J.J. - I know Disease fans are going to kill me for updating this instead of that before going on a two-week vacation, but alas...
Chapter 2
It was clever. It was... genius. Who would think to look for the anti-social misanthrope diagnostics doctor in the public cafeteria room? As a general rule, I hate people, so that setting could be considered sort of a mini-hell for me. But by ignoring everyone around me and burying my head in lab results, I effectively turned that mini-hell into a brilliant hideout. Genius.
I was actually rather surprised at the privacy I had. There is solitude in the masses, as I came to discover. No one bothered me, especially not a particular Dean of Medicine, and I bothered no one. It was perfect.
Until someone cleared her throat. Deep in an analysis of an MRI Scan, I was caught unawares and my head jerked up. A curly-haired brunette stood next to my table, fidgeting, and smiled bashfully when our eyes met. The idea of someone attempting communication, here in my sanctuary, was so unthinkable that I could only stare blankly.
"Excuse me. All of the other seats seem to be taken... do you mind if I join you?"
Yes, actually I do. But there are times that even I'm not proud of my unreasonable callousness. And so I will allow you to share this table, but understand that I don't like it.
I conveyed all this through an indifferent shrug and sharp nod toward the empty seat, and the smile of gratitude lit up her face. If she expected a returning smile then she would be sorely disappointed; I quickly buried myself back in my current case's paperwork before she was tempted to try anything like a conversation.
Unfortunately, she either didn't see or was unable to understand my obvious 'don't approach' mannerisms. Because attempting a conversation is exactly what she did. I quickly cut those efforts short, however. I might have shared my table, but I didn't want her thinking we were on the verge of true friendship or something and endeavor to bond.
I caught her trying to analyze/observe me through the corner of her eyes. (Women do that). Little did she know, but I was doing a little observation myself, although much more discreetly. A trait I'm known for, and not affectionately so, is seeing people more as puzzles (AKA inanimate objects) rather than real, feeling people. As far as I could tell, this woman wasn't an interesting puzzle. She looked to be about in her thirties, a mostly pleasant face, regular hazel eyes... average looking. The only thing that stood a bit off-key for me was that fact that she was putting away not one, but two, doughnuts and she was still slender. From then on, in my mind, she became 'Doughnut Girl'.
When Cuddy came in minutes later to downpour on my temporary victory, I thanked Doughnut girl for the nice conversation, laying on the sarcasm as usual. The definite, excusatory spark that lit up her eyes in response was the only thing that made me think about reconsidering my earlier analysis of her.
Doughnut girl flitted through my thoughts a few times during the next couple days, inscrutably. In my life there's never time for reflection, it's always about the here and now. But occasionally, slogging my way through a morass of clinic work or some tedious negotiation with Wilson or Cuddy, she would pop into my mind and break my flow of concentration. That in itself was plenty annoying, but it bothered me still more that I couldn't understand why. Something set her apart from all the other moving faces in my world. But what?
"You don't have a pen?"
I was irritated. How could a pharmacy not have a pen? People had to sign things for almost every order. Not having a pen was stupid and, surprisingly, really inconvenient for customers such as myself. Giving the current pharmacist one of my more nastier stares, I turned towards the front desk. Limping over, I leaned over the counter, ignoring the nurse's gasp of protest as I rifled through papers and office supplies searching for a pen. "C'mon... doesn't anyone in this hospital have a god damn pen?"
With a growl of disgust, I straightened after coming up unsuccessful, eyes searching the ongoing flow of patients as if I would spot one of them twirling a pen in their hands or something. My eyes fell on a young kid, seated in boredom on the counter top right beside me. He glanced at me curiously.
"Hey, kid, you got a pen?" I asked.
He blinked at me for a moment, before reaching into his pocket. "Sure. You want it?"
"Yes." I took it from him, nodding slightly towards him. "Thanks."
A sudden, feminine gasp stopped me from leaving. Stopped me only because I recognized it. Cuddy. I turned and raised an eyebrow at her. "What?"
She was staring at me, then to the pen kid, and then back to me, pleasant shock across her face the whole time. "House, that's incredible, how did you do that?"
Cuddy had gone insane. Oh well, best to play it cool... I didn't want to get the mentally unstable worked up... "Uh... with much practice and a good hairstylist?"
"Daemon... you talked..."
My head snapped back to the kid in surprise. And there, in all her average, annoying glory, was Doughnut Girl. She had her hand on pen-kid's cheek and she looked just as pleasantly surprised as Cuddy. "I can't believe it. Talk to me, Daemon."
Daemon, as his name obviously was, only stared at her. And stared. Doughnut girl, her eyes growing slightly desperate, turned to us with a despaired look. "He's... he's never spoken before. He's a mute. He was adopted when he was seven. No one has ever been able to get him to talk." She was now looking at me as if I were some kind of god.
I looked back at her, slightly uneasy. What? Did she want another miracle? I had only asked for a pen. And now that I had it, I was off to sign for some Vicodin. Dysfunctional mute kids were of no concern of mine.
"Why don't we have Dr. House look at him? He's one of the most renowned diagnostic doctors in the country," Cuddy offered with a small smile.
What?
I glared at Cuddy. Slowly, I shifted my cane and faced Doughnut girl, who blinked innocently at me in reply. "I'm also a drug addict," I said. "And a generally nasty, arrogant son of a bitch, so I really don't think you want me 'looking' at your son, if you catch my drift."
"Oh, he's not my–" she started to reply.
"You got him to talk," Cuddy argued back at me through clenched teeth, cutting Doughnut girl off.
"I asked for a pen," I replied flatly. "There was no method to my madness, in this case."
"Just examine him," Cuddy hissed. "What could it hurt?"
"This is obviously a psychological problem, not a medical one."
"House—"
"No."
"Look," Doughnut girl interrupted our mini-battle with an apologetic smile. "It's really alright." She shrugged. "I'm sure it was just a freak coincidence, I doubt Dr. House could even get him to talk again. It's fine."
She had struck a nerve, though I doubt she realized it. She doubted that I could get him to speak again? Well I doubted that her wave of curls was natural. There was no way to prove such a point except by demonstration. Call it pride, call it whatever the hell you like, but I was suddenly determined to get Daemon to talk again.
"Hey," I poked him in the leg with my cane, much to the chagrin of Cuddy, and the surprise of Doughnut girl. "You. Cat got your tongue?"
He looked at me patronizingly. I could see it faintly in his eyes... it was the same look that I gave the majority of mankind. He thought I was an idiot. I scowled and poked him harder. But just as I was opening my mouth to interrogate him again, Doughnut girl grabbed my arm. I jerked in surprise, turning to glare at her.
"Really, it's alright," she tried to assure me. She was one of those women gifted with a feather firm sort of touch and I quickly became unnerved and moved my arm out of her grasp. Cameron had a similar touch.
Instead of replying, I turned to Daemon and offered him a challenging look. "You– Exam room one." Without waiting for an answer, I began the walk towards the intended exam room. Behind me, I heard him slip off the counter, followed by the soft squeaks of his Sketchers as he followed after me.
One hour later
"I win." I blinked rapidly for a moment, gaining the fluid back in my eyes. I stuck out a hand. "Pay up."
Grumbling, Daemon reached into his jean pockets and pulled out a quarter, placing it in my outstretched palm. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm getting kind of bored with staring contests. Happens when you win all the time..." I mused. He glared at me in response. "We could always have a... I don't know, say, a talking contest?" I feigned sarcastic enlightenment.
Our 'games' were interrupted as the exam room door opened. Cuddy stood in the doorway, looking none too happy. "House, you've been in here for over an hour. You have patients."
"I'm seeing a patient right now."
"Mary Jackson had to leave to catch an appointment," she continued with a scathing tone.
I did not like where this was headed. Especially when she dawned her infamous smirk of doom, which usually meant she had triumphed in some way or another. Which, in turn, usually meant something bad in store for me.
"I told her she was welcome to pick him back up at five."
"He's going to get pretty bored sitting in the waiting room for three hours," I said.
"Oh, he's staying with you," she replied. Daemon grinned like the little banshee he is. I had the urge to vomit.
"I don't babysit."
"You do today."
After the door slammed behind Cuddy, I turned to the little punk and frowned. "And that is what's known as a nymphomaniac."
"Nympho-o-maniac..." Daemon echoed with a grin.
I smirked. "Nice."
J.J. - Narrr... sorry for the supreme shortness. Usually I am determined to write longer chapters, but this was all I could come up with during my busy schedule. Please review!