Rush
by dxdoc
Chapter Two – The Boy King
House's step was lighter than it had been in ages as he exited the elevator and silently stalked towards his office. Inside, he could see Taub and Thirteen huddled around the table, Taub with a pen and Thirteen with the computer. Both had a stack of charts piled next to them on chairs.
"House," Thirteen looked up as he swung the glass doors open. "Nice to see you made it in before end of business."
Even her ironic grin could do nothing to dampen his spirit now.
"Did a filing cabinet explode?" he asked, making his way to the coffee pot.
"It's called charting, House," Taub was quick to answer. "We thought if we double teamed this backlog, we could finish in time to take tomorrow off, what with Foreman gone and all."
That was meant as a not so subtle stab to House's authority. "Oh, you," House looked at his fellow with strained regard.
Thirteen glanced over her shoulder at House. "If you wanted to translate some of this for us, we could all be out of here before five." She mocked him with her eyes, knowing he'd abandon them the instant he had inflicted his daily dose of torment.
"Can't," House answered, tossing a chart of his own into the middle of the table. "Oh, and neither can you. We have a case."
They stopped and looked at him with slightly amused sense of panic.
"You can thank me later," House announced.
It was Taub who spoke up first with his usual, gentle way of questioning the obvious elephant in the room. "Not to burst your bubble but don't we need Foreman here to actually do anything?"
House loved the smell of discomfort in the air. Craning his neck towards the glass wall, he took a step forward. "Funny," he said with a grimace. "I could have sworn my name was still on the door when I came in."
Thirteen stopped typing. "I think Taub is expressing his deep seeded fear of Cuddy kicking his ass."
"Duh," House stared at her. "What about you? Afraid of Cuddy kicking your ass or is this more of a loyalty to your one true love kind of thing?"
House thought he saw a brief glimpse of annoyance on her face. Interesting. Could the stereo-type defying couple of Foreman and Thirteen be on the rocks? He decided to put a bookmark in it for now and come back to it later, when he could get more amusement out of it.
Thirteen slumped in her chair, refusing to play House's game. "Fine," she said. "What's the case?"
Wilson slipped into the room, taking one of the few chairs not occupied with case files.
"Sorry," he apologized for holding up House's fun. "Don't mind me. I'm just observing." He waved a hand as if to clear the air.
"I give out points for participation, you know," House taunted.
"Wait," Taub interrupted. "So this is for real? House is in charge of cases again?" He was looking to Wilson for confirmation.
"It's true," Wilson told him. "The coming of the Messiah can't be far behind." He was glib.
A smirk crossed House's face.
Thirteen closed the laptop and retrieved the file House had put at the center of the table. Taub capped his pen and pushed aside a pile in front of him. House wheeled the white board into view.
Uncapping one of the dry erase markers, he inhaled deeply. "Ah, sweet markers. How I've missed directing your every move." Then in big block letters at the top of the board, he wrote the word alcohol.
"What's the differential for college kids acting stupid?" he turned to the room.
"Alcohol?" Taub answered.
"Don't cheat!" House spat back.
"This kid came in to the ER with a blood alcohol of .26," Thirteen read from the chart. "If that's not stupid . . ."
"Yes, alcohol can make you stupid. It doesn't explain the kidney failure, however," House said, adding that to the board.
"Actually, it does," Taub spoke up.
"Only the first time," House instructed. "Kid had several rounds of dialysis. Doesn't explain why his kidneys aren't working now."
"The ER's tox screen came back clear," Thirteen said. "But that doesn't mean he hasn't done drugs. If he drinks to excess, maybe he took something else, something that damaged his kidneys before the alcohol poisoning."
"That's my skeptic," House said triumphantly, listing drugs out to the side with a question mark.
"Patient swears this was the first time he ever had alcohol," Wilson reminded House. "If he never drank before, good chance he never did drugs before either."
House looked at Wilson, disappointed. "I thought you were just observing."
Wilson shrugged. "No harm in having all the information."
"Sure, you say that now."
"Wait," Taub interrupted, having had a chance to look over the file. "This kid is underage. Of course he's going to lie about his drinking habits."
"Thank you," House nodded.
"So why does Wilson think he's telling the truth?" Thirteen asked the next logical question.
"Because Cameron believes he's telling the truth," House said, rolling his eyes. "And Wilson and Cameron need to believe what their patients tell them is the truth."
"Doctor Cameron brought you the case?" Thirteen looked up, eyes darting between House and Wilson. That meant that Cameron had known Foreman was out of town.
"She treated the guy when he first came in," Wilson told her.
House sighed loudly. "Does anyone else think we should figure this out before Qaiser's kidneys and lungs fail?"
"Qaiser?" Taub searched for the patient's name. "He's Muslim?"
"It means king," House explained, drawing a little crown in the top corner of the board. "I assume his religion and yours can peacefully co-exist until we save his life?"
Taub let a fake smile cross his lips. "Wilson's Jewish, too."
"Wilson can pass for a Gentile. You, not so much," House retorted.
Taub sat back, unsure how he'd managed to fall into another of House's snares. "I asked if he was Muslim because they don't tend to drink."
"I know plenty of Muslims who drink," Thirteen countered.
"Thank you," House acknowledged her. "Now, tell me why this kid's kidneys are starting to fail again after a successful round of dialysis."
"Pre-existing infection," Thirteen called out. "His white blood cell count is elevated and he's got a fever."
"He was treated with antibiotics when he came in," Taub countered. "A pre-existing infection would likely have been cleared up, just like the aspiration pneumonia he was treated for."
"Which has mysteriously reappeared," Thirteen shot back, holding up the most recent chest x-ray.
"The fluid in his lungs is much more likely to be a result of the kidney failure than a disappearing then reappearing case of aspiration pneumonia," Taub stated.
"I agree," House said, listing pulmonary edema below kidney failure. "See if you can get him to cough up some sputum for a culture."
"What about a pre-existing chronic condition, one he didn't know he had?" Thirteen offered.
"Systemic Lupus causes kidney failure," Taub went straight for the obvious.
House put it on the board. "ANA to rule out Lupus."
"What about a kidney stone or gallstone?" Thirteen said. "If he's got a blockage, the urea in his system would build up and cause his lungs to begin filling with fluid."
"The guy has had virtually no urine output since he got here, despite all the IV fluids," Taub seemed to agree.
"CT the abdomen for stones," House instructed, listing another possibility.
Wilson cleared his throat, asking to be recognized.
"Is this an observation or are you participating?" House asked dryly.
"Both," Wilson responded. "We should test for multiple myeloma."
"Says the oncologist," House nodded. "Cancer is always a fun diagnosis." He wrote it on the board.
"Did anyone check his PSA?" Wilson continued.
"You think a nineteen year-old kid has prostate cancer?" Taub questioned.
"I think prostate cancer can cause kidney failure," Wilson answered.
House smiled at Wilson. "See. I told you this would be fun."
"No PSA level in his labs," Thirteen said after checking the chart.
"So let's get one," House said. "And redo the rest of the tests. No telling what the ER and ICU missed. And stick a needle in his back and get me a piece of his kidney. I want to check for Wegener's."
"Shouldn't we consider putting him back on dialysis before his lungs get worse?" Thirteen cautioned.
"Nope," House said quickly. "Put him back on it now and he'll never come off. Most of our diagnostic tests will be useless and whatever is causing the kidneys to fail will likely get worse." He paused and looked directly at Wilson. "Sound good to you?"
Wilson nodded. "No objections."
"Great," House said. "Then you can help Taub start the tests. Thirteen, you're with me."
"Hold on," Wilson stopped Taub and Thirteen in their tracks. He moved to board where House stood.
"I'm supposed to be observing you, remember?" Wilson whispered to House.
"Pretty sure they can hear you," House told him. "Right?" he asked loudly.
Taub and Thirteen stood nervously, their eyes betraying them.
"Listen," House explained to Wilson, "I'd love you to come along, really." Sarcasm appeared briefly. "But if I'm going to make it through the front door of whatever Eating Club conspired to corrupt our boy king, than I'm defiantly taking the bi-sexual babe. No offense to your assortment of sweater vests."
Wilson looked from House to Thirteen, then back to House. "None taken," Wilson relented. He'd have done the same in House's shoes.
"I'm sure they'll be plenty of field trips," House reassured him, slipping into his leather jacket. "Oh, and while your doing the medical stuff, see if one of you can get an actual history."
"Anything in particular you're looking for?" Wilson asked.
"Everything," House answered. "Where he sleeps, what he eats, who he's friends with. Who he's not friends with."
"If he drinks?" Taub got to the point.
House nodded. "That'd be good."
"One more thing," Wilson put out a hand to keep Thirteen from exiting. His tone was serious but his eyes danced. "If House does anything suspicious, you have my and Cuddy's permission to trip him."
"Suspicious?" She wanted more to go on than that.
"Trip him?" Taub seemed jealous.
Wilson grinned at her. "Just call me," he reassured her.
She gave Wilson a sly smile.
"I hope this ends up with me tied up," House's blue eye's flickered at Wilson as he brushed past him and out the door.
House sat in the cramped passenger seat of Thirteen's car, searching Prospect Avenue for the address listed on the ambulance's run sheet.
"Just because he was found on their lawn doesn't mean he was pledging their eating club," Thirteen said, pulling the car slowly to the curb.
"It narrows down the options," House told her, freeing himself of his seatbelt as the car came to a stop.
They both stepped out into the February damp, House zipping up his jacket, Thirteen pulling her coat closer around her. She looked up at the gray sky. It had been raining off and on for two days now, defying the weatherman's predictions of snow. She almost wished temperatures would drop and with it, a blanket of fluffy white powder. The gray New Jersey winter was depressing her.
"Is it always so bleak this time of year?" she wondered allowed, coming around the side of the car to the sidewalk.
This was the third personal moment House thought he'd observed in her in so many hours. Taking out the bookmark, he tested the waters. "You and Foreman having problems?"
She caught her outraged reply before it escaped. Whatever she and Foreman were or were not going through, House didn't need to know.
Turning to him with a pleasant smile, she said, "Everything's great. Thanks for asking."
A smirk appeared on House's face. Everything was not great, not with that plastered on smile. He allowed himself a long stare, hoping to unnerve her, before deciding to slip the bookmark back in and come back to it later.
"So," he asked instead, "which of these lovely dead lawns was our patient passed out on?"
"This one," Thirteen pointed to a patch of yellow beside a winding stone path. "But I don't think this is the eating club we want." She was quick and sure in her answer.
"Because?"
"Because it's not a pledge club," Thirteen informed him, looking at the neighboring houses.
Intrigued, House pushed her. "It's not?"
"No," she said. "There are ten so called 'Eating Clubs' at Princeton. Five of them are open to any upcoming Junior or Senior, basically like an open enrollment policy. The other five are more exclusive. They tend to be picky about their membership, making students go through an initiation process, like dangerous binge drinking."
She stopped cold. House was staring at her with the biggest smile she'd ever seen on his face.
"It is so cool that you know that," he genuinely complimented her.
"What?" Thirteen felt herself flush. "I have friends who went to Princeton."
The smile could not be wiped from his face.
"In case you're curious," she plowed ahead, "the house on the left does have pledge club."
"Great," he managed to find some focus. "Lead the way."
She looked skeptical.
"Seriously," House told her. "I want the first thing they see when they open the door to be you. Should up our chances of getting inside."
Thirteen drew herself up. "Fine," she said her voice stronger.
She veered left and strode down the path leading to a large, brick covered mansion. House followed enthusiastically behind her, limping up the shallow steps. He nodded for her to knock on the solid wood door of the nineteenth century mansion.
It swung open a few moments later. A tall young man stood smiling in the entryway. "Hello," he said, looking Thirteen up and down. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm Doctor Hadley," she said with a conniving grin. "This is Doctor House," she pointed over her shoulder. "I was wondering if your president was around."
House had to admire her for getting into character. If he didn't know better, and the kid at the door certainly didn't, she would appear the innocent yet tempting morsel to anyone of the male persuasion. Foreman was an idiot if he'd screwed things up.
The young man swung the door wide open and gestured them inside just as the misty sky turned to drops of rain.
"Thanks," Thirteen said, gazing at the foyer of the large house.
"No problem," their eager escort replied. "Um, I'm not the president," he shifted awkwardly in place. "I'm Tom. I'm just a member. But Chad is in the great hall." He motioned around the corner behind him.
"Great," Thirteen thanked him, and she and House followed the eager-to-please Tom.
"There's a great hall?" Thirteen whispered to House.
"I thought you said you had friends that went to Princeton?" House whispered back.
"I did," she said but stopped short in her explanation as they entered the wood-paneled great hall with its grand archways and white pillars. The lead paned windows were larger than main the door they'd come through and an enormous fireplace crackled in the center of long room. "I just never made it off Prospect and into one of these . . ." she searched for the appropriate word.
"Castles?" House offered.
Thirteen nodded the scope of the room and the beauty of its architecture overwhelming her.
They followed Tom to a plush sofa in front of the fireplace, hanging back a few paces as they were announced to a tall, blonde haired, blue eyed co-ed in expensive jeans and a Princeton hoodie.
"He's a Ken doll," Thirteen observed, not impressed.
"Come on, Midge," House continued the pop-culture reference. "Go sweet talk your side-kick's boyfriend." And he gave her a slight nudge forward.
"Hello, I'm Chad Mathey," the Ken doll extended his hand. "Tom said you were looking for the president?"
"Yes," Thirteen shook his hand then remembered to smile. "I'm Doctor Hadley and this is Doctor House."
"You're a doctor?" Chad tried to sound impressed, ignoring House completely, which was just as House had hoped. While Thirteen smoothed the way for questioning, House took the opportunity to look around.
Students of various shapes and sizes were spread out with textbooks and laptops. A gaggle of girls was huddled in the corner around a long table making strings of paper hearts from red and pink construction paper. A couple cuddled in a love seat beneath one of the windows, sharing an MP3 player.
"Doctor House?" He was interrupted in his observations by the Ken doll.
"Just admiring the surroundings," House told him. "This is quite a place you got here."
"We like it," Chad said proudly. "Why don't you and Doctor Hadley follow me to the dining room where we can talk?"
Without waiting for discussion, the club's president marched off towards the back of the room, beckoning them to follow.
House caught up to Thirteen in the hallway. "Great Hall not cozy enough for conversation?" he remarked.
The dining hall seemed older some how, its tables virtually empty in the afternoon light. They were led to one of the circular tables along the wall and sat, following the lead of the club's president.
"Doctor Hadley said you had some questions about last Saturday night," Chad spoke softly but confidently. "I assume this is about the student who passed out?"
"Did you know him?" House charged ahead with the first thing on his list.
"No," Chad shrugged. "Not personally."
"Then he wasn't one of your Bickers?" Thirteen asked.
Chad smiled at her. "You went to Princeton?" Most people who called it Bickers had.
"She had friends," House spoke for her.
"Oh," Chad said, deciding the older doctor might be in charge. "Uh, as far as I know, the kid who passed out wasn't one of our Bickers, no. Someone from the president's office asked us for an official list of all the names of students that were, though. I could get you a copy."
"Great," House told him, quickly moving on. "You were at the party Saturday night?"
The kid flashed his pearly whites. "Yes. I was one of the designated runners."
House looked at him curiously. "Is that like a track and field event for drunks?"
It elicited a small chuckle. "No. It's like a designated driver," he answered. "See, Princeton has a no keg policy on campus, so every February when Bickers rolls around, all of the Eating Clubs pitch in for cases of beer. We tend to run out, so each club designates someone to stay sober to make more runs."
"So you were sober Saturday night?" Thirteen asked him.
"I'm actually not much of a drinker," Chad said, obviously hoping to impress her. "I volunteered."
"Good for you," House tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice and failed. "You make a bigger profit as a dealer."
Chad seemed unfazed by the remark.
"It's not like that, really," he explained, conviction rising as he spoke. "Princeton doesn't even allow students to join until Spring semester of their sophomore year, and we've made a lot of progress weeding out underage and binge drinking. We have student monitors who attend events and cut people off when they've had too much."
"Yes, lot's of progress," House stopped Chad. "Until they miss one and he almost dies."
Chad appeared apologetic. "Sometimes it happens. It's horrible, but it happens. I'm sorry, but isn't the guy better? I mean, that's what we've heard from the university."
"He was," Thirteen told him. "The alcohol poisoning was resolved but his kidneys have begun to fail again."
House watched Chad's face for clues. Confusion turned quickly to understanding then morphed into uncertainty. Confusion House expected. Understanding House knew would follow. He expected puzzlement next or at least a return to confusion. But this look was defiantly not either. It was uncertainty and House sat perplexed as to why.
"I need to ask you if it's possible that anyone was using drugs that night," Thirteen continued. "And please, remember, were doctors, not cops. All we care about is helping our patient. Whatever the answer, the university will never know."
"I don't know," Chad proceeded carefully. "I mean, I don't think so. We haven't had many problems with it before, especially during Bickers. The university tends to keep a pretty good eye out during that time, you know?"
"Yeah," Thirteen gave him a small grin. "Qaiser was found on the lawn next door. Ever see him over there, maybe coming and going?"
"No," Chad answered. "You can ask around here if you want, but all the eating clubs were in on the party that night. He could have been with any of them or none of them. It's a good party."
"Any idea who made the 911 call?" House decided to ask.
"Sarah Mitchell," Chad answered quickly. "She's vice president across the street. I think she was the one who found him."
Something didn't add up. "You said it was a good party. Big turn out?" House prodded.
"Up and down the street," Chad answered.
"That is a good turn out," House admitted. "So, with all those people, and even assuming most of them were bombed, how is it that this kid was found face down in his own vomit by the girl across the street? I mean, it wasn't like there was the personal space to drink alone."
Chad was obviously uncomfortable. "I don't know. I wasn't here when he collapsed. I was – "he paused, looking guilty, "on another run. I got back and the ambulance was already here. I've asked around, but no one's quite sure if he was alone when he passed out or if people were just too drunk to do the smart thing and check him."
House nodded, not knowing if he believed everything he'd been told, but pretty sure he wouldn't be able to squeeze anymore out of the kid right now.
"Okay," he said, standing.
"Okay?"Chad repeated.
"Sure," House answered. "You can't control everything, right?"
The kid relaxed. "I wish I could help more."
Thirteen stood up. "The list of your Bickers?" she reminded the president.
"Right," Chad shot up from his chair. "One second."
He retreated around the corner, back towards the great hall. Thirteen followed him with her eyes, spotting several large crates of now empty beer bottles lined against the wall.
"Guess they recycle," she said, pointing out the empty bottles to House.
He stepped quietly around her, shrugging his pack from his shoulder. "Yuck," House voiced his disappointment. "They have a great hall but they skimp majorly on the beer? Even I wouldn't drink this stuff in college and I was poor."
Thirteen watched House bend over and place one of the bottles in a plastic bag.
"You really think you're going to find drugs laced on that one bottle?" she scoffed as he zipped it securely in his pack.
"Nope," he said, making his way back to her side. "But I have no idea what you're going to find." He looked at her with a wicked smirk.
"Right."
"Here's the list," Chad announced, rounding the corner back into the dining hall. He handed it to Thirteen with a hopeful smile. "I put my number on there, in case I can be of any more help."
She looked down at the paper and saw that he'd circled his name and number in the corner with the word president underlined twice. Trying not to laugh, she thanked him.
Chad led them to the door of mansion, wishing them luck.
"If you think of anything else, call the hospital," Thirteen asked him with one last girlish grin.
Nodding his agreement, he shut the door and left them on the front steps in the rain.
"That went well," House said, and Thirteen wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or optimistic.
"Okay," she said, deciding to neither agree nor disagree. "Now what?"
House hobbled down the steps, pointing at the house across the street. "Let's see if our party-pooper, ambulance caller is home."
"Right," Thirteen said and followed House out into the rain.
It was dark when House and Thirteen returned to the hospital, rain soaked and grumpy from questioning oblivious students all afternoon. Taub was waiting for them in House's office when they arrived.
"Find anything interesting?" Taub asked as the two threw off their wet jackets.
House dropped into the chair behind his desk and raised his right leg, massaging his aching thigh. "I think that's my line," he informed Taub.
"Okay," Taub took the hint. "Uh, ANA and PSA are negative, abdominal CT didn't show any stones or other abnormalities, and it took three breathing treatments to get him to cough up enough sputum for a culture."
House reached into his pack and retrieved the bagged beer bottle. He tossed it to Taub. "See if you can find anything unusual in or on this while you wait for those colonies to grow." It would take several hours before the sputum cultures revealed anything relevant. "Where's Wilson?"
"In with the patient," Taub answered as he looked sourly at the empty bottle. "He's finishing up a bone marrow biopsy."
"Did you find elevated M proteins?" Thirteen asked, wondering why Wilson was putting the patient through a potentially unnecessary procedure for Myeloma if the lab results could give them their answer.
Wilson chose that moment to make his entrance. "M levels are inconclusive without a bone marrow biopsy," he explained, looking tired. "I wanted to get it over with while Qaiser can still cooperate."
"Did he tell you anything?" House asked, looking at both Wilson and Taub.
"He swears it was the first time he ever drank," Taub answered.
"And the last," Wilson added. "And not just because he ended up in the hospital. He can't stand the taste, apparently."
"He withstood it long enough to land in the ER," Thirteen commented.
"He doesn't remember much after the first few bottles," Taub said. "He agreed to some kind of drinking game to get into one of the eating clubs with a friend of his."
"Does this friend have a name?" House asked.
"Charlie," Taub told him.
"Does this friend have a last name?" House amended the question.
Taub looked down at the floor. "Not that he mentioned."
House threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. "What else?" he scowled.
"No drugs," Wilson continued.
"That he knows of," House countered.
Wilson went in a different direction this time. "He's a sophomore, an engineering student, good GPA, lives in Whitman Hall with a roommate, not named Charlie. He's from Pakistan but he moved to Brooklyn when he was fifteen. Parents, two brothers and a sister still live there. Dad's a UPS driver. Mom stays home with the kids."
House lifted his head, looking pleased. "Did you get a history from her?"
"I did," Taub stepped forward. "She says there's no history of autoimmune diseases in the family, and she was a nurse before they came to the States, so she probably knows what she's talking about."
He watched House's head go slowly back and forth between shoulders, lips pressed together, weighing the option that the mother actually might be informed enough to be right. He must have decided that she was, because he motioned for Taub to continue.
"Her father died of congestive heart failure in his late fifties, which isn't bad considering the level of care he had available. She thinks diabetes was probably a factor but it was never confirmed. Her mother is still alive, living in Lahore with her brother and his wife; nothing more than a little arthritis."
"And Dad's side?" House asked.
"Qaiser's grandfather was killed thirty years ago. Shot to death," Taub informed him. "His grandmother suffered from depression, probably linked to her husband's death. She died of an apparent stroke last year. Mrs. Zaheer is healthy, as are the kids. She says her husband could stand to lose a few pounds, but otherwise, nothing more than the normal aches and pains of getting older."
"Did they travel to visit family recently?" Thirteen asked.
Wilson shook his head. "They haven't been back since they moved to the U.S."
"Not really the best vacation spot at the moment," Taub treaded lightly.
House did not. "Wouldn't want to end up like Grandpa."
They all swallowed their distaste at House's comment.
"So," House said, swinging his leg down and his body up, moving into the adjoining room. "That takes care of Lupus." He crossed it off the list of possibilities. "And prostate cancer." He put a line through that too. "No kidney or gallstones on the CT." Away that went. He circled the question mark next to the word drugs. "Still don't know about the drugs, waiting on the pneumonia culture and bone marrow biopsy results. What about Wegener's?"
"I just sucked marrow from his hip, House," Wilson reminded him. "I thought we'd give him a little time to recover before sticking another needle in his kidney."
"Right, because it's his marrow that's obviously failing," House raised his voice, annoyed.
"The ANCA results won't be back until morning, House," Wilson cautioned, hoping to convince him to wait for the blood test before administering another invasive procedure.
"ANCA levels are almost always diagnostically irrelevant!" House shouted back. Then lowering his head, he took a deep breath and spoke more softly. "The only way to conclusively rule out Wegener's Granulotosis is by looking at a slice of the kidneys under a microscope."
Wilson considered House's argument carefully. "Okay. I might have been eager to get the bone marrow biopsy," he admitted. "I'm an oncologist. I frame problems differently. If you think he's stable enough for the kidney biopsy, I'll do it myself."
House nodded, his way of accepting Wilson's apology. "Good. But I'm doing the biopsy."
Everyone in the room froze.
"Uh, when was the last time you did a kidney biopsy?" Taub asked.
House began to limp back to his desk. "I'm a nephrologist," he reminded them. "You think I can't find the kid's kidney?"
Taub quickly volunteered to help.
"Nope," House refused the request. "I need you in the lab with that bottle," House told him. "Thirteen can assist."
Thirteen seemed surprised. She'd already spent the entire afternoon with House. Why was he asking for her again?
House, seeing the fleeting panic cross her face, explained. "It's time for Wilson to make his report to Cuddy. If she wants to berate me, I'll be in the locker room taking a shower for the next fifteen minutes," he said, pulling a set of clean and dry clothes from under the desk. "Thirteen, too, I imagine," he leered at her.
"Is it the rain or the stink of high society and cheap beer you're trying to wash away?" Wilson said with a small laugh.
"Uh huh," was all House answered.
Wilson sat across from Cuddy in her office, summing up the day's events.
"You set him lose on campus?" Cuddy said in a low staccato.
Wilson was quick to answer her. "Thirteen went with him."
"Thirteen went with him?" she repeated, apparently not appeased by his answer.
Wilson smiled softly. "I gave her full permission to trip him and tie him up if he stepped over the line. He came back without any rope burns, so I'm assuming he didn't make a complete ass out of himself in front of the various eating clubs of Princeton."
Cuddy sighed, the angles of her face softening as she decided that House wasn't likely to cause her a PR problem with the kids who were already in trouble with the powers that be.
"So what's next?" she asked, a nagging sense of urgency audible in her tone and visible in her posture.
"House is going to do a kidney biopsy to rule out Wegener's and we'll see what the other test results show by morning," he assured her.
"When do we put him back on dialysis?"
Wilson was sure to be calm and methodical in his answer. "The kid still has some good kidney function left. We can wait maybe another twenty-four hours before we risk permanent damage."
She exhaled loudly, mumbling something that Wilson couldn't make out.
"Sorry?" he asked her to say it again.
"Why am I such a damn basket case?" she managed to get out while pushing back tears. "It's a sick kid. We have lots of sick kids here."
Wilson looked knowingly at her. "But only one being treated by House," he said.
"So what?" she almost laughed as she said it. It was better than choking on her own tears. "House has had hundreds of cases before, most of them much more serious than this is likely to be. And this time he's actually sober." That she did laugh at. "And supposedly sane."
Wilson leaned forward and reached out a hand to squeeze hers.
"The case is going well so why am such a wreck?" she pleaded with him for an answer.
Wilson started out gently. "Maybe because it is going well. Usually, by this point in one of House's cases, you've already fought with him twice, gone behind his back to prevent a lawsuit, and negotiated for at least one less crazy possibility in the diagnoses. " He stopped and waited for her reaction to know what his next words should be.
Cuddy stared at him anxiously.
"It seems too good to be true," Wilson dove in. "If House can handle a case like this and do it well, maybe he can run his department again. And then things are back to the way they were before, without all the reasons to not be together."
Cuddy sniffled. "Not all the reasons."
"Fine," he said, handing her a tissue. "But the big ones, those giant red flags that had you both running for the door any time you two got close? You'd have to find other ones to replace them."
Cuddy sat silently for a moment, composing herself. Then taking back her hand she said, "I know you care about House and I know you care about me. But, Wilson, I don't even know if I'm what he wants now, much less if he's what I would want."
At that, Wilson began to chuckle.
"What?" Cuddy demanded to know what he found so funny. She was pouring her heart out and he was mocking her? That wasn't like Wilson.
"Sorry," he said through his laughter. "It's just, if either of you knew how ridiculous you both sound . . ." and he trailed off into more laughter.
She sat back in her chair and moped. "I'm glad you find this so amusing."
"Amusing?" Wilson questioned, letting the laughter fade into a friendly smile. "Trust me when I say that the amusing stage has long since past. Never in my life have I seen two people more determined to ignore the obvious."
Cuddy was going to respond but Wilson didn't let her. He got up and strode for the door, looking over his shoulder once to say, "I'll let you know what the tests show."
She sat stunned and suddenly speechless but no longer tied in knots.
Thirteen was waiting at the Nurse's station outside the patient's ICU room for House to appear. She'd showered quickly and changed into a pair of white surgical scrubs that weren't damp from splashing through puddles along Prospect Avenue.
She was half hidden behind a portable ultrasound when House rounded the corner, now dry himself and in a matching pair of scrubs that let a bright red Van Halen concert tee bleed through. He strode forward with his cane, passing her on the way down the hall. Soon he could hear the wheels of the ultrasound cart at his heels.
"What did Foreman say when you told him he didn't need to hurry back?" House asked, not looking at her.
"Nothing, since I haven't spoken to him today," she said without missing a beat.
"Really? I thought I'd given you plenty of time to sneak in a quick call, let him know that the King was back in the building." House stopped just outside the room and stared directly at her, mischief dancing across his face. "And by King, I don't mean our Arab co-ed in there." He gestured towards the patient.
Thirteen rose up to her full height. "Sorry. I took a long shower. A very long, very hot, very steamy shower," she accented each adjective with a sultry note.
House stood still, imagining for a moment that he'd had a view of that shower. Then breathing out through his mouth he said, "Thank you for that image. Now I need a cold one."
House pushed open the glass door and stepped inside the room, holding the door as Thirteen guided the portable ultrasound through. Their patient was resting on his side, presumably the one that Wilson hadn't dug a needle into an hour earlier. He raised his head at the commotion, his dark hair matted, a normally neatly trimmed goatee a bit scruffy, his olive skin pale and eyes sunken and tired.
"Hi," House said, approaching the bed. "I'm Doctor House."
"You're the doctor in charge of my case," the young man acknowledged. "Doctor Wilson and Doctor Taub mentioned you." His voice was quiet and strained.
"Did they mention her?" House asked, pointing at Thirteen.
The patient nodded. "Doctor Hadley."
Thirteen looked up from plugging the ultrasound into the wall and smiled. "You're good with names," she said.
"Yeah, yeah," House dismissed her. "Here's the real question; do you remember your own name?"
"Qaiser Zaheer," he answered, beginning to cough.
House reached for the medicated breathing treatment on the bedside table and gave it to him, watching him inhale several long, difficult, breaths.
"Amazing," House murmured, more to himself than anyone. "Drink enough to rot your brain and it's fine but everything else is going down the toilet."
"Is it cancer?" Qaiser asked, regaining some strength.
"Nope," House told him, reaching for the gloves in the box above the bed.
Thirteen gave House a cross look.
"We won't know for sure until the test results come back in the morning," she informed Qaiser.
"But you don't think it's cancer?" Qaiser looked to House.
House was busy snapping on his gloves, one noisy finger at a time.
"I need you to turn onto your stomach," House instructed.
"Here," Thirteen handed him a pillow as she helped him to turn over. "Hug this against your chest. A little lower," she tried to help get the pillow under his rib cage.
"Sorry, I'm still sore from the bone marrow test," he told her, trying his best to follow instructions. "What test are you doing now?"
House pulled back the gown from over Qaiser's lower back. "Kidney biopsy," House explained, taking a tube of conductive jelly from Thirteen.
"For cancer?"
"No," House rolled his eyes. "The cancer guy has come and gone. Get used it. I'm the kidney guy."
He squirted some of the jelly onto the back, and Qaiser's body tightened from the cold.
"Sorry," House said after the fact. "That might be a little cold." Thirteen handed him the ultrasound wand and he pulled the stool he was sitting on closer to his patient. "Actually," House elaborated, "I'm more of the big picture guy, though kidneys really do get me excited." His voice was taking on a maniacal tone. "You should feel lucky. Our brain guy is out of town."
"House!" Thirteen stopped him curtly, seeing the tension building in the patient's face as well as his pulse. "He's got lung problems, too. You want to stop the mad scientist routine before you send him into cardiac arrest?"
House leaned up to meet the patient's eyes. "She's just pissy because she and the brain guy are going through a rough patch," he said out of the corner his mouth then returned to hover over the back.
Thirteen shook her head, irritated. She wouldn't go there with House, especially not in front of a patient, so she flipped the switch for the monitor and settled in for the long haul.
"Doctor House is going to do an ultrasound to find one of your kidneys," she explained to Qaiser as House moved the wand along the back. "See," she pointed to the monitor. "Those are your internal organs."
"Cool," Qaiser said, staring up at the black and white images on the screen.
"Very cool," House said, moving the probe around.
"I was told your name meant King," Thirteen said as House hunted for the perfect spot.
The patient nodded. "Yeah. But I don't feel like much of a king lately. More like a stupid boy."
"That tends to happen when you drink your weight in alcohol," House said, pausing his search. "Hand me a swab."
Thirteen reached inside a nearby tray, handing House a large cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol. He traced it slowly over a spot just below where the wand rested.
"You don't believe me either, do you?" Qaiser directed the question at House.
"That this was the first time you'd had a drink?" House said, tossing the cotton ball into a hazardous waste bin nearby. "I seriously doubt it. Though I've got to say, if it was this was your first experience with alcohol, you might want to reconsider your abstinence only policy. I saw the cheap swill they had."
"After your better, of course," Thirteen quickly added. "And in moderation."
"Of course," House said, innocently, taking a small syringe from Thirteen. "You're going to feel a small prick."
"We're giving you some Lidocane to numb the area," Thirteen explained as House plunged the anesthetic under the skin.
Qaiser winced as the medication went in. "I could never drink again," Qaiser said when House had removed the needle. "Just the idea of the smell," he shook his head with disgust. "Drinking it was like drinking from an animal's ass."
House's ears perked up at that statement. "I'm dying to know how you know what ass tastes like," he said, sharing a curious look with Thirteen.
"I don't," Qaiser told them. "But when I was a boy, in Lahore, my grandmother had a goat, and whenever we were at her house, she would have me milk it. It was a nasty goat, always squirming and fighting me. She would back up, right into my face and try to sit on it," Qaiser lifted an arm and pantomimed the goat with his palm, pushing on his nose. "The alcohol tasted like that goat smelled."
Both House and Thirteen scrunched up their faces in disgust.
"All these years of carefully researched drug and alcohol prevention programs and all they really needed was a field trip to the petting zoo," House said, making Thirteen stifle her gag reflex.
Qaiser nodded, tucking his arm underneath him and the pillow once again. "Will I need a kidney transplant?" he asked thoughtfully.
"That depends on what we find," House answered. "I'm going to stick a needle in right above where you felt the last prick and suck out some of the tissue. We'll take a look at it under a microscope and hopefully, you'll get to keep them both."
Thirteen handed House a swab coated with Betadine and he went about disinfecting the area. The long, thick needle that would retrieve the kidney samples was next.
"Okay Qaiser," Thirteen instructed. "Doctor House is about to put a large needle in to your back to get a piece of your kidney. It's a lot like the bone marrow aspiration you had earlier, okay, so when I tell you to, I need you to take a deep breath and hold it. Don't let it out until I tell you to, okay?"
House eyed where the Betadine and alcohol had mixed and nodded to Thirteen.
"Deep breath, Qaiser," she said, and he inhaled as much as he could.
House plunged forward, breaking the skin and feeling for the resistance of the kidney.
Thirteen tried to keep their patient calm. "I know it's painful. Just hang in there."
House guided the needle expertly, reaching his target. "Keep as still as you can," he said, pulling back gently on the syringe. It moved slowly, hardly at all it seemed, but a few moments later an aspirated slice of Qaiser's kidney rested delicately in the vacuum tube.
House slid the needle out carefully.
"Okay, you can breathe now," Thirteen instructed and Qaiser swallowed in air greedily, causing another round of coughing. She reached for the nebulizer. "Breath this in, Qaiser," she told him, forcing the medicated mixture into his lungs.
House set the tube aside and gestured for another which Thirteen handed to him.
"Again?" Qaiser asked, breathing more easily now.
"Sorry," House said in his usual monotone. "Got have at least two good slices."
While Qaiser caught his breath, House checked the position once more with the ultrasound then wiped another layer of the orange and brown disinfectant on the skin. He angled the needle slightly downward this time.
"Can you hold your breath one more time?" Thirteen asked, taking the nebulizer from their patient.
He nodded.
"Take a breath and hold it," she told him, and he complied.
House dug in once again. "You're going to feel a little pressure," he informed Qaiser as he pushed the needle just slightly further into the kidney. Sure enough, Qaiser had to keep himself from jumping up off the bed. But House was patient and waited until he was still enough to retrieve the second sample.
"There. Good." House began to pull back and the tissue came into the new vaccutanor. He slipped the biopsy needle out gently.
"You can breathe now, Qaiser. Good job," Thirteen consoled and complimented the teen as he relaxed and tried to breathe in more slowly this time.
"Samples look good," House announced.
Thirteen grabbed a couple of alcohol wipes and cleaned the Betadine stain from Qaiser's back.
"I'm cold," Qaiser told her, a chill running up his spine.
"Sorry," she apologized absently, folding his gown back over and lifting the blankets to better cover him. "You can turn back over if you like, but you'll be sore for a while."
Qaiser slowly turned back onto his one good side.
House stood, looking at the urine bag attached to his patient's catheter. He double checked the chart, frowning. "You always pee this little?" he asked.
"I don't know," Qaiser answered. "I haven't had a lot to drink besides water."
"You've had enough IV fluids to fill a race horse," House declared.
Qaiser stared at him, oblivious to the colloquialism.
"Sorry, wrong language. You've had a lot through your IVs," he tried again. "Draw another set of labs and schedule a MRI for his chest first thing in the morning. And tell the nurses to keep an eye on his urine output," he told Thirteen.
"How about something for the pain?" Thirteen asked.
"Tylenol," House answered.
She came around the other side of the bed to stand next to House.
"I was thinking more like Demerol," she said quietly.
House scratched his head. "Low dose," he consented. "And only as long as his BP stays up and heart rate is stable."
"Absolutely," she said, and gave him a smile.
"You may not like alcohol," House leaned back for a clear shot at Qaiser, "but you're gonna love the stuff she gives you. Trust me." He winked then said to Thirteen, "Order the tests, dope the kid and get back down to the lab in thirty minutes. Is that enough time for you to call Foreman?"
She smiled again, and leaned in further. "Make it forty-five minutes. I hate to rush phone sex."
House stared at her through narrow eyes. "Right. See you in fifteen then."
After dropping off the kidney specimens with Taub, House had gone from the lab to his office, only to find it empty. Continuing down the hall, he found Wilson lounging on the couch in his office with the newspaper.
"How's Cuddy?" he asked, settling into a chair opposite him.
"Worried," Wilson answered, turning the fold over.
House looked disappointed. "That's it? Worried?"
"Maybe a little anxious," Wilson offered.
"Cuddy is always worried and anxious, especially when my case could impact the hospital's image," he said, rocking his cane back and forth.
"She's not worried about the case, House," Wilson looked up at him as if he were the most dense objet in the universe. "She's worried about you."
House's cane came to a rest. He twisted his face trying to decipher what Wilson had just told him.
Wilson finally grew annoyed and sat the paper down. "You, House. You, the man. Not you in charge of a case, not you ruining the hospital's image, or even her image, for that matter. She's just worried about you."
"Huh," House responded, making Wilson turn back to his paper in disgust. Then after a moment, he asked, "Why?"
"Seriously?" Wilson asked, tossing the paper to the floor and bolting into an upright position. He stared at House, irritated and tired. "Have you even talked to her since you came back?"
"Almost every day," House said, avoiding answering the real question.
"Not about work," Wilson shook his head. "About how you feel about her. Have you talked to Cuddy about that?"
House sighed. "I'd have to know how I felt about her in order to do that, wouldn't I."
"Oh, please." Wilson was bordering on disgusted. "You hallucinated an entire night with her starring as the hero! She got you clean then she got you off. This was a very vivid delusion, House. So vivid that you were sure enough to convince me that it had happened."
House squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "I know that," he said, still remembering what it felt like to have his heart drop out from under him the way it had when he'd realized the entire experience had been a fantasy. "So does she."
"Really? You two have talked in detail about how you imagined her with you in bed? About how you wanted to be with her so badly you were ready to call a piano mover?"
House seemed small to Wilson now.
"Not exactly," he admitted. "She knows what I hallucinated, just not the intricate details. I don't think she wants to know," House said sadly.
"I didn't ask you if Cuddy wanted to know," Wilson said, softening his tone. "I asked if you'd told her."
"Why would I tell her if she didn't want to know?"
"Because it happened, House. It's in the back of your head every time you see her and it's driving you crazy that you actually felt something for her and she wasn't a real part of it." Wilson stopped to catch his breath. "You know how you feel. What you don't know is how she feels. God forbid you actually make yourself vulnerable to her."
House sat silently for a minute trying to think of a witty retort but none came to him. He was walking a fine line of vulnerability these days, between his recovery, trying to have a life, and still dealing with the nasty remnants left behind from the old one. He wasn't sure how they all fit together just yet. It had just occurred to him that others might feel the same way. It had yet to occur to him that others, like Cuddy, may not be able to put the pieces together without some assistance from him.
Wilson knew, however. He'd figured it out a long time ago. Now he was waiting for his friend to catch up.
"I asked her to come to a therapy session with me."
Wilson was startled by the way House broke the silence.
"She said she needed to think about it," House shared.
Wilson felt a lump in his throat. He was proud of House for asking her and proud of the way he was handling her uncertainty. "That's good," he managed to say. A kind-hearted smile crept over his lips. "That's really good, House."
"Yeah," House said, back to rocking his cane again. "Don't get your hopes up. She could easily say to hell with it."
Wilson smiled wider. "I doubt that," he said sincerely.
House felt the vibration of his phone before the ringtone sounded. Pulling it from the pocket of his scrubs, he held it up and read the short message on the display.
"Taub," House informed Wilson. "Says the biopsy results are almost ready."
They both stood and walked slowly out into the hall.
"Why do my lab results always take forever and yours appear in a matter of hours?" Wilson did his best to complain as they made their way to the elevators.
"You need underlings," House told him.
"I don't have a budget for underlings, or fellows," Wilson responded. "Guess I'll have to use yours."
House felt a grin coming on. "I rent them by the hour, you know."
Wilson chuckled and so did House.
Both Taub and Thirteen were waiting when House and Wilson made it to the lab. Taub spoke first.
"I analyzed your empty beer bottle." He held it up. "Nothing unusual. No drugs. Just stale beer."
House had expected that.
"How's the sputum culture?" Wilson asked.
"Still cooking," Thirteen told him. "So far it seems clear of bacterial pneumonia."
"Interesting," House said.
"Elevated white count, fever, fluid in the lungs," Wilson added up symptoms. "Maybe the pneumonia is viral?"
"A virus doesn't explain both the lung and kidney failure," House declared.
Taub finished preparing the tissue House had taken from Qaiser's kidney. Placing the slide under the lens of the microscope, he focused at each increase in magnification. He used a dropper to coat the slide with a bit of oil before increasing the magnification further, then peered inside, adjusting the light and focus once again. When he was satisfied, he looked up and typed in the command that would allow the rest of the room to see what he was seeing on the detailed computer's flat screen.
"Sorry, House," Taub said. "No atypical clumps of white cells."
"Guess that rules out Wegener's," Thirteen decided.
House shook his head. "Stick the other slice under there," he ordered, gesturing to the microscope.
Taub repeated the procedure with the second slide. When the image appeared on the screen, it was virtually identical to the first.
"Damn," House swore. Wegener's wasn't a pleasant diagnosis but it was manageable and it had seemed to fit the symptoms. Now he needed to rethink everything.
"Now what?" Taub asked. "Hope this kid has cancer?"
"Sleep," House said. "I need to think."
"His chest MRI is scheduled for six," Thirteen told them. "He should sleep pretty well until then."
House nodded. "Call me with the results. Wilson," he turned to his friend. "Pick me up at eight. It's time you and I went on our own field trip."