Hi guys. Two announcements to make. First off, I'm very sorry for the delay in a new chapter. The play I'm helping to produce goes on this week, and I've been busy as all hell. Second, I've gotten word that some of the transitions are a little confusing, so I'm going to make use of the little divider. Hope you enjoy! :)
Foreman, Taub, Kutner, and Thirteen are standing around Marissa's bed.
"It's still so weird, doing this—I half expect her to sit up any second and make a smart remark or ask for her Prozac back again," murmurs Kutner as he hooks up the IV.
Thirteen looks at him with a sad nod of agreement, and then starts: "Whatever's got her, it's killing her fast. If we want her to come out of this with full brain function, we need to come up with a new idea now."
"A cerebral hemorrhage?" suggests Foreman, hands on his head.
"We've already checked the brain scan, it's clean," replies Taub. "How about encephalitis?"
"She's got no fever and she never did, infection is off the table. You people really don't listen," snaps Thirteen. "Where the hell is House?"
Foreman sighs, and they all turn to look at him. "What?" he asks.
"You know where he is," responds Taub. "You're his little prodigy, after all."
"Fine. He said he was going to have a 'little chat' with Wilson and Cuddy about the patient," Foreman admits.
"Does he think it could be cancer?" wonders Kutner.
"No, you idiot," says Thirteen. "They're probably discussing that kiss and seeing if Wilson wants to get in on it," she giggles.
Foreman, Taub, and Thirteen exit. Kutner checks Marissa's IV and vitals again, and can't help but think, Why am I always the last to know these things?
"Why can't you just let this go?" says House with more than a hint of annoyance. He's sitting next to Wilson on the couch of the doctor's lounge with Cuddy on a chair across from him, a substantial distance away.
"Why do you have to?" she replies. "God forbid you ever allow yourself to be human for one moment without trying to convince the world it never happened."
Wilson runs his hand through his hair, used to being the therapist, the mediator, and the go-to guy between these two.
"Funny things can happen when you've just had a handful of yummy white tablets," he suggests.
Cuddy stands up with a smirk. Her arms fold, just the way they always do when she's just found an oh-so-sweet flaw in the great Dr. House's argument.
"No, House. You don't change when you're on Vicodin. You change when you aren't. Now, if you're off the painkillers and you have nothing to entertain you, you're both in agony and even more of a manipulative bastard than usual. But, if you do have a distraction, say, a friend in anguish, you show no signs of pain, and tend to be more like a decent person. Like when you were on the ketamine. So you were off the pills, and that means that you had something more important on your mind. You did this intentionally, House. It's time to own up to it." Cuddy ends the sentence with a hint of tiredness, just wanting this big baby of a man to grow up and learn to love and sick of trying to do it herself. With a huge groan, she leaves.
Wilson slides off the couch and sits in Cuddy's vacant seat. "She's right, isn't she?"
House lies down on the sofa and stares at the ceiling for about thirty seconds.
"No," he states flatly.
Wilson heaves a sigh. "Everybody lies," he says, "you included. And you're doing it right now."
He takes Cuddy's path out the door, leaving House with nothing but his thoughts and a bottle of Vicodin that he now just feels like smashing. Traitor.
He sits in silence for a few moments. His pager goes off, reading—out of coma??
House slides open the door and closes it behind him to find Cameron and a very alert, healthy looking Marissa laughing and sharing lunch. They turn to look at him.
"Hello Melissa. I'm Dr. House. Remember me?"
Cameron, annoyed, reminds him, "It's Marissa."
House rolls his eyes. "Whatever. How have you been feeling since you woke up?"
Marissa shrugs. "Tired, but other than that, pretty normal. I haven't felt this good since I got here. Do you think I'm ready to go home?"
House sneers. "What home? You went into a coma, not usually any retrograde amnesia involved with that. You're still leaving with CPS." He sits down next to a vexed Cameron. In a gentler voice, he continues, "But yes, if everything continues as so, you'll be discharged in the morning. So Cameron, don't screw it up by making her puke with your sappy stories." She sticks her tongue out at him and leaves.
"Why is she always here?" House asks, watching Cameron walk to the elevator.
"Believe it or not, with two dead parents and all your friends being sold off to strangers every night, I don't get many visitors," says Marissa coldly. "Allison has been very nice to me, and she's really a lot of fun."
"Yeah, they do say blondes have more fun, maybe the hair dye—wait, Allison?" Perplexity.
"That is her name, isn't it? She said I could call her by her first name," she replies.
"Sometimes I forget."
"So, are you ever going to stop being such a pussy and ask her out again?" Marissa asks with one eyebrow raised.
House turns. "Why the hell would she tell you about that one stupid time?"
"She didn't. I could tell. The way she looks up at you and the little twinkle you get after talking to her—or insulting her, that wasn't very nice by the way—it's kind of obvious that you two have some tension. All she said was that there was some guy who gave her a dangerous, edgy sort of vibe that she always loved. You fit the bill. I may be sixteen, but I'm not dumb," Marissa explains.
The doctor is quiet for a moment, but he quickly returns. "You're a prostitute. What do you know about love?" Before she could respond, he turned and left her with an incredibly offended expression.
About an hour later, a nurse goes to check on Marissa. She's dozing off in front of a low volume game show. The nurse smiles to herself, and bends down to tie her shoe.
When she stands, the monitors are beeping like crazy.
"Call Dr. House's team, she's seizing again!"