Chapter Text
“It’s 9:05. Why are you so early?” Foreman asks, raising his eyebrow at the unusually chipper House, standing in the doorway of the office.
“Last I was told, I was supposed to be in at 9. Which, if I can do math correctly, makes me late as per usual.” House sets down his briefcase on the glass table, making a sharp sound. “Now. What is the differential for uh…” House looks to his colleagues.
“Patient complains of a racing heartbeat.” Thirteen fills in. “But come on, that’s probably just a side effect of the Adderall she’s on. What’s really going on, House? Why did you take this case?”
“Young woman in her 20s, really liked her rack. Why do you people always question me so much? Last time I checked, I’m still the boss. Unless Cuddy decided to give that role back to Foreman.”
House leans on his cane, studying the ducklings. Chase, Thirteen, and Foreman, all lined up in their perfect little seats, as per usual. They stare back, awaiting instruction. He waves his hand at them, pushing them to move along.
“Well? Get a stress test and an echo. See if we can find any more fun, new symptoms, or if she’s just a woman who had a little too much coffee for breakfast.”
The ducklings leave the room silently, off to do their own jobs. House stares out through the large windows in his office, towards Wilson’s balcony. He’s out there supervising a patient smoking a cigarette. No, not cigarette. He’s giving patients weed again. House wishes that one day Wilson might offer him some, but last time he tried that, he got shooed out of Wilson’s office. He flicks on the small TV in his office, awaiting his test results to return.
“Echo found nothing.” Chase stated the second he walked into the door. “They’re performing the stress test now. Isn’t this a bit much for just one symptom?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I think you have me mixed up with a family medicine doctor. Did you forget what we do here?” House retorted, his eyebrows knit with frustration and voice laced with sarcasm.
“Well, no, but isn’t this a waste of time? I mean, the girl probably just had an energy drink and forgot. If sh has ADHD, memory problems are likely…”
Before the end of his sentence, Foreman and Thirteen had returned with the results of their stress test, papers in hand.
“God, please tell me you have real results and not more complaints.”
“Well, yes. There are more symptoms to report.” Thirteen said, handing off the folder. To the white board, she added 5 more symptoms, so that the board now read:
Racing Heartbeat
Cholinergic Urticaria
Premature Ventricular Contraction
Vision dimming
Low blood pressure
Syncope
House gave her a dirty look, his code for ‘don’t touch my fucking whiteboard’, before returning to the case.
“Great, so we have 6 symptoms. What do they tell us?”
“That she probably just needs more hydration and exercise. This clearly isn’t a life-threatening case, house. So she fainted once. We were pushing her hard! That’s the point of a stress test!
Just send her home.” Foreman continued his complaints until House cut him off.
“The only person that decides when she goes home is me. If it is dehydration, push fluids and repeat the stress test in 6 hours. If you get better results, then, send her home. Otherwise, she’s staying. Now, I have to go to clinic hours.”
“But it’s only 10:30. Clinic hours aren’t until 12.”
“Bad leg. Takes a while to get down there.”
Their protests echoed down the hall, but the wall between his and Wilson’s offices seemed to mask it pretty well. When he pushed the door open, he found Wilson knelt down next to a patient, one arm pulled out of her shirt, exposing part of her chest with a large brown mole. She quickly covered up as House stared.
“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t realize you had… company. Mind if I join, make things more fun?”
“House, I’m with a patient. Can’t you come back later?”
“The diner down the street has half-priced french toast until noon. I was just trying to be a good friend, ask if you wanted to join me. I’ll leave.” House responded, leaning against the wall. When Wilson gave him a look, he shrugged. “Didn’t say when I’d leave. Need a consult on that mole?”
“Go away, House.” Wilson repeated in an exasperated voice. Instructions that House would finally follow.
House hobbled his way slowly down to the first floor, where he wandered over to Cuddy. She was engrossed in a conversation with a nurse. When she spotted him, she held up a single finger to pause her conversation.
“House? Why are you down here? Your clinic duty isn’t for over an hour.”
“Jesus, what is it with everyone’s surprise at my punctuality today? It’s not that exciting, is it? Anyways, I have a favor to ask.”
“Is it something illegal?” She asked, an eyebrow raised.
“You people think so little of me! No, it’s perfectly legal. I just want to borrow Rachel for a night. Pretty please?”
“You want to borrow my daughter? Are you insane? What on earth would you need a 3-year-old for?”
“Just going to run some simple tests on her, see if she’s, you know, human.”
“Let me make sure I’m hearing this right.” Cuddy set down her pen, pressing her lips together. “You want to ‘borrow’-” she added air quotes “-my daughter, because you think she’s not a human? Are you on something?”
“All of the usual things. Please, don’t tell me you haven’t had the thought. No one witnessed her being born, you found her in an abandoned warehouse! She could be from anywhere! She could have superpowers! Please, I just want to see if she has laser eyes.”
“You’ve been watching superhero movies too much. Fine, you can do your little tests, but only if you return her unharmed AND if Wilson supervises you both. I don’t trust you alone with her.” Cuddy told him, wagging her finger at him. “If she comes home with so much as a BRUISE, you will not see her again until she is 10. Got it, House?”
“Oh come on, that’s not fair. Human babies bruise so easily.”
“I hate that you specified human. Go clock in for clinic duty, House.”
Clinic duty, as always, bored House to tears. 3 colds, 4 sprained ankles, and 1 bead stuck in an ear later, his hour for the day was done. He spotted Wilson as he left, walking to his car. Wilson also spotted him, and sped up his walking speed to escape him. The attempt was left futile when House clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“I hope you don’t have any plans for Wednesday night, because you’ll have to cancel them. I’ll see you at 6 pm sharp here in my office.”
“House, do you realize that not everyone likes spending every waking minute in this hospital? Some of us go home and relax.”
“It’s not more work, okay! Listen.” House stepped in front of him to stop him from walking away. “This stuff just came out of the testing phase. It’s kids vitamin gummies, and they help boost
kids ability to absorb vocabulary and concepts earlier. I convinced Cuddy I was going to test Rachel to see if she’s an alien-”
“I’m sorry, you convinced her of what?”
“Yes, yes, not important. She gave me permission to take a Rachel for a few hours, but I’m only allowed to if you’re there to ‘supervise me’. I just need to make sure Rachel can take the medication without a reaction, and then she’s golden. Once a week, and Rachel will be a little baby Einstein.”
“How on earth will you convince her to feed Rachel these pills once a week?”
“Iron deficiency or something, I’ll tell her they’re supplements. Not a lie, really.”
“And this study, it was done by real doctors, right? Correctly?”
“No, it was done on rats in some college student’s dirty basement. Of course it’s a real study! I wouldn’t jeopardize my life and job by feeding Rachel rat poison.”
“I’m only going to be there because I don’t trust you with Rachel alone with you either. Don't include me in your stupid little trickery any further than that, okay?”
After his conversation, House sat in his office playing his Game Boy. He awaited his team’s test results. He, of course, had a few ideas, but it was all the more worth it to save them and see the frustration on his team’s faces. Sure enough, when the time passed, they returned with defeated faces.
“Minimal reduction in symptoms.” Foreman reported. “The urticaria got worse, so we’re pushing antihistamines now. House, do you have ideas, or are you making us run around like rats until we can read minds?”
“You would be able to do that if you ran around enough? Well, why haven’t you tried it?”
Thirteen piped up over them. “House, why haven’t you told us to get a cardiology consult? It’s clearly a heart problem. I can call for Dr. Atman right now.”
“Elementary, my dear girl.” House replied, putting on an over-the-top English accent. “Because it’s not, in fact, a heart problem. One of you in this room can figure it out, I’m sure. If it’s not a structural problem…”
“It’s a wiring problem. You mean it’s neurological. But what neurological issue presents with cardiac symptoms?” Foreman asked.
“Last time I checked, you’re the neurologist here. Go crack open a textbook from college. If it’s alphabetical, start in the second half. It’ll save you some time.”
“What about POTS?” Thirteen offered.
“What, like the cooking tool?” Chase asked, perplexed.
“No, the condition. It’s an acronym, stands for postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome. It affects a lot of women in her age demographic.
“It certainly would explain the cardiac symptoms, but it still leaves the cholinergic urticaria. That’s not a symptom of POTS.” Foreman responded, returning with a thick, green-leather bound textbook.
“Could be some other comorbidity, or just a one-off thing her body does. Who cares? Treat the POTS with a beta blocker, see if she does better. If she feels fine by the morning, send her home.” House responded.
Three hours later, their patient confirmed a near-complete reduction of symptoms. Her discharge paperwork was filed, and she was ready to go home. In House’s office, Foreman stood over House, who lounged lazily in his recliner, tossing a ball up and down.
“If you knew it was neurological all along, why didn’t you say something? You made me look like an idiot today.” Foreman asked, arms crossed.
“No, YOU made yourself look like an idiot. I’m not in charge of telling you the answers. If I knew it all, what would be the point of still paying you?”
“It’s the principle, House. I’m gonna inherit this office one day, once you die of some Vicodin overdose, probably. Cuddy’s been prepping me for it for years. If our coworkers don’t trust me in my own specialty, then they’re never going to trust me to run this place.” He grabbed the ball midair, causing House to become more frustrated.
“I’m not here to pad your ego. If you want to feel smart, go help in the ER or something. Get out of my face.” With that, he snatched the ball from Foreman’s hand, hobbling out of the office.
Wilson caught him in the hall as he left.
“House. You’ve got to be nicer than that to Foreman. All of your people, actually. If you’re going to push everyone away, you’re going to stay alone forever.”
“Clearly seems to be working out so far, right?” House asked, punching the elevator button with his cane.
“Don’t you want to have friends? Someone besides me to bother?”
“I have my Thursday poker nights. That’s plenty, isn't it? A weekly organized social event? Seems like exactly what you want me to do.”
“You don’t even know any of those guy’s names!” Wilson shouted, as they rode the elevator downwards to the parking garage. “That’s my point. You don’t let anyone in. Isn’t it a lonely life?”
“I don’t want to let anyone in. I’m fine on my own.”
“You’re not fine, house. You’re an angry, lonely old man. You need someone to lean on.”
House put his elbow on Wilson’s shoulder, grinning. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” he asks, batting his eyelashes with a fake smile.
“You know what I mean, House. Find some friends. Be nicer.”
The elevator ended their conversation with a sharp ‘Ding!, as they both walked off to their separate parking spaces.