Warnings: Some foul language, I guess?

Fixing Foxes

Chapter 04:

"Everybody Lies"

Though Kurama would never admit as much aloud, for Dr. Gregory House he held a degree of grudging respect.

House's rude, patronizing attitude was unforgivable, of course. Kurama detested the way House spoke to him and the other doctors, with that air of smug superiority and dry, biting humor. Kurama hated the way House tried to dig into Kurama's past. Kurama reviled the glitter in House's eye when the American insulted his red hair and bright eyes. Kurama loathed the mind games, the verbal sparring, the nitpicking and bullying and House's utter refusal to do anything anyone else's way. The man was an overgrown child with a medical degree and reputation for brilliance his attitude alone should've disqualified him from.

And yet.

And yet, House re-ran all of his mother's tests. One by one, House checked for cancers, for disorders, for genetic abnormalities, for anything the other doctors might have missed. He wanted to run the tests himself, rule out all possibilities, ensure Shiori's health and safety with his own hands. All the while, House refused to speak to Shiori directly. Some might interpret this as a lack of bedside manner, but Kurama had been on the receiving end of House's sharp tongue. He'd rather his mother be treated with silence than insults. House never insulted Shiori to her face, nor did he handle her roughly. He was unerringly dedicated in his quest to save the woman's life.

Or solve the puzzle of her disease, at least. Kurama had done his research when House appeared in his mother's life. House was well known in the medical world for his obsession with medical puzzles. House was a puzzle-obsessed prodigy. He had more diagnoses under his belt than the next three most prestigious diagnosticians in the world combined. The man lived for the mystery, for the chase, for the moment of resolution when all the pieces fell together. He was notorious for ignoring patients, but renowned for curing them. Whether or not the doctor wanted to heal Shiori or solve the puzzle Shiori represented was anyone's guess.

Either way: Means to an end. If House could save Shiori, Kurama would bear the acerbic doctor's attitude with gratitude.

That didn't mean he had to like Dr. House, though.

House barged in while Kurama was trying to coax his mother into eating a bite of rice. The doctor said: "How many sexual partners does your mother have?"

Shiori looked up, smile gentle and tentative; she hadn't understood the English question. Kurama, meanwhile, froze solid. He'd understood every word, much to his chagrin.

"Well?" House said. He limped into the room and sat in the unoccupied visitor's chair, which he leaned onto its back legs. He crossed his own legs at the knee, laced his hands behind his head, and raised an eyebrow. House's bright blue eyes bored into Kurama like drill bits made of ice. "Is your mother a whore, or isn't she?"

"Do not speak of my mother with such language," Kurama snapped. He forgot to moderate his tone; Shiori's eyes widened at the sound of his growling speech. Kurama took a deep breath and smiled at her. "Sorry, Mother," he said in Japanese. He felt none of his calm veneer on the inside, blood running hot then cold with anger. "The doctor said something impolite. You know how ignorant House-sensei can be when it comes to our customs."

Shiori, lying back on her pillows, offered her son a weak but supportive smile. Kurama had told her how rude House could be, especially by Japanese standards. Kurama saw in her eyes that she thought House had said something merely impolite, not outright insulting. That was good. Kurama did not want to stress his mother more than he had to.

He looked up. House was staring, lips curled into a gleeful sneer. The stubble on his chin made him look older, but the bright blue of his eyes made him seem boyish. Playful, even. Kurama knew better than to believe that, though.

"My mother is single, and has no sexual partners," Kurama said. He regulated his tone that time, keeping it smooth, bland, and pleasant. "She has not been dating for many years."

"Did she tell you that?" House said.

Kurama did not reply, unsure of what House might be implying (and surely there was an implication—this was House, after all). House leaned forward, chair legs clacking against the floor. He spun his cane in lazy circles with one hand. He hadn't taken off his shoes, Kurama noticed. Kurama wore indoor slippers, per Japanese custom, but House still wore his battered Nike sneakers. What an uncouth man. Kurama found himself wondering how House managed to find a job in America. Or was this level of vulgarity commonplace in that country? House wouldn't last long in the tactful, polite Japan, that was certain.

"What, cat got your tongue?" House asked. He leveled the end of the cane at Shiori, pointing at her (another breach of custom; Kurama's lip curled on reflex). "Out with it. How many people does she sleep with in a week?"

"None," Kurama replied. He was standing at his mother's beside; he set down the bowl of rice he'd been holding, gently squeezed his mother's hand, and walked to the foot of her bed. Once he put his mother at his back, he let his eyes flash with dangerous intention—the look Kurama would give an enemy on the battlefield to warn them away from attacking. He knew how chilling it would seem to House, a mere human with no battle experience of his own. "Leave. Now."

House just smirked, though, unaffected by the cold glare. "Everybody lies," he said. "Everybody, no exceptions. And the ones they lie to most, tend to be the people they most care about." He jabbed the cane at Shiori again; Kurama nearly snatched the object from House's hand, but restrained himself at the last second. "Mommy Dearest wouldn't tell you if she had taken up stripping to help pay her medical bills." He eyed Shiori critically, up and down like she was a piece of meat. "Not that anyone would hire her. I'm depressed just looking at her. You don't hire the depressing ones to work the pole. The depressing ones make the other kind of pole you find in strip clubs go a bit…" He raised a finger, then slowly curled it with a faux-regretful expression. "…limp. Whomp, whomp!"

Kurama's fists clenched. For House to speak so brazenly about Kurama's mother was absolutely beyond the pale. Energy surged into Kurama's hands on reflex. Although he had lived as a human for sixteen years, the demonic instinct to attack an aggressor rose hot and high within him. Make House pay, the fox inside Kurama whispered.

Luckily for House, Kurama had learned to ignore that feral inner voice.

"Leave," Kurama said again. His voice stayed low, steady, and dangerous. "Leave. Now."

"Is that what she says when she's done with her clients?" House said. He would've looked genuinely curious, if not for the sardonic gleam in his eye. "Is Mommy Dearest not the cuddling type?" Then he waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Sorry, I went back to her being a whore. I should've told you I'd amended my mental image of her from stripper to prostitute." He sighed, eyes rolling. "I know, it's hard to keep up with me sometimes. My brain just moves so fast!"

Kurama glanced toward the door. Then he glanced toward Shiori, and then the windows. How long would it take him to shut and lock the door, murder House, knock out his mother, and flee with House's body in tow? Because aside from his mother's convalescence, that's what Kurama wanted most in all the world. The idea of killing House was a nice daydream, if nothing else…

"So tell me," House was saying. He leaned forward, elbows resting on both knees. "How many? What's her number?"

"Her number is zero," Kurama spat. He gestured at his mother. "She can't get out of bed, much less date!"

"Ah-ah-ah! I didn't say anything about dates," House said, shaking his finger at Kurama. "Whores don't date! They just screw! Pay attention, kiddo, this is your mommy we're talking about!"

Oh, that was it. House was a dead man. Kurama reached into his pocket and pasted on a wide, eerie smile. He had a demonic seed that would do the trick, he was sure…

But House leaned back in his chair, then, expression turning serious. "What if I told you your mother's symptoms mimick a rare, sexually-transmitted disease," he said.

Kurama removed his hand from his pocket. He studied House's face. To his immense surprise, he detected no deception in the doctor's eyes.

"The Elda virus," House said. "It's on the rise in Ecuador. If she'd had a partner who visited that country…" He shrugged. "The symptoms all fit. And the incubation period can be up to a year or more, which fits with the timeline when she first developed symptoms."

Kurama frowned. He'd never heard of that virus before, but if House was telling the truth...

Could it be…?

Could his mother have…?

Kurama mentally chided himself. No. No, it couldn't be. Kurama's nose wouldn't lie. He would've smelled a man on his mother if she'd been with one.

That gave Kurama an idea. He briefly shut his eyes and summoned his energy, channeling it into his nose with a snap of will. In an instant his sense of smell improved by leaps and bounds, as sharp as it would have been if Kurama assumed his previous form as a fox. He usually made an effort not to use this power in the hospital. The scent of sickness was overwhelming. Before his mother sickened, he'd allowed himself to use his augmented sense of smell almost constantly. When she moved to the hospital, though, he muffled the power. The hospital odors tended to turn his stomach.

…but House invited Kurama to make an exception.

Kurama took a deep breath through his improved nose. With the breath came the scents of sickness, decay, urine, feces, vomit, all smashed together beneath the pungent chemicals used to disinfest the sources of the aforementioned biological aromas. He sorted through them one by one, eyes on the verge of watering as he tried to focus on House, sorting through the air currents until he detected one that stank of Vicodin, alcohol, cheap bath products…

Ah.

There it was.

Kurama had smelled liars before. Sweat. Adrenaline. Catecholamines—these things were all indicative of a lie, and all of these things he smelled radiating from House.

Slowly, Kurama pulled his energy back into his core. He leveled a dire look at House, unamused and unafraid to show it.

"Liar," he said.

House didn't even blink at the accusation. He just sighed, mopped a hand down his face, and grinned.

"You caught me!" he said. "Damn. And I was so close getting a straight answer, too."

"Does the Elda Virus even exist?" Kurama asked.

"Nope," House said. He spun his cane in his hand again. Was that a nervous gesture, or a thinking one? Kurama wasn't sure. "It's as fake as your hair."

Kurama suppressed a biting retort (his hair was perfectly natural!). "Fine. Whatever. But my mother has had no sexual partners in at least three years, if not longer. Do not attempt to manipulate me again."

He said that last part as a warning. House didn't appear to take note.

"It was worth a shot," he said. He looked Kurama up and down, lips curling once more into that cutting leer. "Though how you know so much about Mommy Dearest's sex life is a bit disturbing. Someone less judgmental than me might accuse you of having an Oedipus complex, being so obsessed with your mommy's fetishes and all." House stood. "What, you make all her nighttime visitors sign a guest log or something?"

"Shuichi—what's going on?"

Kurama jolted at the sound of his mother's voice. Truth be told, he'd been so focused on House he'd almost forgotten her. The realization filled him with guilt. House wasn't his priority, here—his mother was. Kurama rounded the foot of her bed to stand at her side once more, passing a loving hand over her hair when he approached.

"It's nothing, Mother," he said. Her deep, liquid eyes regarded Kurama with warmth and trust he didn't feel he deserved. "Just discussing what tests you might have the energy for. I don't mean to worry you." He picked up the bowl from her bedside table. "Please, eat just a bite. You have to keep up your strength."

Shiori obediently allowed Kurama to feed her a spoonful of rice porridge. When she swallowed, she started to cough. Kurama fetched her water and helped her sit up. As he rubbed his mother's back, trying to calm her down, he felt eyes on him. When he looked up, he saw House. The American doctor stood by the door. His eyes were troubled with something Kurama couldn't name, but when their eyes met, House schooled his features into their previous scornful mask.

"Want me to play nice?" House asked.

Kurama did not reply. He let his glare do the talking for him.

"Give me DNA," House said. He gestured at Shiori, then at Kurama. "I still think you're adopted. Gimme that, and I'll leave you alone."

Kurama closed his eyes. His mother was still coughing, still struggling to keep down the food that would give her strength. On the one hand, House would make Kurama's life a living hell if Kurama did not comply. On the other…

"You wouldn't want me asking Mommy Dearest these things directly, would you?" House said. He studied his nails, casual and calm. The man gave another blue-eyed smirk, aimed squarely at Kurama. "Imagine what the stress might do to her."

But Kurama wouldn't fall for that. "That's an empty threat," Kurama said.

"Oh?" House asked.

"You wouldn't risk speaking to my mother in Japanese," Kurama said. It was his turn to smirk. "She'd start asking you questions. Imagine what the stress might do to you."

House blinked. It was a subtle gesture, but Kurama recognized it for what it was. He'd called House's bluff, and House knew it.

But House wasn't finished. "I can always get an orderly to do my dirty work," he said. The doctor shrugged. "I'm sure I can find someone here to translate, for the right price. Orderlies are always underpaid in places like this."

That threat might not be so empty. Still, Kurama had no intention of taking it seriously—for now, at least. Even to solve the puzzle that Shuichi represented, House would not connect with a patient. The fox took a deep breath.

"I highly doubt anyone here will play your game, least of all myself," he said, voice as pleasant as a summer day. Kurama looked pointedly away from the doctor, eyes switching back to his ailing mother. "I hope you have a pleasant evening, House-sensei."

House said nothing for a second. Then he smirked, and he limped out the door.

Kurama was not foolish enough to believe he'd won that fight. He'd only delayed the inevitable for a little while longer. He'd endured House's abuse on his mother's behalf, taking the verbal blows without fighting back, but House would not remain satisfied by this small victory for long.

Soon, Kurama would have to strike back.

House would regret picking a fight with this fox.

NOTES (May 2, 2016):

And we're back.

Literally wrote this on my lunch break today. Inspiration strikes out of nowhere, four years later!

I have at least four chapters of material left. Lost my original notes, but I think I remember how the rest of the fic should go. Hope to finish it in the next few months.

Felt like I needed to show Kurama's POV a bit. We'll be back to House soon enough.

OMG. House is a jerk. My method for writing him is to literally say the most offensive things I can, in the most patronizing way I can. UGH. Lol.

I have a Facebook page for my fics; follow for update news. Link is on my profile, or search "graphospasm fiction" to find my page.

WOW, GUYS. This story has gotten about 75 reviews since I last updated, if I'm looking at the numbers right. WOW. I appreciate each and every review left since my last update, for real. I'll resume thanking specific reviewers next chapter (can't possibly name all of you given the sheer amount left since last time). I last updated in April 2011 (more than 4 years ago!) and am so grateful people are still reviewing, reading, and faving. YOU ROCK!