Chase fiddled with one of the lab microscopes, trying to get a better look at the sample. Maybe he was only pretending to try. What was done was done, yet his mind couldn't stop wandering back to Cameron. Maybe he had been too forward. Maybe he had pushed too hard, said too much. Maybe if he had just given up his damn wallet before... His fingers fumbled over the dials, and the image cleared up for a millisecond before becoming an incoherent blur. He swore under his breath before turning it back, more carefully this time. He could feel Foreman's gaze on him, somehow more interested in the man behind the microscope than the plate beneath it. Shrugging it off, he tried to center his attention on the dial, bringing the image slowly into focus. Chase could tell the neurologist wanted to talk. He, on the other hand, did not. If he could just ignore him long enough to finish...
Foreman nodded his head upward. "What's up with you?"
Chase's hand reflexively jerked up, ruining the image. Damn. He lowered the arm slowly, restarting the mundane task of refocusing. "Nothing."
Foreman nodded slowly, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Right." He leaned back in the chair, gesturing his head toward the dial Chase had been fussing over. "You need some help with that?"
Chase dropped his arms down, sighing as he rolled his chair back a few inches. "Cameron broke up with me," he said, looking Foreman in the eye before rolling back to the microscope.
Chase could feel him watching him again, the mystery disease nearly forgotten with the new revelation. The silence dragged on as he finally focused the picture, stopping short of looking at it. Sitting up, he turned his head, frowning. "You don't have anything to say about that? You've been seeing her more than me these days."
The man rubbed his goatee, giving a half shrug. "You just gotta give her some time. Relationships are about perseverance. And, if you can't handle that, well..." he shrugged again, clasping his hands together in his lap, "maybe she was right to break it off."
"Hang on..." Chase said, waving him off as the image through the microscope finally caught his eye. "What is that?" The pale slimy substance pulsed slowly, seeming to vibrate on its own.
"Your mom," House said, walking into the room with Fletcher close behind.
"It's... moving," he said, leaning in. "Also, my mum's dead."
"Some sort of amoeba? Strange organism?" Foreman suggested.
"Maybe it's a mold or fungus?" Fletcher wondered, tapping her foot.
"Here, let me see," House said, nudging Chase out of the way with his cane.
He cried out in pain, doubling over as he fell out of the chair, collapsing on the ground.
"Oh, don't be a baby," House said, "it was only a..." He took a closer look at the now collapsed man, hands shaking, tinged red with his own blood.
"...ah. Call the surgeon." The other two rushed over, turning him over on his stomach. A dark red stain was slowly growing on the back of the gown, spots of blood dripping onto the ground.
"Does someone want to explain to me what Doctor Chase was doing out of bed?" Cuddy demanded, arms crossed. She scanned her office, looking accusingly at everyone, one at a time.
House darted his eyes back and forth. "Nose goes," he said, putting a finger up to his own. Fletcher seemed to consider doing the same, but changed her mind after seeing Foreman's stony expression.
He sighed, not moving his arms from a crossed position. "Do you even need us to tell you? It's obvious that House had something to do with it."
"Oh, you spoilsport," House muttered, dropping his arm down. "I needed more hands on deck. What was I supposed to do?"
Cuddy shook her head in disbelief. "Oh, I don't know, hire more people instead of hiding Cameron's file and forging notes?" She held up Chase's release note. "This looks nothing like Doctor Sanchez's handwriting."
"I hired her!" House exclaimed, pointing at Fletcher with a fake puppy-dog face.
The presentation of this fact did not faze the unamused dean. "One person. Out of how many? You deleted all the other appointments afterwards, too. If it wasn't enough, I could've brought you more-"
"Come on, you think I want to waste my time looking at so many useless idiots? Look at her!" He pointed at Fletcher with more emphasis, as if it would be convincing in any way.
"I've just done what you've asked me to," Fletcher said, confused. "Which, might I mention, was basically nothing."
"Look," Foreman interjected, raising up his hands, "this entire conversation is pointless. We already know that..." He frowned at his arm, eyes suddenly widening in concern. No... that couldn't be... He rolled up his sleeve, alarmed. It was harder to notice against his darker skin, but the upraised red bumps were unmistakable.
"Doctor Foreman?"
"Yeah..." He ran a finger over the bumps gently. "Whatever's under that microscope, that's our culprit."