Dr House and Ally McBeal: Objection, Your Honour!
Rippertish
Chapter 5: The Bathroom Stand-Off
A/N: Thanks Huddy2024 for the continued support :)
Hope you enjoy this one!
Ally leaned against the sink, gripping its edges, her face flushed with frustration as she tried to collect herself. Just then, the bathroom door swung open, and House limped in, his gaze cool but curious as he took in her tense form. Seeing him, Ally's eyes narrowed. Without a word, she turned and strode toward the bathroom stall, determined to escape his insufferable presence.
But House moved quickly, pressing his cane against the stall door, blocking her path just as she was about to open it. She spun around, coming face to face with him, her breathing shallow and fast. The fury in her eyes was laid bare, no longer within her power to hide.
"You really don't know when to stop, do you?" Her voice trembled with anger, rising as she continued. "You have no respect—for me, for anyone who isn't you. You think that because you save lives, you're above everyone else. Like my profession—any profession that isn't yours—is just… a cheap joke to you."
House didn't flinch, his expression unreadable, watching her with that infuriating, unwavering stare, letting her frustration roll off him like water. She didn't care. The words spilled out, each one hitting harder than the last.
"I work my butt off," she snapped, her face flushed. "Day after day, I deal with people like you, people who think they're untouchable, that rules don't apply to them. And maybe you can get away with it in a hospital, where you get to hobble around like a one-legged general, barking orders and waving your cane like a whip. But on my side of the fence? The law is what keeps people like you in check."
Her words grew breathless, her voice an intense, furious rush. "You think lawyers are just… what, paper-pushers? Bureaucrats? You think our work doesn't matter because we… we—' Her hand shot up suddenly, mimicking a scalpel slicing the air in a chaotic rhythm. "—don't cut people open?" The words were as jagged as her movement, her frustration spilling out unchecked. "Without us, you wouldn't have the freedom to walk around playing god with people's lives. You'd be in jail so fast it'd make your head spin. And right now, I am the only thing standing between you and the loss of everything you claim to care so little about."
She jabbed her finger toward him, her voice low and seething. "You think you're above the law? Above me? Fine. But understand this—I am the only one who can save your sorry ass from being denied the right to practise medicine ever again. Not because I think you're some genius, but because that's my job. And maybe you could respect the fact that someone here actually gives a damn about doing their job right, about keeping you out of trouble, so you can keep doing whatever it is you do without sporting a criminally fashionable orange jumpsuit." She yanked her arm back to her side, her chest heaving as silence descended, the words echoing in the tiled room while she waited for his reaction, her fists clenched at her sides.
House watched her, expression unfazed, then he raised an eyebrow as his eyes flicked over her. "Clearly, I'll give you this: your butt hasn't suffered from overuse."
The comment landed like a firecracker. Ally let out a sharp huff of indignation, her eyes narrowing even further as she moved to sidestep him.
He shifted his cane slightly, blocking her again with a practised motion. Exhaling quietly, his gaze dropped briefly, as though gathering himself. When he met her eyes again, there was no humour left in his expression, just sharp, steady intent.
Without a word, he raised his hand, starting with his pinky finger in a slow, deliberate counting motion. Ally's brow furrowed in confusion as she caught the gesture. Before she could question it, he spoke.
"Do I take unconventional measures often?" His voice was calm, measured, but carried that sharp edge of defiance she'd come to expect. "More often than you'd like. People come to me because everyone else has already struck out. I start with the standard playbook, sure—but when it doesn't work, and trust me, it doesn't work a lot—that's when I step up and break a few of those precious rules. My job isn't to worry about the method; it's to find solutions." He wasn't looking to provoke her, just stating it plainly. For the first time, he seemed… serious.
"Do I weigh the risks?" His ring finger joined the pinky in a deliberate count. "Every damn time. I don't play dice with people's lives. In this case, doing nothing would've killed him. So, yeah, I didn't just give him adrenaline—I gave him enough to jump-start a car. Anything less, and his heart would've quit on me. The risky option wasn't just the best one—it was the only one."
She blinked, momentarily thrown, the fury in her gaze softened by confusion. He wasn't just making some offhand remarks. He was answering the questions she'd thrown at him in her office, the ones he'd pretended to ignore. She felt a ripple of disbelief; it seemed as though he'd been listening all along. But before she could fully process it, he was already onto the next.
Raising a third finger, he took a small step closer, his blue eyes pinning her in place.
"How does my experience play into this? It's everything. You've seen one case; I've seen a thousand. You start to see patterns that standard protocols miss." He moved another inch closer, his voice low and sure. "Experience is what tells me when I need to toss out the manual and go off the grid. After years of diagnostics, you stop guessing and start seeing things for what they are. So, I don't 'wing it'; I know exactly when to pull an unconventional move and when not to."
She held her breath, watching him intently now. She wanted to dismiss his words as arrogance, another ploy to evade accountability. But there was something in his tone—measured, almost disarmingly honest—that made her pause. It wasn't just the answers themselves; it was the conviction behind them. He wasn't defending himself for her benefit or anyone else's—he believed every word he said, as though he'd already made peace with the consequences.
His index finger snapped up, signalling the fourth question, his voice growing reflective. "Would I do it differently if I could? Change the system, maybe. The approach? No. The patient walked out alive. If it's a choice between that and following protocol to watch them die, I'll take the headache and paperwork any day." He straightened, letting his hand drop by his side, his tone even. "Sure, if there's a way to keep the patient alive and avoid all this bureaucratic backlash, I'd love that. But given the same situation? Same choice. Every time."
He took a breath, his head dipping slightly, his attention narrowing on her. "Summing it up? I put patients first, not policies. I'll break rules when they get in the way, but it's never random. Every decision I make is measured, because the stakes are life and death. Rules are great until they kill someone. My job? Make sure they don't."
His words settled between them for a beat, his gaze steady. Then he leaned back, his voice shifting to a sharper, more familiar edge. "Happy now, or still tattling to Daddy about how bad I've been?"
Ally's jaw tightened. She was still processing the weight of his response when his jab landed, cutting through her thoughts like a scalpel. He had answered her questions thoroughly, but of course, he couldn't resist twisting the knife just a little.
She folded her arms, her tone cutting. "If you listened half as much as you talked, maybe we wouldn't be here."
The air between them grew taut. House tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowing with interest. Slowly, he stepped closer, his cane tapping softly against the tile before he came to a stop. His voice was quieter now, lower, and laced with something that sent a jolt through her.
"I like it here."
The words hung in the silence, the space between them vanishing as he leaned closer. His gaze burned into hers, unwavering, unrelenting. Ally held her ground, her breath catching as the intensity of his proximity began to sink in. His face hovered inches from hers, his expression impossible to read, yet charged with something she couldn't name.
House's gaze flickered downward, just briefly, to her lips, as though caught in some unspoken thought. The moment stretched unbearably, the tension almost suffocating. Ally's heart hammered in her chest, but she couldn't move, couldn't speak. It was as though the entire room had shrunk, leaving only the two of them standing there, locked in this suspended moment.
Then, a sudden sound of a toilet flush shattered the tension, pulling them back to reality. Both their heads snapped toward the source, their expressions shifting as the door of a nearby stall creaked open.
John Cage stepped out, blinking as he took in the scene before him.
House stiffened immediately, his expression hardening as though a switch had been flipped. The brief crack in his usual armour—if it had been a crack at all—was gone, replaced by his detached smirk. He straightened his posture, his fingers brushing the edge of his cane, almost as though anchoring himself. It was impossible to tell if he'd been serious or if it had all been part of some calculated move.
John cleared his throat, adjusting his tie with a mixture of politeness and sheepishness.
"Well… I didn't mean to intrude, but I'm due to a prior engagement," he murmured, his tone apologetic, yet undeniably intrigued.
House's lips quirked into the faintest smirk, masking the lingering unease. He reached into his pocket, retrieving his orange pill bottle, and dry-swallowed two Vicodin with practised ease, his jaw tightening briefly. With a subtle shift of his stance, he nodded to John—not in mockery, but with genuine, measured respect. His gaze shifted back to Ally, and he held her eyes for a moment longer, his second nod softer, almost contemplative, yet so brief she couldn't tell if she imagined it. She stared back, speechless.
Without another word, House turned and limped out, leaving her standing there, her mind a whirl of questions and astonishment.
She hadn't expected to see this side of him—or even thought it possible. The precision with which he'd memorised and answered her questions was unsettling. Then there was the way he'd stepped so close, his gaze unrelenting, blurring the line between confrontation and something else entirely. His final nod lingered in her mind—was it respect? Defiance? Somehow, the moment had shifted between them, charged with a tension she couldn't quite name. The uncertainty left her breathless in a way that was as infuriating as it was undeniable.
John moved to the sink, turning on the water as he washed his hands, watching her through the mirror with that knowing, thoughtful expression of his. "Fascinating," he said, the single word pulling her attention to him as their eyes met in the reflection.
"For a man who limps through life," John began, "he's remarkably direct about where he's heading." He paused, drying his hands with a paper towel, letting the words settle before turning to her fully to clarify. "He's drawn to you, Ally, whether he realises it or not."
With that, John tossed the towel into the bin, giving her one last sage nod before turning to leave. Ally stood frozen, wide-eyed and speechless, as the meaning of his words worked its way into her brain.
End of chapter 5