Chapter 23
A/N: You guys are the best. You know that, right? And I'm the worst, because I never update. But today, I am not the worst, because I not only have this chapter for you, but another one waiting to be posted. Thank you for all of the feedback and love, my darlings, you are the people keeping this fandom alive.
I was standing in the ER of PPTH. There were doctors and nurses milling around me, paying no attention to my presence. It was the kind of low buzzing panic that only came upon the hospital after some kind of huge accident. I couldn't remember how I got here, and I didn't know why I was here. Looking for House... was I looking for House?
Someone brushed past me. I looked up and saw that Wilson had just rushed by. I followed after the oncologist. I called his name, but no sound came out of my mouth, or if it did, I didn't hear it. He kept going, making a beeline for a partition in the far corner of the ER. Cameron was waiting there for him, but her hair was blonde, not auburn like it was the last time I saw her. Blonde like it was in the later seasons...
I stopped directly behind Wilson. Neither of them had noticed me, still. Cameron set her hand on Wilson's arm, and she said, "I'm sorry."
Wilson bent his head, running both of his hands through his hair. His shoulders shook violently. I reached out to touch him, to turn him around, to try to find out what was wrong and more importantly, who was behind the curtain? I had to find out who it was. It was more important than anything.
My hand went through thin air when I tried to reach out to Wilson. Suddenly, everything around me was gone, and I felt a cold late spring breeze pushing at my hair, causing me to shiver. I was standing in the middle of an intersection. The blue-red shadows of sirens glinted over broken glass. Next to me was the shell of a destroyed bus.
No, no. This was all wrong. I was supposed to fix it, wasn't I? I was here to fix everything... I wouldn't have let this happen... the whole reason I came here was to make things better. The bus crash wasn't supposed to happen. And in the show, Amber didn't die in the ER... she died in the observation room, with all of the bright white lights and whirring machinery that kept her alive.
House. My heart was beating rapidly in my chest, now. Where was House? I was suddenly overcome with the need to find him.
"House?" I called his name, and I was running towards the bus. I bent down, crawled through a shattered window. "HOUSE!"
That's when I saw it. A cane sitting amid the wreckage. Blood was stained on the handle.
"Oh no! The hospital's burning down and we're all gonna die!"
I gasped and bolted up, nearly tumbling headlong out of House's Eames chair. My heart was thumping against my rib cage to the point of it actually being painful. I was in House's office, moonlight was streaming through the windows... I let out a sigh of relief. Nightmare. That's all it was. Just a nightmare. House stood over me, twirling his cane.
"You're as bad as Wilson. I always have to scream about one of his patients dying to get him to wake up," House told me. "Time to get up. And what did I say about sleeping in my chair?"
"If I want a nap, go sleep in Coma Guy's room like a normal human being," I quoted. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pass out." I took the book off of my lap (I was still working through Brunswick on Neurology) and placed it in my backpack, which was leaning against the wall. "How's your patient?"
"Dying," House said bluntly. "Oh, and by the way..." I glanced back at him as I put on my backpack. "I'm now ten thousand dollars richer."
I would've paid good money to see my face when he told me that. "The Patriots won?"
"Oh, yes. Root, root, root for the home team. New England's close to Princeton, right?" House went to a suit case on his desk, which I just noticed, and promptly opened it up. Inside were stacks and stacks of hundred dollar bills, held together by rubber bands.
"House," I said slowly. "Did you get involved in an illegal betting pool and bet way more money than I said you should?" I tried to keep from sounding patronizing, but in moments like this, I felt like a parent with a bordering on uncontrollable teenager. I suddenly felt heaps of sympathy for House's mother.
"Is this the part where I say 'yes', and then you lecture me about being reckless and/or not listening to you?" House asked, closing the suit case. "Because, just saying, that would totally harsh my current mellow."
"You're..." I put my hand to my forehead. There was really no point in giving House a speech about this. At least now I could feel like less of a freeloader, as I'd done my part to attribute to the household funds apart from the meager salary I earned at Ryan's. "You're paying for dinner tonight."
"It's nearly one o'clock."
Wow. I'd been asleep for longer than I thought. "And?"
"KFC?"
"Hell yeah."
"We've got to make a stop first, though," he told me. I shouldered my backpack.
"Oh?" I asked.
"Pathology. I need to lord my superiority over my team. Mainly Foreman, but, you know, the rest are important, too." He made his way out of the differential room, and I followed behind him.
"You had an epiphany, I'm guessing?" I asked.
"Indeed I did."
"And what, dare I ask, is it?"
"Sex," House said. I snorted as we walked side by side down the hallway. Over the past couple of months, somewhat ironically, I'd gotten used to walking faster, rather than slower, as even with his limp, House's strides were double the speed and length of my own. In order to match his pace, I practically had to skip. Curse my short legs.
"It only took you forty-five years to figure that out, huh?" I asked with a smirk. House shot me a glare.
"What, no rim shot?" he asked before continuing. "Patient's symptoms match African Sleeping Sickness to a T. Problem is-"
"She's never been to Africa. Yeah, we've been over this."
"But we forgot about sex," he said. "Maybe she hasn't been to Africa, but that doesn't mean that someone she slept with hasn't."
"Her husband isn't sick," I argued, just for the hell of it, because I already knew that he was right. I didn't want to take the fun out of it for him. House needed a bouncing board, and I was more than happy to oblige. "And he's never been to Africa, either. The guy's never been out of the country."
House glanced at me out of the corner of his eye once the two of us stepped onto the elevator. "Let me guess. Happy parents, solid home life, never fought and never split up? Married for half of their lives?"
"My parents are still together, yes. They've been married for twenty six years," I answered in a monotone. "They've had their rough patches." More in recent years than when I was younger, but I didn't feel like talking about it, especially not with House. He wasn't exactly a sympathetic ear.
"Did I touch a nerve?"
"No," I said stiffly. "I know what you're getting at. You think one of them cheated." The elevator dinged, and we stepped out, heading towards the pathology lab.
"And I'm guessing you know one of them cheated," he said.
"Not saying anything," I chimed. House rolled his eyes.
"Isn't it interesting how you just arbitrarily decide when it is and isn't a good idea to use what you know about the future? Past, whatever, semantics - isn't there something in your religion about how playing God is a bad thing?"
"Oh, that's fucking rich, coming from you," I said. "Quiet the 'actually-from-an-alternate-universe' chatter," I added as we reached the doors of the pathology lab. House pushed them open, revealing three tired ducklings. Foreman and Chase poured over microscopes while Cameron stood by the printer as a lab sheet was spat out.
"Lab tests inconclusive?" House asked, leaning on his cane.
"Not surprisingly," Cameron answered, adjusting her glasses as she scanned her eyes over the paper.
"Too bad," House said. "Luckily, I have the answer." He paused, no doubt to add extra effect. I suppressed an amused eye roll.
"To what?" Chase asked, thin eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
"To life itself," House responded. "Sex. Anything that can be transmitted through blood can be transmitted through sex."
"Sleeping sickness from sex," Foreman repeated dubiously.
"It's not without precedent," House replied.
"I'm pretty sure it is," the neurologist said, narrowing his eyes at House.
"A Portuguese man was diagnosed three years ago with CNS-affected Sleeping Sickness. His only connection with Africa was through a girlfriend who served under the military in Angola," House explained deftly.
"Where'd you find that?" Chase inquired with a tilt of his head.
"The Journal de Instituto de Higiene e Medicina Tropical," House supplied. "You don't read Portuguese?"
"You do?" Cameron asked.
"There aren't many languages he doesn't speak," I answered for him. In addition to English, House spoke Japanese, Hindi, French, Spanish, and Portuguese - and those were just the languages that I remembered. He probably knew several more, knowing him.
"It was either a medical journal or an ad for sunglasses. I'm banking on the first," House cracked.
"But her husband has never been to Africa either," Cameron pointed out.
"I'm getting deja vu," House said, glancing at me. "I've been stymied again. Your logic is bulletproof," he told Cameron.
"I think ignoring respiratory symptoms is more likely than cheating," Cameron admitted.
Ah. Poor, naïve, optimistic Cameron. I didn't know whether it was annoying or endearing. I was a person who had a decent amount of faith in humanity, but after watching the show for so many years, I knew that people were flawed. People screwed up more than they didn't, and that didn't make you a bad person if you made a mistake... it just made you human.
"Because?" House challenged.
"They're completely devoted to each other."
"Because?" the diagnostician repeated.
"They love each other," she answered.
"Or?" House looked expectantly at the rest of the ducklings.
"They're overcompensating for guilt," Chase provided.
House turned his eyes to Cameron. "Find out which it is."
"You want me to ask a man whose wife is about to die if he cheated on her?" she asked incredulously.
"No, I want you to be polite and let her die," he retorted. Cameron glared at him rather spectacularly. "Actually, I don't want you to ask her anything. Foreman, take the husband," he ordered. "Chase, you take the wife."
House turned and limped out of the lab. Dutifully, I followed him.
"Five... four... three... two..."
The click clack of heels on linoleum, and, "You don't trust me to do my job?"
"One." I tried not to smile as Cameron caught up with us. House turned to face her.
"We all formulate questions based on the answers we want to hear," he said.
"And how exactly do you re-formulate, 'Have you screwed around?'" she demanded.
"Paraphrasing goes a long way," I offered.
"Amen," House agreed. "Did you know she's been trying to get pregnant?"
Cameron nodded. "Yes."
"After you got so freaked about the sick babies a while ago, I figured that was your thing... but you've never been prescribed folic acid, and you can't lose a baby if you've never been pregnant," House said.
I was confused for a moment, but then I realized that at this point in the show, House still didn't know about Cameron's husband. She was sympathizing with Ed and Elise because of their marriage, not their attempts to conceive.
Cameron was floored. "You pulled my medical records?"
"You coughed the other day," House said dismissively. "I was concerned."
"You were curious. Like an eight-year old boy with a puzzle that's just a little too grown-up for him to figure out," Cameron snapped before stalking away from the two of us.
"Ooh. That was a burn on you, House."
"I noticed. She's just delightful, isn't she?"
"Not nearly as delightful as she thinks she is."
"Does she get less annoying as the seasons go on, I hope?"
"Uh..." That was a hard question to answer. "She goes through phases. Rebellious Cameron's kind of cool. Self righteous Cameron sucked. Bitter Cameron wasn't great either." I shrugged. "Hit and miss."
"Like a teenager in puberty. Wonderful." House began heading down the corridor. I tailed after him.
"So, how are we gonna kill time while the ducklings drill your patient and her husband?"
"We're going to break into Wilson's office," he replied cheerfully.
"Okay." That, in and of itself, was not terribly surprising. Question was… "Why?"
"Remember my innocent inquiry yesterday about Wilson banging one of the nurses which you so rudely refused to answer?" House asked as we boarded the elevator.
"I wouldn't call it innocent, but yes, I remember."
"Well, I decided to go with a more direct approach," House told me. "I asked him about it."
"And how did that go?"
"He took one of his nurses out to lunch," House informed me. "Just lunch."
"Ah. That explains the ties. He wasn't wearing the paisley one yesterday."
"Is some of my obsessive observance finally wearing off on you, or do you just have a crush on Wilson?"
"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," I retorted. "You don't believe him, I'm guessing?"
"Wilson sighs when he lies."
"Wilson sighs all the time, House. Especially when he's around you."
"His lying sighs are very distinct," House argued. The elevator doors opened, and we stepped out onto the third floor.
"Did he sigh, then?"
"No," House said, slipping two bobby pins out of his pocket as we approached Wilson's door.
"You've lost me."
"It is theoretically possible that Wilson has gotten better at lying to me," House replied, bending down with a wince in front of Wilson's office door.
"Hey, do you want me to do that?" I asked carefully. Kneeling liked that couldn't have felt good on his leg.
"If I wanted you to do it, I would have said, 'hey, take these bobby pins and break into Wilson's office while I stand by and watch," House replied, a slight edge to his voice. "You offering to help me with some breaking and entering action, though, that's interesting. Now I know for future reference that you're DTFWW."
"Jokes aren't funny if you have to explain them, House."
"Down to Fuck With Wilson," he elaborated. "The first W is the key difference." The lock clicked. "Ah-ha! Victory!" The door swung open, and House slowly rose to his feet before entering Wilson's office. I followed him inside, closing the door behind us.
"I don't know if I'll ever get used to hearing you say 'fuck'," I commented as House went to Wilson's desk. He opened it up and began rooting through its contents. "I'm still confused as to why we're here."
"I'm violating Wilson's privacy. Try to keep up."
"Wilson's telling the truth. It was just lunch. And I'm not saying that because I know, I'm saying that because you know," I said. House wouldn't meet my eyes. He took Wilson's calendar out, flipped through it. "Why are we really here, House?"
"Fine. You caught me," House said, dropping the calendar on the surface of Wilson's desk with a loud smack. "I wanted to see if you would stop me – congratulations, you passed. You totally like me more than Wilson."
"House." He had an ulterior motive here, and that wasn't it. I wanted the whole truth.
"Well, there is one conversation I wanted to have out of the way of prying eyes," House said, admitting his defeat without actually admitting it. "What are you going to do?"
"What do you mean? What am I going to do about what?"
"You know which one of our golden couple is finagling around," House said. "I know that you know. Now, the question is, what are you going to do?" House narrowed his eyes at me. "Is wifey doinking the mailman, or is hubby getting down and dirty with the neighbor lady?"
"House-"
"African Sleeping Sickness isn't just the most likely diagnosis, it's the only diagnosis," he cut me off. "Neither of them have ever been to Africa, which means that an extra-marital affair is the only way that she could've caught ASS. You and I both know that she doesn't have tularemia."
"I fail to see how this has anything to do with me," I said, settling down on Wilson's couch.
"Tell me, and we can start treatment right away," House said. "I can make up a story, and our patients can continue to pretend that they have a happy marriage." House's eyes were like lasers. The rare times that his full attention was on me like this, I kind of felt like throwing up. It made me more nervous that I would ever willingly admit. "But if I keep digging – which I will, because I won't stop until I get an answer – then everything gets torn down."
I swallowed. It had taken awhile, but now I remembered how this episode originally ended. Ed left Elise after the ASS treatment began working, thus proving that she had been unfaithful.
"Fuck."
"Literally."
If I told House now, Ed and Elise's marriage would be intact, in spite of her indiscretions, and she would never slip into a coma and be cured much faster. It would save both of them an immense amount of heartache, most likely.
But if I allowed things to take the same course that they did in the original timeline, the results would be predictable. Ed would find out the truth, Elise would live. Ed deserved to know the truth about what his wife and his best friend had gotten up to.
I put a hand to my forehead. "Fuck," I repeated. How was I supposed to decide something like this? Interfering to help House and Co. was one thing – I actually knew them personally (in a manner of speaking), I knew their futures, and I had a decent idea of what could help all of them. I'd seen one episode with Ed and Elise as a preteen. How was I supposed to decide the fate of their marriage?
"Do you want my opinion?" House asked after I was silent for a long moment.
I did. I needed someone's opinion. But I already knew what he was going to say. "You think I should just let things take their course," I said.
"If we lost the patient in the original timeline, you would've already stepped in, like you did with the babies," House reasoned. "Just let things be."
"Yeah, and ruin their marriage."
"Does the word inevitable mean anything to you?"
"Nothing is inevitable," I said, more harshly than I meant to. "I have to believe that, or there's no point to me even being here."
"You told me three months ago that you were 'put here'-" He emphasized the air quotes. "In order to make my life turn out better. Wilson, Cuddy, and my team, too. Saving patients that I would've lost otherwise, I can see the point in that, as well…" He twirled his cane. "But this? There's no reason to interfere."
"I could save their marriage."
"You could," House conceded. "If it doesn't fall apart eventually anyway, which statistically half of all marriages do."
"House…" I sighed.
"You can't save everybody from everything," he told her. "You can't indiscriminately care about everyone. If we all did that-"
"Life would cease to function," I finished for him. "Yeah, I know that."
"Then why are we having this conversation?"
"I can't let their marriage get destroyed when they could have a chance to be happy, even if it's only for a little while longer."
"They wouldn't be happy, they would be content. Content with a lie, might I add. Whichever one of them cheated has already doomed the both of them."
"People make mistakes, House!" I burst out. "It shouldn't cost them everything they want in life!" Oops. I'd just unintentionally quoted House in an argument against House.
"Either tell me who it was, or don't," House said. "Whatever decision you make, make it fast."
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to think, and think quickly. Shit, why hadn't I considered this earlier? "I…" I licked my lips. "It was Elise. She slept with Ed's best friend."
I probably imagined it, but I thought House looked surprised. Maybe he thought I was going to trust his judgment – and normally, I would – but this wasn't something medical, this was about people, and House, for the most part, didn't really care about people. Not enough to try to save a marriage he knew nothing about.
"Let's go tell the team," House said after a long pause, getting up and exiting Wilson's office.
Just as always, I followed dutifully behind.