A/N: So sorry for the long update. While my exams did finish at the end of last week, I've still had orals and assignments to get through and, to be honest, I didn't feel much like doing anything after the exams, let alone writing this. I hope you're not too mad at me and I promise the next update will be quicker.

I saw the episode Lockdown of House this week and couldn't stop laughing. The Foreman & Taub and Wilson & Thirteen scenes were just too funny.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and again if anyone has anything in particular they want me to put into this story don't hesitate to ask and I'll see what I can do (though, of course, it will depend on where I'm planning to take the story myself).

. . .

"Most people think life sucks, and then you die. Not me. I beg to differ. I think life sucks, then you get cancer, then your dog dies, your wife leaves you, the cancer goes into remission, you get a new dog, you get remarried, you owe ten million dollars in medical bills but you work hard for thirty-five years and you pay it back and then - one day - you have a massive stroke, your whole right side is paralyzed, you have to limp along the streets and speak out of the left side of your mouth and drool but you go into rehabilitation and regain the power to walk and the power to talk and then - one day - you step off a curb at Sixty-seventh Street, and BANG you get hit by a city bus and then you die. Maybe."

- Denis Leary quotes (American Actor, b.1957)

Chase glared studiously at the table top. It wasn't that this particular furniture had done anything to piss him off within the last 24 hours but rather he thought it would be more considerate to glower at an inanimate object than an innocent bystander. Foreman and Taub both seemed to share his idea and House sat lazily in his chair, throwing his pet ball up and down in childish absentmindedness. If the blonde wasn't so busy being angry at the table he might have taken the time to scowl at his boss and possibly snatch the infuriating ball away.

"We should never have let her go home," Chase muttered. He kept replaying the events in his head, mind racing with the dozens of possibilities and worst case scenarios. It had been a bloody lucky thing that House had chosen that moment to send someone to go check up on Thirteen. The blonde shuddered to think about what could have happened if no-one had found her. It was possible she would have woken up on her own and managed to crawl over to the telephone and call 911 herself. It was also possible that she wouldn't have.

"I'm trying to decide whether it would be cruel of me to say, 'I told you so'," their boss announced casually. He didn't seem overall that concerned about Thirteen. Then again, when it came to House, appearances could be deceiving.

Suddenly, Cuddy chose that moment to come bustling in, looking rather flustered as well. "Cynthia in the E.R. just told me what happened. How is she?"

"I told you so," House added on to his earlier statement. They all turned to stare at him. "I did."

"She's stable," Chase said, taking pity on Cuddy. "Some of the cuts on her stomach needed stitches but she didn't lose too much blood. It was her head the paramedics were worried about – she hit it pretty hard when she went down. We're going to wait until she wakes up again to take her in for an MRI."

The Dean nodded briskly, taking that in. "Any idea what's wrong with her?"

"Well, one thing's for certain," House butted in before anyone could respond. "It's certainly not Endometritis."

"Yes, we messed up. Yes, we've payed the price. Can we get back to figuring out what's wrong with her now?" Taub asked in a pleasant enough tone.

Cuddy pursed her lips while House scowled at him.

"I'm going to go get back to work," was the Dean's parting as she left. Chase didn't blame her for the quite exit – it was hard enough dealing with House and his fellows on a regular day but dealing with them while they were like this? Well, he was just glad he wasn't her.

House ignored Cuddy's exit and dialled a number into his phone, putting it on speaker.

"Hello?"

"What looks like Endometritis, treats like Endometritis, feels like Endometritis but isn't?" he asked casually, leaning back in his seat.

"Who's that?" Chase asked, gazing at the phone in confusion, only to be ignored. The voice sounded slightly familiar but he couldn't place it.

"Is this another it's-not-a-cancer thing?" Taub enquired bluntly, thinking back to last year when they'd treated that woman who – after taking into consideration the fact that everyone else who had been given the same donor by then was dead – they knew was dying but weren't quite sure of what yet.

"Don't be ridiculous. If it was another it's-not-a-cancer thing I would have said it wasn't cancer." He turned back to the phone. "Cameron, go."

"Cameron?" the team repeated in shock and Chase's heart sank. It couldn't really be her on the other end; after all that had happened recently, the world really couldn't be so cruel as to throw his ex-wife in his face as well. Then, again . . . .

The Aussie imagined a couple of angels in turbans sitting up on the clouds, each pondering out loud just what they could do next in the effort to send one Robert Chase to the psychiatric ward. He silently prayed they did bring his father back from the dead because that would really do it.

Letting out a sigh, the blonde comforted himself with the notion that such an occurrence was far too Lost or Buffy the Vampire Slayer to ever take place in his life. Still, you never knew.

"Where did you get this number, House?" Cameron demanded, not sounding all that happy; not that anyone ever sounded happy to be talking to House.

"Cuddy's office, where else? I've faxed through the patient's files," he replied easily, not in the least bit bothered. Of course he wasn't bothered because messing with the lives of his current and former employees and possibly sending them to the Looney bin was the closest thing to a daily routine that House had ever had.

Chase tried not to glare too obviously at him.

"I know, I got them," she ground out. "Who is Jane Doe?"

"Why is that always the first question out of everyone's mouths?" House wondered to himself.

"That wasn't my first question."

"That was your first question about the patient."

Chase just stared at House and the phone in stupefied silence. He didn't know how he was supposed to react to hearing his ex-wife's voice on the other end. Should he be angry? Sad? Hurt? Should he try punching House again?

The blonde really didn't know, right now he was just plain stunned.

"Can we please get back to Thirteen?" Foreman interjected angrily.

"Thirteen?" Cameron questioned in shocked. "Thirteen's the patient?"

"Yep," House said casually.

"What happened?"

"You didn't even read the file did you?" House responded knowingly. "Faxing takes time and effort, you know. The least you could do is read the things I send to you."

"You're not supposed to be sending me anything, House," Cameron protested, momentarily distracted from her earlier question. "I don't work for you anymore."

"That's a good point," Chase commented, finally awaking from his shocked coma. "Let's go with that point for a minute, shall we? Why is she on the phone?"

"Because Cuddy seems to like the idea of me having at least one woman on my team and I couldn't be bothered taking the time to hire another while Thirteen's out of commission," House informed them with a careless shrug of his shoulders. "Also, I thought it would be interesting to see how you two reacted. You haven't spoken since she left. It's soap worthy."

Everyone in the room (and on the phone) gave collective sighs of defeat. There was the sound of rustling paper over the line and Cameron spoke up a moment later. "Have you checked for Endometritis?"

House gave the phone a shrewd look. "Weren't you listening before? It's not Endometritis. Sheesh, I'm surrounded by idiots."

The blonde made an irritated noise in the back of her throat but didn't protest the statement. "It says here that she's been having nosebleeds?"

"Yeah, if Wonder Woman here hadn't shown up to save the day she probably would have chocked on her own blood," House responded carelessly, earning glares from everyone in the room.

"Could be a sinus tumour," she suggested.

"There's no swelling, visual problems, speech impediments or anything else to suggest that."

"What about Cocaine?" she offered and silence filled the room. "What? It's not like her activities last year were that much of a secret."

"We did find some coke in her apartment . . ." Taub trailed off. "It actually does explain quite a bit. She could have continued taking it which would have caused the nosebleeds and maybe even the fainting. Thirteen may even be right in saying that she has the flu, as well."

"It's not drugs," House muttered, mulling over the suggestion.

"You can't know that," Cameron denied.

"It's not drugs because it doesn't explain the Endometritis symptoms. What are the odds that she's having a reaction to coke, Endometritis and the flu all at once?" No-one responded, grudgingly giving into his logic. "Try again."

"Alli?" a voice could be heard calling in the background. There was the sound of a sharp intake of breath and they all frowned. "When are you coming back to play? It's your turn."

"I'll be there in a minute, sweetie," Cameron promised causing them to all frown in confusion.

"Who's that?" House questioned, only to be ignored.

"But it's your turn," the voice of a little girl insisted. "Please," she begged, drawing out the word.

"I'll be there in a minute, Claire," the blonde promised. "And tell your uncle I have to talk to him about something, OK?"

There was the sound of reluctant footsteps and Cameron's voice came over the line once again. "OK, I'm back."

"Who's the kid?" House asked curiously.

"She's my niece," Allison said quickly. "Can we please get back to the case?"

"What about Leukaemia?" Chase suggested after a pause, already hating the idea. "It explains the fever, the chills and the nosebleed."

"But not her other symptoms."

"Endometritis," Cameron said decidedly.

"Do we need to go over this again? What part of it's-not-Endometritis don't you understand?" House bit back.

"No. We're assuming that just because she's still sicks means it's not Endometritis. But she responded to the treatment, she did have Endometritis. She just has something else as well."

They all sat back in their seats, contemplating the theory. Chase wondered whether House's earlier insistence of it not being Leukaemia was just because of the very simply reason of him not wanting it to be. None of them wanted it to be that – the woman was already dying; in what universe did she deserve this as well?

"Go run her white blood cell count," House ordered, giving in. He didn't seem at all happy about the fact. "And don't forget to run her through an MRI. It'd be absolutely tragic if she had brain damage and we missed it."

…

12 or so years ago

"Did God who gave us flowers and trees,

Also provide the allergies?"

- E.Y. Harburg

John sighed as he made his way into his daughter's room. Remy was currently situated on the bed, eyes closed and listening to the sound of her own heartbeat with her mother's stethoscope. He paused a moment to wonder how she had gotten her hands on it as the last time he'd checked it had been safely tucked away in a box at the bottom of his wardrobe. He pushed the thought aside however when his gaze fell on a handful of books spread across her desk.

Various covers with words like 'Huntington's', 'Genome', 'Genetics' and 'neurology' jumped out at him and he paused.

He frowned and turned back to his daughter who had opened her eyes and was now looking at him. Her expression was dull and her eyes clouded; John hated the look immediately.

"Interesting collection you've got here," he commented, trying to sound off hand, as he approached.

"I went to the library," she responded as he sat down on the bed beside her. Intuitively, she moved over to make room for him so he could lie beside her.

"Honey, you know, if you ever want to talk about what happened, I'm here? I'm here, you can talk to me," he assured, not liking the idea of his youngest child getting all of her answers from books. Books couldn't tell you everything. They could tell you the facts and what to expect but that was only half of it.

"Did you know that about 30,000 people have Huntington's nationwide," she stated tonelessly. "I figure that's about 30,000 people who never get to see their grandkids. 30,000 people who leave someone behind. 30,000 broken families. It seems like a lot . . . but I never heard about it until Mum got sick."

"Remy . . ." he trailed off, this was exactly what he'd been afraid of happening, or at least one of the things he'd been afraid of; the other one he couldn't even put into words.

"If you have a parent with Huntington's there's a 50% chance that the child will get it. I figure that that means either Benny or I will get it, we can't both be lucky, right? So I was thinking, and I can't decide, who I would want it to be," she continued before her father could interrupt anymore. He wanted to say something, wanted to reassure her, but how could he when he didn't even know how to reassure himself. "I don't want to lose Benny, but I don't want to die either."

"I know," he sighed, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. "I know." And he did. She was giving voice to all his fears and thoughts.

Just two months ago, Benny had demanded that he get tested for the disorder. Of course, John had denied him and he thought he had won the battle until, just a week later, his son had threatened to get his grandfather to take him instead. John didn't know whether Anne's father would actually go along with it but he certainly wasn't going to wait around to find out.

There were no words to describe the all encompassing feeling of relief that had set in when the test results had come back negative. That was one less child he had to worry about, one less he had to watch slowly deteriorate and die before their time.

But now, with Remy's words ringing in his ears, he thought about it differently. One of his children had been saved but, he couldn't help but think, would he really be lucky enough to receive the same results for his daughter? Could you really face death twice and win? He didn't think so.

Mr. Hadley didn't know what he'd do if the next words out of Remy's mouth were a request to go and have that same test her brother had had. He couldn't let her take it, he knew that much. She wasn't even fourteen yet and if the results were positive . . . if they were positive . . .

He couldn't lose his little girl.

Clearing his throat, John reached across and touched the stethoscope which was still planted firmly on her chest. "What are you doing with this, baby?"

"Listening to my heart." She glanced across at him sharply. "I'm sorry I took it without asking."

"No, no. It's just as much yours as it is mine. You can have it whenever you want."

Those seemed to be the wrong words though for she shook her head violently. "It's not mine. It's hers. It's not mine."

"OK," he breathed, placing a calming hand on her cheek. "It's OK." Her words disturbed him however and he tried not to frown. He was just now beginning to realize that Remy seemed to loathe the idea of being referred to or compared to her mother in any way. He could understand it, though – many a days he felt the same way, especially when someone mentioned just how much Remy was beginning to look like her mother. "Why are you listening to your heartbeat?"

"I wanted to see what it sounded like."

"And what does it sound like?"

"Strong," she answered after a pause. "Too strong to just give up. Hearts are useless, the whole body relies upon them to survive and when it comes time they don't even fight, they just give up."

John's frown deepened as he gazed at his door, sensing an underlying meaning to her words. "Honey, I don't think hearts really choose to give up. I think they do their best."

"That's not good enough. People die all the time from things out of their control and it's not fair. They're our bodies, our hearts; we should be able to control what they do." And there was that anger again, blazing in her eyes. How did a little girl have so much anger in her? Her voice quietened and she looked away. "If we don't want a disease, we shouldn't have it."

"I know," he agreed. He didn't try to disprove her theory for, honestly, it sounded like a pretty good one to him. He'd felt the same way when Anne's body had been slowly ravished by the irreversible Huntington's, all the while feeling powerless and at the mercy of the disease.

Humans had found a way to travel to the moon and yet they still could come up with a simple cure for a couple of genes out of whack. It would never make sense to him. He doubted it would ever make sense to his daughter either.

Sighing, he cradled her against him, rejoicing in the fact that she was still there, still whole. His children were all that was left of his world now that his wife was gone. If he were to lose them, Mr. Hadley feared for himself; for when your world died, where else were you to live?

. . .

Cameron hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment. Her knuckles clenched around the object as she debated over what to do, her skin turning white in the process. She couldn't keep this a secret any longer, she knew that much. He trusted her too much for that and she owed him.

There was the sound of a door opening and a man in his late twenties stepped in. He was wearing black and had a priest's collar around his neck. Cameron's heart clenched at the news she had to deliver.

"Claire said you wanted to speak to me," he told her in explanation. "I think we should make this quick, though, she seems to be getting a little irritated." He smiled at her and Allison tried to smile back but failed miserably. "Who was that on the phone?"

"That was my old boss. You know, the jackass I told you so much about?" She forced a smile here and he chuckled. Allison wanted to capture that laugh and lock it away or, at the very least, freeze this moment in time and hold it in place because what she had to tell him was going to wipe that smile clean off his face. He may even hate her; if he didn't already.

"I think I can remember. What did he want?"

Cameron clenched her mouth, wondering whether there was any hope of changing the subject expertly enough to get back to the game with Claire without any suspicious glances from him. She didn't like her odds.

"That's actually what I need to talk to you about."

He frowned and, sensing the need for it, turned around and closed the door behind him, effectively shutting them in together. There was no escape now.

"There is a coherent plan to the universe, though I don't know what it's a plan for."

- Fred Hoyle