Gregory and the 500 Paper Cranes

It was a normal day in the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Cuddy was in her office doing paperwork. Wilson was in his office, on his computer, not doing paperwork. In fact, he was emailing House, who was in his office, avoiding clinic duty.

House,

Where are you? Are you skipping clinic again? Cuddy's gonna kill you…

But she's not going to find out.

Why not?

Because you just sent me an email, which means that you're in your office, which means that you're supposed to be doing paperwork, and if you tell Cuddy on me, she just might find out about your addiction to Webkinz…

You wouldn't!

I wouldn't?

,': (

So we have a deal?

Fine. Got 2 Go. Cuddy just walked in…

House shook his head as he minimized the conversation. A small ding distracted him, and he brought up his inbox. There was a single new message from someone he'd never heard of. There was no subject line.

He should probably have just deleted it. It could have been a virus.

And of course, he clicked open.

Welcome Gregory,

You have just been dared by storyranger! You have three days to complete this dare. If you do not complete this dare within the specified amount of time, or simply do not do it, you will be lectured by Cuddy until you submit and admit that she is in control. You must fold 500 origami cranes in 3 days and use them decorate the hospital without anyone seeing you actually doing it. You can use the old med records in the recycling bins, random scraps from the printers, the secret stash of Christmas paper hidden under Wilson's desk… use your imagination…

Good luck,

storyranger

WTH? Decorate the hospital? With origami cranes? Why cranes? Why not something easy, something he knew how to make, like…fish? Why was he even considering doing this? This was stupid. Probably just some hoax…

But this person had access to his personal email. House could count the number of people who had that address on one hand, and it didn't include any storyrangers. No, this person had some power. This person meant what they said.

That didn't help the fact that House now had to fold 500 cranes in 3 days…

Better get started.

"Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!" cried House, throwing up his hands in frustration. He had been at it for the last ½ hour, and now had something resembling an old used napkin. He popped a couple of Vicodin and scrolled back up the screen.

Step 1…

"FINALLY!" House yelled before he realised he was speaking out loud. 1 hour and 13 Vicodin later and he had finally managed to fold one paper crane. 13 pills per crane multiplied by 500 cranes equalled 6500 pills.

"I'm going to need a refill."

Realizing that he also needed more paper, he stood up and headed out to the pharmacy.

Several minutes later he was leaning against the nurses' station, attempting to charm a nurse into giving him twice the amount indicated on his prescription while simultaneously snatching some old reports destined for the shredder when her back was turned. She had just handed him the exact amount of pills listed on the prescription when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

It was Cuddy.

She was ticked!

"House!"

He turned around, inwardly cringing.

"WHERE THE & #+! HAVE YOU BEEN?!? You were supposed to be in the clinic three hours ago! You better get your butt down there this minute or I'M GOING TO FIRE YOU INTO NEXT WEEK!"

House didn't bother to point out that she had threatened to fire him more times that he could remember, and that she wasn't going to and never would fire him. He decided he might as well get it over with. Maybe he could get some of the patients to help him out.

"So what's the problem?"

"My back…and my shoulders… and my toe."

"What about them?"

"They hurt. Ever since I propped on Thursday the muscle's been cramped and it won't go away."

"And the toe?"

"Smashed it on my staircase. Then it got stepped on in the game the next day."

"So?"

"They were wearing cleats."

"Yeah?"

"With half-inch metal spikes."

That shut House up for a minute. Or at least it would have, but that would have ment spending more time with the girl.

"And was this before or after it turned purple?" he said, re-examining her bruised foot.

"After."

House shook his head. "Insane rugby girls and their stoic little selves," he muttered under his breath. He got up, and then whirled around. "Insane rugby girl who won't be back in three days to see the hospital," he realized.

"Do you know how to fold cranes?"

"Yeah…what does that have to do with my foot?"

"Fold." He handed her the stack of old reports.

"O-kay." She raised her eyebrows but didn't question him.

"Now. Your diagnosis. For your toe, I'd tell you stay off it. But you won't. So I'd say ice and painkillers. Lots of them" He glanced down at the rapidly shrinking pile of papers.

"For your back and shoulder, I'd say heat and ice. And unless you want to be a hunchback the rest of your life I'd recommend you see a chiropractor."

"Thanks." She stood up and handed him the left over reports. A neat row of birds was lined up on the desk.

"Of course the best thing would be for you to stop playing entirely. Maybe try something a little less strenuous. Like badminton?"

"Good afternoon, Dr House."

Several hours later House finally escaped the clinic. With both his efforts and those of the patients he had conscripted, he now had 193 cranes. He also had a shortage of materials. And Vicoden.

"Let's see how much this storyranger really knows."

He wandered, attempting to seem nonchalant, through the hall until he made it to Wilson's office. It was empty, but the door was open.

He glanced around furtively then, seeing no one, slipped in and crossed the room to the desk. He dropped to his knees and peered under.

And was faced with the largest supply of wrapping paper he'd ever seen.

"What the…" Snapping out of his shock he remembered what he was doing here and snatched as many rolls as he could carry and sped out of the room back to his office. He passed Wilson in the hallway, but didn't stop.

"Where is House going with all that wrapping paper?" he asked out loud. Foreman had just walked up behind him, and decided to take a stab at it.

"Maybe he's wrapping Christmas presents?"

Chase came up on Wilson's other side.

"But House hates Christmas!"

"Hanukah then?" tried Foreman.

"House isn't Jewish. That's Cuddy." Cameron had walked up and was standing next to Foreman. They all stood there for a minute, each speculating as to what their friend/boss/former boss was doing. A loud cough from behind them caused them to return to reality.

"Are you going to stand there all day or could I possibly get by here?"

Apologizing quickly, they moved out of the way to let a short girl with blue hair on crutches hobble past. As soon as she was past, they moved back and continued to watch as House ripped into the paper, then folded it a bit and shoved it into the pile at the side. Rip, fold, fold, shove. Rip, fold, fold, shove. He kept at it, and popped a few pills every so often.

"What do you think he's doing?" Cameron asked.

"Beats me," said Chase, "but I have a surgery in 5 minutes, so I'd better go."

"I have to go check on House's new recruits, since it's obvious he's too busy right now…"

"And I'm due in the clinic in 10. See you later Wilson." The three former members of House's team rushed off, leaving Wilson standing alone. Suddenly his pager beeped. It was Cuddy.

Where's the report I asked you for? It was due on my desk 30 minutes ago!

Sighing, Wilson turned around and headed back to his office.

That night House tried to sleep, but found himself unable. Vaguely wondering whether this was a result of the cranes or the Vicoden, he dragged himself back to his kitchen, where 247 cranes lay out on the table."Might as well keep at it."
Day Two dawned and found House asleep at the table, surrounded by a deluge of paper and cranes. The ringing of his cell phone startled him awake.

"Where are you?" Wilson hissed.

"Huh?"

"Where are you? Cuddy's on a rampage and Foreman's ticked because your 'team' can't stop arguing about the new patient and they won't listen to him without permission from you or a direct order from God-"

House broke in suddenly with, "WHAT? A new patient? Why didn't anyone phone me?"

"I had thought that that was what I was doing-" began Wilson, but a click and a beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep told him House had already hung up.

Gulping down some coffee and a slice of toast, House rushed out the door, eager to watch Foreman try to control the bickering contestants.

It was…average. Entertainment –wise, that is. The team fought while Foreman tried to direct their thinking to the one disease into which all the symptoms actually fit. Of course, none of them listened until House came and said Foreman was right. Then they were all "oh, yeah, that's definitely it, why didn't I think of that?" To which House just shook his head and looked over at Foreman, who was fuming.

"Cancer, huh?" Foreman muttered sarcastically, when they had gone off to treat the girl. "Now why didn't I think of that?!?"

House just nodded and headed off for his office. He still had 218 cranes left to go. He detoured at the photocopier, which just happened to be jammed. He took the crinkled-up sheets and sneaked some extras from the dispenser. Then, under the watchful eyes of some nurses who were copying charts, he pretend to put them in the recycling bin, the contents of which he also snatched when their backs were turned. Clutching them to his chest with one hand and his cane with the other, he limped back to his office as quickly as he could.

It wasn't fast enough.

"HOUSE!"

He turned around to face Cuddy.

"Where were you this morning?"

"I slept in."

"You could have just said you weren't going to tell!"

"No, really, I slept in. Besides, the kid only has skin cancer…"

"Only has skin cancer! You know House, you really are a heartless old jerk!"

"I resent that. I'm younger that you!" shot House, which wasn't entirely true.

"Fine. If being a complete a-" the squeaking of gurney wheels drowned out Cuddy's next words,"-works for you, that's great. Just try not to inflict it on your patients."

"Huh?"

"Your patient. Who you're going to go talk to. Right now."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because she asked for you. By name. Well, she actually asked if she could talk to the guy who's name was on all her treatment papers instead of the random doctors who were treating her…"

"Fine. I'll talk to her."

"So, Molly. Can I call you Molly?" Molly nodded. "Doctor Cuddy told me you wanted to talk to me." She nodded again. "So..."

"So, there's one doctor's name on every form my parents have signed. Gregory House, M.D. So I thought I'd like to her what your going the do to me in your own words.

"Wait a minute. You're parents let you read the forms?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Maybe it has to do with the fact that I'm the one you're treating." Her voice was level, but there was a distinct edge to it."

"We're doctors. We know what we're doing."

"Do you?"

"Of course."

"Right. So, what's wrong with me?"

This kid was starting to bug House, so he launched into a long-winded technical description with the hopes of shutting her. Molly sat and listened to every detail without a word. When House finally finished. Molly was silent for a minute. House was in the process of mentally congratulating himself when she spoke up.

"Can I ask something?"

"Sure."

For the next two minutes House stood there, stunned, as she spewed off a list of technical but concise questions, the final three of which being, "Does the likelihood of fatality outweigh the chances of survival? What is the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything? How many cranes did Sadako have to fold to get her wish?"

Thought he didn't remember the last 39 questions, he was happy he could at least answer two former. "No. 42."

"Thank the Lord! All is not lost. But my last question?"

"I have no idea who you're talking about."

"Ask that oncologist, Wilson. I think that's his name. He should know."

"And you know this because?"

"All stories were arranged for a reason."

It was day three. House had folded his last crane. And he had even managed to read that book Molly told him about. Now he just had to figure out how to get them up.

Very soon he realised that he wasn't going to be able to strategically place them around the hospital. It was going to have to be all, or nothing.

But where to put them? The answer came to at lunch, when he was passing the patients' lounge on the way to the cafeteria. A huge Christmas tree stood in the middle. This also meant that there were a lot more people in it then usual. That wasn't going to be a problem, though, because House noticed the fire alarm in the corner. Hopefully he wouldn't have to use it.

That night, when everyone else was on their way out, House snuck into the lounge. It was pitch black and empty. Perfect. Humming slightly to himself, he pierced the cranes with the wire hooks and hung them on the tree. Pierce, hang. Pierce, hang.

It was past midnight by the time he was done, but House didn't mind. Some how, he was strangely grateful to this storyranger.

The next day, Molly awoke to see a note pinned to her nightstand.

Check the tree in the patients lounge.

She looked around and, seeing no one, pulled on her jeans and a t-shirt and sneaked through the halls to the lounge. There was a gigantic Christmas tree covered in paper cranes. A white envelope with the her name on it was in the centre.

Molly,

There are five hundred cranes on this tree. They're yours, if you want them. I'm sure you can find someone to help you fold the rest.

Good luck,

storyranger's apprentice

Molly could do nothing to but stare at the tree. She was still staring at it when a man with a cane limped up behind her.

"You're supposed to be in your room."

"Are you going to turn me in Dr. House?"

"No. But you better get back quick. I think I see Foreman coming."

Molly walked to the door, than turned back around.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now scoot!"

Fin