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SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 1 k
WARNINGS: none.
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CHAPTER SEVEN – lucky I love you
After the last of Wilson’s tests were completed, House slipped into your room with a push of his cane against the door.
He paused in the doorway, exhaling sharply, as if the mere sight of you knocked the air from his lungs. You stirred, blinking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Hey, honey…” you yawned, then lifted your hand a little, inviting him closer. “I missed you…”
House rolled his eyes, but the motion lacked any heat. He limped to your bedside, the faintest smile tugging at the edges of his mouth despite his best efforts to suppress it. He reached down, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. His fingers lingered behind your ear just for a moment too long to be unintentional.
“How were the tests with Wilson?” he asked, attempting nonchalance as he folded his arms.
You shrugged weakly. “Alright, I think…” you coughed, wincing as a dull ache tightened in your abdomen. “Honey… Could I have some water? My throat feels like sandpaper….”
House grabbed the pitcher, pouring into the cup with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re lucky I’m such a devoted husband.”
He placed the glass carefully into your hands. “Sip slowly… If you choke, I’ll absolutely laugh.”
You shook your head with a faint smile, sipping the water in small, careful mouthfuls. Your hand trembled slightly with fatigue. After swallowing, you eased yourself upright, wincing again at the pressure deep in your pelvis. You reached for his arm, your fingers curling around him. You opened your mouth, quietly asking: “Do you have any progress on my treatment?”
House’s gaze lingered on your face, the shadows beneath your eyes, the way your breath occasionally caught from the cramping pain twisting inside you. Without thinking, he laced his fingers through yours.
“Still working on it…” he said quietly. “We need the results before going any further.”
He hesitated, studying you more closely before he went on to ask, “How are you feeling?”
“Can you sit with me?” you returned with a question, a favor before you would answer his question in return. The vulnerability in your eyes made his chest tighten, he knew you needed him right now, not only medically but emotionally.
House scoffed under his breath, but he sat on the edge of the bed anyway, your hands still joined. “You look like hell,” he noted, voice neutral.
“Oh, I love you too…” you rolled your eyes sarcastically before leaning in to kiss him. It was soft, brief, but it made that tiny feeling of joy in your stomach bloom. You leaned your forehead into his shoulder, breathing shallowly. “I’ll be alright… right?”
House stiffened for half a second, then exhaled and wrapped an arm around you. “Yeah. You’ll be fine. You’re too damn stubborn not to be.”
You smiled faintly into his shirt, gently breathing in his familiar scent of bourbon, white flowers, dry wood and the slight hint of his motorcycle's motor oil. “I love you… love love love you, bubs,” you teased, brushing your fingers lightly over his thigh. “How’s your leg? Worse today?”
House groaned. “Oh, now you’re worried about my leg?” brushing off the topic for arguably good reasons, after all you were the one in the hospital bed. Yet his hand kept tracing gentle, absent-minded circles against your shoulder.
“And stop calling me ‘bubs.’ I’m not a dog..” he muttered, but he knew you only called him ‘bubs’ when you were really trying to get on his nerves, playfully or not.
You tilted your head to glance at him from the corner of your eye. “Greg, I’m serious. I know you don’t sleep when the pain gets bad. I’ve lived with you long enough to know.” Your voice cracked slightly, from both dryness and worry.
House looked away sharply, eyes suddenly fixed on some distant point behind you on the hospital wall. The truth was stamped across the tight set of his jaw. “It’s fine,” he said. Firmly and unwavering at first but after a moment of clear silence, a sign you did not fall for his lies, he sighed. “…It’s been worse.”
“But don’t change the subject, you’re the one stuck in the hospital bed.” he added firmly.
Your eyes removed themselves from the tight gaze they held on him, your voice small and honestly hurt. “I’m not changing the subject. I’m worried. About you, House.” You only called him that when frustration crept in.
“How many are you taking a day?”
He looked at you, then away. Then back again. Damn you. Damn that honesty of yours.
“Same as always,” he said automatically, way too quickly to be true.
Your expression didn’t change. You simply looked tired.
House inhaled sharply, raking a hand through his short hair. “Fine,” he finally gave in. “More. I’ve been taking more.”
You closed your eyes, nodding in acceptance to his words, you already knew before the thought of admitting it even crossed his mind. “I just want you to be okay too…” you squeezed his hand.
House squeezed back, thumb brushing your knuckles in a rare gesture of tenderness.
You settled back against the pillow, a faint pressure bloomed across your lower abdomen, the dull ache radiating to your back, making you shift uncomfortably in your bed. “Can’t wait to get out of here,” you sighed. “Though it’s nice finally knowing your colleagues.”
House snorted in amusement. “I’m sure they’re honored you graced them with your delirious presence.”
“You must be missing my cooking at home,” you teased.
“Oh yes,” he said dryly. “Starving. Nothing compares to your burnt lasagna and questionable seasoning choices...”
You laughed weakly. “It is really not that bad… Wilson said my lasagna was the best he had all year!” you protested, then went on: “Did you finish the leftover pasta from the freezer?”
“No.” he said simply and firmly, before elaborating further: “Because someone labeled it ‘EXPERIMENTAL.’ In Sharpie. Which, by the way, is not how you're supposed to mark leftovers.”
“It had yellow zucchini in it. You called it experimental first.” you made your defense. “So I labelled it accordingly!”
House shook his head. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“You’re luckier, I love you more…” you whispered. You leaned up once more, pressing a delicate kiss to his lips.
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END OF CASE #007
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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♡ likes, reblogs & comments keep this clinic running.
SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 402
WARNINGS: none.
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CHAPTER SIX – Wilson the secret-keeper
Only an hour later the door to your room opened again, much softer this time, softer than House ever cared to manage. You had been busy trying to distract yourself from whatever was coming your way, reading a book as you sat in your hospital bed, slim glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose. You looked up to see Dr. James Wilson in your door, tie slightly crooked, coffee in hand.
He smiled gently. “You gave us a scare.”
You exhaled with a pained huff of amusement. “Seems I’m making a habit of that lately.”
Wilson moved closer, pulling up a chair, sitting in it. He put his coffee down on your bedside table. “House told me everything, well, told me his version of everything…” Wilson gave you a knowing look, you were both quite familiar with your husband's… well, everything.
Wilson was after all the only one that really knew about you.
You gave a weak smile in return, while James handed you a consent form. “I’m here to run a series of tumor marker tests. We need to know whether these growths are cancerous or benign fibroids.”
You nodded, signing your name on the forms you were handed. “I understand,” you added.
He hesitated, then asked quietly, “How long have you been having symptoms? Really?”
You looked up. “Months. Maybe longer. I didn’t think it was anything out of the ordinary… my gynecologist told me it's not unusual to have… more painful periods.”
Wilson sighed softly, then nodded. “I understand… but it's important you take your health seriously, Y/N.”
Wilson offered a sympathetic smile, taking the forms back from you before he spoke again, seemingly hesitating for a moment. “He panicked, you know.”
“Greg?” you raised your eyebrows in mock surprise.
“Oh, completely. Practically ran down the hallway. Even yelled a bit. The usual love language.”
“He hides it well,” you mumbled, huffing another breathy laugh.
“He tries,” Wilson corrected gently. “He’s terrified of losing you, even if he pretends otherwise.”
You swallowed hard, you took off your glasses, rubbing your eye gently as emotions dwelled. You both knew it wasn’t always easy with this lovely bastard, Gregory House, especially when it came to showing he cared for others.
Wilson pressed his lips together into a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure this out. Whatever the results show, you won’t be alone in any of it.”
“Let’s get the tests started.”
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END OF CASE #006
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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♡ likes, reblogs & comments keep this clinic running.
read every chapter of "will we ever change"!!!! it's sooo super good <3
the idea of house being secretly married is so appealing LOL
people actually reading my fanfic is very scary... thank you for making me face my fears...
sigh so lore time... this is actually the first fan fiction I EVER wrote and I wrote it in... glances around, I think back in October of last year? I posted it on here, had no idea how to post a Tumblr fanfic and was so lost bc all I did up to this point was just reblog stuff on my cheeky main, now that I have gathered my resources and diva-moments , I KNOW how the magic works and im SO happy that people enjoy it!!
thank you sooo much for your ask!! I love talking to my readers/audience, like yes guys... all come here and lets talk please!!
also yeah I think House is exactly the guy to have a secret marriage and the only one knowing about it is Wilson because of COURSE .... alll stay tuned for the following chapters, I think there are like... uhhhh.... 20 or so?? like a lot... I am just rereading and pepping them up a bit so look forward to at LEAST semi regular updates :D
edit: I lied, with first fanfic ever I mean in recent years, 12 yo me was BIG on writing whatever came to their little diva mind... so got a BUNCH of them as well...
SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 568
WARNINGS: none.
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CHAPTER FIVE – A bump
Morning crept into the hospital room, the winter sun outside filtered through the half-drawn blinds. You were already awake, your stomach pain had woken you up not too long ago.
Cameron just stepped into the room, wheeling in a portable ultrasound machine. “Good morning!” Cameron greeted you, a sympathetic smile on her face as always. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore…” you admitted, one hand drifting instinctively toward your lower abdomen. “Heavy. Like I swallowed a brick.”
“That’s actually useful information,” Cameron replied as she snapped on gloves. “House ordered a pelvic ultrasound. Given the pain and your vitals last night, it’s the next step.”
She moved to help you adjust on the bed, raising the gown just enough to expose your lower abdomen. You were used to procedures like this by now, but usually you stood there in your white coat and gloves, instead of laying on the bed as a patient.
Cameron snapped open the tube of gel used for the ultrasound, but hesitated for a moment.
“There’s… something I have to ask first,” she began carefully. “Your lab results showed elevated hCG levels. Not high… just… present. And with your symptoms, the pelvic pain…”
You blinked at her, putting the pieces together in your mind. “Are you asking if I’m pregnant?”
“It’s a possibility…” Cameron nodded, eyes gentle.
“No,” you said immediately, shaking your head. “No, that’s not… I’m not pregnant.”
Cameron studied you carefully for a moment, leaning forward she placed her hand on your lower stomach, pressing down gently on either side, pausing when she felt the slight curve.
It wasn’t large, or dramatic, but undeniably there. “That bump is why we are checking you. Do you have irregular cycles? Missed a period?”
You swallowed hard. “My cycles have been irregular for about a year and a half now, but… ” you said. “If I were pregnant, I would know.”
Cameron offered a small smile of comfort, she didn’t want to burden or stress you, but she continued: “Bodies don’t always follow the rules we expect them to.”
She turned on the machine, the room filling with the low whir and soft beeping of the ultrasound.
“This might be cold.” Cameron warned, applying the gel. You inhaled sharply at the chill, then focused on the ceiling tiles as the wand glided across your skin. It took a minute or two before Cameron’s face shifted, brows furrowing together. She froze the image, zoomed, adjusted contrast again.
“You’re not pregnant.” Cameron said finally. You let out a breath of relief, but the relief was quickly wiped from your face as you realized something entirely different had to be wrong then.
Cameron turned the screen slightly, revealing clusters of shadowed masses, dark, irregular shapes surrounding the uterus.
“There are multiple growths,” Cameron said. “Several… actually more than several. They’re surrounding your uterus, some pressing against the pelvic wall. One large one is likely causing the severe pain.”
“Growths…” you echoed numbly. “…Benign?”
Cameron hesitated. “We can’t tell from the ultrasound,” she said gently. “Most growths are benign, but these are… quite large.”
You inhaled sharply and nodded, then asked, “And the bump?”
“The growths are pushing everything forward, appearing like early pregnancy.” Cameron answered softly, reaching out and touching your arm lightly, trying to comfort you. “You don’t need to worry, we will figure this out.”
You nodded again, you knew you could trust them with this.
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END OF CASE #005
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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♡ likes, reblogs & comments keep this clinic running.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
oh how the turn tables turned... only a few of you will remember I already once posted the entire fic on here... but I privated it all and am reposting it in an aesthetic template and SUDDENLY the masses love it....
SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 1,4 k
WARNINGS: none.
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CHAPTER FOUR – just... house
You woke late that evening, your eyelids fluttered open, trying to adjust to the eerie sterile overbright glare of the hospital lights. A rustle of paper drew your gaze, you let out an almost startled breath. Cameron stood at your bedside, reviewing the vitals displayed on your monitor. Her pen scribbled over the paper with ease, her brow gently furrowed in concentration.
“Oh…” you breathed as your tired eyes found the younger doctor, but you offered a faint smile. “Hello…” You knew who the woman was, familiar with her face and many stories, some more glowing than others, but you assumed the lens was likely tainted by your husband's irritable moods, and not by Cameron's lack of capability.
Cameron looked up at once. Relief softened her features, and she held the clipboard close to her chest. “Well, that’s a good sign,” she said warmly. “You had us all worried for a moment. How do you feel?”
You cleared your throat with a small cough. “A bit better now… I guess.” For a moment you hesitated, before saying: “You must be… Dr. Cameron.”
Cameron blinked in mild surprise before smiling sheepishly. “Caught. Though I’m guessing House didn’t give you my glowing résumé.”
You let out a small laugh, pushing yourself up the tiniest bit. “Don’t worry about it, I know him too well to take his opinion on others that seriously…”
Cameron huffed a laugh, almost surprised at your open and kind demeanor, but on the other hand, she always assumed House wouldn’t marry someone just like him. Two colliding forces of nature like that could not end well. “You’re lucky, you know… He never gets rattled up over patients. But today… he looked…different.” Cameron said.
“So he finally told you,” you pointed out the, almost, obvious, “That he has a wife.”
Cameron nodded gently. “He did.”
You shifted, trying to sit up a little straighter, changing the topic at hand. “Do you know what’s wrong with me yet?”
Cameron glanced at the chart again. “Not yet. We’re running everything we can, your vitals are steadier now, which is good, but…”
She gave a reassuring smile. “But we’ll find it. House won’t stop until he does, I’m sure.”
A heartbeat of silence. Then Cameron hesitated, clearly torn between poking more at House’s personal life and leaving you be. “Can I ask you something personal?”
You nodded, your voice warm despite your exhaustion. “Of course. Go ahead.”
Cameron took a quiet breath. “You and House… you’ve been married for a while now, right?” She fumbled for the right phrasing. “Has he always been like this? The sarcasm, the attitude, the… emotional evasiveness?”
Your lips curled up, you leaned back into the stiff hospital pillow, your eyes wandered from Cameron to the familiar bright light above. “Yeah.” was the only thing you said for a moment. “We’ve been married a little over two years… We ‘dated’ in med school, then life happened and we lost each other… until I moved here.” Your eyes softened with memory. “He’s always been exactly like that. Even at university.”
Cameron couldn’t help but smile as well, eyes scanning over you as you spoke. “Then there has to be something redeeming. Otherwise why marry him?” Her tone turned playfully dry. “Beyond his sparkling personality and irresistible charm.”
You looked down at your wedding ring on your finger, turning it gently with your thumb. “He’s… a one-of-a-kind man. Infuriating, absolutely. Some days I’m convinced he’s trying to get me to divorce him… But then he’ll say something … and he’s suddenly the most charming person you’ve ever met. He’s just… House.”
You paused, swallowing hard against your dry throat. “Could I have some water? My throat feels very dry…”
Cameron nodded and poured a glass, handing it to you, and you took a slow sip.
Before either could say anything else, the moment was shattered as the door creaked open. House limped inside, cane thudding sharply against the floor. His gaze flicked between the two of you, you still a little pale against the sheets, and Cameron hovering nearby. He could have known better than to believe Cameron wouldn’t try to dissect his private life, again.
“Are you two gossiping about me?” he mused sarcastically, one eyebrow arched. “I mean, I know I’m endlessly fascinating, but maybe we focus on the patients health for now...”
You swallowed a mouthful of water, feeling it travel thick and heavy down your throat, but it gave you a bit of relief. The tension in your shoulders eased as House limped inside, the smile on your lips growing with every click of his cane.
Cameron rolled her eyes, amused, and stepped aside. “I’ll leave you two alone. Try not to worsen her condition.”
House couldn’t help but let out a theatrical scoff, but the moment Cameron closed the door behind her, he came to sit on the edge of your bed.
His deep blue eyes swept over you. “…So. Still alive,” he said. “There goes my early retirement and the life-insurance payout.”
“Unfortunate for you,” you hummed with a weary smile, “you might have to wait a little longer.”
Your fingers reached for his almost instinctively, a slight bit of comfort blooming in your stomach from the familiar warmth of his hand. “How are you, honey?”
He gave a dry, incredulous huff. “Oh, I’m the one who’s supposed to be answering that? Classic.” His fingers tightened around yours, a firm, grounding pressure that betrayed everything his tone tried to hide.
His gaze flicked briefly to the monitor, then to the IV drip meant to ease the pelvic cramping that had been steadily worsening.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he said quietly, almost under his breath. Then, as if catching himself being too sincere, he quickly added, “Which is terribly inconvenient, by the way. Wilson now thinks I’m capable of emotional depth. I owe him fifty bucks now…”
You let out a laugh, wincing as the motion tugged at the deep, burning ache in your lower abdomen. “And why do you owe Wilson anything?”
“Because,” House sighed, brushing it off, “some people shouldn’t be allowed to gamble.”
You pressed your eyes shut, letting out a pained breath, the pressure low in your pelvis pulsed, hot and throbbing. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, “for scaring you. I just… didn’t know where else to go.”
“Don’t apologize,” he grumbled, “You came to the right place.” His thumb brushed slowly along your knuckles, an absent-minded gesture, tender despite his best efforts.
You brought his hand to your cheek, nuzzling against his palm, you knew your husband wasn’t one for great displays of physical affection, especially not in public, but you needed him right now. “I’ll be alright… won’t I?”
House’s breath left him in a slow sigh. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering on your temple.
“You will be, you’re stubborn. You’re lucky. And you’ve got an exceptionally brilliant diagnostician on your side.” His mouth twitched in a smirk. “I’m not letting anything happen to you. You should rest, you have a few exams tomorrow morning.”
Your lashes fluttered as lightheadedness washed over you again. “I feel… a bit dizzy,” you whispered, trying to breathe through the discomfort. “Greg?”
You leaned into his hand, desperate for his presence.
“Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”
For a moment, House froze, hesitated for a moment, but he nodded, brushing a thumb through your hair again. “Yeah, I’m not going anywhere.”
You shifted closer, your fingers tightening around his. “I love you, Greg…” you hummed quietly, lifting his hand to your lips and pressing a light kiss to his knuckles.
House stilled. Then he exhaled, long and quiet.
“…Yeah, yeah, love you too, you impossible woman.” he muttered, staying right where he was. He didn’t move, not until your breath deepened and you eased into sleep.
Slowly he let go of your hand as he was sure that you were fast asleep. Quietly he heaved himself up, grabbing his cane, he turned towards the door.
Foreman and Chase stood in the doorway, pretending, very poorly, to look anywhere but at him.
House glared, all softness vanishing in an instant. “If either of you say a word about this, I will fire you so fast you’ll need a neurologist to diagnose the whiplash.”
Foreman cleared his throat. “…We saw nothing.”
“Saw who?” Chase echoed, but he couldn’t help the knowing smile resting on his lips.
House rolled his eyes, searching in his pocket, he pulled out the small orange bottle of Vicodin, he popped a few into his mouth before swallowing them dry, and pushed past the two, outside into the hallway.
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END OF CASE #004
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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♡ likes, reblogs & comments keep this clinic running.
SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 644
WARNINGS: none
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CHAPTER THREE – Introductions and Symptoms
Soon the diagnostics team gathered in House’s office, Gregory stood rigidly beside his desk, tip of his cane tapping impatiently against the floor. On the whiteboard behind him, your symptoms were listed off.
“So,” he began, “Lets take inventory. Our not-so-mysterious patient presents with…”
“Pelvic Pain”
“Dilated pupils”
“Nausea”
“Vomiting”
“Tachycardia”
“Sky-high blood pressure”
He listed off, tapping each symptom on the whiteboard.
“A delightful sample platter… little bit of everything.” the doctor flicked his gaze between the board and his team. “Any brilliant minds want to bring in any ideas?”
Cameron flipped through your chart, brow furrowed before she spoke, “Her vitals improved after oxygen and analgesics… but the neurologic signs don’t line up with just pain. The dilated pupils, the dizziness… maybe a toxin? Or some endocrine trigger?”
House scoffed at his female colleague, “Wonderful. A toxin that targets the pelvis… Very creative.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Or, she’s got two problems. Because apparently, today is buy one, get one free day in the House of Horrors.”
Foreman crossed his arms, studying House’s expression. “You know her. Who is she?”
House paused, not long enough to be dramatic, just long enough to weigh out the ups and downs of telling them.
“Oh, right. Introductions…” He gestured lazily, as he had finally made his decision. “This is Dr. Y/N House, my wife.”
Silence.
Chase blinked a few times, almost as if he was convinced he was dreaming or hallucinating. “You’re… married?”
House rolled his eyes, clearly already regretting the decision of opening this part of his private life. “Yes, Chase, believe it or not, someone willingly signed paperwork binding themselves to me. Now can we return to the woman you’re all failing to diagnose?”
He snatched up a marker, circling pelvic pain with force. “Tell me, in what universe do toxins selectively inflame a pelvis? Anyone?”
Chase cleared his throat. “There are poisons that can trigger abdominal pain and neurological symptoms…”
“And given her medical training, she could have been exposed accidentally. Cleaning agents, anesthetics, lab compounds.” Cameron continued, nodding along with Chase’s idea.
Foreman cut in, skeptical. “But combining accidental exposure with sudden acute pelvic pain severe enough to cause collapse? The chances aren’t huge.”
House pointed the marker at him. “Not impossible. Just boringly unlikely.”
Much to Foreman's dismay, House already had an explanation for that. “What if she wasn’t exposed accidentally? What if someone gave her something?”
Foreman frowned and shook his head. “You’re suggesting deliberate poisoning? Who would target your ‘wife’?” the word wife was still said with a considerate amount of disbelief. They might have moved onto diagnostics but it was clear neither of the three was ready to let that go yet.
House let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, let's see… former patients, upset residents… take your pick.”
Chase almost let an amused smirk play over his lips, Cameron shook her head in disbelief, all while House stared aimlessly at the board of symptoms.
“…Or maybe it isn’t poison at all… maybe something closer to home.” he whispered.
“Closer to home?” Chase repeated. “Meaning what, exactly?”
Foreman hesitated to say anything, but House was really out of it today, even more than he usually was. “You said yourself, she’s a doctor. She has access to everything. Maybe she…”
House cut him off with a sharp gesture, slamming the marker down. “If you’re implying she did this to herself, you can walk out that door now.”
Silence. Again. Chase shifted uncomfortably, pushing a few blonde locks out of his face, while Cameron glanced at the floor.
Then House exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “Fine. Run tox screens on everything.”
Chase and Foreman were already in motion, pushing their chairs back as they got up.
Cameron followed, but House’s voice stopped her mid-step. “Cameron.”
She turned back.
“Get me an ultrasound.”
She nodded once and then hurried out.
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a/n: omg... thank you guys for the loads of support im already getting... :(
END OF CASE #003
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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♡ likes, reblogs & comments keep this clinic running.
SUMMARY: To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 950
WARNINGS: none
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CHAPTER TWO – Husband...?
You weren’t capable of forming your protest, neither did House wait for one. And he certainly didn’t give Chase the chance to voice the questions practically clawing their way up his throat.
A passing nurse finally intervened, but couldn’t help share a glance of curiosity with Chase, who just pulled his shoulders up into a shrug. House dismissed their gaze with a raised eyebrow and his cane pushing through both of them as he limped ahead, doing his best to support his wife as they walked. Not quite as easy as he wished it to be with his leg.
“Tell me if you feel like you’re going to pass out,” he spoke, voice low and meant only for you.
You attempted a nod, then tried to straighten yourself with his support, one hand rising to your forehead as if it weighed twice its usual amount.
“I feel… very dizzy,” you managed to say, lips pressed into a thin smile that you wore purely out of kindness.
“Shocking,” he muttered, clenching his jaw as your knees feared to give in, but you caught yourself in time. “You look like you’re two seconds from getting cast as an extra in The Walking Dead…”
His eyes snapped to Chase, who hovered close behind you. “Chase, stop ogling like a golden retriever and prep an exam room. And find Foreman! Tell him I wanted him here five minutes ago.”
Chase nodded, and hurried off. House followed the same direction with you. “Almost there…”
You reached the exam room, and House eased you down onto the bed, which you gladly sunk into as though gravity had doubled. He helped you adjust yourself, watching every twitch of your face for clues. Your eyes were glassy with pain and exhaustion as you looked up at him, but that thin smile remained.
“What… what are you going to tell them?” you whispered, voice hardly more than a breath. “That I’m your wife? Or just… another woman named House?”
You needed to know the script, the story, the boundaries he intended to keep. Already ready to get caught up in a net of silence and lies to protect this, in your opinion, stupid lie.
“Oh, please. They already assume I’m insane, I don’t need to hand them more evidence by going into this with a big elaborate lie,” he gave you a crooked smirk, one more gentle than usual, but undeniably his.
He tugged a stethoscope from a cupboard, looping it around his neck. “They’ll figure it out eventually,” he said. “Right now I’m more concerned with why you tried to repaint the clinic hallway with your lunch.”
He stepped closer, pressing the cold head of the stethoscope to your chest. “Breathe in,” he commanded, watching you breathe in and out as big and as deep of a breath as you could take.
“So…” he continued, “let’s focus on the medicine part first.”
Despite the burning pain knotting in your chest, you gave a weak, breathy laugh. “Alright, alright… Mr. Doctor…”
House exhaled through his nose, something between a sigh and a chuckle, and lifted the stethoscope from your chest.
Only a moment later, Foreman and Chase entered the room, both stopping short at the door.
You said nothing, making no move to introduce yourself, nor explain why you were here, most likely due to the fact that you visibly seemed to fight the urge to curl in on yourself.
Foreman’s eyes narrowed. “Why’d you send Chase like the building was on fire?”
At a superficial glance, you did look merely pale and exhausted, probably correlating to the fact you had just emptied your stomach into the hospital bin, but nothing about that should justify House’s frantic energy.
“Is this our patient? Do we know her?” Foreman pressed, as if House’s demeanor suggested a familiarity he couldn’t quite place.
Chase moved to your side, slipping a thermometer beneath your tongue and fitting the blood pressure cuff around your arm. “BP is slightly high.” He checked your pupils with a penlight. “Enlarged pupils. Maybe she’s just hypoglycemic. Or she took something? Pain meds? Stimulants? It would explain-”
Before he could finish, the heart monitor let out a piercing beep-beep-beep as the line spiked, your pulse shooting upward like a firework.
House let out an exhale sharp, gesturing at the monitor with a flick of his hand. “You think?”
Foreman straightened defensively. “If she’s in pain, the sympathetic response-”
You groaned weakly, curling onto your side as another wave of agony rippled through your pelvis. “It… it burns… my whole pelvis-” you gasped. House bent closer, eyes narrowing with laser focus.
“Pelvic burning… tachycardia… dilated pupils…” His voice dropped to a mumble, he squinted at you for another moment.
“That sounds like PIV,” Foreman threw in.
House ignored him entirely.
You whimpered as another tremor wracked your body. You tossed and shifted restlessly, trying, and clearly failing, to find any position that did not provoke pain. A young nurse approached, IV set trembling in her hands.
“Ma’am, I need you to hold still so I can…”
“Put the IV down before you poke a hole in her arm and make things worse.” House interrupted the nurse, he gestured toward you, clearly in pain. “She needs pain control. Give her something strong enough to stop her from writhing. Unless you want to explain to her husband why you delayed treatment.”
“...Husband?” Foreman repeated and glanced over at Chase.
The nurse nodded, and obeyed.
House turned towards the doorway. “Prep for an MRI, I’ll get her medical history. Later we meet in my office.”
Chase blinked. “…Since when do you chase down medical histories?”
House’s grip tightened on his cane. He didn’t answer.
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END OF CASE #002
Diagnosis: To be continued.
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SUMMARY:
To everyone else, Gregory House is your impossible colleague. To you, he's home. When you're forced into the patient's chair instead of standing beside it, House finds himself in the middle of his secret marital life unravelling and his wife in urgent need of medical attention.
WORD COUNT: 1,1 k
WARNINGS: vomiting
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CHAPTER ONE – Mystery Patient at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital
You sat alone in the cramped exam room, the sterile lights casting an irritating glow onto you, you rubbed your red eyes, sniffling slightly. Your hands were caught in a looping motion, absently twisting the strap of your bag around each and every finger before restarting again.
It felt like the only thing that kept you from throwing up on the damn floor right now. Your stomach churned with a dull and equally nauseating throb, your legs tingling slightly.
It was rare that you were in the patient's chair, it felt wrong, almost as if you should just get up and leave again, but you knew better than to do that. It was also, in fact, the wrong hospital, this was the Princeton plainsboro teaching hospital, when you worked at the Happy Hearts Health Center, the pediatric hospital you worked at.
You sucked in a shallow breath, bracing yourself the inevitable, some indifferent nurse or junior doctor breezing in, offering you perfunctory sympathy, a few nice words of encouragement and a painkiller before shooing you back home.
But then you heard it, the unmistakable click of a cane against the linoleum floor. Your head lifted, a curtain of dark hair, decorated, as you liked to say, with wisps of greying hair, slipped open, your pale features glancing at the exam room door.
It swung open, to your surprise, you were met with a quite familiar face, your husband standing there. The limp, the cane, the dry expression, Dr. Gregory House himself, not to confuse with the other Dr. House, you.
“Well,” House drawled, not yet looking at you as he struggled into the rubber glove, which went on with a sharp snap. “What are you in for? Heartburn? Dramatic and ever deadly common cold?”
His tone was almost amused by his own sarcastic remarks, but you didn’t have time to respond. Your eyes widened, the surprise dissolving into something far more visceral. A jagged bolt of pain launched through your abdomen, sharp enough to steal the breath from your lungs. You folded forward, one arm gripping your side, the other clawing for leverage on your chair as your breath fractured into pained shallow gasps for air.
House's expression shifted instantly, sarcasm evaporating into thin air, replaced by a startled flash of surprise as he expected about anyone but his wife there. “I- It hurts-” you managed to say, voice thin from the lack of air.
“Y/N.” his voice was steady and firm, the familiarity of saying your name mingled with the unusual situation in a way he didn’t appreciate. He stepped closer, eyes scanning you with clinical intensity. “Slow breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth…”
He watched the tremor in your hands, the strain in your muscles, the clenching in your jaw, you closed your eyes tightly, but you had little time to really feel your pain as Gregory immediately asked, “Why the hell did you not call me?”, his voice lacking the softness one would expect from a partner in such situations, “Where does it hurt?”
You forced a shaky breath, trying and failing to sit upright. “Honey, I’m fine…” you lied automatically, wincing as the pain coiled deep in your abdomen. “I just came in for-” your sentence collapsed beneath another sharp breath, you looked up, blinking against the sharp light of the exam room.
Gregory arched his brow, skepticism etched across his unshaven face. You knew, of course you weren’t fooling anyone. Least of all your husband.
“If you say ‘I’m fine’ one more time, I’m checking you for a head injury,” he warned, the words delivered with bite but no venom. “Don’t lie. Y/N, you know I can’t stand that.”
His tone left no room for evasion, he laid a hand on your abdomen, his palm warm against your gaunt muscles.
You winced, shame flickering through your expression. You were a doctor, you should’ve known better than to downplay your own symptoms.
“Since this morning, my stomach’s felt… tight. Heavy. And at work, my chest started to burn. They sent me home because they didn’t want to- ”
A wave of dizziness crashed over you midway through the sentence, you folded forward, a strangled gasp wringing from your throat.
“Ah - fuck.” you cursed, raw and almost involuntarily. House froze, you never cursed, that alone told him how serious this really was. You tried to force yourself upright, your legs wobbling beneath you.
House stepped toward you too quickly for comfort, his bad leg flaring sharply, but he ignored the pain, grabbing your shoulders before your jelly knees dared to cave in on you.
Your forehead sagged against his shoulder, breaths shallow and fluttering. Your complexion had drained to an unsettling shade of grey, lips slightly parted as you pulled in small, rapid sips of air.
“I need the restroom-” you rasped, swaying as you tried to move past him. The rapid rise and fall of your chest made you appear starved for oxygen. You stumbled two steps before your body convulsed, you pushed past him, something equally uncharacteristically as cursing, and burst outside, quickly you lurched over the closest trash bin.
You barely made it before you collapsed over it, retching violently.
House was on your heels instantly, his cane clattering against the floor as he hobbled toward you faster than his leg tolerated. He dropped into a half-crouch, ignoring the bolt of pain through his thigh, and reached out to gather your hair away from your face.
“That’s it… just let it out…” he mumbled, his voice softening just slightly. One hand rested steadily on your back, “Breathe when you can…I… I’ve got you.”
As the vomiting subsided, Greg fished out a crumbled up tissue from his pocket and pressed it into your trembling hand.
“Better?” he asked, you nodded, wiping your mouth.
“Now we are getting you checked out. Properly.” he added firmly before you could speak.
You shook your head weakly, guilt flickering in your eyes. You hated the scene you made, your gaze drifting away from the nurses and bypassers looking your way.
No one here knew you were his wife.
House kept that part of his life locked away from gossip and curious eyes. Which meant you rarely came to Princeton-Plainsboro, unless absolutely necessary.
Today was beyond necessary.
Chase emerged from around the corner, stopping short when he saw you slumped over the bin. And House crouched beside you…? Hand on your back.
“Is everything alright…?” the Australian man asked, clearly confused about what was happening between the two.
House shot him a sharp glare, “No, Chase, she’s debuting a new performance, Violent Vomiting in the Clinic…- What do you think?”
Chase shut his mouth, which had been standing slightly open for a bit now.
House turned back to you, “Exam room, now.” he gently helped you straighten enough to lean against the wall.
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END OF CASE #001
Diagnosis:
To be continued.
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