Chapter 913 - 912: House - "Adam’s a Jerk. Who’s With Me? Who’s Against?"

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New Jersey.

Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

House's Office.

"Alright, everyone, put your thinking caps on and give me your diagnoses," Dr. House said, tapping the whiteboard with his cane. "Come on, let's get cracking and show Adam Duncan who's boss."

"Why do you always have to pick a fight with Dr. Duncan?" the gorgeous Dr. Cameron asked with a helpless sigh. In her eyes, Adam was practically a shining star—how could someone like him have any bad intentions?

"Because he's a jerk!" House shot back, smirking. "You think he transferred the patient here because he respects your expertise? Nope! He's just dodging responsibility and dumping it on us."

"No way, really?" the blond heartthrob Dr. Chase said, wide-eyed.

"Don't believe me?" House grinned. "Alright, hit me with your diagnoses."

"It's not environmental," Dr. Foreman, the sharp-witted African-American doctor, chimed in. "His dad hired cleaners to scrub the house, the maid washed all the clothes, and they even got hypoallergenic sheets and pillows."

"Should we run more tests?" Chase asked.

"Nah," House said, shaking his head. "He's been in the hospital for over three weeks. If it were environmental, he'd have improved by now after the change of scenery." He paused, throwing a sly, half-smirk at Foreman. "Guess who else figured that out?"

"Dr. Duncan," Chase answered before anyone else could.

"Could it be an infection?" Foreman suggested, rolling his eyes.

"No fever, and his white blood cell count's normal," Cameron countered.

"But his temperature's 99.2°F (37.3°C)," Foreman insisted.

"Barely above normal," Cameron shot back.

"Still higher than it should be," Foreman argued. "His body's reacting to something. Maybe lupus could explain it."

"If it were lupus, why no fever? Why no elevated white blood cells?" Cameron countered again.

Lupus, in simple terms, is when the body becomes allergic to itself—its immune system attacks and destroys healthy cells in the bloodstream. It's a terrifying disease, manageable but incurable. Naturally, the ever-empathetic Cameron dreaded the idea of the patient having it.

"What about drug use? Meth or cocaine can mess up the blood and nervous systems—symptoms can mimic lupus," Chase piped up.

"Drug test came back negative," House said with a smug grin. "Lupus test was negative too. Guess who ordered those tests?"

Foreman's face darkened as he muttered, "That jerk!"

"See?" House laughed. "Foreman's finally seen through Adam Duncan's act. What about the rest of you? Give me more diagnoses—make 'em creative!"

"What about cancer?" Cameron hesitated. "His mom died of cancer. Could he have inherited it?"

"Pancreatic cancer," House said, still grinning. "Biopsy's already been done—negative. Guess who ordered that one too?"

Cameron fell silent.

Chase couldn't help himself. "Every diagnosis and test we can think of, he's already thought of and done. So why transfer the patient here?"

"You really don't get it, or are you just playing dumb?" Foreman said with a cold laugh. "He's already run through all the standard diagnoses and treatments. He didn't transfer the patient because he thinks we're better than him. He transferred him because he knows House is gutsier—willing to try unconventional stuff. House is right: he's a jerk who's shoving the responsibility onto us!"

"So, we're all on the same page now, right?" House said, chuckling. "Adam Duncan's a jerk! But just knowing that isn't enough. We've got to prove it and slap him in the face with it. Any more ideas?"

The three ducklings—Cameron, Chase, and Foreman—exchanged glances but stayed quiet.

"Nothing?" House groaned. "Not a single idea? How are we supposed to prove he's a jerk if we're just as stumped as he is?"

"We've thought of everything we can," Cameron said helplessly. "Duncan's obviously thought of it all too. Did he ever mention any bold guesses?"

"You guys are useless," House said, tapping the whiteboard with his cane again. "Even if he did have some wild idea, you think he'd share it?"

"Nope," Foreman said, shaking his head. "If he did, it'd be way too obvious he's dodging responsibility. He's just pretending to be clueless, leaving us to come up with the crazy ideas and run the risky tests."

"Exactly," House said, raising his voice. "This guy's jerk-ness is next-level—most people, no, almost no one can see through it!"

The three ducklings gave House a weird look, silently thinking: He's a hidden super-jerk, while you're an in-your-face super-jerk. Who's worse? Depends on who you ask. But honestly, most people would probably prefer dealing with Adam Duncan's sneaky type.

"Quit trying to figure out which one of us is the bigger jerk," House said, rolling his eyes. "Right now, use every ounce of brainpower you've got to crack this case. What's his hematocrit level?"

"13!" Foreman answered.

"If it drops any lower, his red blood cells won't carry enough oxygen to keep him going," Cameron said, her voice tinged with sadness. "His lungs could work fine, but he'd still suffocate."

"House, got any bold ideas?" Chase asked, looking at him expectantly. To Chase, House was the real legend. He refused to believe Adam outshone him. House seemed so chipper—surely he had a plan up his sleeve to put Adam in his place. If that was the case, why waste brain cells when he could just ask?

House froze for a second. Everything he could think of, Adam had already covered. What was he supposed to say?

Beep beep. Beep beep.

Just then, everyone's pagers went off.

"It's the patient!" Cameron shouted, glancing at hers before bolting toward the ward.

The other two ducklings followed close behind.

"Here we go!" House said with a smirk, limping after them. When it came to adapting on the fly based on a patient's changing condition, he was second to none. As long as new symptoms popped up, he could break through the deadlock of Adam having all the answers. Now it was his time to shine—and show Adam what real medicine looked like!

(Chapter End)