New Fic: Clinic Hours
Title: Clinic Hours
Author: Namaste
Rating: PG, Gen, hopefully with humor
Summary: Of all the clinics in all the towns in all the world, they had to walk into his.
No angst, no ships, not even a real plot. Just an afternoon with House in the clinic, using a series of drabbles of 200 words or less.
1 p.m.
House doesn’t believe in heaven, but hell is the clinic on Fridays. Every doctor in private practice has closed shop for the weekend and the huddled masses end up on the doorsteps of Princeton-Plainsboro.
He stopped just outside the clinic and looked through the glass doors. House could hear the scream of from a baby on one side of the waiting room. Colic, he told himself and shook his head. Fantastic.
Somewhere to the left an older brat was throwing a tantrum. Too much sugar, not enough sleep, and parents who can’t keep their spawn under control, he thought. It’s always such a mystery.
He reached into his pocket and took out his Vicodin. He heard familiar footsteps from behind him.
“Now. Or I’ll assign you to every Friday for the next three months.” Cuddy pushed open the door and waited for House to walk through.
He sighed and shook out two pills.
--------------
1:05 p.m.
“House has a four-hour shift today,” Cuddy told Brenda at the desk. “Make sure he actually works all of them.”
Brenda sighed and looked up. “Do you hate me that much?”
“This isn’t a punishment for you, it’s a punishment for him.”
“It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.”
“You can handle him,” Cuddy said. She signed House’s name on the log sheet and waved him toward the treatment rooms before turning back to Brenda. “I have faith in you.”
Brenda took a chart off the pile and headed out to the waiting room to call House’s first patient. “Next time you want to show some faith in me, I’d prefer cash.”
---------------
1:58 p.m.
“Just ... to make sure I have this clear,” House said, “this is your own urine you’ve been drinking?”
The woman nodded.
“Every morning?”
She nodded again.
“I’m probably going to regret this, but ... why?”
“My sister-in-law swears by it,” she said. “She found this web site that said it could stop the aging process. The first couple of weeks went OK, but now I’ve got a sore throat and I’m wondering if I’m doing it wrong.”
“Oh, I’d say there’s definitely something wrong here.”
“But it’s supposed to be able to cure anything.”
“Not stupidity, apparently.”
-----------
2:17 p.m.
“You could just apologize, you know.” Wilson leaned against the counter while House signed a chart. The next patient was already waiting in room three and Wilson had a consult in ten minutes back at his office.
“How many studies have you seen claiming coma patients do better when someone talks to them?”
“I don’t think Mr. Hansen’s family objected to you visiting him,” Wilson said. “It was the half-eaten sandwich they found under his blankets that set them off.”
“And why did everyone assume I was responsible?”
Wilson stared at him.
“OK, fine. But Foreman was the one who interrupted lunch. Cuddy should have made him come down here. Not me.”
--------------
2:48 p.m.
“My knee’s been sore for weeks, but now it’s getting worse.” The man was 26 -- too young to fit the standard profile for arthritis. His chart also said the man was single, but the blonde leaning against his shoulder had a proprietary gleam in her eye.
House manipulated the swollen joint, then rolled his stool over to the counter and picked up the man’s chart. “And that’s not the only thing that’s been sore,” he said.
“First there was the urinary tract infection, then conjunctivitis,” the blonde said.
“At least I’ve got Maddie taking care of me,” the man said.
House could see more than red discoloration in the man’s eyes. His pupils dilated as he prattled on about how devoted he was to the blonde.
“Right,” House said. He looked up. “The good news is, you don’t have a UTI or conjunctivitis. You have Reiter’s Syndrome.”
“Reiter’s ...”
“It’s an infection,” House continued. “Your body has an unusual way of reacting to it.” He jotted down the name of a rheumatologist and handed it to the man. “Follow up with this guy.”
He was at the door before the woman called him back.
“What kind of infection?”
House smiled. “Chlamydia.”
-------------
3:07 p.m.
“The problem is that most doctors in private practice are so busy keeping their patients satisfied, that they forget to practice actual medicine,” House said.
“And your problem is waiting in room two,” Brenda said and held out a file.
House ignored the chart. “They want antibiotics when all they have is a runny nose, then their doctors give them antibiotics which don’t do anything but add to the next generation of antibiotic resistant germs,” he said. “But they figure that’s fine as long as the insurance co-pays keep coming in.”
“Room two,” Brenda said.
“So when their patients come here with the sniffles, they expect they’re going to get their way all over again.”
“Room two.”
“You tell them they have a virus, and antibiotics won’t do any good, and they whine.”
“Room two.”
“Tell them you won’t give them any antibiotics, and they threaten to sue.”
“Room two.”
“You know I can keep this up as long as you can.”
Brenda didn’t even blink and still held out the file. “Room two.”
House sighed, took it and walked into room two.
----------------
3:32 p.m.
“Stop that, right now.” House could hear the woman’s voice coming through the door and he braced himself before opening it.
“So,” House said, and checked the form, “Mrs. Poole, what seems to be ...” The boy sitting on the exam table was about five years old and looked at him with his tongue sticking out and eyes crossed. House shook his head.
He looked at the form, seeking out the lines under: “Reason for visit.” There was only one word. “Advice.”
“I need you to tell him,” the woman said. She nodded at House. “Go on, tell him.”
House sighed and closed his eyes. “Tell him what, exactly?”
“That his eyes will stick that way if he keeps doing that,” she said. “He doesn’t believe me.”
House turned around. He could still hear the woman’s voice as he closed the door behind him.
“Hey,” she said. “Come back here!”
-----------------
3:57 p.m.
“Dr. House won’t see the patient in room three.” Brenda sighed and looked up from her paperwork at the nurse. The woman was new, and Brenda couldn’t remember her name.
“Did he say why not?”
“He said I should bring the patient to him in room four, because he doesn’t feel like going in three,” the nurse said. “He said his horoscope warned him against prime numbers.”
Brenda had learned each doctor’s routine long ago. Some liked to see only patients they could deal with quickly. Others wanted patients that matched their specialty. House would bitch no matter who he saw, so Brenda sent him everyone. But even he had his routine.
He’d start out moving quickly from room to room, trying to clear the waiting room before his scheduled hours ended so he could stretch out with a magazine. But long days always ended the same way -- with House sticking to one stool as much as possible, demanding that the patients come to him.
Brenda checked the clock. He’d made it nearly three hours today. Some days it was less than two.
She nodded at the other nurse. “Take the patients to him in four,” she said.
-------------------
4:26 p.m.
"So we really, really don't want to have any kids now,” the man said. “Someday sure, after I’m done with law school and pass the bar and get established, but for now, we’re relying on Jen’s income."
House sat back and waited for the man to continue.
"We heard there's a failure rate with birth control pills," Jen finally said, speaking up for the first time.
House nodded. "Very slight. Very, very slight," he said. "Of course you could always have him use …"
He could see the man shudder before House even got the words out of his mouth. "Let me guess, Little Jason doesn't like to perform in costume," he said. “It’s possible to reverse a ...
“No surgery,” the man blurted out. “But we were wondering if there was something else. Something that’s not permanent and not surgery, but still guaranteed."
House stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then at the couple. "Eat an apple."
"An apple?" the woman asked. "That's it?"
House nodded and closed the chart.
"Is that … before? Or after?"
"Instead of."
------------------
5:01 p.m.
The door swung open without a knock and House looked up as Wilson leaned into the room.
“Quitting time,” Wilson said.
“Yabba dabba do.” House signed the last chart.
Wilson held out House’s jacket and bag to him. “I figured I’d save you a stop,” he said. “Want to grab a drink?”
“Always,” House walked out of the exam room and dropped the files at the main desk. “But I thought you were headed out of town for the big party.”
“My brother’s engagement party isn’t until tomorrow.” Wilson shrugged. “I can head out there then.”
House stopped in front of the door. “Let me guess. You haven’t told them yet?”
“It hasn’t ... come up,” Wilson said. “And I don’t feel like talking about it.” He stepped out the door into the afternoon sunshine.
“Neither do I,” House said.
“Find anything interesting this afternoon?”
“I think I’d rather talk about your divorce.” House stopped next to his bike. “Frazier’s?”
Wilson nodded and House swung his leg up and onto the bike. He put the key into the ignition. “You’re buying dinner too,” he said. “After all, I didn’t get a chance to finish my lunch.”
Author: Namaste
Rating: PG, Gen, hopefully with humor
Summary: Of all the clinics in all the towns in all the world, they had to walk into his.
No angst, no ships, not even a real plot. Just an afternoon with House in the clinic, using a series of drabbles of 200 words or less.
1 p.m.
House doesn’t believe in heaven, but hell is the clinic on Fridays. Every doctor in private practice has closed shop for the weekend and the huddled masses end up on the doorsteps of Princeton-Plainsboro.
He stopped just outside the clinic and looked through the glass doors. House could hear the scream of from a baby on one side of the waiting room. Colic, he told himself and shook his head. Fantastic.
Somewhere to the left an older brat was throwing a tantrum. Too much sugar, not enough sleep, and parents who can’t keep their spawn under control, he thought. It’s always such a mystery.
He reached into his pocket and took out his Vicodin. He heard familiar footsteps from behind him.
“Now. Or I’ll assign you to every Friday for the next three months.” Cuddy pushed open the door and waited for House to walk through.
He sighed and shook out two pills.
--------------
1:05 p.m.
“House has a four-hour shift today,” Cuddy told Brenda at the desk. “Make sure he actually works all of them.”
Brenda sighed and looked up. “Do you hate me that much?”
“This isn’t a punishment for you, it’s a punishment for him.”
“It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.”
“You can handle him,” Cuddy said. She signed House’s name on the log sheet and waved him toward the treatment rooms before turning back to Brenda. “I have faith in you.”
Brenda took a chart off the pile and headed out to the waiting room to call House’s first patient. “Next time you want to show some faith in me, I’d prefer cash.”
---------------
1:58 p.m.
“Just ... to make sure I have this clear,” House said, “this is your own urine you’ve been drinking?”
The woman nodded.
“Every morning?”
She nodded again.
“I’m probably going to regret this, but ... why?”
“My sister-in-law swears by it,” she said. “She found this web site that said it could stop the aging process. The first couple of weeks went OK, but now I’ve got a sore throat and I’m wondering if I’m doing it wrong.”
“Oh, I’d say there’s definitely something wrong here.”
“But it’s supposed to be able to cure anything.”
“Not stupidity, apparently.”
-----------
2:17 p.m.
“You could just apologize, you know.” Wilson leaned against the counter while House signed a chart. The next patient was already waiting in room three and Wilson had a consult in ten minutes back at his office.
“How many studies have you seen claiming coma patients do better when someone talks to them?”
“I don’t think Mr. Hansen’s family objected to you visiting him,” Wilson said. “It was the half-eaten sandwich they found under his blankets that set them off.”
“And why did everyone assume I was responsible?”
Wilson stared at him.
“OK, fine. But Foreman was the one who interrupted lunch. Cuddy should have made him come down here. Not me.”
--------------
2:48 p.m.
“My knee’s been sore for weeks, but now it’s getting worse.” The man was 26 -- too young to fit the standard profile for arthritis. His chart also said the man was single, but the blonde leaning against his shoulder had a proprietary gleam in her eye.
House manipulated the swollen joint, then rolled his stool over to the counter and picked up the man’s chart. “And that’s not the only thing that’s been sore,” he said.
“First there was the urinary tract infection, then conjunctivitis,” the blonde said.
“At least I’ve got Maddie taking care of me,” the man said.
House could see more than red discoloration in the man’s eyes. His pupils dilated as he prattled on about how devoted he was to the blonde.
“Right,” House said. He looked up. “The good news is, you don’t have a UTI or conjunctivitis. You have Reiter’s Syndrome.”
“Reiter’s ...”
“It’s an infection,” House continued. “Your body has an unusual way of reacting to it.” He jotted down the name of a rheumatologist and handed it to the man. “Follow up with this guy.”
He was at the door before the woman called him back.
“What kind of infection?”
House smiled. “Chlamydia.”
-------------
3:07 p.m.
“The problem is that most doctors in private practice are so busy keeping their patients satisfied, that they forget to practice actual medicine,” House said.
“And your problem is waiting in room two,” Brenda said and held out a file.
House ignored the chart. “They want antibiotics when all they have is a runny nose, then their doctors give them antibiotics which don’t do anything but add to the next generation of antibiotic resistant germs,” he said. “But they figure that’s fine as long as the insurance co-pays keep coming in.”
“Room two,” Brenda said.
“So when their patients come here with the sniffles, they expect they’re going to get their way all over again.”
“Room two.”
“You tell them they have a virus, and antibiotics won’t do any good, and they whine.”
“Room two.”
“Tell them you won’t give them any antibiotics, and they threaten to sue.”
“Room two.”
“You know I can keep this up as long as you can.”
Brenda didn’t even blink and still held out the file. “Room two.”
House sighed, took it and walked into room two.
----------------
3:32 p.m.
“Stop that, right now.” House could hear the woman’s voice coming through the door and he braced himself before opening it.
“So,” House said, and checked the form, “Mrs. Poole, what seems to be ...” The boy sitting on the exam table was about five years old and looked at him with his tongue sticking out and eyes crossed. House shook his head.
He looked at the form, seeking out the lines under: “Reason for visit.” There was only one word. “Advice.”
“I need you to tell him,” the woman said. She nodded at House. “Go on, tell him.”
House sighed and closed his eyes. “Tell him what, exactly?”
“That his eyes will stick that way if he keeps doing that,” she said. “He doesn’t believe me.”
House turned around. He could still hear the woman’s voice as he closed the door behind him.
“Hey,” she said. “Come back here!”
-----------------
3:57 p.m.
“Dr. House won’t see the patient in room three.” Brenda sighed and looked up from her paperwork at the nurse. The woman was new, and Brenda couldn’t remember her name.
“Did he say why not?”
“He said I should bring the patient to him in room four, because he doesn’t feel like going in three,” the nurse said. “He said his horoscope warned him against prime numbers.”
Brenda had learned each doctor’s routine long ago. Some liked to see only patients they could deal with quickly. Others wanted patients that matched their specialty. House would bitch no matter who he saw, so Brenda sent him everyone. But even he had his routine.
He’d start out moving quickly from room to room, trying to clear the waiting room before his scheduled hours ended so he could stretch out with a magazine. But long days always ended the same way -- with House sticking to one stool as much as possible, demanding that the patients come to him.
Brenda checked the clock. He’d made it nearly three hours today. Some days it was less than two.
She nodded at the other nurse. “Take the patients to him in four,” she said.
-------------------
4:26 p.m.
"So we really, really don't want to have any kids now,” the man said. “Someday sure, after I’m done with law school and pass the bar and get established, but for now, we’re relying on Jen’s income."
House sat back and waited for the man to continue.
"We heard there's a failure rate with birth control pills," Jen finally said, speaking up for the first time.
House nodded. "Very slight. Very, very slight," he said. "Of course you could always have him use …"
He could see the man shudder before House even got the words out of his mouth. "Let me guess, Little Jason doesn't like to perform in costume," he said. “It’s possible to reverse a ...
“No surgery,” the man blurted out. “But we were wondering if there was something else. Something that’s not permanent and not surgery, but still guaranteed."
House stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then at the couple. "Eat an apple."
"An apple?" the woman asked. "That's it?"
House nodded and closed the chart.
"Is that … before? Or after?"
"Instead of."
------------------
5:01 p.m.
The door swung open without a knock and House looked up as Wilson leaned into the room.
“Quitting time,” Wilson said.
“Yabba dabba do.” House signed the last chart.
Wilson held out House’s jacket and bag to him. “I figured I’d save you a stop,” he said. “Want to grab a drink?”
“Always,” House walked out of the exam room and dropped the files at the main desk. “But I thought you were headed out of town for the big party.”
“My brother’s engagement party isn’t until tomorrow.” Wilson shrugged. “I can head out there then.”
House stopped in front of the door. “Let me guess. You haven’t told them yet?”
“It hasn’t ... come up,” Wilson said. “And I don’t feel like talking about it.” He stepped out the door into the afternoon sunshine.
“Neither do I,” House said.
“Find anything interesting this afternoon?”
“I think I’d rather talk about your divorce.” House stopped next to his bike. “Frazier’s?”
Wilson nodded and House swung his leg up and onto the bike. He put the key into the ignition. “You’re buying dinner too,” he said. “After all, I didn’t get a chance to finish my lunch.”