A/N: Takes place during 1x19 Kids and 1x20 Love Hurts
Dr. Joseph Henderson has a short, plump figure. He stood when Greg entered maybe ten minutes prior, though now they both sit. His gray hair receding to the back of his skull, the man palms over his bare crown and sniffs absently. As a doctor, there are things people will tell you without thinking.
Greg ventures, "How often does she schedule her appointments?"
"She comes in every six weeks now," he answers, making a few scribbles on a pad in front of him. The desk was disgustingly neat, but not as bad as Sweety's. Hers was color-coded and labelled, with each item bearing an outline in white tape of where it should be. "Used to be every eight. She's got to be put under for the LAI. We do all her tests while she's out and keep her an extra night for observation."
A long-acting injectable. It certainly narrows down the possible diagnoses. Not everything was readily available in that form. He has a few guesses, but needs more. Hopefully, this would be the easy part.
"What's the injection?"
"Haldol. You know, for the..." The older male looks up and sees the nephrologist's stunned visage before he can disguise it. Henderson narrows his gaze. This is usually about the time that people with more than two brain cells figure out his grift. "Have you even examined her?"
He shifts the cane in front of him, looking to the side and shrugging his shoulders. "Well..." It wasn't exactly a lie when he said he was seeing Ms. Sweety. He just forgot to mention he wasn't seeing her in his capacity as a physician. He couldn't come up with a suitable lie or defense in time, letting the word hang.
Henderson shakes his head, a strained laugh leaving him. "I should've known you'd pull this kind of stunt." He stares over his bifocals at House, aiming a warning finger at him. "Stop harassing my patient, Dr. House."
Unbothered, the nephrologist stands from the leather chair, stalking over to the door. "But, you know..." He stops, pretending to fix a button on his blazer. "If you tattle, I'll drag you down with me. You've already said too much."
The psychiatrist straightens his tie, clearing his throat. "Get out of my office."
House sends him a parting smile, shuffling out the door with more information than he came in with..
That woman is an enigma, but this gives him some insight. Haldol is an antipsychotic, one used for a few different cognitive disorders. Looks like he'd need to research the psychological conditions on that long list if he wanted to figure her out.
Sweety clips the form from around the older patient's neck, signing it and circling the diagnosis as negative. She tears off the blue form and holds it out. "Alright, you're just fine. Take these pills, show this blue slip to the guard at the door." The old woman dry swallows the pills and shuffles out the door with her blue form. "Next!"
House walks in when he's called, shutting the door behind him before she turns around. A bright blue turtleneck sweater covers her jiggling mammaries, almost running into him as he stands there rather than sitting down. She looks him up and down, settling on his legs and more intently, his cane.
Her lips curl slightly and her cheek dimples, looking down at her ever-present memo-pad as she jots down a note. "Greg, I don't see a patient form around your neck. Why are you here?"
He limps in front of her, leaning his ass on the exam table while she stands in front of him. "If I said I had a boo boo, would you kiss it better?"
Melina gives a lidded gaze to his torso, seeming to undress him with her eyes. "Maybe, if it hurt really bad." She's feistier behind closed doors. That's why he encouraged keeping them closed and blinds shut. He was starting to like his chances with her.
"My patient only has an hour."
The urologist's tone is tentative and curious. "She has one hour to live?"
"Cuddy gave me an hour to diagnose her," he admits. Her poker face and steady demeanor makes it hard to bullshit her. "12-year-old female presents with a rash on her abdomen, sore neck, and fever. Here's the kicker: it's not meningitis. Neck only hurts moving side to side, not up and down." She starts, glancing up at the taller doctor. Taking in his features, her glossy lips slightly parted, she finally tears her gaze away. Her lower eyelids raise a little, the optical muscles tensing like she's smiling with only her eyes.
He's come to her many times, seeking her ideas. Usually, he just wants to talk to her, hear what she'd say, and each time she gives him a unique perspective.
"Curious. Even so, I'm still thinking brain infection." Sweety blows at some hair that falls into her eye. Her hands are still gloved, one of them holding a stack of forms, the other a pen. "I would get an LP and see what that comes up with."
House delicately moves the errant strands behind her ear for her, careful not to knock off her chicory flower barrette that sits on the side of her head. "That's exactly what I did. Currently, I'm waiting on the results of the lumbar puncture." He watches her eyes, so intent on the floor as they are. The redness on her ears picks back up.
"If..." she starts, but shakes her head and goes quiet.
House pulls out his huskiest voice, going for a sexy vibe. Something reminiscent of his first appointment when she held him and told him almost the same words.
"Let it out, Darling."
His fingers tighten in her hair and he realizes he never took his hand away. There's no twinge of distaste on her face, showing that she doesn't mind the invasion. He notices how slight her neck is as he touches her nape. He uncurls the appendages, smoothing out her silken copper strands. His wide hand falls to her cheek.
She holds her arm, rubbing it self-soothingly. "It's a pretty far fetched idea." Her nose and ears flush, and that dimple in her cheek appears. His hand drops, but she catches it in her own. She gives it a small squeeze before letting go. Her eyes are flying around, looking at anything that's not him.
"My favorite kind." Goosebumps appear on her forearms, the sleeves pulled back just enough to see them. She's enjoying this, he thinks, a smile appearing on his lips, the flirting. So is he.
He'll never get tired of these reactions, the minuscule little tells that she can't hide. How many more would she make and what would he have to do to draw them out of her?
"Well, a rash can show as a result of an allergic reaction. What if she's allergic to tick bites? It could be Lyme disease." Her voice, breathy and low, makes him want to take back what he thought about being better than letting his hands wander. He pulls back, his hands falling to his side.
"Hmm. It could be." House rises to his full height again, dwarfing the woman even in her moderate heels. "See you around, Darling."
He turns away and is leaving when he hears the laugh she huffs out, a breathy little chuckle coming from her pipes. He doesn't turn back, can't turn back, no matter how much he wants to. He only has 45 minutes now. He hobbles as quick as he can manage back to his office, forcing her seductive visage out of his mind.
Wilson tries convincing him to fire Chase, rather than jerking him around, but that isn't House's intent. He wants Chase to be better.
As they walk, Greg notices two petite bodies parting the flood of people in the hallway.
Seeing Cuddy almost racing down the hall in her high heels, Dr. Sweety on her tail with a clipboard pressed to her bosom, he runs. Figuratively. "Right rudder," he tells Wilson as they hurry in the opposite direction.
She's there because she wants to make his life miserable, and he can't imagine another reason she'd bring the urologist along to see him. She'd soon figure out how to use her to get what she wants, if she hadn't already.
He murmurs to Wilson, "Bank, bank, bank."
Their escape ends when the women get close and Cuddy calls out to them.
"The rest of this hospital is busting it's tail and you're-" The dean cuts herself off when sees him holding out a folder in front of his eyes, censoring Sweety's cleavage that peeks at him from her blouse's low collar. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to think of anything except the produce department at Whole Foods." It makes a secret little smile curl on Sweety's lips. While she seems almost pleased, the other woman looks outraged. Cuddy's jaw drops open while the two doctors smirk at each other.
"It's very warm today," the urologist says in explanation. Her top is dark, royal purple and ruffled along the hem. The deep v-neck bares her clavicle down to the top of her sternum. "Even hotter in this stuffy hospital. Much too hot for a turtleneck."
At the provocation, Greg mimes peeking over the file, but Cuddy smacks it down.
"Stop acting like a 13-year-old," the dean demands. In a lower tone, she says to the woman, "You don't have to explain yourself to him." Glaring at the nephrologist, she steps slightly in front of the other woman.
From his unique vantage point, standing more than 8 inches over her head, he could spy a tiny rose in the center of her lacy pink bra. The moderate cut of her shirt bared her valley to his plundering eyes. She shifts the clipboard, holding it firmly against her breasts and squeezing them unknowingly.
"Sorry. It's just that you don't usually see breasts like that on a urologist."
"I'm not going to apologize for them."
Maybe it wasn't so unknowingly after all. Greg wonders if he's hallucinating or if she's actually flirting back.
"And I don't think you should." Greg raises his eyebrows, fixing her with a serious look. "Never look a gift horse in the mouth."
"I don't think it's the horse you're interested in..." Sweety flutters her lashes, dark strands brushing against her cheeks.
Cuddy's gaze moves between them, studying. Unnerved, she faces him and says, "Your 3 'o'clock interview for Dr. Cameron's position is in your office."
"I'm not interviewing today," he denies, watching the dean pull a paper stack out of her thick leather binder. "I don't know if you've heard, but there's this big-time epidemic. Many sick people. Puking in the hallways. It's crazy."
"I'll send the interview home," Wilson agrees. "We can reschedule."
"No, you won't," Cuddy overrides, closing it and tucking it under her arm. "You will interview this person and if he can put two sentences together, you will send him to the lobby where he will do his job. Unlike the two of you." Shoving the paper into House's arms, she continues to glare, daring him to refuse again.
"That's it?" he asks, brows furrowing. He lifts his chin meaningfully at Dr. Sweety. "Why bring the eye candy?" She shrugs back, looking down and away from the conversation.
Cuddy gazes suspiciously at the tall doctor. "Dr. Melina and I were on our way to the third floor when I saw you two playing hookie. She's going to handle catheter insertion for the influx of new patients in the interest of saving time and a whole lot of whining." Huffing, the dean adjusts her hair out of her face and smooths down her pink skirt. Together, they click away on differently-sized heels. "As I was saying, you'll be responsible for taking a sample of each patient's urine as well as the..."
Their voices fade into nothing. As they stride away, he can't help that his stare falls down to the round buttocks under Sweety's form-fitting skirt. Once the women disappear into the crowd, the two men share a look.
They do interview after interview, squeezed in between a few differential diagnoses on their patient, the little mermaid as he called her.
He didn't find any good applicants to hire, or even ones he wanted to interview. He needs Cameron back, or a good replacement, but the only one he wants, he can't have. He's forced the last interview out of his office along with Wilson and is gathering up his things to leave. His last glance at the coffee pot and that's when he notices something off about it. It's long. In fact, it's twice as wide as his coffee maker. It's not his coffee maker.
On the left is a drip coffee brewer, on the right an espresso station with a steamer. There's even a pressure gauge attached that makes even looking at it feel dangerous. It's Mr. Coffee branded, just like his old one, with a verbatim copy of the decal in different themes, but with an extra black handle and a metal wand sticking out into the air. This must be similar to what patients see when looking at medical machines; a mysterious, confusing machine.
Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, he tries to think of a bargaining chip that Cameron would want. She wears heels, maybe she'd appreciate a better parking space. Maybe she wants him to give her more credence in the conference room. He keeps brainstorming on the way to his dated car, resigned to stopping at the immunologist's home before he went to his own.
He wants Cameron back on the team. That's why he accepts her condition of return, not because he's interested in her. He doesn't even like her.
There was no sexual tension, no spark, no nothing to write home about. Cameron is a goody-two-shoes, too kind and morally superior to have any fun with. He also doesn't want a woman who cared only because he needed fixing. That wasn't something to build a relationship on.
He appreciates that Sweety doesn't do that. She doesn't need to fix him. It goes unsaid between them that if he needs fixing, so does she.
Hell, she doesn't need him at all. She's a grown woman, one closer to his age. She struggles through life because she knows what it's like to want something so bad that you'd do anything for it. He's learned to trust in her because she doesn't lie to him. It's the reason he hasn't lied to her, yet.
She's a constant, a metronome he can trust when the beat breaks down. She's brutally honest at the best of times, and at the worst, inappropriate. She's smart as a whip, too. She tests a myriad of therapies and drugs, most of which go on to save lives. She can be playful, but never says anything she doesn't mean. She actually likes that he's an ass, even finds it funny.
Everything seems to be falling into place for him. It makes him suspicious.
The next day, she's in the second exam room again, tending to a patient. He hasn't been able to face her since he agreed to the date with Cameron. Something sour plays on his tongue when he thinks about her finding out.
The truth is, he needs Cameron. He needs fellows that were knowledgeable, passionate, and unwavering. Cameron is all those things and he'd hate to keep interviewing more applicants.
House was trying to brood and watch baseball, but the other two in the room just wouldn't quit with their questions. They snacked on pretzels until someone started talking about the unfortunate pickle he's in with Cameron. Wilson, on House's left, looks off into space, thinking.
"It's gotta be something. I mean she didn't come back because she likes you." To Wilson's assumption, he tried to be nonchalant, to not exhibit any changes, but he failed. The two brunettes turn to him suspiciously. "Wait a minute! She did come back because she likes you."
The patient he was examining that took part in watching the game with them guffawed a laugh, shifting back. "You dog! You slept with her."
Greg leans in, threatening the clueless patient. "Keep talking. I'll finish your exam with a prostate check." Even though he agreed to the date, it doesn't mean he's happy about it. He had no love for Cameron besides as a fellow doctor. He just needed to make sure Sweety doesn't find out about it and he's golden. He'll put the whole thing behind him and move on. "I've agreed to take her on one date."
Wilson shouts, surprised, jumping out of his seat, and the patient's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "What!"
"So, you into this girl?" the stranger prods, drawing an exclamation from the two doctors.
"No." At Wilson's answer, House realizes his friend is keenly aware of his infatuation with the urologist, something he thought he'd squared away, hidden next to all the other women he flirted with. He figures there's no use hiding it anymore.
"No. She's not giving me any choice." House tosses another salty snack into his mouth. "I'd much rather take the urologist with the 38-DDDs."
"Wait... That means her bust-to-waist ratio is like... I don't know, high."
"Yeah. Big, complicated number," he mocks, sending the patient a look.
Wilson stands there watching them, a twinkle in his eye. "Intelligent, delicate doctor falling in love with her gruff, older mentor. Her blank, emotionless demeanor drawing him closer like fly to widow's web baited with her sweetness. His harsh exterior coupled with her disconnected kindness will bring them together in the end."
House wonders where Wilson gets the idea that Sweety is unfeeling. He appreciates her bluntness, but to call her blank and emotionless, that just wasn't true. One simply had to squint to find her tells.
"Go with the pee doctor." The patient stuffs another pretzel in his maw, gnashing his teeth on it. "What's her name?"
"He calls her 'Sweety'," Wilson responds faster than Greg can interrupt, chuckling. If only he weren't there, the diagnostician could retain some shred of dignity.
"Aw, you're so whipped," the patient coos. "Just how big are they?"
"For God's sake," House rolls his eyes, not deigning to answer.
He grabs his portable television, limping out of the room with purpose as the two sing playground rhymes about him and Sweety. He closes the door on them and when he turns around there's a person in his face, bumping into him and drenching him in amber liquid. The black-haired man looks mortified at what he'd done, but that doesn't put the pee back in the cup.
"Damn it!" House growls, looking down at his disheveled self. "Who the hell walks around with an open urine sample?"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't..." The stranger backs up, crumpling the plastic cup in his hands before fleeing.
The door he just shut opens again, his colleague walking out and looking over his shoulder at the retreating stranger. "You think that was a bit of an overreaction?"
"Well, he peed on me. I'm only into giving, not receiving."
Wilson sniffs the air near House, his face lowering as he grabs the TV out of his hand.
"It's apple juice," he scoffs. "Now, go find that guy and apologize. One more patient complaint and you're looking at a suspension." To punctuate his point, he plucks the mini television from the other's grasp and absconds into the exam room once more.
An hour later, House and his team have the man as a patient. Harvey Park is his name, and the man was having a stroke when he had found him. Harvey's lucky it happened while he was in the hospital.
Seeing Wilson standing at the barista counter, House hurries into line behind him. "You ever hear of hypomimia?" He asks the oncologist, making his shoulders jerk suddenly.
"Jesus, House." The other man turns around, startled. "Yes, I've heard of it."
"It's also called mask-like face. It's a side effect of Haldol and/or Parkinson's disease, identified by reduced or missing facial expressions. Parkinson's causes muscle weakness that lessens the individual's ability to make expressions, but with Haldol..." House meets Wilson's eyes stonily, taking in a bolstering breath before speaking. "With Haldol, the face's natural expressions are heavily lessened due to cognitive function. They feel the same things and they don't realize they aren't making the same expressions as always. It's like having a secret language that no one else can understand. Cool, right?"
He looks at Greg blankly, eyes probing. "And you're telling me this because...?"
Greg smiles, expounding easily. "Hypomimia is a funny little side effect. It makes sufferers seem to their peers as though they are disconnected, sometimes even put off by the very existence of other people in the room. They also look blank and expressionless to most observers. Sound familiar?"
"You're not trying to tell me that Melina's taking Haldol." The oncologist accepts his coffer from the clerk, making space for House at the register. "Do you know how crazy you sound?"
Greg tries not to roll his eyes long-sufferingly, but fails. "I was trying to keep it on the DL, but yes. I'm sure of it. I talked to her psychiatrist."
Greg rattles off his order to the clerk, slipping a five dollar bill across the counter.
"You what?" Wilson's eyes almost bug out of his skull. He realizes his voice is too loud and he looks left and right, afraid he'd drawn eyes.
"Can you repeat that? I'm not sure the entire cafeteria heard you." House stuffs the change into his pocket, taking the proffered coffee and limping away. "She definitely takes Haldol. If it's enough that she's developed such a symptom, so there could be more to it than just one disorder."
Pushing out the double doors into the main hall, he and the oncologist near the elevator, waiting for the doors to open.
"Why do you sound excited about that?" Wilson narrows his eyes at the cripple, following him into the empty lift. He presses the button for their offices, lighting up the number four.
"Because..." He has to stop and examine his own reasoning. Was he really just doing this to kill time? He might not admit it to anyone, but maybe there was some truth to Wilson's earlier accusations of House liking her. "You were right. She's interesting and I'm going to figure out what she has. Now are you gonna help me or not?"
"Definitely not," comes the reply from Wilson who shakes his head slowly. "I'm not helping you invade that poor woman's privacy."
"Fine. Have fun being a good little doctor."
Storming out onto the fourth floor, House makes his way to his glass-walled conference room, pushing inside with his coffee in his free hand. Wilson couldn't have bought the coffee machine, seeing him at the coffee shop proved that. If it had been him, he'd have told House that he bought it and used that to have free use of the thing. Since he hadn't done that, it was someone else.
Chase is inside, brewing a fresh pot.
"You know how to use that thing?" Greg asks him, stopping by the door to his office.
"You don't?" The younger man looks quizzically at him, filling the pot with water. "I thought you caved and bought a new one."
"It was just here one day. Not sure who got it," Greg confesses, pressing into his office to out down his bag.
Greg is on his computer, scrolling through all the different disorders that Haldol has been used to treat in the past, even off-label. His male fellows sat in the desk chairs, Cameron standing behind them with her arms crossed. The whiteboard is against the glass near the door to the conference room.
He had ordered Harvey, their young stroke victim, be started on blood thinners and antibiotics. Instead, he was called down to Cuddy's office thirty minutes later for an emergency meeting.
House, of course, left as soon as he realized what the whole meeting centered on. Harvey was an asphyxophiliac and Annette was his dominatrix. She choked him for his own sexual gratification, not difficult to wrap his head around and also not a medical problem.
That's what it was all about, their little relationship. Annette and Harvey were Dom and Sub. It isn't something House had much interest in.
He and his fellows desperately brainstorm what they could do about his latest predicament: not wanting surgery.
The man had been timid and impressionable until Annette was forced out. They need something of a stand-in. A stand-in that happened to be opening the conference room door and making a bee-line to the coffee machine.
Darling Melina Sweety bypasses the table and chairs, not looking up once and looking as though she had no idea they were there. The discussion continues, his ducklings seeming not to notice the woman in the connected room. She turns to the machine and he can't see what she's doing, but it looks involved. Her arms and elbows move in circuitous motions, rolling and swirling whatever's in her hand.
She finishes, pouring out two mugs of steaming hot coffee, or so he presumes. She quickly washes the metal frothing cup, something he wishes his team would emulate, and picks them up. One is his typical red mug, the other a pink one with "COFFEE" printed on its face. His eyes widen when she does a 180 and starts for the connecting door.
Sweety pushes into his office coolly. All other pairs of eyes turn to her, but Greg's were already locked on. She swayed over to his desk, gently placing the red mug in front of him, a warm smile on her lips. He returns it, even though she isn't looking at his face. She's awkward around strangers, he knows, but she willingly put herself in a room full of them to deliver him a hot latte. Usually when she does that, it's for work.
She tucks a hair behind her ear, then leaves without a word. He looks down at the little heart pattern on top of the drink and can't help the warmth in his chest at the sight. How bold, he thinks.
Chase turns his whole body, watching Sweety's ass intensely as she walked away. He looks to House, perplexed. "Who was that?"
"A hooker. Didn't you see the tits?" He lies with impunity, sipping the frothy goodness. A small sound of appreciation leaves him. "Concentrate on the dying guy."
"Come on," says the Aussie. He looks at his peers, waiting for them to back him up. "We're supposed to just forget about her?"
Foreman shrugs in reply. The female looks away, pretending not to have heard.
"We could give him anti-depressants, see if he changes his mind," Cameron suggests, her own cup clinking of the bookcase as she placed it on top. Her unease is obvious in her shaking hands which she shoves into her pockets. Her neck grows tense, her teeth clenching tightly.
"I already did." Gnawing on a stirrer from his long-drained coffee, Chase admits to drugging the submissive man. "Mashed 'em up in his applesauce. It'll lighten him up soon enough."
Disturbed by their lack of creativity, House stands up from the office chair, drink in hand. "Someone should just tell him to do it. Way faster."
The female inches a thin brow up on her forehead, looking inquisitively at her boss. "So is forgery. Also illegal."
The Australian man clears his throat awkwardly. "And I already tried." He looks down at his hands, clasped between his knees . House hopes he does feel shame for it.
"Not you," House denies, amused. He limps to Chase, stopping next to his chair. "We need a dominatrix."
"Annette's barred from the hospital," Chase replies, still unable to see the bigger picture.
"Not that one, either." The woman he had in mind wasn't a dominatrix by profession, but he could probably convince her with just a few words. House turns away, hobbling out the glass doors and shouting behind him, "Don't follow me!"
The woman was fast, already gone from the hallway when he steps through the door.
The trek to her office is a short one, and it is surely where she'd gone. He opens the door without knocking, poking his head through it. Melina looks at him, reading glasses sliding low on her nose. There isn't a word between them, not until House enters further, coming fully inside the room.
Then her eyes light up in recognition.
Shuffling to the rattan couch with big, soft cushions, he leans his butt against the armrest. He'd tired himself a little, rushing to the other side of the fourth floor as he just did. "Need a favor."
"Of course, Greg," she breathes, sounding relieved. "What do you need?"
She's dropping her colored highlighter and raising to attention when he tells her a patient need a catheter. Always ready to help, this lady. He wonders if it's because of his roguish good looks or if she's like that with everyone. He didn't seek her expertise generally, unless it was urinary in nature, but often told her of the cases he worked. During lunch, carpooling, over coffee.
They don't often see each other outside of the hospital, though. He wasn't ready to invite her over yet, to have her in his personal space. She's still too new, though he's known her for at least two months. Soon, he promises himself, he'll ask her somewhere. Maybe he can convince her to explore the chemistry between them.
She holds a sheet out of the way, reading as they walk down the hall. Their footsteps seem to match up. His long legs give him an edge over her short ones, but she walks fast enough to keep pace.
He has a plan. He doesn't need her help with diagnosis, but rather with an experiment, one that hopefully results in the man signing off on the surgery to repair the blood vessels in his patient's neck.
Harvey enjoys being under the power of beautiful women. He has a strangulation kink, but what if he has more that just haven't been discovered? If he can trigger something, maybe it can calm Harvey down enough to sign the form. What if they didn't need Annette at all?
He'd heard from more than one person that she had the best set of hands for urethral insertions. He wanted to see it in action. When he first heard it from the plump man that came to her office, he'd investigated that night. Went down to the nurse's station and chatted up the ones that help in Urology.
Turns out she had the slowest hands in the west, able to spear a rod without causing any pain. No numbing necessary. Sliding open the glass door, he allows her to enter first. Limping behind her and closing the door inaudibly, he introduces her.
"This is Dr. Sweety, she'll be handling your catheter." House walks to the window, closing the blinds with a flick of his wrist.
"Dr. Melina is fine."
He nods almost imperceptibly.
"Okay." Awkwardly, Greg scoots around the consulting doctor while she stands at the foot of the bed, checking over his chart briefly. "Dr. Sweety, you may begin."
House moves around the bed, sitting at Harvey's side. The man's black eyes track the female doctor. He pays close attention to her folding away his blankets and robes, baring his limp dick, a wad of black curls at his base. It's tiny, as is statistically accurate for a man in his demographic. Nothing House didn't already expect based on his behavior, either.
She snaps on a fresh pair of gloves and grabs a metal dish along with a few other items. As she moves, she explains to Harvey how she'll be proceeding, walking him slowly though the process. She uses several damp cotton swabs to clear his cock of bacteria, one of them dipping into his urethra shallowly, then right back out. It startles the patient, making his leg twitch slightly. She wipes him down a second time, spending a more than reasonable amount of time on the head of his penis.
Greg leans forward, cupping his hand to whisper in Harvey's ear. "I couldn't find your dominatrix so I brought mine." The urologist's face moves, an eyebrow lifting in confusion, wondering what he was whispering to the patient. "I know you appreciate women having power over you. This is a medically safe way to do it."
Harvey looks confused when he leans back. Greg winks at him, smirking. If the kid comes out the other end with a new fetish, well, it wouldn't hurt House's chances to have a willing patient.
Sweety moves onto expelling lubricant jelly onto the silicone tube. Harvey takes in a deep breath, bracing for her touch. She pinches his head between her thumb and forefinger, pulling it taut. Harvey whimpers, a slight whine leaving him when she squeezes tighter and lifts it to be perpendicular to his body. His formerly soft pecker now stood at quarter mast, growing significantly from the micropenis it once appeared as.
His eyebrows dip and he bites his lip when the cold lube touches his prick. The tip eases in, the taper slowly widening the opening with a light pressure.
Harvey's cock twitches, hardening again, putting him at a half chub. With how close the female is, staring intently at the penis in front of her, he can almost see her leaning in and licking her lips. He shakes his head, willing the image away. Harvey's pupils are blown wide, though not evidence of another stroke.
"Stop squirming," she commands, not knowing what it does to the submissive male on the bed. "And settle down."
Pathetically, the Asian male whines, veins along his member pulsing intensely. He ceases when she stops, less than an inch of the rod in.
"Does it hurt?" she asks him, looking up to check his face briefly.
He pants weakly, shaking his head. Beads of sweat form on his forehead and cheeks. His eyes dart uncomfortably around the room, before settling on the woman leaning over him.
Silently, she returns to her work. Greg watches her technique as she maneuvers the catheter masterfully, it's slick tube gently penetrating the man's genitals. Slowly, slowly, slowly she continues the insertion and if House didn't know any better, he'd think it wasn't moving at all. At the bend, she slows even further, then continues as normal.
Before it bottoms out, Harvey gasps, jerking slightly. She must have just passed his prostate by the movement of his pupils under his lids.
Then, with finality, she lets out a breath. "Do not move," she tells him, snatching the saline syringe that she has prepped on the surgical tray. She injects it into the balloon's intake, inflating the bubble with saline so the catheter remains in place. "All done. Do you feel alright?" She replaces his gown and blanket, giving the men an unobscured view inside her shirt, the modest neckline hanging down to expose her cleavage. She leans even further to hang the urine collection bag on the hospital bed frame.
Harvey's nod is stunted and forceful. He's clearly embarrassed, maybe even a little ashamed. He waves a hand at the taller male, beckoning him to his level.
Greg turns, putting his ear close to his mouth. The man whispers a question, one that causes the nephrologist to laugh, sharp and sudden. He nods and says to the urologist, "He wants you to teach Annette how to do that."
He wants to see how she'll react to the patient's sentiment.
In the blink of an eye, Melina's jotting down a note in her pad and tearing out the page. She lets it flutter to the bed. "This is all you get," she says softly, but it seems to echo in the glass room, and neither one of them make any attempt at eye contact.
Greg gets a peek before Harvey snatches it up. He makes a mental note to check out the so-called "HoneyLove Forums."
She says nothing to the younger man, writing her notes on Harvey's chart and looking expectantly at Greg. "Are we done here?"
She seems uncomfortable, her shoulders straighter than usual. Her hand in her coat pocket moves furiously inside the white fabric, like she's maneuvering something small.
He nods, then follows her out the door with a dumbfounded look on his face. She removes her gloves, the vinyl making a loud noise. She tosses them into the nearest trash can, walking a few paces away before she turns back to him. Her eyes are clouded with confusion.
"What are you playing at?" she asks him, one hand resting on her hip.
He looks to and fro, like she might be talking to someone standing just behind him. "What are we talking about?"
"You asked me to come out here and do something you could've easily done yourself. I looked at the patient's chart and it doesn't present any medical reasons that he'd need a catheter. You went out of your way to come get me, instead of just calling or paging me, in which case I would still have showed up." Her eyes flick all around, settling on anything except his face. She doesn't want to see the truth if she doesn't like it. "So either you missed me... or you were testing some hypothesis again, like you were on Wednesday."
Last Wednesday... Greg thinks back to their outing, though it was really just a trip to pick up lunch. When she told him she'd never had a Reuben before, he couldn't have her first experience with it be from the cafeteria. He took her to his favorite sandwich shop only a block from PPTH.
They'd gotten to the register when a disgruntled couple walked up behind them. By the way they spoke and wore matching rings, they were married. He was sure the wife was a cheat, but Melina didn't believe him, so he tested it out. He sat with the woman when her partner was out in front of the store talking on the phone, flirting with her openly. She was starting to reciprocate until the husband came back in, which had proven his theory.
Greg still has a fading bruise on his chin as evidence. He's about to tell her wrong she is when she opens her mouth again.
"Come with me," she demands, taking his free hand and giving him a gentle tug toward a nearby door. They both know it's hardly more than a janitor's closet, but he follows her in. There's no strength in her grasp, and he can easily pull free if he wishes.
He feels like he's in high school again, stealing away with a beautiful girl into a hidden place.
"Are you attracted to me? Physically?" She meets his gaze, strong green piercing icy blue. He has a feeling she already knows the answer.
"What?" His azure eyes double in size, caught unprepared for such a statement. He rests his weight on the shelf behind him, rather than his cane. "Of course I am. You're... I mean, have you looked in a mirror lately?"
"Hm," she hums with the hint of a laugh. Her hand lands on one of his pecs, rumpling his oxford more than it already was. "The feeling's mutual."
Parting from his form, she spins out the door and leaves him struck by her sudden change in attitude. She slips instantly back into her perfect, neutral mask as she steps back into the hallway, avoiding the gazes of others on her way to the lift.
He stays in the closet for another five minutes, calming himself down. He heads back to his office, the red-headed woman stuck on his mind.
Their patient is having ministrokes now. Clearly, blood thinners and antibiotics were the wrong way to go, so they stop the treatment.
"Sorry," Greg says to Foreman, walking with him and the other two fellows down the hall. "We tried your way, you could not have been wronger."
The neurologist smiles, shaking his head. "I said Chase was probably right."
"Yeah, we've all got perfect 20-20 hindsight." The older man turns to Chase, continuing. "Get a hold of May in Vascular. See if his surgical dance card's free for tomorrow."
In response, two of his ducklings flee, but one stays.
"About tomorrow night..." Cameron begins as her other two fellows rush down the crowded corridor. Greg looks back to her, unsettled.
"You couldn't keep your mouth shut," he accuses. The neurologist had known about their arrangement and confronted him about it. "Foreman approached me."
"I didn't see any reason to keep it secret. Until I... I saw you with that woman." Her gaze droops, falling low and looking forlorn. It doesn't take a genius to figure out she's talking about Melina. "Outside Harvey's room."
Crap.
He's been trying to keep his work life and his private work life separate. The ducklings really didn't need to know about that part of him, and the longer he can keep Cuddy unaware of the power she has over him, the better. Wilson was probably the only one that knew about his not-so-professional affections.
"What are you gonna do, blackmail me again?" Greg taunts, laughing dryly. The girl is vying for his attention so much that it's progressed to stalking, has it? He better set this right, somehow, before it goes too far. "I'm not going to have sex with you, no matter what you say."
"No." Somber, melancholic smile on her face, she grabs her elbow with her opposite hand. "I changed my mind, actually."
It shocks him, makes him question whether he heard what he thinks he heard. "Excuse me?"
The woman swallows, steeling her nerves. "You obviously care about her. I think you should take her on the date instead."
Greg is stunned. He honestly never thought this would happen. He doesn't know what to do, what to say. He's glad, but he's confused as all hell.
"I do not care about her." He rolls his eyes, putting on a bored face. "I'm interested in her."
"That may as well be the same thing for you," she says, scoffing lightly. "I can see the difference in you. She makes you look soft. Caring. I truly believe that." Her eyes, like glass, shy away from his gaze.
"Why?" He asks her, shuffling close and bringing down his voice. He's angry. Even though this was what he wanted, he hates being jerked around. "Why go through all that trouble just to give it up? Was this just a game to you?"
"No! I just..." Licking her lips, the woman breathes, then opens her mouth again. "I thought I had a chance, before. When I saw you with her, I knew it was just... hopeless. Because I know you well enough to know I don't stand a chance against her."
Greg should feel like he won, but there's a bitterness to this victory that doesn't sit right with him. It feels anticlimactic. He wanted to go out with a bang, so this couldn't be the end of it, not for him.
House limps away from her, finding himself in his office, alone before he knows where he's going. The sun is beginning to lower into the treeline and he knows there's not much time until the workday is done. Reclining in his yellow armchair in the corner, he props up his feet and flips open his mobile.
Selecting her name on his speed dial, number 2 since Cuddy was lower on his list. Someday, she might beat out Wilson for the top spot, who knows?
He presses the call button, bringing the cell up to his ear and waiting for her soft monotone to grace his ears.
"Hey. Yeah, it's me. Are you free tomorrow night?"
The next morning, the first thing he notices is the mug on his desk. He steps up, dropping his satchel under the surface and peering at the drink. Red ceramic holds 16 ounces or so of a steaming hot latte. The top is dusted with either cinnamon or cocoa powder.
The note tucked under the mug reads "Hope this finds you while it's still hot. -Sweety." Taking a deep drink of it, he finds it to be a rich cinnamon with just a hint of sweetness. The flavor itself is very coffee-forward. He's glad she's embracing his pet name, though it's not exactly original.
As he settles in, he boots up the computer and opens his email, checking all the notifications that he must before working on his paperwork for the day. What a boring thing to be working on when it was his first date in ages, happening tonight. He's secretly over the moon, but he has a reputation to protect. He can't believe she said yes.
He was preoccupied with emails and google searches for nearly an hour before being disturbed. Cuddy slips her way into his office, letting the door shut behind her. "Dr. House."
He points at the open program on his monitor. "Little busy here." He immediately returns to typing a reply, though he'd really been tossing around the ball while he thought.
"I heard about Dr. Cameron's conditions for coming back to work," she says, walking up to his desk with a folder on her hip.
"Then you should've also heard she gave it up." It's the perfect excuse for Cuddy to leave him alone. The date was cancelled, no conflict of interest. Why isn't she walking away?
"I did." Cuddy nods her head "And then a little birdie came by and told me that you're taking Dr. Melina on a date instead. Imagine my surprise."
"The birds have been awful talkative lately," Greg grumbles, sourness in his voice. Bird his ass. It was probably Cameron again.
"Well, I think it's a good thing," she insists, putting a hand on her hip. "As long as she consented. What happened in your last relationship, it's no reason to wall yourself off from people forever. Five years of self-pity is probably enough." Her earrings sway with her head's movements.
"Wow," Greg says, mouth opening wide around the word. "Well you've certainly given me a lot to think about."
He gazes away, hoping to impart that is was time for her to leave.
"Bear in mind, Melina's probably the only female who could tolerate you." The dean turns, walking away, but stops for a moment in the doorway. "Wear the sky blue shirt."
He enjoys the sound of her voice. In person, over the phone, through a long pipe. Sweet was not only a quality of her name, but her voice as well.
"What should I wear?" says the delicate thing from his speakerphone. He's buttoning his blue shirt as he imagines her searching her closet in only a set of skimpy lingerie. "Is there a dress code?"
"Think high school dance." He earns a small chuckle for his efforts, and moves to genuine advice. "Don't ask me. What do I know about women's fashion?"
"Just try."
Well, if she truly wanted to please him... "Wear something sexy." He thinks about her figure, her graceful curves. "I want the total opposite of turtleneck and knee-length skirt."
She laughs. "Mm, okay. Pick me up in an hour?"
He agrees, saying goodbye for now and dropping the mobile phone into his trouser pockets. Greg has his shirt buttoned and tucked in, leather belt cinching the loops around his waist. He wanders into the living room where his friend waits.
"That was Melina?" Wilson, laying back on his couch, looks inquisitively at him. The newspaper in his lap is seemingly forgotten. "I almost didn't recognize her. She sounds like a different person."
She can sound like a robot when she's talking about work, it's true. When they leave the hospital, however, she changes. She takes off her lab coat and it's like she's finally come out of hiding.
"It was," he confirms, pulling a nice, red-patterned tie from a hook and putting it under his collar. He can't help but rub their closeness in Wilson's face a little. "She's always happy to hear from me."
"I-I don't know what to say," Wilson stammers, flabbergasted. "She sounds totally different when you two are alone."
Scoffing brusquely, House rolls his eyes. "I thought you were supposed to be my friend."
"Well, she's always been very... reserved. She tenses up when you walk into the room, talks fast when you're brought up in conversation, and she's not very expressive to begin with. I thought she hated you, we all did." He shakes his head, looking back to his paper.
"She's expressive enough, on account of the side-effects." House doesn't like how defensively that came out. She isn't his to defend, not yet anyway. They'd known each other three months. "You just can't read her. This is why you always lose at poker."
The closet door squeaks as Greg pulls it open, looking at himself in the mirror hanging on its back. His blue eyes look dark in this light, predatory. He hasn't done a tie like this in a good while. He puts the wide end over the narrow, wraps it around, and-
"Hold on," his house guest interrupts, pointing at his tie. "The wide side's too short. You're gonna look like Lou Costello."
Greg unwinds the tie, beginning again. "This is a mistake. I don't know how to have casual conversation." Lengthening the wide side, he starts tying it anew. "You think you're talking about one thing— And either you are, and it's incredibly boring, or you're not because there's subtext and you need a decoder ring."
Wide over narrow, wind it around, pull it through the loop. The last step doesn't come as easy as he hopes, trying to stuff the wide end through the loop unsuccessfully.
"Don't do that." Wilson stares at his neck pointedly. "This is Melina you're talking about. You really think she's going to force you to put up with that? She's as straightforward as it gets."
"Still a woman." House proceeds with the tie as carefully as he can, trying to grip the end with his fingertips and pull it through.
"Point taken." The oncologist runs his free hand through his chocolate brown locks. "Listen, just... Open doors for her. Help her with her chair—"
Gazing back at him sharply, Greg interrupts. "I have been on a date."
"Uh, not since disco died." The oncologist, ever helpful, advises him as he gets more frustrated, ripping the unfinished knot out before giving up altogether. He focuses on his hair instead, making sure it lays mostly flat and in line. "Comment on her shoes, her earrings, and then move on to D.H.A."
It draws a perplexed look from Greg as he stops primping and snaps his head to look at the oncologist on his couch.
Wilson lets the newspaper fall, hands grasping the air in gesture. "Her dreams, hopes, and aspirations. Trust me. Panty peeler." His eyes return to the page. "Oh, and if you need condoms, I've got some."
As if he'd take condoms from Wilson. They'd likely not fit, and he'd rather not share such an intimate dressing in the first place. He'll pick some up on the way to her place, if anything.
"Oh, don't worry. I'm prepared."
"Well, someone's excited. You really think she's gonna sleep with you?"
"She's intensely attracted to me, I'll have you know." Greg shuts the closet door, not wanting to look at himself any longer. The old man in the mirror is the source of almost all his problems, no matter how much he wants to deny it. "I should cancel. I've got a patient in surgery tomorrow morning," he says, shuffling into the kitchen.
"And if you were a surgeon, that would actually matter." While his friend goes on, he opens the fridge, staring inside. "Good idea, settle your nerves. Get me a beer, too."
"No beer." Leaning in, he picks up the corsage he's been staring at. Chances are, she'll wear light blue, so he got white and pink. Holding up the plastic box, he gives it a light shake, the flowers inside making a small movement. "Just this."
Wilson gets up, agape, and walks over to kitchen. Leaning in the open entryway, he smiles, arms crossed. "She loves flowers. She'll like it."
"I know."
Her red hair in big, voluptuous waves curls into her cheekbone, highlighting its elegant outline. A smooth dress in beautiful light blue hugs her curves perfectly. Her face, usually hidden in the fringe of her fiery mane, breaks free as her bangs are styled away from her face like a wide open curtain.
Other couples sit around them, their table in the corner of the room providing them a view of the decor. A short, white candle burns between them, the table set with a fine with cloth beneath it. The dim lighting makes the atmosphere intimate, almost private.
"It's beautiful. Objectively, I mean." The urologist offers her praise, a dimple marking her cheeks as she looks down, admiring the little pink-and-white corsage. She'd pinned it on the breast of her smooth, baby blue dress. Her mouth curls flirtatiously, a dreamy look in her eyes. "And you look even better than usual."
"Thank you." As he says it, a waitress deposits two wine glasses of chilled water on their table. He gives her a slight nod.
A moment of silence passes and he can tell she's distracted, her gaze slipping all around the room. She's kept her voice low and he wonders if it's the proximity of the other patrons that causes it. As often as he sees her around PPTH, she seems to keep to enclosed spaces, private spaces. Offices, closets, something that puts a door between her and other people.
He asked for the table by the wall, pushed off from the others, but he worries that even this secluded section is making her anxious.
She checks over her shoulder, as if making sure there was nobody there, before she speaks. "I've never been here before. I don't go out often."
That much is obvious. He doesn't say it, but rather tries to defuse the tension she seems to build. "It's, uh- It's changed a lot since the last time I was here. Used to be a strip joint."
A chiming laugh slips from her again while she opens her menu. He unfolds his napkin, placing it on his lap. She seems more focused on their table now, facing him and participating. Where she had seemed anxious before, she now seems more relaxed.
"Nice necklace." He couldn't see her earrings for her long hair, but rather her halter neck dipping low and baring just a bit of scandalous cleavage, a bright, shining pendant hanging above her bust. She says nothing, but her answering smile while she aims her jade orbs into his blues says she thinks it's sweet.
"Nice shoes," he adds, though he's examining the long, pale legs that end in dainty little feet, not the burnished nude of her strappy heels that wrap around her ankles. The sides of her dress are held together by criss-crossing white laces that tie off in a bow at the bottom, its loose ends caressing her mid thigh.
"Okay, who are you and where is Greg?" she quips jovially. "You don't have to put on an act, you know."
He looks left, then right. The other couples lean in close, having hushed conversations in the candlelight. They whisper sweet things and press fleeting touches to heated skin. "We're on a date. The least I can do is participate in a little small talk."
"You don't really care about my earrings or my shoes." She shakes her head, an almost-laugh huffing from her lips. "And I didn't come here for small talk."
He tries to stop himself from speaking, the words at the tip of his tongue feeling wrong. They come out anyway. "Would you rather I tell you that dress makes your tits look amazing?"
It pulls another laugh from her. "Yes." She smiles again, a real one, and brushes her hair over her shoulder. "Thank you."
The waitress comes by again, taking their drink orders. He's driving, so he skips the alcohol. He doesn't usually drink what with all the pain killers in his system, but the lady orders a glass of Zinfandel. The waitress leaves the table and returns with the wine a moment later.
"How do you know Wilson?"
"This is what you want to talk about?" She sets her menu back down, closing the black bifold. "He was meeting Cuddy after my interview for the position. Stumbled into him, saw his name tag. While sending patients over to oncology, I saw his name pop up a lot and the rest is history. He's a good man."
He nods along, taking in her story. It sounds eerily similar to how he met her.
She sips her water, then says, "Do you eat here much?"
"I used to, before." He doesn't say before what, but she's smart enough to know he means his leg. "I prefer to stay home these days." Greg rearranges his hands in his lap, resisting the urge to twiddle his thumbs.
"Yes, well... I don't get out much either." Lips curling as she purses them against her glass, the clear liquid trickles down her throat. He copies her, downing a cooling swig.
"What do you when you're not getting out, then?"
"I like to toss on a record or read," she offers, tracing the edge of her glass. "Nonfiction, because there's still so much I want to learn."
Their waitress returns, taking their orders and scurrying back to the kitchen with a smile. She does participate in a good amount of small talk, regardless of her earlier statement. They eat, they chat, everything seems to be going swell. Things are going a little too smoothly, in fact. Usually he would've screwed it up by now.
Of course, the night is still young. There's time for him to ruin things yet.
Their plates are cleared away. The young woman serving them promises to return soon with the check.
"Greg. I need to know." He looks up at his date, questioning. She stares at her hands, clasped atop the white tablecloth. "What do you think about me? Why did you ask me out?"
And the night was going so well. He shakes his head and says, "I don't know if you want to hear that."
She reaches over the small table, her soft, warm fingers settling over his own. "I do. I want the truth."
A long breath leaves through his nose. She's never been dishonest with him, as far as he knows. He shouldn't be the one to start. "You interest me," he begins, hesitant with his words. "Because you're different. You're not like everyone else."
Her eyes flutter upwards, glassy green orbs meeting his. Her lower lip glistens, parting from the upper slightly.
His brain is like a being under its own control, spewing more than he planned to say. "Something's wrong with you." Her breath quickens, evidence of panic, but he doesn't stop. There's fear in her eyes. Paranoia. "You pretend to be normal, put on a mask to make yourself like everybody else, but you're not, you're sick. You can't be healthy, not with everything-"
The chair topples when she stands suddenly. Her eyes wild, they dart around the restaurant. Other couples have stopped eating, looking at the woman. She pants faster, breath coming out in forced huffs, and turns tail. She runs out of the restaurant, the door chiming as it flies open.
"Shit," he mutters, pulling his wallet out of his front pocket and slapping a few bills on the table, enough to cover the bill and leave a nice tip. He grabs his cane, using his good leg to get him out of the chair and after the woman.
The door jingles, clacking closed behind him as he steps onto the night. The concrete scrapes the bottom of his shoes. He searches the outdoor seating which ends up being empty, then turns around and sees his quarry on the other end of the sidewalk.
She's there on the damp concrete, bum placed solidly on the ground. She'd run as far as she could before snapping off a heel, causing her to sit where she was. She's maybe ten feet from the door, having stumbled down on her side and caught herself on her hands and knees. The heel is on the ground a foot away.
He picks it up, tucking it into his coat pocket. "You have schizophrenia," he says to make himself known. She looks up at him, scared, fragile. She does a double take at his legs, focusing in on his cane before lifting to his eyes again.
"Yeah." Melina's eyes are red, her cheeks ruddy. Makeup smears her graceful countenance, dark smudges around her eyes and fading red on her lips. Her chest expands and falls rapidly. "Please don't tell anyone. I manage it really well. I thought I was hallucinating," she warbles, rubbing her knee and unknowingly slathering it with her blood. Whether it comes from her hand or her knee, who knows.
Zoning in on the red stain, Greg waves her closer. "I didn't even get to the part where I tell you I like you." Breathing deep, he stops himself because he doesn't know what he's saying. He should stick to what he's good at— being a doctor. "Come here."
She's hesitant, clutching her arms around herself. "Are you mad?" Her skin is redder now from the cold gusts.
He removes his coat, draping it on her shoulders. "You're bleeding." He throws her a withering glance. "Let me see."
She swivels her legs toward him but keeps her knees together, letting him see the side she landed on. "So, you're not mad?" she asks as he presses his fingers into her ankle, calf, thigh and hip, testing for sensitivity. He can't help savoring the plush flesh that his grip impresses on, eyelids beginning to close.
He looks back at her face, finding her doe eyes looking up at him, confused. Greg sighs, his resolve breaking. "No. What I am is sorry." There are no breaks, no severe injuries, and the blood came from a simple scrape.
"Oh." She looks down at her knees, watching Greg pick out bits of rock and debris. "I forgive you."
"I can take you home if you want. I understand if you're ready to get away from me." He thinks to himself, she's being polite, trying not to hurt his feelings. Forgiveness given easily is always false from his experience. But he finds himself proven wrong when she snuggles close to his body. She didn't have her coat on, probably still in the restaurant, but women just don't do that to men they don't like, unless they have a gun to their head.
She leans close, seeking warmth and shelter from the bracing wind. His arm curves behind her back, holding her still while his other hand pulls her knees into his lap. The bleeding already stopped, assuring him that the scrapes are shallow. She should still disinfect them at home, but she's not in any danger.
"Can we just... stay here for a moment?"
He smothers the grin that threatens to burst from his lips, savoring the heat of her in his arms.
"Yeah."
A/N: Tell me how many of you guys actually got the Lou Costello reference when it came up in the show. I'm curious lol. I only understood it because as a young girl I went to pick up pizza with my ma and the guy making the pizza saw me holding a bag of skittles and traded a DVD of Abbott and Costello meet the Mummy for my packet of skittles. I think about that experience a lot.
If you have any thoughts or criticisms so far, please let me know in the comments. I really love hearing from you guys~ 3