As you may have already guessed, not only do I not own House or Numb3rs, but I actually don't know much about the Numb3r's characters' histories. So I kinda made it up. I hope it doesn't go against anything revealed on the show. This will be shorter than the rest, cos my time off got cut short also. Dang work. UPDATE okay, i tried posting this several times yesterday, but it wouldn't upload. Now it has.

-Cass.

"Three patients. All were admitted in the past hour, all complaining of tightness in their chests, and general 'flu-like symptoms."

Chase looked up from where he sat reading at the table. Cameron and Foreman, who had been discussing a previous case by the window, both stopped talking and turned to House, who had just flung open the office door and stalked in. He slapped three manila folders onto the table. Chase recovered quickest from the intrusion and spouted off a diagnosis.

"They have the 'flu."

"Thank-you, Captain Obvious. Unfortunately, they probably don't."

Cameron ignored House's biting remark. Chase rarely got the diagnosis right anyway. She looked at her boss, a puzzled look on her face as she slid her reading glasses off. "Why don't they have the 'flu?"

Foreman remained quiet, and Chase glowered.

"Ah, now you see, here's where this gets messy. The Feds have had a couple of deaths from 'flu-like symptoms in the past week. And the Feds being the Feds, they have decided its bioterrorism. CDC has sent around a memo to all the major hospitals in the US asking us to hold anyone who has developed these symptoms 'overnight'."

"Okay, so why do we have the cases?"

"Because Cuddy is trying to take revenge on me. Because God hates me. Because this will finally be the case that cracks through my icy heart and touches me in a special place. Not that special place Chase, gees, grow up. Why do we have the case? I don't know. But we do."

"So what do we do?" Foreman finally spoke up, asking the same question that plagued all of their minds.

"We wait. The Feds are on their way here. Flying in from sunny old LA."

Don gently shook Terry's arm as the plane taxied along the runway at Newark International Airport. His partner groaned slightly and turned her head away. Don shook her shoulder again.

"Terry. We're here." The woman kept her eyes closed, but quietly muttered a curse. Don smirked. The pair shifted uncomfortably in their seats as they waited for the plane to come to a full stop before undoing the seatbelts.

As they walked, laughing at a private joke through the busy airport and out into the cab queue, Terry hugged her coat tighter around herself.

"This is why I live in California. It's warm, even in winter. Snow is pretty, but I don't think I could stand having to scrape ice off my windshield before I could even drive to work in the morning."

They hailed a cab and the driver put their bags in the trunk. Don held open Terry's door for her, and slid himself in once she was over the other side. He gave the destination to the driver, and turned back to face Terry.

"I don't know. Sometimes I think it'd be nice to have a white Christmas. And New Jersey doesn't seem to have the same amount of pollution as LA."

Terry nodded her head. "Don, I grew up in Vermont. I've seen enough white Christmases to last me a lifetime. Give me sunlight and slush-free roads any day."

"Don't forget, you're talking to the guy who first saw snow only after joining the FBI."

"What a sheltered life you led, Don Eppes." A sly grin crossed Terry's face as she teased Don. Their eyes met for a moment before they both looked away, shaking their heads and laughing.

Dr. Cuddy was tired. She had spent the morning filing paperwork and stalking Dr. House through the corridors of PPTH, and now she had the Feds coming to assess three of the Diagnostic Department's patients for a possible act of bioterrorism. She sat hunched over in her chair, swiveling slightly from side to side behind her desk as she rubbed her fingers across her worried brow.

Buzzing through to her receptionist (or a House referred to him, her "Mr. Spanky"), Cuddy checked that she had no appointments for the next half hour, and slipped her heels off, stretching her toes and running her stocking-ed feet across the carpet beneath her desk. The relief of having at least one part of her body relaxed was cut short by the sound of a short, sharp buzz, and a static-y male voice telling her that she had visitors. She sighed.

"Show them in please, Ralph."

Next time: First impressions, and Meet the Patients.

Please R&R! I live for reviews! (and they make me feel guilty and write more)

-Cass.