AN: I was wrong. I have more than a chapter left on this puppy. So now I'm going to leave it open ended. I do have another update for RS waiting in the wings, and blew the dust off Accreditation. Thanks to all who asked about updates--and for hanging in there with me!
His weekend had been short; almost too short, but he'd made the best of it. He'd shuffled through the closest store lobby for local apartment guides and wandered into a nearby Applebee's for a quick dinner before hailing a cab to take him back to his hotel. A quick perusal of the apartment guide over dinner had given him enough of an idea of the area, and he'd spent the rest of the weekend searching for the right place. Close enough to the hospital to be available, far enough that he was out of reach of drunken frat parties. Just in case. He'd taken a cab to the closest mall and picked up a few extra suits and ties and shirts; given that most of his stuff was still in his apartment, he had a feeling he'd need a few things to tide him over. An upgrade to his hotel room yielded him a little suite with a fridge, and he'd returned to the store for a few bare essentials like milk, juice and cereal. He'd dropped his suits off to be laundered by the hotel staff before resuming his apartment search. Somewhere between his endless queries and a parade of infomercials he drifted off to sleep in the darkest watch of the night.
After a restless night filled with snatches of wakefulness and intermittent dozing, Monday morning dawned bright and early. Awakened by the shrill beeping of his cell phone, he sat up sharply and scrambled to find it was only his pre-set alarm rather than a page.
Old habits died hard after residency.
Sitting up stiffly, he leaned over to turn the lamp on and squinted into the light as he fumbled for the tv remote. The sound was deafening when he turned it on, and he hastily lowered the volume before sighing in relief. Peering into the penetrating glare of the screen, he could see it was only 6:30 according to the digital readout in the lower right hand corner. He leaned back into the pillows, half-asleep as he listened to all of the local news and part of the weather forecast before sliding out of bed and stumbling into the bathroom. Half an hour later he emerged, showered, shaved and dressed in his Hugo Boss suit. Sans car for the foreseeable future, he called for a cab to pick him up before pouring himself a bowl of cereal and plowing through it quickly with one eye on the clock. With breakfast remnants in the trash, his teeth brushed and suit jacket donned; he left his hotel room and jogged lightly down the stairs and out into the lobby. Sliding into the cab he issued his directions quickly; relieved to find traffic was relatively light despite the hour. The hospital's high glass windows reflected the rising sun brilliantly; the light was dazzling when he pressed a ten into the cab driver's outstretched hand and stepped out onto the curb. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes against the red-orange glow of sunlight and waited, expectantly, for a chorus of angels or a beam of light to fall from heaven and light the hospital in a surreal glow. This was supposed to happen. He was supposed to be here. He had nothing to be nervous about. Nothing to worry about. Dr. House had chosen the right candidate for the right job. Sighing, he shook his head, smiling, and opened his eyes. There was no hallelujah chorus. No radiant light from Heaven above. Only the sound of cars from the nearby parking garage and the faint whoosh of the automatic doors. Somewhere on campus, a clock tower began to ring out the eight o'clock hour.
It was time.
Striding into the hospital, he crossed to the elevator and stepped inside confidently. A short stop at HR to obtain his hospital ID, and he'd be on his way to the fourth floor to meet Dr. House for the first time. Moving steadily through the crowd on the second floor, he paused to pick up his badge. He let his fingers trail over the glossy plastic of Princeton-Plainsborough's logo with the oak leaves and the red letters proclaiming his name and credentials, and, most importantly; the red lettering proclaiming him a fellow in the Department of Diagnostics. With steady hands he pulled on the white lab coat he'd been given and clipped the badge to his lapel. Beaming, he smoothed the invisible wrinkles and gave the HR gal a subtle nod. She turned away then, and he did the same; moving out into the hallway and back into the elevator. He reached for the floor button; expectantly pressing it and relishing in the expectant ding as the doors slid closed. The floor beneath him rocked briefly on acceleration and once again as it slowed, and then opened. Holding his breath, he stepped out of the elevator and onto the fourth floor. It was obviously of newer construction than other parts of the hospital and he admired the open and airy feel the glass windows and walls gave the entire wing. He walked slowly forward; noting the oncology wing just down the hall to the left, and the expanse of windows that ran along the main wall straight in front of him. The closest bay of windows was actually a small but well appointed conference room and Eric felt his heart leap when he realized it was actually the diagnostics lounge itself right in front of him. Smiling slightly, he turned and crossed to the door and pulled it open expectantly.
But it wasn't Dr. House who greeted him. Dr. House's two fellows—Dr. Chase and Dr. Cameron—were seated inside, and both gave him incredulous looks of surprise as he stepped inside. Holding a hand out to Dr. Cameron first, and then to Dr. Chase; he introduced himself. Dr. Cameron—Allison Cameron, as she responded—looked far less surprised than Chase, but her surprise lingered well beyond what he imagined it would.
"I can't believe he finally hired again." Dr. Chase finally said into the silence, chewing absently on a coffee stirrer. His accent was thick and pleasantly surprising; Eric hadn't realized Dr. Rowan Chase was Australian. It was mildly interesting. "I mean, he wasn't even here on Friday."
Eric felt his bravado waning a bit; Dr. House hadn't even come in on Friday? It wasn't surprising, he supposed. Dr. Cuddy's explanation sounded as though he'd had a bad day, pain-wise. And he'd still done a phone interview. That had to count for something. He spoke then, feeling a need to explain. "Dr. Cuddy said he was having a bad day. I met with Dr. Cuddy and Dr. Wilson—and Dr. House did an interview over the phone. I didn't even know until it was over." He sniffed experimentally, biting his lip sheepishly at Dr. Cameron's amusement as she waved him to the coffee pot.
"Help yourself. We usually take turns stocking the better blends. There's packets from Al's coffee in the drawer, though." She sipped her own mug before cradling it with both hands. Eric rose to his feet and drew a red mug off the shelf and nearly had the mug to the pot when Dr. Chase spoke up. "I'd get another mug." He cautioned. "I doubt House'll show up today, but in case he does—that's his favorite mug."
Eric set it aside hastily, and grabbed another one out of the drying rack. "Thanks, Dr. Chase." He said quietly.
"No problem. And just call me Chase." Chase grinned at him, and set the coffee stirrer aside to stuff a piece of bagel in his mouth.
"So Dr. House was out Friday?"
"And Thursday, last Wednesday and the Friday before that." Chase said sourly.
"I imagine it has to have been pretty rough on him. Coming back from a disability like that." Eric ventured. He topped his mug off with cream and sugar before settling into one of the uncomfortable aluminum chairs around the table. "I imagine the workload must be pretty hard to manage."
"Wouldn't know. We haven't taken a bloody case yet." Chase said bitterly. "We've spent all our time down in the clinic.
Eric felt his heart sink; they hadn't even taken a case yet? It had been over two months since Chase had been hired, and not much longer for Allison Cameron. They hadn't taken a case yet? Eric felt both fellows' eyes on him; he did his best to maintain a neutral expression.
"Oh." He said quietly.
"I think it's been hard for him." Allison Cameron supplied finally. Her earnest gaze was filled with compassion. "I think he's been having problems with his medication for the pain; I think he's been playing with dosages. A couple of times I found him after he'd been sick but was trying to hide it. And then last week—Tuesday—he slipped coming into the lobby. He didn't say anything but he was moving pretty badly. Dr. Wilson thought he might have torn his ACL, but said the MRI didn't show it. He came in on Friday to grab some journals for Dr. House and said he was going to be out for a few days." Allison shrugged, leaning back into her chair absently. She looked up after a moment, and skewered Eric with a piercing look. "He didn't say anything about interviewing, though."
Eric pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He did it over the phone," he explained again," And there were originally three fellowship positions posted online. Only two were filled; so you pretty much had to expect one more person, right?"
"I guess." She said noncommittally. "So what is your specialty?"
"I'm a neurologist—" he started to explain, but fell silent when Allison looked away and focused on something over his shoulder. He turned, surprised, only to find Dr. Wilson pushing open the conference room door.
"Good morning." He greeted as he shoved his hands in his lab coat pockets, leaning casually against the wall. "I wanted to introduce Dr. Foreman, but I see he's already covered that with you. House hired him on Friday, but I'll be stealing him to go over some things. In the meantime—"
"Clinic duty." Chase said quietly. "We know."
"I was going to say House said he'd be back on Wednesday this week. He wants you to go through his charts, Cameron. Get caught up on the backlog. And Chase—yes, clinic duty. Or the NICU. Cuddy said she'd give you a choice." Dr. Wilson gave Chase a sympathetic look—which wasn't well received as the young Australian pushed himself out of his chair and headed for the elevator without uttering another word.
"Well, Foreman, should we get you started?" Dr. Wilson asked kindly, and Eric got to his feet. In keeping with everything he had so far experienced at Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital—he had no idea what would happen next. He felt a thrill of anticipation run up his spine.
"Where are we going?" he asked politely as he fell into step with Dr. Wilson. Standing before the elevator, Dr. Wilson gave him a crooked smile.
"Ever done an upper endoscopy?" he asked cryptically as he stepped into the elevator. Blinking, Eric shook his head.
"No. My residency was in neurology." He confessed, feeling slightly embarrassed. Was he expected to know how to do one? Tamping down the fear that blossomed in his chest--would he be fired before he even started?--Eric forced himself to calm down. Dr. Wilson gave him that crooked smile again as he jammed his finger onto the elevator button for the third floor.
"You're about to learn." He said simply.