DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

A.N. Yes, if you can believe it – here's the update! Two months late, I suppose, but here all the same. Thanks to patient readers and lovely reviewers…

A Person – Aw, thanks for your review! So sweet! And no, I highly doubt that this story is better than anything you could write – anyone can be a good writer! Anyway, thanks for the review and sorry for the long update. Enjoy!

Sara – I'm glad you feel that way about this story. Don't worry, I've nearly finished the fic – please don't go crazy or die before that! I don't know about House, but I'd be sad if you did! Anyway, have fun with the latest chapter, and thanks again for your review.

Microbiologist – I'm embarrassed to admit that I was blushing sooo heavily when I read your review: ARGH, there are medical experts reading this!!! Don't get me wrong, I'm really glad you gave me advice (sorely needed, I'm afraid to say), and I'll aim to correct the mistakes if I get a chance to rewrite. Thanks for the review, PM me if there are any other stupid mistakes, and enjoy the rest of the fic!

… - Aw, another really sweet review. I've got three more chapters planned out 'til the end of this story, so, with a little luck, Q is for Quarantine will be done soon. Thank you so much for the review; hope you like the latest chapter!

costa rica – write another one?! LOL, only if you can put up with painfully long non-updating periods! But, since you seem to love it so much, I'll try my best. Thanks for the words of encouragement – they're greatly appreciated! Enjoy the next chapter!

mo – yay, new reader! I'm glad you like this; it can be tricky to write Chase since he doesn't feature a lot in the actual show – it's great that you like how I've portrayed him here. Sorry for taking so long to update; hope this chapter was worth waiting for!

Carolyn – I've updated, I've updated! Don't worry, I'm not giving up yet (still got about three chapters to go!); hope you like the latest instalment and thanks for the review!

Ok, now that's over with - on with the show!

Q is for Quarantine

Chapter Sixteen: Rules Are Made To Be Broken

"Page him to tell him that you know what it is. Fill me in on the way." Chase was already out of the door as Cameron fumbled with her pager. Though loathe to interrupt House's Alone Time, she readily complied, paging her boss as ordered. Then, she followed Chase down the hallway, dreading whatever bloody messes she would meet at the end of the line.

House and Wilson were already working when Chase and Cameron thundered down to the overcrowded clinics precious minutes later. Unfortunately, they had been escorted by stuffy CDC guards, who had insisted on stealing several bottles of blood samples from each of them before allowing them to pass into the realms of the non-infected. Little conversation could be exchanged between them during that time, though they had gleaned from the CDC staff that Foreman and the other quarantine patients were stable for the moment. Cameron's theory looked as though it could be held off until the crisis had passed… or so they hoped.

Once they had reached the floor to which they had been ordered to go, the burgeoning crowd of doctors swelled up and brought them apart like raging waters of the sea. It was hard not to just jump back in the lift and hide in the empty, quiet, quarantined areas to which they had been accustomed to for the past few days.

"Doctor Cameron! Thank God, I thought we'd never get an immunologist over! Come quickly, this way!"

With a regretful glance in Chase's direction, Cameron allowed herself to be pulled away by the fretting nurse. All she caught, however, was the view of Chase's back, as he too submitted to the forceful drag of another doctor on his arm. He paused long enough to send a brief look over his shoulder at his colleague before giving her a slight wave with his free hand and moving on. Cameron sighed, though the beginnings of a soft smile tugged at her rueful cheeks.

"Doctor Cameron, did you hear a word I said?" The nurse glared at her inquisitively.

Cameron stared at her. "Er, yeah – sorry. Flu virus, did you say? Right, well, that can't be good…"

House was knee deep in wailing infants, fussing mothers and ailing fathers, not to mention he felt like he was drowning in the masses of moody teenagers and demented oldies that were either blaring out their iPods in a corner or waving their canes around angrily at the youngsters. Sighing at the profanity of his current situation, he resisted the constant surge of temptation that prompted him to simply swing his own cane at the flood of patients and watch as they flew away and landed splat on the walls. Oh, if only he could break down and mope like all the other wanton fools who had loved ones passing away on them – Cuddy would let him off if she caught him like that. But, then again, it wasn't as if she hadn't offered him not to do this job in the first place…

"You know, House, if you're still… lamenting, then I fully understand. You don't have to work right now if you can't. You can start taking some grievance leave as of today…" The hospital dean trails off, looking sombre yet hopeful at the same time.

"Now why would I want to do that?" House lifts the corner of his lips in an uneven grin.

Wilson pops up behind House's back and says something to Cuddy that sounds uncannily like, 'He's fine; don't worry.' She looks relieved. "Well, if you're actually offering to do extra clinic duty…"

House grins an unholy grin. "What are you talking about? I love sick people! Sick people are my passion! Hey, where can I get a T-shirt that says that?"

Cuddy grins dryly at his remark but still looks worried. "What about the case? Foreman's still –"

"Chase and Cameron are on it."

Cuddy absorbs this thoughtfully, then nods in agreement. "Ok, Wilson, could you go to Exam Room Three? I think a whole family's been waiting in there for the past few hours… Um, House, if you're definitely fine to work, then I'm sending you to Exam Room One."

Cuddy turns to leave and House shouts, "I'm expecting a pay rise for this!" She smiles to herself and walks on, listening as the diagnostician limps off to join the throng of waiting patients and rushing doctors. And she thought she'd never see the day when House would offer to do extra clinic duty…

House sighed to himself. House Rule No.1: Escape clinic duty at all costs… Well, he'd pretty much blasted that principle to hell. How un-Houselike.

Half an hour and four begrudged patients later, he was already sick of it; this was to be expected, he berated himself, no good could possibly come out of breaking any of the 'House Rules.'

As a result miserable little voice in his head repeated a ridiculous mantra over and over again – Keep yourself busy, you'll forget all about Stacy… Keep yourself busy, you'll forget all about Stacy – until he all but wanted to keep working in the Godforsaken hellhole that was: The Clinic.

And what about Foreman? House rubbed his eyes tiredly. By all accounts, the man should be dead by now… and what exactly was he doing about it? Nothing. Nada. Zip. He was – what was the word? Ah, yes – lamenting his misery in the freaking clinic, of all places. Why wasn't he working the case any more? Why wasn't he busting a gut to solve the mystery of all mysteries?

Detachment, he told himself. I want to work on this case; isn't that what I told Cuddy? It just doesn't seem as worth it as before. It won't bring her back… It's not my turn to save the world.

Which led onto House Rule No.2: You are a rock, you don't care and you never will.

Hmm, that wasn't exactly coming along well either. Who said rocks were unemotional, anyway?

So what was he doing? Immersing himself in seas of invalids, that's what. Was it helping him? He thought about this. Yes, it was helping him – get a migraine and perhaps the beginnings of a cold. But to forget…?

That's right, the little voice squealed inside his brain hysterically, Keep yourself busy, you'll forget about Stacy; keep yourself busy –

"Ah, shut up," House grumbled, popping a couple of Vicodin pills into his mouth.

House Rule No.3: …Painkillers are there for a reason.

He collected his cane from where it rested against the examination table and picked up one of the numerous clipboards that were stacked on a chair.

He booted open the door. "Mr Donovan?" he shouted to the crowd of patients. A frowning man stood up and marched over to the diagnostician.

"What's taking so long – I've been waiting here for four hours! Where are all your doctors?!"

"Four hours!" House pretended to be amazed. "Wow, that really sucks for you!" He then leaned in to the man as if about to reveal a dirty secret. "But you know what? I've been stuck in here for four DAYS." He popped another Vicodin. "So, what were you complaining about?"

House Rule No.4: Sarcasm is like Vicodin – use with every patient or case, or whenever you freaking well please. Warning: it's addictive.

Chase spent a total of two minutes in the clinic; he was then carted off to the OR where several teams of nurses swarmed around him, grim looks adorning their faces. He took a brief moment to get changed out of his grubby lab coat and into the formal scrub-wear before stumbling back out onto the scene again.

"What have we got?" he asked a senior nurse a little breathlessly.

"You want the whole list or just the case you'll be working on for the next fifteen minutes?" she replied to him quite frankly. He lifted an eyebrow in puzzlement.

"Er, how long is the list?"

The nurse mirrored his expression by raising her own eyebrow. She straightened her shoulders stiffly, eerily echoing the pose that Chase assumed when he had to perform a particularly long poem recital or speech. Oh, God.

"You know what, never mind," Chase said wearily, stopping her before she could begin. "Who's first?"

The nurse checked her clipboard. "Mr Carter, due for a pancreaticoduodenectomy… and has been waiting for one for the past five hours."

Chase's eyes widened, recalling her earlier words. "You want me to do a Whipple's procedure in fifteen minutes?"

The nurse managed a wry laugh. "Not unless you want a dead patient on your hands!"

"Look, I'm an intensivist, not a surgeon – maybe it'd be better if you get a more experienced doctor to do the job quicker –"

"Doctor Chase," the nurse interjected firmly, "you're the only additional doctor we've seen down here in the past few hours. And you know how many doctors we got working down here? I could count them on one hand, Doctor Chase, one hand. The patients are outnumbering us three to one. Right now, I'd take anyone I can get, and if that means getting an intensivist to assist in a Whipple's, he'll damn right assist in a Whipple's. Are we clear?"

Chase gulped. "Crystal."

The nurse nodded approvingly. "Good. Let's get started. Now, where's the Goddamn patient?" she fired-off at the surrounding nurses.

Chase tugged at his collar nervously as he entered the cool interiors of the operating room. The senior nurse barked orders at her team and they busied themselves with prepping the patient for surgery. Surgery, right… hmmm…

"Doctor Chase, we're waiting."

He sighed and made his way to the table.

And the operation began.

"Hey – hey, Richardson! Send this sample off for an IFA, will you?"

"Do it yourself. I've got better things to do."

"But I haven't had a break in two hours!"

"My heart bleeds for you…"

"Hey, man, seriously – I gotta pee. I'm bursting. Please."

"It doesn't take that long to get the sample to – why are you ordering an IFA anyway?"

"Says in the subject's history that they had an ELISA one done a couple of months ago… due for another test soon. Now, could you please cover for me while I go for a-"

"Did they test positive?"

"Negative, duh! Otherwise I wouldn't be testing them again, would I?"

"No, moron, I meant: what were the results with the tests from your ELISA?"

"Oh. Inconclusive. That's why we need to do an IFA… (and you're calling me a moron!)"

"Do a Western blot."

"What? Yeah, ok, whatever you say! Just send the sample up for me so that I can go–"

"So, are you doing a Western blot or not?"

"Yes! Yes, I am! Now, could you please–?!"

"Ok, ok, I'll do it. What's the subject's name?"

"Thanks, dude – I owe you one. Uh, the subject's name? Wait, wait, I've got it here… It's Cameron. A. Cameron."

"A. Cameron. Right. I'll send it right up."

"Chase!"

The dishevelled intensivist had just emerged from several intense hours of surgery, most of which he had only assisted in since he couldn't really perform fast-paced surgery to save his life… or the patient's, for that matter. In the end, an extremely vexed surgeon sent him on his merry way back to the clinic, with the consoling words, '…and don't come back again!' Humph. Chase could do surgery. Just not at lightening speed. And that bloody surgeon worked at a rate that would have put NASA rockets to shame. Geez.

"What?" the Australian snapped, irately tugging the theatre cap off his head and ruffling his severely-mussed hair. He turned to look for the source of the voice.

Cuddy was desperately weaving through the mass of people to get to him. Her hair was equally messy, if not messier than his, and her stethoscope was dangling perilously off one shoulder. She moved forward haphazardly and it fell off completely.

"Argh, dammit. Chase, wait!" She bent and picked up her fallen stethoscope. "Have you just come down from the ORs?"

He let the scrubs under his lab coat answer her question, but she was too busy securing her stethoscope back around her neck to spare a glance at his attire. "Yeah," he sighed, stuffing his cap into his pocket.

"Good. I need you to help House in the clinic. I don't know where Cameron is, but I've been paging her since four this morning. She won't answer, but since you're here, you can fill in."

Chase frowned. "Cameron won't answer her pages?"

"No. Do you know where she is?"

"No."

Cuddy released a sigh and fiddled with the rubber tubing of her stethoscope. "I didn't think she was the kind of person to abandon her job at a time like this… Anyway, go find House. I think he's over his head in the clinic. Check Exam Room One."

"…Ok."

"Thanks, Chase."

The hospital dean left Chase in a flurry of frizzy hair and flying stethoscopes. Whilst she went back to tending to her patients, Chase made his way down to the clinic, as ordered. He kept an eye out for a certain brunette immunologist but soon found himself too immersed in the sea of patients that rushed up to meet him that he couldn't even make out his own two feet on the floor beneath him. Glancing about, he spotted Wilson trying to communicate with a Chinese woman in the corner of the waiting lounge. She was gesturing at her swollen abdomen rather fiercely and gabbling away in Cantonese loud enough to turn heads. Chase's mouth twitched minutely; poor Wilson.

Chase knocked on the door to Exam Room One before entering abruptly. "House, Cuddy sent me to –"

"Chase!" Chase hadn't heard House sound so relieved in all the time he'd known him. He also hadn't anticipated the angry wails that assaulted him as soon as he entered. God, what was House doing to his patients? "Here ya go!"

"What? Humph–!" Chase gasped as a heavy weight descended on his arms and the noise around him rose by several decibels. It took a moment for his fuzzy brain to register that the 'heavy weight' was actually a baby. An ambulance-siren-imitating baby. He looked at House. "What do you expect me to do with–?"

"Make the damn thing stop!"

"How?!"

"I don't know – just do it!"

Chase scowled at his boss and started to gently rock the wailing child. "Where's its mother?"

"Did you see Wilson outside?"

"Yes."

"Did you see that Chinese woman with him?"

"Oh. Her."

"Yeah, her. I think she said that she thinks she has cancer. At least, that's what I'd assume after she yelled 'cancer, cancer, cancer; tooma, tooma, tooma!' at me for about twenty minutes before Wilson hauled her off. And she gave me this," House proceeded to wave a pregnancy test under Chase's nose, the pink line indicating that it was positive.

Chase looked bemused. "…'Tooma'?"

"Tumour."

"Ah, right… So she thinks she has a tumour, but she's actually pregnant."

"You've finally connected the dots, genius."

Instead of responding, Chase smiled faintly at this. He felt an insistent tug on his lab coat and had to gently dislodge the baby's prying fingers from the lapels of his clothing. The child had – thankfully – stopped crying and was now eyeing the pens in Chase's breast-pocket with great interest.

"Aw, I knew you'd be good with him," House cooed sweetly. Chase snorted to himself in distaste; 'sweet' was the last word anyone would associate with House. Whatever his boss was about to say, it wouldn't be good.

"What made you think that?" the intensivist asked warily.

House threw the lone duckling an impish look. "Oh, only because you two share the same mental capacity and all."

House never failed to disappoint. Chase wore an Oh, haha expression. His attention was stolen, however, when he started an energetic wrestling match with the baby, who was in danger of impaling his eyeball with the end of the biro he had stolen out of the doctor's pocket. Chase successfully wrested the pointy object from the infant's little fingers, only to have him reach for another once he had set the first down on the table. God, where was the damn child-proofing on those things? Did biros even come child-proofed?

"No," Chase told the baby sternly, sliding the pen out of its mouth and grimacing slightly. He tossed the saliva coated biro at House who dodged promptly, scowling. The baby blinked once, twice, three times… then opened its mouth and started to howl.

"No – no, aw come on! Here's the pen, here's the pen – please stop crying; look at the biro! You want the biro? Here, here, here's the biro!"

Fortunately for Chase and House, the mother chose to burst in seconds later to claim her child. She all but snatched the infant from Chase's arms and fled the room, uttering curses in her language as she went. Wilson was standing outside, looking as though he had just been harassed by a rabid bear.

House stuck his head out of the door as the pregnant lady was leaving. "Put a sock in it!" he shouted, causing a few people to look at the incriminated child in the woman's arms as it shrieked relentlessly. "No, not the kid," House amended loudly, addressing the woman, "You heard of protection? No? Well, you'd better learn fast, 'cause God knows America could do with one less howling brat."

The diagnostician stepped back into the examination room and closed the door quickly, letting out a long breath as though he'd just run a marathon reach the place.

"You handled that well," Chase remarked, wiping the saliva off the pen he had just retrieved off the floor with a tissue.

House tossed the woman's pregnancy test into a bin. "Did you hear that kid? The amount of air he could pack into his little lungs… puts Mariah Carey to shame. I hope the next one's not as bad – kinda makes you wish she really did have cancer, doesn't it? God forbid, she's having another child…"

"House!"

"What? It's not my fault those kids are the spawns of the devil… or, more likely, the spawns of some unholy cross between Britney and Justin. Remind me to bring my earplugs to work next time, ok?"

Chase rolled his eyes. It was the only response he could muster at that point as he stood, leaning against the examination table, cleaning the baby-spit off his soggy biro. House had taken to twirling his cane mutely, a common pastime for him whilst he was thinking. Chase found that he was glad for the pen in his hands; he needed something to fiddle with in the silence. Being in the same room as House meant that there was virtually no room for even the concept of silence – the man could say anything to ignite a conversation (or, more likely, an argument) and probably couldn't live through a day without some form of banter passing through his lips. Chase stared at his sticky pen. Hmm, well, this wasn't the slightest bit awkward, was it?

"Look, Chase, about yesterday," said House in a sudden rush, "You know, in the bathroom with Walker? I just wanted to say – well – you… you throw crap punches." He finished the sentence lamely, stopping his cane mid-whirl and staring at it forlornly. Chase merely nodded, not wanting to relive the events that transpired in the bathroom brawl. Too late, his hand had crept out on its own accord and touched the thrashed side of his head gingerly, setting off a hot burst of pain that frazzled his frayed nerve-endings. He winced, and resolved to find some Tylenol later.

"…I suppose I owe you thanks anyway. You know, for trying to defend me and all," House added in a low murmur and Chase looked up at him sharply, blinking in puzzlement. "And I must admit – your kick looked mega effective. Brings out the kangaroo in you, Wombat."

"… You're thanking me?" Chase ignored the endearing marsupial comparisons, almost reeling in the shock of House's apparent desire to show some form of gratitude. He wasn't even aware that that word was listed in House's internal dictionary.

"No, I owe you my thanks. That implies that it has yet to be delivered." House abruptly started to twirl his cane again, cocky grin firmly back in place.

Chase snorted at the typical evasive remark. "Then I'm gonna assume that it's lost in the mail."

House's grin widened. "I'm impressed; sarcasm and taking up the use of my metaphor. Very good."

Chase felt like a student who had been praised by a particularly strict teacher. A little glow of warm satisfaction settled in his stomach and he dimly noted that it was just about the most positive feeling he'd experienced in the past few days, save all the times he'd spent alone with –

"Cameron." Chase slipped his biro back into his pocket and pushed off the table, positive feelings diminished like water to a flame. He caught House's attention. "Do you know where she is? Cuddy's been paging her for a while, but she hasn't been responding."

House cocked an eyebrow. "I thought she was with you. Weren't you two meant to be theorising about –?"

"Yes… And she had it. She thinks she knows what the disease is," Chase admitted quietly.

House's mood shifted perceptibly. "…And you kept quiet about this because…?"

Chase looked mildly sheepish. "I, uh, assumed you didn't want to hear anything more about the case. You know, since –"

House rolled his eyes emphatically. "Save it, Chase. I've got Cuddy and Wilson to ride me about – about Stacy. But Cameron thinks she's got it? Why the hell hasn't she told anyone?"

House was already out of the door before Chase could find an answer to his question. He leapt up after his boss. "Well, Cuddy said there were emergencies –"

"Since when was clinic duty more important than one of my cases?" House asked him shrewdly, almost stamping on a group of little children in his haste to flee the clinic. Wilson was nowhere in sight and Chase briefly wondered if he'd finally been engulfed by the ocean of patients that surrounded them.

"And what about Foreman?" Chase swallowed at House's words.

"He was stable when we last checked," he muttered.

House grunted. "I don't like the past tense in that sentence."

"What are we going to do?"

House stopped walking suddenly, a little frown creasing his forehead. That stupid, whiney inner-voice-thing was back. Don't do this, don't do this! Don't go back on the case. It won't bring her back, and you know it.

House Rule No.5: Emotional constipation is the key to a successful career. Steer clear of emotional laxatives such as Doctor Cameron; take sparingly with plenty of water – crying is a common side-effect.

"House? What are we going to do?"

"Do? What are we going to do?" House started to walk again. "Let's go save the world."

Cameron had spent a majority of the day in the ER. After working on one patient in the clinic, she found herself whisked off into the Emergency Rooms. It was strange, working in amongst the flood of blood and broken bones, crazily beeping monitors and loud defibrillators. She couldn't help wondering why Chase wasn't in her place; he was, after all, an intensivist. She sighed. Perhaps she should page him over now?

Three extremely tricky cases later and she was about as sick of blood as ever. Ever since the HIV scare, blood hadn't been her favourite of fluids, but she was a doctor. She got over it. Spending hours in the lab staring at blood samples does that to you.

"Doctor Cameron? Is there a Doctor Cameron in here?"

She looked up, stripping her hands of the soiled gloves. "That's me. What is it?"

The doctor, who was donning a badge that declared he was working for some department of the CDC, nodded at her grimly and motioned for her to follow him. Mystified, she told a nurse where she was going and left through the doors.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, but I have a lot of things to do. If you could make this quick, I'd really appreciate it." Cameron glanced at the doctor, prompting him to hurry up.

"Then I will get straight to the point… You are aware that samples of your blood underwent ELISA testing a few months ago, yes?"

The atmosphere changed dramatically. A different kind of tension filled the air as Cameron's lungs constricted tightly in her chest and her heart lurched. She nodded for the doctor to continue, her throat too dry to muster words.

"The CDC have performed the necessary secondary tests to your previous ELISA."

He paused. Cameron resisted the urge to thump the information out of him. The suspense was killing her. "Well?"

The doctor in front of her sighed. "Our ELISA results were inconclusive. Either way, we'll be conducting an immunofluorescence assay and a Western blot to make sure of things; the results will be back in a few days, but there is a chance that you're still negative. In the meantime, all you can do is wait… Doctor Cameron, are you alright?"

Human existence must be some kind of error; every day it gets worse and worse until the worst of all happens. A pessimistic quote by a pessimistic man, Cameron had always thought. But, oh, how appropriate it was for how she was feeling right then and there.

Was this the worst thing that could happen? The hospital was quarantined, House had lost Stacy, Foreman was dying (or even dead – she wouldn't know) and she might have HIV. 'Are you alright?' he asks. Well…

"Fine," Cameron replies blandly, as if on automaton. "I'm absolutely fine."

Abandoning all the patients that she had planned to see, she strode mechanically down the hallway. And again she asked herself, was this the worst thing that could happen?

Yes. It was.

A.N. ...HIV tests probably take a lot longer than what I've written in this fic – but, for the purposes of this story, HIV results will be coming through to you in the next couple of chapters!

Again, sorry for the long update (… and be prepared for another one…).

And just to let you know: reviews make my day!

Daygoner