Author's Note: Now, doctors are actually required by law (at least, I'm pretty sure they are - I looked it up) to administer a local anesthetic prior to this procedure - but I kinda overlooked that little factor. For convenience purposes, Gotham City has been moved to New Jersey once again, and P.-P.T.H. has been appointed as one of the hospitals in Gotham (think I like this arrangement, may use it for future BB/TDK-House crossovers).


"Now, you're going to feel a little pressure," Dr. Eric Foreman warned as he accepted the long and particularly nasty-looking needle from Dr. Robert Chase and attached an empty syringe to the appropriate end of it.

Jonathan whimpered as he obediently rolled over onto his right side on the hospital bed he was currently lying in with his back to the three doctors, flinching as Chase brushed back the untied white hospital gown and swabbed the insertion site with a cotton ball soaked in an antibacterial solution to cleanse it. Crane hated having to go through this procedure, as most anyone would - but could they imagine going through it once a month? - but he had been able to synthesize no alternative antidote for the latest form of his lovely terror-inducing toxin. He would prefer that he did not attend these appointments - but it obviously would be quite difficult for him to continue practicing on his "patients" at Arkham if he himself were almost completely immobilized by an accidental dose of the "medication" he prescribed for them, and therefore forced himself to receive regular doses of the also self-synthesized antidote as a precautionary method.

The only drawback to this was that, in order for it to have any effect at all, it had to be given by lumbar puncture - unluckily enough, it was a certain diagnostician with an outright disregard for rules that had discovered this when Crane had come to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and inquired of him as to why the antidote was not working even though Crane knew it was the right formula.

"This'll only take about five minutes, Jonathan - at the most," Dr. James Wilson assured his cousin as he leaned over and placed his hands on Crane's thigh to prevent him from instinctively trying to roll over away from the needle.

Jonathan nodded and gripped the side rail on the bed with both hands.

And them Foreman inserted the needle into the middle of Crane's lower back.

A scream of pain barely suppressed behind clenched teeth irritated Jonathan's throat as his fists tightened on the rail, sweat breaking out on his forehead and his cheeks flushing as Foreman forced the needle deeper and into the fluid-filled area surrounding Crane's spinal cord.

"Well, look who's back," Dr. House drawled as he limped heavily on his cane into the small glass-walled hospital room.

Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut. "Go away."

House clucked his tongue. "So rude we are today. Joker go too rough on you last night?"

"Shut up," Crane muttered - then groaned again as Foreman began pulling the plunger back, cerebrospinal fluid filling the first few marking lines on the syringe.

"Let him be, House - I'm sure this is bad enough for him without you here," Wilson chastised his friend none too gently as he gave his cousin's knee a few consoling pats.

"Well, with a face like that I suppose I can't resist obeying your royal commands, Mr. High-and-Mighty," House teased sarcastically with a smile.

Perplexed, Wilson's brow furrowed. "Are you. . .hitting on me?"

"No, not at all." House winked - gaze lowering, Wilson blushed with pleasure.

Foreman and Chase exchanged an awkward glance - but didn't say anything.

Wordlessly Foreman removed the cerebrospinal fluid-filled syringe from the needle and replaced it with one containing the toxin antidote, slowly pushing the new fluid into Crane's body.

Jonathan gasped in pain.

"See, this is why drugs are bad for you: because the treatments currently available for them hurt so much. Didn't they teach you anything in medical school?" House wondered - and then he noticed how prominently Crane's spine, shoulder blades, and the backs of his pelvic bones protruded beneath his skin. "You're really skinny," the diagnostician continued cheerfully - then gasped in artificial shock. "Good God, man - are you anorexic?"

His blue, blue eyes flickering from side-to-side as they often did when he was nervous, Jonathan muttered, "What I do with my body is my own business - and anorexia nervosa is one issue that I most certainly would not come to you for, even if during its course it was accompanied by some type of rare disease, as you so favor."

"So it's true?"

"I was not aware that I indicated as such." But Jonathan was blushing.

Now, not only was he in pain, but one of his most preciously-guarded secrets was on the verge of being spread throughout Gotham City (Crane wasn't stupid - the becaned physician would be more than willing to overlook certain doctor-patient confidentiality laws in order to obtain a little extra cash).

Oh, how Jonathan hated Dr. Gregory House.

THE END


Okay, okay, I'll admit: the only reason I wrote this story was to watch Jonathan writhe in pain while undergoing a lumbar puncture because the more I like a character the meaner I am to them (no, I don't need to see a therapist - oh, who am I kidding? Fuck YES I do!). I can't really speak from experience as to exactly how much a spinal tap hurts, seeing as I've never had one, but it sounds like a GREAT torture method, doesn't it? Was inspired for this story by the very second House episode, "Paternity," in which a lumbar puncture was given to a patient as part of a treatment.