Thanks for the review.
The only reason I don't add in more character fluff is because I want this to be pretty plot based.
I know it's slow.
But it's pretty short chapters in my opinion.
It'll get good soon.
Give it to 'G'
Language and references to anatomy.
House was sitting in his conference room, slowly turning his cane over in his hand. He was staring at the white board, looking over the symptoms and running situations over in his head. He guessed only had about a week to figure this girl out before she was forcibly deported back to Venezuela, and he could hardly let one of his bed cases go unsolved. Because if he couldn't figure it out some other idiot might come in and try to guess at her disease willy-nilly.
Then again, epilepsy wasn't that hard of a diagnosis, especially with all the drugs the girl was on already. Everything she took was just an opening for her epilepsy to take control House looked up as Chase held the door open for Cameron. Cameron's arm was in a sling and she glared at House as she sat down, daring him to say something.
"Get me some coffee." He said staring at the girl. Cameron looked at him, annoyed. Chase glanced between them and stood up. "I'll get it."
"No!" House turned to Chase. "I want her to."
"It's no problem." Chase insisted, picking up House's red mug and filing it with coffee. House turned to Cameron and hissed "Cripple!", shutting his mouth as Chase came back. The younger doctor placed it in front of him and waited a few seconds. "Aren't you going to drink it?"
"Not thirsty."
Chase sighed and Cameron rolled her eyes.
"So what did the MRI show?"
Cameron pulled the images out of their manila folder and handed them to House. The last six frames were progressively more blurred. "Nothing that wouldn't rule out epilepsy." She said grudgingly as House looked over the sheet. "There could be lesions we can't see, little pieces of scar tissue we can't really find. Doing another MRI might not work out, if this one caused a seizure, we can assume it would happen again."
"Her hippocampi look a tad swollen." House noted as he reached into his jacket and pulled out his pills. His leg was starting to twinge and he really didn't want another night of pain. He could hardly sleep at all last night. The stiffness and sore joints was terrible. Three more hours before he could, officially go home.
"She had just started to go through tremors when that screen was taken." Chase explained as he sat down across from House.
Foreman suddenly burst in and threw a rather large file down on the table.
"That's her family history." He said, and the entire room stared at him like he was crazy. "I swear, I checked and rechecked it."
"What contact hooked you up with this diamond?" House said, throwing aside the MRI, nearly knocking over his coffee in the process. Foreman put his hands in the pockets of his lab coat and continued to talk.
"Her family is part of the Juarez drug cartel." Foreman announced as all three of the other doctors began to dissect the thick file. "That's part family history, part FBI rap sheet and part medical information. The longer we keep this girl in here the more danger she and we are in. 'Help me' laws won't protect us if she doesn't get out of here soon."
"What are you saying?" House asked, raising an eyebrow.
"If she isn't out of the country in three days she will either be forcibly extradited or we will be held responsible for harboring an international criminal." Foreman said. "Cuddy just told me that guards and federal agents will be monitoring the hospital. Watch your addiction." He said to House. House grimaced as Foreman glanced over at the whiteboard.
"You would know all about harboring criminals. I bet people do it all the time back where you're from." House said, beginning to shuffle through the personal section of the file.
"You can add short-term memory loss to that list. After the seizure she thought she was still on her plane. Seemed really subdued when I told her she was in New Jersey."
"Her Uncle was assassinated when she was eighteen. Then all the money, and let's assume, power went to her dad. Who is. . . " a few pages were flipped, "either dead, in hiding, or a woman." House noted.
"Two of her cousins, a brother and an aunt were implicated in the serial murder scene 'House of Death.'" Chase said, whistling slightly.
"She was given a million-a-month allowance when she turned sixteen."
"That's where the breasts came from."
"Her uncle once controlled over half of all illegal drugs into the states. Her Father is still controlling the underground." House said appreciatively. "Think I could get a hook up?"
"Maybe it is the hippocampus. That's related to memory. Did you check her depth perception?" Cameron asked as Chase and House continued to go over Caramia's fast facts. Foreman shrugged.
"Possibly. But it's probably just disorientation. She bumped her head pretty hard on the way to her room." Cameron looked annoyed and Foreman held up his hands. "I'm just suggesting an alternative."
"They shipped directly into Manhattan. Directly. Do you understand how ridiculously bitchin' that is?" House raised an eyebrow.
"Great. They could just drop you a crate attached to a parachute and leave less of a paper trail. Those prescriptions bills must be piling up."
"We can't rule it out though." Cameron insisted.
"If there's something wrong with her memory we could give her an EEG and measure the sharp waves and theta rhythms." Foreman said.
"There might be a correlation between her memory and sleep patterns. If her hippocampus is damaged won't there be a bit of a difference?"
House looked up suddenly. "Hey."
Cameron and Foreman stared at House as Chase continued to sift through the file. "You can't make base assumptions without me."
"I think we just did." Foreman said.
"Don't act badass. You're bad at it."
"Odd, I thought black people are automatically more badass than white people." Cameron said scathingly. House looked over at her.
"I make the racist remarks around here."
"Be my guest. As if you really want a harassment lawsuit."
Foreman rolled his eyes. "I'll get a scanning room." He muttered as he left.
Cameron stood up. "I need to go check her blood work." She was pushing open the door as House stopped her, calling her back as an afterthought.
"Test for STD's too."
"Which ones?" Cameron asked.
"All of them."
"She doesn't have any symptoms."
"That we know about."
"So why are we testing her?"
"Look at her. It's like she has a stamp on her forehead that is just screaming 'Do me! Do me!'."
Cameron shook her head and stepped out of the conference area. House turned to chase.
"Good news or bad news?"
"Uh. . . Bad news."
"You need to go deal with the witch and ask about her personal life."
"Good news?"
"If you're lucky you might get a look at her va-jay-jay."
Chase stared at House.
"What?"
"That is wrong on so many levels." Chase said, standing up and taking a few of the more relevant family history notes with him.
"You're excited."
"If I do get a look down there," Chase said, frowning a bit at the thought. "It means she thinks she might have an STD. Which means whatever I see probably won't be pretty."
"Good point." House frowned, "But from my experience privates are still privates, diseased or not."
"Gross." Chase said brusquely and exited the room, by now fully disgusted.
House turned and uncorked the black pen, putting 'amnesia' on the board. He then stood up flipped it over, and hung his cane on it. He tapped the pen against the blank board and wrote 'Wilson' and 'Cuddy'. Under each he listed the bet parameters and the rewards of each. Over the top of the entire thing he wrote EPILEPSY, again, in ridiculously large, over confident letters.
"Why aren't you in the clinic?!"
House grabbed his cane and neatly flipped the board over so that it displayed the regular notes on a patient.
"I was discussing the newest addition to my litany of misdeeds." House said before his eyes dropped to Cuddy's neckline. "Oh dear. Speaking of misdeeds."
"Jesus Christ House." Cuddy said, leaning against the door as if House physically and emotionally drained her. "Put your eyes back in your head and take the elevator down to the clinic. There are too many people waiting for doctors for you to just be hanging about her ogling your latest case."
"That's actually Chase's job." House explained, leaning on his cane and limping towards the exit of his conference room. "you missed that brightly colored conversation." House said as he stopped in front of her, squeezed as she was between the glass frame of the doorway.
"Why did you do that?" Cuddy said, squeezing through to the other side of the door, getting awfully close to House and brushing against him as she turned away.
"You're wearing perfume."
"What if I am?" Cuddy said, rolling her eyes.
'Why?"
"Maybe I like the way it smells."
"Do you know what perfume was made for?" House asked, raising an eyebrow.
"To make people smell good." Cuddy answered, annoyed beyond belief. "Does it matter?"
"Firstly, your wrong." Cuddy looked rather offended "Secondly, it does. Perfume was made to attract members of the opposite sex by inducing a reaction similar to that of an elevated hormone state. You want someone to want you." House was fairly close to Cuddy and Lisa was very close to shoving House or kicking his cane out from under him.
"Want me?" He asked, tilting his head to the side.
"I'm out of your league." Cuddy said, turning on her high heels and marching off towards her office. House watched her go, eying her butt as she went. She wore rather tight skirts to be strutting around like that, pumps and all.
"Stop staring at my ass." She called over her shoulder, and House stuck his tongue out.
"Spoil my fun." House muttered and went over to the elevator, pushing a button down.
Clinic duty for an hour (less, if he had his way) and then back to Caramia's case. All he needed was a bit of proof. Goddamn him to hell if it wasn't epilepsy. He would really hate to have to ask Cuddy out. He was hoping he could just get her in bed without going through their college fumblings.
Fuck. He hated memories.
I know people read this.
You lazy jerks.
I appreciate you anyway.