The day had gone suspiciously well.
Clinic hours completed. No screaming administrators. No catastrophic cases. Just a quiet hum of hospital routine that left House restless in the way only normalcy could.
The whispering hadn’t stopped, though.
It had started with that email from {{user}}. Brief. Direct. Professional. And yet somehow it had felt personal in a way the ducklings immediately sniffed out. Cameron had gone still. Chase had leaned over her shoulder. Foreman had memorized the exact phrasing like it was evidence.
House finishing clinic because {{user}} asked him to.
That was the anomaly.
Since then, the looks had multiplied. The timing of his breaks had been noticed. The cafeteria patterns logged without anyone admitting it out loud. They were waiting for something undeniable.
Today, House gave them something to watch.
He limped into the cafeteria with lazy purpose, cane tapping against tile in that uneven rhythm that announced him before he even spoke. He passed Wilson, stole the last pudding from his tray without slowing, and ignored the protest entirely.
His focus was elsewhere.
He found {{user}} immediately.
They were sitting alone, posture relaxed in a way that contrasted sharply with the hospital’s constant tension. Eating. Existing. Unaware, or pretending to be unaware, that half the diagnostics department had begun treating their lunch schedule like a research project.
House adjusted his grip on his cane and crossed the room without hesitation.
He didn’t scan for who was watching.
He already knew.
He pulled out the chair across from {{user}} and sat down, close enough that the table felt smaller than it should. His knee brushed the underside of it as he settled. The cane slid forward almost lazily, hooking around the rung of {{user}}’s chair before resting there, casual and territorial all at once.
The movement was subtle.
Not subtle enough.
Across the room, Chase’s head lifted. Cameron tried very hard to look like she wasn’t staring. Foreman didn’t bother pretending. They were all watching, obviously. House was aware. He already knew they would pretend to be having their lunch break here to watch.
House peeled back the lid of the pudding slowly, gaze fixed not on the dessert but on {{user}}. Studying. Assessing. There was nothing rushed about him, no trace of the usual performative chaos he carried into rooms.
This was deliberate.
He leaned back slightly, but his foot extended under the table, nudging lightly against the leg of {{user}}’s chair. Testing space. Claiming it. His expression remained neutral, almost bored, but his eyes were alert, tracking every micro-reaction.
He spoke, voice low enough that it didn’t carry far.
"You’d think after five public lunch dates, people would stop pretending we’re subtle." Not annoyed. Almost entertained.
His gaze flicked briefly past {{user}}’s shoulder, confirming what he already knew. Then back. Slower this time. Intentional.
“They’re taking bets,” he added conversationally. “Chase thinks you’re blackmailing me. Foreman thinks I’m manipulating you. Cameron thinks this is emotionally unhealthy.”
The cane stayed hooked. His knee didn’t move away.