Looking at House intensely for a second, possibly disappointed in himself, Dr. Foreman sighed and left the room without saying anything.
A moment later. "Two of you four voted for Chase," House said, reclining comfortably in his chair, "too bad for you two that there's really only one vote that matters."
"Yeah, Vogler's vote," I said, snorting as I saw House freeze for a second.
After a second of silence. "That's only because he holds a lot of weight in the hospital," House said, smiling significantly.
"Was that a fat joke?" I asked, looking at the man, disappointed.
Not because the joke was offensive toward someone else's body, unlike the patient, I cared very little if someone attacked Vogler for anything. It was simply that the joke was very bad.
Nodding, embarrassed, as if he knew he could do better, House leaned back in his chair, thinking seriously, possibly about a better joke. Fortunately, before he could come up with something, the door to his office opened, drawing our attention.
"You picked Foreman?" Dr. Wilson asked, incredulous.
Raising a finger to stop Dr. Wilson and squinting slightly with his head tilted to one side, as if he needed to actively remember. "No?" House responded, pretending not to be entirely sure.
"Then why, when I crossed him in the hallway a moment ago, did he have a look on his face like his dog just died?" Dr. Wilson asked, approaching the other free chair next to me, "PJ," he added, patting my shoulder gently in greeting.
"Maybe because he saw you walking in the hallway?" House responded, smiling maliciously.
Rolling his eyes, exasperated at House's joke, Dr. Wilson turned to me, surely looking for the answer to his question.
Why did this always happen to me?
"What is this obsession with using the kid to answer questions directed at me?" House asked. "It's your fault," he added a second later, pointing at me.
"How is that my fault?" I asked immediately, offended. "I don't like it either."
"Well, it's kind of your fault," Dr. Wilson said, raising his shoulders slightly, completely robbing me of my ability to speak, "I mean, you're basically a House-to-decent-human-being translator."
Putting his hand over his chest, falsely hurt. "Wow, way to make a guy feel special," House complained, frowning.
"That's just how it is, ask anyone," Dr. Wilson declared, casually shrugging.
"Oh yeah?" House asked, smiling with malice.
"Yeah, the nurses love him, a lot of doctors heard about his paper and now they're waiting for it to be published so they can read it."
I knew that people generally appreciated me, especially the nurses, which really wasn't hard to achieve you just had to treat people like human beings, people who are otherwise reduced to a title. But reminding House of that would somehow be a nightmare.
"So everyone loves the kid?" House asked, raising an eyebrow with interest, "even Chase?"
Ah, I was expecting a lot more mockery, House was just interested in gossip.
"I just told him I thought he was acting like an idiot," I answered the question House hadn't asked.
My words surprised Dr. Wilson, making his head snap toward me. I guess, like anyone else who knew Chase before, he'd think Chase was the easiest person on the diagnostics team to get along with, but ever since Vogler arrived, that wasn't even close to true. Cameron was usually that person.
"That's it?" House asked, disappointed. "You didn't hit him, spit on him, or talk about his alcoholic mom?"
Apparently, House had also deduced, since the Palermo case, that by the way Chase had reacted, it was possible his mother had abused alcohol at some point in his life.
"No, I'm not you," I said in my defense.
"My exact point," Dr. Wilson declared triumphantly.
Snorting, House shook his head. "You wish."
Before I could defend myself, maybe by throwing out another offensive joke, House's pager went off, making the man shift his attention.
"It's the clinic," House said, frowning.
For a moment I thought, and surely House did too, that it would be an emergency call to the patient's room, since it was a treatment with heparin and warfarin, relatively strong anticoagulants for a child, there was a very high risk of massive bleeding.
Sighing. "Must be the bloodwork," I said a moment later, pushing my head against the back of the chair, defeated. Thinking about the problem it would be to explain to Mrs. Hernández that she was, in fact, pregnant.
"Great news," House declared, falsely cheerful, "and look at that, seems we've got enough time to cover a couple more clinic hours," he added, checking his watch.
Refusing to answer anything, I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted.
Patting my shoulder. "Want a coffee?" Dr. Wilson asked, smiling amused.
Snorting, defeated. "No thanks," I replied, stretching my neck.
Standing up. "Well come on, the day's not getting any younger," House said, stretching with a smile on his face.
Alongside House, Dr. Wilson and I left the office heading to the clinic.
Along the way, House had finally deigned to tell Wilson what had happened in the lounge and with Dr. Foreman moments earlier, all with some reality adjustments from my side.
Just a few steps from the clinic. "Guess he's not the rise-above-the-fray guy he'd like us to think he is," House said sarcastically, as if he hadn't forced it.
Looking at House with a frown. "You practically forced it out of him," Dr. Wilson correctly stated.
"He did," I said neutrally, making House roll his eyes, exasperated.
"He's scared of losing his job, just like everybody else," House defended himself calmly.
Upon entering the clinic. "I've been thinking," Dr. Wilson said slowly, "You've made it quite clear that you're miserable here."
"I am not miserable," House replied, making both Dr. Wilson and me look at him suspiciously.
A second later. "You're not happy," Dr. Wilson argued.
"And any of you are?" House asked, raising his eyebrows.
"With my job, yes," Dr. Wilson replied.
"I'm doing pretty well," I declared, silently greeting Fryday, who gently slid a document in front of where I stopped at her desk.
"Well, I am exactly where I want to be, doing exactly what I want to do," House said, leaning back on the desk, trying to see through the small glass panes of Dr. Cuddy's private office.
"Think I sense a hint of sarcasm there," Dr. Wilson murmured.
While they were talking, I carefully read Mrs. Hernández's test results, immediately discovering I was wrong, she wasn't pregnant.
"Fuck," I muttered, clicking my teeth, drawing the attention of Dr. Wilson and House.
With a high possibility the woman had cancer, disappointed, I handed the papers to House who immediately started reading.
"What is it?" Dr. Wilson asked.
"Either a woman carrying an alien baby or your newest patient," House replied, handing the documents to Wilson, "Call her," he ordered a moment later.
Noticing how Dr. Wilson frowned while reading the results. "Fryday, can I use your phone?" I asked the nurse.
"Sure hon, bad news?" the woman replied, immediately placing the phone on the desk.
"Possibly," I answered, nodding, looking through the chart for the woman's number, "what do I tell her?" I asked House, remembering I had never actually done this.
Looking at me with a raised eyebrow, possibly also realizing I had never done this. House sighed, leaned forward slightly, and to everyone's surprise, spoke with hints of kindness.
"Over the phone you're not going to reveal anything specific," he explained, scratching his temple with an absent gesture, "what you need to do is make her understand it's important she come in as soon as possible, you need to be direct, without alarming her. If you hesitate, people start imagining the worst or just ignore you, and when someone is stupid without being scared, you don't want to imagine when they are afraid."
Dr. Wilson, who had been focused on reading the data until then, stopped and looked at House, surprised. Fryday, with a chocolate halfway to her mouth, looked at him silently. Both, like me, completely speechless at this display of humanity from House.
"Or you could just tell her she might have cancer and if she gets here within half an hour, the diagnosis is free," House added a second later, as if he felt the need to balance out his sudden moment of empathy.
Snorting dryly, Dr. Wilson shook his head. "Do you want me to-" he was asking, but House interrupted him by raising one of his hands.
"I got it," I declared, with false confidence.
While dialing the number written on the chart, I mentally repeated House's instructions in my head. No hesitation. No details. Just urgency and calm.
The phone rang a couple of times before it was answered.
"Hello?" said a child's voice on the other end of the call.
"Hello, is Mrs. Hernandez, Lucille Hernandez, home?" I asked, feeling strangely how my heart pounded in my chest, the woman had six children.
I had pronounced dozens of people dead, who unfortunately didn't make it to the hospital after an accident, sometimes in front of family members inside the ambulance. Calling with the idea that you're about to deliver life-changing bad news was a completely different feeling.
"Yes," the child replied.
Waiting a couple of seconds, I could hear the breathing, slightly labored, on the other end of the call. "Can you tell her to come to the phone?" I asked, closing my eyes. I had no idea how old the child who answered was, but clearly not old enough to know what to do when picking up a call.
"Yes," he replied again.
For a second, I thought the child wasn't going to do what I asked, maybe needing me to be more specific. But, a moment later, "mom!" the child shouted for his mother, almost bursting my eardrum in the process.
Pulling the phone away from my ear, stunned, I saw how the three adults in front of me smiled amusedly to varying degrees at my 'suffering.'
With the phone away from my ear, I managed to hear a murmur on the other end of the call.
"I'm sorry what?" I asked, bringing the phone to my other ear.
"I said, my mom is in the bathroom, she might take a while," the child repeated nonchalantly.
"Okay, thank you," I said, and a moment later I heard the phone hit a solid surface and then nothing. With the two doctors and the nurse watching me with interest, to avoid any teasing, especially from House, I pretended to be listening attentively to something on the call.
Just a few seconds passed before someone was again on the other end of the phone. "Who is it?" asked the woman, impatiently.
"Mrs. Hernandez, this is the hospital," I said, making the woman snort with disdain, "you need to come back to the hospital as soon as possible," I added seriously, choosing my words to avoid scaring her.
Contrary to my expectations, the woman wasn't scared. "What, go back to the hospital?" she asked angrily, "now what?" she added, practically yelling in my ear.
"There are inconclusive results in your blood tests, so we need to run a couple more tests," I replied, without really knowing what to say.
"Is it because of what they told me?" she asked, significantly calming down, "about the invasive structure," she added a moment later.
In a way, yes, not a baby, but possibly a tumor.
"We need to do a couple more tests to be one hundred percent sure," I said slowly, with no intention of continuing to lie to the possibly ill woman.
Sighing, frustrated. "Am I going to have to wait for hours again?" she asked, and I could practically hear how she adjusted her body with a hand on her hip.
"No, no," I assured her quickly, "as soon as you arrive, the nurses will let me know," I said, raising an eyebrow at Fryday who nodded without issue.
"All right, I'll be there," the woman said, hanging up the phone abruptly.
"Perfect," I said, even though there was no one left to talk to, "no need to thank me, just doing my job," I added, smiling slightly, "yeah, yeah of course see you here."
Finishing my performance, I hung up the phone that had been completely silent for several seconds, smiling in relief.
I really was relieved, I didn't know if I had 'checked off' all the objectives of the call, but at least it felt okay.
Fryday, without saying a word, kindly smiling, placed a chocolate on the desk in front of me, a victory gift I happily took.
"Not bad for your first time," said Dr. Wilson, making House snort dramatically.
"Is that why you divorced Samantha?" he asked, amused.
"What? No," Dr. Wilson responded, immediately offended. "For your information, I was really good," he defended himself a moment later.
House, pleased that his provocation had worked, looked at Dr. Wilson with a malicious smile on his face.
Dr. Wilson, embarrassed, realizing only a moment later what he had said out loud. "PJ, page me when she arrives," he told me before quickly leaving the clinic.
Snorting once again, without saying anything, House walked in the opposite direction toward the office.
Once we were alone. "You did a really good job," Fryday told me cheerfully.
"Thanks," I said, genuinely grateful and slightly embarrassed, taking a new chart from the desk.
Mrs. Hernández arrived several minutes later, enough time to have seen a couple of patients in the clinic.
As I promised over the phone, she was seen immediately. While we waited for Dr. Wilson, following House's orders, I explained on my own that her blood tests had shown indicators of cancer, specifically ovarian cancer, but more tests were necessary before we could be completely sure.
The woman, scared, immediately changed her attitude, speaking kindly and following instructions without resistance. And an hour later, with the results of the ultrasound and a biopsy, Dr. Wilson, House, and I stood in front of her.
With the documents in his hands. "The ultrasound and biopsy confirmed our worry," Dr. Wilson said seriously. "The tumor is extremely large, at least thirty pounds."
The woman covered her mouth, visibly worried. "Oh, God."
"It's actually a personal record for this clinic," House declared sarcastically, making the woman's previous expression of mortal worry disappear immediately.
The tumor, despite weighing practically double that of an average newborn, was a cystadenoma, completely benign, non-cancerous and not life-threatening, but it would definitely cause significant problems in her life.
Looking at House for a second, annoyed. "It's completely benign, there's no sign of cancer at all," Dr. Wilson quickly assured, "I've already spoken with Dr. Bergin, and he's available first thing in the morning."
"For what?" the woman asked, confused.
"For the surgery," Dr. Wilson explained.
"But if it's not cancer, it can't kill me, right?" the woman asked, immediately shifting her attitude, once again speaking with disdain.
"No," Dr. Wilson responded, incredulous, surely not understanding the woman's thought process.
Anyone would think that the only reason not to want a tumor removed from your body would be fear of surgery. I was sure it was a matter of vanity.
"I'll have a huge scar," the woman argued, obviously, "I won't be able to wear a bikini."
Yeah.
"Do you wear a bikini now?" House asked, incredulous.
Raising her eyebrows, visibly offended. "Yeah," the woman exclaimed immediately, "you got a problem with that?" she added, staring down House.
Raising his free hand. "Nope," House responded, "But I've never gone swimming with you," he added a moment later, sarcastically.
Snorting, the woman grabbed her purse abruptly. "I knew it," she said, standing up. "That's what this is all about, you're trying to force me to have cosmetic surgery."
Dr. Wilson, House, and I looked at the woman completely incredulous. House's comment was completely out of line, like everything the man said, but the woman was entirely wrong.
Being the first to snap out of the shock, House snorted amused. "Yeah, that's exactly why I planted a thirty-pound tumor on your ovary."
"It's not gonna kill me," the woman declared. "The only thing surgery is gonna do is change the way I look, that's the definition of cosmetic surgery."
"It would also relieve your heartburn and discomfort," Dr. Wilson murmured.
"Yeah, right, why give an antacid if you can cut someone up and make them a little easier on your eyes?" she asked, nearly spitting the words. "My husband loves my body," she said, once again running her hand down her body, "He can't get enough of it, you think he's gonna want to touch me if I look like I've been gutted like a fish?"
Finishing her words, the woman left the room walking with both pride and disdain.
"That was unexpected," Dr. Wilson murmured.
Amused. "Yeah, it was," House added.
"At least it wasn't a bad result," I commented, shrugging.
Snorting. "Yeah, easy for you to say, she didn't yell in your face," Dr. Wilson said.
"It was kind of hot," House commented, immediately earning disgusted looks from Wilson and me. "What? She's got a lot of confidence."
Before Dr. Wilson or I could say anything, House's pager went off again.
"Foreman came back," he said after reading the message on his device for a second.
In the lounge, Dr. Foreman was waiting with his arms crossed; from his expression, he hadn't found anything in the patient's house.
Upon seeing us, the doctor shook his head while clenching his jaw. "There wasn't a single weight-loss medication in the house. Jessica definitely has a balanced diet. Her fridge is full of fruits and vegetables, and I didn't see any junk food in the house, not in the kitchen, not in her room," he said seriously. "If she got the medication, it wasn't from her mother."
She definitely would have a balanced diet. The data in her chart included a record of all the visits she had made to two different nutritionists over the years. If it was true that the girl exercised and ate well, reading all that, it was extremely strange that she was obese.
There was no logical reason.
Leaning on his cane. "We can't go around interrogating kids, the school is closed," House commented slowly. "So the only way to find out is to get the information from the source itself."
"You want me to interrogate a ten-year-old girl?" Foreman asked, frowning. "She's not going to tell me anything."
"Maybe not to you," House murmured, slowly shifting his gaze to me, "but to someone almost her age."
With my mind still occupied by how strange the patient's obesity was, it took me a couple of seconds to understand what House was suggesting.
"I can't-" I tried to say, but House interrupted me.
"Bah, of course you can," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "She's a ten-year-old girl. If you can't get information out of her, then what have you learned from me all these months?"
"It's a kid," I said, shaking my head. "Her mother is going to be there."
Before I could think of another reason to refuse, since my mind had already started listing the things I could use to pressure the girl into giving us the information we needed.
Dr. Foreman sighed, cutting off my train of thought and making me feel guilty. "I can distract the mother, so you can talk to the girl," he said, possibly seeing no other way, surprising both House and me.
Foreman agreed that I should somehow get the information from the girl. This had to be a joke. After all, he was present in Sister Augustine's room the last time I 'interrogated' a patient.
"Then we have a plan," House declared, walking to his office with a strange excitement in his step. "Don't come back until you have some information. She's a kid, just lie to her," he added before entering his office.
Left alone with Dr. Foreman in the lounge, an awkward silence immediately followed.
Not knowing what to do or say, I took a folder from the lounge table with the patient's chart and one of the lab coats hanging on the lounge coat rack, possibly one of House's.
"What's that for?" Dr. Foreman asked, frowning.
"We're in a hospital," I said slowly. "I need to look like someone who works in a hospital."
Even though I had spoken confidently, I really had no idea what I was going to do, I had no plan.
Nodding slowly, Dr. Foreman began walking out of the lounge. A second later, I followed him, carrying the things in my hands.
In one of the hospital's hallways, breaking the uncomfortable silence once more. "How are you going to do it?" the doctor asked me.
"I don't know," I replied.
That was a lie, during our silent walk, I had managed to come up with a few plans. Most were discarded because I didn't want to directly attack the girl. Therefore, only one thing was left to do, lie.
A few steps away from one of the rooms, Dr. Foreman stopped abruptly, just like my mental list of options. "Wait here," he said before continuing on alone.
When I saw Dr. Foreman enter one of the rooms, I instinctively hid behind a hospital pillar. I knew it wasn't necessary, none of the patient's family would recognize me, but being so close to 'interrogating' the girl, I felt like I had to do it.
A few seconds later, I peeked my head out, scanning the hallway for any trace of someone. I carefully walked past the room pretending to continue down the hall just to make sure no one else was inside besides the patient.
With the coast clear, I returned to the door of the room, taking a deep breath before entering.
Immediately, the only person inside the room, a clearly overweight girl, was lying on her bed, looking depressed. "Who are you?" she asked, frowning in confusion.
"Patrick John," I answered calmly, casually pointing to the hospital ID with my photo hanging from the lab coat, consciously avoiding giving my last name in case she somehow recognized Gabe's. "PJ, if you prefer. I work with the doctors treating you."
The girl looked at me in silence, not entirely trusting. I sat in the chair next to her bed like I wasn't in a hurry.
"Your mom had to step out for a moment with Dr. Foreman," I said in a way that the girl, who likely knew the doctor's name, would recognize that I was telling the truth. "She asked me to stay with you. Said you didn't like being alone."
"I didn't say that," she replied immediately, defensively crossing her arms.
One way or another, I had studied a bunch of kids my brother's age, from when I worked those weeks as a babysitter to when I interacted with the neighborhood kids during the afternoons I went out to play. I smiled slightly, they all shared the same need to appear strong in front of someone older.
"No, but she thought it. Moms do that sometimes when they're really worried about their kids. They say things for you even if you didn't know you said them."
Jessica lowered her gaze, saddened. I had reminded her that her mom was worried, even if she might not show it.
In the small moment of silence, I noticed that my words were starting to sound more and more like those of a weird guy in a park. Fortunately, I wasn't, and my reason for lying to a child was to save her life, yes, nothing shady.
"Can I tell you something weird?" I asked suddenly, taking advantage of the girl's moment of self-reflection.
Caught by surprise, the girl didn't respond, and I didn't give her time to.
"Your body is lying to us," I said, leaning back in the chair as I opened the folder with her chart.
"What?" Jessica asked, looking at me strangely.
"Yeah," I said, stopping on a random page. "This tells a story that doesn't match what we see in your tests. See?" I asked, showing her the page with her vaccination record. "Really serious."
The girl squinted, trying to read what the page said. A second later, I slammed the chart shut.
"And do you know why that happens?" I asked seriously, leaning forward, causing the girl to slowly shake her head. "Well, that happens when someone isn't telling the truth."
Jessica said nothing, but from her expression, it was obvious there was something she hadn't said. This was the moment.
I waited a couple of seconds. Then, lowering my voice slightly. "Jessica, we know," I lied, keeping my tone as neutral as possible, frowning like everything had already been solved. "You took medication. Who gave it to you? Your mom?"
I had been completely ambiguous about the type of medication, most likely, she had taken something she thought would help her lose weight, but I couldn't give details I didn't know in the lie, or the girl would figure it out.
"What? No," she replied immediately, offended. Her reaction was automatic, genuine, she didn't even think before denying it.
"Okay," I nodded, making a fake note in the folder. "Then someone else. Because if it wasn't you, and it wasn't your mom, it's much more serious."
The girl looked at me, nervous.
"If someone else gave them to you without you knowing, that's a crime, Jessica," I declared seriously. "If that happened, the hospital is required to report it. The police would come, probably ask questions here, at your school, at your house," I added, pressing my lips together. "They'll want to know who gave you something without your permission."
Jessica's eyes opened a bit wider, fear began to appear on her face.
"Or, you can tell me right now that it was you, and we can tell the doctors it was just a mistake, something you didn't know was dangerous."
I leaned back in the chair. I paused, long, very long.
"Which one is it?" I asked softly. "Number one or number two?"
Jessica looked down, then murmured, barely audible. "I took them."
Her voice cracked a little.
"I didn't know it was that serious."
I said nothing. I didn't nod. I didn't smile. I just let the silence do its part.
"I took them from the store," she added afterward. "My mom was distracted so no one saw me, I just put them in my backpack."
Before I could say anything, the room door opened. Jessica's mother, along with Dr. Foreman, entered still mid-conversation.
"...should be back soon. They already told her-" the woman was saying, but she stopped abruptly when she saw me. "Who are you?" she asked, frowning.
Before I could say anything. "He's PJ Duncan, a student doing his internship at the hospital," Dr. Foreman declared, easily lying... Well, I was a student, not a medical student, but a student nonetheless.
"Okay," the woman murmured. "Baby, what's going on?" she asked a moment later, noticing her daughter's tearful eyes.
The woman, turning her gaze back to me, frowned again, surely forming a horrible idea in her head about what might have happened in the room.
Fortunately. "Mommy…" Jessica said, her voice trembling. "It was me."
The mother widened her eyes. "What?"
Jessica swallowed. "I took some pills to lose weight," she admitted, crying. "I'm sorry."
"Where did you get them?" Dr. Foreman asked immediately.
"I took them from the store."
Approaching her daughter's bed. "Why? Why would you do that?" the woman asked, holding her daughter's head.
Now crying fully. "I didn't want to be ugly anymore," Jessica responded.
"Oh, baby. You're not ugly," her mother whispered.
"Yes, I am," the girl exclaimed. "I know you don't think so, but I am, I'm disgusting."
"Jessica, please don't say that," the woman ordered, gently pushing her daughter back to look her directly in the eyes.
"I just wanted to fit in," the girl declared sadly. "You know, have friends or at least have one person my age be nice to me."
While mother and daughter were hugging, Dr. Foreman and I could only stand in silence.
A couple of seconds later. "Listen, the... the pills cause blood clots, heart attacks and insomnia," Dr. Foreman said slowly. "It explains everything, so we'll keep her overnight to make sure, but she'll be fine."
Nodding. "Thank you," the woman said.
---
Author Thoughts:
As always, I'm not American, not a doctor, not a fighter, not Magnus Carlsen, not Michael Phelps, not Arsene Lupin, not McLovin, not Elliot, not Capone.
Another chapter has passed, so new thanks are in order. I would like to especially thank:
11332223
RandomPasserby96
Victor_Venegas
I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.
Thank you for reading! :D
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