underestimated
pairing: House/Reader (no explicit romance)
reader is referred to with they/them pronouns. otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.
word count: 1.6k | ao3 version
author's notes: I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to this fandom. I've never watched the series.
But I have a weakness for arrogant savant doctors who are given a swift reality check when they experience a career-threatening disability. Cough cough, Stephen Strange. Cough cough, Lawrence Gordon.
We knew this was going to happen eventually. I've outrun my fate for long enough.
Enjoy!
“I’d like to speak with another doctor. One with more experience. Who’s your supervisor?”
Everything around you seems to grind to a halt, as you stare at your patient’s father in disbelief. You went through years of schooling; participated in extensive specialized training; and incurred an ungodly amount of student debt to finally earn your reputation as a doctor… All for someone to disrespect you in a single breath? You stare at the man for a long moment, swearing you can hear your ears ringing as you process just what he had the audacity to say to you.
Due to your relatively young age, you’ve been forced to grow accustomed to skeptical looks and backhanded remarks. You’ve been confused for a nurse more times than you can count, despite the undeniable fact that you wear a doctor’s coat instead of scrubs. There have been many times when you felt as if you were being subtly judged, but never has someone had the gall to blatantly disrespect you like this.
Realizing you’ve been stewing in silence for longer than socially appropriate, you mutter an excuse to leave before departing from the room. You grit your teeth and try not to notice how quickly your heart is racing in your chest. You’re so concentrated on the frustration brewing in your chest that you aren’t watching where you’re going, and you accidentally bump shoulders with someone.
“Hey, watch it, speedster.” Broken from your thoughts, you look over to find Dr. House staring at you in mild amusement. You feel an ugly emotion stewing in your chest at the thought of what you need to request of him.
“My patient needs you,” you manage to choke out. There are a plethora of negative emotions running through you now: anger, shame, frustration, disbelief. You’ve been underestimated before, but never so overtly. It feels like a slap to the face.
House lets out a loud sigh. “What have I told you?” he says, shaking his head in annoyance. “Everyone needs me. They’ll have to get in line.” He waves flippantly with his free hand.
“No, I mean—” you choke off, struggling to keep your composure. You take a slow breath, pretending not to notice how the doctor’s gaze intensifies in its scrutiny. “His parents asked for my supervisor.”
House stares at you for several long moments, studying your face as if looking for any traces of dishonesty. When he doesn’t find anything, he frowns. “They did?”
You nod. Your fists clench at your sides as you struggle to fight off your distress. This shouldn’t be bothering you as much as it is. You shouldn’t care what anyone has to say about you—least of all, two complete strangers. That recognition does nothing to rid you of your spiraling thoughts, however. “They wanted to speak to someone with more experience,” you remember to say. Your voice sounds a bit hollow, but you can’t tell if you’re imagining that.
Dr. House stares at you for several seconds. “Ordinarily I’d say I’m much too busy,” he reasons, leaning on his cane as a speculative expression passes across his face. “But, would you look at that? My schedule has suddenly cleared up.”
There’s a vindictive glimmer in his eyes now and you quickly try to backtrack. “House, it’s fine. I’ll go get Cuddy or something—” you suggest, suddenly a bit nervous.
Dr. House interjects before you can make any more excuses. “What room is your patient assigned to?” he questions, not even bothering to acknowledge your weak justifications.
“213,” you respond.
“Excellent,” he says, his eyes already set on the end of the corridor. House has already made up his mind—it’s too late for you to object. You’re forced to watch regretfully as he heads down the hall towards your patient. You can only hope you haven’t just made a big mistake.
Dr. Gregory House enjoys having a staff that isn’t entirely useless. He never would’ve described them so positively before—but maybe you have something to do with that. Ever since House hired you, he’s been a little less annoyed at work. It’s hard for most people to notice, but Cuddy and Wilson are particularly perceptive in that regard. He has learned to ignore their jabs and inquiries, despite knowing the facts of the matter.
You were the only one of the newer employees who didn’t undergo House’s rather extensive examination and hiring process. In actuality, you attended the first day of the “examinations”—but you approached him at the end of the day with the intent to drop out of the process.
House still remembers the humble confidence you wielded in that moment—the certainty in your eyes as you met his gaze and asserted your self-worth. It stunned him for a moment, truthfully, before he found himself weirdly impressed. When he asked for further elaboration, your points were quick and concise: you felt as if a standard interview process would be a suitable portrayal of your abilities; and you asserted you weren’t going to fight to change someone’s perceptions of you.
Intrigued, House interrogated you about your background: where your residency was located, what specialties you were interested in, and what kind of position you were looking for. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but you essentially tricked him into a genuine interview—without him even realizing it. Of course, you couldn’t have predicted that you would capture his attention. Even so, he found your strategy both clever and well-executed.
It wasn’t until Dr. Cuddy entered the room nearly forty minutes later, wondering what was taking House so long, that he was truly convinced. House saw you slowly begin to retreat as Cuddy spoke to him, as if you were about ready to slip out of the room and leave the building for good. House didn’t want that to happen—didn’t want your talent to go to waste. That was how he found himself with a new doctor on his staff: one both competent and, even better, unassuming. You didn’t try too hard to be social with him, evidently recognizing that he had no desire for friendship. Maybe that was why he felt drawn to you.
And perhaps that’s why he’s angry at the thought of your abilities being doubted. House knows you well enough to recognize that you make very few mistakes. There’s no doubt that the parents of your patient underestimated you because of your age. You’re relatively young for a doctor—if House remembers correctly, you were able to graduate from undergraduate schooling early and earn a dual degree. Even so, you’re infuriatingly competent. And the thought of you facing unfounded suspicion is enough to send him down the hall and into the patient’s room with renewed vigor.
He knocks on the door harshly and practically throws it open, setting his eyes on the parents who created this whole mess. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t said anything,” he says in lieu of a greeting, closing the door behind him with a bit more force than necessary. “You had the ray of sunshine; I’m the dark clouds. Or the torrential downpour. Whatever fits.”
“Sorry?” the mother asks in confusion.
“Right, let me put it in layman’s terms,” House continues, tapping his cane impatiently. “I’m a bastard. An asshole, even,” he states plainly.
“This doesn’t seem—” the patient’s father tries to say, glancing at his young son.
“Appropriate?” House interjects. “Yet you thought it appropriate to harass my helpless staff and demand another, more experienced doctor. So here I am. Dr. House, Head of the Diagnostics Department. No need to bow.”
The parents are stunned silent. Satisfied, House continues. “I made sure to fact-check the good doctor’s work—an unnecessary precaution, because it’s all in order.” The parents have the self-awareness to look embarrassed at that. House muses on what he reviewed with you only moments ago. You hadn’t said anything even mildly accusatory, of course; House isn’t so kind, however. He looks the parents in the eyes. “Your son’s illness is entirely your fault. You didn’t get him vaccinated, probably because you fell prey to some bullshit fear-mongering. Now, you feel guilty about it… You lashed out at the doctor, who can actually do something to help your son… It all checks out.” He nods.
Both of the patient’s parents seem lost for words. House decides to take advantage of their momentary silence. “Now, you have two choices,” he drawls. “If you have anything resembling a brain in that head of yours, you’ll apologize to the doctor and I’ll approve the script they recommended.”
The parents are quick to catch onto what he’s implying. “Is that a threat?” the father asks disbelievingly.
He’s tired of this conversation already. It takes a concerted effort for him to focus on the matter at hand. “Now I’ll be taking my leave,” House announces, no longer bothering to hide his irritation. “The doctor will return in a few minutes. If you can behave, then your son will stop whining.” He pauses in the doorway for a moment, before turning to look at them once more. “And keep it down. Your voice is grating enough to give a deaf person a headache.”
Dr. House finds you no more than five minutes later, an unreadable expression on his face. “They’ve been euthanized,” House states with unwavering certainty as he approaches you. Before you can wonder just what the hell that means, he’s already continuing down the hall. You stare after him with mixed feelings, before turning back around and heading to Room 213.
When you return, you find that the parents are completely different people now. They apologize to you for their rude behavior and promise not to make harmful assumptions in the future; satisfied with their apology, you continue with treatment as planned. As you’re writing a prescription for the patient, you can’t quite stop the smile that’s rising on your lips at the thought of House defending you—even in his own twisted, antagonistic, patronizing way.
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