[CLOSED TO HOUSE] Gut feelings

[chasemd]

Chase remained standing when Cameron, Foreman and Amber finally left the room, pathology bound. His eyes were still locked on the whiteboard like was trying to eyeball a hole through it. The end of his pen was a shadow of it's former self from all the teeth marks in it, but he soon threw it down in frustration and looked back to House. "I know, I

Comments

[c18_h21_no3]

House limped a few steps to stand next to Chase, scratching his forehead with a thumb as he too fixed his eyes on the marked up whiteboard. "We'll find out what really is there in two hours." He sighed. He wasn't going scold him for not leaving and send Chase to do pathology work. He knew Cameron, Foreman, and Amber were more than capable, he just never liked admitting it. House was willing bet this was a sight to see. Both he and Chase probably looked like they've been through a few rounds with Mike Tyson at this point. House sure as hell felt like it.

"Or not," he threw out, turning away from the board to take a seat, nipping at the inside of his lip. This was... House didn't know what the hell to call it. It warranted two Vicodin, though, he thought as he reached into his pocket, that was for damn sure.

[chasemd]

"Or not," Chase just agreed. He watched House with the pills, tempted to ask for a hit himself. Not that he would, but it was nice to dream. A joint would have gone down well, too. He stared at House's writing on the board then and started drumming his fingers on the edge of the desk, which lasted all of thirty seconds because he started irritating himself with the noise. "The symptoms. It could be any of these. Like Foreman said, if you squint. It's just not as cut and dry as the med text books would say. That rash is doing my head in. It's not bloody Eczema, because the bloke was stunned to see it when it manifested..."

He exhaled heavily. "Too similar," he mumbled to himself more than to House, frowning back at the whiteboard again. His face was going to end up stuck like this.

[c18_h21_no3]

"Nothing is ever as cut and dry as the text books say," House pointed out, popping two pills into his mouth. "You know that. Could be... anything. Could be heat rash from the hospital gown with the way he was sweating."

He put his head in his hands, shutting his eyes as if keeping himself in such a position would give him any form of rest. He knew it wouldn't. Sitting here with Chase was almost surreal. House preferred to think alone. Question was, did he really have anything to think about anymore? What if he was wrong? What if all of the tests were negative? Do they risk another biopsy? Was Rob going to even last the next 64 hours? He frowned, turning his head toward Chase. "This wouldn't have happened if we didn't think it was just one disease."

[chasemd]

Chase nodded. "I know," he mumbled. "And that shits me to no end. There were hints it was something different, but not enough. We can't do anything about it, though. What else were we supposed to think? It was an epidemic. We did what we could." He pointed to the whiteboard in annoyance at himself. "Just look at the list. Look at how similar all the symptoms are. It's like they were working together to mock us, mock each other. Like damn kids in a school yard 'My symptoms are worse than yours', even though they're identical. How he is right now, it could have been Dengue if we hadn't found that clot."