway that Becca is wearing street clothes and her parents are packing for her. Isabelle is nowhere to be seen; she's probably at home preparing the welcome party. "Mr. and Mrs. Donahue, are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" she asks.

"We're sure," Mrs. Donahue says. "This seems like it was an isolated incident, as horrible as it was." I have a sneaking suspicion she's talking about the heart attack, because no mother in her right mind would say that about her kid having a party out of a hospital room.

Then again, what mother is ever in her right mind? She's probably in denial, with a huge side of misplaced maternal pride.

"I see where Becca gets her –" primitive, I think, "– powers of deduction," I comment. "It is my expert medical opinion that she should stay here until we find out what's wrong with her."

"Yeah, I can see you're working real hard on that," Mr. Donahue mutters, zipping up an overnight bag.

"There are three…no, wait, four staff members working on her case right now," I inform him. Except for the fact that they're all in the clinic, wiping runny noses and handing out placebos like candy. "There would be five, except for the fact that I'm here, trying to convince you not to do this insanely stupid thing you're about to."

"What, getting my daughter out of the hands of a careless doctor?"

"She'll be back before the end of the week. She's safer here, where we can treat her immediately when we find out what's wrong."

"You can't even monitor her visitors; how can I expect you to find out what's wrong with her?"

"You're her daddy, therefore you're the one who's supposed to destroy her social life."

"My dad's never danced in front of my friends like that before," Becca chimes suddenly, glaring at me. Oh boy, am I intimidated; Thing One is mad at me.

"Danced?" Mrs. Donahue repeats, frowning.

"Danced?" her husband echoes. He stares at me expectantly.

"Wait a minute; I didn't hear this part," Cuddy says. "House, would you like to explain?"

"Not particularly," I admit.

"There was no dancing on this doctor's part," she assures them hurriedly.

"Why did it look weird?" Becca asks. "Something was wrong with you…Oh, your leg!" She stares at my cane, seeming to notice it for the first time. "Wow, that sucks. Now I get why Krista said she felt sorry for you."

They all look at me. I shrug. "Delusions of dancing doctors: another disturbing symptom. Are you sure you don't want to leave her here for another few hours?"

"I think she's safer with Jack the Ripper," Mrs. Donahue whispers to her husband.

"Jack the Ripper, I hear, wasn't very good with a scalpel." With that, I retreat to the safety of my office.

Ten minutes later, Cuddy passes through to mention that the Donahues are gone. Frankly, I'm not surprised.

Three days later, I am sitting in the Department of Diagnostic Medicine's lounge with my team. We've trashed the notes, we've recycled the case files, we've even erased the white board. Right now, we're researching.

"Disease affecting the circulation, seen in the extremities. 8 letters," Chase reads from his crossword.

"Reynaud's," we all chime.

He scribbles it in. "What do you know, it fits."

"I want another case," Cameron complains. "We can't sit here expecting them to come to us."

"It's not like we can make people sick," Foreman reminds her.

"Sure you can," I counter. "One look at your face, and they'll flock to the hospital in herds with vomiting, chills, and night terrors instantaneously."

"By that same logic, I suppose you could say Becca keeled over in fright after seeing you. Gregory House presents with heart attacks."

"Yeah, well, your mama," I mutter, taking a swig of coffee.

A ghost appears in the window, so pale and ghastly I almost do the unthinkable and spit the coffee out. Instead I swallow it quickly and ask, "What is that doing there?"

Cameron glances up. "It's Isabelle," she says in surprise.

"Ah, the little twin that couldn't," I say, "be as much of an idiot as the rest of her family, that is. Come in." I motion a welcome to her.

Isabelle steps into the room and stands in the corner shyly.

"We don't bite," I tell her. "I should warn you, though, Chase has a nasty habit of licking people when they get too close."

"She's a minor," he replies nonchalantly. "She's safe."

"It hasn't stopped you before."

Isabelle takes a step back, eyeing us warily. "Becca's back," she says. "She had another heart attack. They just brought her in ten minutes ago."

I throw my hands up in victory. "I knew this would happen," I inform them triumphantly. "Nobody ever listens to me."

"It's hard not to, when you talk all the time anyway," Chase mutters.

"Cuddy will be here in about two minutes with a blush on her cheek and a file in her hand," I predict. "Let's send her right back out with a diagnosis. Go to it, team."

They stare at me blankly.

"Stunning performance," Isabelle says after a moment. "I never would have thought of that."

"They're…tired," I say dismissively. "Come on, what were you saying before? Cameron, you had something about…almonds?"

"Peanuts," she corrects me, sounding pained.

"Chase?"

"Still working on your illogical guesses, and if you yodel in my ear again, I'll quit."

"Make a note of that," I instruct Cameron. "Foreman?"

"Anything and everything for toxins," he replies.

"Impressive," Isabelle says.

Cuddy raps on the door. "House! She's back!"

"Okay." She nods and scurries to her office to write up the paperwork. "Cameron, go take vitals. Chase, take some blood and get counts of all the cells. Foreman, after they're done, I want you to get another MRI of the heart to see if anything's changed. Isabelle…"

"I'm going to the vending machines," she announces.

"Bring me some Skittles," I request. "And I'm short on cash again."

"The bank of Isabelle is closed. Try again tomorrow."

"I can't save your body double's life without some sustenance, man. Work with me."

She sighs. "Look, my parents kind of got pissed at me for talking back to them and they cut off my allowance for a month."

"Let that be a lesson to you: don't diss people that can't appreciate your wit." I hand her a few quarters. "Good-bye."

Once they've run off to do their duties, I step into my office and walk to my desk. There, I open the bottom drawer and pull out the most useful invention known to mankind: the baby monitor. I pick it up and stand casually in the hall until Foreman wheels Becca out of the room, then walk down the hall and set the speaker up underneath the IV. The receiver sits in my office, itching for a test drive.

Thank God for cell phones. I pull mine out and dial Wilson.

"Dr. Wilson," he answers.

"Can you do me a favor?" I ask.

"I'm sure I could if I really tried," he replies.

"Go to my office."

I can practically hear him blinking in confusion. "What's in your office?"

"Just do it."

"Yes, sir," he says dutifully. "And I'm doing this why?"

"You'll see."

I listen as he walks from his office to mine. "I'm in."

"Do you see the baby monitor on my desk?"

"House, is there something you need to tell me?"

"Turn it on."

He does. "Now what?"

"Put your cell phone down." I give him five seconds, then sing the most random song I can think of. "'Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?'" I ask. "'Don't you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me? Don't ya?'" I wait for a moment, then ask,"Can you hear me now?"

"Yes, and I'll be honest: I wish I hadn't."

"Good."

"Can I ask what the whole point of this strange and lewd experiment was?"

I step into the hall, satisfied with my work. "Well," I say, as my office comes into view. Jimmy glances up at me through the glass walls with a questioning look on his face. I hang up and step in. "There aren't going to be anymore of those all-the-rage hospital parties on my watch again. I've just installed the most cutting-edge surveillance technology the world has ever seen."

"Baby monitors have been around since you were in diapers."

I blatantly ignore his comment. "Well, at any rate, it's the most inconspicuous. Try getting anything past me with this on my side."

I know when he walks out in a huff that he's jealous. It's not everybody that can come up with sucha brilliant idea, after all. I lounge in my chair and wait for what happens next.

FYI: The song used above it by the Pussycat Dolls, whom I can see House listening to without too much difficulty, as he has an extensivetaste in music.

You know, my birthday's coming up. I'd sure love some reviews. (I know, not a very subtle hint, but it's all I can come up with right now.) Chapter Seven should be up shortly.