(A/N: Wow...9 Story Alerts... Hope I can deliver...)
"Selective mute," The severe-looking blonde woman stressed. "It's just his idea of a game." She laughed a vile snigger and glanced at her son, who lay in the hospital bed.
House was not amused.
"Well, then how do you know that your son is suffering from-" He glanced at the manilla folder open on his lap. "-general malaise?"
"Oh, he writes down whatever he wants to say."
"And he wrote down 'general malaise'?"
"Well, not precisely..." Her voice became even more nasally on that last word, causing House's left nostril to flare in displeasure. He popped his third pill in the fifteen-minute period in which he had retaken the boy's history.
"Look, regardless of how your son told you of his discomfort, we can't do anything about it unless you let us give him a chest scan."
"Alright, then. If you must." She sighed.
Back in the office, House sat at his desk, pensively resting his head on the crook of his cane's handle. A shallow, emotionless voice echoed over from the door.
"You know, it is possible that she just rethought her declination, you know?" Thirteen leaned against the doorframe.
"No. People vying for Parent of the Year don't just allow their kids to be poked and prodded. She's hiding something."
"But sh-" Thirteen protested. House cut her off.
"No. Just no. Do you have the results?"
She walked theatrically across the room, pulled a sheet out of her folder, and shoved it onto the backlight, clicking it on. While walking out, she muttered a single phrase.
"The kid is dying, House. Lung cancer."
"That's impossible. Lung cancer in a six year old boy?"
But the quarter-sized black dot in the chest scan begged to differ. And only one person could help the boy now. House picked up the phone and dialed the number from memory.
"Hello? Wilson? I need you."