--Disclaimer: I don't own, nor claim any rights to House M.D, or any of the characters and/or actors. However, I'm borrowing the characters for this fiction. And no, I'm afraid I don't have permission. If you do read this, please bear in mind it's very short, the idea was to just capture a few moments. I'm also experimenting, myself. This is my first pulished "fiction" (I call it a "ficlet" since it's so short), so I ask nicely- feel free to review, but please don't flame.--
You can see them there. They're running around. Arguing. You're eavesdropping and you can't help but smile to yourself as you catch your name. "...gone too far...Completely wrong..."
The smile fades a little. Funny how humour can wear so thin.
One gets tired of hearing the same thing over and over.
Turn away, leave, down the hall.
Peer through the curtains. A patient, sleeping from medication. Machines, clicking, beeping. It's safe to check the charts now. Frown, replace the chart. You smile to yourself again, and nod, casting one last glance at the patient. A calloused hand rubs over curved wood a moment before it grips the handle, the cane taking weight, clicking over linoleum floors, aiding movement. Into an office, turn on the t.v. Read through the already opened mail. Teaching and lecture requests, a bill, a thank you note from a patient. Most of it ends up crumbled and in the bin. Except the one in the yellow envelope. Dry swallow pills, close your eyes.
"You're right!" A voice speaks from the door.
"You didn't think I would be."
You get a frustrated sigh in response. With another half-smile, you put your feet up on the desk. Calm blue eyes meet green anxious ones.
"House-do you want to see the results?"
"Not necessary. I already knew what they'd be." You tear open the yellow envelope, smile again to yourself. It's time to read this months issue of Mad magazine.
