Aug 4th (I still have an hour!): School Prep
August 4, 2011
Twisted Shorts Challenge
Author: phouka
Title: School Prep
Series: Shadow and Light
Crossover: House (Dawn-centered)
Summary: Dawn's on her way to university overseas, but one of the requirements is a physical.
Length: 3000 on the dot, not including everything before the title. I promise.
Disclaimer: House is the property of its creator, production company, and broadcaster. Buffy, the Vampire Slayer is the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy Productions, and 20th Century Fox. Obviously, I own neither. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This frickin' challenge is hard. Especially staying under 3000 words. Clearly, I need this. The references to deer ticks are because the actress who plays Dawn, Michelle Trachtenberg, also played a patient on House, M. D.
School Prep
Clinic hours. Stupid fucking clinic hours. The bane of his existence, and thanks to the heavy duty favors he'd called in from Cuddy (involving taking a patient to the local zoo for an MRI, firing a starting pistol, and felonious assault with a donut), there'd been no way for him to escape .
He stopped by the nurse's desk, and the brunette on duty - married, her husband thought she was having an affair, but it was actually the daughter charging birth control on the credit card God, people were stupid. - handed him a chart.
“Special appointment for you, Dr. House,” she said. “Room 3.”
“Oh, bother,” he whined. “Is it another referral from Kevorkian? I so want to kill someone this morning.”
“Not this one you won't,” the nurse answered.
He glanced at the chart. Eighteen year old female. Hmmm. Full physical, including pelvic exam. Hmmmm.
“Has Cuddy seen this?” he asked.
“Like I said,” the nurse repeated. “Special appointment. Came through her direct. Just notify me when you need the chaperone.”
“Oh, you can be sure I'll remember to,” he said in his sarcasm voice and gave her a dirty old man look.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes.
Inside the exam room, House paused to hang his cane on the doorknob, set his mocha on the counter, turned to greet his patient, and stopped.
“I've seen you before.”
The young woman, sitting on the edge of the exam table in paper skirt and cape, swinging her legs, ankles crossed, pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows. She held a manilla folder in her lap.
“Nope. Never even been in New Jersey before.”
“Are you sure I haven't removed a deer tick from your vagina?” he asked.
She stared at him for a split-second and recovered. “Pretty sure I'd remember that. No.”
“Okay,” House replied. “But if your dad tries to kill me again, I am not signing the insurance reimbursement papers.”
“My dad's in Spain, and I'm paying cash,” she told him. “You're safe.”
He studied her. Absent father. Cash meant she didn't want a financial record or medical history available to an insurance company, especially going out of state. Stiff posture meant she was emotionally uncomfortable being there, but the swinging legs - still going - meant she'd figured out a physical coping mechanism. Manilla folder meant history or requirements for something. At her age, with a physical exam, it meant school, which meant either athletics or overseas. She'd probably added the request for a pelvic exam in order to get birth control pills. And she hadn't panicked when he mentioned her vagina. He decided she deserved some respect.
“So, what can I do for you today?” he asked.
“Well, if I do have any deer ticks in my vagina, I would appreciate their removal. Don't think it's likely,” she said. “In the meantime, I'm starting school at Queen Flavia University next month, and I need a full exam both for the visa and the school entrance requirements. Documents are in here. I also need a booster on pretty much all my vaccines, including tetanus, as well as a smallpox vaccination and the prescriptions that are listed on the paperwork in here.”
She handed him the folder.
“Smallpox is extinct,” he told her. “You don't need a vaccine for it.”
“I know that. The school still requires it. Oh, and I want an IUD.”
“Birth control pills are simpler, fewer complications, and don't require a second appointment.”
“They can also get lost, stolen, or forgotten, and you and I both know that the second appointment is only logistics. So long as my pelvic is clear, you can put it in during this appointment. By the time you've done that, you'll probably have gotten a vial of smallpox vaccine messengered over from the CDC, and you can give me that shot as well.”
She looked at him like she was ordering a book through inter-library loan and knew more about the forms than the librarian.
His morning suddenly got interesting.
He opened the folder and began flipping through pages. She had her birth certificate, her passport, her high school transcript, a copy of the application to Queen Flavia University, the acceptance letter, the application for a Ruritanian student visa stamped with Her Majesty's coat of arms, and a packet titled 'Preparation for School'.
He skimmed the limits on baggage, recommended clothing and shoes, required school uniform robes, and several pamphlets on the recommended tourist sites of Strelsau.
“Do you have any kind of idea what kind of pull is necessary to even talk to the CDC about a smallpox vaccination?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she said. “Which is why my appointment is scheduled with you through the Dean of Medicine, and both the hospital and the CDC are receiving generous grants.”
“Where's the money coming from?”
“My family held a garage sale. Cleared a bundle,” she replied.
“Uh huh.” He flipped to the medical forms.
The list of prescriptions was an extremely truncated version of the World Health Organization's essential medications formulary. He ran his finger down the list. The basics for trauma and infectious disease were there. Nothing for chronic illnesses, nothing for cancer, diabetes, heart disease, or diseases of the very young or elderly.
“There are some really fun narcotics and other pills on here,” he remarked, smiling at her. “You could have faked the letterhead.”
She took a deep breath, looked at the ceiling, and exhaled. Her legs stopped swinging. “Look, it's been a really long week already, and I'm stressed out. They told me you were smart. Look at the fucking watermark. If I were going to bother with faking a royal university watermark, I could get all of those drugs a hell of a lot easier. I'd just have to be willing to break the law and pay a lot of money, both of which I can do, but the university made it clear this has to be on the up-and-up. I'm even required to be one hundred percent honest with you, or the deal's off.”
He barely managed to suppress a smile. Damn, this was getting good. He checked her transcript - International Baccalaureate program, magna cum laude.
“Not summa cum laude?” he asked with a bit of snark.
Her expression went dead. “My mother died during my sophomore year. Fuck you if you don't think that merits a point one reduction in my GPA.”
“Says you're fluent in Latin,” he observed.
She stared at him.
“Throw a line at me,” he said, picking up his mocha and taking a sip.
“Your mother paid your medical school tuition by 'stripping the bark off' diseased slaves in the public forum for tips,” she said in impeccable classic Latin, using the metaphor for fellatio popular in the first century AD.
He spewed a mouthful halfway across the exam room, and then spent a minute laughing and coughing. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.
“Gladiators,” he corrected her. “Not slaves.”
She heaved a sigh. “Can we just do this?”
He relented. “Yeah. Let's start with your family history.”
“I filled in all the fo-”
“The forms are garbage. You know it as well as I do. What'd your mom die of?”
“An aneurysm after surgical recision of a primary oligodendroglioma,” she responded.
“Grandparents?”
“Maternal grandmother died of a stroke at 73. Maternal grandfather died of lung cancer at 68. I've never met my paternal grandparents. I checked Social Security records, and they both died in their 70s, but I don't know the cause.”
“Any siblings?”
“One sister.”
“Any health issues?”
She started to say something, stopped, and then said, “it's complicated.”
“More complicated than a primary oligodendroglioma?” he asked.
“Yeah. My sister has been in a very dangerous occupation since she was fourteen. She's had multiple physical traumas including broken bones, concussions, lacerations, and contusions. Think rodeo clown injury rate. There's some pretty extensive emotional trauma too, but she copes. Otherwise, healthy as a horse.”
“Want to tell me what she does?” House asked.
“No.”
He shrugged. “Okay, let's get down to nitty gritty.”
He started a thorough physical exam - checking neurological functions, hearing, sight, balance, proprioception, listened to her heart and lungs.
“Okay, lie down,” he instructed, pulling out the table's extension so she could keep her legs straight.
He sounded her abdomen and then lifted the cape to listen to her bowel sounds. There were several deep, horizontal scars across the middle of her abdomen, just above her navel. He ran a thumb along and then across one, and her entire body tensed. The quality of the scars told him that she'd been cut with a sharp implement, probably a knife. It had gone completely through the epidermis but hadn't cut the underlying muscles. They hadn't been stitched, but probably had butterfly closures to keep the edges together. Post trauma care had been good, but there would have been a lot of blood loss.
“Do you self-harm?” he asked, keeping his voice completely expressionless.
“No.”
“Was this consensual?”
“Hell, no.”
“Any counseling afterwards?”
“No,” Dawn answered. “My friends took care of me.”
“Where was your sister?”
“Dead.”
He paused. “You didn't mention that part earlier.”
“She's not dead anymore. It's co-”
“Complicated,” he finished for her. “Arms over your head.”
He checked her lymph nodes and breasts.
“Sexual activity?”
“I'm a virgin,” she replied.
“That's not what I asked,” House said, pulling her up by an arm and a hand on her shoulder.
He put the extension back and buzzed for the nurse.
She didn't answer.
“You and I both know that 'virgin' is practically meaningless anymore,” he told her. “Have you had vaginal intercourse with anyone?”
“No.”
“Outercourse?”
“You mean dry humping?” she asked.
“More like wet humping,” he answered.
“No.”
“Anal intercourse?”
“Uh, no.”
“Given anyone oral sex?”
“No, but I do know what a penis looks like,” she said, deadpan.
“Received oral sex?”
She went bright scarlet.
“I'll take that as a yes,” he said. “Use protection?”
“I kept a cricket bat handy,” she answered. “In case he tried to push it.”
“Good for you,” he said. “I was thinking more along the lines of a dental dam.”
She blushed again, this time because she clearly hadn't thought of everything.
“That'd be a no. Ever had an STD panel?”
“No,” she managed in a strangled voice.
“We'll do one today. I'll have the results for you before you leave.”
There was a knock on the door, and a nurse entered, opening the door only far enough to step in before closing it. She opened one of the cabinets and took out a tray of instruments covered with a medical drape.
“Okay,” he said, “feet in the stirrups. Have you ever had a pelvic exam before?”
“No,” Dawn said, and her voice wavered a little bit.
“I'll tell you exactly what's going to happen and what to expect,” he said, pulling on a pair of gloves. “If at any time you need a break, give the word. Unless you have a colony of deer ticks, this should only take five to ten minutes. Stay as relaxed as you can below the waist and think happy thoughts. Just . . . not . . . too happy.”
He did just what he said - explaining each step and working with smooth precision. Every now and then, he murmured something to the nurse, who duly charted it. A few things felt decidedly uncomfortable, but none of it really hurt. Still, she was relieved when it was over.
He helped her take her feet out of the stirrups and sit back up.
“Okay, Sandy,” he said.
“Sharon,” the nurse corrected him.
“Whatever. Take this to the pharmacy department and tell them to fill everything on it in the quantities requested,” he paused to sign the list of medications, “bring back a phlebotomy kit and forms for an STD panel, and pull a Mirena out of supplies. I also need all the boosters mentioned on the back of that page.”
“All of these?” the nurse asked, a little staggered.
“All of them,” he confirmed. “Oh, and check the latest messenger drop off. I'm guessing there's a box in there for me.”
He turned back to Dawn, who sat, gripping the sides of the exam table and swinging her ankles again.
“Someone bring you here?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “She'll pick me up when I call.”
He nodded. “That's good, because I tell you what, having an IUD put in hurts like hell, especially if you've never given birth. So, I'm going to give you an IV with pain killers and muscle relaxants. You're going to be very mellow on the way home and very sore tomorrow. Okay by you?”
She took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“Now, you're supposed to be one hundred percent honest with me, but, everybody lies.”
“I haven't lied to you,” she said, flatly. “There are some questions I'm not going to answer, but I haven't and won't lie.”
“Then how is it that you started off with what was probably a hymen anularis and now have an impressive collective of completely tattered maidenhead? And don't tell me horseback riding.”
“I said I hadn't had vaginal sex,” she answered. “With another person. I didn't say anything about owning a dildo or vibrator. Which I do. I finally switched over to rechargable batteries when the guys at the recycling center knew me by name.”
“Ah.”
He stared thoughtfully at the floor.
“You know what a Go Bag or Bug Out Bag is?” House asked her.
“Yeah. Zombie apocalypse starts, you need to take off for the hills. You grab your bag of supplies and run for it.”
“Queen Flavia University is practically mythical,” he remarked. “The graduating class size for their baccalaureate program is usually under two hundred, and they don't have any set degree plans. Each student gets their own unique diploma. You can't even get considered unless you speak at least three modern languages and two classical languages fluently, and you aren't accepted unless you have references that would make the Pope jealous.”
“Tell me something I don't know,” Dawn answered.
“They're pretty much setting you up for something really, really good or really, really bad. Everything they require is the medical equivalent of a Bug Out Bag - antibiotics, antipsychotics, narcotics, tranquilizers. I take it you've had First Aid and CPR training.”
“I could qualify as a level 2 EMT,” she said. “I can place a trache tube, start an IV, and stitch wounds.”
“How many things in this room could you use as a weapon?” he asked.
She glanced around. “One way or another, everything.”
He pursed his lips. “You know, the state department and the Secret Service start recruitment efforts the moment an American citizen is accepted to QFU. If you chose not to go that route, they will keep an eye on you the rest of your life.”
“Yep,” Dawn acknowledged.
“You're going overseas. You're a virgin, and you're getting an IUD, so either you plan on becoming sexually active, or you know you might be raped.”
“Any guy who tries to rape me is going to end up with his testicles ripped off and stapled to his forehead.”
“Send me picture of that, will you?” he asked. “So I'm going with the starting the sexual exploration plan.”
She shrugged and nodded.
“The guy here-”
“Who said there was a guy here?” she asked, her face snapping up.
From House's expression, she knew he'd nailed her.
“The guy here doesn't see you as a possibility yet. Probably knew you when you were much younger, probably filled an older brother role. One of the friends who took care of you?”
Pale, she nodded.
“Thought so. Stay away for at least six months,” he told her. “Try to keep communication limited to emails and phone - no video. Get your exploration out of your system, but don't go crazy. No more than say . . . three guys.”
“I wasn't even figuring that many,” she muttered.
“And don't fall in love,” House commanded.
Before Dawn could answer, the nurse reappeared with the blood-drawing kit, a red, plastic box embossed with “CDC”, and a tray full of tiny vials and a row of syringes
“I'll be right back with the Mirena,” she said.
House gave Dawn a frank look. “By the time I'm done, you're going to feel like a pincushion with the Spanish flu and you're not going to want to sit down or even think about your girlie bits for a couple of days. Tell your friends you picked up an intestinal virus. Drink a lot of fluids, eat comfort food, watch soap operas.”
“Okay,” she managed.
“And for God's sake,” he said, “don't even think of buying your clothes in the US. Stop in Paris before you hit Strelsau.”
She blinked. “That's actually really good advice.”
“Don't I know it. You ready?” he asked, opening the phlebotomy kit.
“Let's do it,” she answered.
Twisted Shorts Challenge
Author: phouka
Title: School Prep
Series: Shadow and Light
Crossover: House (Dawn-centered)
Summary: Dawn's on her way to university overseas, but one of the requirements is a physical.
Length: 3000 on the dot, not including everything before the title. I promise.
Disclaimer: House is the property of its creator, production company, and broadcaster. Buffy, the Vampire Slayer is the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy Productions, and 20th Century Fox. Obviously, I own neither. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This frickin' challenge is hard. Especially staying under 3000 words. Clearly, I need this. The references to deer ticks are because the actress who plays Dawn, Michelle Trachtenberg, also played a patient on House, M. D.
School Prep
Clinic hours. Stupid fucking clinic hours. The bane of his existence, and thanks to the heavy duty favors he'd called in from Cuddy (involving taking a patient to the local zoo for an MRI, firing a starting pistol, and felonious assault with a donut), there'd been no way for him to escape .
He stopped by the nurse's desk, and the brunette on duty - married, her husband thought she was having an affair, but it was actually the daughter charging birth control on the credit card God, people were stupid. - handed him a chart.
“Special appointment for you, Dr. House,” she said. “Room 3.”
“Oh, bother,” he whined. “Is it another referral from Kevorkian? I so want to kill someone this morning.”
“Not this one you won't,” the nurse answered.
He glanced at the chart. Eighteen year old female. Hmmm. Full physical, including pelvic exam. Hmmmm.
“Has Cuddy seen this?” he asked.
“Like I said,” the nurse repeated. “Special appointment. Came through her direct. Just notify me when you need the chaperone.”
“Oh, you can be sure I'll remember to,” he said in his sarcasm voice and gave her a dirty old man look.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes.
Inside the exam room, House paused to hang his cane on the doorknob, set his mocha on the counter, turned to greet his patient, and stopped.
“I've seen you before.”
The young woman, sitting on the edge of the exam table in paper skirt and cape, swinging her legs, ankles crossed, pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows. She held a manilla folder in her lap.
“Nope. Never even been in New Jersey before.”
“Are you sure I haven't removed a deer tick from your vagina?” he asked.
She stared at him for a split-second and recovered. “Pretty sure I'd remember that. No.”
“Okay,” House replied. “But if your dad tries to kill me again, I am not signing the insurance reimbursement papers.”
“My dad's in Spain, and I'm paying cash,” she told him. “You're safe.”
He studied her. Absent father. Cash meant she didn't want a financial record or medical history available to an insurance company, especially going out of state. Stiff posture meant she was emotionally uncomfortable being there, but the swinging legs - still going - meant she'd figured out a physical coping mechanism. Manilla folder meant history or requirements for something. At her age, with a physical exam, it meant school, which meant either athletics or overseas. She'd probably added the request for a pelvic exam in order to get birth control pills. And she hadn't panicked when he mentioned her vagina. He decided she deserved some respect.
“So, what can I do for you today?” he asked.
“Well, if I do have any deer ticks in my vagina, I would appreciate their removal. Don't think it's likely,” she said. “In the meantime, I'm starting school at Queen Flavia University next month, and I need a full exam both for the visa and the school entrance requirements. Documents are in here. I also need a booster on pretty much all my vaccines, including tetanus, as well as a smallpox vaccination and the prescriptions that are listed on the paperwork in here.”
She handed him the folder.
“Smallpox is extinct,” he told her. “You don't need a vaccine for it.”
“I know that. The school still requires it. Oh, and I want an IUD.”
“Birth control pills are simpler, fewer complications, and don't require a second appointment.”
“They can also get lost, stolen, or forgotten, and you and I both know that the second appointment is only logistics. So long as my pelvic is clear, you can put it in during this appointment. By the time you've done that, you'll probably have gotten a vial of smallpox vaccine messengered over from the CDC, and you can give me that shot as well.”
She looked at him like she was ordering a book through inter-library loan and knew more about the forms than the librarian.
His morning suddenly got interesting.
He opened the folder and began flipping through pages. She had her birth certificate, her passport, her high school transcript, a copy of the application to Queen Flavia University, the acceptance letter, the application for a Ruritanian student visa stamped with Her Majesty's coat of arms, and a packet titled 'Preparation for School'.
He skimmed the limits on baggage, recommended clothing and shoes, required school uniform robes, and several pamphlets on the recommended tourist sites of Strelsau.
“Do you have any kind of idea what kind of pull is necessary to even talk to the CDC about a smallpox vaccination?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she said. “Which is why my appointment is scheduled with you through the Dean of Medicine, and both the hospital and the CDC are receiving generous grants.”
“Where's the money coming from?”
“My family held a garage sale. Cleared a bundle,” she replied.
“Uh huh.” He flipped to the medical forms.
The list of prescriptions was an extremely truncated version of the World Health Organization's essential medications formulary. He ran his finger down the list. The basics for trauma and infectious disease were there. Nothing for chronic illnesses, nothing for cancer, diabetes, heart disease, or diseases of the very young or elderly.
“There are some really fun narcotics and other pills on here,” he remarked, smiling at her. “You could have faked the letterhead.”
She took a deep breath, looked at the ceiling, and exhaled. Her legs stopped swinging. “Look, it's been a really long week already, and I'm stressed out. They told me you were smart. Look at the fucking watermark. If I were going to bother with faking a royal university watermark, I could get all of those drugs a hell of a lot easier. I'd just have to be willing to break the law and pay a lot of money, both of which I can do, but the university made it clear this has to be on the up-and-up. I'm even required to be one hundred percent honest with you, or the deal's off.”
He barely managed to suppress a smile. Damn, this was getting good. He checked her transcript - International Baccalaureate program, magna cum laude.
“Not summa cum laude?” he asked with a bit of snark.
Her expression went dead. “My mother died during my sophomore year. Fuck you if you don't think that merits a point one reduction in my GPA.”
“Says you're fluent in Latin,” he observed.
She stared at him.
“Throw a line at me,” he said, picking up his mocha and taking a sip.
“Your mother paid your medical school tuition by 'stripping the bark off' diseased slaves in the public forum for tips,” she said in impeccable classic Latin, using the metaphor for fellatio popular in the first century AD.
He spewed a mouthful halfway across the exam room, and then spent a minute laughing and coughing. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.
“Gladiators,” he corrected her. “Not slaves.”
She heaved a sigh. “Can we just do this?”
He relented. “Yeah. Let's start with your family history.”
“I filled in all the fo-”
“The forms are garbage. You know it as well as I do. What'd your mom die of?”
“An aneurysm after surgical recision of a primary oligodendroglioma,” she responded.
“Grandparents?”
“Maternal grandmother died of a stroke at 73. Maternal grandfather died of lung cancer at 68. I've never met my paternal grandparents. I checked Social Security records, and they both died in their 70s, but I don't know the cause.”
“Any siblings?”
“One sister.”
“Any health issues?”
She started to say something, stopped, and then said, “it's complicated.”
“More complicated than a primary oligodendroglioma?” he asked.
“Yeah. My sister has been in a very dangerous occupation since she was fourteen. She's had multiple physical traumas including broken bones, concussions, lacerations, and contusions. Think rodeo clown injury rate. There's some pretty extensive emotional trauma too, but she copes. Otherwise, healthy as a horse.”
“Want to tell me what she does?” House asked.
“No.”
He shrugged. “Okay, let's get down to nitty gritty.”
He started a thorough physical exam - checking neurological functions, hearing, sight, balance, proprioception, listened to her heart and lungs.
“Okay, lie down,” he instructed, pulling out the table's extension so she could keep her legs straight.
He sounded her abdomen and then lifted the cape to listen to her bowel sounds. There were several deep, horizontal scars across the middle of her abdomen, just above her navel. He ran a thumb along and then across one, and her entire body tensed. The quality of the scars told him that she'd been cut with a sharp implement, probably a knife. It had gone completely through the epidermis but hadn't cut the underlying muscles. They hadn't been stitched, but probably had butterfly closures to keep the edges together. Post trauma care had been good, but there would have been a lot of blood loss.
“Do you self-harm?” he asked, keeping his voice completely expressionless.
“No.”
“Was this consensual?”
“Hell, no.”
“Any counseling afterwards?”
“No,” Dawn answered. “My friends took care of me.”
“Where was your sister?”
“Dead.”
He paused. “You didn't mention that part earlier.”
“She's not dead anymore. It's co-”
“Complicated,” he finished for her. “Arms over your head.”
He checked her lymph nodes and breasts.
“Sexual activity?”
“I'm a virgin,” she replied.
“That's not what I asked,” House said, pulling her up by an arm and a hand on her shoulder.
He put the extension back and buzzed for the nurse.
She didn't answer.
“You and I both know that 'virgin' is practically meaningless anymore,” he told her. “Have you had vaginal intercourse with anyone?”
“No.”
“Outercourse?”
“You mean dry humping?” she asked.
“More like wet humping,” he answered.
“No.”
“Anal intercourse?”
“Uh, no.”
“Given anyone oral sex?”
“No, but I do know what a penis looks like,” she said, deadpan.
“Received oral sex?”
She went bright scarlet.
“I'll take that as a yes,” he said. “Use protection?”
“I kept a cricket bat handy,” she answered. “In case he tried to push it.”
“Good for you,” he said. “I was thinking more along the lines of a dental dam.”
She blushed again, this time because she clearly hadn't thought of everything.
“That'd be a no. Ever had an STD panel?”
“No,” she managed in a strangled voice.
“We'll do one today. I'll have the results for you before you leave.”
There was a knock on the door, and a nurse entered, opening the door only far enough to step in before closing it. She opened one of the cabinets and took out a tray of instruments covered with a medical drape.
“Okay,” he said, “feet in the stirrups. Have you ever had a pelvic exam before?”
“No,” Dawn said, and her voice wavered a little bit.
“I'll tell you exactly what's going to happen and what to expect,” he said, pulling on a pair of gloves. “If at any time you need a break, give the word. Unless you have a colony of deer ticks, this should only take five to ten minutes. Stay as relaxed as you can below the waist and think happy thoughts. Just . . . not . . . too happy.”
He did just what he said - explaining each step and working with smooth precision. Every now and then, he murmured something to the nurse, who duly charted it. A few things felt decidedly uncomfortable, but none of it really hurt. Still, she was relieved when it was over.
He helped her take her feet out of the stirrups and sit back up.
“Okay, Sandy,” he said.
“Sharon,” the nurse corrected him.
“Whatever. Take this to the pharmacy department and tell them to fill everything on it in the quantities requested,” he paused to sign the list of medications, “bring back a phlebotomy kit and forms for an STD panel, and pull a Mirena out of supplies. I also need all the boosters mentioned on the back of that page.”
“All of these?” the nurse asked, a little staggered.
“All of them,” he confirmed. “Oh, and check the latest messenger drop off. I'm guessing there's a box in there for me.”
He turned back to Dawn, who sat, gripping the sides of the exam table and swinging her ankles again.
“Someone bring you here?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “She'll pick me up when I call.”
He nodded. “That's good, because I tell you what, having an IUD put in hurts like hell, especially if you've never given birth. So, I'm going to give you an IV with pain killers and muscle relaxants. You're going to be very mellow on the way home and very sore tomorrow. Okay by you?”
She took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“Now, you're supposed to be one hundred percent honest with me, but, everybody lies.”
“I haven't lied to you,” she said, flatly. “There are some questions I'm not going to answer, but I haven't and won't lie.”
“Then how is it that you started off with what was probably a hymen anularis and now have an impressive collective of completely tattered maidenhead? And don't tell me horseback riding.”
“I said I hadn't had vaginal sex,” she answered. “With another person. I didn't say anything about owning a dildo or vibrator. Which I do. I finally switched over to rechargable batteries when the guys at the recycling center knew me by name.”
“Ah.”
He stared thoughtfully at the floor.
“You know what a Go Bag or Bug Out Bag is?” House asked her.
“Yeah. Zombie apocalypse starts, you need to take off for the hills. You grab your bag of supplies and run for it.”
“Queen Flavia University is practically mythical,” he remarked. “The graduating class size for their baccalaureate program is usually under two hundred, and they don't have any set degree plans. Each student gets their own unique diploma. You can't even get considered unless you speak at least three modern languages and two classical languages fluently, and you aren't accepted unless you have references that would make the Pope jealous.”
“Tell me something I don't know,” Dawn answered.
“They're pretty much setting you up for something really, really good or really, really bad. Everything they require is the medical equivalent of a Bug Out Bag - antibiotics, antipsychotics, narcotics, tranquilizers. I take it you've had First Aid and CPR training.”
“I could qualify as a level 2 EMT,” she said. “I can place a trache tube, start an IV, and stitch wounds.”
“How many things in this room could you use as a weapon?” he asked.
She glanced around. “One way or another, everything.”
He pursed his lips. “You know, the state department and the Secret Service start recruitment efforts the moment an American citizen is accepted to QFU. If you chose not to go that route, they will keep an eye on you the rest of your life.”
“Yep,” Dawn acknowledged.
“You're going overseas. You're a virgin, and you're getting an IUD, so either you plan on becoming sexually active, or you know you might be raped.”
“Any guy who tries to rape me is going to end up with his testicles ripped off and stapled to his forehead.”
“Send me picture of that, will you?” he asked. “So I'm going with the starting the sexual exploration plan.”
She shrugged and nodded.
“The guy here-”
“Who said there was a guy here?” she asked, her face snapping up.
From House's expression, she knew he'd nailed her.
“The guy here doesn't see you as a possibility yet. Probably knew you when you were much younger, probably filled an older brother role. One of the friends who took care of you?”
Pale, she nodded.
“Thought so. Stay away for at least six months,” he told her. “Try to keep communication limited to emails and phone - no video. Get your exploration out of your system, but don't go crazy. No more than say . . . three guys.”
“I wasn't even figuring that many,” she muttered.
“And don't fall in love,” House commanded.
Before Dawn could answer, the nurse reappeared with the blood-drawing kit, a red, plastic box embossed with “CDC”, and a tray full of tiny vials and a row of syringes
“I'll be right back with the Mirena,” she said.
House gave Dawn a frank look. “By the time I'm done, you're going to feel like a pincushion with the Spanish flu and you're not going to want to sit down or even think about your girlie bits for a couple of days. Tell your friends you picked up an intestinal virus. Drink a lot of fluids, eat comfort food, watch soap operas.”
“Okay,” she managed.
“And for God's sake,” he said, “don't even think of buying your clothes in the US. Stop in Paris before you hit Strelsau.”
She blinked. “That's actually really good advice.”
“Don't I know it. You ready?” he asked, opening the phlebotomy kit.
“Let's do it,” she answered.