Chapter 13: Everybody Lies - Part 5
The confirmation comes at seven in the morning.
I'm reviewing patient charts with coffee that tastes like regret when House walks in, waving a lab printout like it's a winning lottery ticket.
"Antibodies for Taenia solium. Positive." He slaps the paper on the conference table. "New MRI with contrast shows multiple cystic lesions in the temporal lobe. Neurocysticercosis. Called it."
Foreman looks up from his computer. "So Chase was right about the inflammation he saw during surgery."
"Chase was right about several things." House's tone is too neutral. "The surgical observation. The Mexico travel. The connection to pork consumption. For a first major case, that's impressive or suspicious. Haven't decided which yet."
I keep my face neutral, take a sip of coffee that's gone cold. "Just followed the evidence."
"Nobody 'just follows evidence' that well on their first diagnostic case." House limps to the whiteboard, starts erasing our old differentials. "But you did good work, Wallaby. Don't let it go to your head."
Wallaby. Great. I have a nickname now.
Cameron enters, looking more rested than she has in days. "How's Rebecca?"
"Responding to treatment." I pull up her labs on the computer. "Seizure activity stopped six hours after we started albendazole and dexamethasone. Inflammatory markers dropping. She's going to be fine."
"Thank god." Cameron's relief is genuine. She actually cares about patients as people, not just puzzles. It's refreshing after watching House treat them like crossword clues. "Can I tell her?"
"Be my guest." House waves her off. "Try not to make her feel guilty about eating street food. It's not like she knew it was contaminated."
Cameron heads to the ICU. Foreman follows to check on another patient. I'm left alone with House, who's studying me like I'm the next interesting case.
"You've got good instincts," he says finally. "Surgical eye. Environmental deduction. Pattern recognition." He pauses. "Where'd you really learn it?"
"Brisbane Central ER. Told you this already."
"You told me a story. Doesn't mean it's the whole truth." He sits on the edge of the conference table, blocking my exit. "I know the Australian medical system. Four years in ER doesn't make someone this observant. Takes longer. More cases. More variety."
Careful. He's fishing.
"I also worked rural medicine during my fellowship. Indigenous communities, remote clinics, limited resources." All true for original Chase. "When you can't just order every test, you learn to read patients better. Notice details. Make educated guesses based on what you can see."
House considers this. "Rural medicine. Limited resources. That I believe." He stands, grabs his cane. "But I'm still watching you. Something about you doesn't quite fit."
He limps out, leaving me with cold coffee and the uncomfortable certainty that House's suspicion isn't going away.
Rebecca Adler is awake and alert when I check on her that afternoon.
The ICU has her in a regular bed now, not critical monitoring. Her color is better. The hand tremor is gone. She's reading a children's book—probably something she was planning to read to her class before this nightmare started.
"Dr. Chase." She sets the book down, smiles. "Dr. Cameron said you figured out what was wrong."
"Team effort. Dr. House made the final diagnosis."
"But you found the travel evidence. She told me." Rebecca's expression shifts to embarrassment. "I'm so sorry. I should have mentioned Mexico when you asked about travel. I just... it was six months ago. I didn't think it mattered."
"It's okay. People don't always connect the dots." I pull up a chair. "How are you feeling?"
"Better. No more seizures. The headache's almost gone." She fidgets with the book. "Dr. Cameron explained about the... tapeworm larvae. In my brain. That's going to haunt me forever."
Despite everything, I almost laugh. "It's treatable. Two weeks of medication, the larvae die, your immune system clears them out. You'll be fine."
"Will I have seizures again?"
"Unlikely. Once the larvae are dead and the inflammation resolves, your brain should return to normal function." I keep my voice confident. Reassuring. "You'll need follow-up MRIs to confirm, but the prognosis is excellent."
She relaxes slightly. "Thank you. For not giving up. For finding the answer."
"That's the job."
"Still." She meets my eyes. "Thank you."
I leave her to her book and head back to diagnostics. The hallway is bright with afternoon sun through the windows, and for the first time since I woke up in this world, I feel like I did something right.
Saved a life. Used the abilities without exposing them. Contributed to the team.
Maybe I can actually do this.
Cameron finds me in the break room an hour later.
I'm making tea—habit from the original Chase's memories—when she walks in, hesitates, then commits to the conversation.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure." I pour hot water over the tea bag.
"How did you know to look for travel evidence?" She leans against the counter. "In her bedroom. You went straight for it."
Here we go. Second interrogation of the day.
"The seizure pattern suggested environmental exposure rather than genetic or congenital causes. Travel to areas with different disease profiles seemed like a logical place to look." I keep stirring the tea, giving my hands something to do. "Plus, travel photos are usually prominent in bedrooms. People like to remember good experiences."
"House would have jumped straight to drug use or hidden medical conditions." Cameron's watching me carefully. "He doesn't think about environmental factors first. But you did."
"House and I think differently. That's probably why he hired more than one person."
She's quiet for a moment. Then: "You observed. Really observed. Not just looked—actually saw what was there and what it meant." She pushes off the counter. "That's different from House's intuition. Different from Foreman's systematic approach. It's... I don't know. Thoughtful."
It's a compliment. Genuine. The first time she's really acknowledged me as more than another colleague.
"Thanks." I meet her eyes. "That means something, coming from you."
"Why?"
"Because you actually care about the patients. Not just solving the puzzle." I take a sip of tea—still too hot. "House is brilliant, but he treats people like crossword clues. You remember they're human."
Cameron's expression softens. "Someone has to."
"Yeah. Someone does."
She leaves, but something's shifted. Not romantic interest—not yet—but the beginning of respect. Recognition that I'm not just another fellow following orders.
Progress. Slow, careful progress.
I finish my tea and head back to my desk. The afternoon stretches into evening. Routine cases, paperwork, the endless rhythm of hospital medicine.
But when I'm alone at my desk, I pull out the coded notebook and write:
Case 1: Rebecca Adler - COMPLETE
Diagnosis: Neurocysticercosis (Taenia solium)
Treatment: Albendazole + corticosteroids
Outcome: Full recovery expected
My contributions:
Lie detection: Identified patient deception about supplements/travelDeduction: Found Mexico travel evidence, connected to pork consumptionSurgical observation: Noted brain inflammation, guided biopsy locationDisease resistance: Not relevant this case
Team reactions:
House: Impressed but actively suspicious. Questioning my observational skills.Cameron: Shifting from dismissive to respectful. Acknowledges different thinking style.Foreman: Grudging professional respect.Wilson: Warned me twice about House's curiosity.
Risk assessment: ELEVATED
House knows something's different. Can't pinpoint what, but he's watching actively now.
Must calibrate future contributions—competent but not impossible.
Cameron interest beginning—foundation only, not romantic yet.
Next steps:
Monitor House's investigationBuild team relationships naturallyContinue documenting power developmentPrepare for next case
I close the notebook and hide it in my desk drawer. First major case complete. Patient saved. Team functioning.
But House is suspicious, and that's a problem without an easy solution.
One case down. Hundreds to go.
Just have to stay valuable without becoming a target.
The hospital continues around me—codes called, patients arriving, the endless march of human suffering and medical intervention.
And I'm part of it now. For better or worse.
Note:
Please give good reviews and power stones itrings more people and more people means more chapters?
My Patreon is all about exploring 'What If' timelines, and you can get instant access to chapters far ahead of the public release.
Choose your journey:
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0