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.The House of Adders	By : keithcompany Category: G through L > House Views: 1298 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own House, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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"He's traveled to third world countries," Foreman pointed out in the team room. "It's very likely that he's picked up something from one place or another."
"It's also very likely," House replied, "that his military experience has helped him avoid picking anything up."
"He deals with industrial suppliers at their facilities," Cameron said. "Maybe it's a heavy metal poisoning."
"Blackadder is a purchaser, not a quality assurance inspector." House spun his cane and turned his chair to the white board of symptoms. "He'd only go in areas they let their salesmen traipse around in, safe from exposure to a lawsuit."
"Accidents happen," Chase added.
"Which explains your haircut," House responded. "But it doesn't help our diagnosis. We need to find out what it was, THEN we can find out where it came from." He detailed a litany of blood and other tests for the patient. "Oh, and get Doctor Hengood to give him a full examination."
"Hengood?" Cameron asked. "He's a proctologist. Why do we need a proctologist on this case?"
"Edmund has an enormous stick up his ass. We need to find it. Now, go. Go, minions, and work my bidding." The team filed out, past Dr. Wilson leaning in the door.
"You sure that you want to set a precedent like that?" he asked House once they were alone.
"What, employees doing what they were employed to do?" House inquired, rising to stand. "Seems rather ideal, to me."
"No. You have been a patient in this hospital, and probably will be again," Wilson explained. "Do you really want to encourage proctologic exams based on a personality diagnosis?"
"Oh, shucks," House said, dismissing the issue with a flippant tone. "Everybody wants a piece of my ass. Doctor got back."
-----
There were no leads discovered by the chemical or biological tests.
"What about sticking the light where the solar rays are not wont to shine?" House asked.
"Cuddy put a stop to the proctologic exam," Chase said. "For some reason, she questioned the medical necessity of being petty."
House spun to face Chase. "You actually scheduled one?"
"Of course," Cameron replied. "If we hadn't, you'd have come up with a medical pretext for it."
"But then," Foreman added, "if we had managed to get it done, you'd have derided our inability to filter sarcasm in your instructions."
"Quite right," House nodded. "And the student has become the master. So, what's next?"
"Drugs?" Chase asked. "Search his hotel room for illicit or licit substances?"
"And maybe," Cameron suggested, "get a better picture of exactly where he's been purchasing things on this trip."
"Okay, fine," House said, throwing up his hands theatrically. "Never mind the 'find it now, explain it later,' plan. Go find out where, that'll tell us how." His eyes flicked back and forth for a moment.
"Cameron, Chase, go check out his hotel room. Foreman, talk to him about his last three purchasing trips. What industry, what environment, how long, what he might have-"
"I'll check his hotel room," Foreman said. "Have Cameron get his immediate history."
"Now, now, now, he's explained that he doesn't hate your race. He hates you personally."
"So, I'm the worst choice for this!" Foreman insisted. "Send Chase!"
"Uh-uh," House countered. "Can you imagine how Blackadder will respond to an Aussie?"
"Then you do it?"
"Can't, I have clinic hours."
"You're actually seeing clinic patients to get out of seeing your own patients?" Foreman was wide eyed in surprise. House sent the other two doctors out of the room with a nod.
"Listen," Foreman said softly. "If you're punishing me, fine. Send me to the clinic, I'll do double your hours. If you're trying to improve my character, I've been black all my life. Dealing with real racists has made me as tough as I'm ever going to be."
"It's not for your sake," House explained. "He's an abrasive bastard. But you're right. You're tough. Tougher than the other two. Blackadder'd have your cute coworker crying in ten minutes."
"And Cameron in twelve," Foreman said with a chuckle. He shook his head, then stood to depart. "Is this a good time to tell you I hide a switchblade in my sock for just such patients?"
"A knife? I think what you'll really need is a wooden stake."
"Borrow your cane?"
------
The maids had been through the hotel suite before the doctors arrived. Everything was straight and tidy. Cameron moved to the luggage while Chase examined the closet.
"Nice place," he said. "Bigger than my apartment right now."
"Wow..." his partner said softly.
"Find something?"
"These bags. They're amazing. It's not just a suitcase, it's like a clothing filing system. All these slots and cubbyholes, a real custom job. A place for every thing, and every thing in place."
"He is a professional traveler. And he likes his comforts," Chase said, pulling out a shirt. He checked the label. "Whoa. This is an expensive wardrobe he has." He turned to look questioningly at Cameron. "What does a man with suits like this want with shirts from a Jersey shopping mall?"
"Maybe he likes slumming," she suggested. "Dresses up to represent the Military, dresses down to cruise chicks."
"Maybe," Chase replied, unconvinced.
"I'm going to check the bathroom," she said, walking towards the door. She opened it and stepped inside. A man's voice said, "'Ello, love. We need some more towels."
"EEEEK!"
Chase ran to Cameron's side as she exited the bathroom. "What is it?"
"Man...bath..." she stammered, eyes screwed tightly shut. "Naked...hairy...ring around the tub....shaped like a turnip...Ewww!"
------
"So, what shall we talk about today?" Edmund asked, shutting his book and folding his hands atop the bed table. Foreman glanced disapprovingly at items on the table: a snifter of brandy, a plastic tray of mixed nuts.
"You know, you really shouldn't be drinking liquor," he told the patient. "There's every chance it's aggravating your condition."
"Aggravating," Blackadder replied, "would be the alternatives: hospital food and daytime television. When you actually find out what my condition IS, you'll be in a position to dictate my diet. Until then, feel free to help yourself to what ever it is they delivered for my lunch."
He reached for a bag on the nightstand. Foreman helpfully handed it over. Within were compartments for the plastic tray, along with a few more, a small flask, some toiletries, and various odds and ends.
"Quite the bag," Foreman observed.
"I'm a professional traveler," Edmund said. "I like to keep certain things handy at all times."
"Nuts? Brandy?"
"Casanova, somewhere in his thirty volumes of memoirs, listed some items that a traveling gentleman should keep on hand at all times. I've forgotten most of the list, but it included several shirts, clean plates, enough food to craft a breakfast.
"The man paid more attention to his physical comfort than Sun Tzu paid to his army's logistics. I cannot claim to be either man's equal, but I have taken the larger part of their advice to heart."
Foreman shook his head and took a seat. Clipboard at hand, he began interrogating his patient about his habits and recent travels.
Blackadder was quite candid, including actions taken in support of business and those in the pursuit of pleasure.
"Until recently, I took a certain amount of glee in pointing out the inadequacies of airline travel."
"Really?"
"Well," he said, spreading his hands across the bedsheet, "have you traveled? Hundreds of people pay great monies to be subject to the whims of stressed schedulers, military pilots reduced to busmen, out of work models trying to feed two hundred mouths out of a kitchen the size of a decent shower stall, and commingling convivially with mouth breathing knuckle draggers you'd just as soon push over a rail as talk to, normally."
"But you don't do that any more?" Foreman asked, imagining a diagnosis of a stressed stewardess spiking his drink.
"No, not since your towers got knocked over." Edmund shrugged and made himself more comfortable. "Now, it's worth your life to anger one who can summon air marshals with her manicured little finger.
"Although," he said after a pause, "it can be quite entertaining to see OTHER people pick a fight in a confined space, to be hauled off by your Fatherland Security Forces."
"Homeland," Foreman corrected. "It's the Office of Homeland Security."
"Quite," Edmund replied, deadpan.
"So what did you do when you landed, beat the taxi driver with your umbrella?"
"Not at all. That's what Baldrick's for. Oh, good heavens!" he blurted. "I forgot Baldrick!"
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.The House of Adders