Drenched
Summary: House enjoys the company of a patient- obviously signaling the apocalypse, Wilson is getting a divorce, Chase is falling head over heals, Foreman's thinking of leaving the team and Cameron's sister has cancer. At least it's not raining. Yet.
Disclaimer: I once tried to steal House. Didn't work out too well. To make a long story short, all I have to show for my efforts is a rug-burn in an unmentionable location and a corkscrew. -sad sigh- It still ain't mine. House belongs to David Shore and Fox. "It Doesn't Get Much Better Than This" belongs to Nicole Burdette.
Author's Note: I had every intention of updating on Sunday, but I found myself more occupied than usual this weekend. My apologies.
Have just realized that Cameron's name is spelled "Allison" and not "Alison". -sigh- I'll go back and change everything the next time I update, as I'm a bit too busy right now. But from here-on-out, no more single 'l'!
If you were waiting for a good time to read "Her Name Was", this would be it. It isn't at all necessary, but it does have a wee bit of extra information.
My medical knowledge has not increased since the last chapter, despite my best attempts to become an M.D. over the internet in a week. -sad sigh-
Again, General Hospital information is invalid/made up on the spot. House would be ashamed.
This story is cannon-compatible up to "Skin Deep".
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! You guys make my day. -grin-
And on that note, Reviews/Reviewers are loved.
Thank you and enjoy!
---
Chapter Three: A Trail Behind Me
And
I want everything before you to follow us
Like
a trail behind me.
-Nicole
Burdette
---
Cuddy's current headache had been building for exactly five days.
It began when the third richest man in the country had been readmitted to her ER.
Readmitted.
As in, he had been in, released, and then put back in again. Like a reoccurring nightmare, one could say.
This was not good. This, in fact, was disastrous. Especially since that with one of the richest men in the world came the media. And with the media came rumors. And with rumors of incompetence on the hospital's part came a loss of credibility, causing them to lose patients, investors and money.
This was why Lisa was sitting behind Greg House's desk, waiting for the doctor to return. She needed, the hospital needed, him to pull a rabbit out of a hat, because if he didn't, they were ruined.
This was not a comfortable position for Cuddy to be in. She wanted plenty of things from House, sure. She wanted him to fill out his paper-work, fulfill his obligations at the clinic without her having to resort to brute intimidation or blackmail, wanted him to be at least mildly civil to his patients...
These were all things Lisa wanted from him. That would have been nice to have, but certainly not necessary. She made it a point to need nothing that Greg could give her.
Until now, when she was left with no choice but to place the fate of her hospital in the hands of a man as unpredictable as the weather with the potential to be just as dangerous.
Cuddy's head gave a throb.
She looked up to see House through the glass wall, and viewed with amusement the exaggerated sigh and pained look on his face just before he opened the door.
"Doctor Cuddy!" Lisa didn't miss the false cheer infused in every word as she stood up from his chair. He nodded to her sweater-covered chest, "Girls." He brought his gaze back to her face, "Glad to see you've taken my advice. They look more rested now. But the hair," he eyed her hairline, "that worries me. Been working with Einstein's stylist?"
Lisa put a hand to her head and smoothed down her hair self-consciously, narrowing her eyes. "It's raining. My hair frizzes."
"O, well, it's the humidity that does it," he mimicked her action, running his fingers through his own locks, "I develop a charming afro every now and then."
Cuddy glared.
"I'm not too sure how well it works with my bone structure, but Foreman says the chicks dig it." He winked suggestively.
"Well we all know how much Foreman's out to improve your love life."
"Naturally," he lowered his voice and leaned in closer, "Personally, I think he has some conflicted feelings when it comes to our relationship. Give it time, I'll be getting boxes of chocolates from him any day now." He made his way around her to his chair, sitting down and lifting his right leg onto his desk before throwing the other over it. "So was there a reason why you came, or did you just want to gossip? Because I heard that Nurse Brenda and Kevin from bookkeeping have got something going on-"
"How is Pratt's case going?"
"Swimmingly."
Lisa blinked when nothing else appeared to be forthcoming. "What's been done?"
"Oh, you know," House waved one hand around while he grabbed his Gameboy out with the other, "This and that. The usual,"
He had never been able to tell when she wasn't playing one of their games. Cuddy pulled the electronic toy out of his hands, "House," she stared at him intently, "Tell me."
"O dear," House said as he slowly pulled down his leg from its elevated position, "Mommy's worried," he shot her an interested look, "Why?"
"Can't you just answer the question?"
"As soon as you answer mine,"
Cuddy sighed, "We're losing investors, House. The media's all over Pratt's case. They're saying that we botched something, made him get worse. I'm fighting tooth and nail to keep cameras out of here, my sanity can't take another episode like the one we had with the TB guy, and they think I'm trying to cover-up our 'poor facilities'," she paused, taking a deep breath, "Our reputation is being destroyed, and along with that our money is being taken away. Meaning, if it gets much worse I'm not sure how we're going to keep this hospital running after the end of the year."
House wasn't looking at her, but instead focused his gaze on the handle of his cane. His silence made Cuddy uneasy. A loud and annoying House was obnoxious, but Cuddy knew how to deal with him. Sarcastic commentary and witty comebacks were her specialty. A silent and pensive House, however, was unpredictable and reflective, often signaling the arrival of emotionally loaded topics. And Cuddy had never done well with emotions.
"Haven't reporters been bothering you?"
"O, was that what they were?" House smacked his forehead, "I thought they were med students. An easy mistake to make, with their pads of paper, pens and annoying enthusiasm."
Lisa raised an eyebrow, "And you've not had to give an interview because...?"
"A combination of things really. Lots of ducking behind corners. I've started pointing behind them and when they look I make my escape. A few I've scared away just by glaring at them," he smiled, closing his eyes and sighing softly, as if recalling a fond memory. "The looks on their faces were priceless." A pause and a wider grin, "And when those tactics didn't work, general avoidance seemed to do the trick."
"What about reading the paper? Watching the news?"
House looked up, "Only read the comics, only watch the cartoons. And monster trucks and General Hospital, of course. Everything else is a waste of my time," he leaned back into his chair. "Pointless drivel."
"Or the current state of affairs around the world,"
"Like I said, drivel," he leaned up, "Pratt doesn't have a neurological problem. Wilson checked for cancer the day he was readmitted and said he came back clear, no auto-immune deficiency, and it doesn't appear to be a genetic issue. He's never been out of the country and neither has his wife, so we can't blame some obscure foreign disease," he paused, "Which is a shame, because they're so much fun. I suppose we could find out about some infidelities, but none of the sexually transmitted diseases accounts for his symptoms." He shook his head sadly, "Damn shame. His vitals are all stable and Cameron observed him last night and said everything was normal. So, it seems we were right. It was an allergic reaction. We just don't know what to. We're keeping him here to be certain that it's environmental. I'll be sending two of the kids over to his crib later today and they'll check it out. See if anything looks familiar from the office, maybe steal a stereo or two. You know, the usual."
Torn between irritation and an intense feeling of thanks, Cuddy decided to go with the more unassuming emotion. "Thank you," she was reassured. At least House was actually doing his job, although he did his best to hide that fact. If the hospital went bankrupt, it wouldn't be for his lack of trying. She mentally reviewed the list he gave her, "You said that Cameron was here all night?"
"Yep. Unless she snuck out of the bathroom window again," he sighed, "I really hope she grows out of this rebellious phase. Chase is such a good little boy, and Foreman's just so smart... Where did we go wrong with her? "
Ignoring the commentary, "I just saw Cameron in the clinic."
"Does that mean that we really are good parents?"
Cuddy glared, "You're letting her work in the clinic when she hasn't slept in over twenty-four hours?"
House raised his eyebrows, "If I say 'no' will you believe it?"
"House! This is a law-suit waiting to happen! She makes a mistake treating one of the patients and we'll have to pay through our noses,"
"Like the car insurance after Chase got in that accident?"
Cuddy's head throbbed again. "Go down to the clinic and take her place,"
He whined, "But-but-,"
"I expect you to be there in a half an hour," Cuddy said as she placed his Gameboy on his desk, "and if you're not I will come and hunt you down." She made her way to the door, "And I'll make sure you work in there for four hours instead of two."
She caught House's face contorted into a comical scowl through the glass on the way back to her office.
It was perhaps wrong, how much she enjoyed making him suffer.
---
"I just walked past Cuddy and she had a very satisfied smile on her face," Wilson took up his chair across from House, "This doesn't bode well for you."
House rubbed his brow and grumbled, "She's making me take Cameron's place in the clinic in a half an hour."
"Didn't she stay here all night?"
"Yep,"
Wilson groaned, "Do you try to torment Cuddy? I swear that sometimes it can be the only explanation for the things you do,"
House was only half-listening as his friend continued his rant, thinking on the conversation with Cuddy.
She was convinced that the hospital was on its way to ruin, as expected, because Cuddy was the sort of person who couldn't imagine the hospital running without her. House, however, knew better. The hospital would be fine. A little closer to the poverty line, perhaps, but medical care wasn't going out of style. Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital would go on.
Cuddy would not. There were people pulling her strings just as she was pulling House's now, and they would be very displeased with the reduced sum of money reaching their wallets. Her job, and his, was on the line.
Oh, he didn't need to worry about being fired right off of the bat like Cuddy, but given a few months he had no doubts that he would be the next to pack his bags. Under Cuddy, House had everything he ever wanted from his job. He took the cases he wanted when he wanted them, he had a highly qualified team working under him, he was challenged on a consistent basis and he had respect. If any other head of medicine took Cuddy's job he could kiss all of it goodbye. No other boss would allow him the benefits he had now, and, admittedly, likely no other would be willing to keep him employed there. House didn't pretend that he was an easy person to work with. He doubted anyone other than Cuddy could put up with what he did with unwavering regularity. Except for Wilson, of course.
House glanced at his friend, who had just finished his tirade.
"Done?"
Wilson glared, "You didn't listen to a thing I said, did you?"
"I got the, 'only explanation for what you do' bit, but after that, not a word."
Wilson slumped further in his seat and deflated slightly, "Why do I even try to instill within you a shred of consideration towards others?"
"No idea," House said as he picked up his Gameboy, "I often ask myself the same question. I can only assume its some tip in the Boy Wonder handbook. 'Convert the miscreants of the world into productive, kind and generous persons,'" House chanted merrily as he attacked a space-monkey. "'Or, failing that, bother them to the brink of insanity.' Sound familiar?"
Wilson grunted in annoyance as he stood, obviously intending to ignore the statement, "Is there any coffee in here? The oncology lounge didn't have any and I've run out at home,"
"Nope. Cameron hasn't been up yet," House used his ray gun to blast a particularly nasty alien.
He heard Jimmy sigh from above him, "You need to stop treating that woman like a secretary," House looked up quickly to see Wilson making his way to the other room, "Where do you keep the filters?"
"Cabinet under the sink." Damn. Dead again. "Since you seem so eager to take her place, the position's all yours," he began a new game.
"Ha," Wilson's elevated voice sounded from the next room, "Funny. I'm only doing this because if I don't get an energy boost I'll be sleeping in my office by lunch." House heard the beans being poured into the machine, "You know how I am without my coffee."
"You could always switch to speed." Oh, lookie; a bonus level.
"Too cliché."
"And our Jimmy is nothing if not original," House gave a fleeting look up from his game to see a small woman with short brown hair glimpse from side to side in the hallway, obviously searching for someone.
Chase had given him a description frightfully similar to this woman's features earlier in the week.
"Crap."
"What was that?" James asked from the conference room.
"Wilson, get in here. If it looks like I'm in a meeting she'll probably leave me alone. Chase said she was ridiculously polite."
"Who?" Wilson raised his voice over the distinct sound of processing coffee.
"Pratt's wife is in the hallway reading signs on doors. She's looking for me."
"Well if you didn't avoid patients like an infectious disease-"
"Patients are infectious diseases. Or they have one, making them just as undesirable," the woman was slowly coming closer, "Damnit Wilson, get in here!"
"Can't. Coffee's not done." House could hear the smirk in his voice.
"Traitor," he rapidly put the Gameboy in his pocket and stooped behind his computer screen, attempting to look busy.
"You know you wouldn't pass up an opportunity like this if you were in my shoes," the coffee machine was still buzzing in the background.
"But you're supposed to be morally superior to me; bigger than petty attempts to torture your friend." She had spotted his office now.
"Sorry," he sure as hell didn't sound sorry, "The potential entertainment value here is just too high. There is also the, admittedly small, fact that she has a right to ask questions of the physician attending her husband. And go figure, you're one of those, aren't you?"
Before House could respond with a properly sarcastic comment, the door had opened.
"Doctor House?" She was silent, deciding to press on when he said nothing, "I'm Jonathon Pratt's wife and I was just wonder-"
"A little busy," House typed gibberish onto a blank word document.
"I'll only take up a moment of your time," the woman warily stepped inside of the office, inching closer to House's desk.
"A moment that could be better spent working on… this." More furious typing.
There was silence for a beat and House looked up hopefully, thinking that she might had left.
Instead, he saw her leaning over his desk, getting a clear view of the document.
She was smiling, "As absorbing as… that appears to be, I really must insist."
House coughed and minimized the typing, "It's in the rough draft stages." He heard a snort from the other room as the buzz from the coffee machine stopped.
He glared at Mrs. Pratt, "What do you want?"
She gulped. "I want to know what my husband's condition is and his current diagnosis."
There was a small crash from the other room.
"You didn't destroy any of my coffee cups, did you?" House yelled into the other room.
"They're fine," Wilson hollered back, his voice slightly strained
Mrs. Pratt looked over her shoulder, startled.
House raised an eyebrow in amusement, "My secretary," she turned back to him, a pensive look on her face. "Your husband is stable and he's had an allergic reaction. Twice."
"You do know that he is allergic to pollen, peanuts, dogs and is hypersensitive to most concentrated chemicals?"
House rolled his eyes, "Yes, I am aware of this. Was he outside, eating peanuts, around a dog or snorting pesticides during his attacks?"
Mrs. Pratt blushed and looked down at her feet, "I don't know about the first episode, but not during the second."
"Then it must have been something else," House pulled his Gameboy out of his pocket, "Now go back to your husband and let us do our jobs."
"But I'm his wife, and a doctor. I might be able to give you information that could hel-"
"It's unlikely you can tell us anything we don't already know," House said, back to attacking space-monkeys, "Go back to your husband."
He heard a thump and a splash and looked up sharply. He quickly observed a coffee mug and its spilt contents in the entryway between the two rooms and the tail end of Wilson's lab coat as he turned a corner down the hallway.
House blinked. "Well that was rude."
Mrs. Pratt was staring at the last spot James had been before he disappeared, "Who was that?"
"My secretary again. Such incompetence… He's definitely getting a pay cut."
She turned around and stared at him intently, displaying the first real backbone he had seen from the woman, "Secretaries don't wear lab coats. Who was that?"
House frowned. "Doctor James Wilson, head of the Oncology Department."
She paled.
House turned off his game and leaned forward, "How do you know him?"
Mrs. Pratt backed away from the desk and House, still looking pale. "I'm going to my husband. If you need me, please find me there."
She fumbled with the door before pushing it open, fleeing almost as quickly as Wilson had.
House sat in his seat for several moments, thinking. Abruptly, he stuck his Gameboy in his pocket and grabbed his cane where he had placed it earlier, standing up and limping out of his office.
The clinic and Cameron could wait. This was far too interesting to ignore.
---
If it had been anyone else, he would have been able to continue on with his day as if nothing was wrong.
But it hadn't been anyone else, it was her.
He had known it was her when he heard her voice. Oddly deep for a woman of such a meek manner and small size, it carried a hint of husk in its tones, a small promise of something more than what met the eye. A deeper, far more guarded, aspect of personality that the casual observer would miss.
Jimmy dismissed it. Although the voice had surprised him, causing him to fumble with the cup he had been grabbing as he was momentarily reminded of her, he knew better than to jump to conclusions. More likely than not his thoughts of Julie had reminded him of her, caused her to be at the forefront of his mind.
He picked up the mug he had dropped and continued to listen, ignoring the small instant presence in his head that said, It is her. It is. Who else has that voice?
He shook himself again. It couldn't be her. Simply couldn't. By the time he had reached the entryway he had convinced himself so thoroughly of this that he was completely unprepared when he saw that it could and was.
She was short, almost laughably so. Coming up to most people's chests, she had to crane her neck in order to maintain any sort of conversation with even a person of average size. She said it was why she was determined to work with children, as they, at least for a few years, couldn't look down on her.
Her hair was an unremarkable brown, kept short, as she knew that it was nothing extraordinary and was much less bothersome when it didn't get into her eyes.
Her spine was straight, her stance containing a muted elegance that many wouldn't notice. It was only when she moved that it became obvious, the languid but purposeful way she went about every motion, the soft grace that touched everything she came in contact with.
Her face, although he couldn't see it, at first appeared ordinary. Small, almost pinched, features on a face that seemed much too big for them. Except for her eyes; those were large, their brown depths seeming to span forever.
And just seeing her felt like being hit by a bus, by a train. Like being at the center of a hurricane bent solely on unsettling him from his personal perch, a perilous footing that he had only recently fully regained. The sight of her brought back feelings he had tried to suppress for over a decade. The nearly unbearable love, the memories of nights of wine and conversations, the fierce affection the shared. The guilt. The self-loathing that penetrated every aspect of who he was, what he had become.
He must not forget that shame. It, more than anything else, had persisted in the time they had been separated, and it came back now to him in full force.
He couldn't look at her, couldn't stay in the same room with her. What could he say to her to make it better? How could he face her, after what he had done?
He couldn't.
On some unconscious level, Wilson knew he was panicking, that he was being irrational and stupid, not really thinking out what he was doing. He just couldn't push aside the dread long enough to care. Without a thought Wilson dropped the coffee cup and fled.
He didn't stop until he closed the door to his office with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, sitting down on his couch and rubbing his neck with one hand while leaning his forehead against the other.
---
House was hobbling his way down the oncology floor, heading for Wilson's office. James was nothing if not a man of habit, and in times of strife he went to one of two places. House's apartment, or his own workplace. Proximity implied that Jimmy would currently be sulking in his office.
But why.
Wilson was not the sort to be easily spooked, easily scared away. He had dealt with House at his worst and not flinched for a second. He told perfectly good and hard-working people every day that they were dying with a heart-wrenching empathy that had to cause him as much pain as his patients, and never faltered. But he sees a woman roughly the size of a leprechaun and he runs out of the room in a fit.
Wilson knew her, that much was obvious. But from where? And what on earth had she done to him, or had he done to her, to warrant their reactions to one another?
He had to know.
Hence the fast pace. He just hoped he got to Jimmy while he was in the middle of his inner turmoil. Those were the best times to get the truth out of him.
Unfortunately, in the midst of his plotting an upsetting sound reached Greg's ears.
Tap-taptap-taptap-tap.
No, it couldn't have been a half an hour already.
Tap-tap.
He briefly considered praying to God. He had to understand how important this was to Greg. The opportunity to delve into Wilson's private life didn't come up nearly often enough, and here was the perfect opportunity…
"Gregory House!"
Dammit. Stupid God.
She was just getting out of the elevator on the other end of the oncology wing, so Greg took a sharp right into the nearest patient's room, hoping to perhaps confuse the evil overlord. He closed the door and stretched the blinds, peeking out to check her progress.
There was a dignified cough behind him.
He groaned. Patients ruined everything.
He turned around to see a middle-aged woman laying on the hospital bed, pointedly staring at him. He took stock of her appearance. She wasn't a terribly attractive woman, with angular features, a large nose and graying auburn hair, but nor was she hideous. An insignificant fact, beyond the obvious detail that she hadn't started chemo yet, which meant that his inner-Wilson wouldn't scold him quite so much for being his usual self around her.
"Hi," House stole a look out into the hallway again. "Don't mind me. Window inspection. Making sure you don't have any smudges."
"An interesting profession," she picked up a remote from her lap and clicked it at the TV mounted on the wall, pausing whatever she had been watching.
"It puts the meat on the table," Cuddy didn't appear to be fooled and was marching straight towards the room.
"The doctor thing is just a side-job?"
House whipped around and squinted at the woman. "What makes you think I'm a doctor? I could be the resident insane cripple, out to clean all the windows in the building in my maniacal rage."
She smiled, "With nothing to clean with you'd be mighty inept at it."
His retort was cutoff prematurely when Cuddy entered the room, glaring.
"Clinic. Now." She held the door open and pointed out into the hallway.
House promptly ignored the other woman in favor of begging. "I need ten more minutes,"
"A shame, because you aren't going to get ten more minutes," she jerked the hand that pointed out of the room.
"But-"
"Are you Doctor Cuddy, the Head of Medicine?" The woman remarked calmly from her perch.
Cuddy spared a glance at the patient, dropping her arm and letting the door close.
"Yes," she shot an annoyed look at House, "I'm sorry for bothering you ma'am, we'll both," a glare, "be leaving shortly."
"Oh, but I thought Doctor Wilson requested Doctor House for a consult on an odd mark I have on my arm?"
Both doctors sent the woman looks of complete shock.
Cuddy blinked, "He did?"
"That's what Doctor Wilson said," the woman was looking at both of them earnestly. House was torn between astonishment and admiration. She was lying, and doing it amazingly well.
Cuddy looked to House, "He asked for a consult and you actually agreed?"
House looked from his boss to the unknown patient, contemplating his options. On one hand, he could go along with the woman's lie and make Cameron work a few more hours, freeing him up for prying into his friend's private life. On the other, he could give up and go to the clinic.
It really wasn't that difficult of a decision for Greg to make.
"I'm always trying to help my fellow doctors."
Cuddy raised a brow. "Unless they're exhausted after working for twenty eight hours doing your job,"
"Well of course not then. She could be trying to beat some record. To stop her now would just be cruel."
She sighed. "I'm sorry ma'am, I didn't realize Doctor House was helping you." Cuddy glanced at Greg again, "Once you're finished here go to the clinic. Do you understand?"
House gazed down at his feet. "Yes mom."
Cuddy rolled her eyes and sent a sympathetic look towards the woman, "Good luck," and with that she left, off to afflict some other poor sod.
House again went to the window and looked out into the hallway, to see Cuddy conspiring with someone at the nurse's station. He sighed and resigned himself to at least a twenty minute wait before the coast would be clear for him to renew his Wilson-search.
He turned away from the window and glanced suspiciously at the woman, taking a seat at the chair next to the bed. "Who are you, why are you here and how did you know who I am?"
She sighed, "Clara Samson, I have stage Three A breast cancer and I'm waiting for my last round of radiation before my lumpectomy. Jim's my doctor and he's talked about you. Since I can't imagine that there are many doctors with canes who refuse to wear their lab-coats around, I assumed."
"And what do you want?" Everyone lies, but everyone lies for a reason.
"Right now? For you to be quiet," she found the remote from the folds of one of her blankets, "I made my husband record episodes of General Hospital I've missed the past few weeks and I have four hours left to watch."
"You watch General Hospital?" House perked up.
She started the show. "It's only the pentacle of daytime entertainment," she picked up a bag of Skittles from her bed side table and offered him some, "Of course I watch General Hospital. So should everyone, as far as I'm concerned. Now shush."
House grabbed some of the candies and looked up at the screen, "This installment is boring anyway. Skye and Jax have an affair and Emily is heartbroken. Blah blah blah," House leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs, the right one carefully, "Go to the next episode."
The woman glared at him, "My room, my tapes, my choice. Now either watch or go to that clinic you seem to be so fond of."
House sulked. "Soap Nazi."
"Ungrateful recluse. I like Emily, therefore this is important."
"Emily's a spineless twit. Alexis, now she's the interesting character-"
"And unconscious, making Emily as interesting as we're going to get."
"You know she wakes up in the next episode, right?"
"She does?" Clara fast-forward, "Why didn't you say so?"
House grinned. At long last, a soap opera buddy.
---
Chase stared at his pager again while in the elevator. The message from House said he should go to room 213 on the oncology floor and that it was urgent.
After careful consideration he determined that it didn't make any more sense now than it had five minutes ago when he first received it.
Abandoning all attempts at trying to make something of the message, Chase exited the elevator. He had learned that if he had the patience for it and waited long enough, House's insanity eventually made some sense. How long Chase had wait generally increased with how insane House was acting at the time, but still. More often than not the wait was worth the end results.
So he suspended belief and mentally prepared himself for encounter with the beast.
Chase knocked on the door to room 213 and entered upon the gruff, "Come in," that sounded from within.
He saw House in the standard issued 'loved one chair', leaning back, feet stretched out in front of him. To his left was a woman in a hospital bed, gown and all, who was currently passing him a bag of Skittles. Both of them had their eyes glued to a TV attached to the wall on the other side of the room, completely engrossed by…
Chase looked up and groaned internally.
General Hospital.
"Jax should leave Emily. She's too dull. If I was him I would've dumped her eons ago."
The woman on the hospital bed scowled at House and gestured towards the television. "You only say that because you don't find her innocence endearing. She's got something else about her, something special…"
"A full mastery over all that is uninteresting?"
The woman rolled her eyes, "No, a vulnerability that's appealing to some men,"
"Some idiotic men. Why have her when he could have Skye? He's already slept with her, might as well go all the way. Now there's a woma-"
"Er," Chase thought it best to remind them of his existence, for fear that he would be standing there for quite a long while if he remained silent. "Did you actually need me up here?"
"No, just wanted to see how long it took," House looked down at his watch, "Six minutes," he shook his head sadly, "How disappointing."
"Right," Chase looked again from House, to the woman, who looked much the same, then back again. "Are you actually spending time with a patient?"
"She's not my patient," House said, not taking his eyes off of the TV. "She's Wilson's. I'm giving a consult."
Chase blinked. "I don't know who I am anymore."
The woman looked away from the screen. "I'm Clara Samson, by the way."
Chase's head gave an involuntary jerk upon recognizing that name. He observed, taking in her features. The relation wasn't obvious, but then as they were only half sisters, that was hardly surprising. They had the same hair, similar eyes. The bone structures were alike as well, but nothing else could indicate that Cameron was related to this woman.
This woman who obviously had cancer.
Chase and Foreman had heard stories about Clara, it would have been hard not to. The three of them had known one another for years, and, as is the case with most colleagues, they had all shared amusing antidotes from their families after a certain amount of time, reveling in the memories of the period BH (Before House).
Chase was still impressed by the story of Foreman's uncle spitting cheery pits fifty yards. That took skill.
The point being, Chase knew how important Clara was to Cameron. And he also knew of his fellow doctor's unfortunate track-record with cancer.
This had to be killing her.
Chase realized he was still staring at Clara and quickly shook himself and smiled, "Oh, Clara nice to meet you, fina-"
She quickly looked at House, who was still entranced by the show, and then put a finger to her lips and signaled 'quiet', removing her hand just as House looked up.
Chase coughed, attempting to hide his earlier enthusiasm, "I'm Doctor Robert Chase." Internally he was kicking himself. If Cameron hadn't told him, or at least Foreman, who she was far more comfortable with, why on Earth would she want to tell House? She wouldn't, and Chase had nearly given it away.
"One of my underlings," House clarified needlessly. "Speaking of which, since you're here anyway, I need you and Foreman to go to Pratt's house."
Chase blinked, "You do realize that he lives an hour and a half away, right?"
House threw a Skittle in the air and caught it in his mouth, an action disturbingly similar to his Vicodin-popping days. "Yep, which is why you should be leaving now. Wouldn't want you out past your beddie-by."
Chase sighed, "You know Foreman's going to be upset about this."
"Eric? Upset about something that I caused? Never!"
"I'm just warning you."
"Yes, well. As you can see I'm very concerned." More Skittles made their way into his mouth.
Clara snatched the bag of Skittles away from him, "You shouldn't be such a bastard to your employees," she said as she poured out a handful of the neon-colored bits, "They have the ability to make your life hell."
House glared at her, "But I have the power to make their lives hell and the ability to take away their money." He snatched the bag back, "I win."
Clara rolled her eyes and turned to Chase, "Is he always this obnoxious?"
Chase nodded sadly, "Always."
"It's what makes me special," House was picking through the candies, finding all the pink ones and palming them in one hand. He looked up briefly. "Did I imagine telling you to go to Pratt's house, or are you just being dense?"
Chase shook his head, "Nice to meet you Mrs. Samson,"
"Clara," she said with a grin, "and nice to meet you too."
Chase left the room and headed for the diagnostics office to get Foreman. They were going to leave, but first they needed to make a quick stop at the clinic.
---
Cameron was dead on her feet.
She knew this.
It was apparent in looks of slight horror and shock she received from every patient she attended to that morning. More than one had asked her if she was alright, and a few had requested to be treated by another doctor, giving her nervous glances as she blinked rapidly at them.
Allison understood their reluctance to allow her to poke them with sharp things. Although her mind was far from shut down, used to functioning past normal levels of endurance (medical school had been more than enough to prep her for that), it was working very slowly, processing new information at a snail's pace. And her body was several steps ahead of it, making her stumble her own feet, stagger from room to room. She found herself yawning every few minutes, had to resist the urge to close her eyes while listening to patients.
She could easily understand that she was far from a reassurance to most of the patients in the waiting room.
Or the one setting in Exam Room One at that very moment.
"It's infected," Cameron eyed the ugly scrape on the teenage girl's leg, "I'm going to prescribe some antibiotics." She wrote the prescription, doing her best to cover up another yawn, "Take them twice a day for a month. If it doesn't improve by then," the yawn finally broke loose, "come back."
The girl started at her blankly as Cameron passed over the slip of paper. "You look horrible."
Allison blinked, not sure she knew the best way to respond. "Thank you for your concern?"
The patient shrugged. "I don't care, I just thought I'd point it out. If I get poisoned we're going to sue this hospital, so I hope you didn't screw up."
Cameron frowned and opened the exam room door, "Fortunate that I didn't, for the both of us. Have a nice day." She walked out and heard the satisfying slam of the door behind her as she made her way to the central station. As tired as Allison was, she didn't make mistakes. She was too methodical for that, too self-critical to permit it. Despite how unpleasant the teen was, she would never forgive herself if one of her patients was hurt due to a mistake on her part. She simply would not allow it to happen.
Cameron sighed as she mentally prepared herself for another patient, reaching out to grab the next file on the ever-increasing stack.
Only to be halted abruptly, spun around, and lead back into the exam room just as the girl (who shot her a very disturbed look) was leaving.
Disoriented, she could only blink repeatedly for a few moments as hands guided her to a chair and the world slowly righted itself.
Her captors took full advantage of the momentary silence it caused.
"Cameron, you know Foreman and I are always here to help you if you need it,"
"And that if something's wrong in your life, we want to know about it."
Cameron's vision focused and she saw Foreman and Chase each staring at her, arms crossed over chests, serious expressions on their faces. In her state, it was almost enough to make her start to giggle. They looked like a superhero duo.
"What kind of help can we be if we don't know what's going on?"
"We understand that sometimes it could be awkward, to share with us when something's bothering you, but we want to be able to support you like friends should."
"Which is impossible if you never give us the opportunity to do so." Chase took in a big gulp of air, "I saw your sister today. We know she has cancer."
Allison blinked again. The information needed time to process, as her brain too tired to properly interpret the words and put meaning behind them.
"We're not upset," Foreman reassured her, probably thinking she was hurt by the confrontation, "we just want to know why you felt the need to hide this from us. We could have helped you, but instead we were left without any idea what was going on and made useless to you."
Both men stared at her while she kept silent.
After a few moments Chase shifted his position, beginning to look uncomfortable, "Well?"
Allison started to snicker.
Chase and Foreman exchanged confused glances.
"Admittedly," Foreman looked back to Cameron, "not the reaction I was expecting,"
"Maybe our added pressure has pushed her to hysterics?" Chase tilted his head, examining her.
Cameron snorted.
"Should we get a nurse?" Chase was looking panicked as she broke down into small giggles.
"No," Cameron gasped, "I'm fine, really," she looked up at them, each with brows raised and concerned looks on their faces. The laughing intensified.
"I think," Foreman narrowed his eyes, "she finds our concern amusing."
Cameron took in a deep breath, "No, no, no. Thank you both, truly. It's just," she looked up and smiled at them, "you two look like a combination of disapproving mother hens and members of the Justice League."
They exchanged another confused gaze.
Cameron gave an internal sigh, "Never mind. Thank you for worrying about me," she stood up from her chair. She didn't want to have to explain herself, didn't want to justify her actions. But they certainly deserved it, and their concern was touching.
"I know I should have told you, but I didn't want you two to treat me as if I'm made of glass. It's hard enough for me to get respect from the majority of the staff, much less House. If you two stopped doing so," they both opened their mouths, but she held up a hand, "Don't lie. You know that if you knew about Clara you wouldn't have listened to my medical judgment. And that's alright, I understand why you would. Emotions and medicine don't go well together. But at the time, I could've have dealt with another change."
She took in a breath, "Clara having cancer is hard, as was accepting it, but if you two would have treated me any differently I don't know what I would have done. Not because I wouldn't have appreciated your support, but because you guys were the only things keeping me from exploding. You were reassuring me just by being yourselves, being normal. By being my constants." Cameron paused and looked up at the two men, who both remained stock still and silent. "Do you understand?"
Foreman nodded, but Chase continued to stare, looking at her oddly.
He sighed. "Alright," he said, "I think it's a load of crap," he grinned to take the edge off of the words, "but I'll buy it."
Cameron smiled and caught Foreman doing the same from the opposite side of the door. "Good. Now let me get back to work. There are sick people out there who are waiting to be healed," she began to stride purposely towards the door.
Foreman blocked the door with his arm. "No," he grinned when she glared at him. "We talked to Cuddy. You're going home,"
"But-"
Foreman rested his arm on her shoulders and steered her out of the Exam Room, "No buts," he waved to the nurses at the station and continued on, heading for the front entrance, "Chase and I need to go over to Pratt's house and we're going to drop you off at your apartment on the way."
Cameron glanced behind them to see Chase hot on their heals and the nurses making no move to stop their progress as they walked out of the doors. "This was really approved by Cuddy?" She hoped so. She was so tired, and Pratt lived more than an hour away. She could get at least a solid three hours of sleep...
"Scout's honor," Chase chimed in from behind them, "She's been trying to get House to take over for you for an hour anyway."
Cameron smiled, a relief she was almost ashamed of coursing through her, "Thank God."
Both of the boys laughed and she smirked. She still needed to visit Clara, but she could do that when they got back and if Cuddy encouraged her leaving, House couldn't scold her for it.
Chase came up on the other side of her as they made their way to his car and she smiled. She couldn't quite remember why on Earth hadn't she told them sooner. Being pampered was delightful.
---
In the hour after he had closed his office door, Wilson had moved himself from his couch and to his desk, where he was now up to his elbows in paperwork.
When faced with the things that didn't work, James turned to the things that did. House, however, was not a suitable distraction this time.
So Wilson distracted himself with his job.
Thomas Anderson had Stage Two small-cell lung cancer, fifty-five years old, otherwise perfectly healthy. He was an ideal candidate to test a new experimental drug on the market. It offered no guarantees of success, but there was a chance that it could extend his life up to ten years.
Sandra Appleton was a twelve year old in the advanced stages of juvenile leukemia. Her latest check-up had been yesterday, and things were not looking well. Wilson would increase her chemo sessions, but he knew he had to warn her and her parents that the end was near.
Margaret Roberts had just been diagnosed with Stage One bone cancer. They were starting her on chemotherapy today and she was petrified. She had no family to speak of, so Wilson made a mental note to visit her before her first session.
Samuel McDonald also had bone cancer, but stage Three. His arm was being amputated today, in hopes of halting the spread of the disease. He was a carpenter and was still dealing with the fact that he would have to lose his livelihood for his life. Fortunately, he had a loving wife and three grown children, all of whom would help adjust to the drastic change.
Wilson sighed and rubbed his neck, trying to kneed away the seemingly constant kink in it.
His job. A blessing and a curse that he cherished more than any physical possession he had ever owned and valued more than most relationships he ever had.
Not all, but most.
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in," Wilson said before properly thinking, pulling up another file.
"This room practically reeks of angst," House took in a big whiff, "I love it."
Wilson looked up and groaned. He should have known.
"Alright," House limped eagerly across the office, sitting on the other side of Wilson's desk. "I know I've missed the inner-turmoil phase and that you've moved onto the 'ignore it and pretend it didn't happen' stage."
Wilson glared, "Nothing happened."
"See?"
"House, this isn't the time. I have cases to go over." James stared down at the file, "We can talk at lunch."
Greg smacked the handle of his cane down on top of the file, causing Wilson to look up with a sardonic expression on his face.
"Nope." House smirked. "You remember when I said I wouldn't spare your dignity again? I wasn't lying. In all of the years I've known you, you've never run faster than you did out of my office this morning. I want to know why."
"It's not important," Wilson shoved aside House's cane. "Just someone I used to know who I was surprised to see again."
"So surprised that you sprinted out of the room upon seeing her."
Wilson said nothing, looking back to the file. He wouldn't, couldn't, talk about this. Not now.
"Did you have an affair with her?"
He looked up sharply, "What? No!" Too close.
House ignored him. He probably knew that Wilson was getting angry, that he didn't think as clearly once he became upset. "She cheated on Pratt and you cheated on Julie? It would make sense, explain your guilt- you usually don't go after married woman. And it would explain why she scampered off just as quickly as you did-"
"She didn't have an affair!"
"But you did?"
Wilson sighed and rubbed his neck again. Who the hell did he think he was fooling anyway? Once House wanted to know something, he found a way to figure it out. It didn't matter what lengths he had to go to in order to discover whatever little tidbit had caught his interest, didn't matter what was destroyed in his efforts. There was no reason for Wilson to draw it out, to cause House to go to drastic measures.
"Yeah, I did." He dropped his hand from his neck, stared at his hands. "Sara was my first wife."
House smirked, "Really? Huh. This Pratt fellow seems to be fond of collecting women you've been married to. Did you leave a trail of wedding rings behind you for him to follow? Think he has Elise taking his family portraits? Your high school girlfriend as a photocopier?"
Wilson gave a huff of laughter, more out of irony than anything else, "By this point, I wouldn't be shocked if it were true."
House tilted his head. "You cheated on Elise with half of the women in New Jersey. I don't think seeing her again would send you bolting out of the room."
Wilson said nothing for a moment, remembering her smile, the way her nose would scrunch up when she laughed, the twinkle in her eye when she felt mischievous. "This was different."
"You've never talked about her."
Wilson shook his head. "No." Never her.
Another moment of silence in the conversation, House looking intently at his friend.
Wilson resisted the urge to fidget. He didn't like this, being under House's microscope. For all that House hated to have his own feelings pecked at, analyzed and deconstructed, the man was eager enough to take part in the process himself. Wilson felt entirely too exposed, too open to House's critical eye.
It was unsettling.
House abruptly stood up, making his way to the door. "I'm surprised."
Wilson blinked. "Why?"
House opened the office up to the outside world and paused. "You, Jimmy, care about everyone, whether they deserve it or not, so much that you believe you love them. I didn't realize that, at one point, you weren't fooling yourself."
With that House made his exit, leaving Wilson alone in his suddenly overly quiet workplace.
He hung his head over his desk, brining his hand back to his neck yet again. House was right. He had loved her. Not the thrill-of-the-moment love of Elise, or the detached love of Julie. The all consuming, I can't live without you, won't you please have my children and will you let me grow old with you type of love that most only dreamt about.
And James had destroyed it, taken advantage of it. Ruined what had the potential to be a truly blissful and happy life.
Wilson looked up from the reassuring pine of his desk, gazing out of his window to stare out at the raining world beyond the hospital's doors. There was something peaceful about rain, he had always thought. Something calming and soothing, providing a comforting quiet that, if he listened hard enough, could make him forget his troubles.
A quiet that was quickly interrupted by the ring of his office phone.
Automatically, he answered.
"Doctor James Wilson speaking,"
"James?" A soft, high pitched voice asked from the other line, sounding more than a little apprehensive.
Wilson sighed. "Julie."