Chapter III: The Balls are in Your Court Now, Doctor...

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'What the hell is going on?' Cuddy asked herself annoyed as she continued her pacing up and down the presently empty hallway of the ambulance dock, swiping distractedly at a loose tendril of hair that had fallen into her eyes. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the empty corridor as she turned and began to walk back in the opposite direction.

She had answered Cameron's plea bargain easily enough, calling for an ambulance to be sent down to Princeton's in-residence housing; but she still wondered why. Being the Dean of Medicine was already heard enough when dealing with one Gregory House; but she hated being out of the loop. And the hospital was her baby—being out of the loop was not an option.

Why had Cameron left while still on duty to go see Chase? Why did she need an ambulance?

She stopped after another moment of irritated pacing and brought her hands to her temples, massaging her fingers over them convulsively. "Don't worry. Cameron said she was going to explain," she soothed herself.

Suddenly, the doors to the docking bay flew open and the sound of abating ambulance sirens burst through the corridor. Starting in mild surprise, she stepped aside just soon enough to avoid being trampled by a swarm of EMTs and horribly clattering gurney wheels against the whitewashed floor. Their loud footsteps echoed painfully in the small enclosure they occupied as they sped the gurney past her. Their voices rose high above the confusion, shouting orders to various members of the team.

"Push 0.1 cc epi!"

"Stabilize his breathing—02 stats are through the floor!"

"Have to intubate; give me a tube!"

"Let's get him to the ICU!"

She stared after the retreating technicians confused, watching them with unblinking eyes until they disappeared, turning right at the end of the corridor and vanishing into the hospital's mainframe. "What on earth was—?"

"Chase."

Cuddy turned in surprise, not having expected an answer. Loose strands of hair fell into her face again as she faced the young immunologist who had given her a reply, and she swiped at them in annoyed distraction.

"Cameron, what in God's name?" She asked, casting a bewildered look over her shoulder down the corridor the EMTs had just bustled through.

"Well," Cameron began slowly, her voice leaking hesitance. "I was concerned, so, you know—"

"Wait, let's walk." Cuddy cut across her, shaking her head in disbelief at the entire situation.

"Why?" Cameron asked confused, raising an inquiring eyebrow at her supervisor.

"House should hear this."

That said, Cuddy sighed tiredly and began her trek down the corridor. The heals of her shoes clattered loudly against the linoleum, and a few steps behind, Cameron hurried to catch up with her.

"So, explain to me what's going on now." Cuddy voiced as she and Cameron ascended the stairs back to the main floor of the hospital.

"Well, Chase hasn't been in to work lately so I was worried, you know?" Her voiced tapered from a definitive statement into a question and she fell silent as though waiting for Cuddy to say something.

She simply nodded.

"And, well, so I went to check on him—"

"While you were on active duty?" Cuddy asked, her voice coming out somewhat snappishly.

"What? No. Well—Yes. But it was during lunch. I-I didn't think—" Cameron flustered.

"Of course you didn't think," Cuddy finished offhandedly, waving a dismissing hand in front of her. "No one ever thinks when they're worried. You acted on impulse—"

"You're saying I was wrong to—?"

"—And probably saved his life."

Cameron stopped as she heard the last words fall from Cuddy's lips. She fell silent, her voice suddenly failing her. She stood, mildly awestruck, gazing up at Cuddy, who was still climbing the steps. After a moment, Cuddy seemed to have realized that Cameron had stopped as she, too, stopped and turned around.

"Well, are you coming or not?" she snapped, her 'Dean of Medicine' demeanor quickly back in place.

Cameron nodded and quickly climbed the stairs to be standing level with Cuddy again. Then, in silence the two of them continued their ascent of the last few flights up stairs and pushed through the wooden, steel-integrated doors that lead into the reception area of the hospital.

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"Doctor House, calling Doctor Gregory House. Please call Doctor Lisa Cuddy on extension 3731." The P.A. announcement rang through the reception area eliciting various responses from the current inhabitants. Waiting outpatients looked towards the speakers with mild interest, probably wondering who Gregory House was, and who Lisa Cuddy was. Nurses behind the desk chuckled lowly to themselves, sighed or rolled their eyes. To them this was a near-everyday occurrence.

Cuddy was fuming.

"Where the hell is he!" She hissed angrily. "He was supposed to be in the clinic all afternoon."

"When the cat's away, the mouse will play," Cameron acknowledged, following beside Cuddy and clutching Chase's file in her arms.

Cuddy cast her an inquiring look.

"Did you really expect him to stay on clinic duty when you're not supervising him?" Cameron asked mildly bemused.

Cuddy sighed in resignation, shaking her head in annoyance. "I can't even expect him to stay on clinic duty when I am supervising him."

Seeing the look on Cuddy's face as she said this, Cameron had to work to keep from letting out even the slightest giggle. The resulting effort came out sounding like an awkward cough, which gained her a suspicious glance from Cuddy. "Nothing." She muttered quickly, keeping her head down to avoid making eye contact, lest she let another ill-begotten laugh escape her.

"Come on," Cuddy grumbled turning down a small hallway leading off of the room they currently occupied. Her steps were load and angry and her walk was rigid.

"Where are we going?" Cameron asked, hurrying along beside her, rearranging the files she carried in her arms with limited success.

"To House's office."

"Weren't we already—?"

"He retraces his footsteps. Thinks I won't look twice in the same spot."

Noting the growing strain Cuddy was exerting to keep her voice calm and level, she decided not to push the subject as they rounded off a second corner and found themselves staring at the glass door to his office that read "Gregory House, M.D. Department of Diagnostic Medicine".

The white hanging blinds cloaking the walls were drawn; yet filtering through gaps in them was a glow of yellow light. Cuddy stepped forward and wrenched the door open striding purposefully into his office. Cameron entered behind her, making a quick grab for the fast-closing door and slowing it so it wouldn't slam against the doorframe. In the process of this, papers from some of the files she had been carrying slipped out of the file folder and drifted lazily to the floor. She knelt hurriedly to pick up the papers and put them back in their file.

As this sight unfolded, an unfazed Gregory House cast the two women in the doorway of his office a bemused look and turned back to watching the mini television propped up on the corner of his desk; it was currently rattling off some over-dramatic dialogue between some frantic woman and a much-too-smooth doctor—General Hospital, no doubt. He was reclining in his office chair, both legs propped up on the desk, cane spun idly between his palm and the floor.

"Just what have you been doing? Cuddy demanded.

"Shhh! It's almost commercial!" House replied, waving his free, not cane occupied, hand towards Cuddy to quiet her.

"I mean it," Cuddy fumed angrily, taking resolute steps forward to place herself between House and the TV. Then she switched it off and turned back to House; who was either giving her a very affronted look, or a very shocked one.

"So did I," House whined in the high, nasal voice of a five-year-old. "It was almost commercial."

"You think I care?" Cuddy shot back annoyed.

"Wait…" House's expression melted instantly into understanding. "I know what this is about."

Cameron looked up from the pile of papers she was gathering on his floor giving him a wondering look.

Cuddy scoffed. "Do you?"

House nodded. "Don't tell me— the hooker you got me went to your office again?" He shook his head in tired exasperation. "How many times do I have to tell them—"

"I'm serious, House." Cuddy interrupted him, her hands coming up to rest once more on her temples.

"Of course you are," he agreed, his voice full of sickly-sweet mock-sympathy. "It's a very serious problem." As he said this, his voice took on a low, sexy growl. "I don't know why they keep going to your office… Not unless—"

"House—" her voice had taken on a threatening tone.

He shook his head. "No, no. Don't worry. It's no big deal. We all have our kinks and quirks—"

"—I let you get away with more crap than anyone in this hospital!" She sighed sharply. "Killing your employees is where I draw the line."

"Really?" He asked, as though shocked by this news. "I thought that's why I have malpractice insurance."

"Like you actually pay it," Cuddy retorted sharply. "Besides," she shook her head. "That only applies if you actually kill a patient because of malpractice."

"Ergo, the name." House concluded. "Makes sense."

"The crap you're pulling isn't a matter of malpractice—"

"Remind me again; what am I pulling?" House asked, slowly swinging his legs off of the desk and propping himself upright in the chair to face Cuddy.

"You're complete insensitivity towards people makes this hospital liable for everything they do because of how you treat them. If we had insurance guarding against that, I wouldn't care—I'd agree with you; most patients do deserve to be treated like morons—but we don't, so you're responsible."

"Who exactly are we talking about—assuming that you're not just bringing everyone I've ever treated into this equation?" House questioned.

"Chase—your employee." Cuddy elaborated needlessly as she turned and took the regrouped file from Cameron and thrust it at House.

"Okay…" House looked at her and took a winded breath. "You just said I'm responsible for what people do that I've treated—By treated that means a patient."

Cuddy nodded. "Uh-huh. Yep, nice of you to catch on, Dr. House. Robert Chase—Dr. Robert Chase—This hospital's newest patient."

House stared.

Cameron nodded, and for the first time since entering his office, she stepped out of Cuddy's shadow and cleared her throat. "I found him at his apartment, he was unresponsive—drunken into a stupor. They've got him intubated and suited up in the ICU. His current condition is pending."

"So, the little wombat decided he wanted to permanently hibernate—how's that my fault?" House asked.

Cuddy goggled at him, as though never quite seeing anything like him before. "How is this not your fault?" she countered. "You ridicule him about the death of a patient from months ago; you ridicule him about his father dieing. You ridicule him about everything! God knows you only give that much attention to people you really hate and hookers!"

A look of calm surprise came over his features. "You're right," he sighed, standing up carefully with the aid of his cane. "I don't hate Chase—The secret's out: He's my bitch."

At this, Cameron let out another giggle, covering it as a cough as she brought her hand up to her mouth to stifle the sound. Cuddy turned to shoot her a reproving look and then rounded again on House.

"You're bitch or not, I don't know; I don't want to know—now he's your patient too." Cuddy snapped, turning on her heel and making a line for the door.

"I never took him on as my patient," House argued, taking a step towards her, leaning heavily on his cane as the effects of his last Vicodin had begun to wear off.

Cuddy turned abruptly at this. "You took him on as your patient they day you took him on as your employee."

Before House could retort, she had crossed the threshold, and stormed out the door. As it swung back on its hinges, the recurring announcement of the P.A. system could be heard in his room: "…Cuddy on extension 3731" reverberating around the office lazily until the door closed.

"And what about you? What do you want?" He snapped impatiently at Cameron, who just stood, mildly surprised at having been addressed, looking at him.

"N-nothing." She shook her head hurriedly. "But, unless you want Cuddy on your back again, I'd get to the clinic," she advised. Then, she too, turned and quietly exited.

House grumbled under his breath as Cameron's figure disappeared around the corner and out of his view. Then, he turned his gaze to the name written on the file Cuddy had forced on him as he reached distractedly into his pocket, snapped the lid from the small orange prescription bottle it harbored and popped out two little white pills. The file she had given him was, indeed, that of one Robert Chase. He sighed tiredly and tossed the file onto his desk, watching as some idle papers within the folder half-slid out of their binding. He dry swallowed the Vicodin.

Something told him this was going to be a long day.

Author's Ramblings: Here's chapter 3, all my nice readers and reviewers. Please tell me what you think. I hope I got them all in-character (I'm still new to writing House fanfiction, you see--though I'm a patron of the TV show). Did I do them justice? Did I ruin the characters? Honest opinions appreciated. And, also, I've noticed this on the favorites or alerts list of some people who aren't reviewing. If you're reading this, please take the time to let me know what you like or don't. It means a lot to me as an author. Thanks.

Blackrose