House – My Episode Two, Part Three

Hey, everyone! I’m not getting many reviews, people!!! I’m not gonna give out cookies…

Lol, anyway. I seriously do like getting reviews, it lets me know people are reading and actually want to hear what I have to say. Plus, knowing that people are curious is good for my self-esteem and keeps me writing. J

 

The three characters that I highlighted that came up to House with the medical suggestions in the last chapter were supposed to represent Foreman, (the Arab guy,) Chase, (the blond green-eyed guy,) and Cameron, (Angela Cornall. Same initials, get it?)

 

Anyway, here’s part three, where I’m going to finish off the episode. Sorry if the medical case is a little weak. I’m trying, but I just don’t know that much about sicknesses and symptoms and all that. In the next “episode” though, I have a great idea for a funny bit for House to deal with in the clinic.

 

It was after midnight when House finally made it back to the hospital. He felt awful and he knew, with what he’d done, he couldn’t take any more vicodin for at least six hours. But his leg was hurting now.

Sighing, he paced up and down the hallway outside of his office, since it gave him minimal relief from leg pain, glancing in once to see that Angela Cornall was the only one still in there, bent over what was undoubtedly the teen’s medical file.

House entered the room. “What are you still doing here? Or rather, why aren’t the rest of the group here?”

“Cuddy sent them home,” she responded. “She said since you weren’t here there was no reason for the rest of us to stay.”

“So then why did you?”

“I want to know what’s wrong with her. Her fever is completely gone, but she’s complaining of stiffness and pain in her knees, hips, and elbows. I’m still waiting on the results for the STD’s test.”

House appraised her thoughtfully. She was thorough. She cared about the results, yet kept something of an emotional detachment to her cases. Maybe she–

‘No,’

House thought automatically. ‘No decisions yet. And when I do make one, I’m using my head. And that’s final.’

“Well, let me know when you get results.” House sat down at his desk and rested his head, which was starting to hurt, on his arm. He groaned slightly.

“Are you all right?” Angela asked softly.

He lifted his head slightly and gave her an annoyed look. “Whatever would make you ask that?” he muttered sarcastically.

“If you’ll allow me to be blunt–”

“No thanks, I don’t smoke those.”

“–you look hung over.”

House gave a mocking laugh, but stopped quickly because it made his head pound more. “Hung over. I didn’t leave long enough to be hung over.”

Angela’s eyes widened. She backed away and quickly left the room. House, in a clearer frame of mind, probably would have wondered about it. But right now, he just didn’t care.

* * * * *

House was walking, actually walking, with no use of his cane, towards the cool, clear water of the inground pool. He climbed up the ladder and walked out on the diving board, hearing people chant his name.

 

“House!”

 

“House!”

 

“House!”

 

He jumped from the diving board, and felt the cool water hit his face with force.

“House! Wake up, House!” Cuddy called, an empty glass, still dripping from the rim, in her hand.

House coughed, and brought his hand up to wipe his cheek and get the water out of his ear. Blearily, he looked at Cuddy and realized what had actually happened when he hit the pool water in his dream.

“You saucy wench,” he said, attempting to be flighty, “if you wanted a wet T-shirt contest, why didn’t you just say so?”

Cuddy had leaned in close to House’s face as he spoke, then leaned back, disgusted. “House, you’ve done a lot of low things throughout your history in this hospital. You’ve endangered patients’ lives in the name of saving them, you’ve manipulated, you’ve made bets on the outcome of tests just so you can prove your intelligence, and you’ve made a fool of me countless times. And I’ve dealt with it. But now you’re leaving the hospital so you can go… wherever! And drink! House,” she leaned back down to him and grabbed the front of his shirt, close to his neck, “I’ve dealt with a lot of crap from you. But if you ever, ever come into work after drinking again, I will not only fire you, but I’ll make sure you never work in this state again!”

With that, she let him go, shook her head, and left the room, ignoring his shocked expression.

* * * * *

Angela walked into the girl’s room. “Hello? Mind a visitor?”

“Not like I have a choice. Doctors and nurses just come in whenever they want.”

“Well, I want to actually talk to you, not just check your vitals.” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “So, it says your name is Amber. That’s a nice name.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. Does anybody know what’s wrong with me?”

Angela sighed. “Not yet. That’s why I wanted to ask you some questions. You play tennis, right?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t lately. Once my ankle started hurting, I stopped playing as hard, and when it got worse, I stopped playing altogether. I don’t want to do something stupid and screw up my chances of playing professionally.”

Angela nodded. “I don’t blame you. You must have a lot of ambition, then.”

“Yeah, I guess. I just know what I want and how I’m gonna get there. But this hospital stay wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Things like this never are,” Angela said, an idea forming in her mind. “You know, I think I know what this might be. I saw it in medical school. I’ll be back soon, I need to see what else was ruled out, all right?”

Amber looked hopeful for the first time in days. “Hurry.”

* * * * *

“Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis?” House slurred. He was still sitting at his desk. “That’s what she has?”

“Yep. I’ve seen it before, when I was in medical school. Because of the spiking and disappearing fever, we suspect Systemic JRA, but it’s still being confirmed which type she has,” Angela told him. “It explains the rash she had, the knuckle pain, the ankle, and of course, her fever.”

House stared at the w

oman through blurry vision. Maybe drinking wasn’t the best way to forget things. He was no lightweight; he could hold a good amount of liquor. But he’d obviously gone overboard, because the only thing tonight had accomplished was making his stomach forget how to digest food, so he’d spent a good fifteen minutes calling Ralph on the big white phone.

“Dr. House, perhaps it’s none of my business, but–”

“Then follow that instinct and don’t comment,” House interrupted.

Angela pursed her lips, took a deep breath, and continued anyway. “But, though I’ve only worked for you not even twenty-four hours, I’m concerned for you. When I expressed this to Cuddy, she told me you’d been drinking earlier and told me a bit about your last colleagues and how they left. If you–”

“I don’t need your help on things I can’t change!” he yelled, standing up to intimidate her further, despite the pain it caused his cranium. But he stood up with his weight equally on both legs and his right buckled. He overbalanced and began falling forward when Angela gripped his arm with both of her hands, using the left side of her body to brace him so he stayed upright.

House exhaled slowly, his head pounding, blood rushing in his ears. He watched as Angela reached over and gripped the head of his cane and handed it to him. He grasped it and gave a gruff, “thank you.”

She let him go when he leaned back from her to sit down again. “You’re welcome.” Then she was back to complete professionalism. “I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds. As I said, I’m just concerned for you.”

And before House could open his mouth to tell her not to bother with concern for him, she walked briskly out of the room.

* * * * *

Angela walked out of the hospital, thankful she had been the one to realize what was plaguing poor Amber. And the fact that she played tennis would actually help her; exercise was a key part to controlling JRA.

As she got her keys out to unlock the door, she happened to look up at what she already recognized as House’s office. She sighed. Everything that she’d heard about House said that he didn’t care about anyone, anytime, anywhere. But he’d been distracted during the entire case, letting the ones who weren’t much more than med students solve it. Somehow, she knew that he’d been thinking of his old team, and quite possibly how much more competent they had been.

That didn’t sound like someone who didn’t care about anyone. Not at all.

* * * * *

House sat back in his chair, feeling with his hand where Angela had held onto him. Anyone else, except possibly Wilson, would have just let him fall. But she’d caught him. She cared if he fell. He remembered someone else who would have cared as well.

“House…”

He turned, almost stumbling, and would have sworn he saw Cameron walking past his office. He rushed to the door and looked both ways down the hall, but no one was there.

Shaking his head, he pushed the door to his office open and was about to step in.

“You’re right. I

don’t like you.”

House furrowed his eyebrows. He hadn’t been shot; why was he having auditory hallucinations? Had he drunk that much?

Limping back over to his chair, he sat down, leaned back, and forced himself not to feel. Times like this, he was glad he had a constant leg pain. It let him focus on the physical aspect of pain, instead of the emotional. Emotional was always worse, and he was already crippled physically. He couldn’t afford to be crippled emotionally. He wouldn’t let himself. He just wouldn’t.

After all, he had a reputation to uphold: I don’t care.