Chapter 5

Wilson sat beside House on the bench in the waiting area across from Mrs. Quigley's room. He offered his bag of chips to House, who took one and ate it silently. The two men sat sharing the chips quietly, as nurses and patients passed in front of them.

"I never even considered Lassa fever," House finally said.

"Why would you?" Wilson asked. "She had no known exposure."

"I'm supposed to find out the unknown things," House replied morosely. This case, which was supposed to help distract him from brooding, was turning out to be exactly what he didn't need. Just one more thing he'd screwed up.

"And if you could do it all yourself then you wouldn't need a team," Wilson said pragmatically. House shrugged. Wilson studied him. "They've come up with the diagnosis before and it hasn't bothered you like this. What's different this time?"

House looked down the hall, not wanting Wilson to have even a glimpse of his profile. He'd heard Wilson's theories on this enough times in the past; he didn't need a repeat now. He rubbed his thigh, careful to make it seem more like an annoyed gesture than an attempt to relieve pain.

House returned his gaze to his sneaker tops, and Wilson studied him again. He was brooding, an art he'd mastered long ago. The trick now for Wilson was to decipher what he was brooding about. Partly about this diagnosis, but that was really only a symptom. What was the deeper problem? Wilson could only imagine it was Allison.

"He lost out on the opportunity to be stunned by the omniscient Greg House?" Wilson asked. House rolled his eyes. "So he solved one. He'll miss a dozen that you won't. More." Wilson paused, taking one more chip from the bag and handing it to House. "Quit brooding about her. She loves you, you know it. You scared her and she backed off. Are you going to tell me you can't understand that?"

House dropped his gaze from the chips to the patch of carpet where the tip of his cane currently rested. Wilson left House to think things over. Abandoning the chips, House leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling, gently rocking his cane left to right. Wilson was right. Again. Funny how he could be so spot on about what was going on in other people's relationships and still be so blind to problems in his own. House smirked. Cameron would say he couldn't see the forest for the trees. The smirk faded, and he rubbed his thigh just a little harder than last time.

Chase grinned as Jasper flopped exhaustedly on his couch. He'd been having a good week in the NICU, four discharges and no deaths. Jasper, along with Price and Foreman, had been running herself ragged trying to diagnose Mrs. Quigley. She'd barely had time to tell him she didn't have time for lunch. Each night for the past five days he'd listened to their progress on the case, from chronic fatigue to leukemia, lyme disease and finally lupus. He hoped today had brought some better news.

"Long week?" he asked sympathetically. Jasper just moaned. Chase grinned again. He remembered weeks like that working for House. And although the NICU could be more emotionally draining if you let it, it was certainly physically a lot easier. The lack of breaking and entering a patient's house alone was a benefit. "So?"

Jasper raised an eyebrow at him knowingly. He could pretend all he wanted that he was glad he'd moved to the NICU, and she knew on many levels he was. But she also knew a part of him, however small, missed working for House. Well, maybe not missed working for House but missed the work itself. He always wanted to hear about her day, their patient. She knew it was partly just him being interested in her, but also partly being interested in the cases. She'd put that little bit of interest to work, and he knew better than to question her about her day without first giving her what she wanted.

Chase scooted closer on the couch and gathered her up in his arms for a long, warm hug. After which she turned her back on him and he began massaging the tension from her shoulders. He had good hands, strong but gentle when necessary. She'd been amazed when he'd first done this for her, and it had soon become an evening ritual.

"So?" Chase repeated.

"Lassa fever," Jasper said. She'd expected a reaction to that, and wasn't disappointed. His hands stopped in surprise. "Rob?"

"Sorry," Chase muttered, and continued massaging her neck. "How did House come up with that one?" Chase asked. He would never have gone to Lassa fever.

"He didn't," Jasper said, saving the best part for last and drawing it out for maximum effect. "Price did."

"Huh," Chase said. He wondered how House would react to that. He normally made quite the show of diagnosing their first patient when a new fellow came on board. Then again, a fellow who could out-diagnose him on the first case was certainly interesting. However House reacted, Chase was pretty sure it wouldn't be good for Price. Poor bastard.

House flipped his cell phone shut and sat at the conference room table, vigorously rubbing his thigh. Hopefully he'd be able to get some relief tomorrow. Staring at the whiteboard, where Price had rewritten Mrs. Quigley's symptoms, his curiosity got the better of him. He went to the shelf in the back and took down an older text, one he himself hadn't looked at in years. Dropping the hefty medical tome on the table, he sat once more and quickly flipped to page 897. Glancing between it and the whiteboard he formed a theory.

"Interesting," House said.