Rash Decisions
Summary: After treating a man with a mysterious aliment, Cameron becomes a patient herself, prompting House to reevaluate his actions.
A/N: In all fairness, Niff deserved a co-author credit on this story because she was an invaluable help with the medical aspects of the story. Since she refused, I'll have to settle by offering her my thanks. And thanks to Gibby and Ann for their beta services. All mistakes are mine; I don't share.
Rating: Eh, let's go PG-13 for language.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything remotely connected to this show. I haven't even seen all the episodes yet. I hope I have the characterizations right, but let me know if I screwed something up. I'm not a doctor, but I write for fictional ones. Don't trust my medical presentations to be completely accurate.

In the diagnostics department, Foreman stopped stirring his coffee and turned to stare at House in disbelief. "Malaria?"

"That's what she said."

Chase shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Kelleher boxed at the international level. He'd have been in countries where it's prevalent. Falciparum malaria can produce the same symptoms as transient neuropsychiatric syndrome."

"But he hasn't been out of the country in years," Foreman countered.

House let out a huff as he moved to his chair. "There's that, and considering he's not melting the tubing in his arms with a raging fever, I think we can rule that out."

"Falciparum malaria can cause brain damage," Chase continued. "Some studies now suggest that many of the Vietnam veterans suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder actually contracted falciparum while they were in the war. The residual damage is what's causing their symptoms now."

"His history said he was never seriously ill," Wilson said. "House is right; high fever always goes with falciparum. There's no way he could have contracted that form of malaria without realizing it. And he couldn't have boxed while he was that sick."

Seemingly ignoring the conversation, House tapped his cane on the floor. "So why did she say that?"

Foreman let out a sigh as he leaned over House's desk. "Look, I know this is fancy neurology stuff, but she has a concussion. That means her brain is hurt. Confusion is normal. If Cameron was saying fluffy bunny rabbits caused the TNP, you'd ignore it, but to her, right now, it makes the same amount of sense as malaria."

"He's right, you know. The odds that Allison will ever completely remember what happened during and immediately before the attack are slim. We can't take what she's saying too literally."

"This coming from Malaria Boy," House grumbled.

"Look, you want to take what she said seriously. That's nice. Actually, coming from you, that's incredible," Foreman said. "But that doesn't mean there's any validity to it. Come on. Malaria? You know he doesn't have it, and he never had it."

House rubbed his chin for a moment. "Nothing on the tests? If it's not biological, let's hope it's environmental. Get their motel keys. Check out the rooms. Let's see if we can rule out a reaction to a toxin."

"They've been on the road a lot," Wilson said uneasily. "There's no way of knowing how many planes, motel rooms, taxis he's been in."

"You left out restaurants, bars and carryout joints, but Kelleher got sick now. Let's check what we can. Call me nutty, but I like it when I can tell a patient he doesn't have to kill himself to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone ever again."

While the others gathered their things, Wilson leaned over and spoke softly. "I'm glad you went to see her."

"Yeah, well the next time you get any brilliant ideas, keep them to yourself," House snapped. "Foreman!"

Hearing the knock, Cameron looked towards the door and smiled. "Eric. Hi."

"Hi, yourself," he answered. "Are you feeling better?"

"Lots. Thanks for asking."

Foreman raised an eyebrow disapprovingly before he checked her chart. "You need to work on your poker face. You're the patient now. Remember, we like it when they're honest with us. How bad is the pain?"

"My head feels like it's about to explode, but I probably won't vomit on you," Cameron said, her lips twitching slightly. "My knight in shining armor."

"Oh, you're going to mock me when I'm here to visit you! Remind me to kill Chase."

Her smiled faded but her voice was still friendly. "It wasn't your fault, Eric."

"I hear ya, but it doesn't make me feel any better, you know?"

"Yeah." Once he pulled the flashlight away from her eyes, she glared at him as he started checking her reflexes. "Did House put you up to this?"

"The visit? No. Checking on you? Of course he did, but don't worry. I'm getting two hundred bucks from him for it," Foreman said, laughing at her offended look. "Come on! We're all going to go out and celebrate when you get out of here. Well, as much of a celebration as you feel up to. That'll probably be some applesauce and shuffleboard."

"If that," she groaned, but with a smile.

"But we might as well let him pay for it."

"He's not going to be there, is he?"

"Uh, oh. This isn't good," Foreman said softly.

"What?"

He leaned back and stared at her with his eyes opened wide. "You're actually asking if House will come to a party."

"Oh, shut up," she said. "It hurts to talk."

"Sorry," he chuckled.

"And you should be," Wilson said as he came into the room. "Allison's my patient. I don't want to share. Scat. You're supposed to be breaking into a motel."

"And how much is House paying you to check up on me?" Cameron asked with a mock-scowl.

"Oh, man. I'm slipping. I gave him a copy of your chart without even thinking of payment," he answered. His smile faltered when her scowl became real, and he pointed nervously. "You didn't hear that. It's something your brain made up while you were sick."

"Don't," she croaked. "Don't mess with my mind, please. I won't even get mad that you gave House a copy of my file against my wishes."

"He's worried. And he would have gotten it anyway."

"Hah. So, when can I get out of bed? I'll settle for a wheelchair ride."

"Ah, you want to show off that fancy stitch-work of mine. Where do you want to go first? Radiology? The cafeteria for some juice?"

"Psych ward," she answered.

"No need for that. You head's clearing up fine," he joked, smiling at her look. "You want to visit Kelleher."

"He's my patient. This wasn't his fault. He had no control of the situation. It's my job to reassure him, and I don't want him to worry about me."

"That's actually very noble, not to mention a good sign. We worried that you'd be a little jumpy after what happened," Wilson said. "But no. You can't go see him."

"Why not? Do I look that scary? You're worried that it will make him feel guilty."

"It's simpler than that. He doesn't want to see you."

"What?" she asked with a frown.

Wilson crossed his arms as he sat on her bedside. "He specifically mentioned you as one of the people he doesn't want to meet. The other people he hurt are on the list, along with his parents. Still, it stings doesn't it? Someone who was so friendly to you earlier saying they don't want you to treat them."

Cameron gave him a sharp look. "Who I want for my doctor is my own business."

"Allison, he's actually paying people to check up on you. He probably has more up-to-date information on you than I do. He'd never admit it, but he's worried. And you hurt him. More than I think you realize."

"You still think I'm the one that's going to break his heart? I can't do that. It's not possible. You have to care about someone for them to be able to hurt you like that," she said, lifting a hand to wipe at her eyes. "I'm tired. I need to rest."

Wilson watched her sadly, regretting that he'd brought the matter up. He reached over and squeezed her fingers gently. "Yes, you do. You'll feel better later. I promise."

"Sure I will."

Kelleher stared at House in horror, panting heavily as he shook his head. "Stop. Don't do that. Please don't do that."

"Sorry," he replied, undoing the restraint and moving to the next one. "But you have to walk."

"Don't do this. I don't want to hurt you. Please, go away."

"Well, considering you're actually worried about hurting me, I'd say that's a good clue you aren't having a psychotic episode. Besides, I came prepared," House said, waving his cane. "Okay, that's not much of a defense. I have these, too," he added, popping a Vicodin.

"Why are you doing this?"

He didn't answer as he moved to the far corner of the room. Despite his glib statements, he knew there was a slight risk with his experiment, but he wanted to complete this. Cameron thought there was something else involved here, and he believed her. She observed something in him before the attack that led her to the TNP. The malaria her brain provided was obviously wrong, but there was a reason why she came up with it. If he could recreate the circumstances, he might figure out what it was causing the boxer's condition.

"Come on. Get out of bed."

"No."

"Were you this stubborn with Dr. Cameron? I know I don't look as good in a swimsuit as she does, but that's no reason to give me trouble."

"I don't know! I don't remember."

Seeing Kelleher was on the verge of tears again, House clenched his teeth for a minute. Using the patient's guilt against him was probably cold, but it could save what was left of his life. "I'm trying to help her."

On cue, the boxer immediately looked back. "What's wrong with her?"

"Well, during your little episode, you tossed her across the room. I'm sure it was accidental – probably – but she bumped her head. Hard enough to give her a bad concussion. Oh, stop it! Don't blubber. It's embarrassing when someone as strong as you does that."

Kelleher shot him an angry look, and House's hand tightened on his cane automatically. With a sigh, the powerful man sat up. "How will this help her?"

"Well, confusion and short-term amnesia are common after a concussion. She can't remember exactly what happened, but she noticed something in her exam. It's driving her batty," he said, pausing and rolling his eyes when another patient began screeching down the hallway. "It's frustrating her that she can't remember what it is."

"And if you can find out what it is, you can tell her."

"Bingo! Now get out of bed and walk around for me."

House leaned in the corner of the room, watching Kelleher move gracefully back and forth several times. He doubted Cameron had made him walk this much, but he didn't want to miss anything. Unfortunately, it provided no clues. After a few minutes, he told him to get back into bed.

"Roll over on your side and bring your knees up," he instructed, pulling on a pair of gloves. Immediately, he noticed the lack of a needle injection mark. She'd never even given him the local anesthesia, meaning whatever she noticed happened early on during the procedure.

House let out a huff, and he reached over to pull the back of the gown further apart. The first thing that registered was the sheer amount of muscles. The second thing was a small rash.

"Did that hurt?" he asked after Kelleher jerked when he ran his fingers over it.

"Itches like hell. Figures it would come back now."

"Come back? There wasn't anything in your history about a rash. When did you have it before?"

Kelleher rolled over and stared at the ceiling. "It started when I went to New York for the first meeting with the ad people. That would have been six, seven weeks ago. Something like that. Wouldn't go away, so I finally let Joey give me something for it."

"Do you remember the name of the cream?"

"Nah, it wasn't anything like that. He found some vitamin stuff for it."

"Vitamins?" House repeated with a questioning look. Rashes normally went away without treatment, and he doubted a supplement would have helped. It was the only lead he had, though. "What kind?"

"To tell you the truth, I have no idea."

"You don't know what kind of pills you were taking?" House asked, his mind considering the possibilities.

"No. I never saw the box. I told you. Joey got them for me; he even made sure I took them. He usually gave them to me at the same time he took his meds."

"Usually – that means there were times when he didn't. Did he ever give you extra?"

"Yeah, on our last trip to LA. All this traveling was getting to him, and the jet lag didn't help. There was one day he was really out of it, and he gave them to me a couple of times. It was just vitamins, so I didn't say anything to him," Kelleher said. "And don't you, neither. He was just tired that day. His mind's still sharp. It's just his body that's giving out on him."

House suddenly stood up, and a slow, broad grin formed. "God, she's brilliant! Malaria! Of course!"

"What? Doc? Doc! You didn't put the restraints back on," Kelleher cried out as he bolted out of the room. When House didn't stop, the boxer began buckling himself back to the bed.

After returning from the motel empty handed, Chase and Foreman went looking for House. As they entered a hallway from one end, he rounded the opposite corner. The pair exchanged concerned looks over the way he moved towards them.

"We didn't find anything in the motel…"

"Of course you didn't. The trainer has it with him."

"What's going on?" Chase asked. "What does he have?"

"Malaria," House called out over his shoulder.

The two stood there for a long moment, both staring at him as he stalked away. Chase's face grimaced in confusion. "Do you think he banged his head as well?"

"Let's find out," Foreman sighed.

They found him bearing down on the trainer, who sat on a bench absentmindedly rubbing his right arm.

"What is it? Scleroderma? Pemphigus? Polymyositis?"

"What?" the old man said, leaning back from the angry doctor.

"What causes your rash?"

Joey looked towards his arm and back to House. "Dermatomyositis. How'd you know about that?"

"Because you take Aralen for the condition. And you gave it to Kelleher."

"I wouldn't do that," he insisted, but dropping his head as he stood up and started to walk away. "Glen don't like drugs."

House slapped his cane onto the wall in front of the trainer, stopping his escape. "Right. That's why you never let him see the box. If he knew it was your prescription, he wouldn't have taken the pills. So you lied to him. You weren't giving him vitamins."

Joey stood up straighter, but he had a guilty expression. "No, I wasn't. It was that damn rash. He couldn't sleep, and he was so exhausted from the stress. I couldn't talk him into seeing a doctor. It helped my rash, so I gave it to him."

"Your skin condition is a byproduct of an auto-immune disorder. The medication treated that, not the rash. The active ingredient in your Aralen is chloroquine. That's mainly used to prevent malaria."

"It helped Glen's rash, and it stopped him from getting malaria," Joey said indignantly. "So what?"

"So what? A small percentage of patients have a severe reaction to chloroquine. You didn't help him! You poisoned him when you gave him too many!" House barked. "You idiot, if you hadn't lied to us, we could have prevented that attack on Cameron. Now he has to live with that for the rest of his life."

"Wh…wh…wh…"

"Damn it!" House swore as the old man collapsed onto the bench. "Get a wheelchair. Listen to me, Joey. He's going to be fine. We can treat him now. You're going to be fine. And you are not having a heart attack," he added hopefully, stepping back as Foreman and Chase took him away.

"Cuddy will love this."

Back in the clinic, House glared at the nurse who handed him the patient's chart. Cuddy had added extra clinic hours to his never-ending sentence for his causing Joey to have a panic attack, and he was sick of sick people. Walking into the room, his first thought was to run away, but the hospital administrator was standing watch in the waiting area.

"Hi, Dr. House! It's me again. Freedom," the crystal-covered woman told him with a bangle-clashing wave.

"Ah, yes. Rainforest. How are you feeling today? A bit chopped down?"

"I told you I didn't have the flu. I'm still sick. I feel worse, in fact."

"Funny thing about viruses. They tend to do that," House said sarcastically. He moved to her, grudgingly but competently completing an exam. "You have the flu. You need to rest. And you're not French. Buy some deodorant," he added before heading towards the door.

"I do wish you'd be a bit more open-minded. I was going to tell you that I've been sweating heavily, even when I sleep."

"Why don't people mention things like that up front?" he groused.

"Do you know what you need? Some healthy food. I have this delicious sheep's milk cheese my boyfriend brought back from Mexico. You'll love it."

House took his hand of the door's handle, and dropped his head to his chest. He groaned loudly before he hobbled back to her. A Vicodin disappeared in his mouth before he took three steps. "Is it a fresh cheese or aged?"

"Fresh. Are you interested?"

"No! And you don't eat cooked foods. Let me guess. It's a raw-milk cheese."

"Of course. Why would anyone eat anything else?"

"Oh, I don't know," House said with an exaggerated shoulder shrug. "So they won't die?"

"W…w…what?"

"Do you know why the government started requiring milk to be pasteurized? Don't listen to your crystals; it wasn't a nefarious plot by big business to wipe out small farms. It was to stop the spread of diseases, two biggies in particular."

"But raw food…"

"Is a perfect incubator for bacteria. Especially milk from countries with lousy health code standards," he said, sinking back onto the stool. "Nasty things. And do you know what one of those big diseases was?"

"No, and I don't see what this…"

"Tuberculosis. TB. Consumption. All kinds of names, but it's the one where you hack your lungs out of your body."

"I have TB?" Rainforest whispered in terror.

"No. That's only one of the major diseases pasteurization prevents. There were all kinds of other things in raw milk. There's diphtheria, strep, staph, typhoid fever and scarlet fever. You can also get listeria, salmonella, yersinia, campylobacter, and let's not forget our friend escherichia coli; you probably know him as E. coli," he said, pausing to take a dramatic breath. "All very nasty bugs. All will cause very nasty symptoms. May kill you, but probably not. You'll just wish you were dying."

"Which, which of those do I have?"

"Did I say you had any of those? No! Do I need to get a frequency for one of your crystals?" House asked.

Rainforest's mouth opened and closed as she stared at him. "What's wrong with me?" she asked pitifully.

"I did say there were two major things pasteurization kills. TB is one. The other is the brucella microorganism. It absolutely loves to live in sheep. It's pretty much been wiped out in the US, but not in Mexico. It gives you something called brucellosis."

"Is that bad?"

"Well, it's not good. Do you feel good?"

"No. So, that's what I have."

"You probably have the early stages of it. The aging process usually kills whatever's alive in it, but fresh cheese is a great incubator for diseases. It's a good thing your crystals told you something was wrong, because if left untreated, brucellosis causes permanent heart and nerve damage."

"Is it treatable?"

"Did the 'left untreated' part give you a clue at all?" House asked in exasperation. Seeing her tears, he pulled off his gloves with a grunt. When he continued, his voice was calmer. "In most cases, a course of antibiotics over a six-week period will treat the initial infection, but I told you it was nasty. It can, and probably will, recur. If that's the case, you have to go see a real doctor – shocking, I know – and get more antibiotics."

"I don't like taking medications."

"Fine. That's your choice. You can die instead."

Rainforest blinked rapidly. "You're sure that's what I have?"

"No. I said it was what you probably had. A blood test may reveal it, but to be sure, we're going to have to take a bone marrow sample."

"Is that painful?"

"Oh, yeah!" House said, nodding his head. "Extremely painful."

After speaking with the nurse for a few minutes, House quietly made his way into the room. Setting the bag on the floor beside the bed, he sighed and took another step forward. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he debated the wisdom of his visit. It was lame. He was getting ready to leave when Cameron opened her eyes, and her expression was enough to convince him to stay.

"Hi," he said softly, taking another step forward, dragging the bedside tray with him. Next, he fumbled in his coat pocket, pulling out a small stuffed teddy bear. "This is for you."

She smiled at him before hoarsely laughing at the bear. It was dressed in a very short and provocative nurse's uniform. "Cute outfit."

"Well, the doctor bear in the gift shop was too grumpy looking. Besides, this one was way hotter."

"Thank you. That was nice of you."

He darted his eyes around the room until he spotted a small collection of plush toys sitting with some flowers at her bedside. Picking up the bear, he walked it there and set it in the middle of the other gifts. "I'll just put this with the rest of your family reunion. Let her catch up with all the gossip about frigid Aunt Alice."

"Elisa," she said, smiling again at his exaggerated shrug.

House took his seat again, tapping his cane lightly on the floor. After a minute, he forced a smile. "Malaria. Anti-malarial medication. Nice to see that incredible brain of yours still works after getting scrambled. That was a sharp call. This is why I wanted you on my team. You're good."

"Thanks," Cameron repeated, feeling slightly uneasy with the unexpected praise. "It was probably the chloroquine that caused Glen's second rash. That was the clue. How's he doing?"

"Physically, he's doing pretty well. He's responding to the ammonium chloride treatment, and he hasn't had any more psychotic episodes. The ophthalmologist thinks the eye damage may be permanent, though."

"And beyond physically?"

House shook his head slightly. "He's a guy who couldn't box any more because he felt guilty that an opponent who shouldn't have been boxing in the first place died. Attacking a hospital staff? This…he's not taking it very well."

"Is he getting therapy?"

"He and his trainer, both. That guy is half-suicidal. He really thought he was helping Kelleher by sharing his medication with him."

"When you check up on Glen again, will you tell him I still want to see him? This isn't his fault. He has no reason to feel guilty about what happened. I want to make sure he understands I don't blame him at all."

"I don't think it'll do any good," he said slowly, chewing his lip for a moment. "You have to learn that there are just some situations that you'll never be able to control. There are some people who can't be fixed. And that you aren't to blame for how other people react."

Cameron dropped her eyes briefly. "I…I owe you an apology. I'm not exactly feeling that great, and I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier. I'm sorry."

The nurse arrived then carrying two large plastic cups, and House pointed to the tray. After she deposited the drinks and left, he used his cane to pull the bag he'd deposited earlier to his side.

"Do you know what's the biggest danger a hospital patient faces?" he called out as he bent over and rummaged through the bag. When he sat back up he placed a bud vase on the tray and filled it with water from the pitcher by her side. A single red rose went in next. "The food. You can't get better eating that crap."

"What are you doing?" she asked softly as he returned to the bag.

Staring into the sack, House made a face and sighed. That was an excellent question. He'd been asking himself the same thing ever since he got the idea. "It's a universal truth that all first dates go horribly."

"No, it's not."

"It is in my world, and what else would I be talking about," he said, placing a linen napkin and silverware in front of her.

"If that's true, then it's a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Uh, sorry. Boo-boo to the head. You can't be talking about something like prophecy without getting everybody worried. Chicken noodle or beef vegetable?"

"What?"

"Soup. I didn't think you'd want to eat something heavy. Besides, it's hell trying to use a knife and fork when one arm is in a cast. Here's the chicken noodle; it's supposed to be good for you."

Cameron stared in astonishment as he placed a soup bowl in front of her and poured the contents from a Styrofoam container into it. He then disappeared into the bag again to retrieve a smaller paper bag full of rolls and crackers.

"You'll have to settle for apple juice, I'm afraid. Cuddy would throw a fit if I brought you wine. She's always out to get me."

"I…this…I…"

"Oh, the things you say! You'll make me blush if you keep that up. Go ahead and eat before it gets cold," House said, quickly diverting his gaze back into the bag.

His eyes opened wide in disbelief. All he wanted to do was cheer her up, nothing more, but he was enjoying himself; this was a bad sign. He wanted her to enjoy it, too. Very bad sign. Damn it. Wilson would gloat forever if he ever found out. "Would you like some whipped buttery product for your roll?"

Cameron just stared at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You…but… I…"

House rolled his eyes. "I told Wilson to go for the skull X-rays."

"Thank you."

Her tone made it clear her gratitude extended beyond buttering her roll, and he met her eyes only briefly before opening the second container of soup for himself. After a long silence, he began looking around.

"Good soup," she added. "This was very nice of you."

"Stop thanking me. It's a very weird feeling, and you're getting fluff in my soup."

"Sorry."

"And stop apologizing."

"Sorry," Cameron said, smiling impishly at him.

House darted his eyes to the TV set, but decided against asking her if she wanted to watch the game. Instead, he grumbled something under his breath before looking back at her. "Well. You have no earrings or shoes for me to compliment this time. This is going to be fun."

"Sore throat," Cameron interrupted him, giving him an understanding look. "Hurts to talk. We don't have to."

House dropped his head, but when he looked up again she was watching him with a cautious air. Slowly, his lips curled into an honest – if small – smile. Her expression changed from hesitation to guarded optimism.

She kept her eyes on him until she could see it was making him uneasy. Looking away, Cameron kept her smile in check. She wasn't entire certain this wasn't a hallucination. There was no saying where this was heading, but she was curious to find out.

"Wait until you see what I brought for desert – if you're good, and finish up all your soup," he said, leaning forward and lifting his eyebrows suggestively. "And if you finish, and you're bad, I have something even better."

Cameron nearly choked on her soup as the laughter escaped. "Behave," she chided.

"Never in a million years."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," she assured him.

The End