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Hydrocodone, also known as dihydrocodeinone, is a semi-synthetic opioid used to treat pain and as a cough suppressant.Typically, it is dispensed as the combination acetaminophen/hydrocodone or ibuprofen/hydrocodone for pain severe enough to require an opioid.

Common side effects include dizziness, sleepiness, nausea, and constipation. Serious side effects may include low blood pressure, seizures, QT prolongation, respiratory depression, and serotonin syndrome.

There is yelling coming from the Dean of Medicine office.

Four people stood awkwardly outside, as the two women inside were having a standoff full of cruel remarks and pointed comments designed to hurt. Some of them were nothing but a hissed murmur, but others could be heard all the way, along with the clashing sounds of metal against wood.

Foreman was doing his best to tune out the fight, Cameron looked worried between the door and the floor, while Chase was biting his lower lip raw, wringing his hands as if he was the one being torn a new one.

Wilson didn’t seem to be worried about the whole thing, just looking at his watch every once and then, as if this was a common occurrence that was dragging a little bit too long.

And then, they could hear a mean spirited laugh.

“What are you even yelling for? Is that supposed to scare me? Your shrieks are not scary. If you were to hurt me now that could be a little bit scary, but last time I checked, don’t you need both hands to shake me by the hair?”

The three fellows flinched at the comment, staying eerily quiet after the silence that followed.

Wilson only rolled his eyes a little bit, a quick, barely seen thing.

The door was pushed open, and a silver, sturdy cane was the first to come out, followed by the quiet steps of slip on black leather shoes, with the least amount of heel possible. The kind that diabetics and elderly office women wore.

“She cracked and greenlighted all tests. Just like I said she would.” A bunch of forms were carelessly thrown into Chase’s chest, who almost flinched by the sudden movement. “Let’s begin with that MRI. We’ll see what to do after that.” And as quick as she came, the woman with the cane absconded the crowd, Wilson following her close behind, not before he threw the three fellows a smirk and a shoulder shrug.

The ever elusive Dr. Georgina House could be seen sometimes between hallways, in offices where she had no business being caught in, and, sometimes, at the clinic, against her own wishes.

Nurse Rosamelia had to blink twice and stare blankly as the tallest woman she knew threw some papers at her desk, told her the hour wrong by 15 minutes, and asked if they had the kind of amenities one may find at a hotel and not a free clinic. Fortunately, Dr. Lisa Cuddy came like a shooting star, taking all the attention of the main predator of the room, which was no small task, as not even with the tallest Prada high heels she owned, came to eye level with the moody, limping giant.

Yet, she said some magic words that made both Rosamelia and House freeze, looking at her like they didn’t listen just quite right.

“Orange.” Repeated the giantess. “Like, the color?”

“Like a cheesecake factory table.”

A squint, House looked from her documents to Dr. Cuddy, like she kept messing with her.

“That’s yellow.” Rosamelia loathed agreeing with Dr. Bitch, but a cheesecake factory table was, in fact, yellow, even under the warmest of the lights.

“Exam room one.” And with that, Dr. Cuddy went away, leaving a little bit of good fortune in her leaving, because Dr. House also limped straight to exam room number one.

Maybe said good fortune was only spent on her, because the man (who was indeed, a very harsh shade of orange), strutted out with a handsome face contorted in rage, marching straight to where she knew the dean of medicine office was, muttering something about Elmo's lightskin cousin .

Good thing Dr. House already took a stack of documents with her to the exam room, because then she wouldn’t be at her ever changing moods and machinations.

Nurse Rosamelia sang victory just a second too quick, because said doctor sped out of the exam room with the sole purpose of getting the hell away from there, no explanation, no paperwork, and by the look of how much in a hurry she left, no satisfied patient either.

She put the most soothing smile she could muster when the worried mother and her son came out of the room looking for their doctor, and with no satisfying answer to give, she asked them to wait a little bit more in the examination room while they got assigned another one.

In her mind, she hoped the giantess hit her head on her way to wherever she went. 

Or something.

In another place, Rebecca Adler was trying to talk her way of her family history with her doctor, trying to think of anything relevant while the now familiar fog in her brain made it an extraneous activity. For a moment, she considered just giving up on it and going back to sleep, but if Dr… Cameron was it? Convinced her to at least try.

“My mother passed away four years ago.” From what? Something, something, in her… “ A heart attack.” What else was she missing? And my father broke his back doing construction.” By the look on the other doctor’s face, that was not relevant at all. Shit. Picking her brain for something else to say, she was saved by… a bell?

A chime.

Dr. Cameron looked back at Dr. Foreman, and told him something about… House? And an urgency? She combed her brain to think about someone named House, but while the name was somewhat familiar, it slipped right out of her hands, like most thoughts nowadays.

She could nothing but stare as they went out, following with her tired eyes where they were going, only for them to stop just outside the room, barely seen through the closed blinds.

She also saw her.

A very tall woman, slightly slouched, speaking in a low voice to her doctors. Feathery light hair fell to her shoulders, and her gaze went down, down, and even lower, where a long jean skirt fell to her ankles, holding the most curious of things.

A cane.

Heavy looking thing, Rebecca could not decide what color it was, just like the hair. Something light, something almost white. Maybe silver. Maybe gray. The tall woman gave a couple of taps of it on the floor, and the thing didn't make a single sound.

She could swear the woman turned a little bit, looked at her for a blink and a flash, but just as quickly she turned back, and disappeared beyond the wall as fast as she came.

And just now she heard the cane, and wondered why she didn't before.

Her doctors came back inside, they had a new treatment plan they said.

But they never specified what exactly was wrong with her.

Not having a tumor was slightly better than them not knowing what was wrong, but just as terrifying. 

Maybe even a little bit more, in a different way.

In another time, in another place, Intern Gladys already went through hell and back in the span of a particularly soul sucking night shift, which bled into a morning shift, which meant her boss had an ounce of mercy on her already sucked out soul.

That mercy may have been offered with a relaxing time in mind, but the moment her boss went eerily quiet raised all alarms in her head. 

“Stay still.” Was ordered with a hiss and a hand movement, and before she could ask something else another shushing hiss came from her boss’ mouth.

Straining her hearing, a quiet conversation was heard in the barely full hospital cafetería, from the table behind her. 

What she heard made her spine go straight in a blink and a movement, as the devil of all lecturers was heard, in the same mocking tone she used to teach every blue moon.

“Honestly, if I had to deal with children all day long I too would have a stroke.”

“She didn't have a stroke and you know this.” Was the slightly frustrated answer given back.

From the corner of her eyes, Intern Gladys could see the whispers of feathery white hair, and a dash of silver, but she couldn’t tell if it was one of the brooches that Dr House wore on her hair or an earring. She found that she didn’t want to know. Rather, she would love to leave, but the first rule with dealing with a bigger animal is to play dead.

“Nevermind that, how many kids were in her class?”

“... Around 20?”

“And how many were sick?”

“... None?”

“That’s a trick question, if one kid has it every kid has it, as schools and nurseries are the most productive place for viruses and other bacterias travel around and infest whole counties.”  

The intern didn’t mean to eavesdrop, she swears she didn’t, but that’s the side effect of staying too still and too quiet in hopes to not be noticed.

Plus, she can’t say she’s curious. Dr House shared some of her cases when she was in the classroom, but that doesn’t mean she’s not curious as to her actual deducting work with an active patient.

“What about her home?”

“She lives in Trenton, maybe I can go to her room tomorrow and ask her about her keys.”

“We could also steal them from her corpse tomorrow. How about that?”

“... She 's stable.”

“You said it yourself. You don’t know that.”

Gladys saw from another curious side glance that the silver thing she barely saw in her first sweep was an earring. Lovely thing. Kind of sharp as it dangled from her ear.

“As far as we know, we are just in the eye of the hurricane. That sweet spot of lucidity before they kick the bucket like, permanently.”

“This is stupid- She’s stable!”

“Sure.”

There was an uncomfortable silence for everyone who had a stake in that conversation, which was mostly the two people on the table behind her, Dr Carvajal, and her.

“Fine, I’ll wake her up after Chase is done with the tests and ask for the keys with the consent forms.”

“I swear, men are all slow. That will take a lot of time.”

“House, don’t be ridiculous.”

Both Gladys and Carvajal let out the world's tiniest gasp at that, looking at each other like they could not believe the guy just said that to her face. Just like that! Lesser men have been flagellated in a very public humiliation ritual at a minor offense.

Yet, she just laughed.

An horrid sound, truly.

“As far as we know, she has enough black mold in her home to make her the uni-bomber's prettier sister. Maybe she does meth in her basement. Who knows.”

“... She’s a kindergarten teacher.”

“And Kyle Barniak was a perfect and respectable member of the community. Stellar reviews from parents and students alike. And yet.”

That made the man speechless.

“Are you suggesting that Adler is a predator?”

“I’m suggesting that someone is lying. We just have to find out who. Maybe why, for entertainment purposes. I want you to check her home for anything of interest. Contaminants, garbage, medication…”

“I can’t just break into someone’s house…”

“Isn’t that how you got into the Felkers’ home?”

That made the man freeze, and Gladys to risk another side eye look, only to find out in her quick glance that Dr. House let down her hair for a moment. Meanwhile, Dr. Carvajal saw how the diagnostician put down her hair pin and gently massaged her scalp. 

“I mean, it would be such a shame for the only redeeming quality you have to go to absolute waste.” 

Her companion was deathly quiet.

“Oh please, don't give me that dead eyed look. Technically court records are sealed as you were 16, but your gym teacher has a big mouth and a shitty habit of using racism to flirt.” 

Neither Dr. Carvajal nor Dr. Gladys could see any of Dr. House's expression, but they could hear her eat, quietly munching away like she was not dropping bomb after bomb in that conversation. She kept massaging her scalp with her right hand.

“You should write him a thank you note, as his hubris and his bigotry landed you this job.” She kept munching away, barely waiting to swallow her bite of fries before speaking once more. “I needed someone with street smarts. Someone who I didn't have to teach something as easy as picking a lock, ok? I can't stay on my knees for long, a fact that my husband mourns, but alas, that's the cripple way for some of us.”

“This… This is ridiculous! I could sue you.”

“Sue me? For what, exactly?” She even tilted her head a little bit sideways, almost like a dog.

“Wrongful termination. You can't fire me for refusing to break into a ladies’ house.”

“No, but who do you think other people would believe? The crippled, white, lady doctor? Or the black youngster-.” She made air quotes at this part. “With the criminal history?”

They both had a stare off for a moment, before the man threw his last bit of egg sandwich to his plate, and then he walked off, leaving Dr. House watching TV and eating the rest of her fries, without a single care in the world. 

By the time she got up, her hair was still falling down her shoulders, but her hair pin was no longer on the table.

And then, and only then, Dr. Gladys and Dr. Carvajal could gossip about what they heard, nevermind that their lunch break ended around 45 minutes ago.

After a particularly long lunch break for at least three people, and one that felt too short for everyone else, Nurse Rosamelia never left her station. Time passed far too quickly when the ever bursting clinic was in need of manning.

(And her replacement never came, at least she will be paid overtime.)

Dr. Georgina House came in, said the hour wrong by three minutes, and closed herself off in an examination room. Rosamelia didn't even bother to lift her head. Either the woman will come out to ask for a patient or will be contained there like an ancient devil, waiting for someone foolish enough to disturb her sleep.

Around half an hour later, the curse breaker came swooping in, as Dr. Lisa Cuddy didn't even ask where House was, it was just like she just knew where she was all the time, kicking open the examination room where the devil was napping and getting into a sudden shouting match.

Nurse Rosamelia saw from her front desk how the both of them sped walked away from the clinic. Or at least, Dr. House's version of speed walking.

And shortly after is where Rebecca Adler found herself in being giving yet another overall examination from a doctor she didn't know.

“Are you Dr. House?” Talking came a little easier after the steroids treatment, even if there was a small nagging part in the back of her mind that was truly worried over her care professionals not knowing what was wrong with her.

“Oh, no, I am not.” Was the soft spoken answer. “My name is Dr. Cuddy. But worry not, she is doing everything in her power to make sure you get out of here in one piece, ok? She’s the best at what she does.”

“Thank her for me. Please.”

There was something not quite right in her doctor’s smile. “Sure.”

And while the new doctor left her room, she swore she saw a flash of white hair and a blue skirt from the corner outside her room. Blurry windows paneles and closed blinds allowed for privacy, but also for seeing things where they should not be.

As soon as she blinked, the mirage was gone, and she could only keep eating while a warm feeling went across her chest.

Maybe a nap was in order.

   -

Said nap turned into sleeping almost the whole day away, something she didn't do since her thesis writing days.

She was gently woken up by a nurse, who took her vitals and introduced her to yet another doctor that was not Dr. House. This man with kind eyes and handsome face introduced himself as Dr. James Wilson, and began to ask some questions and do a whole basic check up on her. 

She was sleepy, a little bit drowsy, and her mind to mouth filter was a little loose. Her head felt a little bit stuffy, and while her rational mind knew she should be thankful of being treated by a team of very attentive doctors, there was a nagging part in her brain that desired to ask a very specific question. 

So she did.

“I am ever going to meet the ever elusive Dr. House?”

There was a small laugh. That didn't make Rebecca lose hope just yet.

“Well, you can run into her at the movies, in a hair salon every other thursday, outside a video game store, or in a Tiffany & Co. maybe once or twice a year.”

“Is she a good woman?’

“Well. She's a very good doctor.”

“Can you be one without the other? Don't you have to care about people?”

Dr. Wilson made a complicated face, and promptly evaded her eyes. It's like he was trying to come up with an answer.

“Caring is one motivator, maybe, just in a non-traditional way in her case.” He kept up with the check up, a little bit more concentrated than before. Like he was looking for something. “Can you feel this? What about this?”

Now, that felt a little bit like misdirection, but she kept complying with the test. Her chest was getting a little bit tighter anyway, like she couldn't get enough air. That didn’t stop her from asking more questions. 

“So! She's your friend, huh?”

There was indecisiveness there, but Dr. Wilson's answer was positive. 

“Does she care about you?”

“I hope so.”

“You don't know?”

“As Dr. House likes to say, everyone lies.”

Now, her chest was getting tighter, and her mind was getting a little more blurry than it should. Yet, she kept pushing.

“Is not what people say, but what they do.”

That seemed to make the man stop and think for a moment, eyes glazing over for a second or two, before blinking the memory away, and nodding a couple of times, pleased with this discovery.

“Yeah. She cares about me.”

The blurriness invaded both her mind and her eyes. There was almost no oxygen on her lungs. And with the last breath she could steal out of the restrictive force on her chest, a slurred “I can't see.” managed to go past her lips.

And at last, her mind went quiet. Nevermind that her monitors went off like hell.

And it was time to start all over again.

Now, Foreman thought of the conversation she had with his boss earlier that day, over how much she insisted that the girl was not cured, but rather, in a state that was only buying them time to keep looking for answers.

And how he kept refusing to look further.

Chase told him to not apologize, as that only will make House angrier, but rather, to be compliant until he was out of the doghouse.

Cameron told him she will be going with him to the girl's apartament to look for clues, as Chase tended to subdue her moody humour looking like a particularly pathetic dog.

Before they left to search Adler's apartament, House threw a single flower brooch at them, before kicking them out from her office. The piece of jewerly was thin, kinda long, and had a particularly sharp needle, something that would easily belong in a lockpicking kit.

And then, Foreman realized House wasn't exactly fucking with him when she told him she could no longer do her own dirty work, as the brooch was actually perfect for breaking in, and with a quick flick of the wrist, the door opened for Cameron and him.

“So. Who did this part when it was only Chase and you?”

“Technically Chase, but he always took too long, and got stressed fast when the lock didn't give up on the first try.” Cameron shed her coat, left it on the couch without a care in the world, and took a pair of gloves from her purse, like the whole thing was already familiar with her.

Which. You know. Was.

Foreman didn't take his coat, but accepted another pair of gloves to begin their search for anything vaguely suspicious around the kindergarten teacher's apartment.

The flower brooch was carefully pinned inside his coat, and he knew that if he dared to lose it in their breaking in, there would be hell to pay and heads to roll. Damn thing looked expensive too.

“Nothing interesting in the garbage.” Informed Foreman after they spent some time searching the house. “If the girl dies, I’m going to be both fired and dead.”

“She won’t fire you.” Was the easy answer she got while Cameron searched through the bathroom, like she was completely sure of it. “Chase and I had a hard time at first too. Well, I did. Chase I’m not sure. House treats him like a pet.”

“Yeah, the kind one puts on his purse and calls demeaning names in a baby voice.” 

“She actually doesn’t believe in the baby voice for children or pets. She thinks it only makes them stupider.”

“Of course she believes that, obviously.” And after a moment, he hissed. “Don’t know about ticks, but her dog’s definitely got fleas.”

“You know, she’s not so bad when she’s not hungry, hurting or bored.”

“That sounds like something in an abusive relationship would say.”

“We all kinda have Stockholm syndrome with her, it's part of the showbiz.”

“I’m not even going to dignify you with an answer to that.”

After a little while, Cameron came back into the kitchen, a little bit down due not having found anything of worth in the rest of the apartment, only to find Foreman eating food that certainly did not belong to him in any shape or capacity.

“I didn’t know you also stole bread to feed your starving family. You always take something to chew on the way out during your break ins?”

“No one is going to eat this, better me than getting it spoiled and smelling bad.”

“What a good samaritan you are.”

“You want a sandwich?”

“No.”

“Be my guest, go hungry until my funeral.”

“I won’t be doing that either.”

“You know what.” Fuck this, he was making an everything sandwich. “After centuries of slavery, decades of civil right marches, and most importantly, living like a nun, never getting less than a 4.0 GPA, I’m still going to end up strung up somewhere and beaten like a pinhata with the world’s less practical walking cane. After getting one of the top jobs in the country only because I have some criminal record and light hands. I’m making you a sandwich too, we’ll have my last supper, and then we’ll tear up the carpet.”

Finally, Cameron sat down.

“You went to Hopkins, right?”

“Her highness alma mater, yes.”

“So you went to a better school than I did, got better grades than I did…”

A laugh, then a bite. “So, how did you get the job? Stab a guy with a syringe?”

Cameron glared at an inexistent point in the room, brows furrowed trying to think of something to give as an answer that would be satisfying for both of them, yet, she came up with nothing to give and everything to think about, even after they both ate and were long gone from the place. 

That didn’t let her sleep the whole night.

Maybe she just got too excited over the prospect of working with her idol, that she never stopped to think if this was something she deserved.

The very next day, she was a little bit sleep deprived hearing Foreman and Wilson having a fight in the early morning. All five of them were in the diagnostics room, her boss looked like she had even less sleep than her, wearing the same skirt she did yesterday, only with a different button up shirt. A slightly loose baby blue work shirt tucked in the skirt with camel colored diabetic shoes. Her hair was up in a tight bun, and wore no other makeup other than some extremely caked, thick concealer under her weary icy blue eyes.

“She’s getting worse too fast. She can’t stand up anymore.” Even her voice sounded exhausted, the adrenaline of the hunt long worn out. “It’s not a tumor, a toxin nor a virus.”

Wilson looked like had about the same amount of sleep as her, yet, he looked as put together as always. Perfectly styled hair, ironed clothing,  hell, even ironed white coat. “No medications either?”

“Nothing that would explain these symptoms.” Foreman looked like hell warmed over, after his small breakdown the night before, the whole severity of the situation sobered him enough. 

Wilson’s glare felt a touch too heavy. “Any family history of neurological issues?”

And then, a pin could be heard being dropped into the room.

Dr. House side eyed him for a moment, before Foreman narrowed his eyes, catching that something was wrong with what they knew about the patient.

“Nothing that I could tell from her underwear drawer explains these symptoms.”

House’s eyes went from Wilson to Foreman.

“What did you find that doesn’t explain these symptoms?”

Cameron noticed she wasn’t wearing earrings today. She always says she felt like a man when she forgot to put some on.

Foreman rocked a little bit in his seat, before freezing for a moment, and zeroing his glare on Wilson, trying to mask his contempt with a smile.

“Dr. Wilson convinced you to treat this patient under false pretenses. Adler is not his cousin.”

It seemed that if he was going to go down under, he was taking the man responsible for his downfall with him.

Wilson’s eyes widened for a moment, and looked at House with an expression akin to guilt and surprise. House was side eyeing the other man without saying a word.

“This is ridiculous, you can ask her yourself.” Sure, because the patient was responsive. Cameron and Chase looked at each other for a quick moment, eyes communicating for a moment.

Dr. House hated lies when she was not the one telling them.

“She’s not even jewish.” Reamed Foreman, dropping the smile.

“Is Rachel Adler not jewish?”

“Cameron and I had ham at her apartment.”

Now is time for Cameron to fully glare at the man. Snitch.

“Dr. Foreman, a lot of jews have gentile relatives. That means non-Jewish. And most of us don’t keep kosher anyway.” Now, the glare was full back on. Neither men noticed that Dr. House’s glance was lost, slightly glassy, looking at something that doesn't quite exist in the room. “I cannot believe they didn’t teach anything regarding how to not be an antisemite in medical school. I thought they taught basic ethics, or something.”

“Anti Semite?!” Foreman looked three seconds away from popping a vein. And then a bitter, mean laugh left his mouth. Cameron thought it kinda sounded like the same kind of mean as her boss. “Maybe she’s jewish, who knows, but she’s definitely not your cousin.”

“Seriously?”

“You don’t even know her name! You called her Rachel, her name is Rebecca.” Good, good, they all caught him the moment he slipped in his lie. Foreman is going to have a friend in the whole, strung up and beaten group if the girl dies.

“Yes, of course. Her name is Rebecca… I call her Rachel.” Wilson had the gall to look like butter won’t melt in his mouth, not an ounce of stuttering, or struggling, just bare face lying with the tiniest of the smirks on his face. At this point, even Chaser was laughing.

Lucky fucker, had nothing to fear as Dr. House 's purse pet.

Their petty squabble was interrupted as their boss raised her voice, finally coming back to earth. “You idiot!”

“Listen, House-”

“Not you, him!” Now, the weight of her glare is full on Foreman. “You said you didn’t find anything.”

“Everything I found was-”

“You found ham.” At Foreman’s confused face, she rolled her eyes. “Where there’s ham, there’s pork. Where there’s pork, there’s neurocysticercosis. 

And for the first time all morning, Chase spoke.

“Tapeworm? You think there is a worm wiggling in her brain?”

“It fits.” She began to pace, her cane resting on the wall while she did small steps. “It never occurred to me.” Then, she extended her hand. “Give me my brooch, now that I remember. I found that thing in an antique store and I’m never getting another if you lose it.” 

Foreman got the brooch out of his coat, stood up, gave it to her, and went back to his seat, Wilson’s eyes never leaving the small exchange. She stuck the brooch on her hair as her only accessory of the day, and kept talking. “ It never occurred to me.”

“Millions of people eat ham everyday. It’s quite a leap to think that she’s got a tapeworm.” Cameron couldn’t keep quiet. She was already pissy due not sleeping and the added stress of the case. She usually never questioned her idol, but this felt too much of a reach even for her. 

“Fine. Dr. Dre, what happens when you give steroids to a person who was a tapeworm?”

“... They tend to stabilize, show signs of betterment… and then they take a plunge for the worst.”

And then, Wilson and House shared a quick glance.

“Just like Rebecca Adler did.”

House grabbed her cane, limped towards one of her many books stored without rhyme or reason, grabbed one, seemingly, without even checking its spine, and opened it around the middle, moving a couple of pages until she found what she was looking for. And then and only then, she threw the open book on the table.

“In a common case, if you don’t cook pork well enough, or if the meat is contaminated, you digest live tapeworm larvae, they thrive, they feast on you, they reproduce, etc.” She kept pacing, the only sound she made walking was the thump, thump , of her cane against the floor. No one wanted to be on the short end of her temper after two massive screw ups, so they let her explain outloud the cycle of said larvae. 

Cameron thought she was a good teacher, when she wanted to be. The way she explained things was both soothing and interesting.

The spell was broken by Wilson.

Foreman glared as the man came in and not only disturbed a moment where she seemed almost calm explaining the whole thing, but also shutting down the theory.

“I can prove it by curing her.”

“No, you can’t. I was just with her. She doesn’t want more treatment, experiments, nothing. She wants either to go home in peace and die or get into palliative care.”

Everybody froze. Before pure miasma permeated the room.

Cameron felt her soul leave her body, Foreman actually stared off into the distance, something resigned and tired him after many hours of not sleeping, and Chase looked like three seconds away to start praying, even if it meant House’s ridicule.

Their boss and Wilson looked at each other for a moment, before House had to look away.

They were grieving someone who was not yet dead.

-

Rebecca was grieving a life she could not spend. Her mind was still fuzzy, but her eyes became clearer. The shutdown of her eyesight was not permanent, but the tiredness that permeated all her organs and meat stayed. She was exhausted. 

Her eyes closed briefly and considered going back laying down, until she heard a quite familiar sound.

For a moment, Rebecca thought it was her beating heart, stuck in her throat, ticking down until her last moment, but that particular thumping sound was far louder than what she could produce stuck on her own misery.

The glass door to her room opened, and the woman she had been seeing between flashes and blinks was in front of her.

Feathery white hair was held together in a loose low ponytail, wore slightly oversized clothing for her too thin frame, and wore no makeup other than some really thick and tacky concealer, the kind she made fun of older teachers with her friend. 

Her blouse was open a little too low, showing cleavage, a thin silver chain necklace peeking out the button up shirt. The long jean skirt lacked a belt, making the thing ride a bit lower than it was supposed to, brushing sensible and comfortable shoes that would belong to an elderly teacher.

Too thin and too tall, Rebecca has to crack her neck a little bit to see her eyes. Icy and blue, the lighting made them look a shade of silver that made her think she was daydreaming.

“Could you excuse us? Please.” Her voice held a lovely tilt, a little bit on the lower side. 

The nurse tending to her stared at the newcomer like she was seeing a ghost, but nodded once, nodded twice, and made a swift exit out of there, and Rebecca could not help to think it was a little bit like she was running away.

“I’m Dr. House. But you already seemed to know this.”

“It’s good to meet you.” She was right. Even with the haze on her mind it didn’t take long for anyone to figure it out. 

There was a tense silence that lasted a touch too long for either of them.

“You are being too… hasty.”

“Hasty?”

“You have a tapeworm in your brain. Something too laughable to treat, yet you are refusing any kind of care. If you keep this up you will be dead by the weekend. Maybe buried in monday. Isn’t that a little bit hasty to you?”

“Have you actually seen the worm?”

Now that Rebecca was focusing properly on Dr. House, her other only accessory other than the necklace, was a single silver brooch on the right side of her head. Looked kind of vintage.

“Do you want to live?”

They both stayed quiet for a moment.

“You are avoiding my question. Just as you were so sure I had vasculitis too. Now I can’t walk, I’m wearing a diaper and my mind is all over the place. You say I will live with this treatment but they also said the same thing about steroids.”

“That’s the thing.” She said, pointedly avoiding her earlier question. “This is not a treatment, this is a cure. But only on the off chance that I may be wrong, you suddenly want to kill yourself.”

There was another pause. The air was thick with tension.

And her scrambled brain asked something she was curious about since she saw the cane through the blinds.

“What made you a cripple?”

“What, you don’t trust a doctor that could not cure herself?”

“It’s not that, really.”

And for a moment, she thought the woman was going to bulldoze right out of that question just like she did with the other one. Yet, to her pleasant surprise, Dr. House actually began to talk about her wound.

“I had an infarction.” A pause. “Muscle death. Something that happens when blood flow is obstructed, and it can’t go through. No blood, no life. If it’s in the heart, it is a heart attack.” She was speaking in a calm, almost monotone voice, pausing where she had to and simplifying things in a way that made her understood yet not quite patronizing. Rebecca thought she would be a good teacher. “If it’s in the lungs, it’s called pulmonary embolism. If it’s in the brain it’s a stroke. I had it in a thigh muscle.” 

So it was something sudden, like an act of god. No previous symptoms. Only a sudden stop. 

“Wasn’t there something they could do?”

There was a small, bitter laugh coming from her too dry lips.

“Oh, there was plenty to be done, if they had made the right diagnosis in time. Most cases, male doctors see a woman in pain and think she is either exaggerating it due attention seeking behavior or is seeking drugs if you have the luck to be anything but white.” A shrug, like she was still giving classes. “And my only symptom was pain.”

“Did you think you were dying?”

“I was praying to my husband’s god that I was.”

That made her… somewhat bitter.

“So you hide in your office, refuse to see patients in pain? Repeating what was done to you? You were cheated out by life so you are getting it even with the world?”

She needed a reaction, anything.

“And yet you want me to fight this until the bitter end. Why? What did you see that made you have a stake in this? It’s because we both were struck down with no warning, no signal?”

“When you are scared.” The other woman began, looking at her straight into her eyes, searching for something Rebecca was not even sure she could give. “You turn into the dog that cannibalizes itself out of fear.”

“So. You.”

A shrug. still no further reaction. She felt like screaming.

“I just wanna die with whatever little dignity I have left.”

Then. 

Rage.

“There is no such a thing. It doesn’t exist.”

Rebecca finally found what she was looking for, but for the oddest of reasons, as she technically insulted the woman and only got angry when she expressed fear and desire, like it personally offended her.

“Death it’s just it. It has no honor, no dignity. It’s a messy affair, our bodies break down and our mind shuts down. There is no procedure to make it palatable, or somehow worthy. There is no way to clean the morality of it because it doesn’t exist. It doesn’t matter if you die struggling full of fear or if you die doped out of your own fucking mind.” By this point, she got close enough to the bed that she had to move her neck up, up, and up to see her face. 

Dr. House bowed a considerable amount to have something akin to eye to eye with her. Yet, Rebecca had no fear left in her.

She looked more hurt than angry this close.

“We can live with dignity. Use a moral code. Exist as a clean person. But you cannot die with any of those things.

They stared eye to eye. Rebecca felt like something inside her was being torn apart by her heavy glare, and yet, she found strength within herself to match it, as she will not bow down. Dr. House was right, you can live with dignity.

-

The fellows were pacing nervously kind of far away from where their patient’s room was located, Wilson held an unfathomable amount of hope for House to talk (or, smack) some sense into the girl, anything to keep going with treatment, yet, when they saw her arrive with weary steps, loud thumping of the cane, and rage filled eyes, they realized she had no such luck.

Only Wilson noticed she looked vaguely hurt.

“No treatment. And about to file for a DNR.”

“Maybe we can get a court order. Say she is not in her right mind to make these kind of decisions.”

“She is.” She said with an easy shrug and a tilted mouth, shutting down Foreman.

“But, we can claim that she does. This kind of illness can cause that.”

“That was not the case here.” And they could not figure out why she was so renuent to keep going.

Until Wilson came with the answer, looking as tired and disappointed as all of them.

“Stop pushing, she’s not going to do it. This is not just a file anymore, Rebecca Adler, somehow, gained the respect of the great Georgina House.”

“Say it again without the bitter venom.” Was snapped back with the same kind of fire. And then House just deflated, somehow. “Case is solved, let's just get home.”

“Wait. Did she tell you why she refused treatment?” Chase was grasping at the last straws, refusing to admit defeat. 

“She wanted proof. Some kind of proof. Like we are not doctors but prophets.” She was already turning around, her quiet steps contradicting the loud sound of her cane.

“Then we give her proof!” 

And as Chase went on his tirade over how they could provide the proof they needed to get her back on truack on her treatment, or as House said, the cure for her ills.

That actually got Chase a rare, non forced smile, silver eyes glittering with a newfound hope. She even went as far as telling him his idea was just perfect for what they needed, a fact that left Chase all red on the face and Cameron looking at him like she was going to personally punch him in the stomach.

And they sure found the worms.

House didn’t go back to talk with Rebecca, so Chase was the chosen one to give her the final cure and the good news, while House got both Foreman and Cameron the same kind of pills Adler wa given, after all, they made the stupid mistake of eating the same food of someone ill as hell.

After she finished chewing them out, Foreman, the coward, ran away with the metaphorical tail between his legs, and House went to the cafeteria for a drink. Cameron remained in the office, deep in thought, wishing she was the one who said something about the ham, even if it got Foreman pretty scolded, wishing she was the one who offered the solution to the faith problem, burning a hole in Chase’s back when he got the praise.

And she realized she wasn’t particularly sure why she was there.

Sometime passed with her deep in thought, when the steady thump, thump, thump, of the world’s most obnoxious beating heart came through the glass door, empty coffee cup in hand and weary eyes zeroing on her.

“A glutton for punishment?” Her boss asked, huffing.

“Why did you hire me?”

“What’s with everyone blowing off my damn questions today. Like, seriously, no one has any respect for their elders anymore.”

“You don’t look a day over forty."

A single, raised eyebrow half covered by a white piece of hair that fell from her disastrous bun was the only answer she got for that.

“Anyhow, why does it matter? You are here. That 's it. Count your blessings or whatever.”

“That cannot be just it.”

“Just give me my purse, I’m getting the hell out of here before Cuddy tries to rope me into more clinic hours.”

She side eyed the wine colored purse. Kinda big thing. No outward brand and some of the leather was chipping and cracking.

Cameron took the purse and put it on her legs, shielding it with her arms.

“Just tell me why you hired me.”

“Seriously? Did I hire a 15 year old?”

“Kinda hard to work for a woman who doesn’t respect you.”

Now House looked vaguely tired. She put her glare on her purse for a moment, before rolling her eyes and limping towards the conference room. Cameron got up, kinda heavy purse and all, and followed her.

“It matters that much what I think? Really? I’m a bitch, a heartless beast, a jezebel sent here with the sole purpose of…” She made some kind of vague hand gesture. “I don’t know, annoy mankind into extinction. The only thing that matters is what you think. At the end of the day, that is the only thing that is yours.”

“... Are you talking nonsense again? And avoiding the answer.”

“Can you do the job?”

“You hired a black guy because he had a juvenile record.”

“Also because I needed some eye candy around. Honestly, orthopedist surgeons just don’t cut it anymore. And I hired Chase because his sad, wet and pitiful look moved my inner cougar.”

“... What?”

“Also his dad made a phone call.”

“So you hired those extremely prepared men to… what? Ogle at them?”

“I also hired you because you are extremely pretty.”

Cameron was too stunned to speak.

One has to be blind to not notice how beautiful her boss was. Feathery hair falling down to her shoulders and her barely attempted bun fell down due her gait, an angular face with thin pink lips, and sunken eyes that held pools of mercury. Her height only added on the whole traditionally European beauty she had going on, and no matter how many grandma jokes the nurses made on the daily, she actually looked her age, only a little bit weathered down due the stress of the job.

“You think I’m pretty?” Was the only thing she could blurt, holding her purse close to her chest.

“Of course that’s the thing you focus on.”

Wait.

“You hired us only because we look nice?”

“That’s also not what I said. But you sure are the crowning jewel of the whole art exhibition.”

“I-” She could barely speak. Cameron was sure if the purse was some living animal, it would be squeaking out of how hard she was hugging it. “I was at the top of my class.”

“Still not the top.”

“I did an internship at the Mayo Clinic!”

“I never said you weren’t a good applicant.”

“But not the best.”

“Would that upset you that much? To be hired on the basis of being the finishing touch of the crown that this department is? Of some genetic gift of beauty rather than the genetic gift of intelligence? I mean, hell, look at Chase, he has nothing but tears and cock sucking lips going on for him.”

“That- That’s really rude.”

“Then give me my purse and this conversation can be over.”

“I worked really hard to get where I am.”

“That’s the thing. You didn’t have to.” Her boss sat down and fished the loose tie band from the end part of her hair, setting it loose and gently massaging her scalp. “People choose paths that gain them the greatest rewards with the least amount of effort. That’s not even laziness, it’s something both practical and law of nature. Yet you defied it. You could have married some rich man, swindled his money and live every morning the suburban dream with mexican servants, going to pilates every morning and fake giggling with all the other trophy wives. Yet here you are. Working your stunning ass off.

“I am supposed to be flattered that I did not become some suburbian bimbo?”

“Gorgeous women don’t go through the modern hell that is med school. Unless there is something genuinely, terrifyingly, wrong with them.”

“So why did you become a doctor then?”

A laugh. It sounded a little less like nails on a board and more like the chime of a grave bell.

“Because there is something wrong with me. Simple as that. Now. I know what’s wrong with me. But what about you? Were you abused by a family member?”

“No.”

“Your husband left you? Were you in a cult or something?”

“No.”

“Sexually assaulted?”

“No!”

“But you are as damaged as you are beautiful. And I cannot wait to find out what it is.”

Cameron felt a little dizzy. She wanted to keep arguing. She wanted her to keep singing praises to her beauty. She wanted, and wanted, and wanted, and she was sure she was about to break her boss’ purse, until a gentle chime of her pager sent her back to earth, away from her inquisitive icy eyes.

“... I have to go.”

“Good riddance- Hey, Hey! My purse, damn it.”

-

“I had to make sure… I had her followed… I couldn’t stop thinking about what that… bitch said.”

Lisa Cuddy has never heard someone say bitch with as much contempt as this donor was spitting it. She knew that Gigi usually had a big mouth and a very loose self control with her observations when pissed off, but even she couldn’t wrap her head around how she figured out whatever mess this was.

“I told you to not listen to her. She’s fast and loose with her unsolicited commentary.”

“I was orange! And she called me Elmo’s lightskin cousin and then told me that my wife was unfaithful!”

After a deep sigh, Cuddy put on her best smile, no matter how straining it looked for someone else.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I am your doctor, and wherever or not your wife is having an affair is beyond my professional scope. If you are hoping for me to fire her the answer is that I can’t. Even if it cost me your money. Because this bitch is the best doctor we have. Probably the best in all the state of New Jersey. We fire her and Hopkins will grab her as quickly as the next day.”

The man said nothing, but was looking down on his ring finger, softly caressing it.

And Cuddy finally noticed how he wasn’t wearing a ring anymore.

She always loved when House was right, but sometimes she hated when she was.

-

Two grown doctors were holed up in a break room, watching a tiny Casio Tv. The taller one was looking at the soap opera showing on the tiny tv, while the other one was stealing glances at her through the corner of his eye.

“You said she was your cousin.” House said, not even bothering to look at the man next to her. “Why would you lie?”

“It got you to take the case.” Wilson didn’t take his eyes away from her, even if she was very pointedly not looking at him.

“You lied to your wife to save a complete stranger. Don’t you think that’s grounds fo divorce?”

Wilson let out a huff distinguished as a laugh. House lied for fun, to see what would happen, to analyze, to consume and because she was bored. She treated lying like an art and she was the best performer of it. “Like you have never lied to me?”

“What are you talking about?” The only reason Wilson got to hear her voice do a lovely laugh was because there was no one else in the room. “I never lie.” And that could be almost called a whine, if it came out as serious as giving out a diagnosis.

And that made Wilson break and let his smile overtake his face. “Right, of course.”

A roll of eyes and a slight nudge with her leg. “Give me one of my candies. Cameron ran away with my purse.”

Wilson was already searching in his lab coat for his wife’s meds, but he furrowed his brow when he heard that.

“Just, ran away with it?”

“She wanted to have a conversation.”

“Woe is you, truly.”

“She got spooked by herself. I told nothing but the truth. That it wasn't anything she remotely wanted to hear is a completely different matter.” 

He opened the small bottle of back up pills he kept in his coat exactly for this kind of situation, gave her two and popped back the lid, watching her warily as she swallowed them dry.

“You so rarely say what people want to hear.”

“Shit luck for them.”

They kept watching TV.