SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 1.6 k
WARNINGS: none.
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CHAPTER ELEVEN – Home Sweet House
A few days slipped by like slow-moving clouds, and at last the moment arrived, you were being discharged. You were in much better shape, the color had returned to your face and you were steady on your feet.
House stood beside the hospital bed with his arms crossed, his expression untelling as per usual but the slight tension in his shoulders betrayed him. He watched you as you packed your few belongings.
“You ready?” he asked, the words gruff.
Before you could reach for your bag, he was already slinging it over his shoulder, then. “Come on,” he sighed. “Let’s get you out of here.”
The two of you made your way through the hallway slowly, and as you reached the main corridor, you nearly bumped into Foreman, Chase, and Cameron.
You paused, your expression brightening into a warm, genuine smile. “Oh! Good! I wanted to thank you all again. And I’m sorry our meeting had to be… like this.” You gestured at your still-recovering self. “But Greg insisted on keeping me strictly classified information for years.” You laughed softly.
Foreman nodded but dismissed your apology. “No need to apologize. We’re just glad you’re alright.”
Chase flashed his usual boyish grin, shaking his head a bit, his blonde locks falling to frame his face. “Honestly? It was a nice break from House’s endless complaining.”
House shot him a glare that would have killed a lesser man.
Cameron stepped forward, her smile gentle. “We’re just happy you’re okay, Y/N.”
You squeezed House’s hand and glanced up at him with a mischievous glint, he knew exactly this couldn’t mean anything good…
“Why don’t you invite them to our dinner party next weekend? It would be fun. And Wilson will come too.” A playful roll of your eyes followed. “And that way you won’t have to just stand around looking judgmental at my friends.”
House looked like you'd suggested they attend a clown convention in full costume, which maybe didn’t even sound that bad in comparison to this. His eyes widened in immediate horror.
But Chase lit up instantly. “A dinner party? I’m in.”
Foreman chuckled at House’s obvious suffering and couldn’t resist but agree. “I can make it. As long as there’s decent food.”
Cameron nodded eagerly as well. “I’d love to come!”
House let out a strangled groan.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “But don’t expect me to socialize. Or be polite.”
“I would never, darling.” You laughed and kissed his cheek.
You turned back to the trio. “Then it’s settled. I look forward to seeing you all next Friday.”
As if summoned by House’s suffering, Wilson rounded the corner at that very moment.
“Oh… hello, Wilson!” you greeted your friend warmly.
Wilson beamed at you. “Y/N! You look far better than last time I saw you.” His eyes flicked toward House, amused. “Dinner party, huh?”
You nodded as you continued explaining. “Yes! Our third anniversary. And since Gregory here never once properly introduced me to his team, I figured it was time to fix that…”
Cameron frowned slightly, only now did she realize they had not entirely solved this mystery secret marriage yet. “House… why didn’t you ever tell us you were married? You let us think women universally despised you, and meanwhile you had a wife this whole time-”
“My personal life isn’t a spectator sport.” he glared at Wilson, who lifted his hands as though innocent. “And you already knew. Don’t act so surprised.”
You merely laughed, brushing a hand along House’s arm as you leaned in, your voice softer as you spoke now. “It’ll be lovely, you’ll see.”
“Alright then,” you told the team. “Next Friday after work.”
House made a long, dramatic sound of pure agony as he rubbed his temples. “Yeah. Can’t wait.”
With a few more farewells, you and House finally continued toward the exit, falling into your usual pattern of effortless, affectionate bickering. In the parking lot, House carefully settled your bag into the back seat of your car. No motorcycles, not yet… and then helped you into the passenger seat before limping around to drive you home.
For the first time in days, you let yourself relax.
You were going home…with him.
House muttered all the way home, low and half formed complaints under his breath, though the faint upwards pull of his mouth betrayed him. You had always been able to get under his skin and into his head.
He parked in your driveway and climbed out, immediately circling the car to help you. His hands were careful, infuriatingly gentle, as he guided you up the steps and into the house. As soon as the door clicked shut, he sagged back against it, exhaling a long, tired breath. You saw the irritation slipping from his features, replaced by something close to raw relief.
“I'm never going to hear the end of this from those idiots…” he sighed, dragging his hand over his face.
“At least now they know you get some…” you teased softly, winking at him over your shoulder as you pushed open the door to the living room.
Suddenly you paused at the sight. The place looked like … well. Medical journals, sheet music, notes, all spread across the floor and couch, with the occasional takeout container standing in between. Books lay open across the couch, notes were scattered on the coffee table, and two empty bottles sat on the floor.
You raised one brow. “Rough night, hm?”
House shrugged and limped forward, collapsing onto the couch with a grunt, shoving away a book and some used wooden chopsticks. “Well, someone had to keep the place from getting too clean." He nudged a bottle aside with the tip of his cane. “Wouldn’t want you thinking I replaced you with a mop.”
You let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes as you put your bag down on the floor, sitting down on the couch next to him.
House turned to really look at you, his voice softening the tiniest bit.
“You’re home…”
You let the tension leave your body, closing your eyes as you leaned gently against him. “I am…” you whispered, as though admitting it made it truly real again. With a slow, careful wince, you curled your legs onto the couch and draped them across his lap, snuggling closer. Your lips pressed feather-light kisses along his cheek, his jaw, the corners of his mouth. “I missed being with you… like this.”
House inhaled sharply, his hand instinctively resting on your calf. The tension in him eased, melting under your touch.
“You have no idea,” he said, inhaling sharply, his hand moving to lay on your calf. His eyes wandered over your face like he was relearning it, every wrinkle, every shadow, every lash, every speckle of color in your eyes. “I couldn’t sleep at all. I hate the bed without you.”
Your heart felt full as he said that, like a hard squeeze in your chest. “You look exhausted,” you said gently, your fingers tracing slow, soothing lines across the back of his neck. “How’s your leg? Any better?”
“It’s fine,” he said, his gaze avoiding yours. But the corner of his jaw twitched. A tell you knew far too well.
“So… worse,” you concluded quietly. “How many pills today?”
He let out a breath through his nose, sharp and irritated, mostly at himself. “Not enough,” he said gruffly. “But I’m managing.”
“Gregory.” Your voice softened, and he hated how he knew you worried. “Cameron said she’d cover your clinic duty. Tomorrow. For me. You should rest.” You hesitated, searching his face. “We could order takeout, have a bottle of wine, and we can watch your show...”
House clenched his jaw, opened his mouth about to shoot out some sarcastic complaint, but when he saw your sincere and worried eyes, it made his chest ache in that horrid way he hated.
“You worry too much,” he muttered, but his hand tightened around your thigh in acceptance. “Fine. But I’m choosing the show.”
You smiled and nestled closer, your hair falling in waves across his shoulder.
A sudden meow broke the moment.
Lola leapt gracefully onto the couch, tail twitching from left to right.
You lit up instantly.
“Oh, my princess…” you cooed, gathering the calico up and kissing her cheeks. “Did you miss me?”
House rolled his eyes, unable to stop a tiny smile. That cat had you both wrapped around her paw.
“You realize she’s the most spoiled creature in this entire hemisphere,” he said, scratching Lola under the chin despite himself. “I fed her, cleaned her litter, and she still acts like I’m the help.”
“She loves you,” you insisted. “But I play with her. On good days you give her medical lectures on feline anatomy.”
Lola hopped down and rubbed her face against House’s cane before trotting back to the hiding cave of her cat tree. You laughed softly and reached for House, cupping his face with both hands. Your thumbs brushed tenderly over his unshaven cheeks.
“There was a moment…” you whispered after a moment of silence, your voice trembling just barely, “where I was scared I wouldn’t get to be here with you again.”
House froze briefly before leaning into your touch.
“Don’t.” he said quietly, a crack of vulnerability splitting through. “You’re stuck with me for years. Decades. I fully intend to outlive you out of sheer spite.”
You laughed. “Terrifying.”
Then you kissed him, slow, firm, lingering. His breath caught in his throat in surprise, his fingers curling around your waist as he kissed you back, deeper this time, like the worry of the past days was finally loosening.
When he broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours.
“You’re insufferable, Dr. Y/N House.” he spoke against your lips.
“I can only return the compliment, Dr. Gregory House.”
And then he kissed you again.
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END OF CASE #011
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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hey guys cheeky little info... I will be busy until approximately Monday/tuesday because my best friend is coming to visit me for the first time in like... 2 years!
we live in 2 different countries now so meeting up is for some reason the hardest thing to ever be done :(
also quite busy rn because my husband was just told last night that the bar he works at will be closing forever in September so kind of coping with him losing his job rn...
please hang in there guys! feel free to send in requests and asks!! ill post when I can
SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 780
WARNINGS: none.
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CHAPTER TEN – 5 kids and a motorcycle
Your recovery was steady now, a day passed with ease, and you spent most of your time just reading or sleeping, occasionally you had flipped through the few channels on the blaring TV in your room with House, but neither of you was much captivated by it. House had just settled back into his chair, when Cameron appeared in the doorway, slightly breathless.
“There’s… someone here to see her,” she announced carefully.
House groaned, already annoyed. “Who is it now?”
But before Cameron could answer, a burst of small voices echoed down the hallway.
“Dr. Y/N!!”
House’s head snapped up just in time to see as a cluster of children rounded the corner, escorted by Dr. Santiago Vergara, the therapist of the Happy Hearts Health Center, the hospital you worked at.
The man with patient brown eyes, soft-spoken words, and a face House had always found irrationally irritating.
Your tired face lit up instantly though.
“Oh… my goodness-” you breathed, voice soft with affection. “You all came?”
“Of course we did!” chirped a tiny girl, Maya, with thick glasses in a light purple wheelchair covered in stickers.
“We told Santi we had to see you,” a boy announced, he walked up to your bed, holding up a little card he made of you surrounded by hearts.
Santiago gave you a warm, sympathetic smile. “They insisted…” he said gently. “And… I was worried about you too.”
House’s eyes narrowed. Of course he was.
“Thank you for bringing them.” you said with a truly grateful smile, inspecting the card Theo had given you before.
The other kids immediately swarmed your bedside, and Santi pushed Maya closer as well.
“Dr. Y/N, are you sick now?” asked Lina, clutching a glitter paint covered stone.
Another boy, Victor, just stood ominously by the edge of the bed, but by his troubled gaze you could tell he shared the worry of the other children.
“When are you coming back to read to us again?” Aisha asked, tugging your hospital gown sleeve.
You fought a wave of exhaustion and emotion but your smile stayed steady. “I’m okay, sweethearts… just a little tired. And I’ll be back soon… just not tomorrow.”
Then Vic turned toward House, eyes on him like he was trying to see right through him if he tried hard enough.
“Hi Dr. Y/N’s husband...” he said quietly. “Where’s your motorcycle? Did you drive it here? Can I see it?”
House blinked. Kids remembering him was bizarre enough, but then being asked all of these questions, even more so.
“The motorcycle’s fine,” he muttered, waving a dismissive hand. “It didn’t come inside with me, obviously.”
“Can we play sword fight with your cane?” Victor asked.
House yanked his cane a little closer. “Absolutely not.”
You laughed softly. “Vic, that cane is very important to him.”
“It’s practically an emotional support object.” Santiago chuckled warmly.
While House rolled his eyes, you gave Santiago a grateful look. “How are things at the hospital? The kids behaving?”
Santiago chuckled. “You know the answer.” He gave you a gentle once-over. “How are you?”
Before you could answer, House interrupted, “She’s fine. She just needs rest now.”
Santiago didn’t even flinch, eyebrows lifting in amusement. “I’ll leave that judgment to the professionals then…”
“I am the professional,” House said firmly, as if anyone questioned him.
You rolled your eyes and squeezed House’s hand, your voice warm but tired. “Both of you… behave.”
After a few more minutes of a lot of questions and you getting a few more drawings and cards, and Vic almost tripping over House’s cane, then the kids finally gathered at the doorway.
“It was really nice seeing you, Dr. Y/N!” Maya said, waving enthusiastically as Santiago wheeled her over to the door.
“Come back soon!” Aisha added.
Santiago gave you a soft nod. “Get some rest. We’ll keep things running until you’re back.”
House mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “show-off,” but he didn’t say it loud enough for you to scold him.
Once they were gone, Cameron stepped forward again. “We still need to go over some paperwork after the case, and Cuddy told me to remind you… you have clinic hours today.”
House let out a dramatic, anguished sigh. “Perfect. Just perfect.”
“It’s okay, honey… I’ll rest.” you said, leaning forward as you pressed a kiss against his cheek. “And I’ll see you before you go home?”
His tense shoulders softened just the tiniest bit, but he nodded. “Alright. I’ll come back.”
“I’ll be here.” you smiled sleepily and sank into your pillow.
He hesitated at the door, throwing one last lingering look at you, before limping away.
“I’ll see you later.”
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END OF CASE #010
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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House md is such a trip because House and Wilson are standing cock to cock, tip to tip, packer to packer, emotionally and physically. House's employees have a polyamorous codependent relationship while also being at each other's throats constantly. Foreman's so represssed they think he's gay, Chase is so sexually active that he can't possibly be straight, Taub and Kutner scissored, Cameron's probably gay but she has a job to do so she isn't going to think about it too hard, Thirteen is bisexual and went to jail once. Everyone has used drugs recreationally at least once. They break into everyone's home then insult the state of their home and then diagnose the patient based on a "That's so Raven" vision that House has. They shouldn't have been doctors, they would all thrive better as Waffle house employees that leap over the counter to fight customers.
SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 1.1k
WARNINGS: none.
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CHAPTER NINE – cigarettes
Your breath choked in your throat, a violent jolt woke you up, sending a sharp ache through your lower abdomen. Your pulse thudded in your ears. The hospital room swam in and out of focus around you. Your throat tasted of metal and cotton. Something inside you felt hollow, sore and tender.
"I need air..." you whispered to no one but yourself.
Your IV pole rattled faintly as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. An ache bloomed deep in your pelvis, but not like the one that had plagued you before.
You ignored it completely. You reached for your black faux leather bag on your bedside table, taking it with you.
With slow, deliberate steps, you padded out of the room, still barefoot, still fogged with medication. Despite the concerned nurse insisting you go back to your room, it was late at night, cold and you were not supposed to be outside anyway. But you did walk exactly there.
Outside, the night air wrapped around you, the hospital courtyard was nearly empty, save for the sound of distant traffic.
Your fingers trembled as you were hit with the cold outside. Your lower abdomen pulsed with ache, as though warning you that you were pushing your luck with moving around.
You reached into your bag, the one House assumed held only strawberry lip balm, crumbled up receipts, and on some days a paperback copy of your favorite book.
Your fingers brushed the small metal case that hid inside.
You had quit, of course you had. According to him. According to yourself. According to the version of you you pretended to be right now.
But you hadn't thrown them away. You never did.
Your hands were still shaking slightly as you clipped it open, took one out, placed it between your lips, and fumbled with the navy lighter. The flame stuttered in the breeze but managed to light it still. You drew the smoke into your lungs, sharp and hot, burning down your throat, and let it out in a long, shuddering exhale.
The bitter taste lay in your mouth, familiar and shameful, an old habit that gave you comfort. The nicotine steadied your heartbeat in the wrong way, but it steadied it nonetheless.
You leaned back against the cold brick wall, eyes fluttering shut.
You took another drag.
The sliding door behind you squeaked open.
"Of course," came House's voice, unmistakably irritated. "I leave you alone for ten minutes..."
A hot rush of guilt flooded your veins, but it wasn't enough for you to move or stop.
He limped into view, cane thudding sharply against the pavement, but he seemed to falter in his step as he saw you there with your cigarette.
"...and you immediately try to develop an entirely different disease." he added, voice quieter, maybe more irritated.
You swallowed around the tight knot in your throat, forcing a shaky breath through your nose. You didn't put the cigarette out. Not yet.
"I needed... something familiar," you said softly.
House stared at you. Really stared, like you were wrong, not right, not real. He always assumed his wife wasn't this dumb. This stupid. "...Y/N, you just came out of anaesthesia."
"I know."
"And your hemoglobin is still low."
"I know."
"And your blood pressure-"
"Greg, I know!" you snapped.
The words stopped him cold from continuing to press further.
You hadn't smoked "in years."
Except for the days you did.
Except for the times you told yourself that was the last.
You exhaled smoke, staring at nothing.
House was still standing a few feet away, his gaze flicked from the cigarette to your hospital gown and IV, then back to your face, where you knew you didn't look like yourself.
"You really couldn't wait." he said, voice firm, thick with irritated sarcasm. "We remove your uterus, and your first instinct is: quick! let me ruin something else inside me!"
You didn't answer at first. You just took another drag, eyes narrowed at the horizon. "They took everything?"
He didn't speak. His gaze suddenly lacked all bite as his eyes found the floor.
"Yes," he said quietly. "They did." Usually they only removed the growths themselves, but the size and number of fibroids you had, forced them to remove your entire uterus or the tissue wouldn't heal properly with the amount of damage they had to do.
He moved closer, but not leaning against the wall beside you, like he wasn't sure if you wanted him near.
You swallowed, staring down at your cigarette as if seeing it for the first time.
But then he inhaled sharply, fingers curling around the handle of his cane. The guilt seeped through in the way he wouldn't meet your eyes.
"I should've known something was wrong sooner," he said, voice scraped thin. "I wasn't careful. I wasn't... paying enough attention."
You shook your head, the cigarette trembling between your fingers. "Greg, this isn't your fault. You can't pretend you're omniscient just because you hate being wrong."
A breeze passed between you. The courtyard was quiet. Just like the two of you.
After a moment, you spoke again, your voice gentler. "Where were you this morning? You said you'd come for the check. But... it was Foreman and Chase."
House stiffened.
He tried to shrug it away. "Overslept."
"House."
You said his name the way you only did when you saw through him completely.
He shut his eyes, defeated.
"...Fine," he muttered.
"I got drunk," he said at last, rubbing his forehead. "Played piano until four. The Jeremy's will probably file a noise complaint. Again." The Jeremy's were your neighbours, unsurprisingly not big fans of House, or his piano, or other instruments.
You sighed, but there was no anger in it. "You were stressed," you said simply. "And you're an idiot when you're stressed."
You reached for him, your hand trembling a bit, until he took it, stepped a few steps closer to close the distance between you.
"Can I go home soon?" you asked, leaning your head against his arm.
"Soon," he said, squeezing your hand. "Once I know you're stable."
You smiled faintly, you brought the cigarette to your lips again, taking a puff full of smoke before you said, "I miss sleeping next to you."
He looked down at you, kissing the top of your head. "Lola's been stealing my socks..." he muttered. Lola was your cat, or as House liked to claim ‘just yours’. "She misses you too."
You breathed out a small laugh. You took one last drag of your cigarette, exhaled into the cold air, and finally let yourself lean against him.
He didn't move away.
He didn't let go of your hand, either.
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END OF CASE #009
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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♡ likes, reblogs & comments keep this clinic running.
SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 627
WARNINGS: none.
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CHAPTER EIGHT – an awful morning and a missing house
You tried to force a steady breath, but every inhale snagged in your throat like a stitch being pulled too tight. The pain had sharpened, no longer a dull, throbbing ache in your pelvis, but something hotter, more invasive, blooming upward beneath your ribs. It felt as though something inside your abdomen was pushing, crowding every organ for space.
You swallowed hard, eyes wide, trying to sit upright, but the motion only made you feel like more air was knocked out of your lungs. The room spun around you, you clutched the railing of the hospital bed.
Just then the door opened, Chase stepped in first, followed closely by Foreman.
“Y/N,” Foreman began, he stepped closer, examining you, “We have the results.”
Your fingers tightened instinctively around the cold metal frame of the bed. “And?” you managed to grit out, you sucked in a shallow breath.
“It’s not cancer,” Chase said quickly, as if knowing you needed the worst option eliminated first. “Your results are clear. The masses aren’t malignant.”
If you weren’t in this much pain you would have felt slight relief come over you, but the sweat beading on your forehead and the pulsing burning pain between your organs made your head spin so much you barely recognized his words.
“But they are fibroids, they have grown faster than we expected, especially one near the fundus of your uterus. It’s pressing against your stomach and bowel, which likely is causing the nausea and the… burning pelvic pain.” Chase continued, while Foreman stepped closer. “Are you okay, Y/N?” he asked, leaning in, holding a light up to examine you closer. Sweatbeads trickled down your temples from the intense pain, your pupils blown wide.
A whimper tore from your throat, you flinched at the light pointed at you. The pain flared again, a strange tearing sensation radiating from deep inside, forcing you to curl slightly to one side.
Chase’s face tightened, and his voice carried more urgency as he spoke now. “They have to come out, Y/N. Today. They’re compromising the surrounding organs.”
You felt your vision blur, breath caught in your throat. “House… where is he?” you whispered. “He said he’d be here.”
“He should be here,” Foreman muttered, glancing at the clock on the wall. “He was supposed to be in the clinic over an hour ago.”
Chase took a hurried step towards the IV stand. “We should give her something for the pain and prep her for-”
Your plea dissolved into a strangled gasp and whine as you shifted, a deep crushing pressure that stole your breath making your skin chalky and grey.
“Y/N, you’re in too much pain,” Chase urged. “We can’t wait…”
But Chase’s voice already became distant, muffled, the room tilting sideways, as if someone pushed you into a bed full of deafening cotton. Your chest rose and fell in short, frantic bursts, each inhale thinner than the last.
Your vision began to warp, edges blurring, colors smearing like wet paint into one big blob of nothing until… it was nothing.
Foreman leaned over you, his voice cutting through the fog but sounding strangely far away, as though he were shouting from the end of a tunnel.
“Y/N! Stay with me! Hey - Y/N, look at me!”
But you couldn’t. The last thing you heard, before consciousness slipped completely, was Foreman’s voice:
“Nurse! Prep an OR. Now!”
Soft darkness wrapped around you, unbearably heavy, you couldn’t hold it up, everything became but a distant worry that you really couldn’t care much about.
Another wave of agony surged through your abdomen, but even that began to dull, like someone slowly turning the volume knob of your body down to nothing.
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END OF CASE #008
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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a/n: hello everyone!! sorry for the wait... was a bit busy this weekend as one usually is :3
♡ likes, reblogs & comments keep this clinic running.
SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 1 k
WARNINGS: none.
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CHAPTER SEVEN – lucky I love you
After the last of Wilson’s tests were completed, House slipped into your room with a push of his cane against the door.
He paused in the doorway, exhaling sharply, as if the mere sight of you knocked the air from his lungs. You stirred, blinking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Hey, honey…” you yawned, then lifted your hand a little, inviting him closer. “I missed you…”
House rolled his eyes, but the motion lacked any heat. He limped to your bedside, the faintest smile tugging at the edges of his mouth despite his best efforts to suppress it. He reached down, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. His fingers lingered behind your ear just for a moment too long to be unintentional.
“How were the tests with Wilson?” he asked, attempting nonchalance as he folded his arms.
You shrugged weakly. “Alright, I think…” you coughed, wincing as a dull ache tightened in your abdomen. “Honey… Could I have some water? My throat feels like sandpaper….”
House grabbed the pitcher, pouring into the cup with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re lucky I’m such a devoted husband.”
He placed the glass carefully into your hands. “Sip slowly… If you choke, I’ll absolutely laugh.”
You shook your head with a faint smile, sipping the water in small, careful mouthfuls. Your hand trembled slightly with fatigue. After swallowing, you eased yourself upright, wincing again at the pressure deep in your pelvis. You reached for his arm, your fingers curling around him. You opened your mouth, quietly asking: “Do you have any progress on my treatment?”
House’s gaze lingered on your face, the shadows beneath your eyes, the way your breath occasionally caught from the cramping pain twisting inside you. Without thinking, he laced his fingers through yours.
“Still working on it…” he said quietly. “We need the results before going any further.”
He hesitated, studying you more closely before he went on to ask, “How are you feeling?”
“Can you sit with me?” you returned with a question, a favor before you would answer his question in return. The vulnerability in your eyes made his chest tighten, he knew you needed him right now, not only medically but emotionally.
House scoffed under his breath, but he sat on the edge of the bed anyway, your hands still joined. “You look like hell,” he noted, voice neutral.
“Oh, I love you too…” you rolled your eyes sarcastically before leaning in to kiss him. It was soft, brief, but it made that tiny feeling of joy in your stomach bloom. You leaned your forehead into his shoulder, breathing shallowly. “I’ll be alright… right?”
House stiffened for half a second, then exhaled and wrapped an arm around you. “Yeah. You’ll be fine. You’re too damn stubborn not to be.”
You smiled faintly into his shirt, gently breathing in his familiar scent of bourbon, white flowers, dry wood and the slight hint of his motorcycle's motor oil. “I love you… love love love you, bubs,” you teased, brushing your fingers lightly over his thigh. “How’s your leg? Worse today?”
House groaned. “Oh, now you’re worried about my leg?” brushing off the topic for arguably good reasons, after all you were the one in the hospital bed. Yet his hand kept tracing gentle, absent-minded circles against your shoulder.
“And stop calling me ‘bubs.’ I’m not a dog..” he muttered, but he knew you only called him ‘bubs’ when you were really trying to get on his nerves, playfully or not.
You tilted your head to glance at him from the corner of your eye. “Greg, I’m serious. I know you don’t sleep when the pain gets bad. I’ve lived with you long enough to know.” Your voice cracked slightly, from both dryness and worry.
House looked away sharply, eyes suddenly fixed on some distant point behind you on the hospital wall. The truth was stamped across the tight set of his jaw. “It’s fine,” he said. Firmly and unwavering at first but after a moment of clear silence, a sign you did not fall for his lies, he sighed. “…It’s been worse.”
“But don’t change the subject, you’re the one stuck in the hospital bed.” he added firmly.
Your eyes removed themselves from the tight gaze they held on him, your voice small and honestly hurt. “I’m not changing the subject. I’m worried. About you, House.” You only called him that when frustration crept in.
“How many are you taking a day?”
He looked at you, then away. Then back again. Damn you. Damn that honesty of yours.
“Same as always,” he said automatically, way too quickly to be true.
Your expression didn’t change. You simply looked tired.
House inhaled sharply, raking a hand through his short hair. “Fine,” he finally gave in. “More. I’ve been taking more.”
You closed your eyes, nodding in acceptance to his words, you already knew before the thought of admitting it even crossed his mind. “I just want you to be okay too…” you squeezed his hand.
House squeezed back, thumb brushing your knuckles in a rare gesture of tenderness.
You settled back against the pillow, a faint pressure bloomed across your lower abdomen, the dull ache radiating to your back, making you shift uncomfortably in your bed. “Can’t wait to get out of here,” you sighed. “Though it’s nice finally knowing your colleagues.”
House snorted in amusement. “I’m sure they’re honored you graced them with your delirious presence.”
“You must be missing my cooking at home,” you teased.
“Oh yes,” he said dryly. “Starving. Nothing compares to your burnt lasagna and questionable seasoning choices...”
You laughed weakly. “It is really not that bad… Wilson said my lasagna was the best he had all year!” you protested, then went on: “Did you finish the leftover pasta from the freezer?”
“No.” he said simply and firmly, before elaborating further: “Because someone labeled it ‘EXPERIMENTAL.’ In Sharpie. Which, by the way, is not how you're supposed to mark leftovers.”
“It had yellow zucchini in it. You called it experimental first.” you made your defense. “So I labelled it accordingly!”
House shook his head. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“You’re luckier, I love you more…” you whispered. You leaned up once more, pressing a delicate kiss to his lips.
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END OF CASE #007
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 402
WARNINGS: none.
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CHAPTER SIX – Wilson the secret-keeper
Only an hour later the door to your room opened again, much softer this time, softer than House ever cared to manage. You had been busy trying to distract yourself from whatever was coming your way, reading a book as you sat in your hospital bed, slim glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose. You looked up to see Dr. James Wilson in your door, tie slightly crooked, coffee in hand.
He smiled gently. “You gave us a scare.”
You exhaled with a pained huff of amusement. “Seems I’m making a habit of that lately.”
Wilson moved closer, pulling up a chair, sitting in it. He put his coffee down on your bedside table. “House told me everything, well, told me his version of everything…” Wilson gave you a knowing look, you were both quite familiar with your husband's… well, everything.
Wilson was after all the only one that really knew about you.
You gave a weak smile in return, while James handed you a consent form. “I’m here to run a series of tumor marker tests. We need to know whether these growths are cancerous or benign fibroids.”
You nodded, signing your name on the forms you were handed. “I understand,” you added.
He hesitated, then asked quietly, “How long have you been having symptoms? Really?”
You looked up. “Months. Maybe longer. I didn’t think it was anything out of the ordinary… my gynecologist told me it's not unusual to have… more painful periods.”
Wilson sighed softly, then nodded. “I understand… but it's important you take your health seriously, Y/N.”
Wilson offered a sympathetic smile, taking the forms back from you before he spoke again, seemingly hesitating for a moment. “He panicked, you know.”
“Greg?” you raised your eyebrows in mock surprise.
“Oh, completely. Practically ran down the hallway. Even yelled a bit. The usual love language.”
“He hides it well,” you mumbled, huffing another breathy laugh.
“He tries,” Wilson corrected gently. “He’s terrified of losing you, even if he pretends otherwise.”
You swallowed hard, you took off your glasses, rubbing your eye gently as emotions dwelled. You both knew it wasn’t always easy with this lovely bastard, Gregory House, especially when it came to showing he cared for others.
Wilson pressed his lips together into a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure this out. Whatever the results show, you won’t be alone in any of it.”
“Let’s get the tests started.”
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END OF CASE #006
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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read every chapter of "will we ever change"!!!! it's sooo super good <3
the idea of house being secretly married is so appealing LOL
people actually reading my fanfic is very scary... thank you for making me face my fears...
sigh so lore time... this is actually the first fan fiction I EVER wrote and I wrote it in... glances around, I think back in October of last year? I posted it on here, had no idea how to post a Tumblr fanfic and was so lost bc all I did up to this point was just reblog stuff on my cheeky main, now that I have gathered my resources and diva-moments , I KNOW how the magic works and im SO happy that people enjoy it!!
thank you sooo much for your ask!! I love talking to my readers/audience, like yes guys... all come here and lets talk please!!
also yeah I think House is exactly the guy to have a secret marriage and the only one knowing about it is Wilson because of COURSE .... alll stay tuned for the following chapters, I think there are like... uhhhh.... 20 or so?? like a lot... I am just rereading and pepping them up a bit so look forward to at LEAST semi regular updates :D
edit: I lied, with first fanfic ever I mean in recent years, 12 yo me was BIG on writing whatever came to their little diva mind... so got a BUNCH of them as well...
SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 568
WARNINGS: none.
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CHAPTER FIVE – A bump
Morning crept into the hospital room, the winter sun outside filtered through the half-drawn blinds. You were already awake, your stomach pain had woken you up not too long ago.
Cameron just stepped into the room, wheeling in a portable ultrasound machine. “Good morning!” Cameron greeted you, a sympathetic smile on her face as always. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore…” you admitted, one hand drifting instinctively toward your lower abdomen. “Heavy. Like I swallowed a brick.”
“That’s actually useful information,” Cameron replied as she snapped on gloves. “House ordered a pelvic ultrasound. Given the pain and your vitals last night, it’s the next step.”
She moved to help you adjust on the bed, raising the gown just enough to expose your lower abdomen. You were used to procedures like this by now, but usually you stood there in your white coat and gloves, instead of laying on the bed as a patient.
Cameron snapped open the tube of gel used for the ultrasound, but hesitated for a moment.
“There’s… something I have to ask first,” she began carefully. “Your lab results showed elevated hCG levels. Not high… just… present. And with your symptoms, the pelvic pain…”
You blinked at her, putting the pieces together in your mind. “Are you asking if I’m pregnant?”
“It’s a possibility…” Cameron nodded, eyes gentle.
“No,” you said immediately, shaking your head. “No, that’s not… I’m not pregnant.”
Cameron studied you carefully for a moment, leaning forward she placed her hand on your lower stomach, pressing down gently on either side, pausing when she felt the slight curve.
It wasn’t large, or dramatic, but undeniably there. “That bump is why we are checking you. Do you have irregular cycles? Missed a period?”
You swallowed hard. “My cycles have been irregular for about a year and a half now, but… ” you said. “If I were pregnant, I would know.”
Cameron offered a small smile of comfort, she didn’t want to burden or stress you, but she continued: “Bodies don’t always follow the rules we expect them to.”
She turned on the machine, the room filling with the low whir and soft beeping of the ultrasound.
“This might be cold.” Cameron warned, applying the gel. You inhaled sharply at the chill, then focused on the ceiling tiles as the wand glided across your skin. It took a minute or two before Cameron’s face shifted, brows furrowing together. She froze the image, zoomed, adjusted contrast again.
“You’re not pregnant.” Cameron said finally. You let out a breath of relief, but the relief was quickly wiped from your face as you realized something entirely different had to be wrong then.
Cameron turned the screen slightly, revealing clusters of shadowed masses, dark, irregular shapes surrounding the uterus.
“There are multiple growths,” Cameron said. “Several… actually more than several. They’re surrounding your uterus, some pressing against the pelvic wall. One large one is likely causing the severe pain.”
“Growths…” you echoed numbly. “…Benign?”
Cameron hesitated. “We can’t tell from the ultrasound,” she said gently. “Most growths are benign, but these are… quite large.”
You inhaled sharply and nodded, then asked, “And the bump?”
“The growths are pushing everything forward, appearing like early pregnancy.” Cameron answered softly, reaching out and touching your arm lightly, trying to comfort you. “You don’t need to worry, we will figure this out.”
You nodded again, you knew you could trust them with this.
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END OF CASE #005
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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oh how the turn tables turned... only a few of you will remember I already once posted the entire fic on here... but I privated it all and am reposting it in an aesthetic template and SUDDENLY the masses love it....
SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 1,4 k
WARNINGS: none.
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CHAPTER FOUR – just... house
You woke late that evening, your eyelids fluttered open, trying to adjust to the eerie sterile overbright glare of the hospital lights. A rustle of paper drew your gaze, you let out an almost startled breath. Cameron stood at your bedside, reviewing the vitals displayed on your monitor. Her pen scribbled over the paper with ease, her brow gently furrowed in concentration.
“Oh…” you breathed as your tired eyes found the younger doctor, but you offered a faint smile. “Hello…” You knew who the woman was, familiar with her face and many stories, some more glowing than others, but you assumed the lens was likely tainted by your husband's irritable moods, and not by Cameron's lack of capability.
Cameron looked up at once. Relief softened her features, and she held the clipboard close to her chest. “Well, that’s a good sign,” she said warmly. “You had us all worried for a moment. How do you feel?”
You cleared your throat with a small cough. “A bit better now… I guess.” For a moment you hesitated, before saying: “You must be… Dr. Cameron.”
Cameron blinked in mild surprise before smiling sheepishly. “Caught. Though I’m guessing House didn’t give you my glowing résumé.”
You let out a small laugh, pushing yourself up the tiniest bit. “Don’t worry about it, I know him too well to take his opinion on others that seriously…”
Cameron huffed a laugh, almost surprised at your open and kind demeanor, but on the other hand, she always assumed House wouldn’t marry someone just like him. Two colliding forces of nature like that could not end well. “You’re lucky, you know… He never gets rattled up over patients. But today… he looked…different.” Cameron said.
“So he finally told you,” you pointed out the, almost, obvious, “That he has a wife.”
Cameron nodded gently. “He did.”
You shifted, trying to sit up a little straighter, changing the topic at hand. “Do you know what’s wrong with me yet?”
Cameron glanced at the chart again. “Not yet. We’re running everything we can, your vitals are steadier now, which is good, but…”
She gave a reassuring smile. “But we’ll find it. House won’t stop until he does, I’m sure.”
A heartbeat of silence. Then Cameron hesitated, clearly torn between poking more at House’s personal life and leaving you be. “Can I ask you something personal?”
You nodded, your voice warm despite your exhaustion. “Of course. Go ahead.”
Cameron took a quiet breath. “You and House… you’ve been married for a while now, right?” She fumbled for the right phrasing. “Has he always been like this? The sarcasm, the attitude, the… emotional evasiveness?”
Your lips curled up, you leaned back into the stiff hospital pillow, your eyes wandered from Cameron to the familiar bright light above. “Yeah.” was the only thing you said for a moment. “We’ve been married a little over two years… We ‘dated’ in med school, then life happened and we lost each other… until I moved here.” Your eyes softened with memory. “He’s always been exactly like that. Even at university.”
Cameron couldn’t help but smile as well, eyes scanning over you as you spoke. “Then there has to be something redeeming. Otherwise why marry him?” Her tone turned playfully dry. “Beyond his sparkling personality and irresistible charm.”
You looked down at your wedding ring on your finger, turning it gently with your thumb. “He’s… a one-of-a-kind man. Infuriating, absolutely. Some days I’m convinced he’s trying to get me to divorce him… But then he’ll say something … and he’s suddenly the most charming person you’ve ever met. He’s just… House.”
You paused, swallowing hard against your dry throat. “Could I have some water? My throat feels very dry…”
Cameron nodded and poured a glass, handing it to you, and you took a slow sip.
Before either could say anything else, the moment was shattered as the door creaked open. House limped inside, cane thudding sharply against the floor. His gaze flicked between the two of you, you still a little pale against the sheets, and Cameron hovering nearby. He could have known better than to believe Cameron wouldn’t try to dissect his private life, again.
“Are you two gossiping about me?” he mused sarcastically, one eyebrow arched. “I mean, I know I’m endlessly fascinating, but maybe we focus on the patients health for now...”
You swallowed a mouthful of water, feeling it travel thick and heavy down your throat, but it gave you a bit of relief. The tension in your shoulders eased as House limped inside, the smile on your lips growing with every click of his cane.
Cameron rolled her eyes, amused, and stepped aside. “I’ll leave you two alone. Try not to worsen her condition.”
House couldn’t help but let out a theatrical scoff, but the moment Cameron closed the door behind her, he came to sit on the edge of your bed.
His deep blue eyes swept over you. “…So. Still alive,” he said. “There goes my early retirement and the life-insurance payout.”
“Unfortunate for you,” you hummed with a weary smile, “you might have to wait a little longer.”
Your fingers reached for his almost instinctively, a slight bit of comfort blooming in your stomach from the familiar warmth of his hand. “How are you, honey?”
He gave a dry, incredulous huff. “Oh, I’m the one who’s supposed to be answering that? Classic.” His fingers tightened around yours, a firm, grounding pressure that betrayed everything his tone tried to hide.
His gaze flicked briefly to the monitor, then to the IV drip meant to ease the pelvic cramping that had been steadily worsening.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he said quietly, almost under his breath. Then, as if catching himself being too sincere, he quickly added, “Which is terribly inconvenient, by the way. Wilson now thinks I’m capable of emotional depth. I owe him fifty bucks now…”
You let out a laugh, wincing as the motion tugged at the deep, burning ache in your lower abdomen. “And why do you owe Wilson anything?”
“Because,” House sighed, brushing it off, “some people shouldn’t be allowed to gamble.”
You pressed your eyes shut, letting out a pained breath, the pressure low in your pelvis pulsed, hot and throbbing. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, “for scaring you. I just… didn’t know where else to go.”
“Don’t apologize,” he grumbled, “You came to the right place.” His thumb brushed slowly along your knuckles, an absent-minded gesture, tender despite his best efforts.
You brought his hand to your cheek, nuzzling against his palm, you knew your husband wasn’t one for great displays of physical affection, especially not in public, but you needed him right now. “I’ll be alright… won’t I?”
House’s breath left him in a slow sigh. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering on your temple.
“You will be, you’re stubborn. You’re lucky. And you’ve got an exceptionally brilliant diagnostician on your side.” His mouth twitched in a smirk. “I’m not letting anything happen to you. You should rest, you have a few exams tomorrow morning.”
Your lashes fluttered as lightheadedness washed over you again. “I feel… a bit dizzy,” you whispered, trying to breathe through the discomfort. “Greg?”
You leaned into his hand, desperate for his presence.
“Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”
For a moment, House froze, hesitated for a moment, but he nodded, brushing a thumb through your hair again. “Yeah, I’m not going anywhere.”
You shifted closer, your fingers tightening around his. “I love you, Greg…” you hummed quietly, lifting his hand to your lips and pressing a light kiss to his knuckles.
House stilled. Then he exhaled, long and quiet.
“…Yeah, yeah, love you too, you impossible woman.” he muttered, staying right where he was. He didn’t move, not until your breath deepened and you eased into sleep.
Slowly he let go of your hand as he was sure that you were fast asleep. Quietly he heaved himself up, grabbing his cane, he turned towards the door.
Foreman and Chase stood in the doorway, pretending, very poorly, to look anywhere but at him.
House glared, all softness vanishing in an instant. “If either of you say a word about this, I will fire you so fast you’ll need a neurologist to diagnose the whiplash.”
Foreman cleared his throat. “…We saw nothing.”
“Saw who?” Chase echoed, but he couldn’t help the knowing smile resting on his lips.
House rolled his eyes, searching in his pocket, he pulled out the small orange bottle of Vicodin, he popped a few into his mouth before swallowing them dry, and pushed past the two, outside into the hallway.
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END OF CASE #004
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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♡ likes, reblogs & comments keep this clinic running.
SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 644
WARNINGS: none
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CHAPTER THREE – Introductions and Symptoms
Soon the diagnostics team gathered in House’s office, Gregory stood rigidly beside his desk, tip of his cane tapping impatiently against the floor. On the whiteboard behind him, your symptoms were listed off.
“So,” he began, “Lets take inventory. Our not-so-mysterious patient presents with…”
“Pelvic Pain”
“Dilated pupils”
“Nausea”
“Vomiting”
“Tachycardia”
“Sky-high blood pressure”
He listed off, tapping each symptom on the whiteboard.
“A delightful sample platter… little bit of everything.” the doctor flicked his gaze between the board and his team. “Any brilliant minds want to bring in any ideas?”
Cameron flipped through your chart, brow furrowed before she spoke, “Her vitals improved after oxygen and analgesics… but the neurologic signs don’t line up with just pain. The dilated pupils, the dizziness… maybe a toxin? Or some endocrine trigger?”
House scoffed at his female colleague, “Wonderful. A toxin that targets the pelvis… Very creative.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Or, she’s got two problems. Because apparently, today is buy one, get one free day in the House of Horrors.”
Foreman crossed his arms, studying House’s expression. “You know her. Who is she?”
House paused, not long enough to be dramatic, just long enough to weigh out the ups and downs of telling them.
“Oh, right. Introductions…” He gestured lazily, as he had finally made his decision. “This is Dr. Y/N House, my wife.”
Silence.
Chase blinked a few times, almost as if he was convinced he was dreaming or hallucinating. “You’re… married?”
House rolled his eyes, clearly already regretting the decision of opening this part of his private life. “Yes, Chase, believe it or not, someone willingly signed paperwork binding themselves to me. Now can we return to the woman you’re all failing to diagnose?”
He snatched up a marker, circling pelvic pain with force. “Tell me, in what universe do toxins selectively inflame a pelvis? Anyone?”
Chase cleared his throat. “There are poisons that can trigger abdominal pain and neurological symptoms…”
“And given her medical training, she could have been exposed accidentally. Cleaning agents, anesthetics, lab compounds.” Cameron continued, nodding along with Chase’s idea.
Foreman cut in, skeptical. “But combining accidental exposure with sudden acute pelvic pain severe enough to cause collapse? The chances aren’t huge.”
House pointed the marker at him. “Not impossible. Just boringly unlikely.”
Much to Foreman's dismay, House already had an explanation for that. “What if she wasn’t exposed accidentally? What if someone gave her something?”
Foreman frowned and shook his head. “You’re suggesting deliberate poisoning? Who would target your ‘wife’?” the word wife was still said with a considerate amount of disbelief. They might have moved onto diagnostics but it was clear neither of the three was ready to let that go yet.
House let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, let's see… former patients, upset residents… take your pick.”
Chase almost let an amused smirk play over his lips, Cameron shook her head in disbelief, all while House stared aimlessly at the board of symptoms.
“…Or maybe it isn’t poison at all… maybe something closer to home.” he whispered.
“Closer to home?” Chase repeated. “Meaning what, exactly?”
Foreman hesitated to say anything, but House was really out of it today, even more than he usually was. “You said yourself, she’s a doctor. She has access to everything. Maybe she…”
House cut him off with a sharp gesture, slamming the marker down. “If you’re implying she did this to herself, you can walk out that door now.”
Silence. Again. Chase shifted uncomfortably, pushing a few blonde locks out of his face, while Cameron glanced at the floor.
Then House exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “Fine. Run tox screens on everything.”
Chase and Foreman were already in motion, pushing their chairs back as they got up.
Cameron followed, but House’s voice stopped her mid-step. “Cameron.”
She turned back.
“Get me an ultrasound.”
She nodded once and then hurried out.
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a/n: omg... thank you guys for the loads of support im already getting... :(
END OF CASE #003
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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♡ likes, reblogs & comments keep this clinic running.
SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 950
WARNINGS: none
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CHAPTER TWO – Husband...?
You weren’t capable of forming your protest, neither did House wait for one. And he certainly didn’t give Chase the chance to voice the questions practically clawing their way up his throat.
A passing nurse finally intervened, but couldn’t help share a glance of curiosity with Chase, who just pulled his shoulders up into a shrug. House dismissed their gaze with a raised eyebrow and his cane pushing through both of them as he limped ahead, doing his best to support his wife as they walked. Not quite as easy as he wished it to be with his leg.
“Tell me if you feel like you’re going to pass out,” he spoke, voice low and meant only for you.
You attempted a nod, then tried to straighten yourself with his support, one hand rising to your forehead as if it weighed twice its usual amount.
“I feel… very dizzy,” you managed to say, lips pressed into a thin smile that you wore purely out of kindness.
“Shocking,” he muttered, clenching his jaw as your knees feared to give in, but you caught yourself in time. “You look like you’re two seconds from getting cast as an extra in The Walking Dead…”
His eyes snapped to Chase, who hovered close behind you. “Chase, stop ogling like a golden retriever and prep an exam room. And find Foreman! Tell him I wanted him here five minutes ago.”
Chase nodded, and hurried off. House followed the same direction with you. “Almost there…”
You reached the exam room, and House eased you down onto the bed, which you gladly sunk into as though gravity had doubled. He helped you adjust yourself, watching every twitch of your face for clues. Your eyes were glassy with pain and exhaustion as you looked up at him, but that thin smile remained.
“What… what are you going to tell them?” you whispered, voice hardly more than a breath. “That I’m your wife? Or just… another woman named House?”
You needed to know the script, the story, the boundaries he intended to keep. Already ready to get caught up in a net of silence and lies to protect this, in your opinion, stupid lie.
“Oh, please. They already assume I’m insane, I don’t need to hand them more evidence by going into this with a big elaborate lie,” he gave you a crooked smirk, one more gentle than usual, but undeniably his.
He tugged a stethoscope from a cupboard, looping it around his neck. “They’ll figure it out eventually,” he said. “Right now I’m more concerned with why you tried to repaint the clinic hallway with your lunch.”
He stepped closer, pressing the cold head of the stethoscope to your chest. “Breathe in,” he commanded, watching you breathe in and out as big and as deep of a breath as you could take.
“So…” he continued, “let’s focus on the medicine part first.”
Despite the burning pain knotting in your chest, you gave a weak, breathy laugh. “Alright, alright… Mr. Doctor…”
House exhaled through his nose, something between a sigh and a chuckle, and lifted the stethoscope from your chest.
Only a moment later, Foreman and Chase entered the room, both stopping short at the door.
You said nothing, making no move to introduce yourself, nor explain why you were here, most likely due to the fact that you visibly seemed to fight the urge to curl in on yourself.
Foreman’s eyes narrowed. “Why’d you send Chase like the building was on fire?”
At a superficial glance, you did look merely pale and exhausted, probably correlating to the fact you had just emptied your stomach into the hospital bin, but nothing about that should justify House’s frantic energy.
“Is this our patient? Do we know her?” Foreman pressed, as if House’s demeanor suggested a familiarity he couldn’t quite place.
Chase moved to your side, slipping a thermometer beneath your tongue and fitting the blood pressure cuff around your arm. “BP is slightly high.” He checked your pupils with a penlight. “Enlarged pupils. Maybe she’s just hypoglycemic. Or she took something? Pain meds? Stimulants? It would explain-”
Before he could finish, the heart monitor let out a piercing beep-beep-beep as the line spiked, your pulse shooting upward like a firework.
House let out an exhale sharp, gesturing at the monitor with a flick of his hand. “You think?”
Foreman straightened defensively. “If she’s in pain, the sympathetic response-”
You groaned weakly, curling onto your side as another wave of agony rippled through your pelvis. “It… it burns… my whole pelvis-” you gasped. House bent closer, eyes narrowing with laser focus.
“Pelvic burning… tachycardia… dilated pupils…” His voice dropped to a mumble, he squinted at you for another moment.
“That sounds like PIV,” Foreman threw in.
House ignored him entirely.
You whimpered as another tremor wracked your body. You tossed and shifted restlessly, trying, and clearly failing, to find any position that did not provoke pain. A young nurse approached, IV set trembling in her hands.
“Ma’am, I need you to hold still so I can…”
“Put the IV down before you poke a hole in her arm and make things worse.” House interrupted the nurse, he gestured toward you, clearly in pain. “She needs pain control. Give her something strong enough to stop her from writhing. Unless you want to explain to her husband why you delayed treatment.”
“...Husband?” Foreman repeated and glanced over at Chase.
The nurse nodded, and obeyed.
House turned towards the doorway. “Prep for an MRI, I’ll get her medical history. Later we meet in my office.”
Chase blinked. “…Since when do you chase down medical histories?”
House’s grip tightened on his cane. He didn’t answer.
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END OF CASE #002
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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