Hey :) Not sure if anyone remembers me in this fandom (and I kind of hope you don't). If you do remember me, I hope that the quality of what you'll read here is greatly improved over my original House series. Oneshot. Hope you enjoy :)
Nurse Brenda found herself purposefully dodging the hallway that was home to the pacings of Dr. Gregory House.
She did it quite often, to be honest; his eccentric team of diagnosticians was a point of obstinacy for her, all three willing (and, oftentimes, eager) to lie and scheme their way around the hospital to grab testing rooms, ORs, and specialists ahead of those who'd been waiting for weeks- and House was another monster entirely. She was content to sacrifice the what's-House-doing-now portion of her rumor mill if it meant she could avoid contact with the four people she was just shocked had not been fired yet.
But today, she took one look down the hallway and turned for the roundabout stairs for a different reason.
Brenda pondered that reason for the whole extra five minutes it took her to get to Dr. Cuddy's office, and she never decided if it was worth it or not. Avoidance of the inevitable wasn't something particularly attractive- but she really didn't want to stray near House's team now. She didn't want to see what that would look like.
When she reached Cuddy's office and knocked, it was with a sense of dread. There was a shared look, a one-sided smile that faded when Brenda did not return it, and then, she was waved inside by the dean of medicine. "Something wrong?" Dr. Cuddy asked absentmindedly, her eyes down on the paperwork on her desk, her attention clearly focused on the forms rather than what Brenda had come to tell her. Multitasking, not a lack of caring or concern, Brenda knew, and she paused for a moment. Given the doctor's current level of distraction, if she just retreated, or made something up, Cuddy would be none the wiser, and she wouldn't have to be the one to tell her-
Then, she shook her head.
This was one rumor that they didn't need running wild throughout the hospital. This was one story that needed to be told now.
Spare the sugarcoating, spare the lies, Brenda told herself with a breath; just because she wasn't a doctor didn't mean she didn't have just as much experience breaking bad news. Just be blunt, be honest, and before all else...
Well, she didn't know the third point, yet. Brenda was still looking for the right way to tell someone their loved one wasn't coming home.
"Dr. Cuddy, earlier today, I was helping to transfer a patient from an ambulance inside when I happened to overhear the paramedics' next stop. It was for a GSW- I recognized the address because of how many times I've sent damage bills to it."
That gave Cuddy pause. The doctor frowned, glancing up at her briefly, her pen slowing as it wrote her signature. "Damage bills?"
She nodded. "For the hospital. The guy who blew up an OR... set a patient on fire..." Somehow managed to keep his job...
Then Brenda bit her lip at the bitter thought and shook her head. The man was dead. Certain lines such as petty animosity, maybe even jealously, were not to be crossed.
Cuddy wasted no time on bitter thoughts; the confusion cleared to be replaced by concern, and she half stood, her attention now entirely focused on her. "Dr. Kutner? A GSW?! Are you sure?" Without waiting for a response, the doctor dropped her flies and her pen and stepped around her desk, an air of urgency about her now. "When was this? I have to get down to ER! Does House know?"
Yet Brenda couldn't bring herself to follow after Cuddy. To sustain the delusion would only be postponing the inevitable. She stayed silent, just watching as the doctor moved quickly to the door, features focused and worried, and when Brenda didn't follow, Cuddy turned back with more than a touch of irritation. "What's wrong?"
Brenda swallowed. "...They returned ten minutes later. Not with Dr. Kutner. I asked one of the paramedics, and they said the victim was DOA. ...He shot himself in the head."
Cuddy's expression went blank.
Wilson glanced up with only mild interest when he heard House's attempted phone call descend into a voicemail message that would leave HR reeling. "Yo, my homie, I sent you out to track down rice boy, not play hooky. You stealing cars again? Except bringing your new friend along for the ride? Tsk, tsk."
Stabbing his salad with a fork, Wilson looked back down at his lunch and said, "You know, if you're going for a faster call back, perhaps racial slurs aren't the way to go?"
"Oh, he's used to it. Besides, it's not a race thing; I'm just bringing up his past." House shrugged. The red ball in his fingers rolled lightly from hand to desk, bouncing lightly up and down, even as Wilson just sighed.
"And there's no statute of limitations the applies in your book?"
House grinned childishly, even as he started to dial another number. "How well do you know me?" he countered.
Wilson sighed again. He gave House another disapproving look before returning to his lunch, batting away the other doctor's hand when he reached forward with his own fork. "I skipped breakfast this morning," he said without looking up, then frowned when House's thieving hands continued to hover in view. "There is a vending machine down the hall. Here!" He pulled a wrinkled dollar bill out of his pocket and presented to House's affronted look, but, of course, even the offer of free food wasn't enough to appease him, not when it wasn't free and convenient.
"Making the cripple walk? And I thought you had a heart!" House whacked lightly at his leg under the table with his cane, and, not even bothering to stifle the groan or control the wince, Wilson just turned away from the desk to protect his legs and continued eating.
"Come on, Wil- Thirteen! Where the hell are you two? I don't pay you to skip with Foreman, you know. And where's Kutner?"
And he gets in contact with duckling number two, Wilson thought, then frowned to himself. He shouldn't start thinking of House's team of fully capable doctors as ducklings- no need to encourage him in abusing his staff.
Wilson's first clue that something was wrong was the lack of a response from House. There was no snark, no insult, no fast, sarcastic quip- no anything. It was dead silent.
Taking another bite, Wilson looked up at House. His chewing slowed when he saw that House's expression had frozen- the annoyed, irritated look had slipped away; now, it was just serious- and completely and utterly frozen.
The seriousness slipped away, first slowly, but then, so fast Wilson could hardly believe his eyes. House's mouth opened slightly, blue eyes vacant, and Wilson found his stomach beginning to tie itself in tense, nauseating knots.
Not much could shock House. And whatever could was nothing good.
Wilson strained his ears, trying to hear something of whoever he was on the phone with, but there was nothing except House's reaction to go off of. He watched with growing concern as, without the doctor even seeming to notice, the red ball slipped from slack fingers to bounce harmlessly against the floor, and the phone came this close to following suit.
"...House?"
And then it was over. As if his voice had shattered the facade, House's steely facade slammed back into place, and his expression was the blank look he got whenever he was enveloped in a soap opera, or entranced by a particularly puzzling case. He heard the other person on the phone, a short, high-pitched cry turned fuzzy through static just moments before House dropped the phone back onto the cradle- features still empty. His eyes, still unseeing.
"House?" he pressed, genuinely worried now. "What happened? What's wrong?"
House breathed deeply through his nose, a long, loud exhale that sounded more like a sign of resignation or exhaustion than just a sigh. He didn't seem to even realize Wilson was still sitting there- or even be aware of anything other than the thoughts bouncing around inside his head. Wilson stayed where he was, unsure if House had just caught a break in the case and just was ignoring him now- it was the only plausible explanation; what other kind of news could Thirteen give him that would put him in this state?
If that was the case, House didn't need him, he needed to think. Wilson dropped his fork in his salad and made to silently stand, deciding he would try House later-
And then, the diagnostician spoke.
"Kutner's dead."
Wilson blinked. He stared for a moment longer in blanket confusion, then slowly shook his head- already trying to puzzle out what the response meant, because with House, no answer was ever a straight answer. "What did he do this time?" he ventured after a moment, deciding the daring doctor had managed to do something even worse than blow up an OR, and House just meant Kutner was definitely fired this time. Wilson sat back down and started to dig into his salad again.
"He shot a bullet through his brain."
Chase and Cameron tripped over the grapevine that led to despair next, on their way back from what would probably be their only chance to eat lunch together that week. Chase glanced up at the couple in front of them that was on their way back to the hospital, too, and shook his head, unable to stop the stab of speculation that House had happily drilled into them all. "They were leaving when I got here this morning," he said to Cameron, nodding at Foreman and Thirteen. "It's been, what, six hours since then? B and E doesn't take that long." He left the sentence hovering in the air- knowing Cameron didn't appreciate gossip, but, at the same time, not able to work up the will to care. Foreman hadn't spared him any one of his judgmental looks even when he and Cameron hadn't been sleeping together; it would serve him right to be the one talked about for once.
But, Cameron, of course, looked for only the good, and wasted no time finding it. "Do you think something's wrong?" she asked quietly, then looked back at the couple in front of them and tightened her fingers around Chase's. "Look at them! Something is wrong!"
Frowning, Chase acquiesced- even as he wondered at Cameron's need to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.
His suspicion lasted for about a second when the powers of observation, another gift from House, kicked in.
They were both walking so slowly it was a cause for concern. That wasn't don't-want-to-go-back-to-work slow, that was more like the two felt ill, or were exhausted, or weren't even truly present in the moment. Thirteen's hand occasionally bumped against Foreman as they walked, but neither one ever acknowledged it, and if Chase knew anything about them, it was that Foreman would pretend not to care and Thirteen would very quickly sass him about pretending not to care when she knew otherwise. When they took another step, Thirteen almost tripped, and Foreman had no response whatsoever.
Chase frowned again. Normally, the dragging footsteps that had almost resulted in a faceplant would've gotten at least something out of Foreman; he would've caught her, made sure she was steady, then look suspicious when Thirteen said she was fine and had just tripped- but he hadn't even tried to stop her from hurting herself. Foreman was so out of it he was ignoring even the most basic of instincts as a doctor.
Then, the powers of observation carried everything a bit further for him to realize that neither one was wearing the same clothes they had been that morning. And that would've just affirmed his assumption that the two had been doing something a lot more fun than breaking into a house for their boss- except they (rather obviously) weren't wearing anything from their wardrobes, either. They were both wearing navy blue, ill fitting sweatshirts with Princeton PD emblazoned on the back and matching sweatpants.
They're wearing clothes from a police station...?
Cameron, he had to concede, was probably right, this time. They at least deserved the benefit of the doubt.
Before he could stop her, Cameron had pulled her hand out of his and started off at a jog, hurrying to catch up with the other doctors. "Foreman! Dr. Hadley!" she called, and Chase swore under his breath.
Damn it, Cameron, leave them alone... don't get involved...
Thirteen didn't even react at her proper name. Foreman turned to look over his shoulder, though, and Chase found himself struck by his expression.
Haggard. Empty. Lost. Eyes, bloodshot, features, torn with despair. When his eyes locked with Cameron's he came to a stop, but Thirteen only followed suit when Foreman touched her wrist with purpose. The younger doctor jolted, as if being brought out of her haze, and turned as well to reveal almost the mirror image of Foreman. Distraught and lost.
She stayed still for a moment, just looking at them both, then glanced back to Foreman. "I'll... just go inside," she whispered hoarsely. "Find Taub."
Foreman nodded slightly, and, as if numb, Thirteen did just as he said. Left them alone and started back on her slow, uncertain pace towards the hospital- leaving House's three original fellows standing uncomfortably together in the parking lot.
The silence only lasted for a moment.
Then, bluntly, Foreman spoke.
"Kutner killed himself."
Thirteen's first stop was House's office.
She stood in the doorway, feeling shaky and numb, her mind, almost blank. House was just sitting there in his chair, staring without blinking into the diagnostician lounge. The red ball, so at home in House's hand or bouncing up and down in the air, lay eerily still on the floor.
Without permission, because Thirteen certainly didn't want to see it, her eyes followed his gaze.
The room was empty. No Foreman, of course, because he was still in the parking lot. No herself, because she was right here. No House, he was in his own office.
...
Her mind broke somewhere on that next step. Kutner wasn't there. Kutner wasn't there because Kutner was dead. Kutner was dead because he killed himself.
She got that. What she didn't get was why he wasn't there.
Idiot, he's dead. You know what that means. He's not here because he's dead. You'll never see him again.
Her brain still stopped on that thought.
It stopped on the fact that there were four copies of the file on the table, four chairs, hell, even four coffee mugs scattered about at random places throughout the office. It just stopped. She knew which seat was, by undisputed claiming, Kutner's. She knew which every single thing in the room that belonged to Kutner. And her brain just kept coming to a stuttering halt every time it tried to make the connection between Kutner and something in that room.
Because the things in that room were in the present.
And Kutner, she supposed, was in the past.
Her legs felt numb, and her stomach like a swirling recipe for vomit.
A slow beat of panic rose, making her feel worse and worse, making each breath shorter and shorter, and when she realized she was almost dizzy from lack of oxygen, Thirteen reached for House's door like her life depended on it. Maybe it did.
If I'm being looked at, under scrutiny, under judgement, I won't break. As long as there are expectations, I'll meet them.
And I don't want to break.
House- he just stared at her.
She felt herself freeze under his piercing, blue stare, what little breath she had leaving her lungs and rendering her paralyzed. And in those short moments, when her eyes met his, she felt as if House could see everything she had.
Kutner lying on the floor.
Kutner lying in a pool of blood.
Kutner lying with a red hole in his skull.
Kutner dead-
"Where's Taub?"
She gasped the question, gasping to break the hold of memories, but House, he just looked at her. Thirteen held his gaze valiantly, refusing to let any thought roiling in her head show on her face- without a clue why. This wasn't one of House's games, this wasn't one of House's battles, and showing emotion shouldn't be something so shameful to guarantee a loss, anyway-
"Clinic."
Short, sweet, and to the point.
Thirteen held his gaze, the question of does he know hanging so heavily in the air, she could taste it.
House didn't look away, and House didn't answer.
A moment later, and the silence was so stifling, and the panic, so close to overwhelming- Thirteen ran.
Taub ran into Thirteen at the exit to the clinic.
He opened his mouth to give her a passing remark of how the quality of patients had gone even further down the drain today, from deserving-of-a-doctor's-time (just not doctors as accomplished as them) to deserving-of-an-intern's. The words never left his mouth.
Thirteen came to a halt the moment she saw him, her eyes on his- but, vacant, somehow. Empty. He slowed as he walked towards her, beginning to frown. Something was- wrong. Really, really wrong.
"Thirteen?" he ventured, narrowing his eyes. "...What's up?" He wondered if he should tack on a what did House do, now? then decided against it. House was brutal, but Thirteen had never given the bastard a victory by responding like this; why would she start now?
Thirteen blinked; her eyes, suddenly glossy. Taub was taken aback, momentarily, even stunned, but then reached out. It was a calculated gesture, that, he couldn't deny, to provide precise amounts of comfort, one he was so used to giving to grieving loved ones, rethought even before he'd completely extended his hand, because Thirteen was never one to want their comfort, and certainly not one to need it.
He was, thus, even further shocked when Thirteen did not move away.
So Taub stood there awkwardly, fingers resting on her shoulder, not quite sure what to do. A pit of dread started to form in his stomach.
Thirteen finally opened her mouth, took in a breath in preparation to speak...
Then something in her just broke.
Her legs went out from under her and she dropped to her knees, shaking. Her expression crumbled, blank nothingness becoming upset, despairing, distraught; her brown eyes shut just in time for warm tears to leak out, two twin tears that dripped down her cheeks to splash to the floor. She sat there in the middle of the hallway, shoulders quivering, crying silently... as if her world had just cracked and lay in shards around her.
Taub stared in abject shock.
He cast a worried look around the hallway, to the other doctors and nurses, and his concern hitched up a notch when he saw that more than several were shaking their heads sadly- but knowingly. Like they knew what was wrong.
"Thirteen," he whispered, and his hand found its way to her shoulder once again. "Thirteen, what..."
She started sobbing.
"Thirteen..."