"Every time I close the door on reality it comes in through the windows."

~Jennifer Yane

Thirteen stared blankly at House as he continued on with his ridiculous line of questioning. So far she had had to answer things such as, 'How much money would it cost me for you to give a lap dance to Cuddy?', 'Who's better in bed? Forman or Chase?' (though she couldn't see why he would want to know), and 'Are there any hidden sex tapes in your apartment involving yourself and some other super hot chick?'. After the first ten, she'd given up trying to stop him, moved onto glaring and then, when that didn't work, just tried her best to ignore him. The brunette was rather hoping that old saying about 'if you ignore them, they will go away' would be true when it came to House.

It wasn't.

"House, what does any of this have to do with my symptoms?"

The doctor seemed to think about it for a moment. "Think of it as me trying to get to know you better before you die."

She stared at him for a moment, unimpressed. "I never knew you cared," Remy said blandly before rolling her eyes and readjusting her position in bed. This was definitely not the best time to have a chat with House. One: because no time was a good time to have a chat with House, two: it was House, and three: the headache she'd had all day wasn't getting any better and it was almost night time now.

"You'd be surprised how very much I care." The sentiment was ruined by obvious mocking behind his tone. "Ever been a hooker?"

Thirteen raised an eyebrow at the question. "Have you?"

"Once, in tenth grade. But that was just so I could hang out with Apple Candy and Rainbow kiss in my spare time. Not to mention I got to see them topless," he responded easily, taking a seat beside her.

She didn't know whether he was pulling her leg or telling the truth but if it was the latter she definitely didn't want to know. Thirteen actually wanted to be able to look at her boss again with a straight face once this was all over, as strange as that sounded. "House, is there a point to this conversation? Or are you just trying to annoy me?" she asked tiredly, mostly just wanting him to be gone so she could get some sleep. It had been an exhausting couple of weeks, emotionally and physically, and all she wanted to do was curl up in front of the T.V. at home and watch reruns of whatever crappy show happened to be on at the time, maybe even get a good laugh. Of course, seeing as she was in a hospital that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon. Still, getting some sleep would be just as good.

"I'm trying to find out what's wrong with you," he replied as if it was obvious.

"By asking about whether I've ever been a hooker and all about my bed partners?" she asked in disbelief, knowing that this wanting her boss trying to fix her but rather just House being House . . . and that was never good.

"Exactly. I'm glad we're on the same page."

"Of course."

He nods his head and takes out a folder, flipping through it carelessly. Thirteen's stomach twisted at the action, never having liked the idea of House having access to her medical record. If he wasn't the best diagnostic around she might have had herself transferred to another hospital but, knowing House, he would have found a way around that anyway. "I've been reading your file," he informed her as if she hadn't already guessed.

"Of course you have," she muttered with a strained smile. Once again, the urge to hit her boss with his own cane arose and she clenched her fists; Thirteen was not going to spend what little of her life was left behind bars for assaulting a 'respected' and 'remarkable' doctor.

House glanced at her over his glasses and smirked slightly. God, she hated that look. "You were hospitalized when you were seventeen for a few days."

For a moment, she stiffened but, after recollecting herself, tried to brush the comment off. "Your point being?"

"Cuddy's hidden the files that say why. The only reason she would do that if it was some juicy little titbit that you wouldn't want us to know about. And by 'us' I mean 'me'."

"Or . . ." she began, drawing out the word with a pointed look. "Cuddy didn't hide the files and the only reason it's not written in there is because it was nothing important, like maybe I fell off a horse and had a concussion."

House frowns. "You don't have a horse."

"My Uncle owns several farms across the country, including one in Texas. I used to go there on the holidays," Thirteen told him with a triumphant look.

For a moment he appeared stumped and the brunette allowed herself an instant to gloat; it wasn't often that you could get one up on House. "They still would have written that down," he insisted after a pause, flipping through the file again.

"Coming from a doctor who doesn't write anything down about any of his patients," she retorted, ignoring the ache that was reaching a searing level of pain on the side of her head. It wasn't the worst headache she'd ever had, certainly not as bad as last year when she'd gotten the tumour, so because of this she decided it was entirely manageable. And it was, as long as House got in touch with his merciful side and left soon.

So, in that case, not very manageable then.

He ignored her remark and continued. "That scar you've got on your cheek, it would have needed stitches and you said you got it when you were fifteen, but you were never in a hospital when you were fifteen; not even a Canadian one." Now it was his turn to look triumphant and Thirteen shook her head in disbelief.

"House, this has nothing to do with anything. How and when I got this scar, where I was treated, it's none of your business. I know that's hard for you to accept but try." She knew immediately that she had said the wrong thing for if anything, House only looked more like the cat who had caught the canary and Thirteen wanted to kick herself. Her acting all defensive was the last thing she should have done – it just got House even more interested.

"Just trying to cover all grounds. You understand," he told her simply. "Now . . ."

She blocked out the rest of what he was saying, something over his shoulder grabbing her attention. Thirteen squinted in confusion, not quite making out the shape, but as it got closer fear pooled in her belly and she felt her throat close up. There was no way, absolutely no way . . .

The figure drew ever nearer but despite this House remained oblivious as he prattled on about whatever caught his attention (Thirteen really didn't care at this point). She knew she should say something, speak up before it was too late, but she was frozen, powerless.

It was a feeling she had experienced before but certainly not one she could ever grow used to and her mouth opened slightly in shock. Only when the person opened their own mouth to speak did anything change.

"Hello, sunshine."

Darkness filled Thirteen's vision.

. . .

"What causes hallucinations?" House asked, limping back into the differential room the next morning. His little ducklings glanced up at him in confusion.

"Why?" Foreman asked.

"Thirteen – she's hallucinating," House explained as if it was the most simple and obvious thing in the world; really, they should have guessed.

"And this happened this morning?" Chase questioned in shock..

"No, actually it happened yesterday," he replied, taking a seat at his desk. "I just couldn't be bothered telling you until now."

"Thirteen starts hallucinating and you can't be 'bothered' to make a short trip back here and tell us about it?" Foreman asked slowly, clearly thinking House's reasoning was insane. Nonetheless, he didn't look surprised and neither did Taub.

"I had to get back in time for the O.C.," House explained as if that excused everything.

Chase frowned in confusion, momentarily side-tracked. "I thought that finished years ago."

His boss nodded and brought out his lap top. "They're showing reruns. And there's this hot lesbian punk-rocker or whatever called Alex who looks suspiciously like Thirteen. You all would have done the same in my position."

Taub frowned. "Alex isn't a lesbian, she's bisexual." Realization dawned in his eyes as everyone turned to stare at him in disbelief. "Not that I've ever watched the O.C." He paused, before adding on for good effect, "I have a life."

"Again: what causes hallucinations?" House asked lazily after a long stretching silence. He didn't seem at all bothered by the fact that one of his fellows was currently hospitalized and experiencing hallucinations . . . or that another secretly harboured a secret O.C. obsession.

"How do you know she's hallucinating?" Chase questioned.

"She fainted."

The three men stared at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "And?" the Aussie prompted.

"There needs to be an 'and'?" their boss asked innocently.

"She's been fainting on off since before she was even admitted. That doesn't suggest hallucinations," Foreman pointed out.

"No," House allowed, spinning his laptop around to face the team. "But this does." Moving his mouse over to press play, the doctor stepped back so the fellows could see what was so interesting on his laptop. For a moment, the screen remained rather blank but then a video of Thirteen's room appeared and their eyebrows rose in disbelief.

"You put a video camera in her room?" Chase questioned incredulously. The expressions on his fellow work mates clearly suggested that they shared his astonishment.

"Better – I put a hidden video camera in her room. By the way, quite a riveting conversation you two had earlier, very touching. Really, it pulled at my heart strings," House responded to the blonde. Chase scowled at him and Foreman glanced over at him in confusion. "You realize she was lying right?" the older doctor continued unperturbed.

"And back to the video we go," Taub interrupted before Chase could be given the proper time ponder House's comment.

"Spoil sport," House reprimanded. "This is yesterday's log. See, there I am and there she is," he informed them, pointing to each individual on the screen in turn, as if they were kindergarten kids and he was the teacher. "And very soon you're going to see exactly what I'm talking about."

There was a pause.

"Oh my God, it's amazing," Chase deadpanned. "I totally get why you think she hallucinated now."

House turned around and sent him a look. "Not yet, you idiot."

They waited a bit longer, eyebrows rising ever higher when House questioned whether Thirteen had ever been a hooker.

"You were a hooker in the tenth grade?" Foreman asked with a smirk.

"Best time of my life," he responded simply, watching the screen. A few seconds later, he spoke up again. "And she faints," he narrated as Thirteen passed out in her hospital bed.

The fellows frowned.

"I don't get it," Taub voiced what they were all thinking.

House rolled his eyes and rewound a few seconds. "This is just before she fainted. Right there," he said, pausing the video and pointing at the screen. "She's looking at something over my shoulder."

"Maybe she just got bored with whatever you were talking about," Chase suggested with a smirk.

"I was asking her when she would consider having a threesome with Cuddy and I; I don't think she got very bored," he snarked back.

Foreman frowned and leaned forward in his seat. "House is right. She looks scared. Was there anyone else in the room with you?"

"Just me, myself and I." They all frowned at the screen, watching a Thirteen who did indeed seem to be very freaked out about something over House's shoulder. Seeing that he had finally got their attention, House continued, "Again I ask: what causes hallucinations?"

"It could be any number of things," Foreman spoke up, at a loss. Chase rather agreed with him. They had a bout of symptoms that weren't making any sense, at least not to his tired out brain, and a team that he had been working with only the power of coffee to fuel them for the fast few days; looking for a needle in a haystack would be easier than this.

The blonde had a feeling, though, that if this was any other patient they all would have had the diagnosis by now. They were too close, too invested in this case to work properly. Their emotions were clouding their rationality, it was the only excuse he could think of to explain what was happening other than the idea that they were all just a bunch of idiots.

"Good," House responded sarcastically. "Let's start with that. See how long it takes for her to die before we narrow it down."

"She may not be dying," Taub reminded rationally.

"In my experience, ten out of ten of the patients we get usually are," their boss reminded in a sardonic tone, earning scowls all around.

Chase sighed, flinging his hand out in exasperation. "The hallucinations are probably a result of the fever. It may not even be a real symptom."

"It's cocaine abuse," Taub cut in, persisting on with his earlier theory.

House sent him an odd look. "Now I know you're just trying to squeeze every little drop of praise out of the fact that you found her secret stash. It's not cocaine abuse, you idiot." He snapped the last part.

"Why not?" he asked calmly. It wasn't that he had anything against Thirteen but from his experience when there were drugs they were usually the problem. "She's an addict. Cocaine abuse is the most plausible."

Foreman shook his head tiredly. "She's not an addict. She just takes it every once and a while."

"And you know this for certain?" Taub asked. "Just like you knew that she had started doing drugs again in the first place?"

Foreman scowled and Chase quickly intervened. "She's been in the hospital for almost two whole days. If it was cocaine abuse she'd be getting better by now, not worse."

House nodded, agreeing. "It's good to know that at least one of you has a brain."

Foreman frowned. "I already said she wasn't a coke addict."

"You only said that because she's your ex," the older doctor disagreed. "The fact that she is, also proves that you don't have a brain."

"What about Lupus?" Chase suggested quickly, more to keep everyone's minds on the case then because he believed it to be an appropriate diagnosis.

House levelled him with a stare. "And here I was thinking you had a brain. Next!"

Taub opened his mouth to make another suggestion but stopped himself when the door to the differential room was pushed open and Cuddy stepped in. Chase immediately knew it wasn't good just from the look on her face which was a cross between grim and 'Why me?'.

"Ah, it's Cuddy and her bags of joy. Perhaps you have a suggestion other than cocaine and lupus?" House spoke up, not even looking at her as he typed a few words into his laptop.

"What are you doing?" Chase asked curiously, momentarily distracted from Cuddy's sudden appearance.

"Searching Remy Hadley, you'd be surprised at how much Google can turn up these days. I'd try Thirteen but it kept taking me to disturbing Halloween pages last night," House replied nonchalantly.

"And why are you looking into Thirteen?"

"Almost three years she's worked for me and I still don't know everything about her. Something has to be done." He paused and gestured at his boss. "Also I knew it would piss off Cuddy."

The dean frowned and crossed her arms, looking on the brink of slapping him. "House this is important."

"So is this," he insisted.

"You'll be getting a page," Cuddy went on, despite the interruption. "I just talked to one of the nurses in charge of Dr. Hadley."

Everyone paused in what they were doing and turned to stare at her, including House. Chase had a feeling this wasn't good and that feeling seemed to be shared by everyone around him. Now that she had all their attention it appeared the dean didn't know what to do with it and she paused.

"Out with it woman. We don't have all day," House snarked earning a scowl from the woman in question.

"Dr. Hadley's gone into a coma," she finished finally, briskly.

House sat back in his seat, face expressionless and the three fellows exchanged stunned looks. For a moment that was all they could do – sit and look stunned – and Chase tried to remember something of significance about the last time he had seen her. Had there been some kind of sign to warn them of this? He couldn't remember.

"Someone should contact her family," Taub offered finally.

Cuddy immediately shook her head. "When Dr. Hadley was first admitted I offered but she flat-out refused. She doesn't want any of her family involved in this at all."

House scoffed. "Ever notice that what Thirteen wants and what she needs very rarely coincide?"

Cuddy just shook her head, at a loss. "I'm not at liberty to make this decision for her . . ."

"She's in a coma," Chase interjected. "She's not going to be making any decisions for herself until she wakes up, and that might not even happen. Call her family."

"That won't be necessary," a voice cut in from the doorway – a very familiar voice – and they all turned towards it in confusion. Their confusion turned to shock almost instantly at the sight of one Allison Cameron, standing in the differential room looking like she'd never left.

"Allison?" Chase questioned in shock.

The blonde opened her mouth to reply but stopped when three other people made their presences known behind her. A man in his late fifties stepped forward, followed shortly after by a young man dressed up as a priest and who was keeping a tight hold on a little blonde girl by his side.

"Where's my daughter?" the older man asked.

No-one fainted in surprise at the question but Chase wouldn't have been surprised if they did.