You lay flat on the cold table, the whirring hum of the machine surrounding you like a nervous hum under your skin. Your wrists were still tense at your sides, and though you'd done this before—dozens of patients, dozens of films—it felt different when you were the one in the tube.

The moment the scan began, the room dimmed further. Just you, the steady clicking of magnets, and the distant view of the observation booth.

A static crackled above you.

“Comfortable yet? Looks like a spa day in there.” His voice—House’s voice—came over the tinny intercom. Your lips twitched.

“Flat on my back with a cage around my head? Heaven.”

“Knew you were into that. Though I imagined slightly fewer hospital gowns and more breathless whimpers.”

You exhaled a laugh through your nose, trying not to shift. “I don’t think this qualifies as foreplay.”

“Foreplay?” He sounded amused. “Who said anything about that? I just like hearing you talk when you're powerless to leave.”

You stared upward, biting back a smile. “Can’t believe they let you work here.”

“Can’t believe you let me drive you here.” Silence passed for a second — just the machine ticking through sequences — until his voice softened, dipped into something uncharacteristically warm. “You're doing fine, by the way.”

You blinked. “I’m not scared.”

“Good. Because if you were, I’d have to be nice. And frankly, I’ve only got about ten minutes of nice left before I default to charming bastard again.”

“So... hurry up and be nice now?” you offered.

“You’re pretty when you’re still.”

You froze. He wasn’t teasing. Not entirely. You smiled to yourself. He couldn’t see it, but somehow, you knew he knew.