As I said, "Chapters" :D

  Enjoy.

  ---

  Unfortunately, House was right. The vast majority of charts in the unfinished pile were from cases I had been involved in.

  A couple of hours after carefully filling out the charts, House returo the ic. I saw him leave Dr. Cuddy's offily a few minutes after entering, probably to meet with the other three doctors oeam. "e on, your siblings are ready," the man said, leaning on his e. "Did you do all those charts in these few hours?" House asked, surprisingly impressed as he poio the charts in front of me.

  "Yeah," I replied, pg the chart I had in my hands on top of the tower of charts.

  "You really are effit," House said, raising his eyebrows exaggeratedly. "Maybe from now on, I should let you hahe charts, to learn, of course, as my apprentid all that," House said sarcastically as we walked out of the ic where the three doctors w under him were waiting.

  "P.J., Merry Christmas," Cameron said, smiling cheerfully. She was the first to greet me, handing me a small stack of papers, a CB the patient.

  "Likewise," I replied, silently thanking her for the papers and beginning to read them immediately.

  "Hey, mate," Chase greeted me, raising his hand amicably, which I mirrored.

  " we start w?" Dr. Foreman asked, noticeably exasperated.

  "Oh, e on, Foreman, where's your Christmas spirit? We had to wait for the kid," House said sarcastically, pointing at me as he walked as fast as his e would allow. "He's here now, let's start. Ideas?"

  "Her hands were red and swollen," Cameron spoke first. "Maybe she has a skin iion, cellulitis? That could ma with tachycardia."

  "No history of fever," I quickly ed while reading the data they had given me.

  "And the CBC results didn't indicate an iion," added Dr. Foreman.

  "The eosinophils are mildly elevated," Cameron tinued, accepting Dr. Foreman's and my ion. "SED rate's up a bit. Could we be looking at a systemic allergic response?"

  "It's not allergic," House immediately denied. "Allergies don't cause cardiac arrest like this. Could be infmmation of the blood vessels."

  "Vasculitis?" Dr. Foreman asked incredulously. "That wouldn't give you aed eosinophil t," he tinued.

  "Churg-Strauss vasculitis would," I said, finishing reading the papers.

  "And that's ait for the kid," House said sarcastically to Dr. Foreman, smiling amusedly. "The blood vessels of the heart, lungs, and skin bee infmed, causing asthma, rash, a problems. It covers all her symptoms," House tinued as Cameron opehe door to the diagnostic lounge.

  "You need a biopsy to diagnose," Cameron said calmly, following House into the room.

  "Chest CT would be quicker," Chase argued.

  "The dy just came in with a rash," Dr. Foreman said, pletely incredulous.

  "What the hell are those?" House stopped a few steps from the door, staring at a bowl of small dy es oable.

  "dy es," Cameron responded nervously as Chase took one.

  "dy es?" House repeated, "Are you mog me?" he asked, pointing to his e again, joking with Cameron.

  "No, it's Christmas, and I-" Cameron began to expin nervously, "I thought-"

  "Rex," House interrupted, "It's just a joke."

  "Isn't the prognosis for Churg-Strauss a bit grim?" Dr. Foreman asked, looking at me sternly.

  "Yeah," Cameron responded, still unfortable from House's joke. "Ued, only thirty-three pert of patients survive past one year. Treated, five years," she tinued, her voice l slightly, saddened.

  "Then I definitely suggest treatment," House said sarcastically.

  "If it was any other attending doctor, I'd say he made a mistake," Dr. Foreman stated dryly, "and gave her too much epinephrine."

  "Saying you wouldn't say it was my mistake is saying it was my mistake," House responded cryptically. "The kid was there; I administered the correct dose, right?" House asked, looking at me for a few seds, raising his eyebrow.

  "Yeah," I responded after thinking for a sed. I wasirely sure, but knowing House, if he had any doubt about his mistake, he would be trying by any possible means to prove it wasn't.

  "Everyone screws up," Dr. Foreman said, ign my opinion pletely. "Your rule. I think you fit within the subset of 'everyone.'"

  "I didn't screw up," House decred seriously. "Order a chest d start the sister on prednisone, forty milligrams TID."

  "The sister?" Chase asked, surprised for the first time in the versation.

  "Oh, didn't we mention? The kid and I dealt with three nuns, disguised and all," House said sarcastically, waving his hands above his head. "The patient's a nun, Sister Augustine."

  "Oh, I hate nuns," Chase murmured, l his head.

  "Who doesn't?" House asked sarcastically.

  "The Pope?" I asked ironically.

  "Yeah," House agreed, pausing. "I may have judged them too quickly. There are at least some nuns I like," House added shamelessly, raising his eyebrows suggestively, causing Cameron to sigh in exasperation.

  Ign Cameron, House exited the room, almost immediately returning, "e on, kid. I need you present, remember?"

  Following House out of the louhrough the hospital corridors, we entered Dr. Wilson frowning deeply with his arms extended. "I leave you alone for five minutes, and you almost kill a nun?" Dr. Wilson excimed, trolling the volume of his voice.

  "pletely his fault," I said, taking a step away from House and pointing at him without a sed thought.

  "Eh," House excimed, feigning offense. "I expected a little more loyalty from my 'apprentice,'" he tinued sarcastically.

  "I know it wasn't your fault, but with you in the same room, I expected you to trol House more. You're muature than him, after all," Dr. Wilson joked, amused.

  "I know," I admitted, ag embarrassed and l my head slightly. "I'm sorry."

  "Oh, really?" House asked, raising one of his eyebrows. "I didn't know I was under your care, Stanley Donen," House tinued ironically, walking towards one of the elevators.

  "Who is Stanley Donen?" I asked, exasperated, following the two doctors.

  Ign my question, House ehe elevator that opes doors almost immediately upon pressing the button. "How did Cuddy react?" Dr. Wilson asked as we waited ihe elevator.

  "Great!" House responded immediately with a touch of pt, causing both Dr. Wilson ao look at him for a few seds. "If Cuddy thinks I made a mistake, the least she could do is suspend me from ic duty," House said as the elevator doors opened again and we exited toward the ic.

  "She doesn't fuse making a mistake with being inpetent," Dr. Wilson expined desdingly.

  "Oh, here we go, kid," House said, exasperated, rolling his eyes. "Lesson time."

  Opening the ic doors, Dr. Wilson, House, and I entered. "I reize that fidence is not my short suit."

  "Obviously," I said, greeting the iurse silently with a smile.

  "Oh, e on, kid," House excimed, pretending to be offended again. "Like my 'son,' remember?" he asked, pointing to me and then to himself with a strange smile.

  "Sure," I responded unfortably, nodding slowly.

  "I alshat I am human and capable of error," House tinued, nodding quickly and almost immediately resuming his versation with Dr. Wilson.

  "So you might have screwed this up?" Dr. Wilson asked, surprised that House could admit an error.

  "No," House immediately responded, despising the mere idea of having screwed up something.

  "So it's merely a theoretical capacity for error," Dr. Wilson affirmed ironically.

  "Good point," House agreed, feigning surprise. "Maybe there isn't one; maybe that's my error," House theorized, taking a new chart from the nurses' desk. "e on, kid."

  "You know, most people who think as highly of themselves as you do like to talk about themselves," Dr. Wilson affirmed sarcastically, following House and me.

  "Most people don't like to listen," House said, pausing and tilting his head. "So, what's wrong with you?" he asked Dr. Wilson, intrigued, who instead of tinuing and following us into the exam room, turo ehe nurses' bay.

  Ihe room, the first thing I noticed was an ht older man dressed as Santa Cus, and the sed thing was a strong fecal odor.

  House obviously noticed the man's appearand smell as well.

  "Santa," I greeted the man on the bed, amused, before House could say anything.

  "Oh no, Jack," House said, putting his hand on my shoulder and iing another name for me, exaggerating his sadness. "He's not the real Santa," House expined seriously, speaking slowly and with his hand still on my shoulder.

  "What?" I asked House, pletely serious, feigning surprise.

  "Yeah, sorry," House said, nodding and pressing his . "Now, let's guess, Jack," he tinued, pointing to Santa Cus, who had a strange expression on his face.

  "Infmmatory bowel," I responded easily. Santa Cus was breathing through his mouth for some reason, making each exhation smell extremely bad.

  "Wow," the patient excimed, embarrassed. "Is that bad?" he asked, worried.

  "Yes," House responded immediately.

  "It's also written on your chart," House added, raising the papers in his hand. "Bloody diarrhea, gas, pain," he began to read. "Took sulfasazine, but it didn't work," House read the chart, surprised.

  "No," Santa Cus said, upset. "Then- Then I," he pressed his face as if trying to remember, stuttering.

  ", tried steroid enemas, oral corticosteroids, five ASA, six-mercaptopurine," House tinued reading, increasingly astonished. "I'm impressed."

  "By my medical history?" Santa Cus asked, worried.

  "By how well your st doctor charted," House admitted, lightly hitting the chart with the back of his hand. "Look, Jack, this is how it should be done," House sarcastically added, handihe chart.

  Obviously not ied in House's jokes, the patient was nervous on the exam bed. "It's ohing to go to the bathroom every hour, but when the kids sit on my p, it's-" he stopped, shaking his head sadly. "The store sent me home; they're going to fire me," he decred, menting with his head down. "'t you put me ba five ASA? Maybe it'll work this time."

  "Not likely," House denied calmly. "I'm giving you a prescription. It's cheap, which is good because your insuranpany won't pay for it," he tinued.

  I had no idea what kind of medication House could be talking about, possibly something experimental, which wouldn't make sense for being 'cheap.'

  "Cogaritis?" Santa Cus read the note House gave him, fused, with a pair of gsses on his face.

  Oh.

  "Cigarettes," House crified. "Owice a day, no more, no less. Studies show that smoking cigarettes is one of the most effective ways to trol infmmatory bowel," he tinued seriously. "Plus, it's been well established that you look thirty pert cooler, right?" House asked, raising his fist to me.

  "Is he kidding me?" Santa Cus asked me, pointing to the prescription in his hand.

  "No, he's not," I responded slowly to the patient, ign House.

  "Okay, you got me," House admitted, l his hand. "The part about looking cooler, yeah," he rolled his eyes. "The rest is true."

  "Isn't it addictive and dangerous?" Santa Cus asked, worried.

  "Pretty much all the drugs I prescribe are addictive and dangerous," House admitted, not really g about the implications. "The only differeh this one is it's pletely legal," House said, handihe chart and smiling strangely. "Merry Christmas," he cluded, walking out of the room.

  "Merry Christmas, sir," I said, nodding to the man as I walked behind House.

  "Likewise, Jack," Santa Cus said with a slight smile, makiop in the doorway.

  "That's not my name," I murmured to myself before tinuing to walk.

  "Why?" I asked House, frowning as I approached him.

  "I'm so sorry, kid," House said after a moment, looking puzzled. "Santa isn't real," he whispered, looking around and putting his hand on my shoulder again.

  "You know that's not what I meant," I said seriously, removing his hand from my shoulder. "Stanley Donen? Jack?" I asked, intrigued. "It's not even funny; it's just weird."

  "I got bored," House admitted shamelessly. "Oh, you're PJ the kid from the neer," he tinued faking aed voice with disdain.

  "You know my name isn't PJ, right?" I asked, pressing the bridge of my nose. "PJ stands for Patrick John," I said, beginning to fill out the st chart.

  "What?" House asked with feigned surprise, imitating what I had done a few minutes earlier in the ic.

  After a couple more fairly basic patients, a cold and an ear iion, House's pager went off. "Uh, there's news," he said, waving the small devid truly excited to leave the ic as he walked toward the exit.

  Leaving the chart I was w on with the nurse in charge, I followed him out.

  In the diagnostic louhe three doctors w under House and Dr. Cuddy were waiting at one end of the table. "What?" House asked, walking to the board.

  "The patieed positive for herpeticephalitis," Dr. Foreman said seriously.

  "So what's that tell us?" House asked, pointing at me.

  "Her immune system is promised," I responded, l my head slightly. House obviously would e to, if he hadn't already, the diagnosis of Churg-Strauss vasculitis, but that didn't stop me from feeling a bit bad.

  "Oh, I know," Dr. Cuddy said arrogantly, raising her hand. "Prednisone promises the immune system," she decred. "Isn't that the medie you gave her for that thing she doesn't have?" she asked, annoyed.

  Really, with such few doses, the prednisone wouldn't do that.

  "Just because Patrick John here diagnosed Churg-Strauss vasculitis," House said, pointing at me and taking the opportunity to mock my name.

  "Don't try to bme PJ," Dr. Cuddy immediately defended me, putting a stop to House's joke. "It's your responsibility to teach him, and if you accepted his diagnosis, it means it was good enough for you to think it pusible."

  "I'm starting to think this whole versation is a trick," House said suspiciously.

  "Her immune system is severely promised," Cameroed. "Two doses of prednisone wouldn't do that," she tinued.

  Correct.

  "Are you hanging your diagnosis on an adverb?" Dr. Cuddy asked incredulously.

  "In ten seds, I'm going to annouhat I gave her the wrong dose in the ic," House decred, ign Dr. Cuddy's question.

  "Yoing to admit negligence?" Dr. Cuddy asked incredulously.

  "Unless you leave the room," House said, nodding perplexedly. "If you stay, you'll have to testify," he decred.

  "Five, four, three, two," House ted down. "So, there I was in the ic, drunk," House excimed, making Chase and Cameron hide weak ughs. "I opehe drawer, closed my eyes, took the first syringe I could find," he tinued, causing Dr. Cuddy to leave the room quickly and pletely serious, obviously not finding the situation amusing.

  "So, what are the options for a promised immune system?" House asked once Dr. Cuddy left the lounge.

  "Mixed ective tissue disease," Chase said immediately. "It'd expin why she was feelier on the prednisone," he tinued.

  "Sure," Dr. Foreman excimed sarcastically. "She was feelier right up to the moment it almost killed her," he added, raising an eyebrow at me.

  "Oher hand, it expins the symptoms: swollen hands, pulmonary problems, cardias. It all fits," House said reflectively.

  "Her ANA was normal," I said, shaking my head before Dr. Foreman could say anything.

  "Yeah," Dr. Foreman said, pointing at me with a small nod.

  "So let's redraw the blood," House responded easily.

  "But the treatment is corticosteroids, prednisone, and we 't go there because of the encephalitis," Dr. Foreman tinued.

  He was right, but it wasn't the only way.

  "Then we'll treat it with something that modutes the immune system but doesn't suppress it," House offered calmly.

  "Hyperbaric oxygen chamber," I said a little more excitedly than I should have, catg the attention of all the doctors present. I was eager to see oh my own eyes.

  "Yeah," House said, smiling sinisterly.

  "There's no protocol for putting a patient in a high-pressure oxygen room to treat autoimmune problems," Dr. Foreman immediately rejected.

  "Oh, you people," House excimed with disdain, making Dr. Foreman raise an eyebrow, offended. "Always with the protocols," House added. "Prep the nun," he ordered seriously, making both Chase and Cameron stand up, "and distihe prednisone."

  " I go?" I asked, pointing to the two doctors leaving the room, hiding my straement about seeing the mae. I'd never been able to see one.

  "Yeah, sure, I have an appoi anyway," House said, nodding at what I knew was code for watg his soap opera.

  Following Cameron and Chase, I quickly caught up with them in the hallway walking to the nun's room.

  "You're really ied in the hyperbaric oxygen chamber, huh?" Chase asked amusedly, putting his hand on my shoulder.

  "I want to sleep in one of those," I admitted. I wao experie at least once.

  "Yeah, makes sense," Chase agreed with me, amused.

  When we reached the patient's room, the nun was pletely asleep and alone.

  "Sister Augustine," Chase gently shook her shoulder, calling her softly.

  "Ah, Dr. Chase, do you need anything else?" the nun asked weakly, with a kind smile.

  "We o go to another room. We're going to do a new procedure," Chase said, helping the nun to sit up gently while Cameron pushed a wheelchair he bed.

  "A new procedure?" the increasingly awake Sister Augustine asked, puzzled.

  "Yes, we'll go to a pressurized chamber to modute your immune system," Chase expined slowly, helping the nun to stand up so she could sit in the wheelchair.

  "Dr. Cameron, I didn't greet you. How rude of me," the nun said, embarrassed, notig Dr. Cameron holding the wheelchair and still maintaining her kind smile.

  "Don't worry about that, sister," Cameron said softly, putting her hand on the nun's shoulder.

  "Ah, you too, Mr. Donen," the nun noticed my presence a moment after sitting in the wheelchair, apparently remembering the false name House had given me.

  "Donen?" Cameron and Chase asked simultaneously, puzzled.

  "There was a misuanding, sister. My name is not Stanley Donen. I'm PJ Dun. I apologize for not introdug myself properly," I said, taking one of the nun's bandaged hands with a bit of embarrassment.

  "PJ Dun?" the woman asked, slightly surprised, opening her eyes and seeing my face. "I 't believe it; I didn't see it before. You're the boy from the neer. You look very different from the photograph," she tinued.

  And I was very grateful for that. The photograph they used was an old one where I still had my old hairstyle and a bit more fat on my face. It wasn't different enough to avoid being reized by those whood with faces, but it was different enough from my curreo prevent immediate reition.

  "That's right. PJ here is the 'local hero' who actually also helped save your life when you arrived here," Chase said, shaking my shoulder lightly, smiling broadly and amused.

  "Then I guess a thank you is in order," the nun said kindly, squeezing my haly.

  "It's nothing, sister. I was just doing my job," I replied immediately.

  "And I thank God for that," the nun said softly, releasing my hand aing in the wheelchair.

  Without much else to say, we all left the room heading to where the mae was. Along the way, Chase expihe new diagnosis of her illness in simple words, making an effort to ehe nun could fully uand it.

  In the room where the incredibly massive mae was, Cameron and Chase, along with the tei present, quickly prepared everything necessary for the sister's treatment.

  "The pressure will force the oxygen into your system, saturate your blood, and it will enhance white cell activity, redug infmmation," Chase expined while preparing the nun on the gurney.

  "And that will help with this mixed ective tissue disease?" the nun asked, somewhat worried.

  "We'll be doing about tements and then we'll reevaluate," Chase tinued.

  "The st treatment with prednisone caused the seizures, right? How fident is Dr. House about this?" the sister asked, ed, as the mae moved her.

  "The fact that you reacted sly to the predniso us know that you had an underlying problem with your immune system," Cameron quickly expined, slightly diverting the sister's question.

  "I guess it was a blessing of sorts," the sister said as the guropped ihe mae.

  "Yeah," Cameron said, smiling and slightly nodding her head.

  When the door of the mae closed and the pressurization process began, I discovered it wouldn't be as iing to see the mae from the outside as experieng it ihe mae.

  "The sister is

  right; you look different from the photograph," Chase said slowly, sitting in a chair o me in the monit room.

  "His face is more angur and he has a different haircut," Cameron expined calmly.

  "Angur?" Chase asked.

  "Yes, if you lost a few pounds, your face would be angur too," Cameron said, pointing at Chase's face. "Look at his ; there's almost ra fat or skin," Cameron said, moving her chair closer to me and pointing at my face.

  "I get it," Chase said, nodding, looking more closely at my face. "Wait a minute, did you call me fat?" Chase asked, surprised a moment ter, remembering what Cameron had said.

  "No," Cameron responded calmly. "You smell surprisingly good, PJ, gratutions," Cameron added, moving her chair back again, truly surprised.

  "Thanks?" I asked, fused. It was a pliment, but the way she said it for some reaso like an insult.

  "I hadn't noticed before, but your muscles are growing, mate," Chase said, surprised, ging the subject abruptly.

  "Yeah, I've been w out practically every day for a couple of months now," I responded, still taken aback by Cameron's pliment-insult.

  Several other minor topics tinued for a while until it was time to end Sister Augustireatment a her out of the mae.

  While Cameron finished what was necessary with the valves on one side of the mae, Chase and I opehe partment that served as a door. "How are you feeling?" Chase asked immediately.

  "A little weak," the sister replied, her voice a bit rough.

  "That's from the oxygen," Chase expined.

  "My mouth is dry," the sister tinued, gently strokihroat.

  "Okay, well, I'll get you some of your tea," Chase said kindly, waiting for the mae to finish moving the sister.

  "Is she still taking her homemade tea?" I asked, puzzled. Usually, when patients were admitted to the hospital, they weren't allowed access to food outside the hospital's trol.

  "Oh yeah, the other sisters brought the tea bags here. It's pretty safe," Chase expined calmly.

  Several mier, the sister was ba her room. Cameron and Chase performed some quick physical exams, finding discrepancies in her oxygenation levels, which could be expined by oxygen irritation but were still somewhat arming.

  Ba the diagnostic lounge, Dr. Cuddy, once again with Dr. Foreman and House, were waiting inside. "What's going on?" Chase asked.

  "What's happening is that I'm off the case and, therefore, the kid is too; after all, he is my responsibility," House said with distaste, emphasizing the st word. "Let's go, Patrick," he tinued, mog my name as he walked out of the room, surprising everyone except Dr. Foreman and Dr. Cuddy.

  Following House, I quickly caught up to him. "Why?" I asked, puzzled.

  "Apparently, Mom doesn't trust me to tih the case," House said sarcastically. "Though it's even possible there isn't a case in the first pce."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, fused.

  "The other nun, the pretty one, who I think likes me," House said, raising his eyebrows provocatively, "said that Sister Augustine is a hypodriac—sore throats and inexplicable joint pains," House tinued sarcastically.

  "You think the patient is a hypodriac?" I asked, puzzled.

  "Oh no, I just wa that a woman dedicated to God wants a piee," House replied arrogantly, smiling.

  "Uandable," I replied to the doctor, following him through the hospital hallways. "Wait," I remembered what House said after falsely acg the woman of being a hypodriad stopped abruptly. "Sore throats and joint pains," I murmured, "Cameron was right."

  House, puzzled by my behavior, also stood a couple of steps away from me, watg me curiously.

  "Long-term allergic rea," I remihe man, whose expression immediately ged. "If we exclude the cardiac episode, all the symptoms fit," I tinued before House could stop me.

  "heory, kid, but I already told you, symptoms don't just 'get excluded,' and definitely I don't think it's diviervention, at least not here," House said sarcastically.

  "The tea," I said, unwilling to tinue House's joke, taking him by surprise. "While I was with Chase and Cameron in the hyperbaric chamber, Chase offered her more of her tea. She's been drinking it even in the hospital. I bet she drinks it even murly outside of here."

  My words left House silent for a few seds, looking thoughtfully at the floor. "There are certainly teas that open the lungs, increase blood pressure, and stimute the heart."

  "If yurly drink that kind of tea a even point one cc of epinephrine, what could happen?" I asked proudly.

  "Cardiac arrest," House procimed slowly, smiling sinisterly. "Five dolrs and you let me brag about it to Cuddy," he offered, raising his hand immediately.

  "I won't do the charts for you anymore," I ter-offered, seizing the opportunity.

  "Ten dolrs," House offered, pressing his lips with pain on his face.

  "I assure you I run faster than you, and Dr. Cuddy would believe me without a doubt," I threatened him seriously, making House lower his head in disappoi for a few seds.

  "Deal," House murmured, defeated.

  "You won't regret it, Frederick. It was a great deal," I said arrogantly while shaking his hand.

  ---

  Author Thoughts:

  As always, I'm not Ameri, not a doctor, and not a fighter.

  With that said,

  I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.

  Thank you for reading! :D

  PS: PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW.