The bell rang once more, and as if in a dream, everything began to move in slow motion. I remembered perfectly every step I took to approach Tim again and bump fists. Despite the cheers from the crowd starting up again alongside the sound of the bell at the beginning of the sed round, when I raised my guard, all the noise faded into the background. I could hear my owhing and the beating of my heart.

  Thanks to the false silend my sudden calm, I could also see the rise and fall of Tim’s chest with every breath, the movement of his hands a as he prepared his guard, and, surprisingly, even where his eyes were focused.

  When Tim threw his first punch, it was incredibly natural for me to simply dodge it and slip into his guard. Before I even realized it, my fist made tact with Tim’s face, causing my friend to stagger slightly on his feet, givihe perfect opportunity t him down with ease.

  On the ground, with me now on top of Tim, my movements—practically burned into my brain by that point—kicked in. I firmly grabbed one of Tim's arms, positioning my legs across his chest and around his arm, and used my weight to pull it with force.

  Tim, as experienced as he was, quickly recovered from the daze of the blow I’d nded on his face. Unfortunately for him, not quickly enough to avoid my armbar.

  “Tap,” I murmured, struggling to maintain trol of my friend's wrist. It was a whisper Tim surely didn’t hear as I slowly lifted my hips.

  A sed, that felt like mier I felt the taps on the side of my calf, and I immediately let go of his arm.

  The hing I remembered was Case’s small but proud smile as the man walked over to help us up off the ground.

  “I told you it’d give him some encement,” I heard Mr. Sanderson say, ughing loudly.

  Turning to look at the noisy man, I noticed Diarying not to smile, clearly a little embarrassed, as she was jostled by the shoulders.

  “You’re wele,” Tim said, patting my shoulder as he stood beside Case, grinning at Diah amusement. “I let you show off,” he added, winking.

  “Yeah, sure,” I replied sarcastically, patting Tim’s side. “Is your vision okay? Hearing any ringing? Have you fully recovered your ba?” I asked, iing the dition of his pupils while holding his head steady. As much as I felt good about ‘winning’ the sparring match, it was more important to ensure my friend was okay. A hit to the head is never something to take lightly.

  “Yeah, doctor, I’m fiim responded with a slight nod, sounding mildly exasperated but still letting me carefully i him. Holy, no one in the gym resisted when I was ‘w’ on cheg them. Even though we made everyone sign a liability waiver when they signed up, a little extra caution never hurt.

  “All right, good fight,” I said, satisfied with my friend’s current dition, patting his face lightly. “If you feel anything off, e talk to me,” I warned, dodging a pyful retaliatory puny pats.

  “It was a good fight,” Case decred, nodding slowly. “But you twetting used to each other. You’re too fortable,” he added much more seriously, crossing his arms before walking away from the ring.

  “What does that mean?” I asked Tim, intrigued.

  “We’re going to start fighting,” Tim replied, frowning slightly.

  When Tim and I stepped down from the ring, as always after our sparring matches, the people outside immediately surrounded us, patting our backs to gratute us. Some were more enthusiastic than others—possibly because they’d bet oe of the sparring match.

  “I have to admit, that was a little exhirating,” Diane said when the crowd of excited men finally finished gratuting me. She seized a brief moment of solitude, avoiding eye tact. “But I don’t think I like seeing you get hurt,” she added seriously, slowly raising her gaze to meet mine.

  “Yeah, well, that’s the downside of fighting,” I murmured with a hint of sarcasm. “That’s why we train,” I added calmly.

  “But why do it at all? Train?” Diane asked, pressing the towel she was using to help dry my face against me.

  “I’ve learhat it’s really important to know how to defend yourself and the people you care about,” I said slowly, refleg on the few but signifit times I’d had to resort to violence. “Plus, surprisingly, I really enjoy doing this—it’s liberating.”

  Looking around the gym, despite the smell, the he sweat on the floor, and the ehings that most people wouldn’t find appealing about the pce, I knew I looked forward to io train every single day.

  “I don’t think I get it,” Diane said slowly. “But if it’s really something you like to do, I guess it’s okay,” she added relutly.

  “I’d really like it,” I said softly, smiling at Diane. “You should try it,” I offered, tilting my head slightly and amused by her quick rea.

  “What? No, I don’t want to hit anyone,” Diane quickly said, shaking her head.

  “Even if I think you could kick the ass of most people here right now,” I quickly joked. “I don’t think starting with fighting someone is a good idea,” I added. “e on, I’ll show you how to throunch,” I said, holding out my hand to Diane.

  “All right, what am I supposed to do?” Diane asked after I had ed her hand and wrist. She raised her fists in front of her face, possibly trying to mimic my guard or Tim’s but failing ically with her thumbs tucked inside her fists.

  F myself not to ugh at the surprisingly adorable image, I said, “First, we’ll learn how to make a proper fist.” Taking one of her hands, I expined calmly, “If you punething with your fist closed like this, you’ll break your thumb. Now it’s much more solid, see?” I added, tapping my palm against Diane’s knuckles.

  “Okay, I get it,” Diane said, opening her hands and closing them again. With a serious expression on her face, she tried once more to copy the guard she’d seen.

  “Yeah, great. Now, like the rest of the time in your day-to-day life, you o see what’s in front of you, so let’s lower your hands a little—just a bit,” I said, gently l Diane’s hands.

  “Okay, now what?” Diane asked, her arms and hands ridiculously stiff in front of her .

  “Now you throunch,” I replied, amused by how seriously Diane was taking the situation. I mimicked how she was standing and added, “You o make sure your arm fully extends, keeping your wrist steady after rotating it—otherwise, you’ll hurt yourself.” I demonstrated the motion slowly as I expined.

  “Like this?” Diane asked, squinting as she slowly imitated what I had just shown her.

  “Exactly like that,” I replied quickly, nodding. “Now, let’s try something other than the air.”

  “You think I’m ready?” Diane asked, looking strangely nervous.

  “I’m pretty sure, yeah,” I said with a serious faodding.

  “All right,” Diane said, nodding. A moment ter, out of nowhere, she threunch straight into my chest.

  “Ah!, what?” I asked, incredulous, raising my arms to shield myself from any further surprise attacks but really somehow, surprisingly, I didn’t feel anything from her punch. How was that even possible? It was like getting hit by a beach ball.

  “I’m so sorry. Was I not supposed to do that?” Diane c her mouth in panic quickly asked. “Did I hurt you?” a moment ter with obvious in her eyes she added.

  Not even a little. “Yes,” I replied, avoiding a smile with all my might, pg my hand on my chest and feigning pain, causing Diao grow even more worried.

  “I k. I shouldn’t have dohis,” Diane said, still c her mouth in , her eyes wide with worry.

  “Sorry I’m sorry, I lied, it didn’t hurt at all,” seeing how genuinely scared Diane looked, I admitted quickly.

  Hearing my words she slowly lowered her hands, speechless.

  “So sorry,” seeing the betrayal in Diane's eyes I murmured, smiling slightly embarrassed.

  “So I didn’t hurt you?” Diane asked, pressing her lips together.

  “Not even a little,” I replied, shaking my head slowly. “Although, a bit more force behind that punch, and you’d be at Tim’s level, so that's a good start,” I murmured jokingly. “Don’t tell him I said that” Thinking back to how Diane had a bit of a problem with knowing when and when not to say things in front of other people I quickly asked her.

  “I don’t think that was funny,” with a frown Diane said, still annoyed, as she lightly punched my arm just as I had taught her a moment ago.

  “Ah, I might be starting tret teag you how to punch things,” I said, rubbing my arm exaggeratedly, even though one more time, it didn’t actually hurt.

  “Well, I’m sorry for hitting you,” Diane murmured, embarrassed. “But if you don’t want to get hit, don’t make jokes like that,” she added a moment ter, regaining her annoyance.

  "You're absolutely right," I admitted, nodding slowly. "I'll try not to make those kinds of jokes iure," I added, keeping a pletely serious expression.

  After that, I tiraining' with Dia the gym, moving slowly and making sure she didn’t hurt herself in any way.

  Aside from a few punches, foot positioning, and the occasional kick, I didn’t really show her much else.

  "My hands hurt. I don’t uand how you do this every day," Diane said, looking at her knuckles as her sweater hung from one arm when we firaining.

  "Over time, using things like that, we increase the boy in our knuckles, which reduces the pain," I easily expined, pointing at the bag filled with stohat Case had built himself.

  "So you numb your knuckles?" Diane asked, ed.

  "Well, irely. I mean, I still feel them, and it still hurts after training, but it’s less and less every time," I reassured Diane calmly.

  " I see?" Diane asked, genuinely ied.

  "Sure," I responded, a bit puzzled, holding up my hand for her to examine. She took it between her surprisingly cold hands after w out, studying my knuckles ily.

  "Yeah, I definitely see that the skin on your knuckles is much thicker than the rest of the skin on your hand," Diane murmured softly as she ran her fingers over my knuckles.

  "Yeah, I try to use moisturizer most of the time, but there are days I fet," I joked, though I was more focused on the softness of Diane's hands as they brushed against mine.

  Diane, apparently catg the joke, huffed a quiet ugh, squeezing my hand lightly.

  "Let’s go. I don’t want to get you home te," I said, cheg my waty free hand, slightly disappointed as I gestured toward my car.

  "Oh yeah," Diane murmured, taking the hand with my watch to check the time herself, frowning slightly, probably calg how much time we had left to get to the ranch.

  A few mier, I parked my car outside the ranch where Diane’s family was staying. "Five minutes before ten," I said proudly, a little relieved, as I checked my watch outside the car.

  "This is a new experiene—having a curfew. It’s... thrilling," Diane murmured, leaning slightly toward me with a small smile on her face.

  "Until you don’t make it," I ented sarcastically, though I had no real idea what I was talking about—I’d never had a curfew myself.

  "Yeah, I imagine. I don’t know what Hank would’ve doo you or what my mom would’ve doo me," Diane said calmly.

  Yeah, I wouldn’t want to kher.

  "By the way, I’m sorry we didn’t go anywhere more iing than the hospital and the gym today," I said with a smile as we walked slowly toward the porch steps of the ranch house.

  "Oh no, not at all. By all means, I really eoday," Diane quickly decred, shaking her head emphatically, her eyes ically wide.

  "Well, I’m gd," I responded, chug at her rea. "I’m really gd that you thinking I was about to die resulted in a great day," I added quickly, joking.

  "Don’t say that," Diane snapped, hitting my arm, annoyed. "Not funny."

  "Definitely a bad idea to teach you how to punch," I said, ughing as I rubbed my arm.

  "Yeah..." Diane murmured, still serious. "Sucks for you," she added, trying hard not to smile—but obviously failing.

  "Wha—" I began incredulously, but before I could finish, Diane suddenly hugged me tightly, just as she had do the hospital hours earlier.

  "I'm really, really gd you're okay," Diane murmured, her face practically buried in my chest, loud enough for me to hear.

  "Well, now I’m really, really gd I’m okay too," I said sarcastically, patting her shoulder gently.

  "Stop joking," Diane said, annoyed, without pulling her face away from my chest.

  "I ’t. I tend to joke when I’m nervous, and right now I’m a little nervous," I replied quickly, still joking, though I was indeed a bit nervous.

  "You’re nervous?" Diane asked, pulling her face away from my chest, clearly puzzled. "Why?"

  Amused and slightly incredulous at her genuine fusion, I stared at Diane for a few seds, taking in her incredibly wide eyes. "Because of the time," I decred, keeping my expression pletely serious, lifting the hand that had beeing on her shoulder to check my watch.

  "What? Why?" Diane asked again, fused.

  "It’s past ten, and you still haven’t told anyone you’re here," I said calmly, letting Diaake my arm to look at my watch as she had done several times before. "So... teically, I think you’re breaking your curfew," I added ironically.

  Diane’s eyes widened, clearly surprised, possibly having fotten the reason we rushed to get there. She stepped away from me, still keeping one hand on my arm. "I o go."

  "Yup," I replied, amused, nodding.

  "Yup," Diane mimicked with a small smile. "So, I’ll see you tomorrow?" she asked slowly, letting go of my arm.

  "Of course," I answered immediately, nodding.

  "Great. Then see you," Diane murmured, walking slowly toward the house, slightly sideways.

  "See you," I replied with a smile, watg her walk away.

  After several days of saying goodbye to Diane in the same way, I always felt a fleetiao leave. Standing in the cold outside the house Diane was heading into, the feeling lingered no matter how hard I tried to ig—just like the other days.

  Opening the door to the house, Diane paused for a moment, quickly turning to smile at me o time befoing inside.

  Pushing my strange feelings aside, I o no one in particur before heading bay car.

  Several mier, I parked my car in my usual spot oreet and arrived home.

  "Hey, honey, wele back," Mom said, turning on the couch with a giant bag of chips to greet me as I dropped my keys.

  "Hey, Mom," I replied calmly, walking over to grab a chip from her bag.

  "You okay?" Mom asked, stopping my hand before I could bring the chip to my mouth, written on her face.

  "Uh, yeah, why?" I asked slowly, puzzled, bringing the chip to my mouth on let go of my hand.

  "Nothing," Mom murmured, studying my fatently. "e on, tell me how your day was," she added, patting the open spaext to her, "just not too close," she said, wrinkling her nose and raising a hand to it.

  "Hey! I don’t smell that bad," I said, offended, sittio Mom and taking the bag of chips from her hands. I knew I hadn’t showered yet, but I didn’t stink... I think.

  "No, you don’t. It’s just that the baby doesn’t love it," Mom replied, shrugging as she rubbed her rounded belly.

  "That’s only going to st a few more days, you know that, right?" I asked, amused.

  "I know, but I’m the one carrying him, so I get to use the perks of it," Mom said arrogantly, snatg the bag of chips back from me.

  "Yeah, I guess so," I said, shaking my head with a ugh.

  "You guess?" Mom asked, raising an eyebrow. "I assure you," she quickly added fidently. "Go on, how was your day? What did you and Diane do today?" she asked, smiling meaningfully.

  "Well, there was a case with House, so I had to ght to the hospital," I said slowly, pletely leaving out the fact that I had left school early. "So I called Diane, but she didn’t answer. Her brother did. Long story short, Diahought I was involved in some kind of act and showed up at the hospital as a ‘surprise.’ So she stayed there."

  "Aw, that pirl. She must have been so worried," Mom said, smilie her words carrying a strange sympathy. "Then what?" she asked, leaning ba the couch with her hand under her , eagerly awaiting more.

  "Well, not much, really. I introduced her to the team and showed her the skills b," I expined calmly, gng at the strange movie Mom was watg oV.

  "Oh, e on, you ’t just give me so little," Mom said, annoyed.

  "It was really just that," I said slowly, eating another chip. "I showed her some stitches and a few books," I added with a shrug.

  Mom just stared at me silently, etched on her face.

  "Yeah, I know," I said quickly, immediately uanding her silence. "But she seemed to enjoy it," I added, tilting my head.

  "Really?" Mom asked, frowning in surprise.

  "Really," I replied, nodding slowly.

  "Well, I guess that's what really matters," Mom said, shrugging aurnitention to the TV. "And then you took her home," she added, turning up the volume, sounding disappointed.

  "Well, not really. She wao see the gym, and ohio another, so Diane saw me fight Tim," I expihoughtfully.

  "She what?" Mom excimed, frowning in obvious anger.

  Later that night, after dinner and stig to the routine, I worked out with Bob and Gabe. It wasn’t too strenuous, but afterward, I enjoyed a mueeded hot bath befoing to bed.

  The m, bright and early, I arrived at the hospital. Following the dires of the ever-helpful nurses, I walked to the ic.

  "Well, look at that, the kid w on a weekend. Is it my birthday, Wilson?" House asked as I opehe door to the office. Inside, I found House and Dr. Wilson sitting on a bed and a chair, respectively.

  "So refreshed, so renewed," Dr. Wilson murmured, shaking his head slowly. Like House, he wore the same clothes as the day before and looked utterly exhausted. "I envy you so much right now," he added through ched teeth.

  "One of the perks of not being a doctor yet—I don’t have to pull all-nighters," I replied with a slightly smug smile, leaning against one of the room’s ters.

  "Yeah, yeah. gratutions oing a good night’s sleep," House dismissed, waving a hand disiedly, his eyes glued to a small portable TV.

  "So, any updates on the case?" I asked, ign House’s behavior. After all, that was the only reason I had e to the hospital.

  "Oh, just a couple of things," House replied nontly, still focused oiny TV. "I vihe patient to undergery to remove a clot that was causing paralysis in his arm, and magically, his legs wain. Nothing major."

  "What?" I murmured, abs his words, my thoughts rag.

  "Yup, something worked," House said, nodding slowly, his attention still oV.

  "And it’s definitely something he was given here. So, I assume you’ve stopped all medications," I deduced quickly, realizing what was happening.

  Obviously, the patient’s improvement had beeo one of the treatments he had received in the hospital—steroids, antibiotics, anti-infmmatories, something. Stopping everything would allow the symptoms to return, and the medications could then be reintroduced one by one.

  "And that’s why I tolerate you," House said, grinning maliciously as he finally looked at me.

  "That’s not creepy at all," Dr. Wilson muttered, shaking his head as he stared at me. "It’s like watg a much, much younger House," he added slowly. "Without being, you know... House," he added apologetically, likely notig my furrowed brow.

  "Don’t say it too loud; the kid might get a big head," House sneered.

  "How long has it been?" I asked, ign House’s attitude.

  "A couple of hours," House replied calmly.

  "And what if he doesn’t ha?" I asked, nodding slowly as I sidered how long it would take for the patient’s system to clear the medications.

  "I feel like I’ve already answered these questions. How did you put it? Oh, yes—one of the downsides of not being a doctor yet is not listening to versations," House responded disdainfully.

  I didn’t really need an answer. I was sure House didn’t have a pn for such a sario; we were simply waiting for the best possible oute.

  Before anyone could say anything else, there was a knock at the office door, which immediately opened.

  "Greg," Dr. Hamilton said as he entered, slightly out of breath—likely from rushing through the hospital corridors. " I have a word?"

  " it wait for the ercial break, Marty?" House asked sarcastically. "Say hi to my friend Jimmy," he added, gesturing to Dr. Wilson.

  Dr. Hamilton, who hadn’t noticed me oher side of the office, stepped in and closed the door behind him. "Pleasure," he said, approag the bed where House was seated. His entire body nguage screamed that he didn’t want to be there—embarrassed and strangely defeated.

  House, still focused on his tiny TV, hadn’t noticed, but I had.

  "Your... diagnostic trial—" Dr. Hamilton began, shifting unfortably on his feet and f a fake smile, only to be interrupted.

  "Seriously, the ercial’s in about five minutes," House said rudely, cutting him off.

  "It’s a dangerous game," Dr. Hamilton said quickly.

  "Only if we’re watg ihtub," House retorted instantly, dripping with sarcasm.

  "I o kly what medications you were giving John Henry," Dr. Hamilton said, wringing his hands nervously but maintaining his forced smile.

  "Fet it, and if Foreman—" House started to say, but I cut him off.

  "It’s already happening," I deduced aloud, surprised as the reason for Dr. Hamilton’s visit clicked into pce. I quickly ran through the possible medications that might have already been cleared from the patient’s system.

  "What?" Dr. Hamilton asked, turning in surprise at the presence of another person. "Mark, was it?" he said, looking at me and seemingly reizing me by ‘my name.’

  "Mark?" Dr. Wilson asked, fused.

  "Expin, kid," House ordered, raising an eyebrow as he turned his attention away from the TV.

  "The patient has started losing mobility," I expined quickly, noting Dr. Hamilton’s widened eyes. "That’s why he’s here—he o know which medications the patient has stopped receiving," I added, pointing at Dr. Hamilton as I moved away from the ter I had been leaning on.

  House squinted slightly, studying Dr. Hamilton’s face for a moment before nodding. "You’re right. e on," he decred, standing up quickly.

  "A cierge, huh?" Dr. Hamilton said monotonously, barely showing aion as he looked at me while I walked past him alongside House.

  "You know I would’ve figured it out on my own," House said proudly as we walked at his brisk pace through the hospital corridors.

  "Yeah, if you weren’t so busy watg TV, I’m pretty sure you would’ve," I replied dryly, feeling slightly smug.

  "Are you smiling?" House mocked. "You’re not supposed to feel proud about this—it’s just another day at work," he added dismissively.

  Ign House and fog on keeping my faeutral, we tinued walking in sileoward the patient’s room. Inside, Dr. Foreman and the blonde woman were with the patient.

  "Hey, doc," John Henry, the patient, greeted weakly from his bed. "Didn’t know doctors could be this young," he added jokingly, fog on me.

  "I’m PJ Dun—I’m not a doctor yet," I replied quickly, silently assessing his dition.

  "He’s basically a doctor ihing but title," Dr. Foreman said calmly, fully focused oient, catg me pletely off guard.

  "Yeah, the kid’s awesome," House decred dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Let’s work," he added seriously, pressing one of the patient’s legs firmly with his finger.

  The ck of reaade it clear the patient wasn’t regainiion.

  "He’s getting worse," House decred, grabbing the chart at the foot of the bed and stomping his e in frustration. In silence, he stared at the patient.

  Shaking his head and lifting his hands weakly, the patient responded in equal frustration.

  "Right now, you still work for me," House poi Dr. Foreman. "e on," he added, grabbing his e and quickly leaving the room. "Kid!" he yelled from the hallway.

  "You’re not that fast," I muttered, exhaling as I focused on doing calcutions based ohing I knew about the patient. There were three possible options.

  While lost in thought, House and Dr. Foreman led me through the hospital corridors to one of the bs where Cameron and Chase were w.

  "e on," House tinued seriously after briefly addressing Cameron and Chase, who greeted me with a quiod. We headed toward the diagnostics lounge.

  "No feeling, no wiggling," House muttered once we reached the lounge. "Bad news is John Henry’s back where he started," he decred calmly. "Good news is Hamilton looks bad."

  "Yeah, it’s not whether you win or lose," Dr. Foreman said sarcastically. "It’s whether the uy loses."

  "What was the first thi him on?" House asked aloud, ign Foreman’s words.

  "Steroids, for the pneumonia," Chase quickly responded.

  "Well, put him ba them," House said. "Give him—" he immediately tried to tinue, but I interrupted him.

  "No," I said, finally settling on my calcutions.

  "Okay, the’s do nothing. See you on Monday," House sarcastically decred, g.

  "We o put him ba anti-infmmatories," I quickly said, ign House's silly joke, which caused the doctors to look at me strangely.

  "You heard him," House said calmly after a few seds, shrugging his shoulders.

  "Just like that? You’re not going to ask why?" Dr. Foreman asked incredulously, frowning at House.

  "No, I believe in the kid," House replied effortlessly, surprising everyone, especially me. "At least I trust he’s not stupid enough to miscalcute which medication would be cleared first from the patient’s system."

  "Calcutions?" Dr. Foreman asked again, still incredulous.

  "One of the books House gave me to read had all this information about drug absorption times," I quickly expined. "I just pared it with all the data collected by Dr. Hamilton. I took into at factors like liver fun, kidney fun, the patient’s age, all the other medications, and the metabolic systems those drugs affected. The ohat would disappear first from the system is the anti-infmmatory," I added, feeling increasingly embarrassed by the surprised looks from Chase, Cameron, and Dr. Foreman.

  "Well, put him ba them," House said with a slight smile. "Give him twenty-four hours and see what happens," he added indifferently, shrugging.

  "Wait, wait," Dr. Foreman quickly said, raising his hands to stop anyone else from speaking. "Are you really pnning to follow a course of a based on some 'calcutions' PJ made?" he asked House, frowning.

  "Well... yeah," House replied, feigning fusion as though he didn’t uand Dr. Foreman’s doubt.

  "Of course you are," Dr. Foreman murmured in disappoi, ping the bridge of his nose.

  "And we get a new MRI?" I quickly asked, seeing that House was about to make another joke and wanting to avoid more issues.

  "Sure," House answered immediately, smiling exaggeratedly, likely to annoy Dr. Foreman. "Chase, take care of the s. Cameron, put him oi-infmmatories," House ordered, dropping his pyful tone, causing the doctors to set off oasks. "We should probably talk, huh?" he added ironically, raising his eyebrow while addressing Dr. Foreman.

  "I’ll go with Chase and Cameron," I said indifferently, walking behind them to avoid witnessing the argumeween House and Foreman.

  "What, scared to see mom and dad fight?" House asked, ag childishly unpleasant.

  "Yup," I responded without giving him more attention, not wanting to imagine who was the mom and who was the dad in his analogy.

  "Wise choice," Chase whispered to me with a meaningful smile as we walked alongside Cameron.

  "Mr. Giles, we’re restarting your anti-infmmatory treatment," Cameron calmly expined while administering the medication into the patient’s IV upon reag his room.

  "And this will get my legs back?" the patient asked hopefully, still pletely weak in his bed.

  "At least that’s what we think, yes," Chase, standing beside me at the door, quickly replied.

  "No promises, huh?" the patient scoffed, prompting Chase to simply shake his head in response.

  "I respect that," the patient murmured, nodding slightly.

  "It’s done," Cameron said, discarding the remains of the medication after silently administering it.

  "All right, now we need new images, so let’s head to the sers," Chase quickly said as he approached the bed.

  "Whatever you need, doc," the patient said weakly, nodding.

  In practically no time, Chase ushing the patient’s bed through the hospital hallways toward the imaging room.

  "So, a doctor ihing but the title?" John Henry Giles asked, looking directly at me as we walked.

  "Sorry?" I asked, fused by his suddeion.

  "What Dr. Foreman said—you're a doctor ihing but the title. What did he mean by that?" the patient slowly expined, seeming amused by his question.

  "Oh, that..." I said awkwardly, remembering what Dr. Foreman had decred. It had been so surprising to hear him say that I might have pushed it to the bay mind.

  "Foreman said that in front of you?" Cameron asked, as surprised as I had been when Foreman said it.

  "And he meant it—not being sarcastic or demeaning?" Chase asked, joking.

  "Yeah," I said, nodding stiffly as I recalled Dr. Foreman’s surprising words.

  "Then what did he mean by that? Are you some kind of genius or something?" the patient asked, barely able to keep his eyes open, his voipletely weak.

  "I’ve just read a lot of medical books and happen to uand them easily," I responded, slightly embarrassed, trying not to give too much importao the matter.

  "Oh, don’t downpy your brain," Cameron said quickly, sounding offended. "He’s a genius. Foreman, like all of us, knows that PJ could easily be in med schht now, but PJ wants to finish high school with his friends."

  At least the ones who are left.

  "Yeah, he’s like a walking medical encyclopedia. If I were sid no one knew why, I’d defirust PJ and Dr. House," Chase added, smiling as if enjoying my embarrassment.

  "Then I’m really gd you’re here," the patient said, nodding with approval.

  Regretting a little my decision to apany Chase and Cameron, I gave the patient an embarrassed smile.

  "Now I uand why Dr. Foreman hates you. He’s intimidated by your talent," the patient decred matter-of-factly, closing his eyes.

  "Whoa, Dr. Forema hate me," I said quickly, surprised by the patient’s words. Internally, I debated the truth of my own statement. "I’m just not his favorite person in the hospital," I added, sounding much less sure.

  Chase immediately s my words. "Speaking of uimating things," he whispered, leaning toward me loud enough for only me to hear.

  Not long after, we arrived at the MRI room, where Cameron and Chase, with the help of the tei and a couple of nurses, prepared the patient for the mae.

  "Stay perfectly still. This might take a few minutes," Chase said, speaking into the microphone in the trol room before releasing the button a sed ter. "So, do you really think House will terminate Foreman’s tract?" Chase asked once we were isoted.

  "He has to," Cameron quickly replied. "If he doesn’t, he’s telling Foreman he needs him," she added, speaking alongside the loud noise of the giant mae. "And House ’t hahat."

  "Foreman’s not going to leave," I ented calmly as I waited for the images to appear, causing both Chase and Cameron to look at me curiously.

  "ht. You weren’t there. Foreman told us Dr. Hamilton offered him a job, and he seemed pretty willing to take it," Cameron quickly expined.

  "Maybe he thought so at the time because he was furious with House, but I assure you, he’s not going anywhere," I replied fidently.

  "What, now that Foreman openly says hings about you, you’re best friends?" Chase asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

  "No," I replied, rolling my eyes slightly, exasperated by his joke. "It’s just that Dr. Hamilton isn’t half as good as House—maybe not even as good as Foreman himself. And Foreman knows that," I added, crossing my arms.

  And it was true. From the little I had seen of Dr. Hamilton, I knew he was a det doctor, certainly, but nowhere near as brilliant in medie as House. Much kinder, sure, but that was about it.

  "So you think Foreman will stay just because House is a genius?" Cameron asked curiously.

  "No, not because House is a genius. It’s because House is stubborn, and in a way, so is Foreman," I said calmly. At the same time, with the slowness only puters of this era could dispy, the MRI of the patient’s spine began to appear on the ss. "Dr. Hamilton was more than ready to give up without finding a further reason for the paralysis. House wasn’t—whether that’s good or bad. And deep down, I think Foreman agrees with him," I added, knowing full well that this was the same reason I tiudying with House.

  House might not be entirely a good person, but at least he was a good diagnosti.

  "Oh my God," Cameron, who had been half-focused on the puter s, murmured when she saw the result.

  "So as long as House keeps being right in his diagnoses, Foreman will stay here," I added proudly, seeing the same thing Cameron did. My hunch was correct—the stati the previous images wasn’t static; it was swelling, cealing the cause of the paralysis.

  "Arteriovenous malformation, intradural. It’s pressing his spine," I murmured, uo stop smiling as I stepped closer to the s.

  "The anti-infmmatories would’ve relieved the extra pressure the AVM is putting on the spine, allowing him tain mobility in his legs. You were right," Chase said in disbelief, staring at the s as well.

  "We o take this to House," Cameron said, pressing a few keys to start printing the images.

  "I’ll tell the o move the patient back to his room," Chase quickly said, standing up and leaving the trol room.

  "Like I said," Cameron murmured proudly, watg the prio e worked properly, "don’t uimate your brain."

  A few mier, with the MRI prints in hand, Chase, Cameron, and I hurried back to the diagnostics lounge. Dr. Foreman was sitting across from House, who was standing. Surprisingly, they both seemed rather calm.

  "Arteriovenous malformation," Cameron announced as soon as we entered, walking over to House’s lightbox to pce the printed images.

  "Intradural. It’s pressing his spine," Chase said with a smile, repeating what I’d said a few minutes earlier.

  "Causing his paralysis," I added cheerfully.

  "How could Hamilton have missed an AVM?" Dr. Foreman asked, incredulity and disappoi evident in his tone.

  "Well, we missed it too," House muttered while looking at the images before him. "But the kid didn’t," he added with an unusual smile, turning to look at me. The rest of the doctors followed his gaze.

  "How?" Foreman asked, clearly impressed.

  "I don’t know, it was a hunch," I answered, slightly embarrassed. I didn’t have a solid expnation. "The stati the previous MRI images didn’t sit right with me," I said as I moved to grab the old images from the et uhe lightbox. "Here, same anatomic location."

  "It’s not there," Cameron said, puzzled.

  "Not at first gnce, but there’s static," I pointed out, prompting Cameron to lean in closer.

  "Scar tissue? Infmmation?" Chase asked, surprised.

  "If it’s infmmation, the anti-infmmatories would’ve shrunk it down," Dr. Foreman murmured, still skeptical, "revealing the AVM."

  "Which has always been there, hiding behind its own swelling," House decred slowly. "We remove that, he’ll walk again," he added, nodding toward me with a faint, almost imperceptible glimmer of pride in his eyes.

  ---

  Author Thoughts:

  As always, I'm not Ameri, not a doctor, not a fighter, not Magnus Carlsen and not Michael Phelps.

  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.