"And Sometimes It's Not Chickening Out"
by TehFuzzyPenguin
Disclaimer: Well it's almost canon. Except that it's not. I don't own any of this.
This was how it was supposed to be told, five reasons for and one time she almost didn't:
--
The reason Thirteen became a doctor (part of it) was because she had a raging god complex. There was nothing better for someone who could start the enlightening path to an accelerated death at any moment (the complex, not the career). Doctors had god complexes. And they had at least seven years of education before actually becoming doctors, and Thirteen had sort of gotten tired of waiting for something to either happen or not, after four years of postgrad work. Seven years of stability hadn't seemed so bad, and medicine was something she was good at, she found.
It was hard. Liking something she was good at meant sharing it with other people, and at that rate, when (if) the spiral started, so many people would be disappointed. She hated disappointment. But she'd been barely out of med school at the time and feeling a little too fucking old for that.
--
The reason Thirteen became a doctor (part of it) was because the doctor who had treated her mother looked wan under fluorescent lights, and he had shadows under his eyes and he'd offered her coffee when she was thirteen. It wasn't a hospital, not at first, just a clinic, and still he'd looked worn. Her mother had collapsed after they drew blood for tests (drink more water, they'd instructed her, eat more, but their family wasn't known for their regular appreciation of food). Thirteen had spent stretched out minutes giving her mother Coke through a straw and waiting for everything to be okay, and then waited some more in the doctor's personal office. It was a glass office with two analog clocks on opposite walls and his name printed in black outlined letters on the door. There was a well-used couch and a computer that logged many hours of Solitaire.
Thirteen had felt a lot like the doctor, all sinew and caffeine, and she'd thought that one day, she'd like to sleep on a leather couch in the middle of a glass office.
--
The reason Thirteen became a doctor (part of it) was because Marissa had said, "Then we don't fit, do we?" and her world had sort of crumbled and she had said, "No, no. I don't fit. You fit fine." And because Thirteen didn't fit, she'd removed herself from her own apartment and moved back in with Dale (her previous ex, the one she hadn't almost killed) and his suitemates. She'd liked living in the suite. Sometimes they did things together and sometimes they did things apart, and a lot of times they ganged up together on the complex on the other side of campus in a fake rivalry that stretched back to the invention of the water balloon and fire extinguisher. She pressed lips to her own that were cold and hot and sometimes almost right; everyone wanted to experiment in college. Back at the suite, though, everything was predictable and everything was expected, and she was the one who was unpredictable, and the guys liked to take bets and it made her laugh.
As far as Marissa went, Thirteen didn't know, and besides, they'd probably been together for too long. Things like people—it never lasted once they'd been fixed. It was always the person after Thirteen who reaped the benefits, and she supposed it was all right that way, with better genes and everything.
--
The reason Thirteen became a doctor (part of it) was because she had a terrible fear of failure, and there was no bigger way to fail than by letting someone die. Her heart beat in her stomach and her lungs wanted to explode out of her ribcage, but it was all part of it. If she made a mistake, someone fucking died, and her head spun and her hands shook alarmingly (and she'd sit down and breathe for a few seconds and think, Well there's House and there's procedure, and it didn't help much except that it made failing a little more bearable).
When she was younger, she had a fear of heights. She taught herself to dance on top of buildings walk around the edges until the ground stopped moving beneath her eyes and her hands didn't feel like they would fall off.
--
The reason Thirteen became a doctor (and signed the application and lived on campus with two undergrads and took patient vitals while under the influence of Benadryl) was because some days, she woke up and her body didn't fit right. Her walk would feel heavy and out of rhythm and her coffee would go down so scalding her throat refused to swallow for a second and she would emphasize her words wrong and, at one point, she wouldn't get the punny jokes that other temps were telling. But the sky never sent symbols of rain, and fortune-telling wads of gum never rooted her shoe to the ground, and no inspiring brochures appeared in her mailbox, so she'd go home and take a shower and just sleep.
Some days, she still woke up like that. House would say, "Everybody lies," like it's a truism (which it is) and Thirteen would giggle inappropriately to herself because there were elevated body temperatures and nonsensical babbling to be taken into account here, and people still believe in honesty? She would think about algorithms and heuristics and long, long lists in medical journals, and there was no such thing allowed as an off day.
--
One time, she'd dated a nurse who frequented this bar she tended when money didn't quite stretch. She'd said she was a nurse, but Thirteen thought that maybe she was just a very bad liar. There were early mornings and late rent and unpredictable shifts and flirting men. They'd planned on running away to get married in Massachusetts and setting up a bread and breakfast, or something equally ridiculous and stupid and unlike Thirteen. But the nurse (or whatever the hell she was) had thin thin fingers and chewed gum constantly and meticulously arranged her food so that the corn didn't touch the fish, and eventually Thirteen put it all together and thought, I can't deal with this.
She'd gotten drunk and a little high and made out with a boy in a club and then moved out because she had boards the next month that she had to prepare for, since she was still going to take them now.
--
This was how it was really told, out of theory and in talking about other people:
Kutner was a doctor because he wanted to help people (and the pay's not bad, he'd add with an embarrassed grin, like it was funny and original).
Taub was a doctor because when he was a child, something something something, his parents, something, education.
House was a doctor because there was really nothing else he could possibly be.
And when Thirteen got to Foreman, he said, "Don't tell me."
"Oh, come on," she said, "You can do it to me, too. I know everyone wants to know. Box me in."
"Too much to box," he replied.
"How would you know?"
"Because you asked that question." His voice was drowsy. They had to get up in five hours, but then, self-destruction was never a warning.
"I—well." It wasn't going to be that easy. She closed her eyes and exhaled and didn't say any more.
She wondered what they'd talk about in the morning.
-end-
A/N: My first foray into any fandom is usually crack. Almost always. It's a compulsion. So, this is my first House fic. (Naturally, it's a Thirteen fic. Because she's so underrepresented.) I hope you liked it.
In fact, you can show this potential liking by reviewing! Yay reviews!