Title: The Other Side of Kafka (1/2)
Fandom: House M.D.
Character/Pairing: Cameron/Chase, implied House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Summary: Excessive crackfic. A patient exhibits mysterious symptoms, but that's not nearly as interesting to House as the condition plaguing one of his employees. Foreman is irritated, Cameron is frustrated, and Chase has a problem all his own.
Spoilers/Warning: Various blatant quotes and analogies to episodes all the way through season 3.
Notes: Written with the medical knowledge imbued by "Thackery T. Lambshead's Pocket Guide to Eccentric and Discredited Diseases," this started as a joke in a coversation with enigma731, and became a two-month long secret project that I now post for her birthday. Happy birthday, Enigmichelle! I hope you'll forgive the sheer mockery I've made of medical science for the loves and the lulz. ♥



Cameron pushed the elevator button restlessly, falling prey to the age-old human instinct that suggested it might possibly make the ride go faster.

It really would be just my luck if it stalled right fucking now, she thought, shifting the small bundle in her arms. This is the weirdest day of my life.

Reaching her floor, she stumbled out and walked briskly toward the office, hoping, hoping, almost praying that there was some chance she'd managed to beat House - he was chronically late, and there was the smallest possibility...

And no.

"Dr. Cameron!" House swung around, his cane making a grand sweeping gesture. "How nice of you to join us today!"

"Iiii...yeah." Frowning, she looked toward Foreman, who offered an arched eyebrow and a quizzical expression. "Sorry. Running late this morning, obviously."

"That's all right," House turned back to the whiteboard, where he had written "Razornail Bone Rot" across the top and was currently underlining it. "You've still arrived before Dr. Chase. Hmm, I wonder where he could be." He glanced over his shoulder with a grin that made him look like an evil five-year-old. "Maybe he's 'tied up' somewhere."

If looks could kill, hers would have at least winged him pretty good.

"Actually, Chase is with me." she said dryly, hoping that her three years of working in the most singularly bizarre hospital environment ever would prepare her for what she was about to say.

"What, is he your imaginary friend now?"

"I'd like to think I've just been imagining Chase for a while now." Foreman offered unhelpfully, and Cameron resisted stomping on his foot under the table.

Instead, she set the small object she'd been clutching on the table; it was covered by a towel and quivering slightly. She unwrapped it, and steppped back, folding her arms.

"Dr. Chase."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." Foreman leaned forward, nowhere close to believing what he was seeing.

House actually said nothing. He merely limped to the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed the psych ward.

-

"Differential diagnosis," House posed, eyes narrowed in concentration, "On why one of my doctors is suddenly a chinchilla."

"And you're...sure that's Chase." Foreman's incredulous tone was irritating, but she could hardly blame him.

"No, it's a clever joke I thought up this morning."

"You having some sort of weird psychotic break would make a lot more sense than him suddenly turning into a rodent." His look turned from one of disbelief to marginal concern. "You two have had a pretty odd relationship, maybe it's taken a toll on you."

"I don't own a chinchilla." Cameron gritted her teeth.

"Well you obviously do now."

"It's not mine! It's Chase, for fuck's sake!"

"And you said you found it in bed with you?"

"Yes!"

"And none of this makes you think that maybe you've gone a little...I dunno...batshit crazy?"

"Foreman, heel." House was now holding a pencil and poking at the small golden creature. It grabbed at the eraser end and tried to hold it steady enough to chew on it. "It's Chase. See, he's got that oral fixation thing going on."

"Rodents naturally chew virtually everything they come into contact with!"

"Aha, but most rodents don't chew with a British accent."

"Australian," Cameron muttered darkly, and the chinchilla chirped.

"I can't believe I'm actually having this conversation. Any part of it." The neurologist rubbed his forehead in irritation. "So okay, fine, we'll pretend that Cameron's pet is a doctor. Now what? He can't help with the diagnostics, he can't run any tests, he's probably not even appropriate for any kind of sterile environment."

"I had to bring him in, I wasn't going to leave him alone in my apartment!"

"Good idea," House was now trying to tug the pencil back, but Chase wouldn't let go. "Wouldn't want him to go nesting in your underwear drawer now, would we?" His free hand shot forward and he grabbed the chinchilla around the middle. "Gotcha!" He hoisted the rodent up, seemingly oblivious to his struggles and angry barks, and checked looked at his underside. "Yup, that's Chase all right."

He flipped him around and held him out.

"Cameron should recognize his genitals, I'm sure they haven't changed much in the transition."

"I think I hear my beeper!" Foreman announced, clearly not hearing his beeper at all. "I'll see you later when we're actually going to work instead of playing twisted animal husbandry games."

Chase looked positively scandalized. For her part, Cameron just stood and gaped; she had responses to her boss's comment, at least twelve of them, but half of them were incriminating and the other half... well for god's sake, her coworker and pseudo-lover had become a chinchilla and her boss was now waving him around like some kind of county fair prize.

"Dammit! Give him to me!" she wrestled Chase away from him, and he dove into her coat, peeking it around it to make chittering and hissing noises at House.

"Aww, isn't that sweet. Now he's damaged enough that you really do like him!" House paused, pursing his lips to the side. "Of course, I'm not sure if becoming crepuscular is really quite the kind of damage you usually go for, but whatever works, right?"

"I'd like to do some work, if possible." Cameron said evenly, every word dripping with acid. "Do we have a patient or not?"

"Ah...you know, the Bone Rot can wait. I think we have something much more interesting to deal with now." He shuffled to the door. "I've gotta do some research. You and Chase can handle my clinic hours for the morning, right? It's not like he'll be any less useful than usual, and this way he can't kill anyone."

House galumphed away down the hall, and Cameron took five deep breaths to keep from screaming.

-

Normally, if Chase had spent the night at her apartment, Cameron would wake to find him already showered and sipping coffee at her table. This morning, however, her alarm had gone off and although she was alone in bed, his clothes were still on the floor, and there was no comforting sound of percolating coffee emanating from the kitchen.

"Chase?" she mumbled, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Are you still here?"

And she gotten no answer, she was starting to worry that he'd had a seizure or hit his head in the shower or something when-

A warm nose on her cheek woke her from her reverie.

She looked up from the file she'd been failing to read, sliding her eyes to the side to see Chase perched on her shoulder, a few strands of her hair clasped in his little paws.

"Do not start with me," she warned, and he dropped the hair quickly, ears flattening down in a kind of contrition that immediately made her feel guilty. "Oh knock it off. I know it's not your fault, it's just a little... this is weird, okay?"

She reached up and gently patted him on the head, marveling (and not for the first time since this morning) how incredibly soft he was. His tail swished slightly, and he nudged closer to her face, toes firmly gripped in her lab coat.

"All right, let's take it one step at a time. You ready?"

Chase chirped and nibbled her ear. And although the genuine sentimentality and sweetness of the act made her want to roll her eyes (chinchilla or not, this was obviously a Chase-ism meant to comfort her), she decided, just this once, to let him do it without reprimand.

-

"Hi, I'm Dr. Cameron and this Dr. Chase. You said you're-"

"Who's Dr. Chase?"

"...no one, I... my coworker isn't here today, but it's just...automatic to say he's with me. So you said you-"

"...can I have a doctor who isn't crazy?"

-

"Hi, I'm Dr. Cameron and...yeah, I'm...it's just me here."

"I think I have trench foot. On my crotch."

"...you know my beeper just went off, I'll send someone else in."

-

"I'm Dr. Cameron."

"Why do you have a rat?"

-

When she returned from the longest two hours ever known on the face of the world, House was leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk as he read a printout.

"Did you know," House started, not even looking up, "That if chinchillas get wet, their fur molds?"

"That's fascinating." She walked past him to the conference room and lifted Chase off her shoulder, placing him gently on the table before she slumped into a chair and pinched the bridge of her nose. She could feel a migraine starting, and she didn't even get migraines.

"If your chinchilla gets wet," House pushed through the glass door, still reading, "You should blowdry it gently with cool air." He finally raised his eyes from the page, sardonic smirk firmly in place. "So that means no more showering together."

"Because I love bathing with rodents." she sneered, imagining how fulfilling it might be to beat him to death with his own cane. Odd how feelings could change so severely.

"Steve McQueen and I find it really brings us closer together, you know, touching on that whole pet-owner deep seated bond thing."

"...there's no right time, is there?" asked Foreman, who was halfway in the door and looked like he might just go right back out.

"Has there ever been a right time in this office?" Cameron huffed out a breath, blowing her bangs to the side of her face. She watched Chase make little circles on the surface of the table, then peered over the edge at her lap for a moment before looking up at her inquisitively.

"I think he wants to sit in your lap." House grinned. "I wouldn't worry, we already know he gets along well with your panty hamster."

There had been a lot of awkward silences in the diagnostic office over the past three years, but the one that followed was probably the longest and most tense.

It was ended, thankfully, by Cameron's pager going off, which was her cue to snatch Chase off the table and fly out of the room before either House or Foreman could say anything more.

-

"Dr. Cameron." Cuddy was shuffling papers together as the younger woman entered the room. "I've had some complaints today about you carrying around some kind of pet?"

Cameron sighed; she knew this was coming, but she'd been hoping to have a better explanation, or some kind of excuse before she had to deal with it.

"I...well he's not a pet, really." She lifted Chase from where he'd curled around her arm and set him on Cuddy's desk. "It's Chase."

To her credit, Cuddy didn't even blink.

"This is Dr. Chase."

"Yes."

"Dr. Chase is a chinchilla now."

"Yes."

"And this happened...?"

"Sometime last night. He was normal when we...he was fine the last time I saw him."

"Ah."

This is apparently the day of interminable silences, thought Cameron as another stretched out before her. Chase sat quietly on Cuddy's desk, paws delicately folded at his chest in the epitome of rodent politeness. Cuddy furrowed her eyebrows and looked at him, and for a moment Cameron sensed that the administrator wanted to pet him.

"Well...Dr. Cameron. Dr. Chase. I...really have no clue what I'm supposed to say or do at this point. There's protocol for bringing potentially hazardous animals or materials into a hospital, but I'm not quite sure what they have to say when such an animal is one of my staff."

"I'm sure it's only temporary-" And Cameron stopped herself because it was the first time that she'd allowed herself to actually consider a time frame for Chase's condition. They had no idea why he was a chinchilla, after all; how did they know it could be undone?

Chase immediately hopped around to face her, gazing at her imploringly. God, he was adorable, and the expression was perfectly reminiscent of the kind of looks he gave her when he was a human.

Now he might never be one again.

"...temporary." she said again, swallowing hard.

Cuddy regarded her, then sighed.

"Fine, finish up the day, but he's not to come back until he's...recovered."

"He's right here, you know."

Cuddy made a face, but leaned low to her desk to be eye to eye with Chase.

"Dr. Chase, you are on suspension until you stop being a chinchilla."

He wilted, inasmuch as a rodent could, and curled into a little ball. Cameron reached forward and picked him up, cradling him unnecessarily close to her heart as she turned to leave.

"And Dr. Cameron," Cuddy called as she opened the door, "Would you tell Dr. House that his 'Bone Rot' patient is exhibiting adhesive bed sores? It would be nice if he felt like trying to diagnose her before she becomes completely gelatinous."

"I'll get right on that," Cameron said, and left.

-

By the time they were back at the office, Chase's drooping had continued, and it occurred to Cameron that neither of them had eaten anything since the previous evening.

"But what do I feed you," she mumbled, mostly to herself since Chase couldn't offer much help.

She debated the merits of asking House, but considering Chase's seemingly depressed state and her own murderous intentions, that seemed like a poor choice. The next option was, of course, to beg the help of Wilson, PPTH's resident fall-guy, and so she headed for oncology, absently stroking Chase's back as she did.

Wilson had clearly already been informed of the situation, as he hardly raised an eyebrow at Cameron's request to borrow his computer.

"I don't blame you for not wanting to use the one in your office." he sighed, poking at his keyboard. "Last I heard House was bidding on cages on eBay. I think he wants to keep Chase as a diagnostic pet."

"He's not going to put him in a cage!" Cameron surprised herself with her outrage. "He's a human being and he can't be treated like he's just some kind of weird pet or circus animal to entertain him!"

She slammed her palms onto Wilson's desk to emphasize the point, unfortunately forgetting that the subject of their conversation had been relying on her to hold him up. He tumbled to the desk with a sharp squeak and instinctively bounced from that surface across to Wilson's book shelf.

"Oh." Wilson offered dumbly.

"Shit." Cameron muttered. "Sorry Chase." She glanced at Wilson, who typed a few things, made a few mouse clicks, and then turned his monitor to face Cameron.

"Looks like they eat mostly pellets and hay, which, I'm sorry to say, I think we have a shortage of here."

"Dammit." She looked back up at Chase on the shelf. "You're gonna have to wait a little bit."

Chase chirped and curled into a ball, apparently settling down to sleep.

"Hey-" Wilson started, but Cameron already had her hand on the doorknob.

"Can he stay in here with you for a bit? I've still got work to do and he's kind of hard to explain. I'll be back for him in a few hours."

She was gone before he could formulate a single protest.

Chagrinned, Wilson swivled in his chair to look up at the fuzzy doctor on his shelf. If Chase suddenly happens to change back, he thought, he'll bring the whole thing down.

"Chase," he stood up and held out his hands. "Come on, let's put you on the couch or something."

Chase regarded him with something akin to horror and scooted back further on the shelf.

"It's...purely platonic, I promise."

Still no go.

"I won't try to pet you."

Nothing.

"I won't tell House."

Chase finally moved forward, eyeing Wilson with something the oncologist couldn't help but feel was rather like suspicion, and climbed into his waiting hands. Wilson pulled him down and held him against his chest for safety, and was halfway across the room when the balcony door swung open.

"Wilson, what do you know about Bat Flu? My Bone Rot patient is-" House paused, raising an eyebrow at the tableau before him. "I'd say get a room...but I guess you already have one. Should I leave you two alone?" He leaned close to Wilson and added in a stage whisper, "I think it's illegal in this state, but you can probably get off on a technicality since he's usually kind of a person."

"Oh for God's sake, House!"

Chase leapt out of Wilson's arms, ran under his couch, and despite (or perhaps because of) repeated pokings with House's cane, refused to come out until Cameron returned three hours later.

-

"Oh no. You are not leaving me alone here."

Cameron glanced up at Foreman from where she was stuffing files into her bag.

"I'm sorry, I have some errands to run."

"Errands somehow outweigh a patient that House thinks has Bat Flu? Do you have any idea what sort of crazy-ass shit he's going to try to pull?"

"I'm sure you can take him." She slung the bag onto her shoulder and carefully gathered up the litte creature dozing on her chair. "He's the sort of person you would have tried to 'jack' when you were in the hood, right?"

Foreman didn't give her the satisfaction of rolling his eyes.

"Right. Okay. Pull out the ghetto black boy jokes. That'll be endearing, and then I'll really be okay with letting you stick me here."

"Foreman, I can't right now, okay? I have to get Chase something to eat."

"So get him something from the cafeteria!"

"Inconveniently, they're all out of pellets!"

"Can't he eat some lettuce or something?"

"No." she frowned, absently rubbing her thumb across Chase's back. "Apparently vegetables with high moisture content can cause bloating."

"...so you're worried he'll put on water weight and that'll just... ruin his oh-so dashing figure that you like so much."

"Bloat in chinchillas can be fatal!"

"He's not really a chinchilla!"

"What do you call this?!" Cameron gestured to Chase angrily, jarring him enough that he opened his eyes.

Now Foreman rolled his eyes, but held his ground.

"Fine, right at the moment, he's a chinchilla, but you're the one who's so adamant that he's still Chase, so why do you have to give him some kind of special treatment now? If Chase -human Chase- were actually sick, do you think you'd give a damn about him?"

She meant to retaliate immediately with something like "of course I would!" or "how can you say that!" but her words died as she opened her mouth.

"Uh-huh." said Foreman, one eyebrow arched accusingly. "You only feel responsible for him now because you're not sure this isn't your fault."

"How could I possibly have turned him into a rodent?!"

"Search me," he shrugged, "But you're the one who was with him when it happened. Maybe if you weren't playing your little naked doctor games, he'd still be normal. Or as normal as he gets."

Anger made her shake, and Chase gave a kind of scared bark as she unconsciously squeezed him. With furious malice she dumped her bag -and Chase, for the second time- on the table and gave Foreman her best deeply assassinatory glare.

"Fine. I'll stay. I'll just go get him something from the cafeteria, and then when he dies, you can just explain to House why he has to hire someone new."

"Maybe he'll hire a lemur next time. At least they have opposable thumbs."

The response Cameron made as she left the room was so obscene, it gave an elderly man a heart attack two floors down.

-

"Pushing 300 cc of sodium hypochlorite."

Cameron wasn't really sure why she felt the need to state her actions; habit, probably, but there was no one else in the room but the patient, and as she'd lapsed into some kind of catatonic jaundice, it was unlikely she was paying any attention.

Treatment administered, Cameron sat down next to the bed to monitor any immediate reactions. If it was Bat Flu, the sodium hyochlorite would show congealing results almost immediately, and if that was that, she was free to go in search of something to feed Chase.

She realized, however, that she hadn't really thought beyond acquiring basic chinchilla care necessities like hay and maybe a dust bath. The truth was she was afraid to consider that she might actually need to invest in a lot more - maybe some chew sticks, a small wooden house, and a little hammock. They could see if he was able to keep up with her on the treadmill, and then she wouldn't need to buy him an exercise wheel, and...

Foreman was right.

Heaving a sigh, she put her face in her hands and had to admit that she'd never thought about her situation with Chase more than one day in advance. It wasn't a serious thing, so she hadn't taken it seriously, even if the signals he was increasingly sending were of something deeper than a time-occupying fling. She liked having sex with him, and had begrudingly admitted to herself that she liked being around him. It was nice to have someone to wake up to in the morning again, or at least to make sure that coffee would be waiting once she was out of bed.

But suddenly it was serious, and not in the "let's take this to another level" sense, but in the way that now they might never have that conversation (Chase's current inability to speak notwithstanding). How did someone turn into a chinchilla overnight? How did you reverse it? And if it wasn't something that could be fixed...well what the hell was she going to do? Take care of him for the rest of his fuzzy life? How long would that even be? She could conceivably put him up for adoption at a pet market or something, but the idea made her stomach twist. The thought of some child holding him, not knowing that he was really a person with human feelings and a daddy complex, the fear of never being able to look into his eyes again and see something reflected back, the very act of giving him up, sending him away, cutting him loose... It was different when he was a man (wasn't it?), but as an animal that needed her help? It seemed like the worst kind of betrayal.

He needed her. And she was good at being needed.

"DR. CAMERON, THE PATIENT HAS BEEN CODING FOR THREE MINUTES!"

The nurse's shouting had her falling out of her thoughts and out of her chair, and she jumped to her feet.

Well. She was good at being needed most of the time.

To Part 2...