"Dr. House!"
The diagnostician didn't stop on his way towards the elevator even as his three lackeys turned slightly to glance at the approaching orthopedist.
"On our way out! We've been at it for 60 hours, Morgan... Come back tomorrow."
"House, please…" That finally made him turn slightly, and then stop completely at Dr. Morgan's next words: "I really need your help with something."
The quiet tone made House obediently take the chart the other man was holding out for him. He was aware of the slightly anxious glances his team kept throwing in their direction.
House briefly scanned the name on the chart, before throwing the other man a quick glance. "Husband?"
That finally forced a small smile from the orthopedist. "I'm not gay, House." Then, very quietly: "He's my brother."
House accepted that with a short nod, before he opened the chart and quickly went through the notes.
"He's been losing weight for weeks now with a fever, abdominal problems, increasing weakness and fatigue." Even though the orthopedist was clearly trying for a neutral tone of voice, an underlying tenseness colored every word. "Over the last few days, he's also started to develop neurological symptoms: Definitely some memory loss; he's also having trouble reading and he sometimes finds it difficult to just grab things. – His doctors think his HIV infection has progressed to ARC, but his t-cell count is still relatively good. I know that doesn't necessarily mean – "
"Does he hike?"
Morgan immediately frowned at the question. "Are you thinking tick bite…?" Then, somewhat resigned: "No; he's a librarian."
The reply made House almost smile a little despite his own weariness.
"Where is he?"
"On his way here."
House gave a brief nod, then turned slightly towards his team.
"Everyone back to the office. – We have a patient."
"House… you need some rest. When's the last time you actually slept?"
Wilson regarded his friend's labored gait with a worried frown.
"Monday. – The guy's dying, Wilson. His kidneys are failing, his breathing is compromised… He's getting worse, and quickly."
"So you don't think it's simply AIDS?"
"Nah… timing doesn't fit. And Morgan's right: T-cell count is too high for that."
"His doctors didn't think so."
"Yeah, well… His doctors are idiots."
Wilson watched his friend pace some more, then tried again: "Why don't you at least sit down for a while? Just relax for a bit, get off that leg. If you fall asleep, I'll wake you in an hour tops, promise."
"I'm fine," the reply came through literally gritted teeth.
"You're about two seconds away from collapsing. So sure, you're fine."
Wilson finally frowned again when he saw House start to rub his left wrist emphatically.
"Hurt…?" As expected, no reply. "Maybe you should start wearing the brace again."
House didn't even seem to be hearing him at this point.
"I'm gonna go talk to him. We're missing something…"
"So, you must be… House, right?"
Their patient – Morgan's brother – looked every bit as bad as his chart had indicated, and then some. Between the fever and the breathing problems, he was struggling to get the words out right, but he was still smiling slightly at the sight of the diagnostician finally entering his room.
"And you must be the gay brother!"
The smile widened. "I must be." Then: "Heard a lot… about you."
"Yeah, well… I haven't heard enough from you. That's why I'm here. Talk to me. Tell me what you haven't told us, for whatever reason. Otherwise, I can't help you."
"Haven't not told you… anything."
House looked at him for a long moment, before finally approaching his patient's bed. Hanging his cane over the bed railing for now, he used his newly freed left arm to move the blanket and inspect different parts of the other man's lightly clad body.
"Your team already… checked me for… tick bites."
"I know. I asked them to." When a first superficial examination didn't reveal anything remarkable, House finally opened the front of the hospital gown his patient was wearing, leaving him completely exposed for the moment.
That's when he heard a by now familiar voice behind him.
"What's going on here?"
House turned slightly to see Morgan standing in the door to the room, frowning at the scene in front of him, his tone unreadable.
"Examining the patient. What does it look like?" House wasn't in the mood to deal with any concerned, and possibly disapproving, relatives right now – whoever they may be.
When Morgan next approached the bed, House straightened up involuntarily, bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation that was about to follow. He couldn't help but wince slightly when more or less every part of his body complained at the newly added tension. His left hand inconspicuously grabbed the bed railing to help stabilize his posture in lieu of the cane.
Briefly glancing at his brother, Morgan then suddenly turned to leave the room again. He returned, though, a minute later, carrying a high stool and fully approaching them now.
"You planning on standing guard for this?" It was better than the physical confrontation he'd expected before. "Protecting your brother from the creepy, perverted cripple?!" House didn't even know where the acidic words were coming from – he was simply exhausted, and on edge for some reason.
Morgan looked shocked for a second, but his tone was soft when he finally replied.
"Didn't bring this for me," he placed the stool close to House's right hip. "Sit down before you fall down, House. I can move him for you if you need better view of something."
And he did sit, briefly, until the light ringing that had erupted in his ears at the earlier pain spike had subsided a bit again. But then he just pushed himself up again and continued his close inspection of the other man's body.
When he finally turned the right forearm and detected a relatively fresh scar on its underside, he threw their patient a questioning glance. "What did you do here?"
"Cut myself… pretty badly a… while ago. Ceramic plate. But it… healed well with some… stitches. Got a… tetanus shot and… your people didn't think there… was an infection."
"There is not." House adjusted the oxygen flow to his patient's nasal canular before pulling back his gown, indicating Morgan with a glance to help him close it up again while already moving towards the wall-mounted phone himself.
"And did you – by any means – receive a blood transfusion maybe?" He sounded slightly testy, already picking up the phone, seemingly knowing the answer before it was given.
"Actually… yeah because of the... slight anemia I'd had… anyway. – Why? Is that… relevant?"
Morgan frowned heavily at the line of questioning. "Are you thinking transfusion reaction…?" He sounded completely incredulous. "House! This is not – "
"I'm thinking a reaction alright. To the bacteria that were pumped into his blood stream. Bacteria that would usually be transmitted by ticks, unless you're one of the very few unfortunates who receive them human-to-human via a contaminated blood transfusion." When Morgan was still looking slightly confused, he clarified more patiently: "It's anaplasmosis. HGA or – in this case more accuately – TTA. My instinct was right from the beginning; serology will confirm it." Then, into the phone: "This is House. I need IV doxycycline in my patient's room, stat." He turned towards said patient again. "You'll need around two weeks of this. We can switch it to pill form as soon as you're feeling a little better… You'll be fine."
"Should we not wait for… serology to… confirm it first?"
House calmly held his patient's slightly anxious gaze. "It's TTA. Confirmation is taking too long right now; we need to start treatment as soon as possible. – I'm sure this is it."
He saw Morgan give his brother a reassuring nod and half-smile.
When the nurse brought in the medication, House quickly exchanged it for one of the other bags. "It was nice to meet you," were the final words for his patient before he simply grabbed his cane again and made to leave the room, trying to ignore the insistent ringing that had once again started to occupy most of his hearing. He needed to sleep; preferably right about now.
And so it was with mixed feelings of anger and unbelievable, shameful relief when Morgan met up with him not five steps down the hall; pushing before him a wheel-chair.
The orthopedist threw him a look that did not allow much room for protest. "Sit down, House. – You're done, you did it. Thank you. So much. But you need to rest now."
For once resigned to his fate, House did sit down, but was still surprised when Morgan then started pushing him towards the elevators. "Don't you wanna…?" He vaguely gestured towards his patient's room.
"I'll go be with him soon. Right now, I wanna make sure you get to your office in one piece and preferably still conscious." He regarded the other man's pale complexion critically. "You need an IV…?"
The older man rolled his eyes. "I'm not sick."
"Well, have you been eating?! Or drinking anything for that matter…? – Let me rephrase that: When did you last have something to eat?"
"I'm just… in pain, alright?!"
Morgan slowly nodded. "You want a bed?"
"If by 'bed' you mean my office chair… then yeah."
The orthopedist slowly shook his head. "You're completely run down, House, and I realize that's partly my fault. Maybe it'd be better if – "
"Morgan." House quietly interrupted. "I'm fine. Or at least I will be after some sleep," he finally conceded.
Morgan reluctantly nodded again. Then: "Will you at least allow an IV? I'll even throw in some pain meds, so you can get some real rest…"
House gave a somewhat pained half-laugh at that, but the look on his face softened. He finally nodded slightly. "Thanks…"
"No, House. Thank you. We both know that you didn't have to do this. You – "
"Morgan!" House interrupted more impatiently now. "You're welcome." Then, more quietly again: "I'll be fine. Go be with your brother…"
"After I've seen that you're actually resting."
House responded with the expected eye-roll. "I know I need to sleep. I'm not an idiot, Morgan."
A small smile. "Oh yes, House… Sometimes you really, really are."
Final chapter to come in the next week or so... Thanks for all the support! :)