AN: As we get closer to the disease I've entirely made up, please note that I know absolutely nothing about medicine and that anything medical is probably not accurate.
"The patient's condition has not improved. I'm thinking a more targeted approach is necessary. Any new ideas?" House looked around the room. "Hey." He whacked his cane on the plastic bedside, knocking Chase awake. "Can nap time wait?"
"Dammit, House, I've been stabbed, alright?" He grumbled, reluctantly sitting up.
"Right, your head still works. I need new ideas. Where's Foreman?"
"He's getting the last batch of test results," Cameron said, who had taken the same seat as she had earlier.
"You," House said, pointing at her, "what part of 'get out' do you not get?"
"Probably just hit my head too hard."
Foreman rushed in, carrying papers along with something wrapped in foil. He dropped the foil package into Cameron's lap, before reorganizing the papers. "Sorry I'm late."
The package was warm, and she opened it to reveal a sandwich. Ham and cheese, the latter melting out the sides.
"A promise is a promise," he said with a smile.
She looked at him, noticing for the first time the pronounced dark circles under his eyes. "When's the last time that you slept?"
He shook his head, dismissing the concern. "About two days ago. Eat the sandwich."
She complied, bringing it up to her mouth. It hurt to chew, but the smell was intoxicating, and the desire to eat won over as she continued consuming it.
"I did the Lumbar puncture."
"And?" House tapped his cane on the bedside again, as Chase was nodding off.
"It looks like MS, but that doesn't cover all the symptoms."
House nodded. "So, two things at once. Chase?"
He rubbed his eyes. "I don't know... might just be a really bad allergy."
House looked at him. "That's a stupid answer and you know it. Any allergic reactions would have disappeared when he was brought in."
It was clear from the look on his face that Chase wasn't having it that day. "You're the one who keeps waking me up!" Chase yelled, a fire burning behind his eyes.
House didn't seem to care. "Right, and you're the one peeing into a bag." He cocked his head. "Sorry, thought we were stating the obvious."
"It's possible there might have been an undetected allergen nearby," Cameron said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "We could double check his room."
House rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Ms. Brain Damaged. You're a genius."
"Look," Chase started, sitting up straighter, "I'm in the damn ICU, Cameron had her head practically knocked open, and Foreman is overworked half to death. Just hire the next person who walks into your office, or do something for yourself for once. This isn't going to work. I'm done."
House contemplated this, staring off into the distance, before nodding once. "Enjoy nap time," he said, before limping off.
"Wow," Foreman said, looking out the door. "Did House just listen to you?" He shook his head, a stunned look on his face. "...Anyway, I'll check for allergens. I still think Chase might've had a point with that." He stopped, staring at the rest of the team's blank faces. "What? What's behind me?"
A police officer stood outside the door, hands on his hips. Foreman froze, stepping back. The last thing he wanted was to get tangled up with the law again.
Chase leaned over. "You think they finally caught on that we've been breaking into houses the last two years?" he whispered, not daring to raise his voice.
The officer walked in, somewhat warily. "Hi. I'm from the Princeton P.D. Are you Dr. Robert Chase?"
He nodded. "...Yeah."
"I'm Officer Johnson," he said, sticking out a hand. Chase took it, watching the man cautiously. "I'd like to ask you some questions about what happened two days ago."
Foreman, somewhat relieved, flashed a cheeky grin before slipping out of the room.
The cop turned to Cameron. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to leave the room. This is confidential information."
"No-" Chase stammered, too quickly, "she was there. It's fine."
The officer nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "Did you notice anything about your attackers that would help identify them? Tattoos? Hair color?"
"I uh, well, I don't remember what they looked like," Chase said, scratching his head. "They had black ski masks, I couldn't see their faces."
"Do you know what might've motivated the attack?"
He shook his head. "No," he said, pausing before continuing, "except for maybe my stubbornness."
The officer nodded, jotting down notes. "Nobody you would suspect it to be, or-"
"No, nothing like that."
Foreman studied the woman who had been perched in front of the patient's window for hours. Forehead creased in worry, thin strands of bright blonde hair framing her thin, pale face.
"Are you Mrs. Stevens?"
The woman nodded as she turned to face him, her tear filled eyes still shining with some hope.
"I'm Doctor Foreman, I'm one of the doctors on your husband's case." Okay, well, one of two was still one of. "Has your family made any changes to your routine recently? Started a new soap, cleaner, medicine, anything like that?"
She shook her head. "No, we've been using the same stuff for the last twenty years. Roger, he doesn't really like change. I guess that's why he's kept me around this long." She tried to laugh it off, but her eyes betrayed a deeper set sadness.
Foreman nodded. "And have you noticed any changes in personality, habits, new hobbies-"
BEEP BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP BEEP. The patient's heart monitor. Something had gone terribly wrong.
Foreman rushed inside, trying to assess the situation as quickly as he could. The man wasn't breathing.
"Oh my God!" The woman screamed, following behind.
"I need you to stay outside!" He was running out of time. Fast. "Get me a nurse in here!" He stuck a bag over the man's mouth, pumping air into his lungs. "Chase, I need-" He reached out, hand closing around thin air. He needed that syringe. But it was too far. He was alone.
He let go of the bag, reaching for the syringe, and grabbing it, just barely. He fumbled for the medicine, reaching back to pump another few breaths. He let go to fill the syringe with the liquid, tipping it up to squeeze residual air out of it. One squeeze. One movement. He could do this. He could-
The long, droning beep of failure. Ringing in his ears. The man had no pulse. He dropped the syringe back on the tray, ripping open the man's gown while trying to get the defibrillator started. He picked up the paddles, own pulse racing in his ears. His arms were shaking as two nurses rushed in, quickly realizing they couldn't do anything. It wouldn't work. The man was dead. There was no way. He shook his head, placing the paddles down on the man's chest.
"Clear!" he yelled, before administering the first shock. The man's body jerked into the air, but otherwise didn't respond. Once. Twice. Three times. "Please... come on..." He kept trying, each attempt more frenzied than the last, before he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Foreman dropped the paddles to the side, wiping the sweat off his brow. His heart rate gradually slowed, breaths becoming more steady, as a bitter taste filled his mouth. Time of death, 1:27 PM.
House walked into his office, letting the glass door shut behind him. Wilson was already there, digging into his unidentifiable lunch.
"Something from home?"
Wilson twirled his fork, a piece of food stuck on the end of it. "Oh yeah. Chicken tikka masala. And no, you can't have any."
House sat in his chair, spinning side to side. "Who said I wanted any?"
Wilson swallowed the bite he had taken. "Oh come on, there might as well be a light over my head every time I eat."
He looked above his friend's head. "Who said there wasn't?"
Wilson pointed a finger at him accusingly. "No, you are not making me look up."
House made a mocking sad face. "But the next interviewee is up there."
"Actually," a voice cut in, as a young woman took the opposite seat. "I'm right here. Hailey Fletcher."
She stuck out a hand. House didn't seem to have noticed it.
"You're hired."
Wilson raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Do I have to say it twice?"
The woman shook her head, smiling. "That's great, I've been trying to find a job ever since my last boss-"
House waved a hand in her face. "Don't care. You've got the job provided you can start now."
The blonde pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, a smug grin on her face. "Sure. I've had nothing better to do for a while."
House pushed a file across the desk. "Find out what's wrong with this guy."
The door swung open, and Foreman walked in. "Forget it, House. He's dead." Without another word, he walked away.
Wilson took a deep breath. "House-"
The man stood up, grabbed his cane, and left the room.