Somebody's Going to Emergency, Chapter 2: "You Don't Always Get What You Want"

When Cameron entered the room, she stopped dead.

Sitting on the examination table before her was a man who simply exuded power. Even at seventy-four, his hair gone completely silver and his bifocals thicker than an old Coke bottle, Jed Bartlet still appeared a force to be reckoned with. And she knew that he was exactly that – just six months prior, he had flown to Paris as a last ditch measure to keep France, Germany, and Israel from going full force into Iran. Not only had he succeeded in convincing them to give negotiations a chance, he had also managed to convince Iran to reopen formal diplomatic channels with the United States.

A voice in her ear interrupted her daydream. “Cameron, I do believe you’re drooling,” House whispered.

Cameron snapped her jaw closed, realizing that she was staring at President Bartlet like a schoolgirl with a crush. It was evident that he could tell as well, given the distinct gleam of humor in his eyes and the subtle smile on his face.

“Mr. President,” she began.

Mr. President. Never in her life had she thought she’d actually address one.

“I’m Dr. Allison Cameron, and I’ll be conducting your examination.”

She took a moment to look over his file. “Temperature 98.2, heartrate 92 – that’s a little high, but it’s to be expected with an arrhythmia – blood pressure 162 over 99?”

She stopped and looked at the President. “Mr. President, that last one is a bit of a cause for concern.”

He nodded and smiled. “Yes, I’m aware. My wife was a doctor, so she told me all about high blood pressure. I’m also aware that the Interferon I’ve been on for almost thirty years probably has something to do with it, as does the fact that my heart’s been acting like a sixty year old Ford engine that hasn’t had a tune-up since 1982. Oh, by the way, I’m Jed Bartlet. Pleasure to meet you.”

Cameron, realizing that she hadn’t given the President the opportunity to introduce himself, flushed bright red. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, I should’ve given-“

Bartlet cut her off. “Don’t worry; it happens on a regular basis. And please, call me Jed.”

Cameron’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, Mr. President… I’m not sure –“

“It’ll make me feel more comfortable as a patient…”

Cameron sighed. You could always tell the ones who had been married to doctors. They knew better than anybody else how to manipulate doctors. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted.

“Greg House, Mr. President,” House said. “I’m the Chief of Staff here at Princeton-Plainsborough, and I want to assure you, you’re in the BEST of hands with Dr. Cameron. She’s always attentive to her patients and will make sure to take care of WHATEVER you need.”

With that last statement, he waggled his eyebrows like the dirty old man he was and smirked at Cameron. Cameron sighed and shook her head, wondering for perhaps the fifty thousandth time why she continued to put up with House. Before she could say anything, though –

“Dr. House,” President Bartlet said, sounding more than a little cross, “are you implying that I would seek sexual favors from Dr. Cameron? Because if so, then you are sorely mistaken.”

“No, not at all!” House replied, mock surprise tingeing his voice. “I was implying that Dr. Cameron might seek sexual favors from you!”

Now Cameron was pissed. With a huff, she turned to glare at House, but again, before she could say anything –

“Dr. House, I might warn you that I am still well liked by the United States Secret Service, who would be more than happy to arrange a vacation for you at, say, Rahway State Prison? Oh yes, and lest I forget, all it would take would be one phone call from me to President Seaborn, and the 82nd Airborne would be remodeling your apartment in what we Washington insiders like to call Army Barracks Chic.”

A pleased smirk grew on Cameron’s face as she turned back to House, expecting him to look like a chastised little boy. Instead, however, a truly pleasant smile had plastered itself onto his face.

“President Bartlet, I’ve always heard that you’re a skilled debater and excellent in an argument. Having seen it for myself is one of the greatest things I’ve ever experienced.”

Bartlet appeared stunned for a moment, and then he chuckled. “So you’re telling me that you said those rather impolite things about Dr. Cameron just to get me to argue with you?”

“Oh, absolutely!” House said. “Cameron can handle it – she’s been taking it for sixteen years – and it was certainly worth her looks of murderous wrath to experience the joy of an argument with you.”
Bartlet looked thoughtful. “Dr. House, do you play chess?”

“You could say I dabble,” House replied, a look of utter glee finding its way to his face.

“Well, if I end up being admitted – as I imagine I probably will be, given my current heart condition – come see me, and we’ll see if your chess skills are as finely tuned as your wit.”

House nodded, looking like a little boy on Christmas, and said, “Your wish is my command, Mr. President!”

Cameron rolled her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me,” she interrupted dryly, “I have a patient to examine, and you have a hospital to run, Dr. House.”

“No I don’t,” House replied. “Dr. Cuddy specifically instructed me to make sure that President Bartlet was completely comfortable in every way.”

Cameron gritted her teeth. House could be so incredibly frustrating sometimes, but what could she possibly do about it?

That’s when President Bartlet came to the rescue. “Dr. House,” he said gently, “I do appreciate the concern, but Dr. Cameron seems to be a perfectly competent doctor. I’m sure that you have other things that need to be done.”

House was visibly disappointed. “True,” he allowed. “I suppose I could go supervise the Diagnostics Department for a while.”

Then he perked up. “That actually sounds like a good idea. Terrorize Cameron’s fellows and make her life miserable when she returns!”

He turned for the exit. “Pleasure to meet you, Jed! Cameron, please don’t kill the President! Or marry him!”

The door swung shut behind him. Cameron rolled her eyes. Honestly. The man was insufferable.

Somebody's Going to Emergency, Chapter 1: "Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc"

She knew that, even at 42, she could go further in life. She was only a department head now; she could easily move up to chief of staff or even dean. But for Allison Cameron, M.D., being Chief of Diagnostic Medicine for Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital was quite a satisfactory position.

Fifteen years earlier, when she had begun at PPTH, she had never dreamed of becoming the Chief of Diagnostics. Greg House had held the position back then, and it seemed that he favored Robert Chase and Eric Foreman over her for advancement.

But time and other jobs had drawn them both away from PPTH. When House was promoted to Chief of Staff of the hospital, Lisa Cuddy had offered Cameron the position, and she had readily accepted.

Fifteen years had taken its toll. House was still House – all snark and wit. However, the with time, the pain in his leg had continued to worsen to the point where Vicodin couldn’t control it, and when he had a second infarction in 2012, he had reluctantly made the decision to allow his leg to be amputated.

Cameron had herself performed the primary part of the surgery, because House hadn’t trusted anybody else to do it. Afterwards, he had been fitted with a prosthetic that allowed him to have an almost natural gait – almost, Cameron reminded herself. He did still have to walk with a cane, but it was his “bitchin’” flame cane.

His hair and scruffy beard had long since turned completely white, but for all that, he still looked young for his age. Cameron’s body had also played well with time – she was still fit and trim and still with, as House had remarked upon not a week prior, “An ass to kill for.” The only thing that had changed was her hair, which was almost completely gray – strange for a 42 year old – but she was in good health, and still got appreciative looks from men half her age.

In the seven years that she had been Chief of Diagnostic Medicine, she had had nine fellows – she was now in the first year of her third set of three, Drs. Erin Coleman, Marcus Bellamy, and Andrew Melvin. When she had first seen Dr. Coleman’s application, she had done a double-take, thinking it said “Eric Foreman”, but Dr. Coleman was just about as different from Foreman as one could possibly get – a fair-skinned red-head, with green eyes and the “only ass in the hospital better than Cameron’s”, again, according to House.

Cameron sometimes wondered how it was that House still worked for hospital. One would think he should’ve been fired for sexual harassment years ago. But just like Cameron, Dr. Coleman laughed it off and took it as a compliment. From time to time, Dr. Coleman would even flirt with Dr. House – who was 35 years her senior! – and when House flirted back, Cameron would occasionally feel a flash of jealousy – she found it completely irrational after all these years, but it was still there.

Maybe it was what had happened between her and House just after her promotion. He had taken her out for a congratulatory dinner, followed by a drink, and then, as the Sublime song said, one drink turned into three or four, and then they went and got into his car… and then they drove away someplace REAL far.

Well, maybe not real far. They only went as far as her apartment, and if there was any lack of consent, it was on House’s part. Eventually, though, he couldn’t resist the charms of an attractive 35 year old woman who REALLY wanted him. That night had been passionate and intense, and had left Cameron wanting more – but not only had the possibility never occurred again, House had never even MENTIONED it again. It was as if it had never happened.

But that was neither here nor there. What was here was the fact that a page had just sounded in the implant in her right ear. “Dr. Cameron to the clinic, please.”

The computerized voice was followed by a far different voice, saying, “Dr. Cameron to the clinic, please… we are in need of a tight ass and a snarky demeanor.”

She laughed aloud, following it with, “Shut up, House.”

And the voice in her ear did – but only momentarily, as he then said, “You do realize that if anybody heard you, they think you’re crazy now.”

“People think I’m crazy anyway. It’s nothing new. Besides which, this has been an issue ever since Bluetooth technology exploded fifteen years ago.”

She rounded a corner, and there was her boss. “Just like you, Cameron,” he snarked, “always taking the fun out of an argument with reason and rationale.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she muttered. “So, who’s the patient?”

“Seventy-four year old male. Presented with shortness of breath and heart arrhythmia. Brain function is normal – well, as normal as can be. He also has a relapsing-remitting course of multiple sclerosis.”

“Family history of heart disease?”

“None,” House replied. “However, he was in a high stress job for eight years, which probably did some damage to his heart. In addition, he was treated ‘under-the-table’ by his wife for several years for his MS, so we don’t have a complete medical history on that.”

“Under-the-table?” Cameron replied. “Is his wife at least an M.D.?”

“She was, yes,” House replied. “She died last year, though, so I can’t really ask her about it.”

At that point, something clicked in Cameron’s head.

Seventy-four. Relapsing-remitting MS. High stress job for eight years. Illegally treated by Doctor Wife who passed away last year.

“House…” she started, “is there something you aren’t telling me about this patient?”

“Like what?” he replied, the innocent look on his face barely able to hide the smirk that lay beneath.

“Like, for example, was this patient, oh, perhaps, leader of the free world from, say, 1999 till 2007?”

“Hmmm…” House said, evading. “Oh, nearly forgot. Your patient’s name is Josiah Edward Bartlet.”

Cameron stopped dead in her tracks. “Josiah… Edward… Bartlet?” she squeaked, even though she had already figured it out. “As in President Bartlet?”

“No, as in Jed Bartlet, host of Wheel of Fortune,” House replied sarcastically. “Yes, as in President Bartlet.”

By now, they had reached the clinic. Cameron didn’t even have to ask the duty nurse which room – she identified it by the two men in black suits standing outside the door. She approached them tentatively, and when she got within about five feet, the one on the left spoke. “May I help you, ma’am?” he asked, in a voice that simultaneously conveyed politeness and “don’t mess with me, I could snap your neck with my pinky.”

“Yes,” she said. “My name is Dr. Allison Cameron; I’ve been assigned the President’s case.”

The other man stepped forward. “Raise your arms, please.” Cameron did so, as the Secret Service agent patted her down, making sure she wasn’t concealing a gun under her lab coat. “She’s clean.”

The first agent spoke again. “You can enter.”

Cameron stepped forward and grabbed the doorknob. She took a deep breath, then turned the knob and opened the door.

A Chance Encounter

A Chance Encounter

As he walked into the bar, the man ran his right hand through his rapidly thinning hair. It annoyed him to think that when he’d started working where he worked now – a mere nine years ago! – he had had almost a full head of hair.

Maybe his mother was right. Maybe the job was too stressful for him. But damn! Just going to work every day was exhilarating. He changed people’s lives on, literally, a daily basis! There was no other job he could ever think of that would be better.

He picked a seat toward the end of the bar. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up coming down to New Jersey to help prep for his boss’s visit, but it did give him a chance to get away from the hustle of the job for a few days.

He looked to his right, searching for the bartender. His eyes fell on another man, roughly his age, but looking much worse. His face was scruffy, his hair unkempt, his eyes bloodshot. He looked at the man, counted four empty shot glasses and at least half a dozen empty beer bottles in front of him.

He didn’t know which was more shocking – the fact that this man was apparently so drunk, or that the bartender kept serving him.

Then, the other man took out an amber bottle. He unscrewed the lid, tipped out two pills, and dry-swallowed them. He recognized those pills – he’d had some himself after his surgery seven and a half years before. He also knew that taking them with alcohol was a very bad plan.

Hoping to be a Good Samaritan – and also knowing that his boss, his right-hand man, and his wife would all expect him to – he went over to the other man. As he got closer, he saw an ID tag attached to the man’s shirt, identifying him as a doctor.

“Hi,” he said. “I was going to come over here and just mention that mixing those pills with alcohol isn’t a good idea, but I see you’re a doctor, so…”

The scruffy man looked up at him, squinting against even the dim light of the bar. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so,” he replied.

The other man continued to look at him. “You look familiar, though. Have you ever been hospitalized?”

“Yeah, but not around here,” he said. “My boss is on TV a lot, though. You might have seen me behind him a time or two.”

“That must be it,” the other man said. “Care to join me in drowning my sorrows?”

“Honestly, I think you may have drowned your sorrows enough for both of us,” he snarked. “Maybe you should consider something a little lower octane.”

Stroking his stubble, the other man considered it. Then he shook his head. “Nah. Old number seven is my best friend tonight. Hey! Charlie!”

The bartender appeared from the back room. “Bottle of Jack, and a two-liter of Coke, please!”

He shook his head, but said, “You got it, Doc.” He pulled both from under the counter and plunked them down as the scruffy man turned his attention back.

“So, you work around here?”

“No,” he replied, by now having sat down next to this study in alcohol abuse. “I work down south of here – I’m a government employee, came up to prep for my boss coming up this weekend.”

The other man snorted, as if demonstrating his contempt for the government. “Psssh. Must be nice for your boss to have somebody he can actually count on.”

“Well, I do my best…”

He continued, as if not even hearing. “Three employees – three! – who were completely reliable. I’d never tell them that, don’t want to give them big egos. But all of them – the most reliable employees I’ve ever had – all quit on me!”

His voice grew soft. “But one… I don’t know. I don’t know if I can keep doing this job without her.”

He could sympathize. “Yeah, I had an employee like that once, too. She was the greatest. She kept my life organized, made sure I got to everything on time, made sure that I didn’t make an ass of myself… and I just never appreciated her. One day, she came up to me and told me she quit. I didn’t think she was being serious, but when I came in the next day and she was gone – well, it kind of hit me like a ton of bricks. I quit myself, not too long after that… the job just wasn’t the same without her.”

The scruffy man looked at him. “So, what did you end up doing?”

“Oh, I married her.”

A bloodshot stare laced with amazement greeted him. “You married her? It was simple as that?”

“Oh, no. It was two years, and a long, hard-fought battle at work before that, but we ended up realizing that we had been in love with each other for years, and got married.”

The scent of Jack Daniels escaped as the other man sighed. “I wish it was that simple for me.”

“It could be.”

“No, you don’t understand. She had a thing for me once, but I wrote it off as a simple crush – I’m her employer, she’s twenty years younger than me – you know, things like that. But now, now that she’s not around anymore, I realize just how much I cared for her, how much I needed her. And you know what? I’m not the type of person who cares for or needs people. I hate people. I hate social interaction. But ever since she’s been gone, I feel like there’s a hole in my heart that I can’t fill on my own.”

A single tear trickled down his cheek and was absorbed into his scruffy beard. Straightening himself up, he wiped his face off. Composing himself as much as any drunk person could, he said, “I’ve got to get home. I’ve got work in the morning, three employees responsibilities to handle…”

Not having had a drink yet, he stood up quickly. “You’re not in any condition to drive yourself. I’ll drive you.”

As he drove the scruffy looking man home, he heard basically his life story. He was a doctor, raised in a military family, had had a catastrophic injury a few years ago. Apparently, he was not just a doctor, but a brilliant, world-renowned one.

He pulled up in front of the other man’s apartment. “Thanks,” he said, unsteadily getting out of the car. Then he paused.

“You know, I don’t think I ever formally introduced myself. My name’s Greg House. I’m the head of the Diagnostics Department at Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital.”

He looked back at Dr. House. “You know, I’ve heard your name before. It came up in discussions a few months back, about filling certain positions.”

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Josh Lyman, Chief of Staff to President Santos.”

Dr. House shook his hand. “That’s why you looked familiar.”

Josh laughed. “Yeah, I get that sometimes.”

He stopped. “Seriously, don’t take your employees for granted. If you really care about her – what’s her name?”

“Allison.”

“If you really care about Allison, let her know. God knows I wasted enough years with Donna that I wish I hadn’t.”

Josh stopped. Pulling a business card out of his jacket, he handed it to Dr. House. “Good luck with everything. Give me a call if you ever need somebody to talk to – I’m rarely available, but hey, you might get lucky.”

House took the card. “Thanks. And thanks for the talk.”

He turned away, and entered his apartment, as Josh drove away into the night.

Riffing on House

RIFFING ON HOUSE – Six Vignettes

MCCLEOD

The young resident fidgeted as he sat facing Lisa Cuddy. Surely she wore that top on purpose. He could see so much of her breasts that he almost expected a big black “CENSORED” bar to suddenly appear in front of her chest.

She had to have worn it to make him nervous. That was the only reason he could see.

Finally, she stopped looking through his papers and looked up at him. “Well, Dr. McCleod, it looks like you certainly are a very qualified doctor. You’d make an excellent addition to our Diagnostics Department.”

He sighed in relief and leaned back in his chair, allowing a smile to creep across his face. That smile was wiped off of his face by the next thing Dr. Cuddy said.

“You’re going to be working with some very strange people. You really ought to know more about them.”

CHASE

Robert Chase tried to control his breathing. The amount of anger he felt was insane. There was his car, his precious car, smashed to shit by a careless UPS driver.

Turning away, he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath – held it – counted to ten – let it go. He felt some semblance of calm return.

He reversed to face the UPS driver. But the sniggering smirk on the man’s face just pissed him off.

Taking another deep breath, he approached the UPS driver. “Sir, I’m going to need your name, phone number, and insurance information,” he said.

The driver laughed. “Kiss my ass, Ozzie! You can talk to UPS. They’re the ones who’re gonna have to fork over the money, and good luck with that!”

Chase shook his head. “Sir, please don’t make me angry.”

The driver belched, and then snorted. “Why the hell not? You gonna bust some karate shit on me? I got a better idea. Go back down under, and play with a koala.”

Chase looked up. His eyes, usually a sedate blue, were suddenly a brilliant green. “You wouldn’t LIKE me when I’m angry.”

In a split second, Chase nearly doubled in size. His skin went from its normal tan to a bright kelly green. Gigantic muscles split his clothing, leaving him clad in only a pair of spandex tights. He punched a hole straight through the UPS truck, scattering packages, and had lifted his fist to squash the driver like the bug he was, when he felt a sharp prick in his right calf.

“Glad to see you dressed for the occasion this time,” House’s voice rasped behind him. “You nearly caused a massive pileup on the street last time when your hulking genitalia was exposed to the whole world.”

Those were the last words Chase would hear for fifteen minutes as the sedative took hold. As he sank to the asphalt and shrank back to his normal size, House turned to face the terrified UPS driver.

“I believe you had a package for me?”

WILSON

James Wilson only did this once a month – and sometimes not even that. He’d tell his co-workers he was going to Vegas for the weekend, and indeed he would – but after landing in Vegas, he’d catch the first JetBlue or Southwest flight down to the Burbank airport. He’d rent a car, drive down to West Hollywood, and get a room at the Sunset Plaza Hotel.

And now, as he walked out the door of the hotel, he didn’t even draw a single look for dressing in a way that would’ve caused the people in New Jersey to have strokes and heart attacks.

Wilson was clad in a black leather miniskirt, a pair of boxer briefs to keep from exposing himself, a midriff-baring pink top with a bustier underneath, and six inch stiletto heels. With a blonde wig and makeup, looked just a little bit better than Courtney Love.

And down to Santa Monica Blvd. he went. Parking himself at the corner of Crescent Heights, he gestured to the cars as they passed. He knew it was a little early – only 10:30 – but he also knew from experience that he’d turn at least two tricks before the end of the night.

Here came number one. A black Lexus sedan pulled to the curb, the shotgun window rolled down, and a raspy voice came from inside. “Hey, baby, how’d you like to have some fun?”

The voice sounded familiar to Wilson. However, given the number of times he’d done this, he would’ve been surprised if he hadn’t had a repeat customer. So, he opened the door, slid in, and turned to face his john. “So, what would you like to-“

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Greg House shouted in shock, directly in Wilson’s face. They both just sat there staring at each other in shock for a moment. Then House started to chuckle.

“I should’ve known,” he said, his laughter turning into a full blown gale. “I should’ve known.”

CAMERON

“Cameron!”

She tried to ignore him. She tried so hard. He pissed her off ALL THE TIME, and yet there were so many times when she wanted nothing more than to strip off his clothes and have her way with him.

“CAMERON!”

She threw her pen down and huffed aloud. “What?!” she snapped.

“Your mom’s on the phone.”

“Oh, Jesus tapdancing Christ.”

House watched as she picked up the extension in the conference room. It didn’t look like she was pleased.

“Allison, you never come home!”

“I’m a doctor, Mother. I have a job. I have responsibilities. People’s lives depend on me.”

“I think you just like that doctor you work for better than you like your family.”

“Mother, the doctor I work for is a misanthropic bastard. But you know what? He doesn’t nag me all the time about how I never go home!”

“Allison, please. We just want to see you for Thanksgiving. That’s all.”

“Oh, joy. Which of my drunk relatives will be there for that?”

“None of them! Just your Aunt Jeannie!”

Cameron resisted the urge to smash the phone against the wall. There was nothing she could do. Her mother would keep on her until she gave in.

She took a deep breath. “Fine, mother,” she ground out through her teeth.

House had turned away from Cameron’s phone conversation to read a couple of e-mails. He turned back to her to call her in to the office –

And as he did so, she laid one arm on top of the other, nodded – and disappeared.

FOREMAN

Foreman’s apartment was dark. Well, at least the lights were off.

It was well lit from the multiple beakers of glowing liquids all around the room.

Eric Foreman walked around the darkened apartment, clad in a thick robe. He wore glasses – not ordinary for him – and chanted in Latin, of all languages.

The phone rang. He picked it up, and answered it. “Yes. No. Yes. WHAT?”

He hung up the phone quickly. Shedding the robe, he turned on the lights. Turning to face the beakers, he pointed a thin rod at them, saying something in Latin. They all disappeared.

The apartment was almost back to normal when the doorbell rang.

Foreman opened the door.

Detective Tritter stood before him.

“Good evening, Dr. Foreman,” he said.

“Detective.” Foreman sized him up. “I thought you were going to leave House alone.”

“Oh, I have no intention of bothering Dr. House,” Tritter replied with an evil smile. “It’s you I’m after.”

Foreman gasped in protest. “Me? I haven’t done anything wrong in fifteen years!”

Too late, he realized he was still holding the thin rod.

Tritter’s smile grew wider. “That’s what I thought.” He reached behind his back. Foreman, thinking he was going for his gun, tried to dive for the floor – but Tritter whipped out a silver rod of his own, pointed it at Foreman, and yelled, “Petrificus totalus!”

Foreman was frozen, hanging in mid-air like a marionette. Shit, he thought. How the fuck did I let this happen?

Tritter approached Foreman, almost giggling with glee. “You’re screwed now, Dr. Foreman!”

He rolled up his sleeves. “You’re… a Death… Eater?” Foreman grunted, seeing the mark on Tritter’s forearm.

“You betcha,” Tritter replied. “And I have your phone tapped. So, when you got that call just now about Voldemort, I figured it was time to move in!”

Tritter’s inattention to his spell was causing it to weaken. Enough so that when he got up in Foreman’s face to gloat, Foreman was able to lift his foot far enough and fast enough to kick Tritter square in the nuts.

Tritter collapsed to the floor in pain, his spell broken. Foreman picked his wand up off the floor and pointed it at Tritter.

“Avada kedavra… bitch.”

HOUSE

Dr. McCleod couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The Fantastic Four, this was not. In fact, working with this team Cuddy had described? This was too much to handle!

The door opened, and a scruffy looking man in a lab coat walked in. Cuddy stood up to greet him. “House, meet Dr. McCleod.”

Dr. McCleod stood and turned to face House. “Pleased to meet you… I think,” he said quietly.

House looked at his outstretched hand and shook his head. “No, I don’t greet people by shaking hands,” he said. “I greet new doctors by having them give me a physical examination.”

Dr. McCleod looked at House in bewilderment. Then, he cocked his eyebrow, and said, “Well, I guess that makes sense.”

He had House sit down in the chair. Finding his pulse point, he took his blood pressure and heartrate. Both were normal, although the feeling of his pulse almost seemed double – kind of like there was an echo or something.

“Take off your shirt,” McCleod said. House complied.

Putting on his stethoscope, McCleod pressed the amplifier against House’s back. “Deep breath… and out.” He switched to the other side. “And again… and out.”

He moved the stethoscope to the area of House’s heart. As he listened, though, he actually heard the echo he had felt before. “What the hell…”

As he moved the amplifier across House’s back, the echo grew stronger, and the beat grew weaker, until he was directly opposite his heart – except he could hear what sounded like a heart beating strongly, directly beneath his stethoscope’s amplifier.

He backed away from House, a look of wide-eyed shock on his face, as a hugely mischievous smile split House’s face. “Hearing double, are you?”

Before McCleod could reply, a sound filled the room. It was a strange sound, sounding like a length of chain being dragged through a parking lot. As he watched in astonishment, a blue structure that said “Police Call Box” on it appeared in the corner of Cuddy’s office.

When it became solid and was no longer see-through, the door opened. A tall, skinny man with short hair and a leather jacket popped out. “Greg-o!” he said, a distinctly northern British accent flavoring his voice. “Ready to go?”

House stood up, and put his shirt back on. “Dr. McCleod, a pleasure to meet you. But, if you’ll excuse me, my ride is here.”

He stepped inside the box, but as he was shutting the door, he turned back to Cuddy. “Lisa? He’ll do JUST fine.”

CUDDY

Dr. McCleod sat in shock. “I don’t think I can do this,” he said.

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Cuddy replied. She stood up, and strode behind him. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she began to rub his neck. Oh, that felt good.

The longer the neck rub went, the more drowsy he felt. Suddenly, she stopped. As McCleod looked up in curiosity, Cuddy stepped in front of him – and stripped off her clothes, dropping them to the floor. She stood before him naked. In his drowsiness, he registered no shock, and put up no resistance as she stripped his clothes off his body.

Straddling him, she sank down on top of him. The sex was fast and furious, but she seemed satisfied.

“Wow,” he mumbled through his stupor. “What was that for?”

“Oh, I always make love to my victims.”

He struggled to sit up. “What?”

“Well, I figure it’s the least I can do for them before I eat them. You see, I’m a succubus.”

There was an unearthly roar, then a piercing scream – and then silence.

Cuddy got dressed once again, and then returned to her desk – her office now empty once more.