Chapter 8: Pre-Game
The apartment is too quiet.
I've been sitting on the couch for an hour, notebook open, staring at the notes I made weeks ago when I first arrived. Tomorrow changes everything.
Patient: Rebecca Adler
Age: 29
Occupation: Kindergarten teacher
Presenting: Seizures
I know what happens. House assembles the team, we throw out differentials, run tests, nothing fits. House breaks into her house illegally, finds a ham in the trash. Tapeworm. Neurocysticercosis from pork consumption.
In the original timeline, Chase was there but minimal. Followed House's lead. Performed the tests House ordered. Didn't contribute much to the actual diagnosis.
I could do better.
I know it's a tapeworm. I could suggest it immediately, skip the differential entirely, save days of testing and House's illegal home invasion. Rebecca Adler would get treated faster, recover quicker, avoid complications.
But.
But.
If I diagnose it too quickly, House notices. He asks how I knew. I can't explain foreknowledge without sounding insane. And even if I could somehow justify the leap, changing the timeline has consequences.
What if suggesting tapeworm immediately means House doesn't break into the house? What if that break-in is crucial for something later? What if some butterfly effect cascades into disaster?
I don't know. Can't know. And that's the problem.
I close the notebook and lean back, rubbing my eyes. The ethical calculus is brutal.
Option 1: Maximum intervention. Diagnose everything I remember correctly, save everyone I can, change outcomes wherever possible.
Problem: Exposes metaknowledge. Breaks causality. Risks catastrophic butterfly effects. Makes me House 2.0, which is exactly what I swore not to become.
Option 2: Minimal intervention. Let everything play out as it originally did. Be the background character Chase was. Don't change anything.
Problem: People suffer when I could help. Patients die when I could save them. Having power and refusing to use it is its own kind of evil.
Option 3: Middle ground. Intervene when my abilities naturally allow it. Use deduction and medical knowledge to contribute, but don't force diagnoses I shouldn't be able to make. Let the cases develop, then add value where it makes sense.
Problem: Where's the line? How do I know when to step in versus stay quiet?
I stand and walk to the window. Princeton at night is all streetlights and distant traffic. Somewhere out there, Rebecca Adler is going about her evening, unaware that tomorrow her life falls apart.
And I'm sitting here trying to decide how much to help.
This is insane.
But it's the reality. I have foreknowledge. I have abilities. And I have to choose how to use them.
I grab a beer from the fridge and settle back on the couch. Think it through logically.
Rebecca Adler lives in the original timeline. House diagnoses the tapeworm, she gets treated, she survives. If I do nothing, she still lives.
So the question isn't life or death. It's suffering.
How much suffering am I willing to let happen to preserve causality?
The answer should be simple: as little as possible. But it's not that easy.
If I change this case, I change House's perception of me. That changes how he treats me, which changes team dynamics, which changes future cases, which changes everything.
Butterfly effect. Chaos theory. One small change propagating forward into unpredictability.
You can't save everyone.
I know that. Learned it the hard way as a hospitalist. You make your best decisions, you do your best work, and sometimes people still die. Not because you failed, but because medicine has limits.
This is different. I'm not limited by medical knowledge. I'm limited by fear of consequences I can't predict.
So what's the rule?
I think for a long time. The beer goes warm in my hand.
Finally, I make the decision:
Intervene when my skills naturally allow it. Use deduction, use medical knowledge, use enhanced perception. But don't force diagnoses I couldn't reasonably make. Don't push for tests without justification. Don't reveal knowledge I shouldn't have.
Let the cases develop. Add value where it makes sense. Trust that House's brilliance will still get there, just maybe with better input from the team.
Accept that some people will suffer. Accept that I can't save everyone. Accept the limits I'm setting, brutal as they are.
It's not perfect. It's not even good. But it's sustainable.
And it keeps me from becoming the thing I'm afraid of: someone who plays god with foreknowledge, who manipulates outcomes, who loses sight of the fact that these are real people with agency and autonomy.
Rebecca Adler isn't a character anymore. She's a person. And she deserves a doctor who treats her case with genuine care, not someone acting out a script.
I grab the notebook and write out the promise. Make it real.
RULES:
Use abilities ethically. Deduction and medical knowledge are tools, not weapons.Respect patient autonomy. They're people, not puzzles.Don't play god. Having foreknowledge doesn't mean controlling outcomes.Accept limits. Can't save everyone. That's not failure—that's reality.Contribute naturally. Add value where skills allow. Don't force impossible knowledge.Remember: This is real life now. Not a TV show. Not entertainment. Real stakes. Real consequences.
I read it over three times. Then I close the notebook and put it away.
Tomorrow, Rebecca Adler walks into Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital with seizures that will change her life. House will assemble his team, throw out wild theories, and eventually find the answer through brilliance and illegal activity.
And I'll be there. Contributing what I can. Learning House's methods. Building the reputation that will let me do more good in the long run.
First real case. First real test.
I check my alarm—set for six AM—and head to bed.
Sleep doesn't come easy. My mind keeps running through scenarios. What if House asks me a direct question about my suspicions? What if the lie detection triggers during the differential and I react wrong? What if I miss something I should catch and Rebecca Adler gets worse?
What if I'm not good enough?
That's the fear underneath everything. Not that I'll expose myself, but that I'll fail. That being given a second chance and superhuman abilities won't be enough to actually save people.
You're a good doctor. You were before. You are now.
I force myself to breathe. Slow and steady. The ceiling is dark. The apartment is quiet. Tomorrow brings chaos, but tonight there's just this moment.
I think about Rebecca Adler—not the character from a TV show, but the real person I'll meet tomorrow. Someone's daughter. Maybe someone's sister. A teacher who shapes young lives.
She deserves the best care I can give. Even if that means sometimes holding back. Even if that means watching House's methods knowing I could shortcut them. Even if it's harder than just revealing everything.
Do no harm. That's the first rule. That's the only rule that matters.
I close my eyes and try to sleep.
Tomorrow, the pilot episode begins. Tomorrow, I meet Gregory House's diagnostic method head-on. Tomorrow, I find out if I can walk the line between competence and impossibility.
Tomorrow, I'm tested.
But tonight, I'm just Chase. Lying in the dark. Hoping I'm ready for what comes next.
The alarm is set. The cover story is filed. The rules are written.
All that's left is to see if I can actually follow them.
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