Authors Note: Yes this was posted once before, but I am taking it out of the prompt story and making it into it's own. I wan't to make it clear from the beginning that this is a HUDDY story. Hameron is just friendship. It might not seem like this for the first 2 or 3 chapters but it'll soon make sense. I've done a lot of research on this subject, but if you find anything blatantly wrong with my science, feel free to let me know.
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I push the tone button for the fourth time. The large, padded headphones are causing my ears to sweat as they strain to pick up the frequency on the audiometer. Nope. Nothing. Even after the sixth and seventh press, my senses remain oblivious to the hertz I had so easily picked up a month before.
"Damnit." I scribble down the frequency on my private chart and adjust the equipment for the next test. Lower this time. My mid to lower range had remained strong for the past fifteen years. It was the high pitches that slowly evaded my brains ability to process.
I press the button for my usual start up hertz and frown. "Oh you cannot be serious." I rattle the machine and unplug and re-plug the headphones. The machine is an old model I'd found randomly in a storage unit on the endocrinology floor. "I cannot afford to replace you." I mumble to myself as I jiggle the wires once more. And I certainly couldn't take my 'case' to the hospital's actual audiology department.
"Perhaps if you kiss and stroke it instead of insult and hit it." A muffled voice breaks through the barrier of the headphones and nearly stops my heart. As I swivel in my chair, I jerk the equipment off my head and let it fall haphazardly to the table. "What are you doing in here?"
It had to be House. Why did it have to be House? "Look, I know I should have been back from lunch fifteen minutes ago, but-"
He steps closer and pulls another chair next to mine, taking a seat so we're now at eye level. "That's not what I asked you." He interrupts me and picks up the headphones. I knew what he'd asked me, but I also knew I didn't want to answer. Not to him anyway.
I guess he could see my reservations and let up the gaze that had been boring across at me. I watch as he places the headphones over his own ears and motions me to press the tone button. I bite my lip and do as he asks. "Machine's not broken, you know."
"Yeah, I know." I lower my gaze to my chart and drag it closer. Picking up my pen, I shakily write down the hertz.
He's staring at me. The hairs on my neck are standing on end under his intense gaze. I know he's just seconds away from asking.
"SNHL?" His voice is surprisingly soft and I turn and give him a questioning expression. He repeats himself. I nod. There's no need to pretend I accidentally misheard him, or wasn't paying attention and didn't catch what he'd said. It's House after all. He's probably jumping inside at this new piece of personal information.
So it's not a surprise when he pulls my chart towards him and begins to flip through the pages. They date back to 1994. I was 21 and my husband had just died of brain cancer. I can see him scanning the initial page, looking for an explanation to the new puzzle I was now presenting him.
His eyes stop roving and I know he's found it. The look he's suddenly giving me also tells me he's not fooled by what he's just read. "You didn't slip." It wasn't a question, yet I found myself slowly shaking my head. He shuts the chart and picks up the headphones he'd put back on the table. This time he hands them to me.
"House." My one word is loaded with pleas and hurt and insecurity. It's also expressing fear. Knowing him, it's the fear he's picked up on. He lets a tuft of air out through his nostrils and spreads the contraption, placing it securely over my ears. "Please." Fear.
He's already begun to fiddle with the dial on the audiometer. My chart is open once more, this time in front of him. My pen is also miraculously in his hand. He doesn't open his mouth to speak to me again, so I face away and slump low in my chair.
Soon he's pushing the tone button. I sit there in perfect silence, watching him frown out of the corner of my eye. Again and again he's pushing that damn button until eventually a very faint buzz is heard in my right ear. I nearly jump out of my chair at the suddenness of it and grab the headphones, pushing them tighter against my ears.
The next time he presses the button, the same tone is in my left ear. I can't help it. I feel like a kid let loose in a candy shop. I refrain from glancing down at my chart, knowing better than to spoil the moment by viewing all the ranges I had missed before arriving at the present one.
I want to adjust the machine. To press the button again. Go higher. Keep going. Only House is swatting my hands away and into my lap. "Let's finish before you throw yourself a parade." His voice was low, but since I was looking at him it didn't matter.
"Alright." I respond. The excitement that had washed over me moments before was now gone. This wasn't a game that I had just won. No, this was my hearing. Or rather, the progressive loss of it.
He pushes the button for the last time. Silence persists in the space between the headphones and my ears so I simply shake my head and watch as he writes in my chart one last time. He pulls the equipment off my head before I can even reach for it.
"Cameron." Now that the test is over, that feeling of fear and insecurity washes over me again. What was he going to do with this information now that he was privy? Yes, I had been walking around with moderate to severe hearing loss. No, Cuddy didn't know about it.
As I turn to look him in the face he bites his cheek. "You can read lips." Once more it was a statement more than a question. I nod, somewhat confused as to where he was going. "Then this stays between us."
My jaw drops an inch as I watch him roll his chair back and grip onto the counter. He must have left his cane in his office. Once he's standing, I slowly rise to my feet as well. "House-" I'm not sure what I would have said if he hadn't interrupted me again.
"Just do me a favor." He looks briefly from the chart, to the audiometer and then back at me. "The next time something tragic happens," I can see he's fighting with how he wants to finish, "please stay off of rooftops."
I nod and pull the chart from the table up against my chest protectively. "The next time you slip over the edge, you may end up breaking more than just you're head." I was right. He knew. I nod once more, still at a loss of what to say.
He saves me the trouble and turns, exiting the small procedure room without a backward glance. The fear is gone. Only now, a strong sense of puzzlement has taken hold, and I wonder just how long he'll keep my secret.
Though, knowing House, he'll keep his mouth shut as long as I remain useful to him. Thank god I had learned to read lips. Composing myself, I let out a deep breath and then exit the room after him.