Chapter Text
In the years you’ve spent working for Dr. House, you grow to recognize that he loathes small talk. It’s better for you to just cut right to the chase. He prefers direct and honest communication. So, when your patient’s condition is eluding you, you don’t hesitate to approach him about it.
“My patient’s confusing me,” you say as you enter his office, abandoning any pleasantries.
Despite your direct remark, the doctor still pays you a bored glance. “Well, if they’re confusing you, then this case must be unsolvable,” House responds, his voice dripping in sarcasm. You roll your eyes.
“I’m serious,” you maintain, silently commanding him to pay attention. “His symptoms are constantly changing. One moment, he’s dizzy and nauseous; the next, he’s completely fine. His vitals are normal, the tests we ran are normal. No past injuries or illnesses… I don’t get it.”
House hums. He spins his chair ever so slightly, tapping his chin in contemplation.
“Come on, please?” you continue after a few moments of silence.
“Disgusting.” House’s nose wrinkles and he looks repulsed. “Don’t act like that ever again. Especially not in my office.” You fight off your amusement at that, instead recognizing the implicit agreement. House gets to his feet and stares at you impatiently. “Well? Let’s see this medical anomaly,” he scoffs, clearly disbelieving. You sigh and walk over to the patient’s room. Before you can even open the door of the room for him, House pays a bored glance to the window returning his attention to you.
“You dragged me all the way over here for this nonsense?” he huffs blandly, not even bothering to take a second look. You’re not quite sure what you expected from him, now that you think about it.
“What?” you ask skeptically. “Don’t tell me you know what’s wrong already.” House merely took one look at the guy. How could he possibly know what’s wrong?
There’s a beat of silence. A slight smile rises on House’s lips—it seems mocking. “He’s in love,” House states, raising a brow. You’re convinced his amusement is at your expense. Surely this is just one of his jokes. But… you can’t seem to find the punchline.
“What?” you exclaim. “House, come on—” you say helplessly, quickly growing frustrated.
“You’re rather oblivious, aren’t you?” House interjects, raising a brow at you. One hand rests on his cane while the other is shoved in his pocket. He looks so casual and unbothered, as if he didn’t just jokingly diagnose the patient with love.
You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to throttle him. “Just explain, House," you sigh impatiently. You don’t have time for these games.
“He’s just pretending,” House elaborates, taking another look through the window. “He probably felt somewhat under the weather when he came here. Then he saw you, and started faking his symptoms to get your attention.” He turns his head back to you, his expression a mix of annoyance and boredom.
You stare at him in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“People often confuse attention from a doctor with romantic attraction,” House rolls his eyes. “It’s desperate and pathetic," he then scoffs darkly.
“That’s—” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in distress and annoyance. “Are you sure?”
“‘Are you sure?’” he repeats mockingly, rolling his eyes. House doesn’t bother to greet the guy, instead giving him one look and evidently coming to a decision. “It’s a textbook case, really. Normal tests, ever-changing symptoms. He’s dropped the act, since he doesn’t realize you’re standing here," he says to you.
Then, without warning, House opens the door to the room. He forgoes a greeting. “What are your symptoms, buddy?” he asks the patient with faux politeness. The guy hesitates for a few moments, stumbling and stuttering. House immediately interjects. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’ve been pretending since you got here, just to impress a certain doctor…” the diagnostician trails off and glances at you pointedly.
The patient doesn’t immediately object. Instead, to your complete surprise, he nods regretfully.
“Are you serious?” you choke out, the gravity of the situation hitting you now. “You came to the hospital and pretended to be sick… just to waste our time?” you demand. The guy’s shoulders droop and he doesn’t say anything. You look to House for assistance, only to find that he has his arms crossed over his chest and an entertained smile on his face. Damn it, he’s having fun with this. You can hardly focus on that now, though—not through the overwhelming haze of frustration and irritation currently plaguing you.
Hospitals are always understaffed and lacking resources—Princeton–Plainsboro Teaching Hospital is no different. The fact that this patient took up space in the already crowded hospital, just to fake his symptoms, infuriates you. He wasted your time—valuable time you could’ve spent helping someone who genuinely needed the help. Your fists clench at your sides.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” you repeat incredulously. The patient nods. “You’re feeling fine.” Another nod. He looks embarrassed now. Good.
You take a slow breath, attempting to hold back your anger. It doesn’t quite work. “Get up,” you order, in a tone far more assertive than the one you usually wield. At his confused look, you repeat yourself and motion impatiently. The guy seems to break out of his stupor and gets up from the bed. “Follow me," you say.
You feel House’s eyes on your back as you lead the patient out of the room and towards one of the interior exits, away from prying eyes. You don’t want the other patients to think this is how you treat people. You’re just— You’re so frustrated. This guy thinks this is all some sort of joke, that he’s being clever. “Here’s the exit,” you announce, promptly holding the door open and gesturing for him to walk through it. Fortunately, the guy seems to have some tiny sliver of dignity left, because he doesn’t argue. “And don’t bother coming back unless you’re sick or dying,” you finish, immediately closing the door and locking him out of the building.
You immediately grasp at the handle of the door and take a slow breath, tilting your head down as you attempt to regain your composure. That was a bit harsh. But, at the same time, he deserved it. You can’t condone that kind of behavior—and if you had let it slide, it would’ve likely happened again.
“That was quite the ruckus,” Dr. House says from a short distance away. He’s staring at the door when the strangest emotion flickers across his face. It’s gone in the blink of an eye, leaving you questioning if you ever really saw it in the first place.
“No, it was pathetic,” you respond with a shake of your head. You shove your hands in the pockets of your lab coat. “I’m really not in the mood.” You warn House as you walk back towards him.
He’s silent at your side for a moment, before speaking again. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you had the guts," House says, a slightly mischievous smile dancing on his lips. “And I’m never wrong.”
“First time for everything,” you say somewhat breathlessly, feeling almost flustered by the intensity of his scrutiny.
“You’ll have to get used to that kind of thing,” he says flippantly.
“What?” you ask, blinking at him. You feel as if you’re missing something. The implications of that statement are going over your head. “Why?”
House stares at you, as if the answer is infuriatingly obvious. “You’re relatively young. Easy on the eyes. Nice enough for people to think they have a chance.” Before you can even begin to comprehend what he just said, he’s continuing to speak. “Now, enough slacking; get back to work. And don’t expect me to bail you out next time.”
You’re left to stare after his retreating figure in complete disbelief.