Title: Doppelganger
Summary: Something unknown is plaguing House and things are getting out of control, driving the pessimistic doctor to the edge of his sanity. Can he be brought back in time to save his latest patient? Can he even save himself?
Time Frame: After Vogler, before the Duckling Elimination Game. The time of year is probably completely incorrect, but I don't care. My fanfic, my mess.
Pairings: One-sided Cameron/House relationship (Cameron cares, House doesn't).
Author's Message: While writing this, I wasill with tonsillitis, so the illness contributes to any sucking that is taking place in this chapter. I tried as hard as I could, I swear... It's also slightly shorter than the two previous chapters, but that's because I wanted to end on a good moment. I'll do reviewer response on LJ shortly.
Warning: Chapter Four will not be coming until Chapter Seven is written and this might take more than a week. However, I will work as hard as I can when I have time. I've been getting a lot of homework recently and it's eating away all my free time... sobs
Disclaimer: I own not, I profit not, so please sue me not. I'm fourteen; I can't afford it. However, any characters that you haven't seen before (Nikki, Alex, etc.) are my own creation and belong to me. Hands off please.
Nikki opens her eyes and looks up at an unfamiliar ceiling with no idea why she is lying in a bed when she last remembers screaming in pain from an unbearable headache. Her head is still aching, but it is less intense that it was. More urgent in her mind is the sudden stinging pain in her left arm. She turns her head slowly, trying not to jolt it, and her gaze falls on a young blond man in a lab coat. He begins to pull back the plunger of the syringe in her arm and it slowly fills with swirling red. Nikki decides to say something as he hasn't noticed that she is awake.
"You gonna pay for that blood?" she asks.
The doctor looks up and smiles.
Nikki continues, "It's $5 a sample, but I'll give you a discount for multiple purchases."
"I'll pass," he laughs. "How are you feeling?"
"Lots of things hurt, but I'll get over it. Are you taking that for anything special?"
"Not really," he says. "Just the basic lab tests."
There is a pause in the conversation. The doctor pulls the syringe out of her arm, puts it in a small cardboard tray and tapes a small cotton pad of the puncture wound in Nikki's arm. Nikki lifts up her right hand and examines the IV needle that is sticking into the back of it with vague interest.
"You've got an odd accent," she comments. "Are you British or something?"
"Australian," the doctor corrects. "I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Dr. Chase."
"I'm Nikki," Nikki says.
She smiles in a friendly way then yawns. Chase picks up the syringe full of blood.
"I've gotta take these down to the lab, but I or one of my colleagues will see you later, okay?"
"Sure," Nikki replies. "I can take a nap or something. I'm not going to go anywhere, am I?"
House watches Chase walk away in the opposite direction before hobbling up to the window to look in. He does it often. It's almost as though looking at the patient can help to diagnose them. It doesn't work, but it has developed into a habit. He stays like that for several minutes, just staring. Then somebody speaks at his shoulder.
"The patients probably prefer to be talked to rather than watched," Wilson says.
"And the doctors prefer to watch them rather than talk to them," House replies. "What are you doing here?"
Wilson doesn't answer. He is looking through the window himself, a small frown on his face. House nearly grins.
"What happened to your 'talking not watching' mantra?" he asks with amusement.
Wilson ignores the question.
"Does she... look... familiar to you?" he asks slowly.
House frowns too. He looks at his only friend doubtfully (in spite of his own earlier feelings of recognition), then turns to look at the girl once more. Almost as though she can sense the double gaze, she turns her head in their direction and opens her eyes. She looks at them, then adopts a frown that looks so familiar to House that he is sure that he has seen it before. He turns his head to mention this to Wilson and freezes. He can see the exact same frown on Wilson's face. And the name on her file, Nikki Wilson. It was all so obvious.
"Come on," he says bluntly.
Without waiting for a response from Wilson, House limps towards the door of the room and walks in. Wilson follows, confused beyond belief. Nikki turns her head to follow them and looks up in surprise; she had heard the rumors that Dr. House never visited his patients, yet here he was. It was bizarre. But the other man, the one who looks rather familiar, she can't put a name to. Dr. House decides to make the introductions.
"Dr. James Wilson," he says, pointing to Wilson with his cane, "meet Nikki Wilson," pointing at Nikki.
Nikki's face lights up in recognition as House exits the room. Wilson, however, is still blissfully ignorant.
"I'm sorry about Dr. House," he begins. "He's-"
"Forget about him," Nikki interrupts. "Are you really Dr. James Wilson? From Oncology?"
Wilson stares at her. What the hell has House been saying him this time? He decides that whatever it is that he's done, it's better to admit it than lie about it.
"Yes, I am," he says. "Why do you want to know?"
Nikki looks slightly hurt.
"Don't you recognize me?" she asks, then laughs, "Nah, you wouldn't. I was five when you last saw me."
The cogs in Wilson's brain click into place. Five years old. Nikki Wilson. The realization obviously appeared in his eyes because Nikki smiled in a way that he did indeed remember.
"It's great to see you again, Uncle Jimmy," she says.
Outside the room, watching through the window, House suppresses a snort of laughter. Uncle Jimmy! Wilson is never going to live this down.
Who worked it out, I wonder? Well, if anybody did, I'm happy that you didn't say so. It would have been such a spoiler! Anyway, big thank yous to my reviewers: Janie Canuck, QT Roo, evila-elf and twizliz. I also thank Samantha who has be e-mailing me very enthusiastically (I wish I could keep up with demand).