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FOREMAN
“Is there a new case for today or are we all free, like the last two weeks?” House ask entering the outer office. None of us says nothing, because we had just arrived. “Well? Are all of you deaf or mute?”
I roll my eyes at his words.
“We heard you alright, House,” I say, trying not to engage in an argument.
“And then why is no one spewing symptoms?” he asks again, his voice laced with a bit of venom.
“Because we weren’t sure which one to choose,” Cameron says with hesitation.
House rolled his eyes as he sees us doing nothing.
“Foreman is in love with power and you are a sucker for dying patients and still, none of you have a case to work in with?” he asks, making a face that describe us like stupid.
But the thing is, there was no time to read file, fun cases at all, when House is in time.
“Okay,” House says collecting the piles of files and going straight to the lift. “If you are not smart enough to choose, I know smart people that would like to choose for you.”
The door of the contraptions opened and House is looking at them with mirth in his eyes. He doesn’t make a move to make room in the steel machine for us to climb up with him.
“This elevator is actually for useful members of the Hospital,” he says, clutching the files against his side. “Since none of you did your job before I walked into the office, none of you are useful members of the Hospital. If you want to catch up with me, I really hope you are fast enough to be down when I am.” He smiles at us while the doors start to close.
“He is a bastard,” I say, crossing his arms and aiming for the stairs.
“At least he has both of his legs functioning,” Cameron says, falling in steps with the me. “I cannot even imagine the kind of hell we might have to fend against if he were to be an invalid or experiencing pain often.”
I just rolled his eyes at the roof. Cuddy told us about House’s muscle infarction and how it went bad, then it turned out better in the hands of some unknown surgeon. The history is still not clear to any of us, but as Cameron says, it would be hell to have to interact with a crippled House.
“It still didn’t do nothing for his charismatic personality,” I say with disdain. “He is still a hypocrite asshole.”
“I am there with you,” she says softly. “But he saves lives. He is good at his job, even if he does our lives miserable.”
I just grunt a respond to her, trying to hurry my pace for two reasons:
- It wouldn’t do to have to track House down and B) I am getting tired of Cameron always defending our boss. Correction, our cretin of a boss.
“Are you in love with him?” I ask her bluntly.
“Of course not,” she is stumbling over her own words. “Are you mad?”
“You are,” I say, not giving any more attention to her denies.
We are hitting the last step on the stair when we see House walking in the direction of Cuddy’s office. House doesn’t bother knocking or giving greeting to her, just like he does every day.
“What do you want now House?” the Dean of Medicine asks. “Is not even ten in the morning and I have already to deal with whatever is it that you want.”
She is pissed, I can tell. But so, can House.
“Why so pissy, Boss?” House asks in his sarcastic way.
“What do you want House? I have a crisis to attend to in ICU,” she says with a tired voice.
“And why is that? Just yesterday night you were happy when I dropped you…” but he is instantly cut out by Cuddy.
“You don’t want to end that sentence, House,” she says menacing. “Wilde and DeCaro were in a car crash last night. They are death and I am two intensivists down right now, that without counting DeCaro assisting in surgery.”
“Oh, well,” House says in that kind of reflective way of his that just point sarcasm. “I will do you a favor and not pic up any patient for today then, since mine tends to needs one of those up there in ICU.”
Cuddy rolls her eyes and murder House with them.
“You are picking up a case,” she says hotly. “In fact, I left a case for you in your office this morning.”
House turns on his heals to look at me and Cameron.
“And who was the stupid that didn’t informed me of this?” he asks, looking at us straight in the eye.
“They weren’t in the office when I dropped the file in your desk,” she says, looking up at him. Her eyes narrowing on House’s form.
“Cameron, Foreman…” House calls them out softly. “You both are idiots.”
“Good morning Dr. Chase,” Cuddy’s words made House turn around fast. “Yes, I am calling because we have an emergency at PPTH and we can use your expertise in this department…” There’s a pause. House is looking at her with disgust. “I would like to interview you to work here at Princeton Plainsboro.” There is more silent, but now House is rolling his eyes and making disgusting face at Cuddy. “You can start today after a brief chat.” She says. “I really need the help, Dr. Chase,” more silence and then she is smiling. “Thank you. I will see you soon.”
She cut the call. House groans in distress.
“You cannot hire him!” he yells at her.
“Of course, I can,” she says hotly. “He is an intensivist and he is a surgical critic care specialist,” she points out. “I am in need of doctors for the hospital and he is seating around doing nothing. If he wants the position, it will be his and I know he will be happy to work here.”
Cuddy knows how to throw verbal punches.
“You know I have a problem with Dr. Chase,” House says, looking angry.
“Then, suck it up, because he will be here before lunch,” she says hotly. “I don’t care about what imaginary problem you might have with Dr. Chase, but if he wants to stays, he as hell can.”
“I hate you. You are just like Hitler but with boobs,” he insults her.
“And I need someone that can deal with your bullshit too,” she says under her breathe. Is just a whisper that I can catch because I stayed a few steps behind…
House dumps all the files at the nurse station. Reading them over, not picking anyone and rolling his eyes.
“None of those are good enough,” he says. Until Wilson appears with a file for House just seconds later. “What is this, Wilson?”
“Why are you so angry today?” he asks. “I thought today was a good day for you.”
House rolls his eyes again.
“Cuddy want to hire Dr. Chase,” he says, taking the file from Wilson’s hands.
“And you have a problem with it because…?” Wilson asks. “His name is Jacob,” he says tapping the file with his finger.
“Do you know me at all, Wilson?” he asks sarcastically to the oncologist. “Dr. Chase is a prick.”
A nurse is shocked to hear such words coming out of House’s mouth.
“This is a hospital, Dr. House,” she chides him, narrowing her eyes on him. “Refrain from using such vulgar slang.”
House rolls his eyes.
“And this Jacob is dying?” he ignores the nurse in favor to talk with Wilson. “Because if he is, I cannot take the case because Cuddy told me not to pick cases of dying people.” Which I am tempted to consider a win.
Wilson is left dumb founded in the ascensor.
“Why would she say that?” he asks to no one in particular.
“DeCaro and Wilde died last night in a car crash,” Cameron offers. “They worked in ICU. We are understaffed.”
Wilson face is full of sorrow.
“They were young,” he points uselessly.
“So, if it happens to old people is alright?” House asks, going out of the machine once the doors are open. “You are so full of surprises, Wilson.”
House throws the file on the table and goes straight for the dry board. I can see his hand massaging his tight. Even if it’s all better now it doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother House some cold days, like today.
“Symptoms, people,” he says, uncapping the marker.
“He is coughing blood,” Cameron offers and today, even Wilson is doing something more then useful.
* * * * * *
“He is still dying,” Cameron says. “It is not sarcoidosis.”
House huffed. We have been in this kid’s case for four days now and he is not improving. If we diagnosis south, he goes north and vice versa.
“Then, someone is lying,” he says, looking at the white board and all the symptoms in there. “TelI me something, Foreman. Or are you as useless as I thought you are.”
“I am out of ideas,” I say truthfully.
I huff.
“Cameron?” he pressures her.
“I am sorry,” she says looking down.
“You are both useless,” he says, taking a seat and pressing a button on his cellphone. I can hear perfectly the ringing until someone picks up.
“What do you want?” the voice says. Whoever it is, is a male and said male was sleeping maybe.
“Good morning, sunshine,” House says with sarcasm. “Oh, right. It is nearly five p.m. Sorry.”
“Fire fast, I want to go back to sleep,” he says. His accent is all off.
“I have a patient, he is dying somehow,” House says, letting his feet on the glass table. “He has a myriad of different symptoms,” no response from the other side. “Are you having a seizure?” House asks weirdly.
“Why would I?” the person asking and I can hear shuffling at the other end of the line. “Don’t you have a team you work with to solve these kinds of things?”
House nods, and promptly adds:
“Yup, but they are all useless now,” he says, not really caring that we are in the same room with him. “Symptoms. He has pustules all over his body, his fever is always between 106 and 108. He is delirious, like always, but hopefully it isn’t related to a bad case of psychiatric need and more related to the unyielding fever. He has necrosis and paralysis in the upper body too.”
“Uh,” the person at the other side is drinking something. “Did you treat him for sarcoidosis?” he asks, a bit sleepy yet.
Why is he putting up with House’s crap?
“I wouldn’t be calling you if I was waiting for a so-obvious answer,” he says, starting to throw his red ball into the air. “They are idiots, but not that much. Beside…” The other person interrupts him.
“Okay,” the other person says. “Are you sure he doesn’t have necrosis?”
“I just told you that,” House snaps at the person.
“Sorry, I was sleeping since I haven’t in the last fifty hours,” he says snapping back. “It’s antrax.”
“That’s the other thing… We tested for Antrax. It isn’t antrax.”
“Repeat me the symptoms again, and slowly. I had a heavy dose of Temazepam,” he says softly.
“Are you okay, Robbie?” House asks, concern tinting his voice briefly.
“’M okay. Just a bit… You know.” He replays in that serene way he has to say everything, maybe.
“He has fever, coughing blood, pustules are covering his skin, necrosis in one spot and pustules are all over his back, face and what-not, he can’t lift both of his arms… Whatever this is it, is damaging his nervous connections.”
“What appeared first?” the Robbie person asks.
“The mother said it was the fever,” House says.
“How old is he?” Robbie asks.
“Fifteen,” House answer swiftly.
“The mother is lying,” he says fast.
“Maybe the kid is lying,” House offers.
“The mother is lying,” Robbie says. “You said he have necrosis now, but the period of incubation is from eight to twelve days. So, he had a rash first that evolve into necrosis and you are saying is not Sarco and is not antrax, right?” He asks again.
“None of those,” House says.
“Both of his parents are alive?” he asks again, he is munching on something I can tell. “What they work as?”
“The mother is an accountant and the father used to be a pilot for the military,” Cameron offers.
“Oh, I didn’t know I was on speaker.” The person, Robbie, sounds embarrassed.
“It’s okay. What else? I am sure you are going somewhere,” House says comfortably.
“The military, you said,” he breathes the words. “Which country?”
“Pakistan,” Cameron offers again.
“He has lepra,” Robbie says softly.
“You are giving us a diagnosis based on where his father was?” I ask, not believing this. “And a disease the father doesn’t have?
“He has lepra, you can do the tests or you cannot do it,” he says irritably. “Whatever it is that you decide, I am going back to bed. God knows no one should be doing a surgery with barely four hours of sleep.”
“I am sorry I woke you up,” House offers in an attempt to calm the beast at the other side of the line.
“Yeah, yeah, every thing is forgiven,” he says, and I hear the sound of a mattress being crushed. “Don’t call me again.”
“I know,” House says and when his hand raised to cut the call…
“I love you,” the other person whisper.
“Rest well, wombat,” House says, cutting the call. “Cameron, test the kid for lepra and when the results are ready, bring them here,” he looks at me. “Foreman, get the truth out of the father,” he says, but I don’t make a move to leave.
“Why did you call him?” I ask him, feeling rage inside me. “We are your team.”
“A team that runs out of ideas often,” he says. “What I am supposed to do when all three of us have empty hands… Let the kid die?” He asks with the same level of fury. “If the person that took the case of my infarction would’ve been like you Foreman, I sure as hell wouldn’t be walking around without the aid of a cane.”
“But you are as bitter as a cripple!” I yell at him.
“I am not going to pat you in the back, when the rate of cases solved by you is less than ten percent,” House says, standing up, keeping his voice low. “The rate of success in this department is 96%, if I took the eight percent that you apport and the five percent that Cameron apports, it’s just a sadly thirteen percent. Which left eighty three percent of success on me and whomever I happened to consult with, which is not often. I’m going to tell you how many cases of this team that complete stranger that you not know about has solve, twenty percent,” he says to me. “Which, combined with the sad thirteen of you and Cameron is thirty-three percent, which still gives me at sixty three percent of success…” he takes a steep back. “I don’t call him often to consult, but you and Cameron have two years here, and that’s all the things you could accomplished all this time.”
“Surely, if you are in good terms with Robbie,” I say the name with mockery and rage. “It is because he is as old and miserable as you.”
House smiles up at me.
“Come with me, Foreman,” House says and he walks to the inside office. “Come or you are fire,” I enter the inner office. He opens a drawer and the door opens suddenly. He looks up and I follow his gaze. “Nice of you to join us, Dr. Cameron,” he says, taking out his laptop. “Thanks to Dr. Foreman, you are going to meet Robbie.”
“What did you do now?” she hisses at me.
I roll my eyes while House is powering on his laptop. He sat down as he searches.
“Meet Robbie,” he says, turning the device around.
A photo of a young man with blond hair and sparkling blue eyes is showed in the screen. He is wearing a red shirt and is smiling softly at the camera. His skin is fair and by the background he is somewhere warm… Maybe a cabin by a lake. He has a wedding ring in his left hand. So, he is married.
“He looked young,” I say, not believing House.
“Because he is,” he counters me fast. “You are just five years younger than me, Foreman. Cameron is seven,” he says, shutting the laptop. “But Robbie. Robbie is twelve years younger than me. He is just twenty-six, but he never disappoints me when it comes to medicine and diagnosis. You both in the other hand…” He looks at us with something that makes me feels bad. “Go make the tests on the kid and don’t forget to make the parents to confess in front of each other.”
“The kid is not in good terms with his father already,” Cameron says.
“Well… This hospital needs its weekly quota of drama. Hopefully, the kid’s parents will provide that, since they couldn’t provide the kid with a stable home.”
I turn to walk and Cameron is right by my side.
“Who is this, Robbie?” she asks.
I shrug.
“I don’t know but House appreciates him enough to consult with him,” I say, feeling empty inside me.
“He is hot,” Cameron says.
“House?” I ask her.
“No!” she says fast. “What’s wrong with you?” she shakes her head. “Robbie. Whoever he is.”
“He is married,” I offer to her. “I saw the ring in the photo.”
“An adventure is better if there is fire to burn you,” she winks at me.
I smile at her words. She never fails to make me smile.