Sometimes, contrary to popular belief, Dr. House did, indeed, find himself stumped.

It wasn't so much lacking a diagnosis that was the problem this time as it was trying to figure out why the hell he was stumped in the first place. The pain in his leg had been worse than usual and the vicodin's side-effects seemed to have been kicking in with more ( Read more... )

It might've just been House, but the sessions these last few days seemed to have all dragged on even longer than usual. Not that it was really a surprise: most of them had been boring anyway, though his findings in regards to the diva's blood had been... interesting. No drugs or weird results of any kind, though then again, it could've been that ( Read more... )

House was tired, and it wasn't just because of his leg or the side-effects of near-recreational drug use. He was getting bored of getting bogged down in the paranoia of all these crazies when he was trying to get something out of them. Sure, crying "monster!" without any perceivable reason was fun to watch and diagnose, but it wasn't even a ( Read more... )

House's office was empty this morning, but not because he was absent from the Institute entirely. If anything, it looked like he'd bailed for some breakfast and hadn't come back; his laptop was on and was running some big download while the rest of the desk sat in its usual disarray. A couple of new-looking books on some specific aspects of ( Read more... )

Well, the little kid had been about as seemingly inoffensive as he'd been unhelpful - mostly because he'd proved to be the less intense kind of crazy than House had originally hoped. This was why House found insane people more interesting than your run-of-the-mill assholes: they abided by their own dysfunction; no self-righteous tantrums, no ( Read more... )

Cuddy had never answered House's voicemail. The reversing of roles might have been funny under different circumstances; House was the one who was so skilled at dodging phone calls that his boss was constantly dropping into his office in person, but right now, he wasn't in a joking mood. Another week had gone by, and the very fact that House was ( Read more... )

House's last session had ended (once again) before he'd been able to pick up any information from his patient's possible anecdotes rather than his mannerisms and ridiculous ears. Not that what patients had to say was particularly useful anyway unless they were on the verge of death and likely to tell the truth about having eaten Scandinavian ( Read more... )

Yesterday's therapy sessions hadn't been especially long, which would have been a good thing if House hadn't been putting his mind to his patients' problems for once. It wasn't that the two men from yesterday had gotten to him (because their general logic and methods of explaining it had been about as flawed as Cuddy's last date) but more that his ( Read more... )

A soap opera played on the TV in the corner of the office, and though the audio was on, House wasn't paying much attention to it. Instead, he was sitting and staring at the wall, his feet resting on the top of his desk and an open medical file in his lap ( Read more... )

House had gotten past the samurai and now he was apparently getting some vengeful demon chick, who, he hoped, was about as risqué and devious as the girls on his old rock LP covers ( Read more... )