A/N: Thank you so much to my awesome beta who read over this for me and made sure all my stupid little mistakes got caught. This is now chopped up into much more readable pieces, and hopefully much better as well. Enjoy, and thanks to all who read this before, I wouldn't have been interested in rehashing this monster without all the wonderful support! -Bryn/Taru

Lies and Truth

Chapter One: Kelly

House sat in the clinic administration area. A pile of red folders sat next to his head on the counter, and he was glaring at it. He knew that the charts wouldn't do themselves. Still, he didn't feel like making the effort of reaching up and grabbing one. He was planning on sitting there until his shift was over. He had 8 minutes left. He sighed and shifted slightly, stretching just a bit. Then he froze. The telltale sound of high heels was growing stronger. 'Great, just what I need,' he thought. He managed to put on a smile just as Cuddy rounded the corner. She glared as she spotted him.

"Dr. House. What about 'get your charts done' is so hard for your considerable intellect to comprehend?" Cuddy smirked as she saw his fake smile.

"Oh, nothing. I was seeing if my telekinetic powers would make the charts do themselves," he replied with a wink.

"Wonderful. Just what I need--a psychic doctor. Well, since you don't want to finish the charts, go check out the patient in Exam Room 3." At his groan she smirked again. "I warned you. If you don't do charts, you pull clinic duty instead."

"I'm off in 8 minutes," he replied.

"Eight minutes isn't now. It's a kid with a fever. You'll be done in two," she said over her shoulder as she stalked off towards her office.

House sighed, got up, and limped off towards Exam Room 3. He grabbed the file on his way. 'Kid with a fever. Right.' He read the chart. 'Temperature of 103 for the past 24 hours. No other symptoms.' He had to admit it did sound like the kid just had a simple infection. When he opened the door, the girl was already seated on the exam table. Her mother was standing next to the table with an impatient look on her face. The girl looked around 16 and was very thin. She did have the flushed cheeks that hinted of fever and her gaze was fixed on the floor about three feet to the right of the door.

"Your chart indicates you've had a high fever for 'at least' 24 hours. How long have you actually been ill and do you have any other symptoms?" House asked the girl. She didn't respond, but the mother spoke up.

"She's not gonna answer. She's deaf. I'm sorry to bring her in with just a fever. But it's been a few days now and it hasn't gotten any better."

"Your daughter has had a fever for a few days and you're just bringing her in now?" House snapped in annoyance.

"She's not really my daughter. She's a foster child of mine. I've been working with special needs foster kids for six years now. The fever was going away at night and I thought it would get better by itself. I gave her Tylenol. She's deaf and retarded. She doesn't communicate well," she replied, angrily.

"Ah. Just a retarded deaf kid. I guess that means that her health isn't important, then." House snapped. He looked at the girl. Her gaze had not left the floor tiles and she was twisting her hands nervously in her lap. House placed his cane against the wall and limped over to the table. He looked down at the girl. Something wasn't right. He didn't know what it was, but something about her was bothering him. He gently tapped her on the shoulder and was surprised when she violently jerked away from him. After the initial movement, she went back to her intense study of the floor tiles.

"She doesn't like to be touched," the foster mother commented.

"And how do you propose I examine her if I can't touch her?" House sighed. He briefly considered reaching for a Vicodin pill just to quash the headache this woman was starting to give him.

"Just be gentle. She'll listen after a minute," the woman replied.

House gently took the girl's face in his hand and tried to get her to remove her gaze from the floor. She tried to pull away again, but this time not as harshly. She raised her eyes to meet his for a second and then, just as quickly, moved them back to the floor. House sighed and tried to softly feel her glands. They were a little large, but not vastly so. He checked her breathing and heart rate. Both were a little fast, but that could be caused by nervousness, or the fever. He lifted her shirt in the back and almost dropped his stethoscope. The girl's back was a grotesque pattern of scars. They crisscrossed her entire back.

"What the hell?" He turned angrily to the woman.

"It's not what you think!" she stammered, "She had a bad placement. We got her after she was returned to the group home. I would never hurt her!"

"Bad placement?" House whispered. Bad placement didn't apply to what he saw before him. House prided himself on being able to control his emotions. But when it came to children--especially sick children--he couldn't hide how he felt. He took a few deep breaths and tried to calm his anger.

"Does she sign?" House asked after a moment.

"Sometimes. Never anything that makes sense. I don't know sign, but my daughter does. She said Kelly just signs random words. The group home told me her IQ was under 90. I'm guessing that's why she can't," the woman replied.

"Okay. I still want to get a translator in here." He slowly made his way over to the phone. His leg was bothering him, so he reached into his pocket and grabbed the ever-present bottle of painkillers. He saw the woman's look of disdain as he swallowed one, but ignored it. He sat on the wheeled stool and picked up the phone. "Yeah, could I get a line to Dr. Cuddy please?"

She picked up after the second ring.

"Dr. Cuddy, I'm going to need a sign language interpreter in Exam Room 3," he said.

"God, House. What now? I'm not going to page Dr. Tellson for a fake consultation," she snapped.

"It's not fake. My patient is deaf, and I need a translator." He hung up without waiting for her reply.

"Now, Mrs. …"

"Walton," the woman supplied.

"Mrs. Walton. I need to know exactly what happened in Kelly's last foster home. She seems to be suffering from a long term infection that may have been caused by the abuse she suffered there." If House's tone sounded clipped, it was because he was annoyed.

"I don't know much. Just what the Department of Child and Family Services worker told me. She was placed in a home for 'special needs' kids. There was suspected abuse and she was removed. I had no idea it was that bad." Her gaze drifted over to Kelly's back and she winced.

"How could you miss something like that, unless your IQ is less than 90," he snapped.

"She wouldn't let anyone touch her. We thought it was because of the abuse and we just let her do her own thing. It kept her quiet and calm. She has a bad habit of throwing tantrums. We were just a transition home for her. DCFS was trying to place her in a facility that would be able to handle her better."

"'Able to handle her better.' You mean drug her?" House looked over at Kelly and saw that her gaze had still not left the floor. "Are you sure she's deaf?"

"What? Yes! That's what they told us." Mrs. Walton replied.

House rolled over to the small metal table where he had left Kelly's chart. He flipped it open and read the brief amount of information. "Is this all of her medical history?"

"No. She used to go to another doctor. But he was too far away," the woman replied.

"Ok, I'll need her complete medical history and the name of your contact at the DCFS."

"Why?"

"Because I don't think she's deaf."