Chapter 32

House, Foreman and Chase sat in the conference room, not staring at each other. House checked his watch for the fifth time in ten minutes. It was now 9:30, and Cameron had not come in. Nor had she called. Had it been Foreman or Chase running late, House would have been mildly annoyed, yet hoping they would give some lame excuse he could use to torment them. Being that it was Cameron who was late, House was concerned. Which, naturally, made him act overly annoyed.

"Maybe we should call to check on her," Chase suggested. "It's not like her to be late without calling."

"I'm sure she's fine," Foreman said. "She'd probably just be pissed at us for checking up on her." Foreman and Cameron were still not on the best of terms, and he really saw no need to give her a reason to be angry with him.

The phone in House's office began to ring. Although he wanted to jump to answer it, hoping it was Cameron, he forced himself to walk slowly into his office and answer the phone. Checking the caller ID, he could see that it was Cameron, and she was calling from home. He pressed the speakerphone button.

"Dr. Cameron. Did we oversleep this morning?" House asked, a little more snidely than was really necessary. He didn't want the boys to hear any concern in his voice.

"No, we spent the morning throwing up everything we've ever eaten," Cameron said. She sounded horrible.

"You're sick?" House asked, stupidly.

"No, I just missed throwing up, it's been a long time," Cameron growled. "Of course I'm sick. Aren't you supposed to be a doctor?"

Foreman and Chase both grinned. Sick Cameron was not a happy Cameron.

"Well, I'm going down to the clinic," Foreman said. "Feel better Cameron," he shouted in the direction of the phone.

"Hope you're better soon," Chase said loudly. He walked back into the conference room, picked up a chart and went to check how the latest patient was responding to treatment. House sat behind the desk and picked up the receiver.

"Are you okay?" he asked, showing his concern now that no one was there to hear it.

"I'll be fine," Cameron said softly. She sounded incredibly tired.

"Fever?" House asked.

"103," Cameron replied.

"Can you keep down some ibuprofen?" House asked.

"I can't even keep down water," Cameron replied. "House, I'm a doctor too. I'll be fine. I have lots of Gatorade, and crackers and toast. Don't worry about me."

"Can't help it," House mumbled. "Do you want me to bring you some soup later?"

"No, stay away from me. Whatever I've got is nasty and you really don't want to catch it. The last thing you need in rehab is a virus. I'll be fine, I promise. I'm just going to take my pillow and go sleep on the bathroom floor."

"Why?"

"Because getting up every ten minutes to puke is making me dizzy," Cameron said, very softly. "Uh, gotta go," she said suddenly and the phone went dead.

House shook his head and hung up the receiver. She was right, of course. The last thing he wanted was to catch some stomach virus. Especially when he was down to his last four Vicodin. If he stretched himself out to only two a day, that still only meant two days. House looked up from the desk to see Wilson standing the doorway.

"Cameron's sick?" he asked.

"How did you know it was Cameron?" House asked.

"Because I can't imagine who else you'd offer to bring soup to," Wilson teased. "So, it looks like you're back to the bachelor life for a few days."

"Yeah, great. She was starting to cramp my style anyway. She'd never go for a threesome with Paula," House snarked, picking up his tennis ball and tossing it at Wilson.

"Paula?" Wilson asked. "Oh, your hooker. Right, I can't image why Cameron would turn that down." He tossed the ball back to House. "So, how's it going?"

House didn't need to ask what Wilson meant. He took out his Vicodin bottle and showed it to his friend. Four little white pills rattled inside the bottle.

"I think its about to get very ugly." House said, frowning.

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Day One

House sat in his office, blinds drawn, doors locked. He had a headache, was he was shaky and felt a little nauseous. If he didn't know he was on his first day without Vicodin, he might have thought he'd caught the same bug as Cameron. There were no cases, so he decided it would be best to hide out in his office as long as possible. He kicked his legs up on his desk, tilted his head back and closed his eyes. With a little luck, he might be able to fall asleep.

Foreman and Chase had agreed to cover his clinic hours when he told them he was feeling a little under the weather. They'd agreed because he actually did look sick. They decided he was coming down with whatever Cameron had, and it was only a matter of time before he went home. Actually, they were quite looking forward to it. A day without House meant a day of peace and quiet.

Wilson was standing on the balcony, looking into House's office. There were no blinds on that door, so he could see his friend leaning back in his chair with his legs propped up on his desk. To an ordinary observer, he looked like he was catching a nap at work. Not an unusual event. But to an extraordinary observer, which Wilson certainly was when it came to House, something was very wrong. Wilson noticed the right hand, steadily tapping on the side of the chair. Since Wilson knew he had no cases, it meant something else was bothering him. But, since he wasn't watching TV, playing his Gameboy or catch with the tennis ball, it wasn't something he needed to think about. It meant withdrawal.

Cuddy noticed that Foreman and Chase were covering for House in the clinic. But, having discussed this very issue over dinner with Wilson the night before, she decided to let it go. Cuddy knew House was out of Vicodin, and that House in withdrawal plus clinic patients meant bad news. She sighed as she sifted through a mountain of paperwork on her desk. She also knew from Wilson that House and Cameron seemed to have struck up a strange sort of friendship over the past few weeks. Of all the unlucky times for Cameron to get sick, Cuddy thought to herself.

Cameron was lying on the couch, just three running steps to bathroom as compared to the ten or so from her bedroom, not really watching TV. It was Wednesday, and she was finally able to keep down some toast and tea. Her temperature was down to 99 degrees. With a little luck, she'd be able to go back to work on Friday. She was a little surprised House hadn't called to check on her yet today. He'd called her Monday afternoon before going home, on Tuesday morning and then Tuesday at dinnertime to make sure she was okay. She wondered if maybe they'd gotten a new case? That would be good for him; it would give him something to occupy his mind with. She closed her eyes, and drifted to sleep.

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Day Two

House was once again lying down in his office. This time he'd chosen the chair, because it seemed marginally more comfortable than the floor. He'd barely slept at all the night before, and was feeling more miserable than normal. Well, more miserable than normal for him anyway. He was especially not looking forward to his therapy appointment the following afternoon. The most noticeable symptom of this withdrawal, worse than the headaches, the shakes and the constant nausea was his inability to control his emotions. He'd spent the last six years self-medicating not just his physical pain, but his emotional pain as well. Only two days off the Vicodin, and his mood was swinging from near rage to tears with frightening swiftness. If it wasn't for the fact that he was holed up in his office, he was quite sure he would have cried or punched someone. God, he thought to himself, no wonder Cameron is always so cranky at that time of the month.

Foreman and Chase were once again covering House's clinic hours. Foreman had grumbled a bit, feeling that if House was really that sick he should have just stayed home. Foreman went to Cuddy, and was unpleasantly surprised when she basically told him to suck it up and see the patients. Foreman didn't particularly care what was wrong with House. He felt like he was being taken advantage of, and House was being a jerk.

Chase watched House avoid the coffee pot while making his way through the conference room into his office. He watched House lock his doors and close the blinds. Chase listened to Foreman's ranting, but wisely said nothing. Detox was something he recognized. You couldn't spend years taking care of an alcoholic mother and not see the symptoms right in front of you. He didn't want to piss House off right now. This was going to be ugly.

Wilson spent another lunch hour staring at House from the balcony. He didn't have the best view today, since House was lying on the chair and not behind his desk, but he could see enough. No TV, no music. House obviously had a headache. No food and no soda or coffee. That meant nausea and caffeine sensitivity. And no playing catch or Gameboy, that meant shaky hands. Wilson also noticed House wiping his eyes occasionally. He suspected that meant crying. Wilson shook his head; this was not going to be good. Not good at all.

Cuddy brought a salad in for Wilson and one for herself. She knew he would have spent his lunch watching House through the window. They sat in his office and talked. They were both worried about him. Wilson said Cameron had called him that afternoon. Her fever was back up and she wasn't going to be in to work the following day. That meant the entire week and weekend House was going to be alone. Cuddy sighed and pushed her salad around in the container. This was going to be bad.

Cameron was once again sleeping on her bathroom floor. She'd managed to keep down enough liquids over the past day to avoid dehydration, but apparently she pushed a little too hard, and was now paying the price. She had wanted to get back to work, especially after she'd talked to Wilson. She knew House was out of Vicodin, and had spent the past two days locked in his office. She was worried. She remembered how this was, and she didn't want him to be alone. But, she was hardly in any condition to help.

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Day Three - In the Clinic

House was in the clinic, seeing patients. When he'd come in that morning and ordered Chase and Foreman to cover his hours, Foreman had refused. He'd said if House was really that sick, that he should go home and not just sit around his office gloating over the fact that they were working while he was slacking off. Chase had quietly backed into a corner of the room, wanting no part of this. House turned his back and closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. Chase noticed his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and had haltingly offered to cover all the hours himself.

House shot him a look of pure venom, and Chase backed off. House dropped his bag in his office and went to the clinic without saying a word to Foreman. He couldn't trust himself. He wasn't really sure he could scream at him without crying, or look at him without trying to knock out a few teeth.

Cuddy was so surprised to see House in the clinic that morning that she called Wilson in a panic and accused him of giving House a Vicodin prescription. Wilson denied it, but said he would come down and keep an eye on him. With a quick stop in Cuddy's office, Wilson was sent off to monitor House and his patients, without telling House what he was up to.

House noticed Wilson hanging around the clinic, but not actually seeing patients. At first he was angry; he suspected Wilson was keeping an eye on him. But then he noticed Wilson talking to one of the younger nurses and decided maybe he was being paranoid. Wilson was just looking to get lucky, was that so hard to believe?

House stopped at the nurse's station to check on the results of a strep test he'd administered to a teenaged boy in exam room three. He gave Wilson a look, but Wilson was currently occupied with the blonde nurse at the next computer terminal, and didn't react. House smirked to himself. Typical Wilson, he thought. He took the test results from the lab, the kid was positive for strep. House grabbed the file, glanced at it quickly and went back to exam room four. He wrote the kid a prescription for penicillin, pointed him in the direction of the pharmacy and went back to the nurse's station to grab his next file.

Wilson, waiting until after House gone to exam room one to see his next patient, took the file and carefully looked it over. A concerned look spread over his face as his eyes darted quickly over the patient's history. He dropped the file on the desk and sprinted toward the pharmacy. Wilson grabbed the kid just as he was about to take one of the pills the pharmacist had handed him. He walked the boy back to the clinic and put him in an exam room, then went to find House.

"House," Wilson said, sticking his head in the exam room, "Need a consult."

"I'm with a patient," House said without turning around.

"This really can't wait," Wilson said, his tone serious.

House turned and eyed him skeptically. Wilson wasn't working in the clinic. Maybe this meant a new patient?

"Excuse me," House told the patient and stepped into the hall.

"Are you okay?" Wilson asked.

"Fine," House said. "Who needs the consult?"

"Exam room three," Wilson said, opening the door to reveal the kid House had just finished with.

"No, I just gave that kid a prescription for penicillin, he has strep throat. And why are you looking at my patient?" House demanded.

"Because," Wilson said quietly, closing the exam room door, "I don't think you should be seeing patients right now. You gave him penicillin, did you look at his history?"

"I glanced at it, what's the big deal?" House asked.

"The big deal," Wilson said, "is the kid had an anaphylactic reaction to amoxicillin last year. Unless you want him to go home and die, penicillin is a bad choice."

"He's allergic to penicillin?" House said. He grabbed the chart from Wilson. "You looked at the wrong chart, this kid is …" House's voice trailed off as he looked at the file, "allergic to penicillin." He shook his head. "How did I miss that?"

"Do I really need to answer that?" Wilson asked. "Go in there and give him a prescription for erythromycin, then fix the chart. If somebody else saw this, you'd be subject to a review board. Do you want to do that right now?"

House just stared at Wilson blankly. How could he miss something so basic? What was wrong with him? He shook his head to clear it.

"Why are you checking my files?" House demanded.

"I'm worried about you, about something exactly like this. Go fix it, and then go home." Wilson said.

"Did Cuddy ask you to do this? Cameron?" House pushed.

"House," Wilson warned.

"It isn't paranoid if people are actually following you around," House seethed. He knew Wilson was right; he just hated it. He took the file from Wilson and went back into exam room three. He told the kid he'd given him the wrong prescription, and replaced it with one for erythromycin. House left the exam room, threw the file on the nurse's station and left the clinic.

Cuddy watched from her office. When House was in the stairwell, she came out to Wilson.

"What happened?" Cuddy asked.

"He prescribed penicillin to a patient with a history of penicillin allergy," Wilson said.

"I'll take him off clinic duty until he gets this under control. Thanks for checking on him, Jimmy," Cuddy said.

"It's okay, Lisa. He'll be okay. He has to be okay." Wilson said it as much to convince her as to convince himself. This was going to be really bad.