House walked into exam room one with his nose buried in a file. It read, thirteen year old male, productive cough, sore throat, headache. He thought, brilliant. One more boring case. Why me? Just putting off the inevitable, he scanned all through the thin file one more time, until he was given a demonstration of the productive cough.
Looking up with a traumatised expression and a put-upon feeling, House suddenly froze. And stood there. Mute. Staring. Staring back at him were his own eyes. He knew, because he saw them in the mirror every morning. Except someone had transplanted his eyes into a 'thirteen year old male, productive cough, sore throat, headache.'
As his brain slowly began to come back on line, it became apparent to House that there was a woman sitting with the kid, and his stomach really dropped then. Because he recognised her, so this couldn't just be a coincidence. So he said:
'Good morning, I'm Dr. House. What seems to be the problem?' This is what happened, see, when faced with sudden extreme shock, in the form of a child that he had never even suspected the existence of. His sarcasm and dry wit just went all to hell. Blast it.
'It's nothing serious,' the dark haired mother assured him matter-of-factly. She was a couple of years younger than him. He remembered that. He remembered that she'd turned the lights out first, and had left before he'd woken up that morning. Nice, easy, one night stand. No complications, right? He realised she was still speaking, and tried to pay attention, but his mind was searching through its back-files for her name.
'He's just got this nasty cold you see, and he feels pretty terrible. I thought he might benefit from a few days off school, but he needs a medical certificate.'
House nodded, trying to look professional. Hell, trying to feel professional. He'd never in his life had anything affect him this way. And since… someone, the woman, started with an R, he was sure… seemed happy enough to not bring it up; it was the least he could do not to blow it and saddle himself with responsibility for this kid. She knew he knew though, and she knew that he knew that she knew that he knew as he unwrapped his stethoscope from around his neck and applied it to the boy's back.
'Take a deep breath,' he ordered. The boy did so, until he was cut off in a small frenzy of hacking coughs. House cunninglydetected the phlegm in the lungs from wheeze on the exhale and the bubble on the inhale. He repeated the exercise on the front, just to check, but carefully stood to one side, so as not to get coated in spittle when the inevitable coughing fit started.
For once, House simply went through the motions, wondering just what it was he was feeling. The boy didn't make a sound the whole time, other than to cough, and vaguely, House realised he approved of a child that knew when to shut up. The whole time, though, he could feel those piercing blue eyes upon him, and it seemed like they were appraising him. House wanted to get out of that quiet gaze as soon as possible. He wondered if this is what other people felt like when he did it to them. Probably.
Although it was fairly obvious that the mother's calm diagnosis was correct, he checked for all the signs of a cold, because in his jumbled mind right then, it was entirely possible she was trying to get him to give a misdiagnosis and get his medical licence revoked in some sort of twisted vengeance for years of missing child support. Finally satisfied, House reached for the pad with the medical certificates and carefully filled it out, standing with his back to the two of them so he could lean on the bench. He didn't expect her to speak.
'Tell me doctor, is that leg problem… is it congenital?' She was asking if her son… their son, would develop a gimpy leg somehow.
'No,' replied House, pausing for a moment, but not turning to face her. He signed the certificate and handed it to the mother, not looking at the boy, because he was sure he'd start staring if he did.
'Bed rest, hot tea for the throat, plenty of fluids, and give him some Advil if the headache gets too bad.'
'Thankyou doctor,' she told him sincerely, and his mind spun itself into confusion trying to decipher her tone. 'Come on Ben,' she addressed the child. He looked at her, glanced once at House, then hopped off the exam table and followed her out the door. House walked out after them and watched them all the way across the clinic floor until they disappeared out the front doors. Neither of them looked back.
For several long moments, he just stood in the doorway of the exam room, staring at where they'd disappeared. She obviously didn't particularly want anything from him, in terms of child support, or fathering responsibilities. It seemed she'd simply wanted to show him that he had a kid, maybe appraise him one more time in an attempt to see what her son would grow into.
House was compiling every movement and action of that boy, committing them to memory, when his thoughts were interrupted by Cuddy's annoyed voice.
'If this is another ploy to waste your clinic hours, it's not a very good one. You're standing in plain view. Get back to work.' She was standing, hands on her hips in front of him. House blinked in an attempt to shake his stupor and looked at her, half-heartedly wondering when his snappy come-backs would return to him
'You look like you've seen a ghost,' commented Cuddy, looking less annoyed all of a sudden as she surveyed his pale, mildly stunned features.
'No…' said House slowly. 'Just a lawsuit against contraception manufacturers.' He didn't give her time to ask what that meant, as he caned past her to pick up another patient. Hopefully one that would provide less earth shattering revelations and more in the way of an interesting puzzle. It turned out to be a guy with chicken pox, but he wasn't complaining.
The End.