[ Family is the most important thing. Variations of that sentiment have been thrown around for Daisy Johnson's whole life, but until she joined SHIELD, she never really understood it for herself. Family was an elusive thing, something she looked in on from the other side of a pane of glass that refused to break no matter how hard she threw herself at it. But then her team came along and changed all of that. The family she found mattered just as much as any blood relatives ever could.
But her team isn't her only family. There are so few Inhumans left now that Daisy is willing to do whatever it takes to ensure their survival as a species, even if it means involving outsiders. It's a risk trusting someone new with something this important, but it's a calculated one — she does her homework. Her hacktivist days may be long behind her, but those skills are anything but rusty. Everything that's ever been written about Gregory House is at her fingertips, and she has three other agents check things over to be sure she isn't missing something before the director himself signs off on the order.
Walking into the teaching hospital is harder than it should be after all these years, but Lincoln's death is still an aching wound in her chest. Usually that grief is skillfully tucked away in the back of her mind, but she hasn't been able to handle those emotions as well lately, the memories of his work to understand Inhuman physiology constantly rising to the surface. What good could he have done for their people if he'd lived?
After smooth talking her way past reception, she makes her way up to the offices, the building design speaking to the prestige of the facility as much as its reputation does. House's office isn't difficult to find, and when she sees the man through the glass (clearly occupied with something unrelated to his work), she doesn't hesitate to walk right in. From everything she's read about him, she doesn't think he'll mind. ]
[ “He’s gone into liver failure.” That’s the first thing to come out Foreman’s mouth the moment his fellows stepped into his office. They were wrong again. Only this time, their timeline to solve this case is drastically cut. John Doe (House didn’t bother to learn his name) is dying faster than expected. Their differential diagnosis was much more heated this time. Cameron, for all her “power of friendship, wins all” inclinations, pushed hard against Foreman’s theory about it being a cardiovascular issue.
“This is genetic!”
And she’s not far off. But it was a matter of what genetic disease matched the patient’s symptoms. Yet, here they are, fighting each other on how to find a needle in the haystack. That’s when House kicked the ducklings out to go cool off in a pond. The pond being one more lumbar puncture to make sure they aren’t missing anything.
That’s where his brain has been at for the last forty-ish minutes. Head categorizing all the genetic diseases he knows that fit the profile, all while playing a dumb fighting game on his Playstation Portable. His fingers mash away at all the various combos he memorized.
‘Forward, forward, kick, jump, kick, punch.’
‘Back, jump, kick, punch, punch.’
He falls into the rhythm of his ruminating sulk until he hears the door rip open, rolling his eyes at the disturbance. ]
Have we foregone the sacred art of knocking? I miss those days. Makes it easier for me to say “go away” from my side of the door.
[ Yep, that certainly fits with everything she'd gleaned from social media about him. The number of hospital staff who commiserated about the curmudgeon had seemed surprising at first, but she could see how he would grate on anyone who wasn't used to dealing with eccentrics of all sorts. Luckily, years of dealing with SHIELD scientists have trained her for just this moment. Not to mention all her unfortunate run-ins with other branches of law enforcement.
Closing the door behind her, Daisy crosses the room to stand in front of the desk. It's a nice desk in a nice office — there's even a conference room attached. This place knows what it has in him, and he clearly knows it too. ]
That presumes I wanted to give you the option. [ She says it easily, neither argumentative nor offended. Leaning closer to try to get a look at his screen, she asks about it with genuine curiosity. ] What level are you on?
[ His eyes stay focused on the tiny LED screen. How many people have walked through that glass door, singing the same song? A desperate last resort to get the diagnostician to look at their case.
Fingers continue to mash buttons, only in an erratic order this time. His opponent’s life bar slowly chipping away, but not fast enough. Now he’s distracted from his alone time. ]
The one where I’m in my office and you’re in another room. Or do I have to close my eyes, and click my heels three times to make it work?
[ He sets the device down on his desk and closes his eyes. ]
One Mississippi … [ Click. ] … Two Mississippi … [ Click. ] A-Three Mississippi [ Click. ]…!
[ And with eyes wide open, he meets with the brunette Jane Doe. ]
[ Daisy's eyebrows lift as she observes the altered button mashing, followed by the ridiculous antics to get her to leave. Do things like this actually work for him, or does he just continue on until the other person is worn down by pure frustration? Intuition tells her it's probably the latter.
Leaning to the side to peer underneath his desk, she gestures to his feet before righting herself. ]
I think you need different shoes for that to work. Those aren't sparkly enough. [ Though the mental image of him in ruby red slippers is a hell of a thing, she does manage to keep a straight face while she says it. ]
Yeah. I’ll remember that on my next trip to the local Foot Locker.
[ This is what? The tenth pair of running shoes House owns? After the leg infarction, his physician recommended he try wearing more orthopaedic footwear. Shoes you would see your dear old grandpapa wearing on the golf course. That following week, he stepped into the lobby of PPTH with a shiny new pair of sneakers that lit up every time you took a step. When Cuddy confronted House about it, he retorted “They keep the public alert to move out my way.”
Speaking of people moving out of his way…He flicks his left wrist to check his watch. ]
Wowsers! Would’ja look at that?! Only under three minutes and we talked about soo many things! Can I go now? My patient’s dying really badly.
[ At least he's wearing a watch. Half the time someone tries to pull that trick around the base, it's more of a oh, look at my wrist situation — or they pretend to be called in for an emergency mission brief. (She's pulled that one herself a few times.)
Casually, she picks up the red and white ball from the corner of his desk, holding it in her hands and giving it a little toss into the air. The weight of it's nice, and she can see how someone of his intelligence would need so many fidget options. His mind needs more stimuli than most, and she can work with that. ]
Well, if you need to see your patients, don't let me stop you. [ She gives the ball another little toss like one would with a baseball and glove. ] But then you won't be able to hear about the really interesting job offer I have for you.
[ Her confidence is becoming his nuisance. There is an underlying smugness to the woman he can sense. Anyone worth their salt knew that the diagnostician doesn’t take house calls so easily. Most in the medical community avoid House and all his ‘uncouth nonsense’ (their words, not his) like the plague.
His hands press against the edge of the desk as he pushes his chair towards the window. A wooden cane sits on top of a stack of manilla folders. A month’s worth of insurance claims that have yet to be filled. He grabs it and adds: ]
‘Interesting’ is what your fifth-grade science teacher tells you when you’re about to learn about geology.
[ He stands up, using the cane to lean his weight onto his good leg. From the iggling, twinges of pain he can feel, it looks like it’s going to be four more Vicodin this morning before lunch. There is a stagger in his gait as he walks around the desk. ]
And if I can’t get stoned for reals, then I’ve got no reason to pay attention. But thanks for stopping by.
[ Hopefully, she will take the hint as he walks towards the door. As soon as House gets her out of his office, he’ll likely make a beeline for Wilson’s office. Two birds. One stone. Yadda, yadda… ]
[ He's still matching exactly what she'd expected from all she'd learned of him, which is honestly sort of reassuring. If she's going to bring someone in like this, she needs to be able to count on them, understand what to expect of them — even if, sometimes, it might be the unexpected. She'll take the known chaotic entity over the unknown any day. ]
Right, sorry. [ There's almost an actual apology in that, except it's entirely fake. She doesn't move except to turn to face him as he moves toward the door. ] Except, well, see, in my line of work, when we say interesting we usually mean alien.
[ And then, because she has a feeling he might need a little push (and since she can't actually push him), she proves she's not just full of charming, saccharine bullshit. A gentle stream of vibrational energy pours out of her right palm, pushing the ball up just enough to hover above her hand. It's a trick she's practiced over the years, so it takes almost no thought at all to simultaneously push at the matter making up the ball, little nudges that keep it rotating without knocking it out of the vibration stream. ]
Or part-alien, in this case. [ That confidence is there again; she doesn't even try to tamp it down. If this doesn't convince him to hear her out, she's not sure anything will. ]
[ Only a few inches away from sending Jane Doe off her merry way and he stops. You only hear whisperings of alien life either on TV or men in black quarantining an entire block. The media does a damn good downplaying all the actual cool stuff that goes on. And those men in suits? Well, let’s just say they’ve got enough Benjamins to keep any bribe at the door.
A world completely sealed off from House and the rest of the world.
He turns his head. ]
…Cool. [ A beat. ] See? Could’ve started with that.
[ A smile creeps at the corner of her lips as she shrugs, letting the ball fall back into her hand. She doesn't even fumble it. ] Could have.
[ This way seemed more fun, though. And given the usual state of her life, she'll take these fun moments whenever she can get them. It sure beats the stress of an impending apocalypse or supervillain in the making. ]
My name's Daisy. I'm with SHIELD, and I really am here with a job offer. [ She moves to return the ball to its rightful home, her smile growing. ] Sort of a side gig, for whenever you're not exceedingly busy with patients here.
[ Spoken with the confidence of a man who found their way into bougie Area 51. Now he’s singing a completely different tune. But he’s trained his minions for such an occasion. The time when mama bird has to escape the nest and have the team put their brains together into one messy superbrain.
Another beat. Her language just then… ]
You said part-alien. Implying there’s an entire group of humans with little alien bits in them.
[ That change in him gives her confidence too, so she doesn't hesitate to spill the secrets they've kept so closely guarded. He doesn't strike her as the type to use this information with ill will; she just has to hope her instincts are correct. The future of her entire species depends on it.
Leaning against his desk, she shrugs out of her jacket as she continues storytime, tossing it into one of the chairs meant for visitors. ]
Thousands of years ago, a species called the Kree descended upon planets to experiment on the natives in hopes of creating an army. Humans were the only ones to survive the process, and that alien gene has been passed down through the generations. It's dormant until activated by a chemical compound, at which point our entire genetic code is rewritten. Some Inhumans have physical changes, others receive unnatural abilities, but no two are alike.
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no subject
no subject
“This is genetic!”
And she’s not far off. But it was a matter of what genetic disease matched the patient’s symptoms. Yet, here they are, fighting each other on how to find a needle in the haystack. That’s when House kicked the ducklings out to go cool off in a pond. The pond being one more lumbar puncture to make sure they aren’t missing anything.
That’s where his brain has been at for the last forty-ish minutes. Head categorizing all the genetic diseases he knows that fit the profile, all while playing a dumb fighting game on his Playstation Portable. His fingers mash away at all the various combos he memorized.
‘Forward, forward, kick, jump, kick, punch.’
‘Back, jump, kick, punch, punch.’
He falls into the rhythm of his ruminating sulk until he hears the door rip open, rolling his eyes at the disturbance. ]
Have we foregone the sacred art of knocking? I miss those days. Makes it easier for me to say “go away” from my side of the door.
no subject
Closing the door behind her, Daisy crosses the room to stand in front of the desk. It's a nice desk in a nice office — there's even a conference room attached. This place knows what it has in him, and he clearly knows it too. ]
That presumes I wanted to give you the option. [ She says it easily, neither argumentative nor offended. Leaning closer to try to get a look at his screen, she asks about it with genuine curiosity. ] What level are you on?
no subject
Fingers continue to mash buttons, only in an erratic order this time. His opponent’s life bar slowly chipping away, but not fast enough. Now he’s distracted from his alone time. ]
The one where I’m in my office and you’re in another room. Or do I have to close my eyes, and click my heels three times to make it work?
[ He sets the device down on his desk and closes his eyes. ]
One Mississippi … [ Click. ] … Two Mississippi … [ Click. ] A-Three Mississippi [ Click. ]…!
[ And with eyes wide open, he meets with the brunette Jane Doe. ]
Damn! That guide I read was total BS.
no subject
Leaning to the side to peer underneath his desk, she gestures to his feet before righting herself. ]
I think you need different shoes for that to work. Those aren't sparkly enough. [ Though the mental image of him in ruby red slippers is a hell of a thing, she does manage to keep a straight face while she says it. ]
no subject
[ This is what? The tenth pair of running shoes House owns? After the leg infarction, his physician recommended he try wearing more orthopaedic footwear. Shoes you would see your dear old grandpapa wearing on the golf course. That following week, he stepped into the lobby of PPTH with a shiny new pair of sneakers that lit up every time you took a step. When Cuddy confronted House about it, he retorted “They keep the public alert to move out my way.”
Speaking of people moving out of his way…He flicks his left wrist to check his watch. ]
Wowsers! Would’ja look at that?! Only under three minutes and we talked about soo many things! Can I go now? My patient’s dying really badly.
no subject
Casually, she picks up the red and white ball from the corner of his desk, holding it in her hands and giving it a little toss into the air. The weight of it's nice, and she can see how someone of his intelligence would need so many fidget options. His mind needs more stimuli than most, and she can work with that. ]
Well, if you need to see your patients, don't let me stop you. [ She gives the ball another little toss like one would with a baseball and glove. ] But then you won't be able to hear about the really interesting job offer I have for you.
no subject
His hands press against the edge of the desk as he pushes his chair towards the window. A wooden cane sits on top of a stack of manilla folders. A month’s worth of insurance claims that have yet to be filled. He grabs it and adds: ]
‘Interesting’ is what your fifth-grade science teacher tells you when you’re about to learn about geology.
[ He stands up, using the cane to lean his weight onto his good leg. From the iggling, twinges of pain he can feel, it looks like it’s going to be four more Vicodin this morning before lunch. There is a stagger in his gait as he walks around the desk. ]
And if I can’t get stoned for reals, then I’ve got no reason to pay attention. But thanks for stopping by.
[ Hopefully, she will take the hint as he walks towards the door. As soon as House gets her out of his office, he’ll likely make a beeline for Wilson’s office. Two birds. One stone. Yadda, yadda… ]
no subject
Right, sorry. [ There's almost an actual apology in that, except it's entirely fake. She doesn't move except to turn to face him as he moves toward the door. ] Except, well, see, in my line of work, when we say interesting we usually mean alien.
[ And then, because she has a feeling he might need a little push (and since she can't actually push him), she proves she's not just full of charming, saccharine bullshit. A gentle stream of vibrational energy pours out of her right palm, pushing the ball up just enough to hover above her hand. It's a trick she's practiced over the years, so it takes almost no thought at all to simultaneously push at the matter making up the ball, little nudges that keep it rotating without knocking it out of the vibration stream. ]
Or part-alien, in this case. [ That confidence is there again; she doesn't even try to tamp it down. If this doesn't convince him to hear her out, she's not sure anything will. ]
no subject
A world completely sealed off from House and the rest of the world.
He turns his head. ]
…Cool. [ A beat. ] See? Could’ve started with that.
no subject
[ This way seemed more fun, though. And given the usual state of her life, she'll take these fun moments whenever she can get them. It sure beats the stress of an impending apocalypse or supervillain in the making. ]
My name's Daisy. I'm with SHIELD, and I really am here with a job offer. [ She moves to return the ball to its rightful home, her smile growing. ] Sort of a side gig, for whenever you're not exceedingly busy with patients here.
no subject
[ Spoken with the confidence of a man who found their way into bougie Area 51. Now he’s singing a completely different tune. But he’s trained his minions for such an occasion. The time when mama bird has to escape the nest and have the team put their brains together into one messy superbrain.
Another beat. Her language just then… ]
You said part-alien. Implying there’s an entire group of humans with little alien bits in them.
[ Y’know, just so they’re on the same page. ]
no subject
[ That change in him gives her confidence too, so she doesn't hesitate to spill the secrets they've kept so closely guarded. He doesn't strike her as the type to use this information with ill will; she just has to hope her instincts are correct. The future of her entire species depends on it.
Leaning against his desk, she shrugs out of her jacket as she continues storytime, tossing it into one of the chairs meant for visitors. ]
Thousands of years ago, a species called the Kree descended upon planets to experiment on the natives in hopes of creating an army. Humans were the only ones to survive the process, and that alien gene has been passed down through the generations. It's dormant until activated by a chemical compound, at which point our entire genetic code is rewritten. Some Inhumans have physical changes, others receive unnatural abilities, but no two are alike.