The Merry ban are a riot, but also rather quiet.

They may moan and give the occasional groan

They may complain and sometimes be a pain

But very bright are these erudites.

Knowledge they seek for the benefit it reeks

Their homework is cruel (always as a rule)

It drives them mad which is rather sad

Pile upon pile, (the sight is quite vile)

But through it they plough, so to them I must bow

It is no meek feature considering their teacher

(A vile, horrid creature, I tell you reader)

But through it they persevere, and for it I hold them dear.

Now, let's end the accolades and have the disclaimer without delay

These characters are not mine, in any shape, form, or kind

Nor is The Hunting of the Snark, or any other literary remarks

Then the Butcher contrived an ingenious plan

For making a separate sally;

And fixed on a spot unfrequented by man'

A dismal and desolate valley

Wendum awoke in a confusion of arms and legs. His mouth was dry and felt as if something had crawled in it and died. Wiping sleep from his eyes, he surveyed the situation. The foot of a young Asian lady was under his arm and the head of a young blonde woman lay on his shoulder with her arm wrapped around his chest. Wendum blinked, focusing his vision as he glanced around the room. He had no idea where he was. Slowly trying to disentangle himself from the two co-eds, he slid off the bed and looked at the floor. A nude young man was sprawled half out, half under the side of the bed. As he searched frantically for his clothing, Wendum tried to remember how he had ended up in this position. He remembered going to the toilet, and being approached by a young man while he was using the urinal.

'Hey,' said the boy, he couldn't have been more than eighteen.

'Sorry,' mumbled Wendum, 'you're not my flavor.'

'Hey man, that's cool,' said the boy holding out a hand. In it he had a small bag containing four or five tablets. 'I thought you just might want to get a party rolling or something.'

He eyed the boy as he finished at the urinal and moved to wash his hands. The boy stood next to a stall watching him. 'How much?' Wendum asked as he turned to leave the room.

The boy grinned, 'include me and I'll give you a discount.'

Now, as he stooped to retrieve his pants and other clothing from the mound on the living room floor, Wendum cursed to himself. He checked his coat and found his wallet. Opening it, he sighed as he discovered his money and credit cards were still firmly in place. He needed to get back to his apartment, shower and change for the hospital. Plus, he had the entire Dr. Cameron issue he needed to deal with. Pulling on his clothes, he crawled around floor attempting to seek a missing sock, before finally dismissing it. Pulling the sock he had found off, he stuffed it in his coat pocket and quickly placed his shoes on his feet. Dressed, Wendum hurried from the apartment, hoping he was somewhere he could easily hail a taxi.

Each thought he was thinking of nothing but "Snark"

And the glorious work of the day;

And each tried to pretend that he did not remark

That the other was going that way.

When Winslow arrived at his office, he instantly knew something was happening in the hospital. Every nursing station and corner held nurses and doctors whispering quietly and urgently to one another. 'Something is definitely up,' thought the old man as he took out his keys and entered his office. Unfortunately his usual source of gossip, a med-student named Quincy was no where to be seen and the other immunologists, Barlow and Bowman, were making their rounds.

Winslow sighed deeply as he rubbed his bald head. He was going to have to socialize with the nurses to find out the dirt, and he hated socializing with the nursing. Glancing at Cameron's office, Winslow made a mental note to give her a going over for being late for work. He also noticed Wendum's office was dark. 'Interesting,' he mumbled to himself, sitting down to read the morning emails and listen to the phone messages. Flipping on the computer, Winslow settled back in his chair as he logged on and reached for the files lying on his desk. As he flipped through the files, a frown grew longer and longer on his face. 'Cameron didn't check any of her patients last night,' Wendum said aloud to himself, 'how extraordinarily odd.'

Reaching for the phone, he poked him her number. The extension rang, but without answer. Tapping the disconnection, Winslow punched in the extension to diagnostics.

'Hello, diagnostics,' came an Austrian accent. Winslow racked his brain trying to remember which one of House's lackeys was Austrian, taking a guess he threw out a name which sounded vaguely right, 'Um, Dr. Foreman?'

'One sec,' the replied the man on the other end, to be quickly replaced with a deeper mid-western mixed with Californian ascent. 'Hello.'

'Dr. Foreman?'

'Yes?'

'This is Winslow in immunology.'

There was a pause, followed by a quick muffled conversation before the voice on the other end answered, 'Yes?'

Winslow rolled his eyes thinking House's lackeys were only capable of mono-syllabic communication. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to have patience; he did not need his blood pressure to rise so early in the morning. 'I am looking for Dr. Cameron, she hasn't arrived this morning and I was thinking perhaps she might have confused the location of her employment.'

There was silence on the other end of the extension, making Winslow wonder if he had used too many words for the diagnostician. The voice on the other end of the line cleared its throat loudly before answering.

'Dr. Cameron was admitted last night. I'm surprised no one in your department informed you.' There was an edge in Foreman's voice which made Winslow grimace. Just because his department didn't jump in bed with each other and hang out together didn't mean they did not communicate, which was what he assumed the man was implying.

'Admitted? Why?' asked Winslow impatiently?

Foreman's reply was firm and final 'I think you should call Dr. Cuddy, Dr. Winslow.'

Seeing he was getting nowhere, Winslow quickly thanked Foreman and hung up the phone. Just as he was about the dial Cuddy, Quincy entered the department. Setting down the receiver, Winslow called out to the young man, beckoning him into his office.

'Yes?' asked Quincy vacillating if he were in trouble or not.

Winslow smiled brightly at the young medical student and motioned for him to sit down. Reluctantly complying, Quincy sat in the chair across from Winslow's desk, certain he had done something which was about to require a lengthy reprimand.

'So,' said Winslow once Quincy was settled, 'tell me what's going on?'

'Excuse me sir?'

Winslow was beginning to loose his patience. 'I have just been informed Dr. Cameron was admitted to the hospital as a patient.'

'And Dr. House,' interjected the med-student.

This took Winslow back. Raising an eyebrow he surveyed the medical student. 'Did they try to kill one another?' he asked quite seriously as he picked up a pen and started twirling it between his fingers.

Quincy squirmed in his chair; he liked Cameron. She had always been more than pleasant to him and always took time to answer any question he had presented her, unlike the man sitting across from him. Speaking about her to Winslow felt as if it were some form of betrayal. 'No sir,' he answered at last. 'Dr. Cameron is pregnant and they thought she had a miscarriage. Drs. Cuddy and Stewart admitted her for observation.'

'Great, just fucking great,' declared Winslow angrily. 'Pregnant! Do you have any idea how many hours of work she is going to miss, not to mention all of us having to deal with her running off to check on the children in the nursery?' Winslow said the last in a mocking tone.

Quincy winced, he did not like Winslow and his attitude toward the entire situation was making him angry. He eyed the pen still being twirled in Winslow's hand, hoping Winslow would manage to jab himself with it.

'Does she at least know who the father is?' asked Winslow disingenuously.

'Dr. House.' Quincy gave him a hostile look.

'Shit,' said Winslow rubbing his bald head. 'That means he'll be down here demanding I cut back her hours.' He hesitated a moment, thinking. 'Didn't you say he was admitted too?'

Quincy nodded. 'He crashed his motorcycle in to the side entrance last night, but they released him a couple of hours ago.' He wished he possessed telekinesis. If he had, thought Quincy, he would will Winslow's pen to fly into the air and jab the old man repeatedly in the eyes in a poetic oedipal manner.

'Too bad it didn't kill him,' Winslow smirked and laughed loudly which instantly brought Quincy to his feet. He knew he needed to leave the room before he said something evil to the old man.

'If you'll excuse me sir,' he mumbled under his breath as he headed for the door.

'Yeah, yeah, just one more thing,' called out Winslow finally dropping the pen on the desktop.

Quincy stopped and turned to his superior, inwardly cringing at every second he had to spend in his presence, 'Sir?'

'What's all the gossip about, House smashing himself up?'

Quincy shook his head, 'No sir, everyone is talking about Dr. Wendum.'

'Wendum, why?' queried Winslow curiously, his face surprised.

Stepping back into the room, Quincy gave Winslow a serious look thinking to himself, 'maybe this will burst your bubble you old fart,' before saying aloud. 'The rumor is he tried to rape Dr. Cameron and that is why is almost lost her baby. Everyone is also saying Dr. House wrecked his motorcycle because he was on his way here to kill Wendum.' Turning on his heel, Quincy left the office, as Winslow sat with his eyes wide and his mouth open. As he watched the med-student quickly exit, Winslow let out of slow whistle of disbelief.

Turning back to his computer, Winslow tapped at the keyboard, hesitated, and tapped again. Dismissing it entirely he began strumming his fingers on his desk as he thought about the situation before him. House would be on a rampage that he did not doubt, but in his opinion, House was always on one about something. What mattered, even if it meant dismissing what Wendum may have or have not done, House was looking for him. With rumors as they were in the hospital, it was hard to say tell what truth was and what was fiction. 'Best to see for myself,' mumbled Winslow to himself as he rose from the desk and grabbed his coat. Slipping glasses onto the end of his nose, he quickly jotted down the address of Wendum's apartment.

Author's Notes

The Hunting of the Snark was written by Lewis Carroll,

Don't worry people...I am working on what is going to happen to Wendum.And I promise, it will be soon or my Merry Ban is going to throttle me. Thanks for the reviews, (I can honestly admit they inspire me to write more.)...CBB