Chapter Text
The girl was sitting on a ratty old hospital chair, her shaggy teased and bleached hair falling into her left eye. Under a light zipup and camisole top, she looked fish-belly pale and brittle. That kind of trailer-trash Walmart look that House was wont to turn his long nose up at. Drug seeking behavior. Guess I really am a hypocrite.
"Iris Hauser. You're the daughter, I assume?"
"Yeah." Her voice was hollow and airy. She tapped a pink-nailed hand on the arm of her chair.
"Don't seem to excited." House tapped his cane on the vital monitor. "She's going to live."
"I haven't seen her in three weeks. If I'm gonna take care of her, she at least has to show up."
His brows knitted. "Where was she?"
"Ask her." The girl, Iris, pushed a strand of fried hair out from her eye. She couldn't've been more than 18 or 19, and underdeveloped for her age.
"Seeing as we can't do that," Tap. Tap. "Where was she?"
"Boyfriend's. Her sister's. Back of Burger King. I don't know. They called me out of a test for this." Her blue eyes met his, exasperated.
"And you're not at all worried about your lovely mother?"
"I don't want her to die. Or to be hurt."
"But you don't care that she's severely hypoglycemic?"
"If I was in school, I'd've known what that means. Last time I went out for one night, she stabbed me with a meat thermometer, but when she's MIA for weeks, I have to sit pretty."
"If I was a mean doctor, I'd've told Cuddy about that. And child services."
"Who's Cuddy? If I wanted to go to a fucking orphanage, I'd've--"
"What is going on here?" Lisa Cuddy's familiar disapproving voice and carefully-set eyeshadow stood next to the doorway.
"I'm merely chatting with a patient." House's cane made its way from the floor around Iris's chair to around Cuddy's shoes.
"You're arguing with a child. Frankly, I thought you had better ways to avoid me."
"I'm just trying to do my job!" He smiled back at her childishly.
"Sweetie," Cuddy turned her tall frame towards Iris, hands on her hips. "Was Dr. House bothering you?"
"I could use a bit of bothering to get my mind off things."
"Was he making you feel uncomfortable?"
"No."
She turned to House, incredulous. "You have a patient. You need to leave."
"Mooommmm! My patient's ready to discharge. I'd like to be with this patient."
"She's not even a damn patient! Why are you here? There's no puzzle, no mystery, just simple diabetes."
House thought at that, worrying the side of Iris's chair with his cane. There was nothing special. Just a scared girl and her deadbeat mom. He felt Iris's eyes boring into the side of his skull; pearl-blue eyes just like his. He felt a magnet pulling at him, an odd feeling of needing to help her.
Not that she seemed to want his help.
"I don't have any cash. Can the hospital, like, pay for my lunch?"
House was happy at the change of subject. He felt in his pocket for some money. Cuddy looked at him, flabbergasted.
"I'll pay. We don't have to eat the cafeteria slop anyway, there's a Popeye's down the street."
"Thanks, man." Iris popped up from her chair, pulling her hood up preemptively against the cold. Cuddy pushed her arm out fast, blocking the doorway. Her pale stare bored into his, an expression of confusion on her face, with something like hope farther down. Pretty far.
"House, what's going on? Are you sure you're feeling alright?"
"I'm feeling fine. Just trying to buy a poor kid lunch."
"That's the problem."
"Now who spit in your coffee? I've turned over a new leaf. Decided to stop haranguing and start helping." He began to push her arm away.
Cuddy sighed. "What are you on now?"
"Go get lunch." He pushed past Cuddy and made his way down the hall. "C'mon, kiddo. Before I change my mind."
Iris jiggled her leg as she sat across from him under bright fluorescent lights. She did that a lot, he guessed. Another piece of chicken was brought to her mouth, but her eyes stayed focused on House. Those eyes did remind him of someone, their color and flicking motion biting in the back of his brain. Patient, probably. Maybe a weirder one that I remember. His good leg started to jiggle in tandem with hers.
"So, you live around here?"
"I already said, we live in the trailer park by the turnpike." She twiddled her fingers in this cute swinging motion that reminded him of Wilson. Wilson was probably looking for him right now.
"Noisy."
"Yeah."
"And your mother is a junkie?"
"You wish. She's just ugly." the girl laughed bitterly.
"She hurts you."
"She doesn't have to be an addict to hurt me. I hurt her too. Like, when I was a kid I used to scratch her all the time when I didn't get what I wanted."
"Do you still?" He looked at her quizzically.
"What'd'you think? No." Iris took a sip of her lemonade. It was the same color as her hair, House noticed.
"So she's worse."
"If you put it that way, I guess. But she's my mom. I like...I owe her. Right?"
"You don't owe her shit." Other memories were boring into the back of his head. John House, John fucking House. He'd sure love this girl with all his shoeshining and his sweet-talking and cold nights in the basement and behind the house and under the--
"I guess I don't." Iris stopped looking at him. "I'm going to move in with my boyfriend soon, anyway."
His ears shot up. Boyfriend? What weird protective instinct had swept over him? Of course she had a boyfriend; she was young and witty, and beautiful besides. He still huffed, taking a bite of chicken.
"You have a...boyfriend?"
"Many do." She did that twisty thing with her hands again.
"He better...he's treating you okay?"
"Damn, you're not my dad!" She paused. "Not like I met him. But yeah, he's great."
That struck House. She doesn't have a dad, either. Poor thing had nowhere to go.
"I'd like to meet him."
"How is that medically relevant?"
"He could be hurting you too. He could be an asshole."
"Why do you care?" She snapped back, but there was no hatred in it.
"I...I don't know."
That was rare. The best diagnostician on the eastern seaboard had to know. He always did.
Iris finished her chicken wings, tastefully wiping her mouth with a napkin. She got up.
"Thanks. I owe you one."
"You don't owe me anything." House followed suit, wincing at the pain in his leg. He paused. "Iris."
"Yeah?"
"You can't go back there."
"Go back where?"
"Your mom's. I can't...I can't let you live like that."
Something flashed in her eyes, all too familiar. Hope?
"It's really fine. I'll be 18 in six months. I have people."
It was fine. He was a good father. He'd never punished him when he didn't deserve it.
"You...I should be calling child services."
"I'm barely a child. She could've done worse."
At least he wasn't my dad. My real dad. I turned out fine anyway...Right?
"She did something. You need somewhere to stay."
"I have somewhere to stay."
"You should stay at mine. I have a nice couch."
She looked at him incredulously.
"How...you seriously expect me to fall for that?"
"You're not falling for anything. I mean, the pillows are a bit lumpy."
Those same blue eyes met across the table. Iris's expression was blank. Wide-eyed. Like she'd seen a ghost.
"What'dyou'mean?" Her voice slurred.
"You can sleep at my house. Wilson's been sleeping at mine since the last divorce. He'll make sure you're okay."
"What about school? My mom?"
"I never said anything about school. You'll keep going until you graduate, I assume that's this year. Oh, and your mom...we'll figure something out."
House followed Iris's lead, and got up from the booth they were sitting in. He pushed off the molded plastic wall and limped towards the door.
"Well, if you're coming, hurry up!"
House, Greg House--that was his name--tossed a sweating plastic clamshell of General Tso's into her lap. The condensation worked its way through Iris's thin jeans, tickling her skin.
"Thanks." The top of the bowl opened with a loud pop. Iris dug in, her shaggy hair falling over her eyes.
Sitting with one leg (his 'bad leg' apparently) crossed over the other, Doctor House stared at her. Half of the weight of his bent body was resting on one James Wilson, who had come to meet them at the hospital doors. Under the pressure of another man's shoulder digging into his side, Doctor Wilson looked especially malleable, all big cheeks and wet dark eyes. A bowl of moo shu pork sat, half eaten between them.
"You're welcome, sweetie. Anything you need, we can arrange it." House's friend smiled from ear-to-ear, looking sympathetically at the teen girl.
That sent a red shiver up her neck.
"O...kay. Thanks. Again."
They sat there in the dark--two middle-aged men just staring at her. Iris felt weirdly comfortable, several weights had been lifted off her shoulders. Her body sunk into the small apartment that Doctor House lived in, cataloguing every cranny and dirty wall. Something about the place felt different. Homey.
"Well, when you're finished we can watch TV. The L Word's on at 10. Wilson can get a blanket; you'll see if the couch is too lumpy."
There was something familiar here. She could feel it in her bones, deep down.
"Where's Doctor Wilson gonna sleep?" The last greasy tinge of sauce was wiped from her lips by her ratty sleeve.
That provoked a reaction--Wilson looking at his friend with a she's right what am I going to do look in his eyes and House with a retaliatory grin that appeared to be one of his chief expressions. Their voices cut in tandem, distorting each other.
"--Wilson will sleep with me. It's not like he isn't used to--"
"--We'll figure something out. You don't have to worry Iris--"
"--He loves it when I cuddle him after a scary movie. Halloween of '97 we--"
"--Just focus on school. And your feelings. Don't--"
"--He gets cold so easily, and he just shivered in my arms for--"
"--House, please...shut up." One last annoyed groan of desperation and House stopped. Gathering the plastic bowls from the dinner and pushing them to the end of the coffee table, just so one could watch the TV, he shifted back into his position in between Wilson's lap and his side. Someone turned on the TV, and they sunk into silence.