Disclaimer: I do not own House or whatever implcations of other characters from the show there might be. I DO however, own lettie. She is mine, keep your grubby hands off. : )

A/N: I got the idea for this story from a Dance Magazine I was reading about a girl who was a medical doctor and a dancer, who went to a doctor for a diagnosis and was simply told "stop dancing". She dealt with it in her way, I created a character to handle it the way I thought it should be handled. Plus, I wondered if House could handle a situation where he could enable someone to do something wrong, or prevent them from starting a life like his. Please R/R.

"What's the matter?" snapped the doctor as he walked into the clinic room, leaning on his cane. He stopped for a minute and took in what he saw in front of him. There was a girl, very early twenties, in what were obviously ballet clothes. She was wearing a black leotard, thin-strapped, low-cut; and pink tights, with a tiny pair of black shorts just covering the middle. Her hair was pulled back in what probably used to be a flawless bun, and she was bent over the edge of the exam table stretching to touch her bare toes. She looked up when he came in, and as she tried to right herself, there was a noticeable look of pain on her face.

"Well," said the Doctor, checking the file he found in the room, "Lettie, you seem to be a ballerina. Thank God, my day just got better." She got a look of mischief on her face and said "Nope, sorry, hate to disappoint, I'm a stripper. This is my gimmick." When his jaw dropped open she quickly said "YES! I'm a ballerina. If your only use as a Doctor is stating the obvious, I need to go somewhere else. I'm in a hurry, I have rehearsal. What's your name anyway, since you seem to want to be friendly." The look of fun passed through her eyes one more time.

"I'm Dr. House, and I can do without the jokes. I am the only one allowed to make snide remarks, sarcastic comments, or rude gestures. You on the other hand, are only allowed to sit here, and definitely not go to rehearsal." "Why the hell not?!" Lettie said and winced as she tried to get off the table. "Your hip. A dancer with hip pain is no longer a dancer. You have to quit. Plain and simple." She looked at him and was about to say something he could tell would be explosive, but she refrained and instead opted for, "Please explain, cause I'm about two seconds from beating it out of here."

"Well, it's obvious that your hip hurts, and obvious that the thing you do most is dance. If you want the pain to go away, you have to stop doing what is causing it. Stop dancing, no more pain, ever. See? Two plus two is four, or is that, two plus two is five, six, seven, eight?" Dr. House laughed at his joke and expected the ballerina to at least smile at his knowledge of dance. Dating a cheerleader once hadn't been all sex under the bleachers. But all that Lettie did was continue to work her way off of the table, and go limpingly to the door.

"You're not going anywhere Lettie. You probably need surgery, which at your age is gonna totally suck. But it's the truth, now get back here." But she just turned around and looked at him and said, "No, because you're not a Doctor any more." He said "Boy, do ballerinas not go to school? What gives you that impression?" and she replied "Well, it's obvious that your leg hurts, and obvious that the thing you do most is practice medicine. If you want the pain to go away, you have to stop doing what is causing it. Stop practicing medicine, no more pain, ever. See? Two plus two is four, or is that, two plus two equals jackass doctor opens himself up to be proved wrong?" She stood at the door, favoring her good hip and glaring at him. Something about being chastised by a lithe, young female had an effect on House. "What do you want from me?" he asked before she could turn away.

"Give me a diagnosis. Stop dancing is not a diagnosis. Tell me what is wrong, or if what is wrong really is all that bad as surgery, just give me something to make the pain go away, until my shelf-life as a dancer wears off." She stayed by the door, not willing to come back until he had given her a satisfactory answer. "What is the sell by date on a ballerina these days? Do you still come fresh, or have they figured out how to vacuum pack you yet?" House beckoned her over to the table but she shook her head. "I have about fifteen good years left, give or take a few." House looked at her and said, "Again, what do you want from me?" He could tell that she had more than just a prescription on her mind.

"Well, you seem to be in a lot of pain, but judging from the way you rattled when you walked in here, you must carry some pills to manage it. I want to be able to function at least as well as you. You don't plan on stopping medicine, I don't plan on stopping dance." House looked at her and realized she knew that he was not just popping a Tylenol now and then. He asked her one more question. "What would you have done if a non-limping Doctor had come in here? I mean there's so many more of those, your odds were not good." "I would have tried to figure out his addiction. I didn't know that I would get someone so easy. Give me whatever you take. Then tell me how to get it for as long as I need it with no one noticing."

"I am not going to turn you into an addict." House had a flash of conscience. He could see this girl struggling in the middle of the night like he did, with sleepy hands and a child-proof cap in the dark. "Who says I am not already? You've got a choice, I can either be addicted to the pain, or be addicted to the pills. Some dancers are addicted to throwing up to maintain their weight, some to amphetamines to keep their energy up perpetually. I am addicted to dancing, and I will handle an addiction to whatever else helps me keep up the first habit. So what will it be Dr. House, let the hot little number limp out of here hating your guts? Or will you let the dancer walk out of here with a little dignity, and a little bottle of pills. Has it really ruined your life? I think not, or else you wouldn't be here with me now."

House looked at her long and hard one more time. He could only hope that whatever she had was just a muscle strain and before the script got filled it would stop hurting and she would never take the pills. But he didn't much care, she admitted she wanted to be an addict. House was not an addict, he knew he was in constant pain and really, really, needed those pills. He wouldn't let her liken him to herself. But he would give her the pills, and hope she never came back.

"Ok, this will be for Vicodin. I am writing this for way more than you need at once. So cut the pills in quarters, they will last four times as long as they're supposed to and people will think that you are not using it constantly. That way when you come in for the refill they won't look twice at it. And do not ever come to see me about it again. I don't want to know. Get out of here." He tore the paper off of his pad, and handed it to her. Lettie turned around to face the door and as she opened it she said "Thank you Dr. House. And who knows, when I can't be a ballerina any more, I might just come look you up with my new job as a stripper." She gave him a blank faced look, with eyes that held more than just a little promise.

House sat back against the exam table and stared after her. He wasn't sure what he had just done, he was not sure he cared. He did however, kinda want to know what happened to the asshole he left in the other exam room with the thermometer in his butt. House walked away to go find out.