Hey; so this is the start of (probably) a 3-4 chapter story. Enjooy :)

"I want to see Dr. House."

Foreman turned around and raised his eyebrows, opening his mouth to say something but Annie's mom beat him to it. "Honey, you need to rest. Just-

"Mom," Annie said, mid-coughing fit, "I want to talk to him."

Annie's mother crossed the hospital room, knealing by her daughter's bed and wrapping her hand around Annie's bony, pale fist. "Why?" she wanted to know, her voice shaken and desperate.

Annie paused a beat, and for a moment all anybody could hear was the blur of hospital background noise; monitors beeping, pagers ringing, doctors being called to who knows where. Annie turned to her mother, "Does there really need to be a why?" Her other hand shakily rose up, so that it was directly in front of her. She held up four fingers. Four days.

Her mother choked on tears, and stood up; she turned to Foreman slowly. "Is he available?"

"Patient wants to see you."

"Why does everyone want me doing there vaginal exams? Am I really that objectively handsome?"

Foreman shook his head, shutting House's glass office door behind him. "Not that one. Annie Kesterson; room 406."

House raised his eyebrows; he hadn't heard that name since before lunch. That case was long over. For all he knew, she'd been discharged.

"Why?" he asked, truly curious.

Foreman shrugged, "I'm told there doesn't need to be a why."

"Did you give her the prognosis?" he asked, reaching across his desk and pulling out a small orange bottle.

Foreman sighed grimly, "Yes."

House popped the bottle open, and swallowed a white pellet dry in one swift and practiced move. He tossed the bottle into a desk drawer, and stood up with the careful aid of his cane. "I guess she just doesn't like black people, then."

House tapped his cane against the ground, keeping time with the beeping monitor beside Annie. "So, was there something that you wanted or are you just trying to make your mom mad by letting me in here?"

Annie laughed a little bit, which morphed quickly into a cough. "What happened to your leg?" she asked quietly.

"What happened to your hair?" he shot back.

Annie nodded and returned her gaze down to her lap. House immediately regretted his words. The room went silent for another couple long seconds.

"You know, for every awkward silence another gay baby is born."

Annie turned to House suddenly, "Am I gonna die?"

House took a breath in, and gave a half smile, "Not my job."

"What?"

"Not my job to tell you if you're gonna die," he said standing up, "I have people for that."

He walked to the door, ready to leave.

"I know," Annie said, her expression darkening.

House turned to her, suddenly skeptical, "Then why are you asking me?"

Annie exhaled thickly, "You're a jerk."

"Boy, if I had a hooker for everytime someone said that..."

"The lady with the dark hair-she obviously hates you. I would too. You're annoying."

Annie fiddled with her blanket, her eyes on her hands, not on House.

"The only reason that you could still be working here...is if you're a really good doctor."

Annie leaned forward, stretching her IV cords.

"I need you to tell me I'm gonna die. Or else I won't believe it."

House said nothing. He shut the door he had half opened. Somehow, this strangely insightful twelve year old was getting to him.

"I know you're in pain everyday. That's why you take those pills, Advil right?"

House nodded, "Right."

"But, I'd rather be in pain than die."

House again, said nothing. He fiddled with his tongue, trying to find something to say.

"I know you don't, but some people out there don't want to be miserable. They want to live." Annie coughed thickly, and then looked over at him. "I don't think you know quite how lucky you are."

House pursed his lips into a thin line, stood up, and left.