You know my methods. Apply them!
Sherlock Holmes, Hound of the Baskervilles
Cameron arrived early again the following morning. The lab results had come back to confirm House's diagnosis and it would be a few days until they knew if the antibiotics were working. Still, there was always something to be done. To her surprise, House was already in, sitting eating cereal and holding an amicable argument with Wilson. Automatically, Cameron checked her watch to make sure that it hadn't stopped and that she wasn't, in fact, late.
"You can't know that," Wilson was saying. "It could indicate anything."
"It could, but it doesn't." House acknowledged Cameron with a nod and said through his next mouthful of cereal, "No-one buys a shirt like that without malice aforethought."
"Maybe he's color-blind," Wilson suggested. "Or maybe he just has really bad taste."
"Nope. Fifty says he's doing the candy-striper. His wife just wants to make sure it gets broken off. That's why she got him the shirt." House finished his breakfast by lifting the bowl and tipping the last dregs of milk into his mouth. Long past being disconcerted by his bad habits, Cameron took off her coat and went over to the white board. It was covered in words and phrases.
"What's this?" she asked.
"A case. I'd offer you breakfast," House added, "but Wilson ate the last of the cheerios. Feel free to make coffee though."
"You actually took one of those cases? I thought you weren't interested."
"But you were basing that conclusion on my total indifference up to that point. That was your first mistake. Actually, after someone dropped the files all over my floor, someone had to pick them up again and that someone noticed something interesting about one of them."
Cameron paused by the coffee machine. "You dropped the files on the floor."
"Look, we're not into finger pointing around here," House said, loftily. "What's done is done. The important thing is to get the patient better, right?"
"Riiight." Torn between being surprised and being pleased, Cameron settled for being suspicious. "Because you care so much about them."
"You know," House said to Wilson, "that's the second time in two days that someone's accused me of being uncaring. I'm starting to become paranoid."
"No need," Wilson told him. "You're not paranoid if it's true."
"I'm not sure that made sense," House mused. "Shouldn't you be off making someone's hair fall out or something?"
Ignoring both of them, Cameron was reading the white board. "You're doing a differential based on symptoms including flying toast, exploding tables and," she tilted her head, "signing walls?"
"Singing whales," House corrected. "Wilson wrote that one. And I'm not doing a differential becauseI've done the differential. They're just there for the laughs."
"Well they don't sound muchlike symptoms," Cameron said.
"They're not. They are the ramblings of a twenty-two year old woman with apparent sudden onset schizophrenia and a fever."
"Apparent schizophrenia?" Cameron brought three coffees to the table, dropping two packets of sugar alongside House's.
"Diagnosis of exclusion. I found something they hadn't bothered to look for."
Cameron thought she remembered the case from the selection of files she'd given him the previous day. "They checked everything. That's why we ended up with it. And I don't remember seeing fever as one of the symptoms."
"She only developed that last night. Which is what gave the game away." House looked particularly smug.
"You visited her last night?" Cameron couldn't hide her surprise.
"He spent the night in the psych ward," Wilson told her. "Not before time."
"If you two are done, maybe you might be interested in what was actually wrong with her. You," House waved his stirrer in Cameron's direction, spraying Wilson with coffee, "get an extra brownie point for this one, even if it did turn out to be simple to treat. Only the third recorded case. Or it will be when the labs get back."
"Case of what? If it's so rare-"
"Rare and interesting. Meningoencephalitis caused by chlamidiae pneumonia infection. Since none of you read Portuguese, you wouldn't know about the first case, but the second was in English, so shame on you. I might have to take back that brownie point."
"Wow," Cameron said. "You took a case, visited a patient and almost managed to say thank you. Who are you and what have you done with Doctor House?"
"There goes another point. You'll be in the negative at this rate." House glared at her. "Did I finish all my dictations yet?"
"No, I finished them," Cameron replied evenly. "Yesterday. And all your charting and your correspondence."
"You could go dust something then? Washing-up?" He pushed his cereal bowl towards her. "Or I'm sure Wilson could provide you with a dying kid if you just want to hold someone's hand."
"What about the rest of the consults?" she asked. "Do they just get ignored because they weren't on the top of the pile?"
"Pile?" House looked blank. "What pile? There was a pile?" He held his spoon up in front of his nose, moving it backwards and forwards, making his eyes cross. "You just have to realise, there is no spoon."
Coming in at this point, Chase showed impressively little surprise at his boss's statement.
"Morning," he said to the world in general and headed straight to the coffee machine. Despite the interruption, Cameron wasn't going to give up.
"If they're all this simple to you, they won't take you more than a day to get through."
"True," House conceded, "but where would the fun be in that?"
"Fun? You're talking about people's lives!"
"Aren't we always?" House dropped the spoon in his cereal bowl and looked at her. "If you think they're so simple, why don't you give a consult?"
"They asked for you."
"I didn't ask who they asked for. They asked for a diagnostician, which you're supposed to be. Hell, you could even have signed my name, since I told you not to make my 'G's so girly." He leaned closer to her. "So either you don't want to because you're scared of the responsibility, or because you're scared that you're not as good a doctor as I am. Which is it?"
Cameron was saved from having to reply by Foreman's entrance. He must have heard the argument from down the corridor, because he stood for a moment, taking in the scene. Then he said,
"I can go out and come back in again if it helps."
"Not at all. Come join the party." House grabbed his cane from the table, narrowly missing Wilson's ear, and headed towards his office. "Have I got a surprise for you guys or what?"
"Or what, I hope." Chase muttered, cradling his mug as he leant against the back of a chair.
House was back after a few seconds, clutching three blue patient files which he threw onto the central table. "Any complaints afterwards, see Cameron. She's the one who wants me to take more cases, so surprise! I decided to take on three."
"Three?" Chase repeated, eyeing the files suspiciously.
"Tres, trois, drei, tre, drie, sahn, san, pingasut, tatu, thalatha." House rolled his eyes. "Three. Three of them, three of you, which by my math makes it one each."
"You're giving us your cases?" Foreman asked.
"Technically, I'm making them your cases. I'll be supervising, of course. But I think you'll find I'm a hands-off kind of guy when it comes to these things. And just to keep it interesting…" He produced three envelopes from an inside pocket.
"Prizes for the winners?" Foreman asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nope, I'm far too cheap for that, just ask Wilson. No, these are my diagnoses for each of the three cases. Purely based on the case files."
"You already know what's wrong with them, but you want us to go diagnose them?" Cameron asked.
"Why not? I could be wrong." House's tone made it clear how likely he thought that was. "You'll have so much more information than me; just think of all the bright and shining new data you can collect."
Foreman shrugged, and came over to the table, pulling the file with his name on it out from under Chase and Cameron's.
"What are you going to be doing while we're doing your work for you?" He asked.
"You always do my work for me," House said. "You guys run tests, hold the patient's hands, break into the houses. I do the thinking. So just for this once, you get to do both – how exciting is that?"
Chase looked up from his own file. "And meanwhile you'll be doing – what exactly?"
"I'll be around if any of you want a consult. But no cheating."
"You either," Cameron said. "Give the envelopes to Doctor Wilson." She turned a page in the file, only looking up when House replied,
"Don't you trust me?"
"Not an inch."
House shrugged. "Fine. Very sensible." He handed the envelopes over to Wilson and gave his team an expectant look. "Well? These people aren't going to cure themselves, are they? Hop to it!"
He watched them go, exchanging sceptical looks as they did so.
"Don't you ever get sick of messing with their heads?" Wilson asked.
"Not really, when there are so many different ways of doing it. Keeps me fresh." House tapped his cane on the ground a few times, looking out into the corridor. Wilson knew he was leading up to something, and wasn't at all inclined to help. Still without looking, House said, "Did you make that phone call yesterday?"
Momentarily thrown, Wilson answered honestly without thinking. "Yes." His eyes narrowed. "Why do you care?"
"I don't." House said quickly. "That's why I passed it on to you, remember? Just wanted to check that you're actually doing your job."
"You're checking that I'm working? Did I miss the end of the world last night? Why do you want to know?"
"Why not?" House retorted, starting to retreat into his office. "I'm allowed to take an interest in patients, aren't I?"
"Allowed, yes. Inclined, no. What's really going on?" Following his friend, Wilson leant against the doorway, arms folded.
"I'm just following up. Being thorough. It's what you and Cuddy are always on at me to do, isn't it?And I thought you'd be pleased." House began to leaf through a stack of papers on his desk as though looking for something.
"You don't just follow up on things, House," Wilson said. "You get interested or you ignore them. So you're interested. Either there's something in the case file that you saw and I didn't – and since you referred it to me in the first place, I'm guessing it's not that – or there's something else going on here."
"Astonishing deductions. Where the hell is it?" He pushed past Wilson, almost knocking him over and checking the bookshelves in the lounge before returning to his office. "Ah, there it is." He retrieved the iPod from the armchair and dropped it into the docking station. "How do you come up with them?"
"Do you think that if you keep avoiding the question I'm going to give up and go away?"
"Will you? Cos I can keep this up all day if you like." House was apparently occupied with choosing a track.
Wilson sighed, deciding he'd had enough. He'd half turned away, when a thought struck him. Turning back, he scanned the debris on House's desk, looking for what definitely wasn't there. A glance at Cameron's desk confirmed his suspicion.
"You got rid of the files," he said, not able to keep the surprise from his voice.
"What files?" House asked, not really listening.
"The files that Cameron brought you. They're not on your desk, not on her desk. Not on your bookcase. You read them, didn't you?"
"Hmm?"
"Oh drop the innocent act. It doesn't convince anyone. You haven't been home in two nights; you've solved two cases and been through at least twelve more. Three of them you've passed on to your team. How else could you have selected them?" Wilson came to stand in front of the desk, trying to get House to look at him. "What's going on?"
"You've got this far in your brilliant reasoning, don't tell me you can't go all the way." House didn't look up. "There's got to be a joke in there somewhere but that would just be crude," he added.
"Rachel Callings' death hit you harder than you expected, didn't it?" Wilson said quietly. "Work as an antidote to grief?"
"Trying to absolve myself of guilt, you mean?" House shrugged. "Maybe I just felt like a late night read. Since when has my working been a bad thing? You and Cuddy are always on at me to do more of it, although frankly I've never seen the point."
"It's ok to be angry at the death of a patient."
"Is that how you comfort all your nurses?" House said nastily. "Or do you use more direct methods?"
It was a cheap shot but it worked. Wilson shook his head, giving in. "Just don't work too hard. You might have an allergic reaction or something." He'd got as far as the door when he put his hand in his pocket and stopped dead. "Er, House?"
"Wilson?" House had swivelled his chair round to face the window.
"You want to give me back the envelopes?"
"Envelopes? Oh, these envelopes." House held them up, making Wilson come and get them. "You should take better care of other people's things."
"Most people don't have a friend who picks their pockets." Wilson double-checked that he had his wallet, keys and ID card before actually leaving the office. When he glanced over his shoulder, House was still sitting with his back to the window, the room full of the sounds of Pink Floyd.
Cuddy heard the beginnings of the argument from halfway down the hallway. None of the participants were actually shouting yet, but she judged she had about a minute and a half before they started. She rounded the corner at speed and was momentarily taken aback not to see House. Instead, his three Fellows were glaring at each other and getting in the way of the nurses outside the CT room.
"What the hell's going on here?" Reckoning she could match them glare for glare, Cuddy gestured to the files they were holding.
"We all need to use the CT scanner," Cameron explained.
"And for this you have a shouting match in the corridor. Do as House says, not as he does. And not as he says, most of the time." She herded the group to one side. "Who has the most urgent case?"
"That's the problem," Foreman said. "We all think we do."
"Give me the files. Come on, hand them over." Ignoring the mutinous looks, Cuddy flicked the first one open. "You're supposed to curb House's adolescent tendencies, not imitate them. Ok, who has the fourteen year old with the fever and abdominal pain?"
"Me," Cameron said. "He's getting worse and quickly. Ultrasound suggested a tumor in the right pararenal space and I need the CT to confirm."
"Right. And whose is the pregnant woman with breathing problems?"
"She's mine." Chase glared at the others defiantly before turning to Cuddy. "It's too sever to just be pregnancy asthma. I want to CT her chest-"
"I get the idea." Cuddy turned to Foreman. "So you have the twenty-two year old male with the fever and confusion, right?"
"And developing muscle rigidity. Could be meningitis or encephalitis, but I need a CT-"
"Ok, I said I get it!" Cuddy shook her head. "Where's House?" Three shrugs and three blank looks were all the reply she got. "Perfect. Well, short of making you play scissors, paper, rock, how do we resolve this?" She looked at them expectantly. When the silence continued and the blank looks threatened to turn into sulks, Cuddy gave in. "Fine, you asked for this. Pregnant woman gets priority – there's two lives at stake there, not just one. Boy with fever's next – his age gets him the sympathy vote. And your guy," she thrust the file at Foreman, "will just have to wait it out." Turning on her heel, she strode away, suspecting she knew where House would hide.
The clinic was never quiet, but at this time of day there were relatively few people waiting. The nurses confirmed her suspicion. House had been in exam room one with a patient since he'd arrived, over an hour ago.
She went straight into the room without bothering to knock; she didn't want to give him the warning. As expected, the patient was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching as House sat on a stool, playing on his Gameboy. She stood over him, not speaking, just glaring.
"You know," he said at last, "this really isn't a spectator sport."
"Really? Well last time I checked, medicine isn't one either. Although your employees looked about ready to start a boxing match in the hall."
"I'd back Cameron. She's probably an eye-gouger."
"What is going on? I can't normally get you to take on one patient at a time, let alone three."
"Well there's four if you count this guy." House nodded to the man perched on the end of the bed. He was small, rat-faced with a pencil-thin moustache and slicked back hair that he may have thought made him look like a Mediterranean stud. Cuddy's personal impression was more of a lecherous Italian waiter, but she gave him her 'Dean of Medicine' smile and nod. The sounds from House's Gameboy suggested something catastrophic had just happened, and Cuddy took the opportunity to pull the toy out of his hands.
"Hey!" House made a swipe for it, but she stepped back out of reach.
"What's going on? Why all the cases?"
"You're upset that I'm treating patients?" House folded his arms and leant back on the chair.
"I'm upset that you have doctors of this hospital arguing in the corridors."
"That's hardly my fault, unless I've set them a bad example by doing whatever's necessary to get the best treatment for my patients."
Changing tack, Cuddy tried to force the annoyance from her voice.
"I know you lost a patient on Sunday-"
"Monday morning, technically. If you're going to show unnecessary sympathy, at least get your facts right."
"But however upset you are, you do not have the right to screw around with other people's cases."
House put his head on one side. "So when I don't take on cases that are referred to me, you come and shout. When I take on cases that haven't been referred to me, you come and shout. When I do take on cases that have been referred to me, you shout. Maybe I should record your next venting session onto tape. Then I could listen to you shout from the comfort of my own home."
"Normally, I'd be in favour of your taking on cases, especially after a patient's death," Cuddy began.
"Work as the antidote to grief? Have you been talking to Wilson? Everyone's so concerned about my mental health all of a sudden."
"It's not all of a sudden, House." Cuddy glanced over her shoulder at the patient, still apparently waiting patiently, giving the occasional sniff. "Treat his cold then go talk to your team. I will not have fighting in the corridors of my hospital."
"It's always worked for us." House stood with surprising speed, reaching out a long arm to pluck the Gameboy from Cuddy's hand. "And this guy does not have a cold."
Both doctors looked at the patient who shifted uneasily under their stares.
"How long have you had these symptoms?" House asked, giving Cuddy an annoyingly knowing grin.
"About three weeks." The man sniffed morosely. "It's not doing much for my image, you know."
"Yeah, the sniffing's the only thing keeping the ladies away." House rolled his eyes. "And how along ago did your girlfriend leave?"
"How did you-" He gave House a frightened look. "About a month."
House turned to Cuddy. "He doesn't have a cold. He does have an ego problem, a really bad mirror and a teeny tiny brain. I'd recommend sterilisation for the sake of the gene pool."
"Hey!"
"Just trying to do future generations a favour. Go home, have a shower and wash that gunk out of your hair. You're using more oil than a Chinese restaurant. The scent of thenew brand of hair gelyou bought to console yourself after your girlfriend did the only sensible thing is giving you hayfever symptoms. And wash your moustache as well. They call it hair gel for a reason."
Out in reception, Cuddy stood over House as he scribbled something – no doubt illegible – on the patient chart and handed it to a nurse.
"My good deed for the day is done. Can I go home now?"
"No." Cuddy followed him to the elevators. "You can go talk to your staff and act like an actual doctor by helping them treat patients."
"How are they supposed to learn if I do everything for them?"
"All you're doing is creating arguments."
"And exactly how is that different to normal? I'm teaching them independence and self-reliance."
"Divide and conquer?"
"Asserting my authority. Think how impressed they'regoing to be when they find out I got there first."
Cuddy stopped short. "You already have a diagnosis and you're letting them fly blind?"
House jabbed at the elevator button in annoyance. "Between the three of them, they have nearly thirty years of medical training. If they can't apply it properly, that's their problem."
"And if the patients die while they're figuring it out? Is that just part of the learning process?"
"Isn't it always? As long as they've got me to fall back on, they're only ever going to do that. And they're still free to do that now. They always think they're right anyway, but this time they get to take responsibility for their actions."
"I can't believe that even you'd rather see the patients suffer than bother to help."
"Every other doctor in the hospital does it." The elevator arrived and House jammed the doors open with his cane, ignoring the annoyance of the other passengers. "Do you know how many cases they send me every day? Dozens of petty little problems, that they could sort out themselves if they just bothered to think." The speed with which House could switch from flippant to intense always startled Cuddy and she found herself momentarily lost for words. When she said nothing, House went on, "They're just scared to do it." House went on. "If I don't, then they have to. If they're not prepared to accept responsibility for people's lives and deaths then they should go back to the farm and leave the medicine to the ones who are up to it."
He stepped into the lift, letting the doors close between them and leaving Cuddy still speechless. After a frozen moment, she swallowed her anger, as she always did, and made her way back to her office. One of House's more annoying talents was to see through things – people, patients, situations – and know exactly which buttons to push. He'd managed to make her see his point of view and even agree with it to a degree, although she'd run through the hospital naked before she admitted that. His latest scheme with his team was typical House – reckless and risky, and ultimately based on an acute understanding of the situation.She just hoped that he was right this time, and that his experiment didn't blow up in any of their faces.
The languages are, in order, Spanish, French, German, Italian, Dutch, Chinese, Japanese, Inuit, Zulu and Arabic