Hi everyone!

new chapter, with lots of medical aspects in it so I apologize if this is not what you prefer, but it had to be done, for the purpose of making Huddy evolve in the direction I wanted. and for that purpose, I tried to set a new writing rhythm, by intentionally cutting scenes and switching from one to the other rather abruptly, to create a feeling of urgency... I hope it'll work that way and that you'll enjoy the read!

thank you for your comments! you're great and really supportive. I'm lucky to have with me in that journey, helping me find inspiration and motivation to write more, otherwise, I'd probably have given up a long time ago…

** Chapter 71 **

1.45am.

Foreman and Thirteen were sitting in the conference room, drinking their umpteenth cup of coffee, reading medicals reviews and waiting for Taub and Kutner, who were monitoring the patient to come back and change shift.

House had just started to doze off in his lounge chair. At this late hour, the hallway was deserted, and the place was absolutely quiet, as most of the doctors had finished their daily consults long ago. There was no need for anyone on the fourth floor to stay during the night, except for the doctors of the Department of Diagnostics, who were sometimes stuck and forced to wait for the slightest sign of improvement or worsening in a patient's state, regardless of the hour. Day or night, that's what defined their jobs: Waiting, waiting, waiting… for a sign.

And that sign occurred at 1.58am, in the guise of two simultaneous beeping sounds, which made everyone jump in their chairs. Foreman reached out for the beeper at his belt and read the message while Thirteen turned to House with a worried face, not even in the mood to gloat for being right about the patient.

"Lungs?" House asked, getting up.

"Hypoxemia. How do you know?" Thirteen said, baffled.

"Well, let's see," House started, rubbing his chin while limping into the conference room. "Your beepers ringing means there's something going on, which, right now, can only indicate that the treatment doesn't work, which means CIDP is the wrong diagnosis and she's presenting one of the possible risks of complication as a result. And since, in that case, there's an eighty per cent chance that it first hits the respiratory system, I just assumed that's what it was... Or, who knows, maybe I was just making a wild guess!"

Thirteen puffed at his sarcasm.

"I'm surprised you haven't relished saying 'I told you so' yet," House went on, stopping right in front of her, and leaning forward to squint at her.

Thirteen opened her mouth to say something but she was interrupted by Taub who barged into the room.

"Patient-" he started, short of breath.

"Has GBS and not CIDP," House completed, his perfect calm contrasting with Taub's agitation. "Thank you, but we kind of already know that. That's usually the purpose of sending a page."

"You got a page? But she… just… I-"

"Yeah, Kutner is a more efficient sucker than you are, apparently. Thank him by the way, since I specifically told you to page me in case something happened," House groaned, enjoying Taub's confused reaction. "So what? Don't you know what to do next? Stop the steroid treatment and start the plasmapheresis."

"On its way," Taub said, straightening up and regaining composure a little. "I came up to tell you that the patient has been intubated. She's being transferred in hematology right now. Treatment should start soon."

"Perfect!" House said. "Then, go back in there and see how it goes."

"But we've been with the patient for the last five hours," Taub protested. "It's Thirteen and Foreman's turn to-"

"No. It'll only be Thirteen and Foreman's turn when I say it is. And right now, I'm saying you go back in there and monitor the patient to see if her status improves. Oh… and next time, you page me if something happens," House reminded him with a smirk.

Taub sustained House's gaze for a few seconds, understanding this was a pure, gratuitous payback for the sake of teaching him another one of his moody boss' lessons, and knowing there was nothing to do against that, he sighed and left the room.

"I'm going home," House announced to Foreman and Thirteen, once Taub was out. "The patient should be fine now."

"Then why ask Taub to stay with her?" Foreman interrogated with a disapproving frown.

"Because Taub loves it when he has to stay at the hospital overnight. It gives him a good reason to call for sympathy and receive special, extra attention from his wife when he comes home all washed out the next day."

"Oh, so you're saying separating Taub from his wife for unnecessary reasons is actually contributing to get them closer?" Thirteen said, rolling her eyes. "Wow, cunning plan-"

"Yeah, the least obvious are always the most efficient," House answered with a mischievous grin.

He put his coat on and grabbed his cane.

"You two can go, too, if you want," he added, placing his backpack on his shoulder.

Foreman stood up and went to the coffee machine. Seizing the pot, he slowly poured himself another cup of brown liquid.

"I think I'll stay," he said, turning around and staring at House with a smug self-satisfied look.

"As you like," House replied, smiling. And he limped out of the conference room.

# # # # #

As he sat on his bike's saddle, House glanced at his watch and read the time: 2.15am. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, sighing. It was definitely too late now to show up at her house and surprise her with a naughty night house call. Cuddy was probably sound asleep, her body turned to the side, curled up into a fetal position, her right arm underneath her pillow, her raven curls spread all around her beautiful face…

Damn it! House thought when the mental image sent a gush of desire through his body. He sighed again, louder and clenched his fists as hard as he could. Then he put his helmet on, resignedly, and started the bike's engine. Before it became impossible or even painful to decide which reasonable decision was the best to make, he promptly drove off. To his place.

For hours, House rolled and rolled in his bed. Sleep barely came to him, only a numb half-conscious state, which definitely wasn't relaxing. He felt hopelessly bereft: His sheets were empty, his body cold, and the space beside him was painfully incomplete, as if something, someone was missing. Of course, she was the one missing. He knew that. But it was not the emptiness itself that profoundly irritated then, but more the conspicuousness of it.

Why did her absences always have to be so conspicuous? Why did he have to experience them so vividly? He sighed, cursed, punched his pillow and rolled again. When his cell phone rang at seven in the morning, he picked it up before the first ringing had time to finish echoing in the air.

"I'll be right there," he said not even knowing if he had a good reason to.

"That's not really necessary," Foreman's calm voice announced.

"Patient's dead?" House asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No. She's just coming out of surgery."

"Surgery? For what?"

"She started complaining about headaches three hours ago and-"

"To the point!"

House heard Foreman sigh in obvious frustration.

"Intracranial pressure went to the roof. MRI revealed-"

"An aneurism?" House couldn't hide the surprise in his voice.

"In the parietal lobe, yes. Chase did a coil embolization but, he still had to put a shunt to drain the fluid out."

"Ok. I'll be right there," House said again.

"Seriously House, I'm just updating you because you asked, but other than that, you're not really needed now. She's in post op, unconscious. Your presence is not going to change much at this point."

"Aw, I'm shocked you could think that! Because actually, my presence is very much needed at this point since you seem incapable of figuring out what's killing her on your own."

"What do you mean? She's not dying. Surgery went well. The aneurism explains all her other symptoms. She's going to be fine now."

"Yeah, except she had all her symptoms before her brain decided to swell and clot randomly."

"What do you mean?"

"Weren't you one of the doctors present when she had two MRIs to determine if she had a brainstem tumor? MRIs which, if I'm not mistaken, didn't reveal anything."

House heard Foreman puff, upset, and he waited a little longer to let the information sink in.

"We know she doesn't have CIDP. Now we also know it's not GBS but that it's spreading fast. And apparently, in all the cool places!"

"So, what is it?" Foreman asked, his voice sounding a little bit more nervous than he would have wished.

"You've got twenty-five minutes to find out."

"Twenty-five minutes? Why?"

"Because that's the time it'll take me to get to the hospital. Then we can discuss why the patient is in a coma."

"She's not in a co-"

"You're right, sorry. Correct sentence is: Then we can discuss why the patient is more likely to fall into a coma."

"House, you do have an idea, right?"

"Of course, I do! I always have lots of idea. Of all sorts!"

"I mean, about the patient."

"Oh, that! Well, depends how you define the word 'idea' then."

Without waiting for Foreman's answer, House hang up the phone and promptly got out of bed.

Just as he'd said he would, twenty-five minutes later, he was limping into the conference room. The four doctors there looked drained. And completely clueless.

# # # # #

Black skirt? Burgundy dress? White shirt? Slate grey jacket?

Cuddy was pacing up and down her bedroom in her underwear, throwing clothes on her bed and looking absolutely out of control. Why the hell was she so tense? "It's just a damn Board meeting" she thought. "You've been through dozens of them already. Just get over yourself and everything will be fine."

She grabbed the black skirt and the white shirt, secretly liking the red dress more but opting for the more appropriate, formal outfit. The meeting was scheduled at nine in the morning. She was up since five, long before her alarm clock had even rung. She was showered, fed, dressed. She was ready to go even though it was only 7.30 am and she'd arrive more than an hour early. But she'd catch up on her mails. She'd have a mochaccino in her office. She'd relax on her couch. Anything but pacing in her house like a lioness in a cage.

She arrived at PPTH a little after eight. She crossed the main lobby toward the clinic door and after a brief nod to the nurses, she headed directly into her office. She was hanging her coat and scarf to the coat rack, when House entered, practically after her.

She sucked in a sharp breath, surprised, but a smile immediately lit up her face. He smiled too, and confidently seized her by the waist. She dropped her satchel on the floor and let him tug her in his arms. His masculine scent instantly filled her nostrils and the closeness of his large chest sheltering her, the mischief in his eyes, and the warmth of his embrace made her head spin a little.

He was all she needed to feel good then, all she'd been thinking about without really being aware of it. She touched his cheek lightly with her fingertips and imperceptibly stretched her neck toward his face. House leaned down and she kissed him, tenderly, then thirstily, possessively, demandingly. He gave in to her lips, holding her tighter inside his arms and he let her tongue tease his buds, drink from his mouth and caress his palate.

When the shudder that had invaded their bodies became too strong, they both drew apart, trying not to pant. He put both his hands on her ass and groped her possessively, pulling her against his hips. She felt the rising bulge there but forced her mind not to register it.

"What are you doing here?" she said, trying to keep her tone serious and professional.

"I was just passing by."

She narrowed her eyes and pouted suspiciously.

"Ok!" he said, surrendering. "Maybe I was waiting for you. I knew you'd be here at dawn even though your meeting probably isn't until another hour at least."

Cuddy gave a quick glance at her watch.

"Actually, forty-five minutes," she said

"Same difference."

"You still didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

"Morning quickie service!" he said joyfully, tightening his grip on her ass.

Seeing his half-serious face, Cuddy couldn't help but burst into a giggling fit.

"House! Just be serious for one minute! I have tons of things to think about before the meeting. I need to review the charts one last time to check if-"

"I am deadly serious. You know, actually, my quickie offer has a real purpose. You're nervous. Sex will relax you."

"I don't need to be relaxed," she answered, speaking way too fast.

She wriggled a little to set herself free from his embrace. Her face was tense, and she was undeniably nervous. He could feel it. But he knew that the last thing she needed was to be more stressed. He sighed and let go of her. She took a step back and looked up at him, studying his face with an interrogative gaze.

"How's your patient?" she asked.

House stiffened imperceptibly at her question.

"She's fine," he lied, avoiding her eyes.

"You stayed here all night?"

"No. I went back to my place."

"Oh."

The news seemed to unwind Cuddy. She came closer again and put her right palm flat on his torso, fidgeting and slightly rubbing her body against his, just suggestively enough to arouse him a little and set his endorphins level on fire. House took a deep breath and tilted his head back.

"Did you miss me like you said you would?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.

She caressed his chest with her hand, and he closed his eyes for a fleeting while, just relishing the sensation of her caress.

"Not for one second! Sorry. You?

"Me, neither."

"You so did! I felt it in the way you just kissed me. Actually, I think someone lied about not wanting that quickie."

She rolled her eyes and removed her hand from his chest. She stooped down and grabbed her satchel, then she walked round her desk and stood there, facing him. She put the satchel in front of her and opened it. From the door where he'd stayed House watched her retrieve some documents and pile them on the corner of the desk's surface. Red folders, black folders, papers, charts, numbers. Her head was down, focused on the pages.

"It's just another meeting," he said evenly.

She held her hand up the air for a fleeting while. He saw her bit her lip, then she put the sheet down and looked up, planting her eyes in his.

"Am I important to you?" she asked, all of a sudden.

It startled him but he managed to hide it.

"It depends on what you mean by important. Do I have to rank you in a list of people only, or does it involve Monster Truck races, thirty-year-old Bourbon and poker nights with Wilson, too?"

She puffed.

"House! I'm serious."

Her eyes were translucent, so pale they looked almost watery. There was a beat, infinite and airy, and House took one step forward.

"I thought I'd told you that already," he said, almost reproachfully.

She breathed in, slowly, and from the corner of his eye, he noticed her hands wobbling a little.

"Of course, it's impor-"

"Not 'it', me," she insisted, her voice beseeching.

"Yes," he said, intensely staring at her. "Yes, you are important."

"Thank you," she sighed, her relief obvious in that instant.

House squinted at her, taken aback.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Nothing." She lowered her eyes and put another folder atop the pile of documents. "I have some things I need to finish, I-"

She tipped her head up and there he was in front of her, just across her desk.

"You should have said yes to the quickie," he declared with a roguish smile.

"Later, maybe. Now go away!" she answered, an irresistible smile forming on the corner of her lips.

He whisked around and headed toward the exit.

"I heard that you know! There's no way you're gonna get away with it now."

# # # # #

"Intracranial pressure is normal. The shunt's flow has substantially lowered. She's-"

"Yes! Thank you. I can perfectly see how she is myself!" House said, sounding annoyed.

The nurse shrank a bit feeling unfairly verbally assaulted but exited the room without making any further comment. Jenny Reed was back from post op, and she was lying on her hospital bed, still unconscious. Her hair had been shaved to insert the shunt and her head was bandaged. All sorts of drains were injecting or collecting fluids in and out of her body.

It was a little after nine in the morning and House was leaning against the wall in a corner of the room, looking at her and waiting to have an epiphany. Except nothing seemed to make any sense: Symptoms of encephalitis that were not encephalitis, inflammations of the nerves and paresthesia that were not CIDP or Guillain Barre, autoimmune syndrome not responsive to steroids… He was feeling challenged, and unnerved. The door quietly slid open and Taub stepped inside the room.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprised to find House here.

"Same goes with you. What are you doing here?"

"You told me to stay with the patient," Taub answered grudgingly, grabbing the medical file that was hung at the foot of the bed.

"It's nine in the morning. Go home," House grunted.

"No thanks. I'm fine here," Taub sustained House's gaze for an instant, then hung the file back to the bed. "It's odd. She was fine yesterday. And now, look at her. Her symptoms aren't following any logical course-"

"Yeah, if only they could carry little tags with the name of their disease written on it?" House said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Taub sighed and the door slid open again. House stiffened when he saw the silhouettes of two little girls entering the room and almost instantly sprawling on their mother's bed without consideration the next moment. One was probably six, or seven, and the other one, smaller, could have been maybe three. The husband followed shortly after and as soon as he spotted Taub, and identified him as the man wearing a coat, hence the doctor who would 'knew,' he cornered him, blocking House's way in the process.

"Doctor, please," the man said, his voice full of worry. "What does she have? Yesterday she was fine and now-"

"We're, um, doing our best to-" Taub looked down, embarrassed.

"The other doctor explained she was in surgery because her brain was bleeding-"

"Well, not exactly bleeding but-" Taub continued.

Just a few feet away, still sitting on their mother's bed, the two kids were apparently arguing over which outfit should fit their ugly doll best.

It'd always been equally unbelievable and fascinating to House how much children could be so unaware of the reality of a drama happening just under their innocent eyes. They were waving their arms in every direction, and it could have been almost funny, in some sort of twisted, ironic kind of way, if they weren't threatening to pull out a drip or a urine bag every now and then.

Unable to hide his growing irritation, House unceremoniously pushed Taub and the husband aside – who was a rather irresponsible one, he thought – and limped toward the bed.

"Hey, hey, hey, kiddos!" he addressed the children sharply. The little girls instantly froze and looked up at him, puzzled. "Get out of that bed, ok?"

The two children bit their lip and glanced at their father, with interrogating gazes.

"Who are you?" the man said, as if he was only then registering House's presence.

"I'm the… the hospital reader!" House answered before Taub could say anything.

The man looked him up and down suspiciously.

"You don't carry any book!"

"Well, of course! What's the point of reading in that room, that woman's in limbo!" House replied extravagantly.

Taub rolled his eyes and the husband mouth dropped open in astonishment.

"I wanna put the blue dress on!" one kid yelled from underneath House, distracting everyone's attention very appropriately at the very same moment. "Mommy says Belinda looks nicer and it matches her eyes."

"You don't even know your colors!" the other one answered, mockingly. "The dress is not blue it's green!"

The shrieking sounds and the obvious unfriendly glower the husband was throwing at House were enough to urge him to get out of the room. That was exactly why he usually avoided visiting patients. He learned nothing there and he only made annoying encounters.

"No, it's not green. It's blue, it's blue! Mommy said it was blue!" the little voice kept arguing.

Already halfway out, House abruptly stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to face the child again.

"Can you tell me again what mommy said about that dress?" he asked the little girl with a sugary voice.

The child stood still and docilely repeated.

"Mommy said the blue dress makes Belinda looks nicer," she pointed toward the doll's dress her sister was clutching inside her fingers.

The dress was very obviously green.

Taub came closer, intrigued and House snatched the ophthalmic pen from his coat's front pocket. He pushed the little girl aside and came closer to the bedside, leaning down toward the unconscious woman. He turned the pen on and lifted her eyelid, pointing the light beam to her pupil.

"Hey! What's he doing?" her husband instantly protested when he saw House touching his wife.

Taub halted him, lifting his arm up. "That's ok," he said. "Dr. House is checking your wife's eyes."

"Doctor House?" the man repeated, incredulously. "But he said he-"

"Yes, Dr. House likes to… make jokes," Taub said, smiling embarrassingly.

"She has retinal vasculitis," House announced, straightening up. "How could you not see that!" he accused Taub with a glare. "It's all over her eyes."

"I… But… She-" Taub stuttered.

"What does that mean?" the husband asked anxiously, taking a step toward the bed.

"It means your wife has Behçet's Disease."

Taub peered at House with a dubious frown.

"All the symptoms seem to tally, but you forget something: She has no skin lesions, no ulcerations-"

"And is it a bad sign?" the husband asked concerned.

"No, it only means we're not absolutely sure of what she has," Taub started.

House furiously glared at him, shooting daggers at him.

"We are sure," he cut him off, reaching for a syringe in a drawer near the bed.

But it was already too late. The husband promptly stood in between and blocked access to the bedside.

"No," he said, with a definite voice. "You're not touching my wife."

# # # # #

"Very good presentation, Dr. Cuddy," said a man at the Board table, looking at her with a fond smile.

"Thank you," she replied, gathering her documents in front of her and taking a seat again.

Seated on the chair just next to her, Wilson turned his head to the side and gave Cuddy a friendly nod. She sighed, imperceptibly relieved and allowed herself to slouch into her chair's backrest a little. Her presentation was done. The budget numbers were coherent, and everything pointed in favor of a quick vote of approval.

That is, until a voice came from the opposite side of the oval table.

"Dr. Cuddy, that's a very interesting aspect of the budget you're submitting to the Board, but I think you omitted to consider the question of future medical equipment acquirement-"

The relieving part had barely lasted two minutes. Dr. Campbell was sitting across Cuddy and looked at her with a challenging gaze.

"Not at all, Dr. Campbell," Cuddy answered, forcing a perfunctory smile. "I've been informed of your request, asking the hospital to acquire two new gamma cameras for your Department of Cardiology. Unfortunately, it seems unreasonable to encumber this year's budget with investments that are not needed at this point. The hospital, as I do recall, is already in possession of two equivalent items."

"One of which is in Radiology," Campbell argued, raising his voice a little.

"The number of scintigraphy performed by the Cardiology Department is not showing any particular increase in the last six months that would require buying new equipment."

"Because we have to remove some procedures from the schedule, sometimes even re-direct patients to Princeton General, for lack of availability of the machine."

"What do you mean?" Wilson couldn't help but take part in the exchange.

"The gamma camera is requisitioned for cardiac exams which, more than half the time, are prescribed for nonessential, even extravagant reasons. It mobilizes the machine to the detriment of patients who really need the exam."

Every head turned in Cuddy's direction. She lowered her eyes for a split second, looking at her folders in front of her, then she took a deep breath and tilted her head up again.

"Why don't you specifically name the Department you're holding responsible for that?" Cuddy said bitterly, knowing where this was going all too well.

She'd tried her best to avoid it, but it seemed some things were just sadly meant to happen however hard she'd try.

"Well, well, well!" Campbell almost chanted, his grin widening. "You seem piqued just at the prospect of hearing who's concerned-"

"I'm not. We all know that you're talking about Dr. House here and the Department of Diagnostics. There is no mystery that you and he aren't exactly friends."

"While, on the contrary," Campbell carried on obsequiously. "It seems that you and Dr. House get along very well, am I right?"

# # # # #

"Listen," House said through clenched teeth to the husband standing stubbornly on his way. "Your wife has Behçet's. All she needs is to be treated by methylprednisone and she'll be fine."

"This doctor here says he's not sure about that. He was there with my wife all the time. Not you. It's the first time I see you. You show up, and then you decide my wife has some new disease, none of the doctors mentioned before, not even once… Why should I believe you?"

"You, stupid bastard," House said, turning to Taub. "You failed to recognize a symptom and now you want to cover your ass by setting the husband against me?"

Taub set his lips and didn't answer.

"Take the kids out," House ordered him grimly.

The children were sitting on a couch near the window, barely paying attention.

"But-" Taub started.

"Take them out!"

Taub took the little girls by the hand and walked them out of the room. The husband opened his mouth to protest, but as soon as the children had stepped outside, House punched him in the face, taking him completely off guard. The force of the blow made him fall backward on the floor, clearing the access to the bed.

House swiftly came close and drew the sheets apart abruptly, uncovering the woman in the bed. Before her husband could react, House seized one pair of latex gloves on the nightstand and put one on. Then, as unceremoniously as he'd proceed until then, he spread the woman's legs open and leaned in between them for a vaginal exam. The husband, in shock, tried to straighten up but House kept him down, pressing him against the wall with his foot while he completed the examination.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the husband yelled, struggling to set himself free.

# # # # #

"I am not going to tolerate such insinuation about my private life!"

"Are you denying that you and Dr. House are in a relationship?"

"Campbell, that's enough!" Wilson said, chivalrously jumping to Cuddy's rescue.

"That's ok, James," Cuddy said, putting a reassuring hand on Wilson's forearm. She locked eyes with Campbell again and stared intensely into his dark eyes.

"No. You're right. Dr. House and I are in a relationship."

A whooshing sound rippled through the room as everyone started whispering comments to his nearest neighbor. Cuddy registered the agitation and swallowed back the lump that had formed in her throat, keeping a poker face, and sitting up straight and proud on her chair.

"But-," she went on, "this relationship is not going to affect my professional position as Dr. House's supervisor. I intend to keep my private life perfectly separate from my work and Dr. House and I, even though we're both aware of the challenge, have agreed not to let the two interfere."

Every doctor's gaze around the table turned in her direction. Cuddy felt the weight of their scrutinizing stares on her. Some silently nodded their approval, some, however, frowned skeptically. Campbell gave a look around the table to assess everyone's stance and noticing the ones who seemed unsure and ready to join his protesting side, he looked at Cuddy and raised his chin almost triumphantly.

"Are you sure?" he asked provokingly. "How about in a day, a week, or a month from now, when Dr. House will undoubtedly put the hospital's name on the upfront again, unfortunately for bad reasons, again. How can you guarantee us that you'll still be able to make the difference then?"

Cuddy bravely stomached the unfair accusation and felt her heart speed up in her chest. Beside her, Wilson was looking intensely at her, searching for her gaze. She gave him a quick side glance and when he saw her look of disenchantment and the sadness in her eyes, it infuriated him.

"Please, ladies and gentlemen," he said, upset. "As the Dean of Medicine, Dr. Cuddy has always remained extremely professional in every circumstance, and you all know that. She's proved on more than one occasion that she was undoubtedly making the right decisions for this hospital, her hospital. And today, if we're among the twelve best ranked teaching hospitals in this country in more than three must specialties, we all owe it to her work."

Cuddy felt inwardly relieved by Wilson's friendly words, but she knew it wouldn't be enough to silence the spiteful tongues of her accusers. She gently put her hand on Wilson's forearm to stop him and stared at her peers in front of her. Then she gathered her files and documents and stood up.

"Thank you, Wilson. I appreciate your support. But I also hear everyone's concern." She gulped and her hand started to tremble a little. She leaned down and put her palm flat on the table to steady her. "You're right. Being in a relationship with someone you work with can indeed be a source of problem, let alone the fact that there are hierarchic bonds between the persons involved-"

"Am I important to you?" … "Yes. You are important." House's voice resonated in her head and gave her the strength to continue.

"But this is my source of problem. Dr. House's Department is one of the most acknowledged in this country. I trust him to do his job, in respect of the hospital's rules. If a problem occurs, which I'm confident it won't, then I will deal with it, like I've always done before. I intend to administrate this hospital with an absolute and unquestionable integrity. Once again, my private relationship with Dr. House will not interfere. But it seems that you have some difficulties admitting that as a fact, so I suggest putting into vote whether you consider I should keep my position or not, and submit your decision to the Board one week from now, in light of what I've done up until then regarding the issue Dr. Campbell mentioned."

Wilson swiftly turned to the side and stared at her, completely stunned.

"Cuddy, no-"

"That's okay Wilson. It's fine. I can deal with my priorities myself."

She collected the files, turned on her heel, and walked away, leaving every doctor in the room flabbergasted.

# # # # #

Taub reentered the patient's room, after having entrusted the two little girls to one of the nurses, only to find House bent between the woman's legs and apparently conducting a gynecologic exam. Her husband was sitting on the floor, rubbing his jaw, and making every effort to stand up again and stop him, yelling his fuming anger and outrage as loud as he could. But House was still keeping him at bay with a firm pression of his foot on his knee.

"House!" Taub exclaimed, visibly in shock when he registered the scene, "What the hell-"

Before he could finish his sentence, House straightened up and turned around to face him, a look of victory on his face.

"There," he said, taking off his glove and throwing it on the floor behind him. "Your ulcerations. You've got them. There're all over the patient's vagina! Is that enough proof to convince you she has Behçet's now or do you want to wait until she has another brain stroke?"

House had stepped away from the bed, liberating enough space for the husband to sit up straight and stand up again. As soon as he stood on his two feet, he jumped at House's throat like a fury.

"You asshole! Who do you think you are?" he shouted, raising his clenched fist in the air, ready to punch House on the face

But, at the very same instant, the inert body of the woman on the bed started to shake uncontrollably, hitting the sides of the bed, ripping off a drip from her wrist and setting off the alarm of the monitoring machine. Her husband, staggered, held his hand back and rushed toward her.

"What's happening?" he said, disoriented.

House stepped back and watched the scene while Taub, with the help of two nurses, tried to immobilize the patient.

"She's convulsing," House said mater-of-factly.

(...)

A/N

If things are not too crazy for me, I would love to write at least the next chapter before next Monday.
Last weekend before the end of hiatus... YAY!

brace yourself and keep your huddy faith! ~ maya