He'd missed the flurry of activity, he realized, as he walked into the room. He groaned inwardly. All that way and he didn't even get a show. If he'd known a flock of his do-gooders would appear to handle the situation, he would have spared himself the walk. He leaned against the wall opposite the patient's bed, shifting all his weight to his left and crossing his arms over his chest, watching.

He was still waiting on test results to confirm Lupus, but something felt off. It was moving too fast. As far as he knew, kidney function was good. No inflammation. It wasn't right, didn't fit well enough. With the seizures now under control--nothing more to see here--House pushed himself off the wall and, without a word, headed out the door.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Foreman hot on his heels. He stopped to press the 'up' button to call the elevator and waited for Foreman to catch up. "It's not Lupus."