Bestest Buddy 21: Diagnosis
“We pro'ly shouldn't be listening,” David whispered to Sammy. “It's spying. My dads really don't like that.”
They were sitting side-by-side at the top of the staircase that led down to the Chu's basement.
“Don't care. I need to hear.” Sam leaned as close to the cracked-open door as possible. “My dad's really gonna punish me this time, I think.” He started to cry, keeping his hands clamped over his mouth to muffle the sound.
David put an arm around his friend and patted his shoulder awkwardly. He thought about what Sammy feared for a moment. If he'd gotten himself hooked on drugs, probably Wilson would hug him a whole lot. And maybe he'd cry a little bit too. Daddy would figure out how to get him back to normal, and probably would hug him, too. They'd never punish him. “Sam, I don't think my dad and Wilson will let that happen. Don't worry; they'll straighten things out.”
Sam sniffed sadly. “They have to go home, sometime,” he whispered.
The door suddenly pushed inward and hit Sammy broadside.
“...and now you eavesdrop as well?” Tom asked, his face sterner than Sammy had ever seen it.
Sammy hung his head. “I'm sorry, D-dad.”
“Come back to the living room.” Tom turned and stalked away.
The boys reluctantly stumbled their way back to where the adults were waiting.
Wilson noted that Sammy had been crying. He instinctively drew the little boy to sit next to him. “It's gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he said gently. “We're gonna take care of you. You'll be okay.”
At first, David was surprised when he felt a slight twinge of jealousy. Wilson was HIS, and HE was Wilson's sweetheart. But then, he felt he could be magnanimous in this case. It was his bestest buddy, after all. 'Good old Wilson,' David thought to himself then. Saying on everyone's behalf that they would take care of him, that Sammy would be okay, might make Sam's dad be nicer to him.
House, who was sitting on Sammy's other side, gave the boy a gentle pat on the back.
Wilson flashed an affectionate smile at his partner.
Their attempts were pointless, though. Sammy was immediately called to front-and-center by his father.
“Why is my son on drugs?” Tom demanded.
Sammy hung his head. “I don't know.” He began to cry again.
Wilson was incensed. And he knew he had to intervene before House unleashed his anger on Tom. He glanced at his partner, and saw not anger, but intense curiosity as the man observed Sammy. When he leaned forward to speak again, House poked him in the foot with his cane. Wilson looked up to see House shaking his head very slightly.
“Sammy, I understand why a boy would like to eat chocolate and drink sodas,” Tom stated. “But you must help me to understand why you would eat bitter instant coffee.” None too gently, he held his son by the shoulders and glared. “Why? What were you thinking?”
“I don't know, Daddy!” Sammy was sobbing now. “I don't know!” He pressed his little fists to his forehead.
“Tom, this isn't getting anywhere,” Liz interrupted. “You're just scaring him.”
House leaned back on the sofa with a nearly imperceptible, satisfied smile. Wilson was probably the only person in the room who understood the body language.
“What? Wilson asked simply.”
House ignored his partner. “Sammy, does your head hurt again?”
Sam started to rub the rights side of his his forehead with the heels of his hand. By now, he was crying hard, and not really able to respond to anything. House picked up the little vial that sat on the coffee table. “It's way too soon for another withdrawal headache...come here, Sammy.”
“House!” Wilson tried to take the vial, but House was too quick for him. He really didn't try all that hard to get the coffee, not after he practically saw the diagnostic wheels turning.
“Are you crazy?” Liz shouted. “Are you planning to give him more caffeine?”
House nodded. “Yeah, and you'll be very, VERY sorry if you stop me.”
Tom stood and stalked across the room, placing himself between Sammy and House. “You will NOT give my son more caffeine! I won't allow it!”
House gave Tom his most infuriating, supercilious smile. “Oh, but you SHOULD.” He shook the little bottle of coffee crystals, very much the same way he used to shake his Vicodin bottles before he'd managed to tone down his own habit. “...because you're gonna owe your kid a minibike, a year-long birthday party, aaaand possibly a puppy if you get this wrong.”
House's confidence, his reputation as a diagnostician made Tom stop in his tracks.
The room went palpably quiet.
“What do you mean, House?” Liz asked him.
House stood, and took Sammy by the shoulder. He led the child back to the coffee table and sat him down. “Funny thing about this case,” House began, “Is just what you were asking a minute ago, Tom.” He opened the child-proof bottle. “What makes a kid want caffeine so badly that he would turn from Ho-hos and Ding-dongs (House couldn't resist exaggerating the sounds for those words) to bitter, dry, coffee crystals?” He handed the open vial to Sammy.
Sammy was wincing from his pain by now. He looked at his father, then down at his shoes. “I better not.”
House wrapped his hand around Sammy's. “It's okay for right now, Sam. You need to make the pain go away.”
“Isn't this just making everything worse?” asked Liz.
“Well, yes AND no,” House replied. He addressed Sam again. “Bottom's up, Sammy. I need you to be able to think clearly right now. Pain and thinking don't go together very well.”
Sammy looked at his dad again. Tom sighed, and sat down next to his wife again. “Okay,” he finally agreed.
Sammy tipped the last of the coffee onto the back of his tongue and closed his mouth. The weird little grimace he showed them was no less creepy than it had been the first time House saw it. Both of Sammy's parents gasped. Liz actually covered her mouth with her right hand.
House continued. “The answer to your question, Liz, is yes - because Sam's developed a sensitivity to caffeine that makes him get all ennergetick and go bonkers.” He winked at David. “Even more so than most normal kids. Then he gets caffeine withdrawal headaches, because he also happens to be addicted to it.
“But also NO, because Sam also has migraines.” House pulled his penlight out of a pocket and looked at Sam's eyes. He felt the boy's carotid pulse. “Heart running a bit fast... Blood pressure is probably high... breathing increasing. And what we can't measure without some pretty cool machines at the hospital, is that the arteries in his head are beginning to constrict, which often stops certain migraines in their tracks. This is why your son needs the caffeine. He accidentally figured out that caffeine works as a migraine remedy for some people.”
“Migraines? Sammy has migraines?” Liz asked incredulously. She came to the end of the coffee table and knelt, facing her son's side. “Honey, you have migraines?”
“I don't know what that is,” Sammy confessed sadly.
Wilson explained for him. “It's a kind of headache. Much worse than a regular headache. It can last a long time, and sometimes people see auras - light rings - around everything they look at just before the headache comes. And it usually hurts only on either the left or right side; not both. Some people even throw up when the pain is at it's worst.”
“Honey, why didn't you tell us you had migraines?” Liz asked as she gently stroked her son's spiky hair.
“...but I did,” Sammy whined. Whining was even less attractive from a child with a voice that was nearly as deep as Wilson's. “If I said I had a headache to you, you'd give me Tylenol. But they didn't work all the time, and...and...” He glanced around at his father, who looked stunned.
“What, Sammy?” Wilson asked. “We need to know the whole story.”
Sammy looked at his dad, fearfully. He turned around to face House and Wilson so that he wouldn't have to see the anger and disappointment on Tom's face. “Daddy...says.... Daddy says that kids don't have headaches,” the boy whispered. “He doesn't believe me. He thinks I'm just fooling around.”
Liz sighed and looked at her husband. She'd never seen Tom look so guilty.
“I...he never takes anything seriously,” Tom said. “How am I to know when he is serious, and when he isn't?”
Liz's face darkened. “You'd better hope that he hasn't suffered any permanent damage,” she said simply. “Physically OR emotionally.” She pulled her little boy into her arms and just held him. Sammy started to sob again. Finally, finally his mom was totally on his side. And he had House, and Wilson, and his bestest buddy, too.
They were sitting side-by-side at the top of the staircase that led down to the Chu's basement.
“Don't care. I need to hear.” Sam leaned as close to the cracked-open door as possible. “My dad's really gonna punish me this time, I think.” He started to cry, keeping his hands clamped over his mouth to muffle the sound.
David put an arm around his friend and patted his shoulder awkwardly. He thought about what Sammy feared for a moment. If he'd gotten himself hooked on drugs, probably Wilson would hug him a whole lot. And maybe he'd cry a little bit too. Daddy would figure out how to get him back to normal, and probably would hug him, too. They'd never punish him. “Sam, I don't think my dad and Wilson will let that happen. Don't worry; they'll straighten things out.”
Sam sniffed sadly. “They have to go home, sometime,” he whispered.
The door suddenly pushed inward and hit Sammy broadside.
“...and now you eavesdrop as well?” Tom asked, his face sterner than Sammy had ever seen it.
Sammy hung his head. “I'm sorry, D-dad.”
“Come back to the living room.” Tom turned and stalked away.
The boys reluctantly stumbled their way back to where the adults were waiting.
Wilson noted that Sammy had been crying. He instinctively drew the little boy to sit next to him. “It's gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he said gently. “We're gonna take care of you. You'll be okay.”
At first, David was surprised when he felt a slight twinge of jealousy. Wilson was HIS, and HE was Wilson's sweetheart. But then, he felt he could be magnanimous in this case. It was his bestest buddy, after all. 'Good old Wilson,' David thought to himself then. Saying on everyone's behalf that they would take care of him, that Sammy would be okay, might make Sam's dad be nicer to him.
House, who was sitting on Sammy's other side, gave the boy a gentle pat on the back.
Wilson flashed an affectionate smile at his partner.
Their attempts were pointless, though. Sammy was immediately called to front-and-center by his father.
“Why is my son on drugs?” Tom demanded.
Sammy hung his head. “I don't know.” He began to cry again.
Wilson was incensed. And he knew he had to intervene before House unleashed his anger on Tom. He glanced at his partner, and saw not anger, but intense curiosity as the man observed Sammy. When he leaned forward to speak again, House poked him in the foot with his cane. Wilson looked up to see House shaking his head very slightly.
“Sammy, I understand why a boy would like to eat chocolate and drink sodas,” Tom stated. “But you must help me to understand why you would eat bitter instant coffee.” None too gently, he held his son by the shoulders and glared. “Why? What were you thinking?”
“I don't know, Daddy!” Sammy was sobbing now. “I don't know!” He pressed his little fists to his forehead.
“Tom, this isn't getting anywhere,” Liz interrupted. “You're just scaring him.”
House leaned back on the sofa with a nearly imperceptible, satisfied smile. Wilson was probably the only person in the room who understood the body language.
“What? Wilson asked simply.”
House ignored his partner. “Sammy, does your head hurt again?”
Sam started to rub the rights side of his his forehead with the heels of his hand. By now, he was crying hard, and not really able to respond to anything. House picked up the little vial that sat on the coffee table. “It's way too soon for another withdrawal headache...come here, Sammy.”
“House!” Wilson tried to take the vial, but House was too quick for him. He really didn't try all that hard to get the coffee, not after he practically saw the diagnostic wheels turning.
“Are you crazy?” Liz shouted. “Are you planning to give him more caffeine?”
House nodded. “Yeah, and you'll be very, VERY sorry if you stop me.”
Tom stood and stalked across the room, placing himself between Sammy and House. “You will NOT give my son more caffeine! I won't allow it!”
House gave Tom his most infuriating, supercilious smile. “Oh, but you SHOULD.” He shook the little bottle of coffee crystals, very much the same way he used to shake his Vicodin bottles before he'd managed to tone down his own habit. “...because you're gonna owe your kid a minibike, a year-long birthday party, aaaand possibly a puppy if you get this wrong.”
House's confidence, his reputation as a diagnostician made Tom stop in his tracks.
The room went palpably quiet.
“What do you mean, House?” Liz asked him.
House stood, and took Sammy by the shoulder. He led the child back to the coffee table and sat him down. “Funny thing about this case,” House began, “Is just what you were asking a minute ago, Tom.” He opened the child-proof bottle. “What makes a kid want caffeine so badly that he would turn from Ho-hos and Ding-dongs (House couldn't resist exaggerating the sounds for those words) to bitter, dry, coffee crystals?” He handed the open vial to Sammy.
Sammy was wincing from his pain by now. He looked at his father, then down at his shoes. “I better not.”
House wrapped his hand around Sammy's. “It's okay for right now, Sam. You need to make the pain go away.”
“Isn't this just making everything worse?” asked Liz.
“Well, yes AND no,” House replied. He addressed Sam again. “Bottom's up, Sammy. I need you to be able to think clearly right now. Pain and thinking don't go together very well.”
Sammy looked at his dad again. Tom sighed, and sat down next to his wife again. “Okay,” he finally agreed.
Sammy tipped the last of the coffee onto the back of his tongue and closed his mouth. The weird little grimace he showed them was no less creepy than it had been the first time House saw it. Both of Sammy's parents gasped. Liz actually covered her mouth with her right hand.
House continued. “The answer to your question, Liz, is yes - because Sam's developed a sensitivity to caffeine that makes him get all ennergetick and go bonkers.” He winked at David. “Even more so than most normal kids. Then he gets caffeine withdrawal headaches, because he also happens to be addicted to it.
“But also NO, because Sam also has migraines.” House pulled his penlight out of a pocket and looked at Sam's eyes. He felt the boy's carotid pulse. “Heart running a bit fast... Blood pressure is probably high... breathing increasing. And what we can't measure without some pretty cool machines at the hospital, is that the arteries in his head are beginning to constrict, which often stops certain migraines in their tracks. This is why your son needs the caffeine. He accidentally figured out that caffeine works as a migraine remedy for some people.”
“Migraines? Sammy has migraines?” Liz asked incredulously. She came to the end of the coffee table and knelt, facing her son's side. “Honey, you have migraines?”
“I don't know what that is,” Sammy confessed sadly.
Wilson explained for him. “It's a kind of headache. Much worse than a regular headache. It can last a long time, and sometimes people see auras - light rings - around everything they look at just before the headache comes. And it usually hurts only on either the left or right side; not both. Some people even throw up when the pain is at it's worst.”
“Honey, why didn't you tell us you had migraines?” Liz asked as she gently stroked her son's spiky hair.
“...but I did,” Sammy whined. Whining was even less attractive from a child with a voice that was nearly as deep as Wilson's. “If I said I had a headache to you, you'd give me Tylenol. But they didn't work all the time, and...and...” He glanced around at his father, who looked stunned.
“What, Sammy?” Wilson asked. “We need to know the whole story.”
Sammy looked at his dad, fearfully. He turned around to face House and Wilson so that he wouldn't have to see the anger and disappointment on Tom's face. “Daddy...says.... Daddy says that kids don't have headaches,” the boy whispered. “He doesn't believe me. He thinks I'm just fooling around.”
Liz sighed and looked at her husband. She'd never seen Tom look so guilty.
“I...he never takes anything seriously,” Tom said. “How am I to know when he is serious, and when he isn't?”
Liz's face darkened. “You'd better hope that he hasn't suffered any permanent damage,” she said simply. “Physically OR emotionally.” She pulled her little boy into her arms and just held him. Sammy started to sob again. Finally, finally his mom was totally on his side. And he had House, and Wilson, and his bestest buddy, too.