Chapter 8: I just don’t want to miss you tonight
Kutner sat on his couch, the case file spread in front of him. He was flipping through the papers over and over again. He couldn’t seem to find the data from the patient’s blood test.
“Crap,” Kutner muttered.
He guessed House, Foreman, Taub, and Thirteen probably had the results in their copies of the file, but it was one in the morning. He sighed. He needed those results. He would have to get them from somebody. That meant waking someone up.
He thought about who was the least likely to yell at him. He wouldn’t have called House at home for a million dollars, even if it wasn’t the middle of the night. Kutner didn’t know how Taub’s wife would react to Taub receiving work-related calls after midnight. So it was Foreman or Thirteen. Foreman would want to know why he needed the results and he would use his unofficial authority over Kutner to find out. He would probably tell him his theory was wrong, because Foreman still thought the problem was neurological, and refuse to give him the results.
Kutner took a deep breath, picked up the phone, dialed Thirteen’s number, and hoped for the best.
“Hello?” the voice on the other end of the line said.
“Thirteen?” Kutner asked.
“Kutner,” Thirteen said. “If you wanted me to get some sleep, why are you calling me in the middle of the night?”
“Sorry,” Kutner said, hastily. “Do you have the results of the blood test?”
“Blood test?” Thirteen said, her voice suddenly more alert.
“Yeah, the patient’s blood test,” Kutner replied, the sharpness of her voice taking him by surprise.
“Oh,” she said. “The patient’s…yeah, I think it’s around here somewhere. Why?”
“What did you think I was talking about?” Kutner asked, suspiciously.
“Nothing,” Thirteen waved his question off. “Why do you need the blood test?”
“Just testing a theory,” Kutner answered. “You obviously thought I was talking about something else. What blood test did you take?”
“Listen,” Thirteen said. “I’m really tired. I haven’t slept properly in over a week. I found the blood test. What do you want me to do with it?”
“Read it to me,” Kutner told her. “Come on, just tell me what blood test you took. You don’t have to tell me what the results were.”
“If you don’t stop asking about it, I’m not reading this too you,” Thirteen said.
“Okay,” Kutner sighed.
Kutner knew that he wasn’t going to get anything out of her tonight, especially when she held the trump card, the ability to hang up the phone, but she’d never told him she hadn’t taken a blood test.
Kutner didn’t have a prayer with Thirteen. He knew that. That was why no one would ever know how he felt about her. They were friends, and Kutner wasn’t going to risk screwing that up to tell her. He wished she liked him back, but as long as she didn’t, he was content with just being friends.
Kutner sat on his couch, the case file spread in front of him. He was flipping through the papers over and over again. He couldn’t seem to find the data from the patient’s blood test.
“Crap,” Kutner muttered.
He guessed House, Foreman, Taub, and Thirteen probably had the results in their copies of the file, but it was one in the morning. He sighed. He needed those results. He would have to get them from somebody. That meant waking someone up.
He thought about who was the least likely to yell at him. He wouldn’t have called House at home for a million dollars, even if it wasn’t the middle of the night. Kutner didn’t know how Taub’s wife would react to Taub receiving work-related calls after midnight. So it was Foreman or Thirteen. Foreman would want to know why he needed the results and he would use his unofficial authority over Kutner to find out. He would probably tell him his theory was wrong, because Foreman still thought the problem was neurological, and refuse to give him the results.
Kutner took a deep breath, picked up the phone, dialed Thirteen’s number, and hoped for the best.
“Hello?” the voice on the other end of the line said.
“Thirteen?” Kutner asked.
“Kutner,” Thirteen said. “If you wanted me to get some sleep, why are you calling me in the middle of the night?”
“Sorry,” Kutner said, hastily. “Do you have the results of the blood test?”
“Blood test?” Thirteen said, her voice suddenly more alert.
“Yeah, the patient’s blood test,” Kutner replied, the sharpness of her voice taking him by surprise.
“Oh,” she said. “The patient’s…yeah, I think it’s around here somewhere. Why?”
“What did you think I was talking about?” Kutner asked, suspiciously.
“Nothing,” Thirteen waved his question off. “Why do you need the blood test?”
“Just testing a theory,” Kutner answered. “You obviously thought I was talking about something else. What blood test did you take?”
“Listen,” Thirteen said. “I’m really tired. I haven’t slept properly in over a week. I found the blood test. What do you want me to do with it?”
“Read it to me,” Kutner told her. “Come on, just tell me what blood test you took. You don’t have to tell me what the results were.”
“If you don’t stop asking about it, I’m not reading this too you,” Thirteen said.
“Okay,” Kutner sighed.
Kutner knew that he wasn’t going to get anything out of her tonight, especially when she held the trump card, the ability to hang up the phone, but she’d never told him she hadn’t taken a blood test.
Kutner didn’t have a prayer with Thirteen. He knew that. That was why no one would ever know how he felt about her. They were friends, and Kutner wasn’t going to risk screwing that up to tell her. He wished she liked him back, but as long as she didn’t, he was content with just being friends.
