Shout-out to Visitkarte who kindly provided the inspiration here.
And thank you, as always, to maineac for betaing.


When Opportunity Comes Knocking...

They had been lucky that Princeton General had taken all the passengers from the school bus. Tire blew on the on-ramp and the bus had careened right into oncoming traffic, after crashing through the guardrails.

House imagines the ER full of screaming kids and their hysterical parents – and shudders. As it is, they have ended up dealing with the emergency personnel, some of whom had been injured during the rescue operation. Apparently the bus had landed on its roof and some idiots compounded the situation by getting themselves injured while searching the wreckage for missing kids.

House sighs.

If it weren't for those morons, he would still be sitting in his office, taking a nap. It had taken them 22 hours to figure out the time bomb that had been their last patient, and yes, he had been counting. He hasn't been home in two days, but he has to wait for a ride with Wilson. That time wasted in the ER could have been well spent sleeping.

As it is, there are less than two dozen injured rescue people to deal with but Cuddy had hauled him down to the ER anyway. For about half an hour he had managed to ignore the page, but Cuddy wasn't stupid and finally walked up personally to make sure he did what she considered to be his job.

She did still own his ass after she had perjured herself on his behalf, and she would continue to do so for a long time, that much was certain. While he hadn't exactly underestimated the seriousness of those charges, he had hoped they would go away somehow if he just stubbornly ignored them. And go away they did, but only after Cuddy had been willing to put her career on the line for him. Now she had registered him for a conference in Singapore in two weeks' time so he could work off his debt. He had tried to pull out of it claiming he couldn't handle such a long flight but she completely ignored any objections, however true they were.

So here he was now, stitching up idiots who cut themselves on the shattered glass or sprained an ankle while climbing around in the bus. Sometimes he wondered how little brainpower it really took to survive.

Thankfully they have Chase and a senior nurse doing triage. Chase knows better than to send him any time wasters. Unfortunately, the nurse is new and doesn't know him from Adam, so he has to deal with whatever she sends his way.

He takes a short bathroom break, swallows two Vicodin and then goes to grab the next chart. With any luck it will be his last for today and he can get out of here.

"Tritter, Michael D."

Holy shit. No way he would be lucky enough that there were two people with that particular name in Princeton, no way.

He looks around but everyone else appears busy; Cameron is bandaging some woman's arm, and Wilson has pulled the short straw earlier and landed with someone who complained about severe headaches after Chase had already cleared him. He can't expect any help from Wilson; he is nowhere to be seen, probably off to arrange a CT for his patient.

So he takes a deep breath and resolves to keep calm. Surprise should be on his side; surely Tritter won't expect him either.

He draws back the curtain to the cubicle.

"Detective. Long time no see. What have we got?" His cheerfulness rings false, even to his own ears. He pulls over a stool and takes a quick look at the chart, just to gain some time. Tritter looks as surprised as he is. Deer caught in headlights. "Superficial laceration to the left temple, nothing serious. Bleeds like a bitch, though, right? Definitely needs stitches."

"I want another doctor."

Tritter isn't exactly shouting but his voice will definitely carry over into the next cubicle. It's clear that he won't take any shit today, not from anyone, least of all House.

House takes a good long look at the man before him. At first glance he appears like any other patient, sitting there on the exam table, with his head bent to the side to avoid getting even more blood on his shirt. But House has learned his lesson, Tritter is not a man to be trifled with. He is vindictive and a bully. While the exterior is still impressive, House also recognizes something else underneath: The man is exhausted and in pain. Not excruciating pain but even a little pain, if it lasts long enough, will make anyone crabby and bitchy. And impatient.

So he takes a deep breath and straightens his back. He won't take the bait. Not this time. "That's your prerogative, Detective. I have to tell you, though, that we're working at capacity here and everyone is busy. There's currently nobody else available. Of course, you're free to wait for however long it'll take until someone else can see you."

Tritter says nothing for a while, just glares at him from behind the wad of tissues he is holding against his head. If this is a stand-off, it's unclear who is going to come out of this ahead.

"House… you better make sure this is done right." The threat in his voice is unmistakable.

House completely ignores him, and instead carefully pulls back the tissue to take a look at the wound. He had been right; this is a joke. Three stitches at the most. Anyone else he might even go with butterfly stitches alone. But with this patient he is better off playing it safe. Don't want to risk the wound not closing up properly and getting infected. Thinking for a second, he turns over the chart to check who made the initial notes in triage. Chase. He should have guessed.

Just then Tritter interrupts his musings. "House, if you're high, there will be consequences. You better be clean. Any funny business and I'll have your ass on a platter."

He finally looks up and returns Tritter's icy stare for a moment. Memories of that first encounter are flashing through his mind: the verbal sparring, the humiliation and his own reckless reaction – almost like a reflex. The setting had been so similar to this one. Inspiration hits a second later.

"Detective, I have no intention of doing anything other than my job here, rest assured. All patients are treated equal, you don't need to worry."

Without further ado, he starts cleaning the wound. Even though he is gentle with the swab, Tritter's eyes nearly pop when the antiseptic hits. To his credit, he doesn't utter a sound, though.

"Hm," House straightens up and puts the swabs aside. "About five to eight stitches, I'd say. We'll see as we go along.

"A little lidocaine to numb the area… you'll feel just a slight pinch."

In goes the needle, and House administers the anesthetic. Afterwards he busies himself with cleaning up the area a bit, just to let the lidocaine take some effect. Not to drag it out too long, though, he gets the suture kit ready.

"House," Tritter grinds out after House first pierces the skin, "are you sure you've used the right dose?"

He is clearly close to exploding. House doesn't bat an eye. "Of course I have, Detective, the dosage is calculated correctly. I've double-checked. All in order. And now you'll need to hold still."

He continues with his work.

Nice and slow.

Or rather, slow.

It takes another two minutes for Tritter to talk again, in between the grunts and moans he is trying to suppress. "That can't be right, House, because I can still feel everything. I need more anesthetic!"

House straightens up and looks Tritter right in the eye. "I'm very sorry, Detective, but I can't give you any more. Guidelines are guidelines, and we're under strict instructions not to give in to drug-seeking behavior. Actually, by rights I should be reporting you. I really can't be seen bending the rules again – you know that I'm still under close scrutiny for everything I do. My boss is keeping a close eye on me now. And she's such a stickler for rules."

He turns back to his work in progress. In goes the needle. Tritter grunts. "So, you see, as much as I'd like to, I can't up your dosage."

Sending a silent thank you to Chase, he continues with his masterpiece.