Chapter Text
Mara collapsed onto the narrow bed, the cheap mattress sighing under her weight. The new apartment smells of paint and carpet off‑gassing. She followed a crack in the ceiling until it hit the fire alarm, so pristine and out of place. Just like the one Dad installed in her childhood bedroom after her volcano experiment nearly incinerated the house. She remembered her parents rushing in, scooping her into their arms, and murmuring relief as they evacuated her out of her room. That warmth felt worlds away now.
Where had it all gone wrong?
She curled her fingers into the crisp sheets, her vision blurring as tears welled, like a routine by now. She reached for the bottle of Zoloft on the bedside stand. Two pills dropped into her palm. Is this even going to help? She swallowed them dry anyway. Moonlight spilled through the blinds, casting slats of pale light across her face as sleep finally claimed her.
---
She woke at exactly 6:00 AM—part habit, part anticipation. Her nights rarely stretched beyond five hours these past months, but today was too important to sleep in. Today was her final interview at Princeton‑Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. She swung her legs out of bed and sat for a moment, watching pale dawn light filter through the blinds. The position was in the Diagnostics Department—nothing her years at St. Augustine’s Medical Center hadn’t prepared her for. The listing mentioned “team collaboration,” which usually made her wince, but she’d learned to fit in through middle school, high school, college, and medical school. She’ll survive.
The email from the Hospital Administrator, Lisa Cuddy, had struck her as oddly worded: “We look forward to finalizing your acceptance with the Department Head.” Normally, you interview first, she thought. But the phrasing made it sound like the decision had already been made, and this was merely a formality. But Mara doesn’t think too much of it.
In her small bathroom, she pulled on a red turtleneck long enough to conceal the faint, angry marks along her forearms. She smoothed the fabric until it lay perfectly flat and combed her dark hair so that not a strand was out of place. It’s the only thing she feels she has control over these days.
On her nightstand, the Zoloft bottle lay nearly empty. She tipped out two pills and swallowed them dry, then tucked the bottle into her purse. With a final glance in the mirror, she stepped out, locking the door on her old life and heading toward what she hoped would be a new beginning.
---
Mara entered the lobby before sunrise and found it already humming with the day’s first wave of patients. The sharp tang of antiseptic mingled with the faint scent of coffee and rubber tubing took her back to her years in the ER at St. Augustine’s. She waited promptly at the reception desk until a tall woman in a tailored pencil skirt approached. Confidence radiated from her every step. She’s wearing a smile that was both welcoming and commanding.
“Dr. Collins?” the woman asked, extending a hand. “I’m Lisa Cuddy, Administrator.”
Cuddy led Mara through a pair of frosted glass doors into her office and gestured to a leather chair. Once Mara was seated, Cuddy offered a brief speech on the department’s excitement to gain such an accomplished physician, followed by comments and praises about Mara's qualifications and experiences. Mara had already tuned out most of the conversation by the time Cuddy mentioned her years at Hopkins.
“I’m sorry,” Mara interrupted gently, “I thought I still had that final interview with the Department Head.”
Cuddy’s smile flickered. “Ah, about that… For all intents and purposes, Dr. Collins, you’re already hired. I made the decision months ago. The interview was Dr. House’s request.” She paused, searching Mara’s face.
Mara breathed a sigh of relief— she had nothing to worry about after all.
Then Cuddy continued, “He can be a bit… intense.”
Mara inclined her head. “Okay.” She can handle intense.
Cuddy offered a relieved laugh. “He has a bit of a reputation around here. But I assure you, it’s nothing personal. It’s just that his work ethic can be a bit unconventional.” Mara ponders for a second. “Nothing personal” and “unconventional?” Huh.
“...But he’s brilliant— solves the toughest cases here. He’ll be delighted to have a new addition to the team.” That last sentence came out a bit strained.
Before Mara could reply, Cuddy’s office phone buzzed. She clicked the receiver to her ear, listened, then her jaw tightened. “It’s already decided,” she snapped into the handset. “You have no say—” She caught herself, her tone smoothing. “She’ll be there in a few minutes,” she told the caller, then hung up.
“That was Dr. House,” Cuddy explained, forcing a smile. “He’ll see you on the second floor, room 21B.” Mara rose. “Thank you.”
After Mara left, Cuddy exhaled heavily and muttered under her breath, “May God help her.”
---
Mara hovered outside Room 21B, fingertips brushing the door frame. Through the frosted glass, she caught two figures mid‑conversation: one slouched in a faded black blazer, hair tousled, a cane leaning against the desk; the other in a crisp white coat, dark hair neatly combed.
The scruffy man looked up, their eyes locking for a heartbeat. He arched an eyebrow, murmured something to his colleague, then reclined again, tuning back into whatever lay before him. The younger doctor stepped forward to the door. In the morning light, his kind eyes and warm smile softened his chiseled features, and he carried himself with an easy confidence you’d trust with your life.
He opened the door, returning her gaze. “You must be Dr. Collins. I’m James Wilson—Head of Oncology.” His smile grew more genuine. “House is ready for you.”
He leaned in, voice dropping low. “Don’t let him scare you. He’s just…pathetic, really.” With a quick nod, he stepped aside, and Mara found herself alone at the threshold of her first meeting with the infamous Dr. Gregory House.
---
Mara stepped into the office. The room smelled sterile, almost like misery, almost like her apartment. House didn’t rise or acknowledge her entry, he just stared, one leg crossed over the other, cane propped against his desk. His half‑smirk made her pulse tick up. What’s his deal?
“Dr. Collins,” he said flatly, “sit.”
She chose the chair opposite him, straight‑backed and too stiff for comfort. She scanned the room’s corners, gauging the danger level. Lethal, so far.
Silence stretched. House leaned forward just a fraction, eyes never leaving her face. Mara opened her mouth to speak, and he cut her off.
“You’re pretty.”
She blinked. He watched, expression unreadable.
“Are you broken, Dr. Collins?” he added, almost conversational.
Her throat tightened. Broken? He hadn’t even seen the pills on her nightstand. She forced a neutral tone. “I—”
He cut in. “Bad childhood? Abusive parents? Partners?”
“Excuse me?”
“Surely there must be something wrong with you. Beautiful women don’t go to medical school. Not unless they are as beautiful as they are broken.”
Mara’s chest tightened. She met his gaze evenly. “And what about men? Judging by you, medical schools must be admitting jerks and assholes all year long.”
For the first time, House’s smirk faltered—just a fraction. He tipped his head, evaluating. “Fair point.”
House glanced at a piece of paper on his desk that Mara recognized as her resume, “So you moved to New Jersey. Wanted a start over?”
Mara met his gaze, silent. He waited.
Finally, she shrugged. “No. I moved here to get psychoanalyzed by some pathetic guy in a hospital.” A slow smile crept across House’s face.
“Well,” he said, sitting back, “points for honesty. Or sarcasm. Hard to tell.” Mara offered a tight-lipped smile. “You’d know.”
He tilted his head, studying her like she was a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet, and he hated that.
“Impressive academic record. Clean recs. No lawsuits. Not even a complaint. I don’t like perfect.”
“I’m not perfect.”
“Oh, good,” he said, eyes lighting up faintly. “So what’s your vice? Narcotics? Gambling? Inappropriate attachments to patients?”
She didn’t blink. “You first.”
House chuckled, low in his throat. “Touché.” He pushed away from the desk slightly, scanning her face like he was trying to peel it open.
“Why diagnostics?”
“Why medicine?” she deflected.
“Because I like puzzles. Because people lie. Because I’m good at it.”
“Then you already know my answer.”
House paused. Mara didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. She didn’t look away. That was new.
He tossed her resume aside with a flick of his fingers. “You’re not the best applicant I’ve seen.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“But you are,” he said, pausing, “the most interesting.”
Mara raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”
“Little of both.” He reached for his cane. “Report Monday. Don’t be late.”
She stood. “I won’t thank you.” He gave a half-nod, barely there. “Good. I’d think less of you.”
As she walked to the door, she hesitated just briefly.
“Dr. House?”
He looked up.
“I’m not broken,” she said.
House tilted his head. “Give it time.”
She left without another word. And House, for once, was still.