Chapter Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: House and friends are not mine, yadda yadda yadda…
Chapter 3
The histological report came back with a diagnosis of squamous cell carcinoma, which made Mr. Cotran a cancer patient and thus Wilson's problem. It was Wilson who gave the news to Andrew and his stepdaughter. They'd need to biopsy his lung and larynx and any other neoplasms found by the bone scan that had been scheduled for his knee. If the cancer had spread to all the systems suspected then he wouldn't last more than six months even with chemo and radiation.
When James left the room there where tears in the father's eyes and more streaming down the face of the girl who'd grown to love him.
H
The day was over. Their case was solved. House, however, was still working on another puzzle.
"Chase."
"What?"
"Do you really love him that much?"
Chase walked away without answering.
He ended up back at the hospital at two in the morning when a drunk driving accident put four patients in the critical care wing. It usually would have fallen to the intensivist on call that night but he was the father of one of the victim's. The drunk driver crashed his car into the two-door Honda of Bradley Marlow who'd been returning from a party with three other friends. The passenger on the impact side of the car was pronounce dead at the scene but the driver, Marlow, and his friends in the cramped back seats made it through the collision. The intoxicated driver also made it to the hospital and of the four survivors he had the least serious injuries.
It was 8:45am when Chase heard his name being called by a familiar voice. He sighed tiredly. He'd only gotten two hours of sleep the night before. He wasn't in the mood to put up with his surly boss.
"It's not cancer," House informed as he walked to Chase's side with less of a limp than the day before. Chase's eyes drifted down to the other man's right hand, still not used to the sight of him without his trusty weapon.
"What's not cancer?"
"Mr. Coltrane."
"Cotran."
"Yeah him. Blood markers for cancer came back all wrong. Plus two more symptoms: headache and neck pain."
The sleep-deprived brain barely recalled the symptoms of the day before. He rubbed the side of his head trying to stave off his own headache. "Meningeal involvement," he muttered. "Where are Foreman and Cameron?"
"Not in yet."
Chase wished they were because he couldn't conjure a differential diagnosis at the moment. "Are we sure it's not TB?"
"That test was negative," House said quickly. "Come one something else." House snapped his fingers impatiently.
"Maybe Cameron was right. It could be sarcoidosis."
"Can't think of anything new so you pick something that was already said," House accused.
Dull blue eyes rolled towards the ceiling in exasperation but the sentiment remained incomplete as one of the ICU patients began to code. It was one of the accident victims. He'd been in the rear seat on the impact side and though the odds had been against him, he'd made it through the night without complications.
"He's crashing!" an ICU nurse yelled over the alarms. The young man's intercranial pressure had spiked and his body jerked violently as he seized.
"Push ten cc's ativan!" Chase ordered and a moment later the violent jerking ended. "Prep an OR and get a neurosurgeon. It's another subdural." He'd already gone for surgery for bleed the night before and the surgeon had marked his chances for survival as good if he didn't have another. The young man's chances had just gone from good to almost none in the matter of seconds.
Chase would assist in the surgery trying to keep the patient alive long enough for the neurosurgeon to repair the damage. It wouldn't be enough.
H
The emergency surgery was over. The patient had survived but he was still in critical condition. There was little hope that he would survive. Chase had just walked out of the operating room when a white cup with the Starbuck's logo was thrust into his path.
"Coffee?"
Tired or not he wasn't about to blindly trust House. "What's wrong with it?" He watched the older man from the corner of his eye.
"Nothing. I just thought that maybe you'd like something to keep you from walking into a wall." Chase stopped walking and stared at him. House was never this nice, especially not to him. "A clinic patient gave it to me to spite her boyfriend. It's more your type of coffee. I just took it on principle," House finally admitted. If Chase didn't take it then he was just going to dump it. He'd only accepted the beverage to piss off the woman's boyfriend who'd been giving him nothing but attitude during the whole examination.
Slowly Chase took the drink. "Thanks." He took a sip of the warm beverage. Before it even touched his tongue he knew it was going to be extremely sweet. He could smell the sugar in the drink, which is probably why House didn't want it. He liked sugar in his coffee, not the other way around.
"Cotran still doesn't have a diagnosis yet."
His tired mind could only come up with a simple suggestion. "Histoplasmosis," said Chase between sips. The caffeine and sugar were already making him feel a little better. House was about to make a remark but a rapid train of thought had him frozen in place with his mouth half open. Chase stared at him and continued to drink.
"Gotta go," the taller of the two suddenly announced. A few long strides and sharp turn later and House was out of sight. Chase couldn't even muster the enthusiasm to wonder what leap of logic House had made.
Foreman and Cameron had retreated to the lab soon after they arrived at PPTH that morning. House hadn't been in a good mood, unable to determine the cause of Cotran's illness. He'd sent them to run more test and as of yet nothing had come back with a positive result. They had other patients, ones from their clinic hours and they continued to run the tests required for those patients while considering their most critical one.
"Something chronic?" Cameron suggested from her workbench.
Staring through a microscope Foreman minutely shook his head. "He doesn't smoke, there's not history, and the symptoms aren't quite right. It's got to be an infection."
"So what acts like, and on X-ray looks like tuberculosis, looks like cancer on the skin but isn't either?" Cameron asked, sliding one sample into the centrifuge with each clause.
"Blastomycosis, my dear Watson." Two heads turned to the door. The bright lights of the corridor outlined House's tall form in his usual jeans, blazer, and t-shirt with a bright halo as though his answer and even his presence were divine. The illusion was broken as the door he'd pushed open swung back to hit him. Muffled snickers ended as soon as House turned back to them.
"Blastomyces dermatitis, found in soils mostly in the south central US but as a landscaper for rich people who'd want plants from all over it's likely he'd been exposed to the fungus. Inhalation of enough dry spores and the little bastards set up shop." He walked past Cameron and she turned to follow his path. "Body recognizes the little foreigners, sends the INS," he pauses and turns to Foreman, "by that I mean neutrophils, and our man gets his flu-like symptoms." He continued on to the back of the room and the two other physicians left their stools to follow. "Problem is by the time they can mount a co-ordinated attack the spores have become yeast and Mr. Cotran's immune system is looking for the wrong thing. Pieces of the infection break off and end up being carried through the lymphatic system to the heart where it's mixed into his blood to boldly go where no fungus has gone before."
"Disseminating miliary blastomycosis? That's…" Cameron paused. "That fits."
House turned away from the apparatus he'd been tinkering with. "And you doubted my genius." He turned back to the incubator and after donning a set of gloves, reached into removed the culture he wanted. "All we need to do is confirm with the sputum sample the third musketeer suggested we take."
The three doctors looked down at the test tube with the white growth inside. There wasn't much since it had only been a little over a day but there was enough to test.
"PAS and silver stain." He handed it to the already-gloved Foreman. "And don't inhale." He started for the door, completely confident in his diagnosis. "Start him on amphotericin B, and itraconazole."
H
He felt as if he'd won. Cotran would be fine and now House would never have to think about him again. Just as importantly (or more importantly, depending on his level of narcissism) he was okay. This had been it. His first real test since the ketamine and he was still at the top of his game.
He caught the rubber ball after it bounced off the floor and then the wall but didn't throw it again.
Cuddy had been looking over his shoulder during the last couple of days, trying not to make it obvious but he could see it when she looked at him. Hopefully this would get her off is case and keep her from worrying.
He threw the ball again and caught it after the two expected collisions were made.
"So what was it?"
House slowly turned his head to find Chase, still in scrubs, standing in front of his desk.
"Blastomycosis. You were close." It was almost a compliment.
"You were right," Chase conceded unenthusiastically. Being close wasn't enough.
He was in the doorway to the adjacent room when House posed a question.
"How's that kid?"
Chase shook his head and rolled his lips in to wet them in a subtle gesture of upset. "He didn't make it." He'd be over it soon but the losses always lingered with him for a little while. Soon the young man on his way to the morgue would be another statistic modifying the recovery rate of the ICU, adding to the number of patients lost under Chase's care, just another number. It was a strange and disturbing transition from living person to statistic. Those expressions along the lines of 'you're more likely to die in a car accident than in a plane crash,' meant little to most people except that you needn't fear flying but for Chase and others like him who dealt with trauma cases it translated into tragedy after avoidable tragedy. It was only when dealing with the next case became easier, not as shocking, not as sad, that they knew it was time to move to something else. So the upset was a good thing. Now he just had to make his way past it and move on to whatever came next.
He continued into the conference room to sit down. From the other side of the glass wall House watched. There was something a little off about the Aussie –maybe not off entirely, just a little different. Discounting the turmoil connected to the death of one of his patients Greg knew there was still more to it than just Zinedine René. He still didn't know what Chase needed the extra money for. Nor did he know what happened between Wilson and the young doctor. So much mystery surrounding his floppy haired intensivist and every time he scratched the surface he caught of glimpse of something more intriguing underneath.
Greg glanced at the clock on the wall.
"Chase. With me." He waited until the young man actually started to get up before heading for the door and taking a right turn.
"Where are we…" He stopped speaking when he saw House barge into Wilson's next door office.
"Jimmy! Lunch! Now!" A few heads in the corridor turned towards the oncologist's office. Most people though, were used to hearing strange things from the offices of Drs. House and Wilson.
Chase shook his head at the muffled argument coming from inside the room. He'd just done an about-face to make his escape when House peaked out of office. "Don't go anywhere. We'll be right out."
"House, I just want to sit down and rest for a bit," Chase moaned. That coffee had worn off and the fatigue was setting in. He'd worked with little sleep before but he knew the routines he had to go through to make sure that he could still function. Part of that routine was getting small amounts of food or caffeine every few hours.
"Cranky, aren't we?"
Chase had had enough. He walked away muttering about some jerk for whom he worked. He hadn't gone five feet when suddenly the loose neck of his scrubs rode up to choke him.
"I didn't say you could leave." House gave one more parting jerk on the fabric before letting go. "Now, we can leave," he said walking in the same direction Chase had been heading. Behind his back the other two men glared at him.
"You okay?" Wilson asked placing a hand at the back of Chase's neck.
Chase who was still easing the choking sensation only responded with a nod and ignored the warmth of Dr. Wilson's hand.
House didn't bring any money with him and Chase didn't have any money on him either since he was still in scrubs, which only left Wilson to pay. He glared at Greg while handing over some cash to the cashier. The scruffy doctor just stared back and ate a fry. They found a table near the windows and began to eat their respective meals in silence. A few minutes into the meal and House hadn't done anything rude, not a question, not a comment. It was eerie.
"So how's René?" House asked casually.
I knew it was too good to last, thought both Wilson and Chase.
"He's fine." He tried not to be defensive. Chase watched House carefully, waiting for the next strike but it didn't come.
"Did you ever notice that Cuddy looks a lot like Nurse Spencer on General Hospital?"
Glancing between the frozen expression of mild shock on Wilson's face and the open curiosity on House's pulled a short laugh from the intensivist. He smiled down at his pasta and forked a few of the spirals before bringing them to his mouth.
The rest of the meal continued along the same script. They made idle conversation, even shared a few laughs. It was almost surreal to Chase –House laughing when it wasn't at someone else's expense, but it was nice. He felt something at being included in their little friendship, even if it was just once. Chase wasn't naïve enough to believe that House didn't have an angle. He couldn't recall ever being naïve enough to believe that. Eventually the axe would fall but if he'd learnt anything in his life, it was to enjoy the smooth ride while you were on it, because a ten-car pileup was around the bend.
H
The next day wasn't as bright and happy as the one before which was just fine for House. He hadn't slept well last night. His damn brain wouldn't stop with all its thinking.
He arrived late and in an attempt to avoid Cuddy, who he heard was looking for him, he took a convoluted route to his office passing the office one of the hospital's former lawyers, Stacey Warner, formerly Stacey, House's ex-girl. He kept his head down as he walked through the corridor and past the room with too many memories. He hadn't spoken to her since his outburst after he'd been shot. She'd come to Princeton just to see him when she heard about the incident (wonder how that went over with Mark) and he'd chased her away. There was an inkling that flared whenever he thought of her. It was the kind of feeling that lead people to apologize but an apology would mean that her feelings meant something to him. They had at one point, still did to some extent but he didn't want it anymore.
Vindaloo Curry, she'd called him. Not much of a compliment considering she could only stomach a little of it every once in a while. So that sort of put the whole reconciliation thing down the crapper. And maybe he did have a conscience, thought perhaps she'd be better off with a man that was willing to lay more on the line to be with her than he had been.
Head tilted towards the ceiling, Greg released a sigh of relief when the elevator doors closed, leaving him as he always chose to be: mercifully, miserably alone.
His office was the way he left it the night before, not that he was expecting it to be different, and in the adjacent room were his fellows. One at the computer, probably checking the emails he didn't care he had, another was making himself a cup of coffee –"Want it black don't you, black like your heart?" he narrated with a crafty smile. Mr. Burns was a man after his own heart, and the stolen line from The Simpson's could be modified to fit perfectly his black neurologist. He dropped his bag and jacket and strode with only a minor limp into the other room ready to deliver his remark when it occurred to him that something was missing. That was only two of three followers.
"Where's our eye-candy?"
Foreman turned just enough to make eye contact and then looked pointedly at Cameron. The silent answer didn't go unnoticed by Cameron and she glared at both of them in turn.
"I meant the blonde one."
Foreman shrugged while stirring his drink. "I don't know. I gave him a ride home yesterday. He said he was too tired to drive."
House thought about it and it seemed a decent enough answer. He returned to his office ignoring another inkling that told him to check up on his third fellow.
H
His beeper had gone off about ten minutes ago. He'd considered getting it but he was watching a rerun of an OC episode he'd missed. The grating, intermittent beeping, informing the device's owner that he'd missed a message, was closer to getting him up than the initial alarm had been.
When his phone rang he glanced at the cordless receiver sitting next to him on the couch. He didn't make a move to answer it. He saw Steve looking quizzically at him from his cage and shrugged. "It's probably at telemarketer," at eleven at night.
The rat tilted his head forward in an almost human gesture of scepticism.
"I have an answering machine," Greg defended himself and returned his attention to the moving pictures.
The answering machine greeting recorded in his voice played out, bringing a half smile to his face. The message that was left wiped it away.
"Doctor House, this is Doctor Tanaka. I just thought you might want to know that your intensivist is in the hospital with some pretty severe symptoms." You could almost hear the helpless shrug the doctor gave. "Not sure if you'll care but I thought I'd try to contact you anyway." The click of a phone hanging up punctuated the end of the message. A second later the lock on the front door clicked and Steve McQueen had the pad to himself.
H
It had started with a headache at around four in the afternoon before. Rob Chase had attributed it to lack of sleep and way too much caffeine. A few Tylenol and a short break, just to rest his eyes, and it was back to work. The pain in his head had continued to increase until it was so severe that even moving proved uncomfortable. By then however, moving wasn't high on his list of things to do. He'd crashed on a cot in the small side room given for the ICU specialist and other doctors who where staying over night or just needed to catch a quick nap. His muscles had felt like sand bags, useless and heavy and his head was clogged with fatigue.
When he didn't feel any better after twenty minutes he knew it was time to head home. Bumming a ride from Foreman was simple after he convinced the man that he was just too tired to drive.
The familiar setting of his home, a neatly furnished bachelor apartment, hadn't eased his discomfort on any appreciable level. He'd dropped his belongings at the front door and dropped himself there as well. He must have sat there for at least an hour before dragging himself to the kitchen. When he ate the food came back up later no matter how hard he tried to keep it down. Fierce bouts of nausea which often ended in vomiting had him lying on the floor of the unit's one washroom between the attacks. The cool tiles had felt good against his flushed skin but the respite was all too brief. Sharp pains coiled through his abdomen before dissipating leaving him moaning after the episode had passed.
He thought it was just a bit of food poisoning. He'd sleep it off and feel better in the morning. Sleep however, was again lacking that night. The nausea became more frequent, though thankfully he had nothing left to bring up. The diarrhoea hadn't left him feeling any better either and by the time the sun peaked over the horizon he'd had less than three interrupted hours of sleep.
Through the blinds he'd forgotten to close the night before the sun peaked in promising a new day and pulling a groan from Rob. Though he'd get up later in the morning to get a little to drink and to inform Dr. Cuddy that he'd be out for the day, the increasing severity of his symptoms wouldn't have him calling for assistance until late that night.
It was now almost ten o'clock and he knew he needed to get to a hospital. His muddled mind was just clear enough to curse himself for leaving the hospital at all. If he'd stayed he wouldn't have to find a way back there. Hospitals were the perfect places to be sick and his car was there so he had no transportation –not that he thought he'd be able to drive in his condition.
Crawling to the phone proved to be an adventure. The floor had inclined when he wasn't looking pulling Robert to it more than once on the short trip to the required device. He didn't even bother to look at the numbers on the pad of the phone. The rest of the room wasn't in focus so he doubted the phone would decide to cooperate. Fortunately the number he wanted was number three on his speed dial.
"This is Zid," a low voice answered up promptly after two rings.
"Hey…Zid?"
"Rob? Rob is that you?"
"Yeah. Um…could you…"
"Rob, what's wrong?"
"I think…I…"
"Don't move! I'm coming right over! Okay?" Robert nodded. "I'm on my way hold on!"
"Okay…"
H
House arrived. Not quite the apocalypse but as close as one usually got at PPTH. The warnings went out to the attending doctors. House on a day-to-day basis was alright, especially if you could avoid him. If he's bored Cuddy finds him a puzzle, because House left to his own devices was just a recipe for trouble especially if his tacky shows were on hiatus. But worse than Gregory House on the loose, was Gregory House on a mission.
"You called him?" Dr. Tanaka stared with confusion at his boss. He knew what House was like, everybody in the hospital knew. He still didn't see what the big deal was. House didn't have his cane anymore. Tanaka had heard anything bad about the man since he'd come back and it was rare that one could go even a day without the old House doing something to annoy someone.
"Martin!"
The doctor being addressed closed his eyes briefly in a moment of what might have been mistaken as prayer. He turned to the tall man rapidly making his way towards himself and Dr. Tanaka, who still wasn't sure what the problem was. Dr. House seemed less dangerous when he wasn't wielding his cane, which easily converted into a weapon. Despite that he was still quite formidable, especially with that expression on his face. Without the cane his shoulder's were not longer hunched as he struggled with the delicate ballet of keeping his balance. Now he stood straight up, and walked with confidence even with the slight limp, carrying all six feet and two and a half inches of the temperamental specialist.
"House."
Ignoring Martin's tone was too easy. "Chase, what's wrong with him?"
"Food poisoning," Martin responded quickly, closing the discussion. He went back to the file in his hand, dismissing the diagnostician.
House quietly exhaled, his shoulders setting, unconsciously preparing for the confrontation he was about to initiate. "Well on the phone, Boy Wonder here said the symptoms were severe." Tanaka tried to back away, clearly not wanting to be drawn into the argument. Now he understood what the problem was. Cane or not, House was still…well, House. "Either, he overreacted or you under-reacted. Either way it's your fault since you hired him."
"Malaise, abdominal pain, emesis and diarrhoea; all symptoms of food poising or at worst, gastronenteritis." Without raising his head, Martin raised his eyes from his file. "Now I suggest you go home and get some rest. You're crankier than usual." Martin, for all his bravado, didn't want to continue the discussion. He knew he wouldn't be able to win. In his mind that was a compliment because House was an ass. He crossed lines that we're established for a purpose. Martin didn't want to win against House. He didn't want to turn into that malicious beast of a man. He left to go make a round of the floor.
"So," House began, sliding his eyes to the half-Japanese doctor who'd been hired only three months ago.
Dark, wary eyes met his and prompted cautiously, "So…"
"Which one of you should I be calling an idiot? You for calling me here at eleven o'clock, or him for not calling me?"
Tanaka glanced in the direction of Martin but the man was far down the hall. He sighed and said, "Doctor Chase has a headache, along with the other symptoms. He says it just been getting worse since yesterday." One shoulder rose briefly in a manifestation of uncertainty. "I don't think this is just the stomach flu."
House's eyes shifted down the corridor where Martin was speaking with a nurse. Martin may have the experience but House didn't trust his diagnostic skills. Whether he should trust a doctor new to the hospital who looked like he was barely old enough to drink was debateable. Instinct, on the other hand, was right more often than it was wrong. If it wasn't, evolutionists and the rest of science would like to think that it would have been naturally de-selected. So he'd go with his gut and Tanaka's.
"Where is he?"
The lights had been dimmed in deference to the patient's headache and a whispered conversation carried softly to his ears when he slid the glass door away. In the bed where House had expected him was Chase and the man in the chair next to the bed, holding his hand must be Zinedine René.
Greg's mistrust of people in general wasn't new to anyone, certainly not the man himself. So, why then did this picture of his fellow and his boyfriend give that mistrust that little extra profundity which made it different?
The man assumed to be René had his back to the entrance and his body blocked much Greg's view of the patient. Though he must have heard the door slide open, René probably thought it was just another nurse coming to check on Chase. Likely the fiftieth one considering how popular the young man was with the nurses, bisexual and taken or not. Of course the bisexual part just doubled his prospects.
House moved further into the room. The soft conversation ended and both men turned to observe the third.
"If this is just some ploy to get out of work…" House said, leaving the threat open-ended even though he doubted that was the case. Chase looked dull. Usually he was shiny, and neat and pretty. He was still pretty –the sweat-matted hair and redness around the eyes wasn't enough to drown out the rest of his attractive features- but he looked less vibrant. The white sheets of the bed seemed to drown him in their folds dwarfing the fragile, yet still handsome body of the Australian doctor.
"Zid, Doctor Greg House," Robert said weakly to the René. "House, Zid."
Aware through Rob's tales of PPTH of the gruff man's reputation but forgetting it due to his lack of familiarity with him in the flesh, René –older than Chase but younger than House –offered a friendly hand to shake. "Nice to meet you."
In his state of illness Chase wasn't very quick in telling René not to bother. House surprised him by accepting the polite gesture and shaking the hand. Confused but in too much discomfort to care much Chase chalked it up to House trying to be nicer to his patients. Rob turned back to Zid and Zid turned back to Rob but not before he saw a curious shift in the older physician's expression. René would not be able to label it until later.
"So what's on the menu?"
Chase rattle off his symptoms: "Headache, fatigue, dizziness, vomiting, diarrhoea, abdominal pain." Just as he finished, said pain flared. Caught off-guard, he released his breath in a strangled moan and tried to curl his legs up towards his chest, anything to ease the sharp ache. The movement of his legs however, was restricted by one hand and then another. Managing to open his eyes for just a moment showed him that Zid and House each had a hand on him just above his knee, keeping him in place.
What he thought was respite from the pain came and then fled all too quickly leaving Chase writhing in silent agony.
House watched through the corner of his eye the distress on René's face. The majority of his attention was on his free hand as he tried to exam Chase's abdomen. With the hospital gown pushed up and hospital sheets pulled down, House used the tips of his fingers to probe the area. He felt a little bloated but there was nothing disturbingly abnormal. Maybe this was just a stomach bug –the headache didn't fit. It was possible it was just a co-incidence, headache and food poisoning, but according to the notes Tanaka took, the headache came first and the painkillers Chase took hadn't helped.
"Doctor Chase, we need to get a urine sample," Tanaka said as he entered, cup in hand.
"What for?" René asked.
Tanaka seemed a little uncomfortable but responded. "Toxicology screen."
Chase had already told them that he hadn't taken anything other than Tylenol but they clearly thought he was lying, or maybe that he accidentally ingested them. He sighed shakily, the abdominal pain having passed for now, and got up and to the washroom with Zinedine's help.
House stepped out of the way to make their journey easier and from the open back of the medical gown he saw Chase's grey boxers. Frankly, he always thought Chase was a briefs kind of guy.
When the business of getting a urine sample had been completed and the sample handed off, Chase was helped back to bed. House watched him get settled before heading for the door. He was going to go see Martin, see what the other man thought was the specific problem. If he was getting a tox screen then he wasn't buying the food poisoning idea either. He stopped when he heard part of the low conversation between the couple.
"I told you before, that's not going to happen. It'll work out." The words and the tone piqued his interest.
"You told him before?" House asked.
"It's a personal problem I've been working on. It's pretty much resolved but he's still worried. He just not thinking straight," Zid said while reached up to run a hand through the matted locks of blonde hair.
"When?"
"When what?"
House held back his exasperation but some made it into his tone as he was forced to clarify. "When did he start worrying?"
The dark-haired man had to think for a second. "When I got to his place he was a little disoriented but he got better on the ride over."
House shook his head. "No, he didn't." As he limped out of the room he flipped open his cell phone and called the rest of his team in. Some of the nurses glared at his clear defiance of the "no cell phones" rule but it was more of a precaution than a rule. Only in the older hospitals with the older equipment was there a risk. House glared back at a few of them as he went to his office. He called Foreman first and pretty much ordered him to come in without telling him why. Cameron was next and all she needed to hear was that there was a patient who needed them. He didn't even have to tell her it was Chase for her to agree. Greg snapped the phone shut and smirked. The clocks read midnight and they were still at his beck and call.
H
"Headache, fatigue, dizziness, abdominal pain, vomiting, diarrhoea, depression," Foreman read off the whiteboard. "That's quite the cornucopia of symptoms."
Cameron nodded in agreement and covered her mouth when a yawn slipped out. "So who's the patient?" she asked House as he walked from his office into the room. "And where's Chase?"
"You already have the answers to both your questions so let's get on with the differentials shall we?"
House limped past the two fellows who glanced at each other before setting their eyes back on their boss. "Chase is the patient?" Foreman questioned.
"We've already established that. Differential," he ordered with a wave to the board.
Cameron was suddenly completely awake. Her wide eyes took in all the information and her mouth spat out a diagnosis. "Could be drugs. Or alcohol."
"Said he didn't take any."
Foreman reared back a little as he crossed his arms. "So all our other patients lie, but not Chase?"
"No. Tox screen is already in the works. What else?"
"Food poisoning. You called us here for this?" Unlike Cameron and Chase, Foreman didn't have as much faith in House's medical skills.
"Doesn't account for his headache or the depression."
Eric shook his head slowly saying, "So he has a headache. It's not a big deal. And Chase has never been the most giddy of people."
"Go get a history," House ordered, no room for argument. If Foreman didn't believe this was serious then he could go see the proof for himself. Also, he needed a better timeline of the onset of symptoms. "Make sure the lab doesn't mess up the tox screen," he said to Cameron who nodded eagerly and left to do just that.
As she passed by Foreman who still looked irritated by the whole situation she tossed him disappointed look mixed in with her glare. This wasn't just another patient; this was one of the team. She forgave him his insensitivity for now. He hadn't been in this situation before. Last time he was the victim of an unknown ailment. She, Chase and House were all too familiar with the internal imbalance the situation caused, the added responsibility they felt. She forgave because she had no doubt Foreman would learn it too.
House seated himself in a chair, removing the pressure from his injured leg and tried not to worry. The last time one of his fellows had been sick it had nearly ended with a fatality. It was easier to shift his mind to one of his problems, a problem that had practically defined him to many people.
He pulled out the translucent orange bottle from his pocket and swallowed a pill. His leg wasn't as bad as it was and not nearly as bad as it had been when he'd needed the morphine but he still needed his Vicodin. Whether the pain was from overexertion of the previously rarely used muscle or because the ketamine hadn't worked entirely he wasn't sure.
He tossed the bottle up and caught it, listening to the sound of the pills colliding inside. There were quite a few left, which meant he was doing pretty well in his effort to reduce his intake.
It hadn't bothered him before, his addiction to the little white pills but back then he'd needed them and the need had excused everything else. With the ketamine treatment his pain problem no longer negated his pain management problem since the former was less of a problem than it once was.
He'd flaunted his addiction, joked about it, and never hidden it from anyone. Being public and brash about it appealed more to him than subtlety (not that subtlety was ever that appealing to him). Outright disgust from the other hospital workers was better than quiet pity. Still it was an addiction, and he was an addict but he'd taken a big step to let go of the pain. Why shouldn't all the peripheries go with it?
Foreman walked in near the interim conclusion of his distraction. House glanced at the clock atop the bookshelf and noted with silent surprise that almost an hour had passed. Foreman walked to the whiteboard and stared at the symptoms. Behind him, still seated, House evaluated the oldest of his fellows. He was tempted to pick up the marker and trace on the grey shirt the lines of tension on the silent man. Foreman picked up the coveted black marker and added another symptom to the list: dyspnea.
"He started gasping while I was talking to him, became tachycardic." Eric was beginning to lean away from the substance abuse/withdrawal diagnosis. He'd seen people in withdrawal, seen many people on drugs, and while Chase had all the symptoms, after talking to him he didn't think the mentality fit. He'd seemed happy when he was talking to René and he'd like to think that if someone he worked with everyday was on drugs, he would have noticed. Growing up in his neighbourhood had made him pretty familiar with the drug dealing and drug using type.
"How high was his heart rate?" House asked casually.
"One-twenty. He's on oxygen. And we may have another problem."
Icy eyes narrowed jus a little in weary anticipation.
"Martin-"
"House!" The yell interrupted Foreman before he could do more than speak the currently storming man's name.
House glared at Foreman as though he'd purposely brought the wrath of Martin down on him.
"Robert Nicholas Chase is my patient not yours. Keep your people out of my way."
"Last time I checked, I was the diagnostician. You're just a…what are you again?"
The red on Martin's face deepened and the other two men watched his hackles rise like a tide. "Stay off my case. I'm the primary. You got a suggestion? Give to Tanaka and he'll pass it along!" Martin stormed out as quickly as he had in.
"Not very stealthy are you? No wonder you got caught." House leaned his chair back watching Foreman's face. The subtle reference to his car jacking days wasn't lost on the younger man but he was used to it. Subtle, it seemed, only appealed to House when it was for an insult.
Foreman and House brainstormed while waiting for the urine test results. Cameron arrived with them not too long later. Her face was a little flushed and her eyes held some residual alarm when she silently handed the results over.
House dove into the report. After a few seconds his brows furrowed. All the results were normal. Then "what's with the face?" he asked impatiently.
She looked at him then down the corridor through the glass walls and back to the two men waiting for her response. "Doctor Martin just yelled at me."
Foreman laughed.
"Don't worry about him. He's a booger." House walked as best he could out of the room with the other two following.
"We're not allowed to see him," Foreman informed.
"Not as doctors but we're just going to visit a sick friend."
"You're not his friend," Cameron blurted out before she could stop herself. House spared her a quick scowl. They rode the elevator up to the fourth floor and approached Chase's room. They were just rounding the last corner when Martin materialized on the other side.
"Going somewhere?"
House swallowed his start and gestured vaguely in the direction of Chase's room. "Nurse's station," he lied. Even without his cane and with a slight limp he had a long stride which made side-stepping the shorter, rounder man that much easier. Foreman and Cameron followed cautiously.
"You can't go in there."
"Why not?"
"Because he's not your patient," a feminine but authoritative voice said. Cuddy appeared in his path in much the same fashion as Martin had before, again forcing House to swallow his jump.
"Don't you have a life outside the hospital?" He asked.
"Don't you?" She'd been here late three nights in a row trying to get her billing and HMO documents in order. Some people might have tallied that under the no-life-outside-the-hospital column.
Cuddy took him by the elbow and forcibly pulled him away from his destination. "House, this isn't your case. Martin's got this one."
"This one should be mine." He whined but tried to make it sound like a valid argument. "This one is Chase."
"That's exactly why someone else should take the case."
"Fine. Give it to Cameron."
Cuddy sighed but her face remained impassive. "You're too close to this. I won't make the same mistake twice."
Foreman felt Cameron glance at him and he was left to wonder exactly what had gone on while he was quarantined those months ago.
"It wasn't a mistake! We cured him."
"You broke into a quarantined zone, without a suit! You nearly killed yourself trying to save him," she whispered the last part so that only House could hear it but the gesture in Foreman's direction wasn't lost on any of the spectators.
"But I still saved him."
Lisa shook her head. There was no way to convince Greg he was wrong, so she did what she usually did when persuasion and acting like adults didn't work. "It's my call. You're off this case. I hear anything about you, or your people, anywhere near him and I'll suspend you and double your clinic duty."
Even Foreman and Cameron winced at that threat. Clinic duty was dreaded by just about every doctor and none more than House. It was not a great surprise that he relented. His single nod was rigid and served with a glower but he'd conceded. Cuddy gave her own nod and then strode away, crisis averted.
Once she was out of sight House turned to his employees. "Get a blood test done on him. Complete serology and metabolic products of any drugs he could have taken that wouldn't show up in urine."
"We can't draw any blood. You heard Cuddy, he's not our case," said Foreman.
"Is that supposed to stop me? Get his blood and test it. I don't care how." House walked quickly away, his limp becoming more pronounced due to his speed, following the path the hospital administrator had taken a minute ago.
The underlings left reluctantly to carry out his demand.
H
He barged in without knocking and Cuddy didn't even seem to notice, which only served to further annoy him. "What is this really about?"
"I don't like Chase," she said, eyes still down on her papers. Nothing was said for several seconds until, when she reached for another form atop a stack of other papers House knocked the sheet to the floor.
"I can do my job."
Cuddy finally looked up at him. "And I'm trying to do mine. Part of which entails not letting you get caught up with your patient. I'm not doubting your skill."
"No, just my judgement."
She frowned at him from across the desk piled with stacks of paper. She was about to tell him that she always though his judgement was a little suspect but managed to hold her tongue long enough to think better of such a statement. She had been worried about the side effects of the ketamine but he hadn't reported any, not that she would expect him too if he did have any. Although his first case since his return had gone well this was something she didn't think he could deal with yet.
"Whatever Chase has isn't your fault. There's no need to make this your mission."
"He's my employee. I should be the attending."
"And you're my employee, which also makes Chase my employee. You're off his case and that's final." Cuddy got up to retrieve the paper on the floor and went back to work. She listened to the asymmetrical beats of House's walk and thought of how strong guilt could be if something went wrong or if something was overlooked. Wanting to spare him that pain shouldn't make her a bad person. "House, I know you can do your job," she added solemnly. House paused at the threshold, silently acknowledging her statement and the weight it carried. She hadn't lost faith in him. He walked out.
Left with only her mounds of work for company she sighed at went at it, ignoring the guilt that was already festering at the thought of Dr. Chase and his predicament. If it was some unusual affliction that Chase had contracted then she wasn't sure if Martin would catch it in time. They could loose Chase. On the other hand, if House was on the case and missed it too then she worried, maybe needlessly, that they could loose both.
H
End Chapter 3