Somebody's Going to Emergency, Chapter 6: "The PPTH ProAm"

Saturday morning.

Greg House usually wasn’t up this early on a Saturday morning. However, he hadn’t been able to leave the night before – at about 8:30, enough snow had been dumped on Princeton to bring everything to a grinding halt. It was being called a freak storm, the kind that hadn’t been seen in New Jersey in years.

And so, he had slept on the couch in his office the night before. The sounds of the hospital coming to life had awakened him at 7:00 AM, and now he was doing his daily therapy, except he was striding through the halls of PPTH rather than the streets of his neighborhood.

As he passed one room, he heard his name called.

“Dr. House!”
He stopped, turned back, and stuck his head into the room. President Bartlet seemed to be surprisingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for somebody with likely less than forty-eight hours to live.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” House said. “How are you feeling this fine day?”

“Well, first of all, I don’t know if I’d go so far as to call it a fine day, given that there’s enough snow on the ground outside that the cars are merely white lumps.”

House couldn’t disagree with that.

“Secondly, it hurts just to move, I’m having trouble with the functions in my left hand, and according to that monitor right there, my blood pressure is high enough to power Cleveland. Oh, and there’s the small matter that I was informed last night that I probably have less than forty-eight hours to live. But aside from that, I’m great!”

With that, he turned a bright smile to House and said, “I also believe we have a chess game to play.”

House, on the other hand, was astonished. “Wait. Are you telling me that Dr. Cameron actually TOLD you your prognosis?”

Bartlet’s smile faded a notch. “Well, not really. She was discussing it with Sam Seaborn last night as I was waking up, and I heard her. She seems like a sweet girl, too, so I can understand if it may have been difficult for her to bring herself to tell me.”

House shook his head and laughed. “Sixteen years she’s been working for me, and she’s never quite developed the cynicism that a good doctor needs.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Jed replied quickly. “Cynicism seems like an overrated trait in a doctor. You forget, I was married to one, and one of my daughters is one.”

“Mr. President, with all due respect, they had to have been the most cynical doctors of all time given that they were part of the President’s family.”

Jed looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, “Well, you’re probably right, but who cares. Chess!”

“Alright,” House replied. “Let me just go back to my-“

As he turned to leave the room, he saw that he didn’t need to bother to go back to his office and retrieve his chess set, because it was sitting on President Bartlet’s bedside table.

“Okay, Mr. President, joke’s on me,” House said, bewildered. “I know you aren’t a Jedi Knight in disguise, so how exactly did my chess set get here from my office?”

“Oh, I just flagged down one of the other doctors here,” Jed replied. “A Lisa Cuddy, I believe. Very nice woman. Seems to be a good Dean of Medicine.”

“That’s not all she’s good at,” House cracked under his breath.

“I’m sorry, what was that? You’d like your apartment redecorated?”

“No, sir,” House replied quickly. “I didn’t say anything.”

Jed shook his head and smiled. Some people just didn’t learn.

House allowed Jed to open the game, despite Jed’s superior skill – he felt it was only proper to give that to the former President.

“You know, I hate hospitals,” Jed said as he made his first move. “I’ve managed to stay out of them except for checkups for the last fifteen years. In fact, the last time I was in a hospital for an extended period of time, it was because my old friend Leo had had his first heart attack.”

“Leo McGarry, sir?” House asked. Jed nodded affirmatively. “I remember that,” House said. “I’ll admit – I had voted for Vinick in 2006, but when Leo McGarry died on Election Day, it still seemed like an insurmountable loss for the country.”

“Yeah,” Jed replied sadly, moving a piece. “The worst part is, there was nothing we could’ve done. He was already gone when Annabeth Schott found him.”

House stopped, and looked at Jed. He wasn’t quite sure how to form his next phrase. So, he took a moment of silence, making his move, and then waited till Jed had made his next move before speaking.

“That’s actually not true, sir,” House said.

Jed looked up at him. “What do you mean, exactly?” he asked sharply.

“What I mean, sir, is that if Bethesda Naval Hospital had installed a Pacemaker with a distress signal after his first heart attack – and they had those, back in 2005 – first of all, he probably wouldn’t have had the second heart attack, and secondly, even if he had, emergency response in Houston would’ve been notified as soon as he went into cardiac arrest.”

The color had drained from Jed’s face. “You mean, we could have saved him?”

It was then that House realized what he had done. “Oh, God,” he said softly. “Mr. President, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I really didn’t…”

Jed took a deep breath, then used his right hand to wipe his eyes. “It’s alright,” he said. “It’s been over fourteen years now. I just… I just wish we would’ve known.”

“You can never know everything, sir,” House replied. “Even with a doctor for a wife. Even with a Nobel Prize.”

Jed sighed, then smiled gently. “So you think I can’t know everything, huh?”

Two hours later

“…And that was the third time my family visited the Grand Canyon.”

House’s leg was experiencing phantom pains. He had had his ass kicked at chess – twice! He had heard about almost every national park in America. And yet, he felt strangely invigorated. President Bartlet was about to start in on Sunset Crater National Monument when the door banged open.

“House! Clinic!”

Oh, you have got to be kidding me, he thought. “But… but I’m keeping the President company!”

“Mr. President, I’m sorry,” Lisa Cuddy said. “But Dr. House hasn’t fulfilled his clinic hours in nearly a month.”

Jed’s eyebrows shot straight up, and he looked from Cuddy to House and back again. Then he started laughing. “Oh, my,” he guffawed. “Oh, Dr. House, you are definitely not using me as an excuse to get out of your job. That would run contrary to every health plan I put forth while in office.”

“Dammit,” House muttered. “Well, Mr. President, it was a pleasure to talk to you and to get my tail soundly whupped by you. Hopefully we’ll get a chance to do this again.”

With that, House stumped out of the room. Cuddy was about to follow him when Jed stopped her.

“Dr. Cuddy?” he said.

“Yes?” she replied, turning to him.

“Could you get Dr. Cameron please?”

“Is something wrong?” Lisa Cuddy asked, concerned.

“I can’t feel anything on the left side of my body.”

Somebody's Going to Emergency, Chapter 5: "I Serve At the Pleasure"

The voices cut into his unconsciousness like super-heated knives. He heard them – the first thing that he had heard in hours – and they were talking about him.

“He’s doing alright for now,” said the female voice. “The reality is, though… well, the reality is…”

The female voice paused. She sounded hesitant, he thought.

“What’s the matter?” asked a rather familiar sounding male voice.

“His… MS has changed to secondary progressive. It’s unlikely that he’ll leave this hospital. In fact, it’s unlikely that he’ll survive the weekend.”

There was silence for a moment. Then, “My God,” the male voice said. “Are you sure?”

It was time to add his input to this conversation. “She’s one of the best doctors in the country, Sam,” Jed croaked, forcing his eyes open. “If she says that I’m going to be dead by Sunday evening, then she’s probably right.”

“Mr. President,” Sam said.

“Mr. President,” Jed replied.

Dr. Cameron rolled her eyes. “Are you boys done?”

Jed and Sam both looked at her, amused. Cameron then realized what she had said.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, covering her mouth. “That may have been the most disrespectful thing I have ever… no, wait, I’ve said worse to House.”

President Bartlet chewed that one over for a moment. “I’d believe that… although I think there’s plenty you haven’t said to Dr. House.”

Cameron stopped and looked at him. “Excuse me?”

Jed just smiled and laughed weakly. “We’ll discuss it more later, I’m sure.”

“I’m sorry, did I miss something?” President Seaborn asked in confusion.

“No more than the usual, Sam,” Jed replied. “If I’m not mistaken, it took you until you were forty-two to finally pop the question to Ainsley Hayes.”

“Now that’s not fair, sir,” Sam replied. “I was a Democratic Congressman, and she was a Republican lawyer –“

“She was the White House counsel for a Democratic administration. She was as liberal as a Republican could get and still be a Republican.”

The color had begun to return to President Bartlet’s face – it seemed that an argument energized him.

“You liked her. She liked you. You were both Washington insiders; you both understood the sacrifices the other would have to make! But NO, you used that Republican excuse for years until, if I remember correctly, she took you out into Fairfax County, got you naked, and then said she was going to leave you out there unless you had the balls to propose!”

He stopped, out of breath. When he regained it, he gasped, “Damn, I used to be able to go on for a lot longer than that.”

Sam was laughing, despite Jed’s shortness of breath. “That’s not exactly how it happened, sir. We were at a reception at a very nice hotel in Fairfax County, we both got a little drunk and decided to get a room, and then –“

“You got naked and she threatened to leave you there unless you proposed,” President Bartlet finished dryly.

President Seaborn stopped, his mouth gaping open like a fish. Redness crept up his neck into his cheeks, as he abashedly admitted, “Yes, sir, I suppose that’s about how it happened.”

“Oh, stop with the sir,” Bartlet replied, changing the subject as quickly as he’d won the argument. “You’re the President of the United States. I’m not.”

“Yes sir,” Sam shot back quickly, “but you were the President when my political career took off. I worked for you when you were the President. I served at the pleasure of the President of the United States.”

“And now you have a whole staff to serve at your pleasure,” Bartlet replied. “Also, I’m just one of the citizens now. I’d threaten to vote for the other guy in the next election, but it looks like I’m not going to be around for that.”

Sam had begun to prepare a rejoinder to President Bartlet, but when Jed made the last statement, he stopped, unsure of what to say.

A tap on the door interrupted the uncomfortable silence. “Come in,” President Bartlet called, and the door opened. The head of Sam’s detail stepped into the room.

“We need to leave, sir,” he said. “The snowfall is starting to increase at an alarming rate, and they’ve said at the airport that they can’t keep it open much longer.”

“Go,” Jed said. “You’re the President, you need to be in the White House, not in a teaching hospital in New Jersey.”

Sam’s face betrayed confusion, guilt, sadness all at once. He looked around himself, as if not sure what to do. Then, a glimmer of steel appeared in his eyes. “Yes sir,” he replied. “I serve at the pleasure of the people… and the President… of the United States.”

A smile crossed his face as he spoke, but at the same time, a single tear made its way down his left cheek. “Thank you, sir.”

Jed looked back at him. “Good-bye, Sam,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Good-bye, sir,” Sam whispered, afraid his own voice would betray him.

He quickly left the room before his emotions overwhelmed him. He stood outside the door for a moment, collecting his thoughts, when he heard the door click shut behind him.

“Mr. President?”

He had completely forgotten that Dr. Cameron was there.

“Are you alright, sir?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied softly. “It’s just hard… very hard… to say good-bye. After I found out my father had been unfaithful to my mother for so many years… and when my father passed… he was like my father for all those years. He was my start in politics… he told me that I’d be President someday…”

He stopped, his voice choking in his throat.

“I’ll make sure to keep you updated,” Cameron said quietly. “You’ll know everything we do.”

Sam blinked back his tears, and swallowed the lump that had built in his throat. Then he remembered.

“Dr. Cameron,” he said, “I just thought you should know… when I got here and asked about the President… Dr. House said that you were his doctor… and he said that you were by far the best doctor here.”

Whatever Cameron had been expecting President Seaborn to say, it certainly wasn’t that. Shocked speechless, she tried to reply, but found herself so dumbfounded as to not be able to form words.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Sam said. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

With that, he strode off down the hallway, a phalanx of Secret Service agents around him.

Cameron stepped back into President Bartlet’s room, still unable to think clearly, as House’s words – though they may have come from President Seaborn’s mouth, she could still hear them in House’s voice – rang through her head:

By far the best doctor here.

Somebody's Going to Emergency, Chapter 4: "Control"

James Wilson had never wanted anything more than to be a doctor. As such, he was more than content to be the director emeritus of the Oncology Department at Princeton-Plainsborough.

He had never remarried after his last marriage had ended in utter failure back in 2006. As such, he would sometimes spend all day and all night at the hospital, sleeping on his couch, showering in the locker room… he was becoming like House in so many ways, just without the crankiness.

At 8:00 AM this particular Saturday, he was asleep on the couch in his office when a sharp knock roused him from his slumber. Bleary-eyed, he opened the door to find a Secret Service agent standing outside. Taking stock of Dr. Wilson’s appearance, the agent allowed the briefest of smiles to pass over his lips before speaking.

“Sorry to wake you, Dr. Wilson, but I need to check your office briefly.”

“Of course,” he said, confused, stepping back to allow the agent in.

The agent looked around his office quickly but efficiently, stepping to the window to close the blinds. “Wing is clear and secure,” he said. “Panther is clear.”

“Panther?” Dr. Wilson asked. “Whose codename is that?”

The agent turned and looked at him. “President Seaborn.”

xXx

Samuel Norman Seaborn, 46th President of the United States of America, strode confidently through the corridors of Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital. He always liked to lead, something the drove his Secret Service detail up the wall.

He rounded a corner – and ran smack into a white-haired, scruffy, wild-looking man. They both landed on their respective asses. Secret Service immediately surrounded President Seaborn and tried to restrain the wild man, but he brandished his cane at them.

“Get back!”

“Sir, please drop the cane,” one of the Secret Service agents said sternly.

“No, fuck you!” he snapped. “I’m the Chief of Staff of this hospital! No Stasi goon in a black suit gets to tell me what to do here!”

“Sir, drop the cane, stand up, and get agai-“

Sam cut the agent off. “Chief of Staff? You must be Dr. House.”

He rose and extended his hand. “I’m Sam Seaborn.”

House stood and took the offered hand, shooting a piercing glare at the Secret Service agent who had offered to pin him to the wall him. “Greg House. I assume you’re here to see President Bartlet.”

“Indeed I am. He’s really the man I owe my Presidency to, so I figured it would only be right for me to come see him.”

House straightened himself up, and then took a breath. “That’s very considerate of you, Mr. President. However, I don’t mind telling you that your visit has massively inconvenienced this hospital. We’ve had to close an entire wing, move every patient out, not admit some people who really should’ve been admitted, and really had a mess to deal with.”

Sam dropped his head. “I know, and I’m sorry. However, the Secret Service is extremely insistent.”

At that moment, there was yet another commotion at the end of the hall. “Sir, I’m sorry, but you can’t go down there,” an official sounding voice said.

“Like hell! I’m a department head here, and you’re a cop! Get out of my way!”

House grinned. “Hey! You! Crazy Gestapo Agent!”

The Secret Service agent turned and stared at House, clearly displeased to be compared to Hitler’s secret police.

“That’s Dr. James Wilson. He’s my head of oncology. You can let him go.”

The agent just stared at House, not relenting. Then, the head of the detail sighed and nodded almost imperceptibly. The agent let go of Wilson, who strode down the hall.

“House? What the hell is going on here? They came and checked my office, then made me get out, told me President Seaborn – oh my God!”

Wilson’s jaw dropped as Sam turned to face him. “You’re – you’re President Seaborn!” He stuck his hand out and grabbed Sam’s hand, shaking it like an excited ten year old. “It’s such an honor to meet you!”

Sam’s amused grin widened as Wilson shook his hand. “I’ve heard good things about you, Dr. Wilson,” he said. “Heard you’re one of the best oncologists in the country!”

Wilson blushed – he actually blushed, House thought in amusement. “Well, I suppose you could say that,” he said modestly. “I just come to work and do my job every day.”

“Yeah, that’s what I say too,” Sam said, slightly sarcastically. “Sometimes, though, it leads to mayhem and military action.”

“What the hell is going on here?” a voice called from down the hall. Lisa Cuddy approached, having simply blown past the Secret Service agent, who was now shaking his head in despair. “I pay you two to work, not – oh!”

President Seaborn had turned to face her. As he took her in, a puzzled look grew on his face, and he just stood staring at her for a moment.

Cuddy realized that he was staring at her, and she cocked her head to glare at him. “Just like any other man,” she muttered.

House piped up. “Hey, he knows a good thing when he sees it, and you sure like to make sure we see it!”

“No, no,” Sam said. “Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied, confused. “Dr. Lisa Cuddy. I’m the dean of medicine here.”

Sam continued to look puzzled. “I just – I feel like we’ve met before, I just don’t know where.”

Cuddy shook her head. “Sorry, no.”

Sam shook his head too. “Oh well. Anyway, I’m Sam Seaborn.”

“Uh, yeah!” Cuddy replied, then realized what she had said. “Oh… sorry…”

“No worries,” he replied.

Then he turned to Dr. House. “So… can I see President Bartlet?”

“Yes,” House replied guardedly, “but I will warn you, he had a heart attack last night. He’s very weak right now, and he may be sleeping.”

Sam sighed as they walked down the hall. “I knew it would come to this eventually, but I tried to tell myself it wouldn’t. Is he in good hands at least?”

As they walked away, Wilson and Cuddy were both amazed at House’s answer. “Oh yes. Dr. Allison Cameron is by far our best doctor. President Bartlet is definitely in good hands.”

Somebody's Going to Emergency, Chapter 3: "The Fall's Gonna Kill You"

Allison Cameron was on the outside, looking in. At any rate, she was outside former President Jed Bartlet’s room, looking in through the window. President Bartlet was sleeping peacefully, his heart rate down closer to normal, the movement of his eyes indicating that he was deep in R.E.M. sleep.

She noticed his presence next to her before he even spoke – even after all these years, hearing his unsteady gait or smelling the distinctive combination of whatever soap, deodorant and cologne he wore caused a tingle deep within her. Sixteen years, and it should’ve gone away, but there was still something about Greg House that excited her.

Such as the way he talked to her now. Perching his chin just above her shoulder, he spoke just loud enough for her to hear. “Remarkable man, isn’t he?” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear.

She managed to refrain from gasping in reflex, but had to take a couple of seconds to recover before speaking. “He really is… I wish we could figure out what was wrong with him, though.”

“What’s your team come up with?”

“A number of things, none of them possible.”

“Such as?”

“Lupus, leukemia, toxoplasmosis, pneumonia, congestive heart failure… but none of the symptoms fully line up with any of them.”

“May I make a suggestion?”
“Of course,” Cameron replied. “You might be old and forgetful, but you’re still one of the best diagnosticians in the country.”

“Test him to see if his multiple sclerosis has changed to a secondary progressive course.”

Cameron’s breath caught. “You don’t think…”

“It fits all of his symptoms, and would explain the problems with his heart,” House said softly. “Surely this is something he’s been preparing for since he found out.”

Cameron bowed her head. “I’ll order the tests.”

xXx

“Jed.”

He cracked his eyes. “What?” he grumbled.

“The girls are going to be late for school!”

His eyes came all the way open to discover his wife standing impatiently at the foot of his bed. “And?”

“I have to be at the hospital in ten minutes. Get your ass up and get Liz and Ellie to school!”

“Fine, fine,” he grumped, rolling himself out of bed. He grabbed a Notre Dame sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, dressed himself sloppily, and went downstairs, hair askew.

“Dad!” Liz complained upon seeing him. “You can’t take us to school like that!”

Oh, high school freshmen. They always had something to complain about.

“Oh, quiet, Elizabeth,” he replied crankily. “It’s not like your friends will see me. I’ll stay in the car.”

Liz pouted. “I’m riding in the back then.”

Jed rolled his eyes skyward. “Heaven save me from teenage girls,” he implored of God. Then a sound behind him made him smile.

“Daddy!”

Three year old Zoey came running down the stairs, hell bent on reaching her father. A little bundle of pink fluff topped with brown hair wrapped itself around his right leg. “Zoey!” he boomed, swinging her upward. He wrapped his arms around her and planted a big sloppy kiss on her cheek.

“Eww, you’re stinky!” Zoey whined. Abbey, passing through the kitchen on her way out the door, laughed and said, “That’s why we should always brush our teeth in the morning, young lady!”

Jed attempted to kiss her good-bye, but Abbey turned her cheek to him. “I trust my daughter’s judgment on morning breath, and it seems like you need a date with a Listerine bottle!”

“Have a good day, Doctor Bartlet,” Jed snarked, kissing her on the cheek as he attempted to keep Zoey from crawling on top of his head.

“You too… Doctor Bartlet,” Abbey replied in a more seductive tone. She opened the door, and then was gone for another day.

Jed sat Zoey down in her high chair… and as he did so, a sharp pain shot through his chest, catching him short of breath. He stood up and clutched his shoulder.

“Daddy, are you alright?” Ellie asked. Concern was etched on Liz’s face, and Zoey had turned her wide eyes up toward him.

“Yes, I’m fine – AAHHHH!” he howled, as the pain lanced through him again, sending him to his knees.

“Daddy!” Liz screamed. Zoey started crying, and Ellie was frozen in shock. Pain shot through him again – and again – and again –

xXx

When President Bartlet’s heart monitor had started beeping, Cameron had torn her attention away from House for just a moment – long enough to see that his heart rate had started dropping precipitously. Wrenching the door open, she had gone inside, just as every alarm in the room went off.

“Shit!” she shouted. “House! Call a code, get a crash cart! President Bartlet’s in v-fib!”

She heard House barking the orders outside as she hit the switches on the defibrillator and prepared an epinephrine injection. Two nurses had joined her in the room within thirty seconds. Grabbing the paddles off the defibrillator, she waited until it signaled that it was charged.

“Clear!” she shouted, placing the paddles against the President’s chest. The nurses removed their hands, and the defibrillator activated. President Bartlet’s body jumped, but his heartbeat remained flatlined. House observed the monitor. “Nothing.”

“Clear!” Cameron yelled again. This time, the charge got a result. “Sinus rhythm,” House reported after a moment.

Cameron hung the paddles back up, ordered the nurses to move Bartlet up to the ICU, and stepped back outside the room. House joined her a moment later.

“The cardiac arrest all but confirms it,” he said. “His nervous system is failing. His MS has changed to secondary progressive. It’s unlikely that he’ll leave this hospital.”

Cameron bowed her head, fighting back tears. She had been given charge of the care of this great man, and now she would have to give him this diagnosis.

“I don’t know if I can tell him,” she whispered, sounding like a broken little girl.

She felt a hand under her chin, then he lifted her face up to look at him. “Allison,” he said – odd for him, he never called her by her first name, and his voice was unusually gentle. “I’m sorry you have to do this, but you have to be honest with him.”

She sighed, tears finding their way down her cheekbones. “How can I tell President Bartlet that he’s going to die?”

House’s gaze seemed to look through her eyes, into her soul. “You’ll find a way. Just be strong.”