"Yes," he would say simply. Elegantly really. A nearly indiscernible tilting forward of his head, the left shoulder following, the right hand bearing down harder on the cane, and he would breathe out the word, the affirmation, the make-it-so demeanor. And then he would look at whomever had delivered the winning pronouncement, the blue eyes flashing respect for the tiniest, smallest moment. Respect. And Thirteen began to crave that moment.
And the craving seemed to lead to a heightened sense of him, a sense of how he untangled the electric knot of diseased physiology. That sense became scrolling, looping, sparking wires inside her own mind until she was consistently pronouncing and announcing, extrapolating and diagnosing, researching and solving. Curing. And the blue eyes flashed and the masculine dimple deepened and Thirteen's heart trill fed itself out on those same live coils and an electric current arced between them. She had never wanted to please anyone before, never had felt the need to do so. But House was different.
Her mid-day coffee was tepid in the paper cup, she swirled it, looking down into the burnt ember colouring, watching the liquid separate, the coffee and the artificial creamer, wondering why the fourth floor Canteen wouldn't just stock real cream. "Oh, my," she whispered. Taub looked up from the Zeiss microscope beside her. "Oh, oh, oh…." She turned to him, nodding.
"Yes?" He recognized the look in her eyes, it had become a regular occurrence, this breakthrough moment reflected in Thirteen's eyes, mirrored the same way it shone in House's eyes. "You thought of something?"
Ten long minutes later, Taub looked up at her, indicated the microscope, she peered in and they both stepped back from the answer. "You did it, Doctor," he said, smiling.
Her eyes widened then slit nearly closed in the gorgeous feline way that suited her beautiful face. She flushed. "I'm going to go tell him now." She turned on her heel and was gone, the laboratory door swinging silently shut behind her. Taub toggled off the microscope light, slid the wet-mounted slide out, and followed.
She rounded the corner at a controlled quick stride, and saw House at the end of the long hallway, one hand on the door handle leading out. She began to jog, she wanted to call to him, but bit her lower lip. He pushed the door open.
"Dr. House!" she called out.
He turned at the sound of her voice and she broke into a full run. A look of confusion skirted across his features, and then a sly look of happiness slid into the crooked shape of his mouth, the set of his eyes. One corner of her own perfectly sculpted lips lifted in answer as she closed the gap between them, still running.
House saw the portable ultrasound scanner being pushed out of the open door and Thirteen did not.
Time slowed then sped up uncontrollably. She put a hand out, trying to stop the inevitable impact, slipped and fell forward, her forehead connecting with a metal edge, thunking soundly in the strangely silent vacuum of the corridor. The momentum tumbled her forward, falling through air, arms stretched out wide as though she were diving, her cheekbone hit the linoleum, and then her body instinctively curled fetally around itself and her hands came up to cover her face.
House's lungs drained all the air in his body in a single huff out both his nostrils. He moved quickly towards the female doctor as she pulled herself to her knees, one hand still clamped over her eyes, pressed against her forehead, and she leaned back on her haunches, head hanging low, hair undone and in her face.
"Thirteen?" he asked gruffly, kneeling beside her, the pain in his leg ricocheting out of his throat, edging around her name. She looked up at him, blood oozing between her fingers, rivuleting into the corner of her eye, tracking the perfect line of her nose and following the bow of her upper lip. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and then opened them. He reached deeply into his back pocket and pulled out the squared handkerchief he always kept there.
"What happened?" she asked, her brows furrowing and she lifted her hand away. A long flap of skin opened then closed above her eye.
House, squinting, palmed the handkerchief and quickly slapped his hand down on her forehead. "Running in the hallways, Thirteen. We may have to send you to Cuddy's office." He kept the pressure firm with one hand, then leaning heavily on his good knee, he brought his other hand up to cradle the back of her head and tilted her face towards his own, looking down into her eyes. He felt her relax her neck and lean into his hand, her eyes fluttered nearly shut and he marveled at the fact that she wore no make-up, her skin a tawny translucence over the exquisite bone structure. He also marveled at the affect holding her skull in his long-fingered hand was having on his heart, his lungs, and definitely his hardening interest. He filed the affect away for contemplating later. "Wake up, sleeping beauty, let me look at your pupils."
A small crowd was gathering around them, and House gestured irritably for his cane. Someone picked it up and another hand scooped his elbow.
"Here, doctor, put your hand there and don't move it." He placed Thirteen's hand beneath his own on the blood-soaked linen and leaning on his cane and keeping his other hand at the back of her head, he urged her to follow him up to her feet. They stood, wobbly, and he shuffled them backwards towards a gurney. "Lie down."
"House," she said, too loudly, dismissively.
He smiled hearing the tremor in her voice. "I said not to move your hand. Lie down. Now," he barked and she lowered herself awkwardly under his arm to the gurney, sitting, and then lying. House moved his hand out from beneath her head, fingers tangling unloose in her hair, and he moved her hand away from her face and lifted one corner of the make-shift dressing. He frowned. "You'll be showing that off on the playground tomorrow." His long fingers, drummed softly around the wound, then moved down to her cheekbone, she winced. "This might need a photograph."
Taub pushed through the crowd and came to stand beside them. "What happened?"
House raised his voice. "She didn't see the 'Idiot Crossing' sign." He turned to the orderly behind him. "You might consider attending this afternoon's workshop 'Pushing or Pulling Heavy Machinery through Doorways Into Crowded Corridors'."
The orderly hung his head, his cheeks red. "I'm sorry, Dr. House. I was pulling it, the wheel stuck and I went around behind to see if I could push it loose."
"I'll make sure to note that on your severance papers." The orderly looked stricken. "Get that out of here and don't push it again."
"You're being a bit hard on him," Kutner said, dismissing the crowd with two waves of his hand and coming to stand at the head of the gurney.
House ignored him and bent over Thirteen. "Let me see those pupils again. That's good. Fine. I'm slightly concerned about that zygomatic arch and you need sewing."
"Stiches?" she asked, her hand moving up to her face. House batted it away.
"Well," he paused, looking down at her, "I'm not a doctor...but...I do play one on TV." He motioned to Taub who bent over Thirteen's face as House lifted the handkerchief once more. Taub looked up at him and nodded.
"Let's get her prepped," House said, lowering the handkerchief again.
"Is that a handkerchief?" Kutner asked loudly. "Is that your handkerchief , House?"
"It's clean," House intoned, frowning. "But it is Madeira linen. Pricey."
"Can I see the wound? Please?" Thirteen asked, moving to sit up.
"Nope. It's messy. Blood and all that. You know how they say, never let them see you sweat. Well, in the hospital biz, Thirteen, we say, never let them see you bleed." He shook his head mournfully. "You're bleeding. Considerably."
"I want to see it."
"Lie down. Now here's your choice. And note that I said, choice, singular. Taub's going to spend some time doing what it is he does. Or rather used to does. Do."
"Let me just go downstairs and have it closed."
"Downstairs? Ah, I see. You want manly stitches, maybe ten or so and a big fishhook shaped scar on your face. You're channeling your inner butch? No, you're going to lie here and Taub is going to put thirty or forty of his finest work in there, using, I don't know, what do you use, Taub, imported monofilament silk?"
Taub shrugged, "Let me go find an empty room and collect what I'll need."
"House," Thirteen said firmly. "I don't need a plastic surgeon. They can close it downstairs, or Kutner can close it here."
Kutner looked at the ceiling, then at his feet. He caught House's gaze and left.
"It's your face, Thirteen. Your face. You need Taub. You need precision and artistry. You need maginification, silicone dressing. You're not going downstairs and Kutner is not closing this."
"I don't care about that, House. My face, so what? I don't have time."
"Not on my watch, doll. I care about your face. I care." He looked down at her, she was looking up at him, he looked away quickly.
Her eyes dimmed then she looked up at him fiercely, between his thumb and finger on her brow bone. "Oh!"
He looked down again, lifting his own brow in response.
"The patient, Renal Tumour? I found…"
House reached down and put his finger over her lips. "It's okay, Thirteen, you can tell me in a moment. Let's move you into a room. Here comes Taub." He motioned over a nurse and indicated she follow him with the gurney. He hobbled beside, one hand still on Thirteen's face. "So much exuberance. You're like a puppy trapped inside the body of an exotic Siamese cat."
Thirteen flushed, then burned bright red. She closed her eyes. House moved the ball of his thumb over the bridge of her nose, caressing gently. The nurse stopped the gurney and set the wheel locks. She stepped back, Taub steered a stool over, then a metal cart and began setting out instruments. He motioned to the nurse to follow him, and they both disappeared into the hallway.
House and Thirteen were alone. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Injured.
He smiled crookedly. "I love puppies," he said quietly, nodding. "And Siamese cats are one of nature's most beautiful creatures. Gorgeous things." He lifted the corner of the handkerchief, nodding again. "It's stopped bleeding." He surreptiously pocketed the bloody linen, and returned his fingers to her face, palpating her cheekbone. "I think that's alright, too." Slowly, the pads of his fingers moved down to the corner of her mouth and lingered there.
He bent over her, the broad shoulders, the long neck, the handsome face and the bluest eyes moving towards her.
The corners of her mouth quirked then softened, but her eyes shone. "House," she whispered.
"Thirteen," he answered and their gazes locked, an electromagnetic field generating between their faces, in the space between their flesh. He nodded at this, recognizing it, and then he pulled back, took his hand from her face and buried it deep in his front pocket, leaning heavily on the cane. "Tell me about Renal Tumuor."