Work Text:
Untitled "House" Slash
By Perpetual Motion
"You're a prick."
James's head shot up from the chart he was reading. He glanced at the patient, a sweet-looking woman in her mid-sixties with back spasms, then he glanced at Greg. Greg was smiling. This wasn't going to end well.
"You know, Ms.-" Greg paused, waiting for James to fill in the blank.
"Marshfield," James supplied.
"Right," Greg nodded once. "Ms. Marshfield, you're completely correct in your diagnosis. I am a prick. I am a huge prick. However, that's as far as you get to go with any diagnosis because you don't know what's wrong with you. Now, I could leave you here with Dr. Wilson, who would be happy to assist you, get a consult, and assist you again, or I could explain to you exactly what's wrong, let Dr. Wilson agree with me since he's here to do just that, and let you get out of here two hours earlier than you could if you continued to insult me until I storm out with a brusied ego."
James couldn't help it, he snorted in disbelief. Brusised ego? Greg? No. He kept his eyes on the chart when he felt Greg and Ms. Marshfield glance at him. He didn't look up until Ms. Marshfield looked at Greg again.
"You know what's wrong with me?"
"Yes."
"And you'll tell me."
"Sure." Greg shrugged. "You just can't call me a prick again."
"But you are."
"I never disagreed." Greg waited for Ms. Marshfield to nod. "Okay, you want to know what's wrong? You're 67, you have a four-year-old grandson, and you lifted him one too many times. Go home, have a couple of aspirin and a heating pad and force someone to make you soup."
Ms. Marshfield looked at James expectantly. James nodded. "He's exactly right. There's nothing at all in your recent medical history that worries us. You just overdid it a little with your grandson. You'll have some pain, but you'll be fine in a few days.
"Okay," Ms. Marshfield picked up her purse and coat. "Thank you," she directed it at James. "Prick." She directed that at Greg.
James held the door for her as she left and gave Greg an exasperated look once she was gone and the door was securely closed. "Why did you call me down here for a consult on *back* spasms?"
Greg shrugged again, shifting his weight subtlely. "No reason."
James had caught the weight shift. "Liar. Your leg's hurting. You need someone to look at it."
"My leg's always hurting." Greg spoked matter-of-factly as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his bottle of pills. He popped the top, pulled one out, and swallowed it dry.
"One of these days you're going to choke on one of those."
"I'd be so lucky." Greg slipped the pills back into his pocket and hopped onto the exam bed as best he could. "It's more than the usual amount of pain."
"Which I think you once described as a group of shrieking med students holding wailing infants." James set Ms. Marshfield's chart on the counter and stepped over to the bed. He carefully inched Greg's pant leg up far enough for him to see what he needed. "What does it feel like today?"
"Like someone's driving railroad spikes into my knee."
"So, no wailing infants?"
"No, they're all in the waiting room."
James had to chuckle at the truth to the statement. He'd managed to get Greg's pants leg up far enough to see Greg's knee, and he looked it over carefully. "It looks fine on the outside." He ran his fingers over the fresh scar on the inside of Greg's knee before feeling around carefully for a lump that wasn't scar tissue. "I don't feel anything unusual."
"You've said that three times before." To anyone else, Greg would sound cranky, pissed, or just annoyed, but James wasn't anyone else.
"Do you want me to get a consult down here to be sure?" His face was completely neutral when he looked at Greg. He wasn't going to push anything.
Greg thought about it and shook his head. He got off of the table with James's help and shook his pants leg down with a grimace. "Don't worry about it." He didn't smile, but the look in his eyes was attempting to be reassuring. "You know my knee better than anyone. If it's okay, it's okay."
"Okay." James took a step back and grabbed Ms. Marshfield's chart. "Don't forget to sign this."
"Yeah, sure, whatever." Greg patted himself down for a pen, couldn't find one, and slipped one from James's pocket. He scrawled his name and returned the pen. While he was bent near James, James stole a kiss. "You are a sap."
James shrugged; it was a near-perfect example of the classic Dr. House shrug. "Whatever."
END