Title: No One Expects the Spanish Inquisition

Author: Goddessof7s

Summary: Deaf!Chase! Back story hurrah!

Rating: teen

Notes: AU sequel to Ears and Eyes and Talk is Cheap

Series: Sense and Sensibility 3

Warnings: Pre-slash House/Chase. Cross posted to house slash, house-chase and house fanfiction

Flock of fruit, flock of fruit...oh! Stupid me, a kurfurckle! I sighed in satisfaction as I filled in the crossword puzzle, then was startled into dropping my pencil as I felt a sudden vibration through the table. I hate it when I do that; glass doesn't carry vibrations very well, and my collegues have compensated by really putting their backs into getting my attention. I wish the conference table was made of metal. Now that vibrates with the lightest tap. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I watch Foreman's lips as he asks me, “How long have you been deaf?”

1.
 

He looks irritated; he's probably asked the question a few times. Idiot keeps forgetting to get my attention before he speaks. The set of his shoulders and the way he's pulled in his chin makes him look like a bulldog. Idly, I wonder if I should mention that. Foreman seems to take my lack of response for offence, because his posture shifts into defensiveness. I sigh. I don't really care that he asked, but telling the story gets old. Before Foreman can spout off about my 'sensitivity' I answer his question, “Nearly five years.”

Predictably, that isn't enough for Foreman. He leans forward. “How did it happen?”

I swallow my irritation. It's frankly surprising that he's held out for this long, I would have thought he would ask me in the first week. It's been four months. I don't know why he's still here, sheer bloody-mindedness perhaps? He doesn't appear to realise that he's being insensitive – or maybe he does realise it, but has chosen to ignore it to get more information on me.

“I don't know the exact reason” I say.

Foreman's eyes widen in disbelief, and I can't hide my irritation any more. What, does he think I'm lying, or that I've forgotten? I remember it perfectly.

*****************************

I was doing an emergency medicine clinical placement at one of my university's teaching hospitals. I'd been lucky enough to score this placement at the Royal North Shore, one of the busiest trauma centres in Australia. It meant I was learning a lot, but it also meant that every week was one where, at the end of it, I just wanted to curl up and sleep for 36 hours. Which was pretty much what I did. I knew I should be going over my clinical notes, but I couldn't work up the energy to do more that eat, sleep, and bathe, in that order. The first hour of the rest of my life, I staggered out of bed, naked, made it to the shower and turned the hot water on full. I was leaning my head against the tiles, telling my eyes it would be a really good idea for them to open, when I realised I couldn't hear anything. I reached up and wriggled my fingers in my ears. Nothing. I talked to myself, banged on the tiles...nothing. Silence.

The next thing I remember clearly is arriving at the Royal North Shore, still damp, and slightly hysterical. It was six in the morning, and the trauma centre was bustling with activity. No one took any notice of me at all. I looked around for someone I knew.

“Janet,” I grabbed her by the arm, then was pulled along in her wake as she kept on going. This was the nurse I'd seen the most of. She'd been a trauma nurse for a long time, which meant she had a lot of experience, and knew how to keep her mouth shut. At the moment, it seemed, she was also very busy, as she barely glanced at me as she spoke. To this day, I've got no idea what she said. Fortunately, that single glance must have told her something of my state of mind, because she abruptly stopped, handed off the x-ray she was carrying to another nurse, and turned to me, grasping both my shoulders. I watched her face carefully, but was still only able to make out a little of what she was saying.

“....Chase...look like......seen....”

I shook my head in frustration, cutting her off. “Janet, I can't hear anything. It's just silence, not even any ringing or buzzing.”

Janet's eyes widened in shock, then she started towing me towards an empty exam room. Her mouth was moving, but I was too upset to try and work out what she was saying, although from the way people started following us, I got a fair idea.

In the exam room, I was surrounded by my fellow students, all of them talking at me. I couldn't process it, and began to panic, shaking and hyperventilating. Thank God for Janet. She shooed everyone out, except for one of the trauma docs, Dr Scott. He stood directly in front of me, and grasped my chin, so I would look into his face. With his free hand he made gestures next to his mouth, encouraging me to breathe slowly. I just stared at him, and after a few minutes, the panic began to subside. He smiled at me, then let me go, pulling out a pad and pen, writing on it before turning it to face me.

“You can't hear anything, and there's no sign of tinnitus?”

I nodded. “I just woke up to...nothing.”

Dr Scott was writing again.

“Did you do anything unusual recently, or have you been feeling ill?”

I blinked at him. “Well, I've been really tired from the work here, so I've really just been working and sleeping, nothing new. And I've felt fine. Today...well, yesterday...I went home, grabbed something to eat, went to bed, then woke up and hopped in the shower, which was when I noticed. I don't know if it was fading before that, I didn't notice....but I could hear perfectly before I went home.”

I could feel my eyes tearing up, and Dr Scott laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder. This time, he spoke aloud, and I managed to get it all.

“Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this.”

Except we didn't. Two weeks and about a million tests later and we still didn’t have a good explanation for what happened. I did have a diagnosis though: idiopathic sensorineural hearing loss. The idiopathic part meant that we couldn't figure out why it had happened. Hearing aids didn't help. I did have the option of a cochlear implant, but for some reason I was never able to put my finger on, I wasn't wild about the idea. Perhaps it was the remnants of my faith, urging me to bow to God's will. So, I spent four months at a school for the deaf, learning how to live in the hearing world. I found out that I was a natural lip reader and all of my previous language skills (three fluent and few more passable), made it easier to learn sign language. Slowly, I adapted, until the only thing still worrying me was whether or not I would still be able to study medicine.

Once there was nothing else the school could teach me, I went to see the dean of medicine, expecting, perhaps, to be shown the door. I was in for a big surprise. The dean told me that disability was no bar to a good doctor, and insisted I finish my training, if that was what I wanted. He believed in me so much, I had to try.

I found out so much about myself due to my loss. I started to really gain some self-confidence, no longer worrying about what people might say about me. I couldn’t hear it, and for the first time in my life, I realised that it wasn't important. I went to therapy, talked out what I was feeling, and for the first time in a long time, started to actually feel whole. It’s funny, really, that losing my hearing helped me to gain so much more.

*****************************8

However, just because I’m more adjusted than I was doesn’t mean that I like people prying into my life.

“It was sensorineural hearing loss.”

Foreman opens his mouth, undoubtedly to list all the conditions that could lead to that diagnosis. I cut him off.

“Sometimes it just happens, no explanation.”

Foreman still doesn't look like he is going to drop the subject. Bugger all, can't he just leave well enough alone? Before he can speak though, he suddenly stiffens, and turns to face House, just walking into the room, file in hand. Never have I been so glad to get a patient.

“...diagnosing Chase, perhaps we can work on an actual patient.”

I swear that House winked at me, as if he knew he was rescuing me from Mr. Spanish Inquisition over there. Huh.