House Call

Title: House Call
Author: Kimmerwoman
Pairing: Giles/Anya, natch.
Rating: PG13, for adolescent innuendo.
Summary: Giles, Anya, and a certain diagnostician at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.
AN: Many thanks to headrush100, with extra gratitude to heron_pose, and winding_path for helping me keep House, House. This is my birthday fic to ljs, who wished out loud for an I&A/House crossover after Tom Lenk's appearance on House a few weeks ago. Happy Birthday, Lori!



“Okay, turn right at the light,” Dawn directed. The driver obeyed with a sharp twist of the wheel, and she braced herself with a hand on the dashboard to keep her balance.

“Andrew, do slow down,” Giles growled from the back seat.“We’d like to arrive at Casualty in one piece, thank you very much.”

“Sorry,” Andrew muttered. He eased up on the gas and threw a sheepish glance at the rearview mirror. Giles was stretched across the back seat with his eyes closed and his back against the passenger door. His foot, unshod and already a mass of purple and green, rested on Anya’s lap. Oh God, oh God. He turned to look behind him. “Sorry,” he repeated loudly. “I really am so, so sorry, Giles!”

“Eyes on the road, Andrew,” Anya barked. She adjusted the baggie of ice she was holding on Giles’ foot. “He knows you’re sorry, you don’t have to keep saying it.”

“Right, recriminations later,” he thought. He concentrated on the busy road ahead, weaving in and out of traffic in an effort to keep moving along the unfamiliar streets. Dawn’s hand was on his shoulder, giving him a comforting pat he could feel beneath his leather jacket. He threw her a small, quick smile.

“Is it much further?” he asked.

Dawn consulted her map. “A couple more blocks, then make the left.” She swung around. “Hang in there, Giles. We’re almost there.” He grunted his acknowledgment.

A few minutes later, they were on the long drive that bisected the sprawling hospital campus, following the tidy wooden signs that directed visitors to the out-patient surgery center, the main hospital, the employee’s parking lot, and finally, the emergency room.

The car was still rolling to a stop when Dawn jumped out. “I’ll go get a wheelchair,” she announced, then ran inside.

“I don’t need a wheelchair,” Giles called after her. He tried to sit up, and hissed with pain when the movement jostled his foot.

“You need a wheelchair, honey,” Anya confirmed. “Now, let me help you.” Andrew had already come around and opened her door. She tossed the ice to the floor and gently lifted his foot from her lap, carefully supporting it as she slid out of the car to the sidewalk. “Okay, honey, scooch out.” She continued to hold his foot as he inched his way to the edge of the seat.

Dawn had arrived with the chair, positioning it in front of the opened car door before she locked the wheels. Giles looked at the woman bent before him. “All right, darling, you can let go now,” he assured her. He gripped the car door with one hand and Anya’s strong right arm with the other and hoisted himself off the seat. He immediately felt her shoulder under his arm, steadying him as he balanced on one foot. The other one just throbbed.

“Careful...careful!” Anya urged as she guided him to the chair. She bent to flip down the foot rests and ignored his cranky, “I’m not helpless, for Christ’s sake,” when she gingerly set his injured foot on the metal. Satisfied that he was as comfortable as possible, she stood up and took the handles of the chair. “Now, you two go park the car and meet us inside.”

The entirety of Giles’ experience with American emergency rooms could be summed up in two words: Sunnydale Memorial. So he was surprised when Anya wheeled him through the double set of doors to see the sleek waiting room of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Where Sunnydale was drab and small, (incredibly small, given the number of casualties appearing nightly at their doorstep) here were spacious sitting areas and walls of glass and stained wood. The room was crowded, nearly every chair filled with humanity in various stages of distress. He’d scarcely had time to register this before he found himself whisked off to the registration counter where he sat, trying to be patient as Anya dealt with the universal bureaucracy of hospital check-in.

He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair and stared at his discolored foot. Really, Andrew’s propensity for emulating his heroes during missions, even benign ones like mushroom gathering, had to be curbed. Absently scratching his arm, Giles began to study the people around him. In a chair directly opposite, an elderly man sat honking and snorting noisily into his cotton handkerchief. Off in the corner, a mother pinched a wad of tissue to the nose of the screaming toddler on her lap. Down the hall, a tall, unshaven man with a cane was having what appeared to be a heated conversation with an attractive woman in a starched lab coat and every now and then, a disembodied voice would call out a name, and someone would be led away by a briskly efficient member of the medical staff.

Giles closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to dull the ache that was building between his eyes. The room hummed with the sound of dozens of hushed voices. To his left he could hear Anya, her voice modulated in a dangerous mix of exasperation and impatience as she explained the need for him to be seen, right the hell now, to an admissions clerk clearly unaware of the peril she faced. He opened his eyes and put what he hoped was a soothing hand on her arm.

The man and woman he’d seen earlier passed in front of him, stopping at the far end of the counter to continue their argument. Giles tried to concentrate on what Anya was saying, but was distracted by the man’s loudly proclaimed, “Okay, okay, enough begging. I’ll have your baby!” The woman shifted her weight to one hip and tilted her head, a look of long-suffering indulgence on her face. A young black man, his hands thrust inside the pockets of his white coat, stepped up behind the woman. “Doctor,” he said sternly. “Do I have to remind you...”

“Doctor!” Giles’ hand slipped to his lap as Anya turned her attention to the end of the counter. “Oh, two! Two doctors.” She wrested a clipboard away from the clerk and handed it to Giles, then with a determined shove, she pushed his chair until they drew up even with the threesome. “You’re just standing around, doing nothing.” She took the clipboard from Giles and pushed it into the surprised woman’s hands. “You need to get us into a room, warm up that stethoscope, and fix my husband!”

The tall man turned and looked down at Anya with an intimidating stare. “Actually, there are three doctors,” he said brusquely. “Three.” He underscored his point by waving a like number of fingers in front of her face. “All of whom, contrary to your trenchant observation, are extremely busy at the moment.” He took the clipboard back from Cuddy and gave it gave it to Anya. “So, why don’t you wheel your accident-prone husband into the waiting room, take a seat, and wait your turn.”

“Just who the hell...” With his good foot, Giles angrily slapped the foot rests out of the way and prepared to stand. He was stopped by a gentle hand on the shoulder and Anya’s venomous, “don’t worry honey, I’ll handle this.”

“Hey!” Anya stormed up to the rude doctor, inserting herself between him and his colleagues. “Listen here, Doctor...” She smacked the clipboard against his chest and grabbed the labels of his jacket. “Why the hell aren’t you wearing a name tag?” she asked loudly. “House,” chimed two voices behind her. She craned her head around and nodded a quick thanks to the other two doctors, Cuddy and Foreman, - they were wearing name tags, thank you very much - who were watching the proceedings with not very well-disguised amusement.

“Hey, a little help here,” House called out to them over Anya’s head. “Get Stonecipher or one of the other ER docs to handle this.”

“No,” Anya answered. She tugged on his lapel, forcing him downward until his face was even with her own. His eyes, intensely blue and well practiced at the art of intimidation, bore into hers. Clearly, this was a man accustomed to having his own way. But Anya was made of sterner stuff.

“Listen, doctor,” she said between clenched teeth. “My husband’s foot is multi-colored and puffy and I’ve seen what that can mean. All those greens and purples turn to black and toes start to fall off one by one. Pretty soon, the whole foot falls off and then, the whole leg.” She twisted the cloth of his blazer in her hand. “I like his leg, and we’ve already spent too much time chatting about this, so let’s get moving.” She let go and smoothed the wrinkles from his jacket.

House straightened himself. “Well, Mrs...” He glanced at the clipboard. “Giles. As entertaining as all that sounds, I must...”

“Doctor House.” It was a grinning Foreman. “Mrs. Giles may have a point about the, uh, body parts falling off. I believe Exam Room 3 is available. Perhaps you should...”

“No,” House jabbed a finger in Foreman’s direction. “No,” he repeated with a pointed look at Anya. “I haven’t set foot in an ER since my fourth year rotation and I see no reason to break the tradition.” He rolled his cane through his fingers. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Noah Drake is returning to Port Charles and I don’t want to miss the sparks fly when he knocks a little booty with Bobbie Spencer.”

“House.” It was Cuddy this time. She blocked his path, her arms folded beneath her breasts.

“I’m not doing it.” House’s eyes moved south, then back up to her face. “Not even if they asked me in their perkiest voices.”

Cuddy dropped her arms. “Need I remind you that Foreman is now your supervisor?”

House grimaced. “Christ, would you, please? I haven’t heard you say it for at least ten minutes.”

“And that his report to the Peer Review Committee will include an evaluation of your willingness to accept his authority,” she continued.

“Foreman and the committee can go hump themselves in a closet,” he muttered.

“The committee is reviewing every aspect of your job performance, including your notorious lack of enthusiasm for seeing patients.”

“I don’t need to see patients to do my job.”

“Maybe.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “Try to see it as a good will gesture. Ten minutes of your day that we can point to as proof that you’re not really an ill-tempered misanthrope, and that you are willing to step in when needed.”

House pondered for a moment. “Well, when you put it that way...no.” He began to walk away and was caught by Cuddy’s outstretched arm.

“Do this, and I’ll cancel your clinic hours for the rest of the day,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“The rest of the week.”

“Done.”

House limped over to Giles and Anya. “Okay, then,” he said, taking the clipboard from the counter. “Follow me to x-ray.”

Anya grasped the handles of the wheelchair and tried to push. She looked down at the wheels to see Giles gripping them tightly in his hands. “Honey?”

“Do you really expect me to put my foot, not to mention the rest of me, in the hands of that jackass?”

“It’s going to be fine.” She kissed the top of his head. “I’m sure they wouldn’t let him work here if he wasn’t a good doctor, and with his damaged leg he’s bound to have a great deal of empathy for your pain.”

“Come along you two.” House’s voice sailed toward them from the hall. “We don’t have much time before that foot falls off.”

Giles twisted around and glared at Anya. “Empathy?”

“See? He’s as worried as I am about your foot. Now let go of the chair and let me get you to x-ray.”

~~~~~

Giles sat in the wheelchair, his elbow on the arm rest and his head in the palm of his hand, and stared at the pale green wall ahead. The pain in his foot was pounding, beating a rhythmic tattoo that rippled through his nervous system until every part of his body ached in sympathy. The lunacy at the x-ray department hadn’t helped. House had disappeared, leaving them with a despotic technician who had insisted he remove his trousers, and who gaped like a stricken blow-fish at his perfectly reasonable, “sod off.” Between the technician’s bellowing assertions of her authority, Anya’s well-meaning hands at his belt, and the pain in his foot, he’d had enough. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, just take the damn picture.”

“Fine!” Anya shouted. She left the room and returned with a pair of scissors. Crouching at his feet, she snipped along the outside seam of his jeans until she reached his knee. She stood up and looked at him, her lips pressed into a thin line across her face. “I’ll be outside when you’re ready,” she told him before spinning away. With a jerk of the brushed steel handle, she swung the door wide, then held it open and looked at the technician who was fingering the controls behind the giant leaded shield. “Now take the damn picture,” she ordered, and she walked out the door.

Anya’s silence had lasted until now. He watched her circle the tiny room, her hands clasped behind her as she studied each anatomical rendering that hung from the walls as though she were in some demented medical museum. An angry Anya was never quiet, whereas an Anya in pain always was. “Dearest?”

“Hmm?” Anya turned around, her hands still behind her back. She made no move toward him and he could see the hurt lingering in her eyes.

He held out his hand. “Please?” In the space of three heartbeats she took it, carefully aligning her gold band with his like she always did. He tugged at her, pulling her into his lap. “I am sorry, darling,” he told her between soft kisses. “I’m afraid I rather let my temper get the better of me.”

“Again.” She drew back and put her hand on his cheek. “And I forgot repressing pain makes you cranky and turns you into the most sarcastic man in this dimension.”

“Oh will you two get a room?” House stood smirking in the doorway with a large manila envelope tucked under his arm. “No, wait. This is a room,” he said, shutting the door. “Get yourselves another room. One with mirrors on the ceiling and a trapeze in the corner.”

“Or maybe the second most,” Anya whispered in Giles’ ear. She jumped to her feet. “Well? What do the x-rays say?”

“Say?” House rolled his eyes upward and scratched the scruff on his neck. “They’re inanimate objects, lacking the anatomical structure to say anything.” He set his cane aside and limped to the light box on the wall. “However, they can be revealing when interpreted by qualified medical specialists.”

“And is this qualified medical specialist ever going to get to the point?” Giles asked testily. The skin on his belly was beginning to itch and he wanted nothing more right now than to get back to the hotel and under a hot shower.

House fished through the envelope for the films, arranging them with deliberate care on the light box. He flicked the switch and pointed to the middle of the cloudy outline of Giles’ foot. “The third metatarsal is cracked, but unbroken.” He stepped away from the light, retrieving his cane before sitting on the edge of the exam table. “It’s an unusual injury. Mind telling me what happened?”

“Andrew tripped him with a bullwhip when we were hunting for mushrooms,” Anya replied quickly. “He thought we were being challenged by a Ghrstich dem...um...wild boar.” She looked down at Rupert and gave him a, hey, it’s almost the truth, shrug.

“That should shut him up,” Giles said under his breath.

It didn’t. “Dear me, Mr. Giles,” House lectured with a condescending shake of his head. “Has no one ever warned you about the dangers of foraging mushrooms in the wild?” He stood up and crossed to the door, ignoring the small explosion coming from the chair.

“So, what now, doctor?” Anya asked loudly, her fingers curled over the top of Giles’ shoulder. “We have to get on a plane for England tomorrow.”

He opened the door, then turned to his patient. “What now?” He took a couple of steps back into the room and pointed his cane at Giles. “Now, I go find someone to fit you with a pneumatic boot. Of course,” he added sadly. “You’ll have to forego the kinky bondage threesomes for a while. Probably a good thing, a man your age,” he tsked.

“I think I’ve heard quite enough from this gormless prat.” Giles got up out of the chair and moved it out of the way. Anya rushed to him, helping him balance on his good foot.

House scrambled backwards into the counter. “Does he hit?” he asked Anya warily.

“Almost always,” she answered. She squeezed Giles around the middle. “You all right, honey?”

“Let’s just get this done,” he gritted out. He put a hand on the exam table and looked at House. “What else?”

“I’m sorry?”

Anya stormed over to House and jabbed her finger in his chest. “What else!”

“Drugs.”

“What?”

“Painkillers.” He dug into his pocket and removed a prescription bottle, which he rattled in her face. “It’s a long plane ride home. I’m assuming you’ll want something to smooth out the turbulence.”

Giles’ angry “no” was overtaken by Anya’s more emphatic, “yes.”

“Anything else?” Giles spit out.

House returned to the door and opened it. “Your arm. You have a rash with red pustules. It would appear,” he said as the door closed behind him. “That when you fell you landed in poison ivy.”

He looked at the underside of his arm. Fuck.

Anya watched the door snick itself closed. “That man is arrogant, condescending and sarcastic,” she said thoughtfully. “You know, honey, he reminds me a little of Jools.”

“Wouldn’t that would make me the third most sarcastic man in this dimension?” he asked drily. His hand went to his belly and he began to scratch through his shirt.

She went to his side. “Yes.” She hitched herself up on the exam table and patted an invitation for him to sit beside her. “But I’m absolutely sure your recuperation will give you plenty of time to be number one.” She took his hand. “You need to stop itching.”

“You need to get me the hell out of here.”

“See? It only took five seconds for you to be number one.” She put her head on his shoulder. “I’ll get you out of here as soon as you get your boot.” They sat quietly together, then. “You’re not really going to make Andrew fly home in the cargo hold, are you?”

“Perhaps not, though I may have him dine on that damned bullwhip,” he answered with asperity.

“I think the Ghrstich already ate it.” Anya jumped off the table. “Speaking of which, I’d better go out to the waiting room and let Dawn and Andrew know what’s going on. You’ll be okay until I get back?” At his nod, she gave him a swift kiss and went to the door. “Oh, by the way. If they give you the choice between crutches and a cane, take the cane.”

“Why a cane?”

“That doctor may be surly and bad-tempered, but he really looked quite dashing with his, don’t you think?”

With a smile, Anya went into the hall and headed for the waiting room, accompanied by the echoes of Rupert’s very predictable, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”