Work Text:
The day after House paraded about the Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital in a deerstalker hat, he found a piece of heavy cream paper taped to his door. It had the following, in dark blue fountain-pen ink and elegant yet lazy cursive, written:
- Once upon a time there was a doctor named House that terrorized the land. All lived in mortal fear of him, for his tongue was like fire, and to hear him was to be burned. What nobody knew was that deep inside, Dr. House was very lonely and very sad. He only said mean things to push people away before they could hurt him.
There was one girl who knew better. She knew that Dr. House was secretly a very nice man because when she became sick he had worked for days and nights to find out what was wrong with her. When all her organs were on the verge of failure, when she could no longer control her bodily functions, when she suffered from seizures, when the end seemed near, Dr. House realized that a tapeworm that had lodged itself long, long ago in her brain was dying. If only they could get her immune system to stop attacking the tapeworm, which was hurting her brain, she would be cured! Once he convinced the girl not to give up hope, she agreed to take one pill everyday, a pill that would rid her of the tapeworms. After a while, she was all better.
She tried to tell her friends what a nice man Dr. House is, but no one believed her.
To be continued.
House ripped the paper off the door, the scotch tape sticking to the glass.
Oh, this meant war.
Wilson noticed a group of people- doctors, nurses, patients, friends and family of patients- laughing at the Oncology Department’s announcement billboard. As the head of the department he encouraged his staff to stay updated on news and upcoming events, but he did not think there was anything that deserved that much attention. Or laughter, for that matter.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted, since he knew almost all of the people there. When they saw who it was standing behind them, they all looked away, mumbled some kind of greeting, and scooted away guilty, leaving the billboard area empty again. “Oh, God,” Wilson said.
Scribbled in red ball-point pen, a piece of lined paper stapled to the board had the following to say:
- The Oncologist part 15!!!!
“Oh, Jimmy,” Samantha sighed so deep that her bosom moved visibly beneath her thin, v-neck shirt. “Don’t drag it out. Tell me in one go.”
“Are you sure, Samantha? The news may cause you to faint.”
Biting her crimson lower lip, she looked away, but Jimmy could still see the tears glistening in her ocean-blue eyes. He wanted to sweep her up in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be all right, that he would be by her side, and that together they would get through this. But that would be inappropriate. He couldn’t. “Yes, I am. I’ve been preparing for this moment for the past two weeks, after all.”
“Your mother has ductal carcinoma of the breast. We can make her comfortable for her remaining days on earth, but we caught it too late and now she is going to die.”
The tears that had been welling up in Samantha’s eyes finally overflowed and she could not hold back a deep, shuddering choke. “Oh, God,” she cried. “E, excuse me, I need to be alone right now.”
Jimmy gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “All right. Come back to me later when you need m—if you have any questions. Oh, and here, take this.” He handed her a pack of tissues.
Good thing that she was leaving. In another five minutes he was going to have to tell Angie’s mother that her little girl had alveolar rhabdomyosacroma and was going to die.