House and busy!Joey
::as requested by
kittykatkins::
Betting on nurses was always going to get him into trouble. House made a mental note to remember this in the future. As amusing as Cuddy was when she was angry (and she really was very, very amusing), being forced into prolonged exposure to the general population of oh-gee-doctor-I-might-be-dying patients was scarcely worth it. If the bet had come off, he could have made Chase do his clinic hours, but Chase had seemed almost too knowing about that nurse’s underwear situation. House suspected insider dealing.
There was a woman waiting in the clinic room, gabbling away in a melodramatic fashion into her cellphone. He flicked open her chart. Late thirties, six months pregnant, on a book tour, English… His head shot up in disbelief.
“Twelve kids! Do you have some kind of conveyor belt system working?” A sharp, dark gaze met his, and the patient – Jo Maynard, according to her chart – hung up the phone abruptly and glared at him. House ignored it. “So, what’s the problem?”
“I’ve been having some contractions.” House lounged against the wall, then looked surprised as she raised an expectant eyebrow.
“What? You know more about birthin’ babies than me. What do you think the problem is? Hey, it couldn’t be time for the baby to come out, could it?”
“Politeness, Dr House,” said the patient, in a decidedly chilly voice, “is the pride of princes.”
House shrugged. “Dammit, pregnant lady, I’m a doctor, not a prince.”
::as requested by
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Betting on nurses was always going to get him into trouble. House made a mental note to remember this in the future. As amusing as Cuddy was when she was angry (and she really was very, very amusing), being forced into prolonged exposure to the general population of oh-gee-doctor-I-might-be-dying patients was scarcely worth it. If the bet had come off, he could have made Chase do his clinic hours, but Chase had seemed almost too knowing about that nurse’s underwear situation. House suspected insider dealing.
There was a woman waiting in the clinic room, gabbling away in a melodramatic fashion into her cellphone. He flicked open her chart. Late thirties, six months pregnant, on a book tour, English… His head shot up in disbelief.
“Twelve kids! Do you have some kind of conveyor belt system working?” A sharp, dark gaze met his, and the patient – Jo Maynard, according to her chart – hung up the phone abruptly and glared at him. House ignored it. “So, what’s the problem?”
“I’ve been having some contractions.” House lounged against the wall, then looked surprised as she raised an expectant eyebrow.
“What? You know more about birthin’ babies than me. What do you think the problem is? Hey, it couldn’t be time for the baby to come out, could it?”
“Politeness, Dr House,” said the patient, in a decidedly chilly voice, “is the pride of princes.”
House shrugged. “Dammit, pregnant lady, I’m a doctor, not a prince.”