Just One Yesterday

James Howe lay in the hospital bed, an IV in the back of his wrist and a heart monitor attached to his finger. He'd lost ten pounds since he was admitted, and his fighting weight hadn't been incredibly high – through the gap in his gown, the ribs poked achingly through the skin like he'd been starved for weeks.

House stared through the glass doors from his seat in the wheelchair, twirling his cane slowly in his fingers. The patients symptoms flew around his head in a kind of ordered chaos: nausea and vomiting, tachycardia, very low blood pressure... nausea and vomiting, tachycardia, very low blood pressure...

The test had come up negative; James didn't have pheochromocytoma. There was no tiny, malignant tumour on his adrenal glands, causing all of his symptoms. They were back to square one, and they didn't have a clue what was wrong with the man.

All the while House stared, waiting for a new symptom. Nothing had happened in the hour he'd been sat there, except that Cameron had come to change the bag of saline hanging on the stand next to the bed, the only thing that was doing the patient some sort of good. In the five days since James had been admitted, House had had more treatment.

House hadn't seen Jess since the previous day. She'd left the hospital for her hotel at six the previous evening, and had never turned up since. It was now lunchtime on the Saturday – the only reason House had come in on a weekend was to hang out with his daughter before he inevitably screwed it up.

In all of his mulling, House hadn't noticed the door sliding open next to him. A nurse had entered the room with a wheelchair and was helping the patient up from his bed. It was at that moment that House noticed James had been sweating an awful lot. As quickly as he could, he wheeled himself through the open door and ran into the empty wheelchair, startling the nurse.

'Doctor House!' she exclaimed, almost dropping the patient, who could hardly stand up on his own.

'Your eyes hurt?' he asked the lolling man.

He shook his head, his eyes only open a crack. 'No, my head.'

Without saying anything else, House took himself quickly out of the patient's room. The nausea and vomiting, the symptoms he'd been admitted with, had passed slightly – without them, his state was infinitely more interesting. Hypertension, tachycardia and now photo-sensitivity; he stopped in his tracks in the doorway, before turning back around to the nurse.

He ignored her and spoke directly to James. 'You're weak.'

'I can't stand up on my own, it hurts too much.'

'Nurse?' House acknowledged her now that she was useful. 'Check his BP.'

She frowned at him as she pulled a cuff from the cabinet and pulled it gently up the patients arm. When it had been released and she'd checked it by her watch, her eyes widened quickly. 'It's eighty over fifty!' She quickly led the patient back to his bed, lying him down slowly.

House smirked. 'Interesting.'

-

In the consultation room, House swung his cane around looking pleased with himself. Foreman, Cameron and Chase all looked up at him expectantly, but he didn't want to indulge them just yet. He wanted them to work it out on their own.

'I want you...' He thrust his cane in Chase's face. 'To give the patient 250 micrograms of tetracosactide.'

'Why?' Chase asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide his bitterness.

House held a finger up, ticking it back and forth like a parent to a naughty child. 'Because I said so. Test his blood cortisol levels before and after you administer it.' Chase glaring up at him, House just grinned at his minions in self-satisfaction. 'Go!' he sang, limping over to the coffee machine at the other side of the room.

Cameron leaned over the table slightly – in an effort to be inconspicuous, which didn't fool House – and whispered something to the Australian Fellow. Nodding once, he slowly raised from his seat and, shooting House a filthy look, left the room. The other two members of the diagnostic team sat in silence for a small while, before Foreman dared to speak.

'You know what the patient has, don't you.'

House tapped his chin gently. 'I might do.'

'House,' Cameron whispered, pleading.

He shook his head, unrelenting. Horrified by his blatant disregard for the patient's welfare, Cameron stood and stormed out of the room after Chase – House smirked to himself.

'You're an ass,' Foreman deduced.

House shrugged. 'You should leave too, you know. The other two will be talking about you behind your black. I mean, back.'

Foreman glared at him, portraying through a single look just how much he simultaneously respected and resented the man. He sat still for only a moment more, before – slower than the other two had – he rose from his seat and ambled towards the door. He shook his head as he left, which only amused House further.

Turning to face the window, House put his cane over the back of his shoulders and wrapped his wrists over the top of it, as if he was in the stocks. He heard the door open behind him but ignored it, assuming it was just one of the team or Wilson coming to check up on him.

'Addison's disease.'

House whipped around at the voice. Jess was leaning on the door frame, sipping a coffee with one hand and spinning her cellphone in her fingers with the other. He frowned at her nonchalance, leaning on his cane as unfamiliar emotions flooded his system.

'Where've you been?'

She shifted slightly so that she was more comfortable, and shrugged. 'I went on a date last night and didn't feel like getting up.'

House narrowed his eyes. 'Who with?'

Jess reddened slightly. 'None of your business.'

Biting back the bile that seemed to be crawling up his throat, House took a deep breath and nodded theatrically. 'Fine. How did you know?'

'That note you left on the patient's chart? Yeah, I read it. And now I know why you treat your team like idiots...' She paused to take another sip. 'None of them checked it. Chase came in while I was staring at the patient file and he just walked right past it.'

'Yeah,' House agreed. 'They'll figure it out.'

'Eventually,' Jess concurred, smiling.

-

'You're an arse,' Chase snarled on entering House's office.

The diagnostician sat up from his intense focus on his laptop and removed his reading glasses, staring up at the underling.

'You're gonna have to be more specific.'

'You knew the diagnosis but you still sent me off to do that test.'

House folded the legs of his glasses slowly, avoiding Chase's gaze. 'I needed confirmation.'

Chase faltered slightly, before repeating his previous sentiment. 'You're an arse.'

He'd not noticed Jess sitting in the chair in the corner of the office, and so jumped slightly when she spoke to him. 'That's a bit mean. True, but mean.'

She was playing with the grey and red ball that House usually kept on his desk, throwing it up in the air and catching it repeatedly, passing it from hand to hand and squeezing it. House found it uncanny – he played with it in the same way when he was DDX-ing. Chase seemed to notice it too, but brushed it off – he grinned at her instead.

'Hey! I thought you were coming in this morning.'

Jess glanced at House quickly, who felt increasingly livid at the exchange, and then looked back at Chase. 'I, uh, was too tired. And when I did come in, I thought I'd see House first.'

Chase seemed thrown by her words, visibly stepping back and frowning. 'O... kay. Well, I'll see you later, I guess.'

Still flabbergasted he left the room, his run-in with House a distant memory now. His departure was watched in its entire by House, who followed him with his eyes until he was completely out of sight. At that point, his eyes snapped to Jess – he put on a playful smile but his eyes held a warning.

'You know, he's too pretty for his own good.'

Jess just shrugged, her ears turning slightly pink. 'I hadn't noticed.'

House leaned back in his chair once more as his daughter avoided his gaze; he stared at her, analysing her. He also came to one strong resolution – if Chase even so much as thought about her in the wrong way, he wouldn't be so pretty anymore.

-

It was like he was in the corner of the room, watching from a birds eye angle the scene playing out below. He ran his fingers slowly up the side of her arm as he kissed her once more, and she raked her hands through his long, blonde hair.

Blind anger shot through his veins and the hairs on every inch of his body stood up on end as if they were ready for a fight. His breathing quickened as he bit back on the fury that was rising from his stomach up his throat, and his fists clenched so tight that his nails almost drew blood from his palms.

A thin sheen of sweat appeared on his upper lip and on his brow, and the muscles in his back seemed to tense. He was ready to pounce, jump down on the atrocity below and knock the grin right off his face. The moment was ripe, all he had to do was focus on the anger and he could strike...

The slamming of the door woke House immediately, and he twitched his head in the direction of the sound. The light blared in from the hall and he squinted towards it, making out the blurred shape of a person blocking the light partially. It helped House accustom to the assault on his senses, though only slightly.

'House...' Wilson sighed, unimpressed by the unwelcome addition to his office space.

The older man shrugged as he sat slowly up, swinging his able leg around quickly while his hands helped the lame one follow suit. He leaned forward and rubbed his face, the tiredness in his eyes and brain making his every movement and thought sluggish. He couldn't even find the energy to insult his best friend.

'What're you doing in here? Surely right now is when you perform your clinic duties,' Wilson stated, sitting at his desk and picking up his pen with his left hand as he opened the patient file with his right. 'And by that I mean taking up a room while you nap.'

'This was closer,' House grumbled, leaning back on the cushions of the sofa.

Wilson just scoffed and chose to ignore his friend, diving into his work while House struggled to remove his dream from his head. It clung to the inside of his eyelids like poison ivy, scratching at his corneas and infecting his bloodstream with its evil.

'I think Jess wants to sleep with Chase,' House said, quietly but matter-of-factly.

This took Wilson aback for a second. 'Doesn't any straight girl? Even your daughter can't avoid the onslaught of that level of pretty, House.'

House shot him a look of disdain, and then continued. 'That's not the worst part. I think he wants her too.'

'And?'

'And,' House retorted, rudely. 'He's a sleaze-ball and a mediocre doctor at best. She can do better.'

Wilson narrowed his eyes as he processed the words, analysing them and chewing on them thoroughly before carefully constructing his reply. 'I think... this isn't about Chase. You just don't want to share her, at least not yet when you've just met her.'

'Oh, what do you know?' House bit back, standing as he spoke and eyeing Wilson with a death stare. 'You couldn't see a bad match if it came up and bit you on the ass. Which it has. Three times,' he finished cruelly.

'Screw you,' Wilson threw at him. 'And get out, I'm trying to work.'

House shook his head as he limped towards the door of the office. His hand gripped the handle tightly and he paused, hanging his head in what felt a little bit like guilt – but he couldn't quite tell.

'Sorry,' he mumbled.

Wilson was even more taken-aback by this than the previous comments. 'It's... it's okay. You, uh, still up for monster trucks and Chinese tonight?' He chose his words carefully, speaking them slowly in case he set House off again.

'Sure,' House replied, simply and quietly.

In silence, the disabled diagnostician hobbled out of the office without looking back at his best friend, whose eyes followed him with curiosity. The dream still clung to the depths of his brain and he couldn't shake it off.

He needed coffee and he needed fries.

-

The teller was astonished when House pulled out his wallet to pay for his coffee and meal. He just handed her the money in silence, holding up his hand and shaking his head slightly when she offered him his change. Mouths gawked open and whispers followed him all the way to the booth he'd subconsciously chosen, but he ignored them completely.

Upon sitting down, he gave the cafeteria a cursory glance. There was nothing interesting going on, so he just hunched slightly over his burger, biting into it and slowly chewing, thinking long and hard.

Wilson was wrong – he didn't want to occupy Jess and keep her all to himself. He just didn't want Chase to have her. He'd never liked Chase; he was too pretty, too cocksure, too spineless. He thought he could get by on his looks and his name alone, that he didn't have to prove himself to go the places he wanted.

And House knew all of that was a lie, that he was just telling himself all of this to rationalise the irrational feelings he was experiencing. He'd never been jealous like this before; sure, he'd been jealous of Mark, Stacey's new husband, but this was a new kind of jealousy, a protective kind of jealousy.

It wasn't even that Chase wasn't good enough for Jess – it was that no one was good enough for Jess. She had his genes, his intelligence, his sarcasm and wit, and he hadn't been able to find anyone who could ever come close. Except Stacey but she was gone, and maybe...

He wouldn't even go there. All he knew was that he didn't want Chase anywhere near his daughter. No one was going to stop him from keeping the pair apart. At least until he messed everything up and hurt Jess so bad that she'd do anything to get back at him. And by anything, House meant Chase.

The idea made him clench his fists, sending the contents of his bun onto his plate with a loud 'slop'. He threw down the bun in frustration and leaned back in the seat heavily, thoroughly annoyed by everything.