Chapter .Two. - Being In A Birdcage

Early Morning

The dreaded clinic. People sitting in their chairs, noses buried in newspapers or cross word puzzles as they waited to be called. The sound of nosey kids, sniffling, complaining, crying, snoring, sleeping. Whatever. Old people coughing, passing their germs, and blowing their old noses into their old napkins held by their old hands. There were many things to hate about the Plainsboro Clinic. One being that it was free, which meant more people shuffling in by the minute. The second being—all the stuff that was just mentioned.

Gregory House hated the clinic with a passion. Here he was, trying to read the newspaper—something innocent and totally mundane—but the sniffling kid sitting next to him was making it otherwise.

"If you keep sniffling—" House leaned over in his seat, the kid getting startled at hearing his voice. "—you might suck up your own brain into your mouth...." With that, House shuffled his newspaper and went back to reading the horoscopes, completely ignoring the kid—who had know bursted out into tears. He propped his feet up on the table in front of him and leaned in his chair.

"Now I wonder who could it be hiding behind that newspaper, trying to get out of Clinic Duty?"

"Now I wonder who could it be behind my newspaper, trying to get me to do Clinic Duty?" Folding his paper in half with an exageratted sigh, House looked up to meet the stern eyes of Lisa Cuddy, her hands on her hips and her head shaking from side to side. "Oh, you can keep staring...it's not going to work."

Cuddy's attention was shifted to the crying boy sitting next to House, his mother trying her best to calm him down. She looked back over to House, his hands linked together, his cane resting on his arm, and his mouth twisted into a sly smile. Yea, House made the kid cry. Go figure.

"Sitting here, next to this little flesh bag, I think I've caught something." To legitmize his claims, House let out a lengthy, wet-sounding, hack of a cough—complete with spitting up something into a napkin. He looked at the napkin with a mock facination.

"Whoa, it's like a Rorshach Test. Wanna see?" He was ready to hold it up, but Cuddy quickly held up her hand, rolling her eyes.

"Just do your hours, House. The sooner you get them done the sooner you can leave the clinic." Cuddy crossed her arms over her chest, watching as House got up from where he sat, leaning on his cane.

"I'm contagious, though. Wouldn't want to pass it now. It could be..." House looked around suspiciously, before leaning in on his cane, close to Cuddy. "...the swine."

"House—" Cuddy began, pinching the bridge of her nose but she was soon interrupted by House, the man letting out the most exageratted sigh of complaint.

"Fine, fine." He turned around, facing the mother with the child, who had yet to stop crying. "Give the kid some cough medicine and something hot to eat, kid's got a sore throat. Explains the crying. Pain travels...I would know."

House looked around the clinic, his light blue eyes landing on the next patient, an old man with a red face. "Constipation! Drink some prune juice." He continued to point around the clinic with his cane, dishing out medical help as quick as he could.

"All done. Release me from thy shackles." House held up his hands to Cuddy, who looked completely defeated. The two engaged in a small staring contest, House not blinking and neither Cuddy. She was the first to look away, causing House to clap his hands in his winning.

"You owe me clinic hours." Cuddy mumbled.

"Put it on my tab, bartender." House retorted, limping his way out of the clinic with a triumphant smile.

*

At least breakfast was managable. An onion bagel, cream cheese, orange juice, oatmeal and low fat milk. Rayne took her time enjoying breakfast for two reasons. One, it was just that good. Two, she didn't feel like being treated like a baby. It was after every breakfast another nurse would come into her room and hand her a day's worth of medication. Trazadone for her depression and anxiety and a new drug, Topomax for her seizures. So far she hadn't spazzed out of bed or spit up a mouthful of foam so it must've been working. Which was awesome. Rayne just couldn't wait to get back home.

"Good Morning, Ms. Quinn. How's breakfast?" It was a male nurse who asked this, his face to cheery for this ungodly time of day. Even still, Rayne managed to give the nurse a smile.

"Good." She mumbled. To be honest she could've done her usual pessimistic answer but she just wasn't in the mood. Besides, they would log her response and the more they seemed negative the more depressed they thought she was. There was just no winning with the hospital—she would know.

"The usual dessert." The nurse smiled, placing a small cup of pills next to Rayne's tray. He began to open the blinds to her windows, letting in the early morning sun. Rayne sighed and took a sip of her orange juice. The nurse would linger around as long as he could until Rayne would finally take her meds.

"Heart rate went up a bit last night, you should give me a check – up...I could be dying." Rayne needed the entertainment, she really did. There was nothing else to do but look at T.V and draw, which took up most of her time.

This nurse, fortunately, had a sense of humour and laughed off Rayne's comment, motioning for her to drink her pills. "I'm sure if you take those you won't." He walked over to the trash can, looking inside. It was a good thing Rayne washed out last night's dinner, or else that would get marked down and lengthen her stay. He began to tinker with her IV drip, Rayne not really caring and finally throwing the pills into her mouth and chasing it back with a hefty gulp of orange juice.

"All done." Rayne gave the small cup back to the nurse, who smiled and made his way out of her room—assuring her that he'd be back later to get her tray. Blah, blah, blah. Kicking the blankets off of her body, Rayne made her way to the tiny bathroom, washing her face, brushing her teeth and trying her best to wash herself. Not having a shower in your room called for using the sink and a paper towel. It was when she left the bathroom, ready to begin a new page of drawing—that a commotion out in the hallway caught her attention.

A new patient and by the looks of it, it looked interesting enough. Maybe Rayne was a bit morbid in thinking that a sickly patient would be interesting, but hey, like said before—she needed the entertainment. If she could busy herself diagnosing a patient from her room, without ever seeing said patient, it would keep her busy for hours. Hours, maybe even days depending on how long the patient stood on the third floor.

"You are going to keep me busy." Rayne mumbled to herself, plopping herself back down on her bed and taking out her art pad to begin another sketch.