#house md reader insert

Working clinic duty at Princeton Plains-burro was bittersweet. Working with patients was always rewarding, gave you a sense of accomplishment and a bigger purpose outside of yourself. But ultimately it was never completely fulfilling.

You are a geneticist. Hardly a roll to condemn you to hours a day in a free clinic. Before you accepted this job you were leading a study on treatments for Hypophosphatasia, a metabolic genetic disorder. Your aunt Snow, one of the closest family members you had, had passed away from it far to soon for your liking, Sparking your passion for treating it. Sometimes you question why you walked away, but you know ultimately it was for the greater good. Because of what drew you to Princeton in the first place. Dr. Gregory House.

Of course he didn't just have an available spot on the team, he was known to be stubborn in who he hires and from the sounds of it, hasn't hired anyone new in years. All you've managed to get from him so far is a few passing, boob glances in the hallway, never having the courage to actually walk up to him. The head of the diagnostics department. Although diagnosing HPP isn't the issue, it's how to treat it, it's a puzzle nonetheless. And puzzles, as you've heard, are Dr. House's specialty. You would work up to House eventually, you can wipe a few more noses for the greater good.

The first four days took some adjusting but you got into a groove with things, and then one day that groove was thrown off in the best way possible.

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"I'm so sorry that I've delayed your briefing for so long" said Dr Cuddy as she beckons you to follow her out her office doors. "I've had a bit of a crazy week and usually we hire people in groups, so I guess it must have slipped my mind. You've probably explored the clinic by now" she points.

"Yes very well" you reply shortly with a smile. You can't pretend she doesn't intimidate you just a little bit, but you try to act cool nonetheless. You follow her through the seemingly endless hallways of the hospital, passing patient rooms, conference rooms, offices. With a formal introduction to each department head in the building, just in case you ever need a consult. You were looking forward to your formal introduction to House but when you and Cuddy got to his office, he wasn't there. Cuddy sighs, almost as if this is exactly what she'd expected, but she quickly moves on.

"Okay, last introduction of the day," she breathes, "I'm sure you're tired of shaking hands by now"

"Oh I don't mind at all." You reply. "I'll take shaking hands over sticking a needle in a squirmy five year olds arm"

Dr Cuddy gives a polite smile at your futile attempt at a joke (great job) , knocking three times on the door at the end of the hallway. It reads, "Dr. James Wilson; head of Oncology"

"Come in" you hear a male voice call from the other side. Cuddy proceeds to open the door.

"Hi!" You say as you enter. The first thing you notice is his dopey little smile, a welcoming smile at that which is more than you had received from the other doctors who were no doubt busy filing pointless paperwork. He had short but flowey brown hair, dark brown eyes, and the cutest smile lines that outlined his cheek bones. "Wow he's cute" you think to yourself.

"Hi I'm Dr. Wilson" he replies, reaching out his hand to shake yours. You noticed his sleeves were rolled up halfway, highlighting his muscular forearms.

You shake his hand. "I'm Dr. (Y/L/N)"

"Dr. Wilson is the head of oncology, he is actually one of the most reliable department heads we have." Said Cuddy.

"Well it's so nice to meet you, I'm a geneticist by trade but I'm just doing clinic work for now" you say, probably smiling a little too widely.

"Oh a geneticist, that's interesting what's your main field of study?" He replies with a seemingly genuine interest in his tone.

"HPP, I was previously exploring different methods of treatment to slow down the degeneration process" you reply, excited to speak to someone who actually cares about your work. It feels like forever since that's happened.

"That's wonderful, maybe we could discuss it sometime I'm curious what avenues you've been taking with that." He replies.

"Of course, I'd love to talk about it" you reply, a little too quickly. You've been told you get a little too excited about your work.

"Sorry to cut this short but I have some paperwork I need (Y/L/N) to fill out before my meeting at two today" Cuddy interrupts. You were so excited about someone asking about your work you kind of forgot she was even there.

Wilson gives you a little smile and a nod. "Well it was great to meet you Dr. (Y/L/N), I'm sure you'll fit right in. Don't stress to hard about the first couple weeks"

"It was nice to meet you to Dr. Wilson." You reply with a smile. You've follow Cuddy outside and just like that the cute oncologist is on the other side of the door again.

————————————————————————-

The rest of the week passes, then two weeks, then four. You thought clinic work would be a little more exciting than this, but what else would you expect after working exclusively with a rare genetic disorder and being downgraded to runny noses and headaches. It would probably be easier if you had made literally any friends, but your coworkers aren't the chattiest. A little polite small talk here and there was nice, but didn't feel enough to help your regret of moving.

At this point the most exciting part of your day was the brief few moments you got passing Dr. Wilson as he left for the day. He typically got off work an hour before you did, and you decided that you would take advantage of that fact. After all, polite small talk was still polite small talk, but he seemed to have a genuine interest that the others didn't. He seemed to care about what you had to say.

"Dr. Wilson!" You call as you see him pass by Cuddy's office.

"Hey (Y/L/N), how's your day going?" He replies, leaning on the clinic welcome desk.

"Pretty well, for some reason we have an unusually high amount of broken bone admissions today" you smile. Maybe an inappropriate response in this context, but that hadn't crossed your mind.

"Yeah that happens sometimes. One time when I was working clinic, I had four consecutive patients come in that broke the exact same arm, that was weird"

"No kidding?"

"Yeah that was a rough day" he chuckles. Eyes fixed on your face. His demeanor almost seemed tense, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn't.

"I could use a few less of those, I've already had six overtime hours this week, I've barely had any time to work on my paper"

"Oh yeah how is that going by the way, you never got back to me about it"

"Well coming along slower than I hoped but I'm actually very excited about it. I decided to focus on enzyme replacement therapy with asfotase alfa, and how the clinical studies are often misinterpreted as showing higher success rates in children, when naturally children just heal faster in general because of their developing immune systems"

"Dr. (Y/L/N)" one of the clinic nurses calls out your name sounding disgruntled.

"Oh I'm so sorry I forget you get off later than I do" Wilson says apologetically.

"Oh don't worry about it, I got caught up in talking about my paper again, don't worry about it. I'm sorry for talking your ear off" I chuckle nervously. Nothing more embarrassing than getting yelled at by your boss in front of a cute department head. "I'm coming! Sorry, paperwork" you call back.

"Well I'd love to listen another time" Wilson replies with a smile.

"I'd like that to" you reply smiling back. "Have a good night Dr. Wilson" you turn to walk away. You expect him to do the same but he just stands there for a second.

You get no more than five feet away before he calls "How about over dinner?" You turn your head hopefully, your heart fluttering a bit in your chest. He looks nervous, anticipating a response.

You realize you're just standing there awkwardly so to break the tension you say, "I'm off in an hour" Wilson looks relieved.

"Perfect. How about Giovanni's at eight?"

"I can do that, sounds nice" you reply, trying not to sound like you've been waiting to see him outside of work.

"See you tonight" his smile widens as he walks out the front doors.

Is this a date? What if it's just business and you're misinterpreting the invitation? Maybe he really does just find your work interesting and wants to hear more about it. Hell, maybe he's gay. You don't want to get your hopes up, but you are more excited about tonight than you would ever admit.

You didn’t get the chance to answer her because the next second Dr Hadley, better known as Thirteen, barged into your office.  “I’m with a patient,” you said, irritation coloring your tone. “I can see that, but there’s an emergency in the clinic,” she tells you and you search her face for some clue.  If there’s one thing she’s picked up from her boss, it’s her ability to keep a straight face while bullshitting anyone. You don’t see anything indicating she’s lying.  With a sigh, you stand from your seated position behind your desk and you hear your patient gasp in surprise. You want to roll your eyes and it takes a great deal of restraint not to.  “Need a hand,” the husband asks you and you see Thirteen’s eyes bulge a little. “I’m pregnant, not disabled,” you snipe at him. “There’s an emergency in the clinic I have to attend to, if you could reschedule with my assistant that’d be great,” you tell them, more irritated with your patient’s husband than you thought you would be.  It takes all of four minutes for you to make your way to the clinic and the room Gregory House is in. If there was one person who hated clinic duty just as much as you did, it was House. Neither of you, however, had managed to wrangle shorter hours from Dr Cuddy, the hospital administrator and you were beginning to see the appeal of calling her Satan.  You don’t bother knocking on the door, though you don’t barge into the room either. You step in quietly, only to be met with a disastrous scene.  James Wilson is seated on the examination table, scalpel sticking out of his right upper arm, his white shirt stained red.  You turn to the two occupants of the room. They both start talking at the same time, each trying to rat the other out like a pair of five-year-olds.  “Enough,” you raise a hand, silencing them both.  “He kept asking who your baby-daddy is. There are bets on it,” House says before Wilson can even think of something. Normally House would have no issue with the betting ring Chase has come up with, even placing bets himself, so this us unusual, even for him.

“And, is that the reason there’s a scalpel sticking out of his arm?” you question, one eyebrow raised.  “No,” they both admit. You wait for one of them to enlighten you as to the reason.  There’s something about House’s expression that prompts you to turn your attention to Wilson.  “I may have suggested that if no one claimed to be your baby-daddy, I would,” he admits, reluctantly.  “And so, you stabbed him?” you ask House. “No,” he denies. “I poked him... gently… with a knife,” he tries to make light of the situation, but you know there’s more.  You eyes immediately snap up to meet House’s.  Though neither of you had discussed just how involved House would be in your kid’s life, seeing as he was your kid’s dad, you could see how this one statement would affect him.  “And just what makes you think he hasn’t stepped up already?”  Wilson at least has the decency to look away before he answers.  “Well, it’s not like you’re seeing anyone at the moment. You spend most of your time with House and I and since I’m definitely not your baby-daddy…” he trails off, mid-sentence.  You see exactly when the penny drops, his eyes widen, his face and cheeks color and he looks from you to his best friend and back to you, though he’s speechless.  “Now that we’ve got my baby’s paternity settled, can we get back to the more important things in life?” you ask.  Wilson nods.  “If you tell anyone about this, I will castrate you,” you tell him, before pulling the scalpel out his arm and asking him to roll up his sleeve so you can stitch his wound.  Ten minutes later you shoo Wilson out the room, leaving you and House alone.  “House,” you start, but he cuts you off, sliding his mouth over yours, kissing you gently, as he runs his hand over your swollen abdomen. Your kid, kicks or elbows, you in response to the feeling of their dad’s touch on your abdomen. Sure, it’s not the first time he’s felt it, but every time it happens House looks at you with awe in his eyes. You don’t need him to verbally admit he’s in it for the long haul.  The fact that he stabbed Wilson was proof enough for you.

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