Chapter 914 - 913: House: "There Won’t Be a Next Time!"

New Jersey, Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital

Keith, the patient, suddenly took a turn for the worse, and Dr. House couldn't have been more delighted. He went to check it out and found the kid had a retinal thrombosis in his left eye—he'd gone blind.

"Warfarin could dissolve the clot and restore his vision," one of the team suggested.

"Not an option right now—he's got internal bleeding," another countered.

"It'd save his sight but wreck everything else."

"For the same reason, surgery's off the table."

"We've got two hours to figure this out. If we can't fix his eye, it's gone for good."

House's three ducklings—Cameron, Foreman, and Chase—were hashing it out.

"Forget the eye," House said, limping in with his cane. "Tell him to use the other one to find the light. The clot's hiding a clue that'll help us crack this puzzle."

"You okay?" Cameron, the team's resident beauty, asked with concern.

"Yeah, your leg's not hurting? Did you pop a Vicodin?" Foreman, the sharp-witted Black doctor, chimed in, surprised.

"Of course not," House scoffed. "I made a bet—when have I ever backed down?"

"Then how—" Foreman squinted at him suspiciously. "You and Cuddy bet you'd go a week without Vicodin, and she'd waive your clinic duty for a month. But you're clearly addicted. You've had obvious withdrawal symptoms before…"

"It's Adam Duncan!" Cameron cut in, nailing it.

"That's it!" Foreman shook his head, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Betting with your own kind gives you such an adrenaline rush it's overriding the leg pain and withdrawal. Your competitive streak's a freaking medical miracle!"

"Did you take Vicodin?" Wilson, House's best buddy, burst in to check on him. Seeing House looking smug and chipper, he echoed Foreman's shock.

"Can you guys come up with something original?" House griped. "Also, the patient doesn't have cancer, so you're not needed here, Wilson. If you want to play friend, go find Cuddy. She's the one who needs consoling after losing this bet."

"It's Adam Duncan!" Wilson, being the good pal he was, caught on instantly. His eyes dimmed for a second, then he smirked, tilting his head and muttering, "Damn it!"

"What'd you do?" House picked up on it immediately.

No explanation was needed—everyone saw it soon enough. A stunning Latina woman in workout gear strolled into the small office next door, a gym bag slung over her shoulder. Through the glass, they watched her set the bag down, peel off her jacket, and reveal a tight T-shirt. She started stretching, her fitted clothes hugging every curve as she moved.

"Oh, boy," House muttered, his eyes glued to the rhythmic sway of her figure. Then he turned to Wilson with a sly grin. "If I'd known you'd cheer me up like this, I'd have made that bet with Cuddy ages ago. She's gotta be at least 500 bucks an hour, right? Thanks, man! Oh, you paid her already, yeah?"

Wilson, struggling to tear his married-man eyes away (though his peripheral vision kept sneaking glances), gave a wry smile. "If I'd known a few words from Dr. Duncan could push you past pain and addiction, I wouldn't have bothered with this…"

Noticing Cameron's weird look, he quickly added, "No, no, don't get the wrong idea! She's a legit masseuse—just happens to be drop-dead gorgeous. It's all above board. She's licensed!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," House chuckled. "We get it. She's a fully licensed, totally legal masseuse. I'll be sure to have her work on my stiff, aching leg later."

"Hey, guys, Keith's eye is about to go kaput, and his life's slipping away fast," Cameron snapped, raising her voice. "Can we maybe shift our focus from those sexy curves to saving his eye and his life?"

"Sorry," Wilson, the ultimate nice guy, said with an apologetic look.

"Alright, team, let's brainstorm," House said, finally peeling his eyes away. "How's a guy with internal bleeding suddenly throwing clots?"

"That's impossible," Chase, the blond pretty-boy doctor, piped up. "Those are two totally opposite processes."

"Lupus could explain it," Cameron said flatly. "More platelets could trigger clotting."

"We already ruled out lupus," Foreman shot back. "And didn't you always say it's never lupus?"

"She's getting desperate," House said, giving her a long look. "Lupus can't be cured, but it can be managed. Diagnosing him with that beats letting him die undiagnosed any day."

"If it's not lupus, then what?" Cameron turned to House.

"Infection or cancer are the most likely culprits for clots," Chase jumped in.

"Cancer biopsy—Adam did one, we did another. No chance of error there. That leaves a gallium scan," House said, focusing. "Where's the gallium scan blind spot?"

"The heart!" Foreman replied. "A clot broke off, traveled through the arteries, and got stuck in his eye."

"Order an echocardiogram and start IV antibiotics now," House directed.

"What about Keith's eye?" Cameron asked, her voice soft with concern. "Are we really giving up on it?"

"You got a better idea?" House raised an eyebrow.

"…" Cameron had nothing.

"Thought so," House said, his gaze drifting back to the office's lovely curves. "As long as he lives, he can get a guide dog later. Might even help him score more dates!"

Cameron opened her mouth to argue but ended up storming out instead.

"I think we should ask Dr. Duncan," she said, catching up to Chase and Foreman outside.

"Go for it," Chase said with a grin.

"Don't," Foreman warned. "Unless you want to get fired."

Half an hour later, Chase found House looking refreshed and smug, bidding farewell to the "licensed" masseuse. Glancing at his watch, Chase gave a slight nod.

"Had a massage," House said casually.

"Looks like you had the masseuse," Chase teased. "Keith's echo was normal—no vegetations on the heart valves."

"Whatever you say, I can argue it down," House shot back, giving him a look.

"Antibiotics aren't working," Chase pointed out.

"Double the dose to 70 milligrams," House said offhandedly.

"That'll fry his kidneys," Chase protested.

"Good point," House quipped. "Save the kidneys then—someone waiting for a transplant will thank you."

"…" Chase gave up and switched gears. "Anyway, I've got an idea for his eye."

"The eye's not the priority," House cut him off. "He's got days to live. Focus there."

"There's a clot in his retina," Chase said, trailing House as he walked. "If we draw out some vitreous fluid, it might free up space around the retinal artery."

"If the artery expands, the clot could float away on its own. Creative," House nodded, then squinted at Chase. "Why didn't you bring this up earlier?"

"Just thought of it," Chase said, shrugging.

"You should've thought of it," House said, staring him down.

"My bad," Chase said with a self-deprecating smirk, turning to go prep the procedure.

A few steps in, House's voice stopped him.

"There won't be a next time."

Chase paused, glancing back at House's piercing, all-knowing gaze. He gave a wry nod. "Got it."

(End of Chapter)