"You have a minor strain of the flu."

"But I don't have a sore throat or anything!" House cleared his throat impatiently as the man rattled off a thousand reasons why he couldn't possibly have the flu.

"You feel cold, yet you have a temperature. You can't stop shaking. Your muscles ache. You have the flu." Gently pressing his cane across the small of the patient's back, House ushered him out of the room, handing him his file as they exited.

"Charlie!" Don yelled for his brother as he entered the house. After a moment, a mop of curly hair appeared over the edge of the banister. "We need you."

"Uh, okay… sure… just give me a second to finish up with these lecture notes and I'll…"

"'We' FBI Charlie, not 'we' Dad and I. C'mon." Don motioned with a sweep of his arm to emphasize the need for speed. The younger man's face creased slightly in thought as he ducked back into the room to grab his laptop. Taking the stairs two at a time, he joined his brother as they exited the house.

"What's up?" As soon as he had settled into the passenger seat, Charlie realized he hadn't asked where they were going, or why. Don pressed back into the seat and pushed a strained breath through his lips. He knew Charlie was sensitive to death. Unlike Don, Charlie couldn't distance himself from the victims. While Don had learnt to understand and control his emotions, Charlie had learnt to understand and control mathematics. That wasn't to say Charlie was sociallyinept, he just had a hard time dealing with emotions – such as grief and shock – that he didn't encounter in daily life. In a way Don was glad for this, but callous though he knew it must sound, it often made the job of getting his brother involved in a case all the more difficult.

"Charlie, you know the case that the media has been all over, about Natalie Anastas?" When a blank look crossed his brother's face, Don continued "She was found dead in her apartement. According to her doctor, she'd been staying home from work with a headcold."

Charlie nodded. If it had been left at that, nothing would have come of it. But later that week another girl, Lolita James, had been found dead in similar circumstances. Coincidence perhaps, although the deaths of two 20-somethings from a simple cold started sounding some alarm bells in the heads of the FBI's bioterrorism team. They had decided to keep a quiet eye on things when the Los Angeles Police Department received a threat of another death. A week later, and the family of a third young victim were being consoled. After the death of Louise Mayer, Don's team had received a tip-off about the threat-maker. Two hours later, Jesse Anderson was in the holding cell at the local precinct, looking mighty smug as one of LA's finest commenced the interview.

Homicide Detective Perce Washington looked nothing like a man of his rank should. That was the first thought to cross Don's mind as he studied the interview from behind the one-way mirror. The man was old, graying, slightly built… In fact he reminded Don of the elderly Italian men who sat in parks playing chess while their gossiping wives looked on. Obviously Anderson was having the same thoughts, a smirk crossing his face as he observed his interviewer.

Terry, standing next to Don, leant across and whispered in his ear.

"He thinks he has the upper hand. He's young, strong and arrogant. This old detective is past his prime. They brought him in here on a traffic charge, but he knows they know something. See the way he's slouched? He thinks he looks like he doesn't care. Instead, he looks like he's trying too hard."

After a moment or two of silence, the softly spoken detective jerked his head in the direction of the mirror.

"We're allowing the FBI to train a criminal profiler in the observation room. Is that okay with you, Mr. Anderson?" Don lips quirked into a small smile as he realized Washington's plan. It appeared to work too, as all observers noticed a slight yet recognizable deliberateness to Anderson's movements.

"Sure Detective, anything to help my country." Smug bastard, Don thought, and a glance at his partner convinced him she was having the same thoughts.

"So, Mr. Anderson, before we begin, are you sure you don't want a lawyer present?"

"I think I might want to call her now, thank-you sir."

Soon after that, the interview ended. Anderson was clearly not going to help them, his lawyer made sure of that. She had argued that a traffic infringement was no grounds for a police interview, and as the arresting officer had made no actual complaint against her client, he was to be released immediately. Without any evidence, other than the anonymous tip, there was nothing that could be done. But Terry and Don were both convinced – even if he wasn't the killer, he was a part of the crime.

Sorry I have to leave it like this guys, but I have to go to work in 20mins! Lol. I know there was pretty-much nil House in this. Sorry sorry sorry! Had to do some background stuff. Thanks everyone for the wonderful reviews. Keep it up:p

-Cass.