Chapter 18: Case 2 - Resolution
The echocardiogram takes twenty minutes.
I scrub in with the cardiologist, Dr. Martinez, watching the ultrasound probe slide over Emma's tiny chest. The image appears on screen—grainy, real-time view of her heart.
There.
The ductus arteriosus is wide open. Blood flowing in the wrong direction. The heart working three times as hard to compensate.
"PDA," Martinez confirms. "Significant shunt. That's your problem."
"Treatment?" I ask, though I already know.
"Indomethacin. Closes the ductus in about seventy percent of cases. If that fails, surgical ligation." He looks at Emma's size. "But I'd rather try medication first. Surgery on a baby this small is risky."
"Do it."
The medication goes in through her IV. A prostaglandin inhibitor that encourages the ductus to close. Now we wait.
House, Foreman, and Cameron join me in the NICU. We stand around Emma's isolette like doctors at a vigil.
"How long until we know if it worked?" Cameron asks.
"Hours. Maybe less." I check the monitor. "If the ductus closes, her oxygen saturation should improve rapidly. Heart won't have to work as hard."
We wait.
Sixty minutes pass. Emma's numbers stay stable but don't improve.
Ninety minutes. Still no change.
Cameron shifts nervously. "What if it doesn't work?"
"Then we try surgery." But my voice lacks confidence. Emma's too small. Too fragile. Surgery might kill her even if it fixes the heart.
Two hours.
And then—
The oxygen saturation ticks up. From 93% to 94%.
Then 95%.
Then 97%.
Emma's breathing slows. From seventy breaths per minute to sixty. Then fifty. Her color improves from dusky to pink.
"It's working." Cameron's voice is barely a whisper.
The ductus is closing. Blood flowing correctly. The heart finally able to do its job without fighting a losing battle.
Martinez checks the repeat echo. "Ductus closed. Good flow. She's going to be fine."
The relief hits like a physical wave. I lean against the wall, suddenly exhausted.
All five babies. All surviving. We did it.
Mr. and Mrs. Chen arrive minutes later.
They rush to Emma's isolette, seeing her improved color, her easier breathing. Mrs. Chen breaks down crying. Mr. Chen just stares at his daughter like he can't believe she's real.
"She's okay?" Mrs. Chen asks through tears. "Really okay?"
"Really okay." I pull up her chart. "The medication closed the heart defect. She'll need monitoring, but the prognosis is excellent."
"You saved her." Mr. Chen grabs my hand. "The nurse said you stayed all night. That you figured out the toxin. That you found her heart problem when everyone else missed it."
"I just—"
"You saved our daughter." His voice breaks. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
They hold each other and cry. Cameron stands beside me, watching. When the Chens finally compose themselves enough to sit with Emma, Cameron touches my arm.
"Can we talk? Outside?"
We step into the hallway. The morning light through the windows is harsh, bright, real.
"You were incredible in there." Cameron's looking at me differently now. Not just professional respect. Something deeper. "You stayed overnight with those babies. Exposed yourself to chemicals. Found the secondary heart condition. You didn't do any of that because you had to. You did it because you cared."
"They deserved not to die for a formula brand choice."
"Most doctors would've done their job and gone home. You did more." She pauses. "Why?"
Because I have powers that make me better equipped. Because I know what it's like to die. Because every life I save matters more than hiding my abilities.
"Because they're babies. Because their parents are terrified. Because if I can help, I should."
Cameron's quiet for a moment. Then: "Coffee? After shift? Just to debrief the case."
It's the same offer she made to Chase in the original timeline. But this time it feels different. More genuine. Based on actual connection rather than abstract attraction to his potential damage.
"I'd like that."
"Good." She smiles—real, warm, like sunlight breaking through clouds. "I'll meet you in the cafeteria at seven?"
"I'll be there."
She heads back to check on the other babies. I stay in the hallway, processing.
Cameron's interested. Actually interested. Not in fixing someone broken, but in getting to know someone competent and caring.
Progress. Real progress.
The case closes over the next three days.
All five babies recover fully. Emma Chen's PDA stays closed. The hospital discontinues the toxic disinfectant. Parents file complaints but don't sue—we saved their children, after all.
House leads a final debrief.
"Environmental toxin identified through Chase's overnight observation and systematic testing. Secondary cardiac condition caught through careful monitoring and pattern recognition." He looks directly at me. "Two things worth noting. One: Chase volunteered for dangerous chemical exposure without proper protection. Two: he stayed overnight with critical patients when he could've gone home. Both actions beyond normal fellow duties."
"Someone had to do it," I say.
"Yes. But most people wouldn't have. That makes you either very dedicated or very stupid." House pauses. "Haven't decided which yet. But good work."
Coming from House, that's practically a medal.
Foreman nods grudging approval. Cameron smiles at me. The case is done.
That evening, I meet Cameron in the cafeteria.
She's already there, two coffees waiting. I sit across from her and take the offered cup.
"Rough week," she says.
"Five babies. All living. I'll take it."
"You were amazing." She means it. "The way you handled the Chens. The way you stayed calm when Emma wasn't responding. House doesn't usually compliment people, but he complimented you."
"House thinks I'm either dedicated or stupid."
"You're dedicated." She takes a sip of coffee. "I've been watching you. Two major cases now. You're good at this. Really good. But you also care about the patients as people. That's rare."
"You care too."
"I try. But sometimes I get so focused on fixing things that I forget people aren't puzzles." She meets my eyes. "You don't do that. You see them as people first, problems second."
"Learned the hard way that dehumanizing patients makes you a worse doctor."
We talk for an hour. About medicine, about cases, about why we're both here working for an impossible genius who treats everyone like chess pieces. It's easy. Natural. Like the beginning of something real.
When we're leaving, Cameron hesitates. "Same time next week? If we're not drowning in a new case?"
"I'd like that."
"Me too."
She leaves. I drive home through the darkening streets, replaying the conversation.
Coffee with Cameron. Genuine connection. Not manipulation. Not strategy. Just two people who might actually like each other.
And five babies who get to grow up because we found the answers.
Back in my apartment, I update the notebook:
Case 2: Maternity Environmental Toxin + PDA - RESOLVED
Five infants, all survived
Primary: Disinfectant + formula protein reaction
Secondary: PDA in premature infant
Powers used:
Disease Resistance: Enabled unprotected chemical testingDeduction: Identified environmental changes, caught cardiac patternLie detection: Not relevant
Team reactions:
House: Noted my risk-taking. "Dedicated or stupid." Still suspicious but approving.Cameron: Genuine interest developing. Coffee invitation = foundation building.Foreman: Professional respect solidifying.
Risk level: ELEVATED
House specifically noted lack of safety precautions during chemical exposure.
Building file on "unusual behaviors."
Must be more careful about exploiting disease resistance advantage.
Personal note:
Cameron relationship progressing naturally.
She's interested in competence + empathy, not damage.
This is healthier than canon. Worth pursuing carefully.
I close the notebook and stare at the ceiling.
Two weeks as House's fellow. Two major cases solved. A growing reputation. House's increasing suspicion. And Cameron actually interested in me.
Can I keep all these plates spinning?
Have to try.
Tomorrow brings new cases. New chances. New risks.
But tonight, five babies are breathing. Rebecca Adler is recovering at home. And Cameron wants to have coffee with me again.
Small victories. Take them when they come.
I set my alarm and try to sleep, knowing the real challenge is just beginning.
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