Chapter Three
R for naughty language.
I don't own any of this weirdness.
Thanks for reading
"It's not…"
House blew out his breath.
"The next person to say something as inane as lupus or vasculitis or Hep gets bludgeoned with the cane!"
House paused.
"So? Any takers?"
Foreman, Chase and Cameron were silent.
Bridget was off to one side with her laptop doing paperwork, watching the team struggle with the latest case. She'd done some research of her own, but hadn't come up with anything the other doctor's hadn't just said or began running tests for.
The patient continued to decline. He'd presented with seizures, altered mental status, decreased motor skills and weight loss. Tests were run, serology ruled out bacterial and viral infections. MRI and x-rays ruled out masses or blockages.
"It's something we can't see," Chase said.
"Uh, duh," House said, banging his cane against the table, causing everyone to jump except for Foreman and Bridget, who saw it coming. "Cameron, go draw more blood and run another series of tests. Foreman, convince the father we need a brain biopsy and Chase… just go. Get out of here."
The team took off. Foreman cast a look over at Bridget before he left. She just shrugged and tried to concentrate on her work.
"You have nothing better to do?" House barked.
"I'm doing it," she replied, staring him down.
"Do you have to do it here?" he continued to snap.
"I work in the Diagnostics department, this is where I'm supposed to be."
"Work is such a subjective word…"
Bridget decided she didn't want the sparring match, grabbed her laptop and left.
"You win. You get to be a miserable bastard by yourself."
"Make yourself useful and get more background on the patient," House called at her retreating figure.
She offered a one-fingered salute without turning around.
"Anything for you, boss," she called back.
House sat silently, cane spinning between his fingers.
Foreman was waiting down the hall from the Diagnostics office. He joined Bridget on the elevator.
"He gets like this when he can't figure it out," he said. "Don't take it personally."
"Can't take anything he says personally, no matter what it is," she replied.
"What's he sent you off to do?"
She shrugged.
"Dig into the deep, dark family secrets of the McPherson Clan."
"Cameron did a pretty thorough history."
"Which is why I'm taking it with me. Make sure I don't ask the same questions and maybe expound on anything glossed over," Bridget said. "Have you figured out how you're going to convince the father to do a potentially brain-damaging biopsy?"
"I was planning on telling him that I've had this particular biopsy done myself," Foreman replied.
Bridget looked at him questioningly.
"Yes… I really did."
"I wasn't doubting you. It's just that… Well, you know what could have happened," she said.
"And here I am," he said, laughing mirthlessly.
"I'm going to ask you what that means after we do our jobs," Bridget said.
"You dig into the history first. If that's fruitless, then I'll work on the father for the brain biopsy."
Bridget smiled.
"Whatever you say, Doctor Foreman," she said quite properly.
Foreman smiled back and followed suit.
"Thank you, Nurse Dell," Foreman replied. "Page me when you're done."
Bridget spent almost an hour and a half plumbing the depths, exploring every nook and cranny of the family history. The father and mother made phone calls to family members to answer some questions. It seemed to be leading somewhere.
She took her notes, paged Foreman to the Diagnostic Lounge and headed that way.
Unfortunately, about 15 feet away, she could hear the sound of House's raised voice. The shouting wasn't a surprise, and the fact that he seemed to be shouting at Wilson wasn't particularly interesting, either. It was what he was shouting.
Wilson had refused to prescribe House's Vicodin. House had a run in with a detective named Tritter and somehow Wilson had become involved. Furthermore, Wilson wanted to know what it was that House was hiding. Other than the fact that he took Wilson's prescription pad, which he seemed to know about.
House's door opened and Bridget hid behind the corner as Wilson stalked out. Then, she was tapped on the shoulder and almost peed her pants.
When her heart rate settled, she swatted Foreman on the shoulder.
"You scared the crap out of me. Whistle or… stomp or something," she said, still panting a little.
"Sorry," he said, smiling just a bit. "Why are you hiding?"
She straightened up and put on her poker face.
"Follow me, doctor, and you can work it out with House," she replied.
They entered House's office and she handed House her notes. He looked them over.
"This just… There's no solution in this!" House shouted.
"But there's more information. Use it, asshat," Bridget said, turning to go.
Days had gone by and they were no closer to an answer.
House looked pale, almost gray, sweaty and seemed thinner. The team and Bridget noticed. He wasn't getting enough Vicodin, for his pain and the addiction. Tritter had been riding him pretty hard, he'd even questioned the team, with the exception of Bridget.
And Wilson was questioning Hpuse frequently about what was going on. He knew that House didn't have to work in the clinic anymore and Cuddy was bending over backward more than usual to make House happy.
Then, House had slipped and something about Bridget. House couldn't/wouldn't go to Cuddy as that might add fuel to the fire. And he apparently didn't want to work in the clinic more than he wanted his Vicodin. So far.
It also didn't help that none of them had slept more than 15 minutes at a time in the last 3 days and that their patient was circling the drain. All of it was definitely taking a toll on their boss.
"What's going on, House?" Foreman asked.
"Has nothing to do with the case. None of your business," House snapped.
House sat, banging his cane against the floor.
"It's something we can't see…" he said.
Chase snorted.
"Suddenly it's brilliant because you said it?"
Bridget shook her head and wished she had a gag.
"No, it's brilliant, because I know what it means now. You on the other hand, were just tossing things out there without a clue," House replied. "We didn't see it because we weren't looking far enough."
He turned to Foreman.
"Look at the biopsy on the mitochondrial level."
Bridget had just walked into the Diagnostic Lounge when House finally caved.
The team had run the tests, found the disease and were attempting to treat the young man. Their patient stood little chance of surviving the next week. Mitochondrial diseases, specifically his, were notoriously incurable.
Bridget had just opened the door when she heard House shout.
"Bridget's pregnant!"
"So?" Wilson replied.
"My kid, for Cuddy. You happy? Now give me my fucking Vicodin!"
Bridget heard the door to the lounge open behind her and saw the team file in. There was no way they missed that.
To his credit, Foreman said nothing in front of anyone.
Bridget then blamed the fall-out on Cameron.
She knew, intellectually, that anyone walking by would have heard what House had said. But Cameron had ran from the room with a quickness, and Bridget felt it likely that she'd spilled her guts to the first person she saw.
Wilson was immediately contrite, writing 'scripts whenever House asked. House milked Wilson's emotional distress for all it was worth. He also pretended not to care what had happened. He was, however, considerably surlier and snappish in the weeks following 'the incident'.
Talk spread through the hospital at the speed of gossip. Which is well known to have it's own speed, especially in a healthcare setting.
The subsequent 'talk' in Cuddy's office with House, Wilson and Bridget was heard in snatches when voices were raised.
Wilson pointed out that House was a manipulative bastard who would go to any lengths to find out what he wanted to know and therefore had no right to be that terribly upset. Plus, he was now being investigated because his 'bestest buddy' had forged a prescription from his, Wilson's, pad.
Cuddy's counter-point was that Wilson used pain and House's own addiction (a word House balked at) against him to gain information he had no right to. Something House had not been known to implement against Wilson in the past.
Bridget sat quietly for the most part. She didn't care if the entire hospital, or in fact, all of Princeton-Plainsboro, knew she was Cuddy's surrogate. It had been Cuddy's request for silence that created the deal with House.
House didn't sit idle. He wouldn't admit to keeping the secret for Cuddy's or Bridget's sake. He reiterated that he wanted to not set foot in the clinic for a year. And he believed that the deal should still stand. Without the amazing cruelty and manipulation of his 'good friend', words spoken in acid tones, James Wilson, House would have kept the truth to himself.
Cuddy agreed, but it didn't stop her from exacting a favor from both House and Wilson.
"I'm being forced to host my family reunion this year, and as much as I'd love to have Bridget there, I don't want to explain my life to my family any more than I have to." She paused, looking overwhelmed suddenly. "And I'm putting most of them up in local hotels as it is… I'm spread thin. I need someone to take up the slack.
"So, one of you…" She blew out her breath. "Put Bridget up in a hotel, rent her an apartment, make her comfortable."
Bridget piped up.
"I can get my own place, I'm not indigent. I have a pretty good job that pays fantastically well," she said, mildly irritably.
"That's not the point, Bridge," Cuddy said. "This… shouldn't have happened. And it needs to be rectified."
Cuddy looked pointedly at Wilson.
"I'll take care of the hotel," Wilson said.
"I don't want to live in a hotel," Bridget said. She knew she could pile up humongous room service charges with impunity, but the very truth was that she didn't like hotels. She liked her own unique place.
"First round goes to Wilson," Cuddy said. "What are you going to do?"
Wilson sat silently, thinking.
"I'm living in a hotel myself."
He thought a second.
"But… House has a spare room. I slept on the couch because he didn't feel like clearing it out."
"No," House said immediately.
Suddenly, Bridget liked the idea. She'd be less likely to get involved with… anyone. Anyone being Foreman. She could annoy House and make Wilson cook every night. Or at least pay for every meal.
"I like it," she said.
"No," House reiterated.
Cuddy looked at Bridget, who smiled sweetly.
"I want to live with Uncle Greg," Bridget said mischievously.
"First of all, no. Second, the room is packed with my stuff-"
Cuddy cut him off.
"Wilson will pay to have it put in expensive storage."
Wilson blinked.
"I will?"
Cuddy leveled a hard glance.
"I guess I will."
"This is all predicated on the idea that I'll let her move in, and I won't," House said.
"You will or I'll withdraw our deal. Back to the clinic for you," Cuddy replied.
"But-" House began to protest and was cut off by Cuddy.
"The deal was that no one would know, now everyone in New Jersey knows. Your fault or not, you broke the agreement and have to make amends to keep yourself out of the clinic. Worth it?" she asked.
House looked angry and disgusted.
"Hardly, but I'll do it."
House turned to Bridget.
"'Uncle Greg' will need private time to have 'friends' over. You'll have to make yourself scarce."
"Because I want to be there when your escort arrives…" She paused a beat. "And I can always find a way to kill 15 minutes," she added, just to stir the pot.
"Anything else?" Cuddy asked before House could respond. "Before I work out my issues with Dr. Wilson."
Wilson shifted nervously.
"I want Wilson to either cook or pay for our meals," Bridget said.
"Now, that's thinking," House said, less miserable for the first time since stepping into Cuddy's office that day.
"I pay for almost all your meals, anyway," Wilson pointed out.
House snorted.
"Oh, this isn't going to be Reuben's and Chinese delivery…" he said wickedly.
Wilson blanched at the idea.
Bridget just smiled to herself and got up.
"Got paperwork to do," she said. "Thanks, Lisa."
"No problem," the woman replied. "I wish it hadn't happened like this…"
"Don't worry about it," Bridget said, opening the door to the office.
"You can leave, too, House," Cuddy said.
House smirked at Wilson and followed Bridget out.
Cuddy looked at Wilson, who was staring down at his lap and then out the window.
"Jimmy…"
Cuddy made things move fast after that. House's spare room was emptied, items put in storage, cleaned in record time and Bridget was moved in the day after that.
"What will people say when the mother of my child moves in?" House asked from the couch as Bridget brought her last bag in.
"I wasn't planning on telling anyone. You?" she replied.
"Nope, I plan to stay out of that clinic for as long as humanly possible."
He looked over at her.
"Get me beer?"
"No. Going to bed."
"Spoil sport. You're not going to be a fun roomie…"
Bridget ignored him, got ready and fell into bed.
Then next morning she was awakened by incredibly loud music
Bridget pulled herself out of bed and followed the noise. The deafening sound originated in the living room, where she found House. Relaxing on the sofa, drinking coffee.
"Too loud?" he yelled over the din.
Bridget walked over to the CD player and slapped the power button. The room fell into wonderful quiet.
"Problem?" he asked, taking a long drink of his coffee.
"Nope," she said, walking away towards the bathroom, revenge already forming in her head.
This went on for the entire week. House waking up at the butt-crack of dawn, picking something loud and grating and blasting it until Bridget came out and shut it off. She tried ear-plugs and even removing the wires to the speakers. He just moved the speakers closer to her room, bought another set and it would start over again.
Until Bridget finally had enough and came up with a plan.
That morning started like all the others; hideously loud. But instead of turning it off, Bridget just got up and went about her morning routine.
Bridget went to the kitchen after showering and dressing, finding House pouring himself another cup of coffee.
"You move pretty quick for a pregnant woman," he said off-handedly.
"Faster than a grumpy gimp," she replied, pulling out her tea. "I'm going to be late today."
"Any particular reason?"
"Baby stuff. Exams. Probing."
House grimaced.
"On that note, I'll be off," he said, leaving his coffee and grabbing his cane.
Bridget smiled to herself and turned on the kettle.
--
House arrived back at the apartment late that night and went straight to bed.
Once Bridget could hear him snoring through the door, she finished off her evil plan. When she was done, she slipped into bed and set her alarm earlier than usual. She planned to be well out of the apartment by the time House dragged himself out of bed.
--
"So, you're having House's baby…" Foreman said walking into the Diagnostics Lounge. Bridget was by herself in the dimly lit room.
"Please don't turn the lights on," she said. "Massive headache… And, yes, I realize the lights will have to come on eventually, but for now, just leave it." She paused. "I'm having the baby for Lisa, and she was the one who wanted House's genes."
"I understand the hot and cold running flirtation now," he said, sitting down at the table opposite her. He noticed that she hadn't bothered to open her laptop. "Hurts too much to look at the screen?" he asked, motioning to the computer.
"Yes. It's my hormones, so there's really not much I can do about it."
"You could stay home. I'm sure House would give you the day off-"
She opened her eyes fully and gave him a glare.
"How would that look?" she asked. "House's 'baby-mama' doesn't have to come into work… There's enough bullshit flying around this hospital, and I'd rather steer clear of the other nurse's wrath."
'Plus, I was really naughty and I didn't want to be there when he blared his tunes,' she thought.
"Point taken."
"And so you know, I'd be flirting shamelessly with you if I weren't currently carrying the spawn of the Diagnostician," she said, eyes closed again, head down on the table.
"Sounds like a horror movie," Foreman laughed.
She chuckled, then grimaced.
"Don't make me laugh…"
Just then the rest of the Diagnostic staff walked in and Cameron flipped on the lights.
"Why are you sitting here in the dark?" she asked.
Bridget just sighed and left the room.
'Hope I can avoid House until this headache subsides,' she thought irritably and headed for the clinic, the best hiding place.
Bridget heard about the state House was in when he got to the hospital. Foreman paged her and told her to stay wherever she was. Bridget just smiled and agreed.
After several hours of mind-numbing paperwork, the edge was beginning to wear off of her headache.
'Time to bell the cat,' she thought, putting away the various charts and heading to Diagnostics.
She pushed the door open to Chase shaking his head at her and pointing the other way. She just smiled and walked into the office.
House noticed and immediately rounded on her.
"Where the hell are my records and CDs?" he yelled.
Bridget tried to look innocent and failed. After that, she decided a sweet smile would piss him off the most.
"What are you talking about?" she said.
Chase cringed, Cameron smirked and Foreman looked concerned.
"Where the-"
"I heard you the first time," she said, sitting down at the table. "Do you mean the records and CDs you like to blast at an ungodly time of the morning, even for you? Those items?"
House look could have melted steel.
"Yes, those," he ground out. "I pressed play and I got Yanni… All my records are gone and all the CDs have been replaced with easy listening and new age contemporary." He took a deep breath. "What the hell did you do with my music?"
"Nothing," she said, "I just figured if you were going to blast something at 6 in the morning it might as well be something soft and evil and instead of loud and evil."
"What do you mean 'nothing'? The cases are still there, but they have crap CDs in them."
She smiled at House.
"I was busy last night," she said and turned to Foreman. "Did you know that there's a lot of new age contemporary in the dollar bin at the music stores?"
Foreman just smiled and shook his head.
Bridget turned back to House.
"You get your music back when I get a written, signed, witnessed by Cuddy statement that you will not try to drive me out of the apartment with loud anything. Got it?"
House fumed.
"They're all safe and sound," Bridget said, "For now…"
"Talk about living life dangerously," Foreman said, setting his tray on the table opposite Bridget's.
Bridget just smiled.
"He got what he deserved. And when I get what I want, all his stuff will go back exactly where it was."
"This thing with Tritter's getting bad," he said abruptly.
"I heard."
"I'm surprised he hasn't talked to you yet."
"I'm just a lowly nurse," she said wryly. "I can't prescribe House narcotics."
Foreman grinned.
"Two more years and you'd be a nurse practitioner," he said.
"I suppose…" she said, then decided to change the subject. "Tell me why you had such an invasive brain biopsy."
"You really don't mince words," he replied.
"You don't find out what you want if you pussy-foot around."
Foreman shook his head.
"I'll make a deal with you… I'll answer this very personal question if you answer one in return."
"It's not that personal," she said.
"I almost died. I would have died," Foreman said grimly.
She took a deep breath.
"Just one," she said.
"Fair enough."
Foreman went on to tell her the circumstances that lead to the police officer coming to PPTH and his subsequent infection. He didn't go into detail about the terrible pain.
"There were parasites," he finished. "I took the meds and I recovered."
"But… you had-"
"I had memory issues after the biopsy, but I'm fine now. My turn," he said.
Bridget smiled.
"Shoot."
"If you were not currently Cuddy's surrogate, carrying the spawn of Limpy, would you go out with me this weekend?"
"That's far less personal than what you just told me," she said.
"Are you saying that you don't want to answer?"
She sighed.
"I'm not saying that."
Foreman smiled at her.
"If I were not carrying the spawn of Limpy for Cuddy… then yes, I'd go out with you this weekend. My choice of entertainment," she said.
"I think you should go out with me anyway," he said.
"Why?" she asked, genuinely curious.
Foreman took her in with a glance.
"You're smart, witty and devious enough to deal with House. I think you're interesting. But when we're here, all we talk about is work."
"It's generally frowned on to date when you're pregnant with someone else's baby," Bridget said, looking down at her fruit salad.
Foreman laughed.
"Well, if you were going out with House, I'd agree. But you're not."
She looked up at him.
"Did you know that you look like that guy on the Def Jam Fight for New York game? I was playing it the other night, whooping House's ass."
"There's the deflection I've grown used to," Foreman said good-naturedly.
Bridget smiled at him.
"Fine, I'll go out with you. But I don't kiss until after cocktails."
Foreman smiled and finished eating his lunch.