written by KMSpider
Summary-- It's Halloween at PPTH
Author's notes: I'm blaming this one on the TwoP: Everybody Lies Forum
Doctor Robert Chase slammed the door closed behind him, then held on tight to the handle as the door rattled and shook in his grip.
Chase turned his head to glare at his boss, who was leaning against the clinic wall outside the exam room. Smirking.
"You knew he was a zombie, and you sent me in there anyway!" Chase accused his boss.
"Did you fix him?" came Gregory House's snide reply.
"He TRIED to eat my brains!"
"And he messed up your hair," House helpfully pointed out.
Chase reached up to smooth down his blond locks, but quickly replaced his hands on the door as it started to open. He banged it shut again, ignoring the loud growls and snarls that could be heard emanating from Exam Room 1.
"That's NOT funny!"
"He's just suffering from the humors," House offered a diagnosis.
"The HUMORS? What is this? Eighteenth Century England?"
"Come on now, stiff upper lip and all that," House scolded him in a patently false British accent.
"Did he look kind of dead to you?"
"HE'S A ZOMBIE! Of course, he looked dead!"
"Vasculitis," House said with surety.
"Vasculitis?" Chase mimicked in disbelief.
"It's always Vasculitis."
"It's NEVER Vasculitis!"
"Oh, don't worry. Zombies eat brains. He would have starved to death from snacking on you."
"He already IS dead!"
"Tsk. It's a minor bump on the road to his recovery."
"What? He's only MOSTLY dead? You're insane," Chase barked at him as the door threatened to open, and he struggled harder to keep it closed. The door thudded in his grip as a body was thrown at it from the other side.
"Do you think insane brains taste better?"
"Why don't we find out," Chase growled, sounding remarkably like the zombie behind the door. "You go in, and I'll question him on your epicurean delights afterwards."
"Hmmm. I'd rather find out if Australians taste like kangaroo."
"Bite me," Chase snapped. "You'd probably taste remarkably like jackass!"
House had to laugh out loud. It wasn't easy to get Chase riled up. "How about I go and get Security over here. They probably taste like pork, don't you think?"
----Twenty minutes later---
House casually gimped back to Exam Room 1. Chase was still furiously holding the door closed, sweat beaded on his forehead, hands beginning to cramp.
"Did you miss me?" House inquired.
"Yes, actually. I haven't had my minimum daily requirement of snark yet. Where the hell is Security?" the young Aussie demanded.
"Well, first I had to go by Cuddy's office and tell her that you were refusing to care for a patient."
"What? He tried to eat my brains!"
"He barely left a mark at all. Big baby," House chided.
"Security!" Chase bellowed over his shoulder.
"I thought you'd at least try to perform an exorcism while I was gone."
"I would have, but I left my crucifix in my other pants."
"Maybe what we need is a witch doctor."
"Got any on speed-dial?" Chase sneered.
"I'll call Foreman," House offered cheerfully.
"Foreman's smart. 4.0 GPA. Big brains," Chase mused. "At least the zombie won't be hungry anymore." The door boomed in his grip, and Chase cursed.
House dialed, and a few minutes later Foreman and Cameron raced into the clinic, which, strangely, was completely deserted of patients. (Or not so strangely, as most of them had seen the zombie check in at the desk, and had fled when he tried to eat Nurse Brenda... who had promptly assigned the case to House. Darn zombie even refused to make his co-pay!)
"What the hell is going on?" Foreman demanded.
"Zombies in Exam 1," House explained succinctly.
"What?" Cameron asked.
"I say we let him out, and make a run for it. He can eat the Slow Moving Ones," Chase offered, glaring at House.
House whacked Chase's ankle with his cane, ignoring the resulting gasp of pain, and turned to the other ducklings. "What is the differential diagnosis for zombie-ism?"
"Did you call Security at all?" Chase asked.
"Quit whining, and hold the door tighter," House instructed as the door banged open an inch, grasping zombie fingers poking out, before Chase brought the door back under control. "Well, people?"
"Poison," offered Foreman.
"Security!" Chase yelled, not knowing that House had ordered them not to show up any sooner than thirty minutes.
"Hush," House ordered him.
"Maybe it's a psychological condition," Cameron offered.
"Yes," House said patiently, seemingly in agreement with her. "In a moment we'll let you go in and hold his hand. And when he snaps your bones like toothpicks, and uses them to pick the rest of us out of his teeth, I'm sure the diagnosis will be that he wet the bed. Next?"
"I'm surprised you didn't say rectal cancer, you ass," Chase sneered at his boss.
"You're right. We need Wilson's input for this one! Where's my oncologist?" House lifted his head and whistled loudly, almost too high for the human ear to detect. Chase would have covered his ears if he didn't fear letting go of the door.
A second later, James Wilson appeared. "You called?"
"Get a backbone, man!" Chase muttered.
"Look who's talking," House scolded the Aussie. Smiling at Wilson, he said, "Chase thinks the zombie has rectal cancer."
"I do not!"
"He'll need an MRI," Wilson offered.
"That's brilliant, Jimmy! Nobody survives the MRI of Doom!"
Just then Vogler and Cuddy stormed into the clinic.
"What the hell is going on here?" Vogler demanded.
"Where are all the clinic patients?" Cuddy asked.
"We've got a situation," House informed them. "Patient exhibits all the classic signs of being a zombie."
"What classic signs?" Cuddy asked. "There are no such things as zombies!"
"Damn, Cuddy, haven't you seen any George A. Romero movies? They shuffle, they're pasty, and they eat your brains."
"If it had a cane, I'd say it was a description of you," Foreman muttered, crossing his arms.
"Amen," Chase agreed.
House shot them both a glare and Chase would have backed away if he could have done so without letting go of the door.
"You're just trying to get the hospital sued, Doctor House," said a pissed off Vogler. "And you're running off all our other patients. Get out of the way and let me handle this," he said, shouldering Chase aside, and entering the exam room, and pushing the door closed behind him.
"No, wait!" Chase cried, but it was too late.
They heard a lot of noise: fighting, screaming, banging, but they couldn't tell who was winning. Finally the noise died away altogether. They glanced at each other, but no one dared to open the door. Finally, Cuddy (being the scariest one among them) had had enough, and flung the door wide.
Sitting quietly in a corner of Exam Room 1 the zombie was happily munching on the remains of the former Chairman of the Board.
"Sorry, Chase," House placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder, "Looks like it's the end for Big Daddy."
"Bite me," Chase said again, then they both shrank away when the zombie looked up and eyed them like a hot meal.
"Oh, dear," Cuddy said softly.
"Relax, boss," House said. "The zombie didn't eat his bank account. The hospital still has its hundred million dollars."
"Well," Cuddy said thoughtfully, quietly closing the door. "That's alright then."
----- and we're done!