"Don't you know there ain't no devil, there's just God when he's drunk."
-Thomas Waits "Heartattack and Vine"
It was the ungodly hour of nine forty-seven A.M. when Dr. House limped through the front doors into Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital's volumous lobby- and immediately turned with every intent on leaving. He had just managed to pivot himself on his cane and turned back to the doors…
"Doctor House!"
Crap.
The seasonal October chill made his leg ache even through all the painkillers in his system. It was dead weight that slowed him down. For the first time in years, House found himself regretting Cuddy hadn't amputated his leg after all.
"Doctor House! A moment of your time please?"
Please? Good God. He'd rather put up with Cuddy than have to deal with this.
Swallowing down his aggravated grimace for an expression of impatient apathy, House managed to wheel back around (which was really too much damn effort) and found he didn't even recognize the guy who was tortured him while wearing that friendly, pleading smile. Sure, Doctor House didn't bother to even learn the names of most of the patients that came to him with rare, bizarre, and usually fatal diseases that were exceedingly more interested than them. But that just meant he didn't give a rat's ass about patients. Or people, really. Now, doctors, it was an asset to learn doctors' name; it kind of made things easier when you blackmail them about the busty blondes that most obviously aren't their wives.
But this face was new. And young. A rookie that wore the white labcoat on his shoulders like a badge of honor. Fresh out of med-school and wholly ignorant of how utterly useless the quarter million dollars worth of "education" he bought was in the real world.
I take it back. This is so much better than Cuddy. "Not that your outfit is just the perfect little Halloween costume," House said, "but you should really just save it for trick or treating. Someone might confuse you for a doctor in here."
The newbie made a show of ignoring the greeting. Probably asked around about him beforehand so he could work up the nerve. "I'm Doctor Harding, from Pediatrics."
House's voice perked with specious interest. "Pediatrics? Oh, I just love working with those cute kids. So young and innocent…it never occurs to them to ask why we always ask them to strip down to their underwear for the 'examinations'," he said with a conspiratorial wink.
And before the so-called 'Doctor' Harding could reply, House brushed past him with sails set for the salvation of the elevators.
"I have a case for you," Harding offered to his back. The pediatrician's footfalls fell in line with the clack of his cane on linoleum.
"Sorry, already got plenty of those. If I take your case on, I'm liable to exceed the maximum capacity of cases a doctor can safely have. Like a fat guy on an elevator." At that, he punched the elevator button marked 'Up'.
"You don't have any cases," Harding accused.
House turned on him incredulously. "And how would you know?"
"I asked Doctor Cuddy."
"You went to Cuddy?" House looked repulsed. "For a guy trying to get me to do something for him, you're really not getting any brownie points. Actually, if you need lessons on how to kiss ass, I can introduce you to this one Australian guy…"
The kid laughed a reply with an ironic kind of resignation. "My God, I didn't believe them, but the legends are true: You really are a phenomenal ass."
"Much as I love having my phenomenal ass complimented by a younger guy, we'd better be careful. Wilson's the jealous type."
When the elevator door pinged open happily, Doctors House and Harding stood on opposite ends of the threshold for several long, awkward seconds. Finally, and wearily, House motioned the kid to join him. And immediately regretted it when Harding grinned like an idiot watching Jackass.
Adjusting his stiff new labcoat, Harding pressed the corresponding button for the pediatrics floor and explained his case. "Eight-year-old female, presenting with involuntary tics of her arms, legs, and face."
There was a pause.
"What, that's it?" House asked.
"Well…yeah. Her parents brought her in about a week ago- something about their child constantly twitching for no reason disturbed them. I thought they were just being overprotective but hey, I decided to humor them."
The elevator was quiet save for the hum of its hydraulics.
"It's times like this I regret losing that lucky cricket I got in China," House said. "Great sense of humor. Then again, he chirped in Chinese, so I had no idea what he was saying."
Another happy chime and the door slid open to their floor. House got off, Harding followed. "MRI her head, check for any indications of trauma or brain abnormalities."
"Already did. She came back normal."
"Hypothyroidism explains the symptoms. Check her TSH levels to see if they're too low."
"TSH fell within normal parameters of a child her age. And there was also no physical trauma or infections that would point to Dystonia."
It was slow, but the case was getting interesting. "Any mentions of liver disease in her family?"
"Did a full family history, even talked to her grandparents. Nothing in their family even resembles this."
"Then it's a developmental disorder: Dyspraxia."
"Like I said before, no trauma, and no indications of any problems in her development. She's a little clumsy, but it's still nervous tics, not a complete failure to carry out simple tasks."
"Ataxic Cerebral Palsy." House fired. He wasn't going to run out of ammunition anytime soon. There was a wealth of disorders that caused twitching.
"Unlikely. There were no complications in her birth that could have contributed to that, and a CAT scan showed no damage to her cerebellum. Plus, no associated symptoms like joint or bone deformities, and nothing that hints to seizures, epilepsy, eating disorders, sensory impairment, or any indications of a learning disorder."
The smallest inkling of respect for the newbie was slowly creeping up on House. He'd defiantly been busy. "Psychological trauma. A cousin or neighbor had a game of 'doctor' that didn't involve stethoscopes and charming cripples."
Harding looked clearly perturbed at the prospect, but didn't falter. "She seems well adjusted. Quiet, but I it strikes me more along the line of being shy than nursing some deep trauma. Besides, she and her twin brother are practically joined at the hip- if there was any kind of abuse, he'd know. Or at least show symptoms that he was too. "
When House stopped in the middle of the hall, it took Dr. Harding a moment to realize where they were. Somehow, Dr. House had led them straight to his patient's room. "Wait a minute. How'd you know where to-"
"Heard about the case yesterday. I was planning to visit the kid myself. Crazy, huh?"
-------------
If there was one constant in the boring, chaotic insanity in the world, it was the predictability of people. People lied, cheated, stole, killed, tortured, screwed, hated, and generally pranced along the happy road to a comforting afterlife called Hell. That you could always count on people to act like people was both House's only real comfort and his greatest discontent. That people were just as stupid at least served to amuse him in the very real purgatory poets called Life.
Most people considered children to be the epitome of innocence and man's hope for the future. Greg House was obviously not "most people". To him, kids were people in the purest sense: too young to have learned the adult way to dress up their prejudices, selfishness, and character flaws behind the cheap facades of civil social interaction. If a kid didn't like another kid, they teased, ridiculed, and tormented the other kid until they either cried or fought back. When a little boy liked a girl, he skipped the boring romantic crap and went straight to the ugly break-up that ended with tears and somebody with a face-full of dirt. If a kid wanted something, they wanted it, now, and usually went with the kicking and screaming at whatever idiot said no or got in their way.
A lot of people called Dr. House unprofessional and childish. Dr. House considered it an improvement from the coward who smiled and laughed with someone they hated then trashed them whenever they left the room.
And it was for all these reasons House limped into a sick eight year old girl's room with an uncharacteristic- and rather disturbing- upbeat poise. "Hi there."
A boy and girl with round faces and brown hair replied him in unison. "Hi!"
Pediatrics had cooler outfits for patients then…say…the grown-up's cancer ward. The patient sat in a hospital gown with colorful cartoon dragons huffing fire at one another; her little feet dangled over the floor under her bed.
"And you must be little…" his free hand plucked the chart from her bed. "Karen. I'm Greg."
The boy- her twin, he presumed- adjusted his glasses and stared House's cane with curiosity only a kid could get away with. "What's wrong with your leg?"
"Jeffery!" a woman admonished. Probably the mom.
"What's wrong with your face?" House countered with equal immaturity.
The twins giggled, but it seemed their father took offense for them. "Who the hell are you?"
"This is Doctor House," Harding said from the doorway. He seemed quite desperate to disarm the situation. Pathetically desperate, really. "He's the head of our hospital's Department of Diagnostic Medicine- he specializes in…unorthodox cases."
An old woman sitting in a chair near the bed harrumphed skeptically. House's eye caught the rosary beads curled in her gnarled, arthritic hands. "We've seen half-a-dozen different doctors in the past month that couldn't figure out what was wrong with my Granddaughter."
If she was the patient's grandmother, that made the old guy nodding approvingly at her side the grandpa. "That's right! We've been saying it since this all started, but no one's been listening to us!"
"Dad," the father sighed. "Not now…"
"You hush, boy!" Grandma's bark sounded like a creaky old tree. "The sooner you admit we're right, the sooner Karen can get to people who can really help her."
House turned to the newbie. "Doctor Harding, you didn't tell me this nice elderly couple already solved to case! To think I was going to let you take me out to dinner tonight…"
"Doctor House," the father spoke up. "You have to understand, my parents are very devout in their faith. They think my daughter's been possessed by some kind of demon."
"It isn't natural," the grandfather protested. "All those jitterin' and shakin'- it'll only get worse once that thing gets its claws into her!"
Forty-seven years of experience didn't lie; people were morons. "Don't you worry," House assured them facetiously. "I've had plenty of experience with metaphysical beings. Why, a sixteen year old patient of mine was a faith healer who thought he could talk to God, turned out he just had herpes. How's that for irony?"
"This isn't a joke!" Grandma just wouldn't let it go. "Your Godless science can't heal her! Only the Lord can!"
House's faced cracked a smile. His next words were straight from his father's days in the Marines. "God was busy, so he sent me." Clean out of patience, he turned his attention to the only interesting thing in the room: the girl…what's her name.
The shaking wasn't sublet- but it wasn't similar a violent seizure either. Tremors in the hands and feet seemed the most pronounced; her facial expression was normal save the occasional tic that looked as if an invisible fly was buzzing around her face.
"Could you walk across the room?" he asked her.
No stupid question of 'what for' or 'why', she just climbed off the bet and padded across the cold floor in her bare feet.
Even more interesting. Her gait was awkward, like she couldn't control her legs or her sense of balance was off. A symptom the newbie overlooked. "That must've been tiring. Wanna glass of water?"
Confused, she nodded anyway. "Yes, please."
House motioned at Dr. Harding, and leaned on his cane as he waited for the pediatrician to hand her a plastic cup of water. She held it- for about two seconds. It slipped out of her hands and spilled all over her gown and puddle on the floor at her feet.
"What was that for?" asked the father. At least it wasn't a stupid question.
"Just a little diagnostic test," House replied. "Hypotonia: weakness in the muscles that makes it difficult for a patient to grasp objects. Lucky for your girl, there's a long list on conditions that could cause any of her symptoms."
The mother this time. "And how is this a good thing?"
"Because if there weren't as many, it wouldn't be nearly as interesting." As House headed out of the room, he passed Dr. Harding and said, "I'll take the case."
While this isn't my first fanfiction, this is my first House, M.D. fic. To be honest, I was surprised the utter incompetence of House category. 7,500 fics and I only find two bloody stories that don't make me want to stab out my own eyes so I'll stop crying for David Shore!
A lot of research went into this to stay faithful to the medical accuracy of the show itself. The little girl's symptoms all lead to a real (albeit rare) medical illness. Any of you House-buffs think you can solve it, include you guesses in your reviews. You'll wintechnically nothing, but you'll be on a list of people who got it right once the story is over.
Reviews are always appreciated.
-Cyrus
(Note: House belongs to FOX and David Shore. If it was mine, this story would be a script.)