I do not own House. Nor am I doing this for profit. All characters and actions are figments of my imagination. All diseases mentioned are fact. Sendai, Ectromelia, and Sialodacryoadenitis are extremely fatal to rats. All musicians mentioned are real, as are their mentioned work.
To say that the following morning in the clinic really pushed House to his limit, would have been an understatement. If it wasn't for Steve, House would have booked by ten.
His first patient started the ball rolling with an infected, ingrown toenail and a case of severe athlete's foot, requiring a consult to podiatry.
And the ball continued down hill at full speed.
Next, an 18 year old who swore the high level of hormone in her birth control pills was causing her nausea and vomiting; not pregnancy because she and her boyfriend hadn't done "it" in over 8 weeks.
But the grandmother needing a script for viagra because her eighty one year old husband had no interest in sex, really topped off the morning. Further explanation went on to reveal that they hadn't slept together since their last child 35 years earlier. It was all House could do not to yell that perhaps it was her high-pitched, nails on a chalkboard voice that could be turning him off. But he wrote the script and threw in another for earplugs.
House lost count of the number of vicodin he had popped by noon, and was just contemplating swallowing the whole bottle, when a knock on the door distracted him.
"Good afternoon," Cameron greeted, handing House two bags and a drink. On the counter she placed another white paper bag with the name "Steve" on the side.
House sat on the corner of the table. "Everything but good applied to that greeting. What brings you here? Trying to get on my good side?"
Cameron's eyes widened. "Good side? You have one? Now that would be a journey worth taking if I knew a good side actually waited for me at the end."
Not sure how to respond, House glanced at the bags. "Why are you here?"
"I figured you wouldn't leave to get lunch." She took a sip of her own drink. "Before you thank me, I'm doing this more for your patients than for you."
House reached in and took out his sandwich. Peeking in the second bag revealed fries. He found it intriguing that Cameron had covered all the bases. "And the bag on the counter?"
"For Steve. I thought about what you said, so if you look you'll find Reese's Pieces mixed in with one hundred percent organic trail-mix."
Caught off guard, House quickly swallowed his bite. "I may have to taste test it to make sure you didn't try to slip him some of your niceness."
"Wouldn't matter; you're immune to it anyway."
"Good come back. You're starting to sound like me. Get a consult to psych."
"So they can find out why I'm obsessing over a misanthropic ass who pretends to be a hard ass, or why I'm buying trail-mix for a rat?"
House looked her up and down and smirked. "Nope. I want to find out what type of underwear you prefer."
Cameron looked at him with disgust."I was right; you are a pig. Enjoy your lunch." She made an exit out the door that impressed even House.
Grinning at her departing figure, he finished off his Reuben and fries. Washing his hands quickly, he grabbed the bag off the table and put it in his back pack.
Ironically when he took a sip of his ice cold coke, he found it to be warmer than the room after Cameron's departure. Shaking off that thought, he decided to just tackle the last two hours before it tackled him first.
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The drive home had him convinced that there was not enough scotch and vicodin in the world to numb the throbbing in his brain.
Upon entering the apartment, he listened for the familiar squeak. Nothing. A wave of fear gripped him. He moved quickly to the cage, and shook it gently, but firmly.
"Steve!"
A little head poked up out of the toilet paper tube. House let out a shaky breath. "Don't you scare me like that again." Reaching into the backpack, he took out the bag of trail-mix. He scooped out some and put it in the dish.
Steve walked over and sniffed the treat. Grabbing a Reese's Piece, he practically inhaled it and began on a second. Pausing, he looked thoughtfully up at House.
"Don't thank me." Satisfied that all was well, House went to pour himself a double scotch. No sooner had he downed that then the phone rang.
He glanced at the ID display. "Yes, Cameron."
"You having caller ID is a little weird."
"What would you call buying trail-mix for a rat?"
"Touche." Pause. "How is Steve?"
"Determined to stop my heart before the vicodin can ruin my liver. He seems to like the mix."
"Anything I can do to help?"
"Not really."
She knew when to take her cue. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Cameron!" House closed his eyes. This is so humiliating. "Are you busy? I need you to come over."
"What for?"
"I need to get a skin biopsy so Wilson can test it for anything that might be affecting Steve." Silence.
"I'll be there in a half hour." Cameron disconnected the line.
House set the phone on the charger and poured himself another shot. He didn't have a clue as to what just happened, but he had a feeling that the evening was going to beat his day in a heart beat.
Another double, and two vicodin later, a knock on the door brought House out of his reverie. He had been listening to the smooth jazz sounds of Jonathan Butler and trying to chalk the whole day up to just being a bad dream.
The knocking persisted. Grabbing his cane, House hauled himself off the couch and limped to the front door. Swinging the door open revealed Cameron. For a moment, neither spoke.
Gesturing with his free hand, he waved her to come in. He noticed that she carried a small medical bag.
"Where's the patient?"
"Over on the coffee table."
Cameron breezed by House. A light, musky scent assaulted his nose. "Are you wearing perfume?" He closed the door.
"Yes. Got a problem with that?" Cameron opened the bag and pulled out a pair of latex gloves.
"Actually, no." House sniffed the air appreciatively. "What kind is it?"
"Celine Dion." She put the gloves on and sized up her patient.
"The singer?"
"You say it like it's a bad thing." She opened the cage. Reaching in with her right hand, she placed it behind Steve's back. Right below his neck, she grasped him around the rib cage and lifted upward. Using her left hand, Cameron extended Steve's hind legs between her thumb, index, and third finger.
Momentarily taken aback by her actions, House shouted, "What the hell are you doing to my rat?"
Unfazed, Cameron shrugged. "Uh, holding him so you can get a biopsy. What did you think was going to happen, that he was going to willingly lie down and let you start cutting?"
"You're hurting him!"
"No, I'm not. Get the bag and take a sample before he poops on me." Cameron spoke soothing words to Steve as House took the sample. Sealing the small piece of skin in a covered petri dish, House placed the container back in the bag. "Hey, get a stool sample, too."
"You're kidding me?" But House did as he was told. Securing the excrement in a Bio-Hazard bag, he placed it next to the petri dish.
"I'm the immunologist here. If we are going to test for viral and bacterial, then we should test for internal parasitic infections. Although, I'm leaning toward Chronic Murine Pneumonia. I want to rule out Sialodacryoadenitis." Cameron peered into Steve's eyes. "He doesn't seem to have swelling around his eyes. Has he been wheezing, sneezing, or rubbing his eyes?"
"Not that I am aware of; he's been pretty lethargic, though." House had to concentrate on concentrating because that perfume was beginning to affect him in more than one way. He decided then and there to stop washing his vicodin down with scotch.
"Well that's a good sign. So we can rule that one out." Cameron turned Steve over and checked his legs and face. "No swelling. Well, that rules out Ectromelia." Bringing Steve to her ear, she listened closely. "Good breathing. Fur is still soft. And you're pretty stout, so that pretty much rules out the Sendai Virus."
House just gaped. "When did you become a veterinarian?"
"I told you my brother raised rats and mice. Mice mostly for his snakes, but the rats were kinda family. Anyone can keep a mouse, but you need an extensive knowledge to raise and breed rats. They may be pretty resilient, but they are just as susceptible to virus and bacterial infections like anyone else. Except, and not to alarm you, Sendai, Ectromelia, and Sialodacryoadenitis, are three of the nastiest diseases." Cameron touched Steve on the nose and placed him back in the cage.
Taking off the gloves, she secured the latch and stepped back. "Mind if I wash up?" Not waiting for an answer, Cameron walked toward the kitchen. House stood speechless, but determined to take control of the situation, although he was unable to gather his thoughts. Damn that vicodin.
"Um, considering what you just touched, you might want to wash up, too," Cameron called from the other room. House joined her at the sink. For a moment they seemed to bask in the sweet sound of Jonathan Butler's Barenese.
Drying her hands, Cameron handed House a couple paper towels. "Rat diseases got me curious about death and cures, and it's all tied into the immune system, so it wasn't a hard transition from playing with an electron microscope to finding cures in real life."
"Well, that explains everything." House threw the paper towels in the wastebasket. Cameron did the same.
"Explains what?"Cameron could feel the heat rush into her cheeks.
"Why you care so much."
"Are you comparing patients to rats?"
"Is there a difference? I think you see them as pets needing to be taken care of."
What does that make you? Cameron thought to herself. "So what was that comment on Celine Dion?"
"Changing the subject?"
"I know your feelings on patients. Have you actually listened to Celine Dion?"
"I stopped being interested after the one hundredth listen to 'My Heart Will Go On'. Not sure, but I think there could be a link between my vicodin use and that song."
Cameron's eyes flashed with wickedness. She began singing:
"Once more you open the door, and you're here in my heart, and my heart will go on and on."
House covered his ears. "Stop!"
Cameron let out a small laugh. "Come on, you're being a big baby."
"Leave!"
"This is how you treat me for helping you with your rat?"
"No, this is how you repay me for letting you help me with my rat."
"That is too twisted for even you House." She looked at him and chuckled. "Come on, grab your jacket."
House stepped back. "Woah! Woah! Woah! Wait a minute. I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't even like you."
Cameron cocked her head to the side and stared at him. "I'm very well aware of your feelings, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm hungry and you have nothing in your fridge."
"You want me to feed you?"
"My treat. I won a hundred and fifty bucks, remember?"
"I've been drinking and took some vicodin. I can't drive."
"Well, I'm perfectly sober, and I didn't just walk over here; I have a car. Get your jacket, or I will finish singing that song."
"So, we're going out." It wasn't a question. House knew he had lost control of the situation.
"Yeah."
"Like a date?"
"Yeah, except for the date part." Grabbing the jacket off the chair, Cameron tossed it toward him. "Got your keys?"
"This is a mistake."
"Yeah, yeah."
"You better not have Celine Dion on the radio." Cameron laughed out loud. House followed her out the door.