The truth (or some of it) is revealed!
I shall also do something I have never done before: quid pro quo. Give me many reviews, and I shall give you the next chapter…well, sooner, at least!
-0-
"Excuse me sir, would you like a drink?"
Dr Chase looks up at the flight attendant, startled.
"Oh, uh, sure. What do you have?"
"We have Pepsi, lemonade, orange juice, tomato juice, red wine, white wine, scotch-"
"Get on with it, other people are waiting," growls a man sitting across the aisle to Chase.
"Well, then a few extra seconds of waiting won't kill you," snaps Chase. Sometimes working with House helped in situations like this: you knew what to say.
The man sniffs haughtily, but doesn't say anything else.
Chase returns his attentions to the flight attendant.
"I'll have a scotch, no ice," Chase says with a smile. The flight attendant smiles back, and pours him his drink.
"Here you go," she says, with a wink, before attending to the surly man.
Now that's the type of woman I should be interested in. Normal. Mature. Drama-less. Ok job. Blonde...
Chase thought gloomily to himself.
He sighs, before settling comfortable in his chair. He prepares himself to take a nap, but once he closes his eyes, his mind goes into overdrive. His thoughts are racing, as he considers everything that is going on; Kimee, his father, his life….
They say that it's supposed to get easier as you go on, but Chase felt the exact opposite. How he wished for to feel blithe and unburdened as he once did in his youth, to be able to drift through life without a care in the world. How easy it is to think of nothing but yourself.
Having people you love makes it easier to lose them
I sound so much like House, its not funny
He guessed that House's theory made sense; wouldn't it be easier to not have people you love in your life, if they brought this much heartache? Wouldn't everybody's life be simpler if we didn't, couldn't, love?
But then, our lives would be meaningless.
Chase groaned.
This was going to be a long trip.
-0-
Cameron was in her apartment, pacing her living room, phone held to her ear. She was wearing a purple tank top, and grey sweatpants. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and she wore no makeup, thus the deep bags beneath her eyes were clearly visible, and the creased lines on her usually perfect skin looked alien and out of place.
"Come on…" she mutters into the phone. She had been put on hold for almost twenty minutes.
"Hello, you have reached the Missing Persons Unit,"
Cameron froze. Was she doing the right thing? Maybe it really was nothing. Maybe she really was OK, and had just gone on some whirlwind adventure, caught up in the excitement. Maybe Cameron was just making a big deal out of nothing.
Then why haven't we heard from her?
But to get the authorities involved? Wasn't that a bit too extreme? If Kimee had a reason for going away, then she most definitely wouldn't have wanted the cops to being chasing her. And, she did leave a note explaining that she had willingly gone…that didn't mean anything dangerous had happened to her, right? The cops would probably brush this off, as a teen that had decided to take flight. There really was no point in reporting it. Is there?
Cameron bit her lip.
"Hello? Anybody there?"
Cameron takes a deep breath, and, without saying anything to the confused police officer on the other end of the line, hangs up.
She shudders, and wraps her arms around her torso, staring at the phone as if its sole purpose was to mock her, to taunt her…
Suddenly there was a knock on her door…
-0-
House stands outside her apartment. He makes a move to knock on her door, but then reconsiders.
She seemed like she didn't want anything to do with him. This past week she hadn't said a word to him. She didn't even bother to discuss diagnoses she just point-blank ignored him. It was as if he didn't exist. She was in her own world, and drifted through the day as if not mentally there.
This was worrying.
He didn't know if it was because of the fight, or because of Kimee, but it appeared that everything was now taking a physical toll on her. She had hardly eaten (he knew, he watched her out of the corner of his eye while in the canteen), and her increasingly thin frame was further made noticeable with her gaunt face, and lack of makeup. She had neglected her health, all in the name of caring.
House, with a sigh, knocked on the door with his cane, and leaned against the doorframe as he heard the sound of bolts being unlocked…
-0-
Cameron opens the door, and sees House there, idly resting against the doorframe in his incredibly annoying and suave way.
"Oh," is all that she manages to say.
"That's not a very nice way to greet your boyfriend…though you wouldn't be able to guess that by the way you've been acting toward me these days…" House says, his tongue still as sharp as ever.
"Well, did my boyfriend ever stop to think that I was stressed and mad? But then again, he's too self-centred to notice that his girlfriend is not in the best mental state to be talking to anyone,"
House suddenly, lunges forward, and pins her to the hallway wall, one arm holding her arm back against the creamy wallpaper, the other resting above her head.
"I am not self-centred," he growls.
"Really? Because they way you've been acting these couple of days has proven otherwise,"
"What are you implying there?" he says, not releasing his grasp on her.
"That you don't care about the people who care about you," Cameron says, her voice poisonous.
"You have no idea," he says, his voice equally dangerous.
"I don't? Oh, yeah, I would know nothing about you. Hmh, you let a girl, who cares so much about you, disappear, and you have done nothing about it. What does that make you, Greg? A miserable bastard? No…a bastard is still human," Cameron says, so harshly, that House almost backs away. Almost.
"Unhuman am I? Then tell me, what have you done? What have you done to try and find her? Have you even thought about it? No…you were too busy condemning me,"
"Don't you dare say that! Of course I've tried! I've been checking everyday since she hadn't contacted us. It's you who's just sat back and-"
"Don't you dare say that!" House says, his voice cracking from emotion. Cameron looks at him.
"Wh-"
"I have tried to find her. I've done everything. I even hired a goddamn P.I! But, after all my fucking efforts, I still don't know where she is," he yells.
Cameron stares at him, shocked.
"What are you saying?" she asks, as House lowers his head in frustration and exhaustion.
"I'm saying that I failed. I failed in looking after my niece. I failed my brother and his wife. I failed myself," he says.
There is a pause, and House lets his arm slide down; his grip on her arm loosens.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Cameron asks, her voice soft.
"Think, Dr Cameron," House says bitterly.
And Cameron realises. Everybody expected that if House did something, he would find something. He was the person everybody was relying on to fix the problem. Wilson, Chase, Foreman, Cuddy all believed that if House were to try and find her, then he would have her back in a second. He was Gregory House, he was assumed to be able to do anything. But, he didn't. And he hated letting people down, deep inside. He didn't want everybody to know that he couldn't do the one thing that was the most important to everyone.
Cameron then gently cups his unshaven chin in her hands, and raises his head, her gaze interlocking with his. Her eyes are full of understanding, and she gives him a sad smile.
"It'll be OK," she says in a barely audible voice.
House exhales, and reaches up, and holds onto her wrists, his touch tender.
"You don't know that," he says, harshly, yet they both know that it may be true.
"Don't think like that," Cameron says, trying to convince herself as well.
"I'm realistic. What about you?" House asks her, his eyes full of questions.
"I…I'm hopeful," she says, and with that, brings his face to hers, her mouth melting into his, kissing him tenderly, as if trying to heal his wounds with her lips, her tongue. She wraps her arms around his neck, drawing him in, and she feels his hands snake around her waist, keeping her close. She, slowly, eases his jacket off, as he, just as unhurriedly, unties her hair, and runs his fingers through the gold-chocolate strands, and that one sensual gesture makes her moan, and struggles to unbutton his shirt. His mouth had somehow managed to find its way to her neck, and she clutches the back of his.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, as he runs his lips over her collarbone.
She pauses for a moment, and looks at him with her blue-grey eyes.
"What for?" she says, and then places another kiss on his mouth, her tongue aching to once again feel the warmth of his…
-0-
The shrill ringing of House's cell phone wakens both he and Cameron. Cameron raises herself onto her elbows; House on the other hand, just buries his head in the pillow.
"Greg," Cameron mutters. "That's yours,"
"Lhrff iff," he says, his face still in the pillow.
"What?" Cameron says, rubbing her eyes.
"I said, 'Leave it'," he says, turning to face her.
Cameron gives him a reproachful look, before leaning over him, and grabs his jacket, fumbling though his pocket in search of his phone.
"I like it when you're on top of me-" he begins suggestively
"Here," she says, thrusting the phone into his face. He reluctantly opens it, and holds it to his ear, Cameron still resting on his torso.
"What?" he yells into the phone. There's a pause as he listens to the person on the other end. "Who?"
Cameron, who was still happy about their reunion, began to nibble his neck, drawing circles on his tanned skin with her tongue, rubbing her breasts against his upper body, stroking him with her delicate fingers. House responds by trying to ease her off him, but not really meaning it. Until…
"Are you serious?" he says suddenly siting upright, causing Cameron to topple off him, back onto the bed.
"What…"
"Shush," he says to her, before returning his attentions to the caller. "What do you mean…Are you sure its her? Ok…yeah…thanks…" he says before hanging up.
Cameron looks at him questioningly.
"What was that about?" she asks.
House, doesn't appear to hear her, and stares blankly at the foot of the bed, as if stunned into silence.
"Greg?" Cameron says worriedly.
"That…you know that P.I. I was talking about? That was him," House says slowly.
"What…what did he say?"
"He…managed to find a trace…she used her credit card last in Hong Kong," he says.
"Hong Kong? Well…is there any reason she'd be there?"
"Uh, I think so…one of her aunts or something…"
"Then maybe she's with her aunt. Maybe she went to go see her," Cameron says, trying to convince him, but they both know that that wasn't the case.
"Maybe," House murmurs.
Cameron doesn't say anything…she is lost for words.
"Well…I'm sure that for whatever reason she's there-"
"Yeah…I know…she's probably OK," House says. After a moment, he gets up. "I'm going to take a shower," he says, and Cameron gives him a small nod, before he walks into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Cameron sighs, knowing how taxing this was for him, not knowing the truth.
-0-
Cameron, iPod in her ears, hums happily as she bustles about, making coffee. Foreman watches her out of the corner of his eye, as she soon begins to sing softly.
"Do you want some?" she asks him cheerily.
"No thanks," Foreman says, still looking at her with amusement, as she begins to sway her hips.
Then, Wilson comes in, waving a file in the air.
"This is probably the best case you'll ever have…" Wilson announces, but then notices the lack of Head of Diagnostics. "Wait. Where's House?" Wilson asks.
"You're girlfriend is after his head," Cameron says simply. "Coffee?"
"No…" Wilson says slowly, and then looks at Foreman, who shrugs. Cameron is apparently lost in her own little world of bliss to notice the two men glancing concernedly at her.
"So…judging from your happy disposition today, you and House made up?" Wilson asks Cameron.
"What is with everybody and my personal life?" Cameron asks, with demure smile.
"When your personal life involves our boss, then yeah, we get curious," says Foreman.
"Gee Foreman, if I knew you were so interested I would've kept you more up to date," Cameron says taking a sip of her coffee, before clearing her throat. "So what do you want to know? Where we go on our 'dates'? What he talks to me about? Or how about some details on our sex life? If that's the case you might want to get comfortable-"
"Stop. Right. There," Foreman says. "OK, no more enquiring about your relationship with You-Know-Who…. I'd rather not spend the rest of my days locked up in a mental asylum," he says, getting up.
"Where are you going?" Wilson asks, as he collects his things.
"Clinic," Foreman says shortly before, practically running out of the conference room.
Cameron laughs.
"What's so funny?" Wilson asks.
"How immature men can be," Cameron says with a smile.
"Immature? How is going to the clinic immature?" Wilson says.
"Yeah, yeah," Cameron says nonchalantly.
Suddenly, House bursts in, followed shortly by Cuddy.
"Leave me alone!" House shouts childishly.
"House! This is ridiculous," Cuddy says, a little out of breath from physically chasing House all around the hospital.
"I don't want to go!" he cries, pouting.
"House, you have neglected the clinic for too long," Cuddy says.
"You can't make me," House says, and hides behind the whiteboard.
"Oh, how mature," Cameron and Cuddy both say in unison.
"Come one, Cuddy. My best friend is your boyfriend! Can't you show some leniency?" House pleads.
"If you were anybody else, I would, but you're you, so no," Cuddy says.
"That didn't make much sense," House says.
"House," Wilson says. "Just go,"
"Dude, what happened to bros before hos?" House says.
"I win, House," Cuddy says. "Now go!"
House doesn't say anything; he just shakes his head so intensely that it might've come off.
"House…" Cuddy says warningly.
"Dr Cuddy," Cameron says, interrupting. "I agree that House should go do his clinic hours. How about you let me persuade him to go?" she asks sweetly.
"There's nothing anybody can say that would make me go," House announces defiantly.
Cuddy just rolls her eyes.
"I think that sounds reasonable," Wilson says, and leads Cuddy toward the door.
"Yeah…see you there in ten minutes," Cuddy says with a smirk before walking out with Wilson.
Cameron smiles, and then turns to face House, hands on her hips.
"I'm not going," House says boldly.
"Yeah right," Cameron says with a snort, slowly approaching him, her eyes glinting with malice…
-0-
Ten minutes later, the nurses reported to Cuddy that House was, indeed, in the clinic, obediently examining patients.
Cuddy laughed when she heard this.
-0-
Chase got out of the taxi, and looked around.
It's been a while…
"Here," the taxi driver says, giving him his suitcase.
"Thanks," Chase says, handing him a five-dollar tip.
"Um, you've already paid," the driver says, not understanding why he was handing him money.
Oh yeah, you don't need to tip everybody here…
"Right," Chase says, but looks at the bill and hands it to him anyway. "Take it,"
The taxi driver takes it, giving Chase a suspicious look, but pockets it.
Chase picks up his suitcase, and looks up at the aged brick house in front of him. It was rather old, and the stone bricks were covered in vines, which apparently made it worth more on the market. The garden in front of the house was still thriving, native flowers and plants still growing; acacia ashbyae- Ashby's wattle (his father's favourite); scarlet banksias, bottlebrushes mixed with a combination of European plants; tulips, tiger lilies, violets and roses.
He had spent most of his childhood living here, in a bubble, thinking that the world was perfect, that his mom and dad loved each other; that they were both strong, and nothing could destroy them. He had spent his childhood being spoilt, and pampered and doted on.
But then everything went wrong…
Chase took a deep breath and, pushed the garden gate open, and walked up to the deep maroon door, and knocked on it with the brass handle. He waited…
The door creaked open to reveal a tall slender woman standing there, wearing jeans and a 'I Heart NY' t-shirt, her hair left out, wet and Chase could just tell that her coarse tresses were infused with salty seawater.
"Bobby," she says, hands in her pockets.
"Isabella," he says, and the two nod formally.
"I didn't think you'd actually come," she says, pleasantly rude.
"I'm full of surprises," Chase says, and steps into the house, thus, forcing her to the side.
"Well, now that you're here, when will you be leaving?" Isabella asks cuttingly.
"Don't worry your pretty head, I'll be gone as soon as possible," Chase replies patronisingly, before peering around. "Where's your mother?"
"She's up in the attic, looking for 'memorabilia' of your father or something, like I don't even know," Isabella says, bored, and then proceeds to the kitchen, not bothering to check whether Chase was coming as well. Chase casually sets his suitcase in the hallway, and follows his rather loathed stepsister to the kitchen. He and Isabella were never…close, for lack of better words; they're feelings were indifference, they rarely saw each other, and when they did, they exchanged common formalities and barbed insults…it was more of a like-hate relationship, if anything.
He, in passing a mirror on the wall, glimpsed at his reflection, checking his well-sculpted blonde hair. Vanity was a family trait.
"Stop checking yourself out," Isabella says, not looking up from pouring herself some cranberry juice. "Narcissism isn't a good quality,"
"You would know," Chase says.
"Me? Narcissistic? As if," Isabella says, taking a sip of the cranberry juice.
"Yeah, of course not. That's why you're drinking cranberry juice," Chase points out.
"Cranberry juice? That's the best you've got?"
"It shows how much you care about your looks. Drinking cranberry juice in order to lose weight and clear up your skin," he says, and then pauses. "Unless you have a urinary tract infection,"
"Ever thought that I might just enjoy the taste?"
"Nobody willingly drinks cranberry juice," Chase says.
"Well, so what if I drink it to diet? That doesn't prove I'm as vain as you," she replies.
"No, but it proves you're an idiot. That stuff is all sugar. You're putting on more weight by drinking than if you didn't," Chase says, stifling a laugh.
"Stop showing off with you're medical hoo-ha," she says, disgustedly, but pours it down the sink anyway.
Chase smirks.
So this is how House must feel every time he provokes somebody like this
Suddenly, a swarthy and elegant woman walks in, tottering under the weight of a giant cardboard box. The woman was in her golden years- that is; she was a fair bit older than sixty, her hair silvery-blonde, her skin perfectly lines, and there was so much makeup upon her face that a whole other person lay beneath the thick layers of foundation and powder.
"Oh," the woman sighs with despondency, yet even in mourning, her voice was still rich and her tongue sophisticated. "Robert," she says, setting the box down, and outstretching her arms to hug him. Chase bends down slightly to hug her, awkwardly, and he was immediately overpowered by her strong perfume and the musky makeup.
"Hélène," Chase says, uncomfortably, not knowing of what to say. She grasps him tightly, her manicured nails digging into his shoulder blades. Chase winces in pain, and Isabella notices, and snorts. Hélène doesn't notice, and releases him.
"I'm so glad you came, m'dear," she says. "Your father would've wanted you here,"
"Yeah…" Chase mumbles.
"Well, take your things upstairs. Your room is still the way it is," Hélène says as if it were quite a feat. "And, then let's go to lunch, eh? I'm sure that you'd have missed the food around here,"
She was nice. She had always been nice, mused Chase. She always tried to make him feel welcome; she had lunch with him, conversed with him. But she always made him feel like an outsider. She treated him as if he were a guest, not the only-living, oldest resident of this house. She was nice. But they were never really family, and now, with his father gone, he didn't expect to see her ever again after he left.
"Yeah. Sure," Chase says, a little half-heartedly.
-0-
"Isn't it nice, sitting here, outside, have a nice meal?" Hélène says, in an attempt to have a conversation with her troublesome daughter and distant stepson. The three of them are sitting at an outside table at a restaurant. The sun shines brightly over them, even though it is in the middle of winter.
"Mmm," Chase mumbles through a mouthful of carbonara pasta.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Bobby," Isabella says, delicately cutting herself a piece of quiche Lorraine.
How he hated the nickname Bobby. It sounded as if he was four years old. His mother always called him Bobby, and it seemed to rub off on everyone, even though at thirteen he begged them to stop. They tried, but old habits don't die fast. And, of course, Isabella, always one who sought to make him miserable, loved calling him that, knowing that every time the word escaped her lips, he would tremble in distaste. Like a female House
Chase laughed inwardly at the thought. Isabella may be a bitch, but she was definitely not as good as House when it came to inflicting pain and annoyance.
"I've asked you time and time again, Izzy, not to call me 'Bobby'," Chase says, using the nickname she hated; she thought the name was one of a wanton woman…a slut, basically.
"Now, now," Hélène says, though she doesn't appear to be listening, and she absentmindedly takes a sip of her wine. The lady, even if she was grieving for her third husband, still managed to cut a fine figure; dressed head-to-toe in a black- black dress, black stocking, black shoes, black gloves and even a black feathered hair piece, she looked every bit classy. Isabella had, after much coercion from her mother, changed into an LBD, with red pumps and a chunky gold necklace; she always had to make a fashion statement, even in mourning.
"So, Robert, how are you doing over in America?" Hélène asks Chase.
"Oh, not much," Chase says, idly pushing his pasta around the plate.
"Come, come, Robert, there must be something. A love interest perhaps?" Hélène enquires.
"No…not really," Chase says dreamily.
"Well…how's work? I know that you must have something to report, working with that horrible man…"
"Wait. You know who my boss is?" Chase says, a little freaked out.
"Yes, I met him once. Terribly rude, I don't understand-"
"But he was very good-looking," Isabella interrupts.
"You think he is good-looking? Wh-when did you meet him?"
"Uh, a couple years back, Bobby, when you had just started working there. I was in Princeton for a week. I needed to borrow some cash, and I didn't know anybody else, so I stopped by, but Dr House said you were in the clinic or something, so he lent me like a hundred bucks. He seemed really sexy," Isabella says. She then picks up her bag, takes out a pack of cigarettes. She takes one out, and lights it, taking a puff, right in front of her mother and a doctor. Hélène doesn't even seem to care.
"He never mentioned that to me," Chase says. "Though that would explain why he demanded a hundred dollars from me…I actually believed him when he said that was short for his rent…"
"You are so gullible," Isabella says witheringly, as she blows a ring of smoke into his face.
"Not as much as you-"
"Robert," Hélène says, interrupting the two.
"Yes, Hélène?"
"I just wanted to tell you that your father was very proud of you," Hélène said kindly. "I'm sure he was," Chase says, casting his eyes downwards. He knew that his father was proud. But that's not what he wanted to hear.
He wanted to hear that his father loved him, that his father forgave him for treating him so badly last time he saw him. It wasn't enough to know that he was proud. He needed to know that his father had accepted him, that he was proud of him, not a doctor.
"Um, Hélène?" Chase says, clearing his throat. "When is the funeral?"
"Tomorrow, dear," Hélène says huskily
"OK," Chase says licking his lips. He can feel the tears welling up, but not being strong enough to let the two women see, he turns away, and avoids Hélène and Isabella's eyes. He scans the people walking along the street; a fat man waddling away carrying a black briefcase, a woman and three children, a tall man wearing a sombrero, a young woman wearing a gold butterfly necklace, a man…wait. Gold butterfly?
Chase quickly stands up, almost knocking the table over. The woman had turned around, and chase couldn't see her face.
"Robert, what-" but before Hélène can finish her sentence, Chase has sped off, chasing after the woman, leaving both his step-relatives speechless at his hasty and unexplained departure.
Chase runs as fast as he can, but the woman is a fair distance ahead and is either a really fast walker or knows that she is being pursued…
"Wait!" Chase calls, hoping to get her attention. "Kimee!"
But the woman continues, apparently not hearing him or not knowing it was she he was calling after.
Chase quickens his paces, as does she…he almost reaches her, until she suddenly, in a burst of energy, runs forward, and rounds a corner. Chase follows her, but once he turns the corner, she has disappeared. He looks around, panting, but she is nowhere to be seen.
I'm insane…could it really have been her?
Chase doubles-over, out of breath, as his mind goes through a thousand explanations on whether it was truly her, and why she would be here? He looks down at his finger, and the golden ring shone, teasing him, daring him to learn the truth…
-0-
A beautiful Asian woman storms into the entrance of the hospital, raging and rampaging, her eyes filled with anger. Behind her is a tall, well-built, blue-eyed man, following on her heels, apparently used to the woman's temper.
The woman marches up to the nurse's station, and places her purse on the counter with a loud thwack.
"Can I help you?" asks the rather frightened nurse.
"What do you think? That I am here for fun?" the lady says furiously.
"Lin," the man drawls. "Yelling at her won't do much,"
"You stay out of this," the lady, Lin, says sharply.
"Stay out of this? First you blame this whole fiasco on me, now you want me to 'stay out of it'? Make up your mind, Lin,"
"Don't give me that," the lady spits.
"Come on Lin, this isn't my fault. You know how it-"
"I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses right now. If it weren't for your goddamn brother-"
"If it weren't for my 'goddamn brother', she may be God knows where, doing God knows what," the man replies.
"So you're saying I should be thankful?" Lin says exasperatedly.
"Well-"
"Um, excuse me?" the nurse interrupts.
"What?" the two say in unison.
"Uh…the counsellor is on the second floor," the nurse stammers.
"What are you talking about?" Lin says.
"Ar-aren't you here for marriage counselling?" the nurse asks.
"No. We're fine, we have sex, we talk, we love each other, yadda yadda," the man says.
"Oh. I'm sorry…then uh, what can I do-"
"We're here to see someone," Lin says.
"OK, well…who are you looking for, and I can tell you what room they're in…."
"No, we're not here to visit a patient. We're here to see a doctor," Lin says briskly.
"Oh…well, the clinic is over there…"
No, no. We're looking for my brother. He works here," the man says.
"Well, really, you'll need an appointment, as doctors aren't supposed to have relatives visiting-"
"Does it look like we care?" the man says.
The nurse pauses, and then decides to just let them have their way.
"Who is your brother?" she asks, trying to keep her voice pleasant.
-0-
The nurse, still a little shocked, knocks on Dr Cuddy's door.
"Yes? What is?" she calls, and the nurse goes in, a little perplexed.
"Um, sorry to disturb you Dr Cuddy, but there…there's a man and a woman outside," the nurse stammers.
"Can this wait?" Cuddy asks, getting up. "I have somewhere-"
"No, actually. It can't," says the nurse, a little unsure.
Cuddy sighs.
"Do they have an appointment?" Cuddy says.
"No, but-"
"They'll need to make an appointment to see me," Cuddy says, taking off her white lab coat, and putting on a black swing jacket.
"They say that you know them…" the nurse says.
"I know a lot of people," Cuddy says.
"Dr Cuddy. They're…they're related to Dr House," the nurse says. Cuddy stops. "They're asking to see him," the nurse says.
Cuddy bites her lip, before taking off her jacket.
"I'll take them up," Cuddy says, knowing who they were already, before walking out the door to greet the 'visitors'.
-0-
"Can't be vasculitis," House says crossing the word off the whiteboard.
"It could be-" Cameron starts.
"No it can't," House says cutting her off.
"Tumour?" Chase suggests.
"It doesn't explain the rash," Foreman points out.
"The rash could've been caused by anything-" Cameron begins.
"I have a feeling I've heard that one before from Chase. Didn't explain it last time either," House interrupts.
"Well, have you got anything better?" Cameron asks.
House pauses.
"No…" he mumbles, staring at the white board. "Go get an MRI and an LP," he orders his two remaining ducklings.
"But, I thought we ruled out infection?" Foreman says.
"We've got nothing. Might as well test for everything," House says.
"Since when do we check everything?" Cameron asks.
"Since now," House says.
The two doctors look at each other, before getting up to go do the tests. But before they even gather their things, the door bursts open and-
"GREG HOUSE!"
The Asian woman, Lin, stood in the doorway of the Diagnostics conference room, her delicate face contorted with rage, her eyes full of fury; she looked ready to murder and destroy the evidence.
"Oh my G-" House says, genuinely shocked for possibly the second time in his entire life.
"You!" she cries, before giving him a chance to say anything. She marches up to him, and before he even registers the situation, she slaps him hard across the face. Cameron and Foreman watch in both horror and awe, not daring to move or do anything, as they were both still processing the idea of a strange woman coming in and physically attacking House.
House twitches his jaw, puts a hand to his now swollen cheek, and turns to face Lin, a bemused expression on his face.
"Where is she?" the lady hisses.
"Where is who?" House says, acting as if this were some crazy game.
Cameron and Foreman, at this point, suddenly regained use of their limbs and voice box. Cameron walks over to House, and looks at Lin as if she were crazy.
"Who are you?" she asks, mildly enraged.
At that moment, Cuddy comes in followed by a rather tall, blue-eyed man.
House just looks at Lin, smirking.
"Who are you?" Cameron demands again, asking the Asian woman who was busy smoothing down her jacket.
"None of your business," she says haughtily.
"Lin," the man says, coming over to the woman. "You might wanna try taking the whole cold-hard-bitch thing down a notch or two…"
The lady merely shrugs, before crossing her arms, giving House a menacing look.
"Next time you plan on paying me a visit, Andrew, mind leaving the missus at home?" House says acerbically.
"Wait…Andrew?" Cameron says, realization dawning on her.
"You're…you're his brother," Foreman says, looking from the man to House.
Cuddy, Lin, Andrew and House all exchange glances, nobody uttering a word.
-0-
Long chapter, I know, but I hope this was alright. Tell me what you think of where everything is headed. I'm getting a little lost with this story. I don't really know what to do with it anymore, to be honest. Ideas, anyone?
xx