Title: by the book
Fandom: House M.D.
Rating: PG-13
Length: 720 words
Content notes: Repeated use of ableist language (the R-slur), some ableism, mentions of past child abuse.
Author notes: Set after season 3 episode 4, Lines in the Sand. Autistic!House-- I'm autistic myself, and I keep writing fic based on this episode which I'm still pissed about. Fills the 'Repeats and Repetitions' square in the genprompt_bingo card I'm sharing with my boyfriend.
Summary: House finds out something about himself.



“Asperger’s,” House says as he throws his ball at one of the walls of Wilson’s office. His feet are propped over the desk,

Wilson looks at him, confused, walking into his office. “...What about it? Your latest patient has autism?”

“No.” Another throw, he takes it back in his hands. He keeps his gaze fixated on the wall of his office as he throws the ball again and again. “Asperger’s. Asperger’s syndrome, Asperger’s…”

“Can you get to the point?”

House cocks his head at him. “I took from you that little book you used to convince Cuddy to put the carpet back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

He throws the ball again. “Asperger’s syndrome is a mild and rare form of autism. It is typically characterized by difficulty establishing friendships—”

“You memorized it?” Wilson asks, incredulous.

“Of course I did.” He shrugs. “Asperger’s. Asperger’s. Fine name. Nice on the tongue.”

“Can you stop repeating it?”

“It’s nice on the tongue.”

Wilson groans and runs a hand through his hair. “What? You’re mad I accused you of being autistic just so you’d get your damn carpet back and stop bothering me and Cuddy?”

House looks at him, cocks a brow. “An autistic boy just gave me his PSP, do you think I’d be upset if I was like him at all?”

“...Probably?”


“I already have narcissism and a painkiller problem, being a bit retarded doesn’t make my view on myself any worse or better.”


“You’re not—” Wilson waves his hands around. “You’re not like this because you’re autistic.”

“How do you know?” he asks, looking at him as he throws the ball up. “You sent a diagnostic team and got the verdict I don’t have Asperger’s?”


“You’re like this because it’s just you! There’s no underlying condition, no explanation—”

“Except, yaknow, my father slapping any and all ‘weird’ behaviors I had for the first eighteen years of my life off me.” He throws the ball at Wilson’s direction and starts fiddling with his cane instead. He looks at him again. “It’s kinda liberating to be who you are when he isn’t there to hit you for it, no?”

“House—”

House rolls his eyes. “Now you’re going to apologize to your poor retarded crippled friend for thinking he’s not a retard? It’s fine, really. Just get me the best diagnostic team in the country. Crazy people’s House and his fellows. C’mon.”

Wilson doesn’t move. “House, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“I hadn’t told you,” he says. “Now go, go.”


He stays still for a few more seconds and then turns and leaves through the door.

---

“Not to offend, Dr. House—”

“Just tell me,” he says, annoyed, as the psychiatrist looks at him.

“But why are you asking for this test?”

House looks up at him, keeps fiddling with his cane, spinning it around its own axis. “Is this a rutinary question?”

“Among adult patients—”

“Among addicted, disabled patients? Who happen to be a renowned diagnostician?”

The psychiatrist sighs. “You aren’t the usual type of person to be here.”

“I am well-aware, but I am also well-aware that you don’t ask why, why, why to all your other patients.”

The silence is deafening for a few minutes, and the psychiatrist finally pulls up a few papers.

“Let’s get started,” he says.

---

“Shrink tells me I’m as autistic as they come,” House says, sitting down on Wilson’s desk and bouncing the ball up and down.

“Good to know,” he says, not looking away from his laptop.

“You think Cuddy will take mercy on me when I’m an asshole if I show her the papers?”

“Probably not.” He looks up at him. “She’ll think you forged them, or that you faked your way to the diagnosis.”

“Oh, can’t she believe I did it by the book?” he says, pouting and tilting his head.

Wilson rolls his eyes and chuckles. “House, you’ve never done anything by the book in your life.”

“I think that’s kinda what being autistic is about.”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

There’s a long pause, and House keeps fiddling with his cane or shifting to bouncing the ball in his hands, brows knitted together.

“Does this not bother you?”

House shrugs. “Why would it?”

“I don’t know, it’s… a shock, isn’t it?”

“No.”

Wilson sighs and decides to not pry further than that.