"House, you can't take this case," Cuddy said wearily, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. It had been twenty-seven minutes and fifty-two seconds since Cameron's hissy fit in the conference room, and her mood had not wavered at all. She stood to the side now, watching as the tired Dean of Medicine attempted to handle her overly irritable Head of Diagnostics.

"I already have," argued the annoyed House.

"Well, I'm taking it from you," Cuddy told him. "Do you really expect me to believe that you can remain impartial to Wilson's case? You're already making wild assumptions. You have no reason to believe that this is anything more than pneumonia."

"You mean besides the fact that I've been treating him for pneumonia for the past three days," House retorted, more a statement than a question.

"Some severe cases –"

"Oh, stop! I've already been through this. It isn't pneumonia, and as soon as Foreman decides to get his lazy ass back with the negative results –"

"House," Foreman said immediately as he stuck his head inside Cuddy's office. "It's not pneumonia." House gave Cuddy a 'so there' look.

"You finished testing for all the subtypes of pneumonia already?" Cuddy questioned skeptically. Foreman shook his head.

"Didn't need to. A nurse paged me to Wilson's room a few minutes ago."

"Why?" House asked, keeping concern out of his expression.

"She found blood in his urine. His kidneys are shutting down," Foreman replied, a hint of dejection in his voice. To the side, Cameron's mouth went agape and her arms slowly uncrossed in a silent expression of concern.

"Hmm, kidney failure. That fits perfectly with your pneumonia diagnosis. Oh, wait! No, it doesn't!" House told Cuddy sardonically. Cuddy watched him sternly for a long moment, taking a deep breath before replying.

"Fine. Take the case," she relented. "But I'm going to be keeping an eye on you."

"Do whatever you want with your eyes. I've got a patient you save," House said nonchalantly as he made his way to the door.

"House," Cuddy called after him. He turned his head toward her in response. "Don't screw this up." House kept walking.

Once he was out of sight, Cuddy hung her head and shook it a little. Cameron huffed and stood in front of the older woman's desk.

"That's it? You're just going to let him have the case? Just like that?" she questioned.

"And how exactly would you like me to stop him?" Cuddy replied, exasperated.

"You're his boss," Cameron stated the obvious.

"Yeah, and when has he ever cared about that?" Cuddy continued.

"This is Wilson we're talking about."

"You think I don't know that?" Cuddy's voice rose slightly out of frustration. "If this gets to the point where I don't think he can handle it, I will pull the case. But we are not anywhere near that point yet, and if we take this from him now and something were to happen to Wilson, do you think he would ever be able to forgive us?"

"Do you think that if he does take the case and something still happens to Wilson, he would be able to forgive himself?" Cameron questioned adamantly. Cuddy's expression was filled with torment as she considered the situation in her mind.

"It's a risk that we have to be prepared to take. Now go do your job," Cuddy ordered, not harshly but authoritatively. Cameron looked as if she was going to speak but thought better of it. Instead, she turned on her heels and made her way to the door.

"Cameron," Cuddy called after her. The younger woman turned to face her again. "Keep an eye on him." The small doctor still kept silent but nodded in agreement before exiting. Cuddy didn't bother watching her leave. As soon as the door closed, she sat down heavily in her chair and put her head in her hands. This was going to be a long day.

Three hours, forty-two minutes, and fifteen seconds after Cuddy's arrival, Blythe House sat exhaustedly in the chair next to James Wilson's hospital bed. She knew something was very wrong by the way the other doctors were acting, but each of her attempts to gather any useful information were answered obscurely and evasively. Her son had not been back since she sent him off earlier that morning. This left her very concerned. Surely he would want to visit his terribly sick partner. The other doctors made excuses for him, but it wasn't hard to see through them. Greg was avoiding her and James, and she had no idea why. Her thoughts were interrupted, however, as James gave a weak moan and the hand she had been holding gave hers a small squeeze.

"James?" Blythe asked softly. James turned his head toward the sound of her voice, but his eyes did not open.

"Hmngh?" was all he managed to say.

"James, it's Blythe House, sweetie," she moved her free hand up to smooth his damp hair once again. Slowly and carefully, James attempted to open his eyes and focus on the woman beside him.

"Huh, wha…I…uhngh," he tried, but the fever still had a tight hold over him.

"What is it? Do you want some water?" Blythe questioned softly. James nodded, giving a harsh wet cough. Blythe quickly reached over and grabbed the glass from the bedside table. Placing one hand under his neck, she helped him stay upright enough to take a drink, pausing every few seconds for him to cough or take a painful breath.

Blythe was helping him take one last sip when he suddenly went rigid. She placed a hand on his forearm in concern before he gave a gasping cough; causing Blythe to fumble for a grip on the plastic cup, spilling most of its contents into James' lap. However, there was no time for regard to this as the young man began to gasp, struggling uselessly for air, his eyes wide open in blind panic. Startled by the sudden shrill shrieking of several machines around her, Blythe jumped to her feet, cup falling, forgotten, to the floor as she raced to the door and screamed for help.

Streaks of white and blue came flying into the room as doctors and nurses rushed to respond to the code. Blythe knew these doctors. Chase and Foreman, that was their names. She remembered them as being calm, reassuring, and professional. They had spoken to her as if she had nothing to fear; that they would all be resting comfortably at home very soon. Now, however, they did not look like those same doctors at all. These men were frantic, talking fast and screaming orders. James continued to gasp and choke on the bed as Dr. Chase yelled something about respiratory arrest and Dr. Foreman shouted for him to intubate. Blythe stood frozen in the doorway, watching helplessly and feeling completely useless. The machines continued to scream, and time seemed to slow down before her eyes. Suddenly she was very light-headed and dizzy, so she closed her eyes tightly and began to pray, "Please, God, don't take him from us. Don't take him from my son."

House let out a heavy sigh, hung his head, and put his hands up to massage his temples. He could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on, and one hand went instinctively to his pocket. He flinched involuntarily, though, as all he found was an empty hole. After he'd woken from the coma and this thing with Wilson had started, House hadn't really thought about the Vicodin much. His new life had become a welcome distraction, and detoxing while in that coma had been a big help as well. While House knew that he would probably never stop craving the damn things, for the first time since the infarction, he didn't care. He needed a clear head now. Maybe without the fog of the narcotics he could do it better and faster. Yeah, sure…maybe.

"House," it was Foreman again. House could tell by his tone of voice that he was not going to like whatever it was he had to say.

"Figured it out so soon?" he questioned sarcastically. For the first time that day, there was no hint of even vague amusement on the neurologist's face as he shook his head.

"Got a new symptom," he replied, sounding non-too enthusiastic. House didn't wait for him to say it. Instead, he used his cane to lift himself from his seat before limping briskly to the conference room, standing in front of the whiteboard, and uncapping a marker. Foreman followed a little too patiently for House's liking.

"Okay, shoot," he said, sounding impatient although he was really in no hurry.

"Wils –" Foreman began.

"Apbupbup!" House interrupted warningly. Foreman gave him a frustrated look but continued.

"The patient went into respiratory arrest. We had to intubate –"

"Ack! I don't need details unless it's medically relevant. I know what you do to patients in respiratory failure. I don't need you to break it down for me," House told him, perhaps a bit more angrily than he had intended. "So, that gets rid of meningitis, encephalitis, and typhoid fever." House said aloud as he crossed each disease off the board. "Three down, three to go."

"Look, I really think you should –" foreman began.

"Where are Chase and Cameron with my test results?" House continued rambling, ignoring the other doctor.

"House –" Foreman tried again but was ignored once more.

"I can't believe you left those two alone. They're probably in the supply room making short, blonde, overly sensitive, wombat offspring –"

"House!" Foreman practically yelled. To his surprise, House stopped talking. Recovering quickly, he continued. "What are you doing here?"

"Now I'm just being annoyed, but I was solving –" his boss began, but it was Foreman's turn to interrupt.

"No. You're not. Even with the new symptom, there's nothing you can do until the lab is free again and we get our tests done. The first tests we ran were the three you just crossed off the board. There is absolutely for you to do in here but think, and you can do that anywhere."

"If there's a point to this, please get to it," House said impatiently, a hint of warning in his voice.

"Go see him," Foreman told him.

"What part of remaining indifferent is difficult for you to understand?" House questioned, his frustration growing with each passing second.

"You're not indifferent, House. There's no way you possibly could be. Do you really think that by using all this smoke and mirrors on yourself will somehow trick your mind into forgetting just who we're dealing with here?" Foreman paused. He'd let his anger win out, which was something he had not intended to do Remembering the look in Blythe House's eyes as they rushed into Wilson's room, he took a deep breath and forced himself to continue as calmly as he could manage. "If not for Wilson, than do it for your mother. The woman looks like she hasn't slept in days. For God's sake, it's not like she's a young woman. Maybe you can handle this kind of stress, but not everyone can. You already lost your father to a heart attack, do you really want the same thing to happen to your mother?"

"She's fine," House replied weakly.

"She's not fine! You didn't see her down there. She looked like she'd seen a ghost. Once we got Wilson stabilized, we had to get her to lie down before she passed out!" the anger was winning again, but Foreman didn't care this time. Leaving your own mother out to dry was a pretty low thing to do, even for House whom, even after hearing of his mother's condition, simply stood in place and stared back at him. "You really don't care, do you? You'd rather sulk in the dark in your little glass office and let your own mother get sick with worry than visit your best and only friend. He could be dying knowing that you don't want to see him. How will you feel when you never get the chance to say goodbye?"

Foreman didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he stormed out the door without a second glance. He was well aware of just how incredibly melodramatic he had just been, courtesy of his semester of Theater class in college, but the situation had deemed it necessary. Things were getting out of hand. He could tolerate House's attitude toward any other patient, but this was unexceptable. He saw first hand the hell this was putting that sweet old lady through, and although the neurologist may not have been particularly fond of House, the man's mother was as genuine as they come. He couldn't help but feel a strange need to protect her. Any psychologist would tell you it was a misplaced desire to help his own ailing mother, but Foreman didn't care. Someone had to do something, and he thought it was better he got to House before Cameron.

I hope you enjoyed Chapter 13! I hope there wasn't too many mistakes. It was posted in a bit of a hurry. I would like to say a quick thank you to all my reviewers! You are are so lovely, encouraging, and helpful! I hope to continue to please and improve! Chapter 14 should be up later this week! (crosses fingers)