(Doctor Gregory House and other canon characters featured in this work of fiction belong to NBC/Universal and David Shore. Original characters are my creation. I make no money from writing these stories, it's done for pure enjoyment. All literary passages, quotes and song lyrics are used without permission; I do not own them or make money from using them.)

December 3rd

"You know, you remind me of him."

Jason glanced at Mandy. She was curled up on the couch under the throw, a box of tissues next to her. Nearly recovered from a nasty cold, she stayed with the Goldmans while her mother worked at the clinic. She had brought some books and DVDs with her to keep herself entertained. At the moment they watched a British show. Jason had never seen anything quite like it, but he found he enjoyed both the way the main character approached puzzle-solving, and the fast pace of the story itself.

"Him who?" he said, and pretended he didn't understand what she meant.

"Sherlock." She gestured at the screen with a crumpled tissue.

"You mean I look like him?"

"Well, a little," she said, and sniffled. "But more in the way you both think."

"Okaaaay," Jason said. He hoped she would explain.

"Sherlock takes everything into consideration when he evaluates a situation. He finds all the facts and puts them together to draw a conclusion, but he does it in a way most people don't understand. You do that too."

"But he's smart," Jason said. "I'm not smart."

"Yes you are," Mandy said. "You're the smartest person I know besides Doctor House. And Doctor Sarah and her husband," she said.

"Roz is smart too," Jason said. "I'm not."

Mandy rolled her eyes and wiped her nose. "Just because you have trouble with spelling doesn't mean you're stupid," she said. "You're so much better at math and physics than I am, and you're learning chemistry faster than anyone else in our class."

"You read better," he pointed out.

"My mom read to me when I was little," she said, and hesitated. "Your—your mom probably didn't."

Mandy was always careful not to probe when it came to his past, so he knew this wasn't an attempt to find out anything. "No," he said, and left it at that. He wasn't about to tell her his mom had usually been gone with some man she'd picked up in a bar, or passed out on the couch, when he went to bed. No one had ever read to him; they'd never had books or magazines in his house, his dad would have laughed his ass off at the idea. "Readin's for wimps," he often said. Jason remembered all the times he'd read at school. He'd get through part of a chapter and have to abandon the book for another stolen chance the next day when time ran out. Now he had a stack of excellent books by his bed, and Sarah and Gene had given him free reign to borrow anything he liked from their library. He loved to sit in the office, curled up in Doctor House's old chair, and read while Sarah worked or talked to Laynie. He still had problems with words though, and sometimes it took him forever to figure out a sentence.

"You're not stupid," Mandy insisted. She sat up a little. "You're the one sent a video camera up in a weather balloon. The vid was the best thing I've ever seen."

"I had a lot of help," Jason protested. He remembered the sense of pride when they'd discovered the camera had not only survived the fall back to earth, but recorded all of the journey except the last two minutes. Their science teacher had posted the vid to YouTube. It had received close to half a million hits now.

"So what? You did most of the work yourself after you got the information you needed." Mandy looked indignant. "Why do you put yourself down?" she said, just as Sarah came into the room. Jason hunched deeper in his chair and didn't answer.

"Hey you two, what's up?" Sarah asked.

"Jason thinks he's stupid," Mandy said. Jason glared at her but said nothing. When Sarah looked his way he braced for a bunch of questions.

"I see," she said, and poked up the fire to add another log before she came over and sat on the ottoman next to Jason's chair.

"I told him he isn't." Mandy sounded annoyed. "He keeps arguing with me."

"I didn't say I was stupid," Jason snapped. "Like I said, I'm—I'm just not . . . not smart."

"When Laynie and I were in school together she would always make me feel like a complete idiot when it came to math. I struggled with basic algebra and she ran rings around me." Sarah smiled a little. "I still have trouble with numbers."

Jason felt an odd sense of dismay. "You can't do math?"

"Oh, I can balance my checkbook and add up columns, but that's about it." Sarah clasped her knees. "It's all right. It took me a while to understand my strengths lie elsewhere. I know enough to get me by." She looked at Jason then, and her gaze held humor and understanding. "You'll discover the same thing, undoubtedly. So what are you two watching?"

It was later after Mandy's mom had picked her up and supper was about to come out of the oven that Jason said, "What you said earlier . . . so I'll never be good at writing."

Sarah put the panful of roasted chicken on the counter and set the pot holders aside. "I think you can be very good at writing, at reading and spelling and just about anything you set your mind to. But you'll be best at what you love." She wiped her hands on her apron and faced him. "What do you love, Jason?" she asked quietly. "That's the important question."

He thought about it while he ate and helped Sarah with the dishes and played Grand Theft Auto with Gene; on his walk to Gibbs's place, and the ritual of getting ready for bed; and finally in the warm darkness of his room, snuggled in his usual nest of pillows, sheets and comforter. When the answer came it surprised him.

I love science, he thought. Everything they teach me, everything I read or see online, even the things that are hard or boring sometimes. I want to know it all, the way Doctor House does. That last thought surprised him. He'd never considered becoming a doctor, it was such an impossible goal with the money needed for all the schooling; besides, he wasn't even sure he'd ever want to be around sick people. But to help someone discover what was wrong with them . . . it intrigued him. How did Doctor House do it? What was the criteria, the method to find the cause of sickness?

Maybe I could ask him. Jason winced at the probable outcome of that venture. Doctor House would very likely laugh him to Albany and back and never tell him anything. But maybe, just maybe, if Sarah or Gene was there to prevent a one-on-one confrontation . . . Jason stared into the soft darkness. He'd find a way.

As luck would have it an opportunity presented itself two days later, though not quite in the manner he'd expected.

December 5th

"I need to run down to the clinic to drop off a few things. Want to come with me?" Sarah said from the kitchen doorway. Jason looked up from his homework. He felt a glow of excitement start deep within. Without a word he got to his feet and went to get his coat.

"You can look around a bit, just use your common sense," Sarah said on the way over, and Jason nodded. He knew there were two patients at the clinic, he'd heard Doctor House mention them over the weekend. He'd joked with Sarah about how he needed to buy a stretch limo with an emergency team on board, to pick people up from the airport in Syracuse.

When they reached the clinic Sarah took two bags from Minnie Lou's flatbed, where she'd tied them under the tarp. "I can carry them," Jason said, and went up the walk with both bags cradled in his arms, glad to have something to do. It would make the chances of Doctor House picking on him a little less certain.

He took the bags into the kitchen as directed, then went off to look around. It was a nice place, not at all like the doctor's office where he'd gotten his physical before he'd gone to Juvy. Everything was clean, comfortable and done in nice colors. It felt welcoming and homey.

The conference room was occupied; it looked like a meeting of some kind. The door was open, but Jason hesitated. He understood about patient confidentiality, and also knew for a fact most grownups didn't like having kids around while they were conducted serious business. Still, he was drawn to the sight of several people in deep discussion. Slowly he moved to the doorway, and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. He knew two of the people there of course, Doctor House and Doctor Singh; the other two, a younger man and an older woman, were unfamiliar. They were probably doctors as well, though—part of Doctor House's team, just as Doctor Singh was. Sarah had explained how it worked.

"Doctor House takes on the patients who haven't been able to get a definitive diagnosis, the ones who have been to other doctors and still haven't gotten a cause for their symptoms," she'd said. "He has a team who help him discover and interpret symptoms and get answers. He's one of the first doctors to focus solely on diagnosis, and he's known world-wide for his work."

Chronic, Jason thought once more, and focused on the discussion.

"—had two anxiety attacks since she got here," Doctor Singh said. "She's also having more trouble walking."

Doctor House sat at the end of the table, his chair pushed back so he could prop his crossed feet on the tabletop. "Is she still seeing people who aren't there?"

"Hallucinations have subsided," Doctor Singh said. "But she's shown rapid mood changes in the last twenty-four hours along with the attacks."

"Her rash has faded," the young guy said. He had a strange accent—Australian maybe, Jason couldn't quite tell. "Definitely photosensitive."

"Tests indicate she's excreting a higher amount of amino acids than normal," the woman doctor said. She sounded determined, as if she was sure no one listened to her. "A biopsy would tell us—"

"Biopsy what? Her ear?" Doctor House glanced at the doorway. Jason froze. "Make up your mind," House said harshly. "In or out."

Doctor Singh followed House's line of sight. "Hey Jason," he said with a smile. "Come on in."

Jason moved into the room. He felt out of place, but he took a seat at the other end of the table and folded his hands in his lap.

"I don't think you know my colleagues," Doctor Singh said. "Jason, this is Doctor Chase and Doctor Chandler. Robert, Joy, this is Jason Bramble."

"Nice to meet you, Jason," Doctor Chase said, and offered an easy smile that reached his eyes. Doctor Chandler gave him a suspicious look.

"You understand you can't talk about what you hear in here, right? To anyone?" she said. Jason nodded. "Okay. Nice to meet you," she added as an afterthought, but she relaxed a little and gave him a slight smile that smoothed out some of the lines around her eyes and made her not quite so formidable.

"Now that we've managed the social niceties," Doctor House said with considerable sarcasm, "we were drooling over removing tissue from the patient."

Jason listened to them argue and push facts at each other. House didn't say that much; he steered the discussion mostly. Doctor Singh said little as well, but when he did speak it was to either offer information or an opinion that was concise and logical. Jason admired his confidence; he didn't falter, even in the face of Doctor House's caustic wit. He even tossed some of Doctor House's own zingers right back at him without hesitation. House respected him for it, that was plain. He listened to Doctor Singh, something he didn't seem to do as much with the other two. After a few minutes it became clear why. Chase was confident too, but when he spoke it felt like he sought approval. Chandler's attitude was the opposite. She was prickly and defensive even before someone attacked her ideas. Jason was reminded of a porcupine. She was smart, so was Doctor Chase, but how they presented their ideas got in the way. I won't make that mistake, Jason thought, and looked up to find House's piercing stare fixed on him. "Go. Do," House said, and waved a hand at his team, who got to their feet and straggled out of the room. "Is there some reason why you're here?"

"Sarah—Doctor Goldman said I could come in and look around a little," Jason said. He worked hard to keep the defensiveness out of his tone, make it a statement of fact. After a moment Doctor House nodded.

"'kay," he said. He sounded pleased. He reached behind him and switched on a turntable—Jason had seen one before, in Sarah's office—and dropped the needle on the record ready to be played. Music filled the room, with a rhythm guitar and an old, old voice sang "I cain't judge nobody . . ." When Jason left House tossed a ball into the air and caught it over and over as he stared up at the ceiling. One foot kept a lazy beat along with the song.

He knew better than to go into the area with the 'PATIENTS' sign on the door, so it was something of a surprise to find a young girl in what seemed to be a small sunroom next to the kitchen. She was in a wheelchair and there was a piano keyboard in front of her. She appeared to play, but no sound came out, a puzzle until Jason saw the white cord of the earbud draped over her bathrobe. He hesitated, but she turned her head and caught a glimpse of him. She took the earbuds out and Jason saw one hand had only four fingers. The shock of the realization went clear through him. How does she play with a finger missing? he wondered.

"Hi," the girl said. Her expression didn't change, but her eyes held a tentative friendliness. One was slightly crossed; her left eye looked inward a bit.

"Hey," Jason said. "I didn't mean to bother you."

"You're not bothering me." The words sounded strange. Jason watched her mouth and saw she couldn't move it very well. "What's your name?"

"Jason," he said. "What's yours?"

"Emily." Her lips didn't smile but her eyes did, and her voice was sweet, musical—like Sarah's, warm and kind. "Doctor House took my case. He's trying to figure out what's wrong with me."

"Are you here by yourself?" Jason perched on a chair a few feet away. He didn't want to stare at her, but it was clear Emily couldn't move the muscles of her face, and she wasn't able to turn her head either.

"No, my mom's here with me. She's sleeping on a cot they brought in for her."

Jason frowned a little. That seemed wrong somehow. "How's everything going?"

"Mom says they haven't found any answers yet, but they'll do some more tests." The smile in Emily's eyes faded. "I thought there couldn't be any more tests to do on me."

"You've had a lot done?"

"Yeah." Now she looked scared, though her expression hadn't changed. Jason looked down at his hands. The thought of her fear troubled him. He already knew what Doctor House and his team worked to find an answer. What would Sarah or Gene do to help her? The answer came so quickly he spoke before he thought.

"I could keep you company," he said, and cringed.

"What do you mean?" There was puzzlement in Emily's voice.

"After school—I could do my homework here while you practice or whatever," he said. "I'd have to ask permission, but I think it would be okay."

"Oh," Emily said. Again he had the impression of emotion, though her face didn't change. She liked what he'd said. "That-that would be nice."

"Okay," he said, and got to his feet. "I'll ask tonight and maybe—" He paused, unwilling to give false hope. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay. It was nice to meet you," Emily said, and held out her hand—the one with four fingers. Jason sensed it was a test. He didn't hesitate. He took her hand in his and clasped it gently. Her skin was warm and dry, just like his.

"Nice to meet you too," he said, and meant it.

"What did you think of Doctor House's clinic?" Sarah asked on the way home.

"It's great," he said. "I met one of the patients. She was sitting in that little room off the kitchen, playing a keyboard."

"Emily," Aunt Sarah said. She flashed him a smile. "How'd it go?"

"I'd like to go to the clinic after school and do my homework there," Jason said. "To keep her company."

Sarah stopped for a red light. "Why?" she asked quietly. Jason fidgeted.

"She's scared," he said finally. "I know her mom is there, but she's afraid of the tests. I thought maybe . . . she wouldn't be as afraid if she had someone to talk to. And . . ." He paused.

"Go ahead," Sarah said, and moved Minnie Lou forward as the light turned green. "What else?"

"I'd like to find out what's wrong with her," Jason said. "She's only got nine fingers, and she can't move her face. And her eye is messed up. But she's okay otherwise, I mean who she is. She's—she's inside all of that," he said, frustrated by his inability to express his opinion in better terms.

"That she is," Sarah said softly. "If Greg and Gibbs say it's okay, it's fine by me." She eased the truck around the big bend that meant they were only a minute or two from the house. "I'm proud of you," she said.

Jason looked out the window. "I'm just being nosy," he said. Sarah laughed.

"Maybe, but in the best of ways," she said. "You're being kind too. That's even more important. Nice work." She put up her hand. Jason rolled his eyes.

"So lame," he groaned, but he smacked her hand with his and enjoyed her laugh, sweet and full. Wonder if Emily can laugh like that, he thought, and hoped Gibbs would approve his plan too.

'I Can't Judge Nobody,' Smokey Smothers