In Safe Hands (CG! Gregory House x GN! Reader)
Summary: You regress at work due to seeing blood and the person you least expect to be there for you takes care of you.
Warning: Age regression, crying, comfort, mentions of medical setting/hospitals, fainting, mild confusion, angst with comfort.
Requested by my friend @roadkilledcanine!
You worked at Princeton–Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, and compared to other hospitals, this one actually felt good. The staff were friendly, the work challenging but rewarding. Even the bosses weren’t unbearable.
Today, though, was not your best day.
Your alarm hadn’t gone off, and by the time you opened your eyes you had ten minutes to get ready. You threw on scrubs and bolted out the door, no breakfast, no coffee, not even brushing your teeth. By the time you ran into the hospital, lungs burning, you were barely on time.
You stuffed a water bottle and a granola bar into your bag for later and rushed to the morning meeting, then began your rounds with your supplies for blood collection.
Your first stop was Kaiden Road’s room. He smiled politely when you entered. Two doctors were already there, but you were too rushed to focus on them.
“I’m here to collect blood samples,” you said, checking your file.
“That’s for me,” Kaiden confirmed.
You set your things down, prepped the syringe, found the vein and then the moment the blood began filling the vial, your vision blurred. The room tilted sideways. Your stomach flipped.
“I-uh c-can one of you finish this? I don’t… feel good.” You staggered, nearly collapsing. Your knees felt weak, but strong hands quickly caught you before you could fall.
“Kid, take a breath,” a dry voice muttered in your ear. “I’ve got you.”
And that was the last straw. The exhaustion, the hunger, the stress, everything knocked you straight out of your big headspace. The world felt too big. You felt too small. Tears spilled before you could stop them, fat, hot and endless.
House, despite his limp, guided you quickly out of the room, his fellows gawking after him. He didn’t stop until he shoved open the door to an empty consult room and closed it firmly behind him.
“Terrific,” he muttered. “Catch the collapsing nurse, add spontaneous crying. My day just keeps getting better.”
You hiccupped as he sat you down in the chair, trying to make yourself small. Your fists rubbed at your eyes, sleeves bunched in your hands. You rocked slightly, legs pulled up, toes curling against the chair. A soft whimper escaped your mouth, unfiltered.
House paused, tilting his head. He saw it, the way you clutched your sleeves for comfort, the way your voice had shrunk to small noises, the nervous rocking. Not just overwhelmed. Regressed.
“Oh, great,” he said dryly. “Daycare shift. My favorite.”
You hid your face behind your arms, crying harder.
House sighed, lowering himself into the opposite chair. “Hey. Hey, kiddo. Look at me.” His tone dropped, quieter than usual. He tapped his cane against the floor in a steady rhythm. “In. Out. Match the beat, unless you want to hyperventilate and ruin my afternoon further.”
You peeked out, sniffling, and started matching your breathing to the sound. It helped, though tears still rolled.
“That’s better,” House muttered. He reached into your bag, snagged the granola bar you’d packed, and tore it open. He held it out. “You need to eat something. Doctor’s orders.”
You hesitated, lip wobbling, then took it from him with two hands like it was a precious item. Nibbling tiny bites, you kept glancing at him, watery-eyed.
“Don’t give me puppy eyes,” House warned, though his voice lacked its usual bite. “I don’t do lullabies. You eat, you breathe, you stop trying to drown me in tears. That’s the deal.”
A shaky giggle slipped out of you, half-sob, half-laugh.
He smirked faintly. “There it is. Thought I’d lost you for a second.”
Your hands fidgeted as you ate, tugging at your sleeves, twirling the wrapper. When you finished, you whispered, voice small and unsteady, “T-thank you…”
House tilted his head, studying you. “Huh. Polite. That’s new around here.” He leaned back, twirling his cane. “Don’t apologize, don’t thank me. Just… eat next time. Preferably before you reenact Bambi in front of a patient.”
You pouted faintly at the teasing, shoulders hunching.
“Oh, don’t give me that face.” His smirk grew. “You’ll ruin my reputation if people find out I can handle tears and pouts without running for the hills.”
Despite yourself, you laughed again, your giggle being slightly hoarse from the sobbing you had been doing.
House stayed. He didn’t rush you, didn’t tell you to “snap out of it.” For a man who pretended to hate people, he let you curl up, rock softly, and nibble your snack until your tears finally ran dry. Sarcasm aside, his steady presence anchored you.
Later that day, House limped into his office, dropping into his chair with a grunt. Wilson followed a moment later, coffee in hand.
“You disappeared from rounds. What happened?” Wilson asked.
House smirked. “Oh, nothing. Just caught a nurse before they face-planted into a patient. Threw in some bonus crying. Five stars, would babysit again.”
Wilson frowned. “You comforted someone? You?”
“Don’t get excited. I handed them a granola bar and mocked them. Worked better than your endless pep talks.”
Wilson shook his head, half-amused. “You’re impossible. But… good job, I guess. In your own twisted way.”
House spun his cane between his hands, eyes distant for just a second. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but the image of you, small, tearful, clutching your sleeves like a scared kid, lingered.
He smirked again, covering it up. “Don’t spread it around, Wilson. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
But the truth was, for all his cynicism, he’d found himself surprisingly unwilling to let go of you in that moment. And though he’d never admit to it, he’d do it again if you needed him.
