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), Chase/Nikki

Author's Message: Bit of a filler chapter to be honest, but it does hold it's own importance in a way. And we get to see another side of Cuddy other than yelling!Cuddy. Apart from that, there's not really much to say other than please enjoy! Oh, and I apologise for taking a decade to get this up. Life is such a bitch sometimes. Rest assured that I am taking a notebook with me on my school trip to write some more so that updates will once again become, if not regular, more frequent. Check out my LJ for further apologetic wailings and reviewer responses

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 stares at the ceiling, her head gently pulsing with light pain and her mind slightly fuzzed with the morphine, and sighs. Lying on your back for a long period of time when you can't sleep and you have nothing to do is very boring, even if your mind is half blank from medical drugs.

"Nikki?"

That voice, she knows that voice...

"Uncle Jimmy?" she says incredulously. "You've come back after what Dad said?"

"Of course I did. We're family," Wilson replies seriously.

He sits down on the edge of her bed and takes her hand gently in his.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" he asks ruefully. "I've missed you."

"Why didn't you come and find me?"

"Lots of reasons. Your dad. Memories. The fact that you moved away without giving me a return address."

Nikki laughs soft and sadly.

"I've missed you too, Uncle Jimmy," she says. "But was what Dad said true? Were you in a crash with Mom?"

Wilson nods.

"I guess it must have been hard for you as well as Dad," she says thoughtfully. "I don't really remember much of Mom anyway. I guess it would have been nice to know her, but... I've had a good life so far. Don't feel guilty, Uncle Jimmy. I'm not angry."

'It's strange,' Wilson thinks, 'that such small words from a teenager can make a person feel so much better.' He smiles.

"We've got a lot of catching up to do," he says. "First of all, the ancient cliché: how's school?"

Another laugh. Nikki has laughed more in the last few minutes than the last few weeks. It feels good. She begins to talk.

House limps into the diagnostics room to find that it is completely empty except for the white board and Cameron's little pink nodding creature with its creepy, vacant smile. As nobody is there and there are no extra symptoms written on the board, House turns around and makes his way to his office. Once through the glass door, he settles down behind his desk and looks at his 'in' tray. Oddly enough, there is nothing in there. Odd especially as Cuddy often sends him a notice about clinic duty if she doesn't get to see him. Deciding that she doesn't want him down there after all, he sits back in his chair and throws his oversize tennis ball against the glass window. It hits the glass and rolls of sight. Damn. With a low, annoyed growl, he pulls himself painfully to his feet and casts his gaze left and right, looking for his tennis ball. 'Damn it, where has that thing gone?' He turns around to face his desk to see the tennis ball back on the surface. He stares, baffled. 'I didn't pick that up. Who the hell did?' He shrugs and sits back down at his desk, leaving the ball alone. It has taken on a sinister air that House doesn't really believe in, but which keeps him away from it anyway. He opens his desk draw and feels around for his Gameboy.

Roughly twenty seconds after he turns on the miniature games console, Foreman bursts into the room with an annoyed expression on his face.

"Dr House, don't you want to know the results of Nikki's lumbar puncture?" he asks.

"You did the lumbar puncture first? Wouldn't it be more logical to do the CT scan first when you can actually move the patient?"

"There were no empty slots until tomorrow," Foreman explains with miraculous patience, "so we decided to schedule the lumbar puncture for today so that we could have some results."

"And you expect me to use my wonderful psychic powers to know this?" House asks, his words dripping with sarcasm.

"No."

House looks pleased.

"I expect you to know from the memo I left in your 'in' tray this morning. Didn't you read it?"

House's face falls.

"What memo?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you need me to write it down?" House snaps. "There was nothing in my 'in' tray, so I say again: what memo?"

"The memo that I left here this morning which has apparently disappeared."

Foreman's gaze moves instantly to the trash can and he kneels down next to it, looking for the memo. It would be just like House to simply throw the memo away without reading it. House takes on a wounded expression.

"What, don't you trust me to read the memos you send me?"

Recognizing his handwriting, Foreman plucks the memo he wrote out of the bin and smoothes it out.

"Actually, no I don't," he says. "This is the memo I left you."

House is thrown. He did not throw that memo in the bin. He hasn't seen it before. But somebody came into his office, screwed it up and threw it in his trash can. He alters his expression from shock and anger to a familiar one of vague annoyance.

"Never mind that. What are the results?" he asks.

"She has an increased number of white blood cells and an increased protein level. Glucose is normal. Oh, and Chase said that she's complaining of muscle pain."

"So it's probably an infection," House muses. "Schedule the CT scan anyway. You can't be too careful. And start her on 100 mg of Ampicillin and 600 mg of Rifampin IV."

Foreman pauses.

"That's the treatment for meningitis," he says.

"Yeah," House agrees. "Cameron suggested that. If it's an infection, we might as well treat the most likely cause. Will you chuck that again on your way out?"

Foreman bins the memo and walks out of the room. House curses under his breath. Who would come into his room and bin important documents? Wait, reverse that: who wouldn't? Well, Cameron wouldn't. Cuddy wouldn't. Wilson might if it was his idea of a joke, but unlikely. Foreman hadn't as he had been as surprised as House. Chase? A possibility, but unlikely. An intern? Very likely, he's antagonized at least half of them in his time. Vogler? That bastard would probably love it. But House is woken from his musings by Cuddy bursting through the door. House considers making a quip about her blood pressure, but decides against it. A rare event for House.

"Where have you been!" she practically wails.

"Well, I went home, I enjoyed my hooker, I woke up later..."

Cuddy sighs.

"I mean after you had lunch," she says. "I left a note in your 'in' tray that you were to come to clinic as soon as possible."

She sits down in the chair on the other side of House's desk and sighs again.

"I left you a note," she repeats. "I've got Chase covering your shift. What do you think that you're doing? Do you want to give Vogler a reason to fire you? He's probably dreaming up a dozen good excuses as we speak!"

"Okay, three points," House says, raising three fingers to illustrate. "Number one: what Vogler fantasizes about in his spare time is none of my business. Number two: somebody pushed the button on my alarm clock and somebody moved my car keys. Not guilty on either count. Number three: there was. No. Note."

Cuddy raises her hands in a defensive gesture.

"Fine, fine," she says. "If you want to just ignore my notes, go ahead. See where it gets you."

"I'm telling you there was no note!"

Cuddy stands up and walks to the door.

"You keep telling yourself that," she says without looking at him. "It won't make it true."

And she walks out. The silence is more annoying and more... more hurtful than any comment could be. House curses again and struggles to his feet, walking around to the trash can. He notices a piece of paper with Cuddy's neat handwriting on it.

"What the hell is going on?" he asks nobody.

And, of course, nobody replies.

So yeah. I'll update again once chapter ten is written. So far it has... (goes off to check with word count)... exactly 20 words. It's a start, it's a start. I'll work on it in Paris when I have spare time. Gomen nasai!