The new neurologist
Rumours travelled faster than test results at Princeton-Plainsboro. Half the hospital had already made up its mind about the new neurologist by mid-morning: bright, quick-witted, and if the whispers were right, utterly impossible to work with.
House, of course, heard it before she'd even finished unpacking her office.
“She’s sarcastic. Rude. No patience for fools,” Cameron had said with a note of disapproval in her voice.
House, sprawled across his office chair with his cane balanced across his lap, smirked.
“So, me in heels. Interesting.”
Foreman hadn't looked impressed. "She's already made a name for herself in New York. Brilliant, but apparently, she doesn't play well with others."
House twirled his cane lazily. "Maybe the others deserved it."
That earned him a sigh, the kind that implied everyone in the room was tired of being trapped in House’s conversational experiments. But the seed had been planted. A new neurologist with a bad reputation. He couldn’t resist.
Later that afternoon, he stopped by Diagnostics, leaned against the doorframe, and called out, "Kutner!"
Kutner looked up from the whiteboard. “Yeah?”
“There’s a rumor that the new neurologist eats junior doctors for breakfast. Fancy testing that theory?”
“Testing how?” Kutner asked warily.
“Ask her for a consult on a case. Make something up. Tell her I wanted a second opinion.”
Taub frowned. "You're using Kutner as bait now?"
House smiled. "It's called data collection. Go, my little guinea pig."
Twenty minutes later, Kutner returned, suspiciously cheerful, clutching a paper cup from the cafeteria.
“Well?” House prompted, leaning forward on his cane.
“She’s… nice.” Kutner sounded almost embarrassed by it. “Like, genuinely nice. She smiled the entire time. Asked me about the case, offered to come up and take a look herself.”
House's eyebrows furrowed. "No eye-rolls? No sarcasm?"
“None. She even gave me a coffee.”
House stared at him. "Either you hallucinated that, or she's plotting your murder."
Taub snorted. “Maybe the rumors are wrong.”
House didn’t answer. He simply pulled himself up and hobbled towards the door, saying, “There’s only one way to be sure.”
Her office was much smaller than his, yet neater, books aligned perfectly in order, a neat stack of medical journals on the desk, with the soft scent of jasmine wafting from the candle burning beside a mug half-full of tea. She looked up as he entered, her expression unreadable.
“Dr. House,” she said, tone polite but cautious. “I assume you’re here for an actual reason.”
He leaned against the doorframe. "Curiosity. You're new. Rumors are flying. I like verifying my own sources."
Her eyebrow arched slightly. “And you came personally to… audit my personality?”
“Something like that.”
She crossed her arms, lips twitching faintly. “And what do the rumors say?”
“That you're sarcastic. Rude. Difficult.”
“Well,” she said lightly, “one out of three isn’t bad.”
House’s smile flickered. “Which one?”
"Depends who's asking."
There was a pause, a quiet, charged silence in which both of them seemed to size the other up. Then, House gestured with his cane toward the hallway. “Kutner says you’re sweet. That’s either impressive acting or a neurological condition.”
She laughed softly, not the forced kind of laughter people used when they wanted House to like them, but genuine amusement. “I can be sweet. I can also be unpleasant. Usually depends on whether the person I’m speaking to deserves civility.”
House cocked his head, studying her. "So it's conditional."
"Everything is conditional, Dr. House."
He stepped closer, examining the charts on her wall as though he'd come for an actual medical reason. "So tell me….how do you decide who deserves it?”
"Intent," she said simply. "I can tolerate arrogance if it's honest. I can't tolerate incompetence disguised as authority."
House’s grin broadened. “You’ll fit right in.”
The following week, they crossed paths more often than mere coincidence could explain. House would “happen” to need a neurologist's opinion; she'd “happen” to stop by Diagnostics. Their exchanges were quick and sharp, full of dry wit and the kind of tension that made the rest of the team exchange knowing looks.
One afternoon, Wilson appeared in House’s doorway with a suspicious smile.
“You’ve been awfully interested in Neurology lately.”
House didn't look up from his paperwork. "Brain stuff fascinates me."
"Uh-huh," said Wilson. "So does she.
House’s pen froze mid-sentence. “You’re hallucinating.”
“I'm a doctor, not an idiot,” Wilson said mildly. “You like her.”
House finally looked up, narrowing his eyes. "I don't like people. You know that."
“Except this one.”
House didn't answer, and that, Wilson decided, was answer enough.
It was a Thursday evening when she showed up at his office, files in hand. “You forgot to sign these,” she said, stepping inside.
House took them wordlessly, signed without looking, then glanced up. “You didn’t need to bring them yourself. You could’ve sent an intern.”
"Maybe I wanted to see if the rumours about you were true," she said.
He smirked. “Which ones?”
“That you're brilliant. And impossible.”
House set the pen down and leaned back. “Both correct. So? What’s your verdict?”
She smiled, soft but knowing. "I think you hide behind impossible.”
For once, House didn't have a clever retort ready. His gaze lingered on her a beat too long, enough that the air between them seemed to hum with something unspoken.
She turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Goodnight, Dr. House.”
“Goodnight, Dr. Sweet-or-Rude,” he called after her.
Her quiet laugh echoed down the hall as House stared after her, a rare, thoughtful silence settling over him.
Wilson found him ten minutes later, still looking at the doorway.
“She’s got under your skin, hasn’t she?”
House didn't look up. "Don't be ridiculous."
But when Wilson left, House caught himself with a faint smile, the sound of her laugh still playing in his mind.
A/N: Sorry for being way for so much time!! But I’m here now! So I hope you like this little imagine!
