Been a while, apologies. Life's getting in the way on both writer's sides, so sit tight.

Also, there seems to be some confusion/complaining about how we are tackling this story: it is Bleach characters set in the House, M.D. universe (our models of course reflect House and Chase for the GrimmIchi dynamic.)

Finally, I did use dialogue I think in three places in the first/second chapters that is taken directly from the show because I found them to be so hilarious. If you don't like that, don't read it: fanfiction isn't one hundred percent original in the first place (le gasp! No time for a spoil alert.) You don't have to like how we structure the fic: we 'block' it, like a tennis match = one of us starts it, then the other takes over and sends it right back. It's a GAME for us, something to amuse us because we like to write, so if you're going to be one of those idiots that complains about EVERY FUCKING CHOICE WE MAKE, just do everybody a favor and find another fic that you do like. Good luck finding an author that caters to your every whim! ;)

ANYWAYS, as Racey likes to say, ONWARDS…


Doctor Dick

Chapter 3


Grimmjow whistled as he made his way to the nurse's head station in the clinic he barely ever stepped foot into, even though Yoruichi badgered him constantly about his 'required' clinic hours.

Pigs would rip their wings off before he ever completed his 'required' clinic hours. He chuckled to himself: maybe he'd make Wombat do his clinic hours next week as part of his penance for moonlighting the emergency room behind his back.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes: his little slaves were so silly sometimes. He was a genius: of course he understood human behavior no matter how much of a jackass he seemed. He could read people almost better than the differentials he sifted through on a daily basis looking for a new, interesting case.

People were predictable. People were safe. BORING, probably why most people hated him.

What Grimmjow called fun others called sadistic. What Grimmjow found fascinating others found either insane or impractical.

Who cared about practicality in this day and age? There were more diseases then ever before, flesh eating bacteria, all kinds of nasties that were more dangerous than Jason, Freddy, and the Boogeyman combined, yet people just shook their heads and labeled him an eccentric ass hole because he spoke his mind and hired hookers to drive monster trucks with him.

The jack ass-edry usually lulled people into thinking he was normal-ish; at least normal-ish with an ego the size of a third world country. The 'genius' part was almost always forgotten when he took a joke too far or insulted somebody in some way.

But Grimmjow hadn't been born to make people feel good about themselves: he was going to do what he was going to do when he wanted to do it. If he didn't, his brain would never ever, ever shut up.

People didn't understand how much faster his brain catalogued, calculated: why the fuck else would he be one of the leading (if not THE best) diagnostician in the United States?

He had better access to the analytical part of his brain than others: where others had dial-up, he had DSL. He had a library at his fingertips at nearly any moment, his stream of consciousness his own symphony that most other humans didn't function on.

And it wasn't his fucking fault.

At least he could back up his ego unlike most people.

Grimmjow finally slid into Fugly Nurse's workstation, picking up the phone connected to the PA system they used for announcements.

Fugly Nurse simply grunted as he chewed on a Snickers bar. He was a big dude with a huge chin: how the giant decided he wanted to be a nurse instead of a wrestler was beyond him.

"Can I have another Snickers?" he asked, chocolate stuck to the corner of his mouth.

"I'll buy you the factory if you shut the hell up."

He drew his eyebrows together, like he was deciding whether to be offended or not, "You callin' me fat?"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, "Yeah, Boulder Chin, that's exactly what I said."

"My name's Yami, ass hole. And I'm part Bulgarian on my mom's side!"

"Nice to meet you. I'm Doctor House from the country of Don't Give a Flying Fuck."

Grimmjow cleared his throat and took out his phone, opening up the music section and scanning through to the selection he wanted and began his announcement:

"Paging Doctor Yoruichi, Doctor Yoruichi. The Hollow Clinic just called the main nurse's station to inform you that your test results came back negative: congratulations, getting The Clap twice would've been embarrassing, huh? Your secret lover of two years is waiting for you here, ecstatic about the results. He asked me if I would be willing to play a little something special for you on the intercom, so everyone, doctors and patients alike, please enjoy this brief, romantic selection. Mozeltov to the beautiful lovebirds."

Grimmjow clicked the song and moved the bar to hover over the beginning of the chorus, his grin eating his face as he unleashed it at full volume:

"…AND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII will always LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUU-OOOO-oooo-OOOO-AAAAAAAH

WILL ALWAYS…LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU…!"

It didn't get much farther then that, considering Yoruichi's office was located less than one hundred feet from the clinic doors.

She stormed in, her face a female god of rage as she smacked the intercom phone out of his hands and hung it up, her cat-like eyes drilling holes through his forehead.

"Are you trying to get me fired?" she hissed.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, "The Board of Directors wouldn't dare. You clipped their balls last year when you cut the deal with the new insurance program. Unless you're not carrying their testicles in your pocket anymore…eh, guess it doesn't matter. There's no way they'll give up looking at your fabulous cleavage every morning, noon, and night."

Her eyes just narrowed further, "This isn't a joke, House. This is…I'm beyond offended. I don't even want to look at you right now."

"Well that's the first time I've ever heard that," Grimmjow said, getting to his feet and running a hand through his mop of blue hair, "I've been told I'm rather dashing."

"You're suspended."

"Oh come on," Grimmjow said, rolling his eyes again and tapping his cane on the ground, "Suspending me is just going to draw the game out longer. You know that."

"I don't care," Yoruichi said venomously. Grimmjow had REALLY taken it a little too far, huh? She was tense like a cat that was staring down a dangerous dog, claws out and fangs bared.

"The entire hospital, House. Every employee, every colleague, every patient-"

"I dunno. They say coma patients can hear you, but-"

"Shut your mouth and get out of my hospital."

Grimmjow sighed, starting to hobble out, Fugly Nurse's eyes about ready to bulge out of his head. He was for sure getting suspended if not fired.

Grimmjow stopped near Yoruichi, not turning his head, "Ya know, if you'd fired me, I'd respect you a little more."

"Get out."

"But you can't, can you? You need your little resident genius to keep the extra hospital funding, huh? Keep the big wigs happy and out of your pants. Shame: if I had to bet on a woman kicking my ass, I would'a put the money on you."

Then he was gone, out of the clinic before Yoruichi could come up with a retort that wasn't a lie.


Ichigo stared into his half-eaten bowl of Wheaties in the cafeteria, not sure how long he'd been staring at it but knowing he couldn't finish it.

He felt like a zombie. He hadn't slept at all, and now that he was at work, it felt even worse. For some reason House wasn't there, not that he ever showed up on time anyway. Cuddy had simply walked in and said that the team should pick a file and get cracking: she looked as pissed off as a cat that had been stranded in the rain, so Ichigo had kept a wide berth from the PMSing hospital director.

Then, when the team had finally stopped arguing over what test to give their newest patient, all hell had broken loose just down the hallway. Urahara had come running out of his office like his ass was on fire, a hand over his heart as he threw himself against a wall.

Ichigo had gone out to him, asking him what the matter was. Urahara, his breathing erratic.

"Calm, deep breaths," Ichigo instructed. He knew it was probably a pointless thing to say, probably even annoying as he was a doctor telling another doctor how to relax from a panic attack.

"I'm…I'm…going…to…kill…him," Urahara finally wheezed, closing his eyes as he started breathing deep through his nose, "No wonder…he kept…laughing…every time…Jesus, he's…such…a child!"

Ichigo had no idea what the oncologist had been talking about until Urahara waved towards his office door, a hand on his forehead, "He thinks…he's…so funny. I can't…believe…the morgue…my god, just…he's never pushed it…this far. What…an ass."

Ichigo, thoroughly intrigued, decided to open the door to Urahara's office slowly, just like they did in the horror movies.

He jumped slightly, but relaxed once he realized it was a cadaver. It wasn't like he wasn't used to seeing dead bodies, but it was extremely disturbing how they had managed to prop the body so close to the door.

Anybody would've screamed walking in on that.

"Um…I'll contact the morgue?" Ichigo finally said, too tired to even ask.

Of course it had something to do with House.

"He's going to get it," Urahara mumbled to himself, ignoring Ichigo as he headed down the hall like a bat out of hell, "Brilliant, but still…still…I'm going to saw through his cane, and then…"

Needless to say, it had been an eventful morning.

Once the team had been informed on whatever shenanigans House managed to pull while not even being present in the hospital, Ichigo had proceeded to do tests with the rest of the team, agreeing with one treatment and ripping apart another.

It was now almost eight o'clock, the rest of the team tired of going in circles. They left; he stayed.

So here Ichigo sat in front of the whiteboard, ignoring the cereal now as his eyes ran tiredly over the symptoms again and again.

He hadn't been sleeping too good the past few weeks, and now that there was a case they'd taken on that they still hadn't solved, it made him want to prove House wrong.

If House walked in, he had a feeling they would've already solved this case.

So the least he could do was figure it out by morning, before the team came in. Maybe it would look pompous, but he wanted to prove himself.

He couldn't leave a puzzle sitting here.

He didn't know how long he sat like that, but when his phone went off, he almost fell out of his chair he was so startled.

'Bitch bitch I'm the bomb

Bitch bitch I'm the bomb

Bitch bitch bitch I'm the bomb like tick tick…'

"What?" Ichigo answered, remembering that he HAD to change that stupid ringtone after he hung up with his annoying boss.

"Miss me yet, Wombat?" came the sarcastic reply. Ichigo wouldn't admit that he DID miss that deep, smooth voice.

"What do you want, House?"

"You're in a bad mood. Why?"

Ichigo was taken aback: did House actually sound concerned?

Maybe he needed sleep more than he originally thought.

"New case. I've been staring at this board for…" Ichigo glanced down at his watch, "nearly 3 hours."

"And no cigar? Tisk tisk, Wombat."

"Look, are you planning on coming in tomorrow or not? The patient's urine contains blood –"

"Since when?"

"Almost eight hours ago."

"Color?"

"It's blood, House. His kidneys are shutting down from –"

"Red or brown?"

"It's…" Ichigo got up from the table, practically running from the room, the cell phone at his ear as he dashed to the elevators, "Almost brown."

"Almost isn't exactly," House said, chewing on what sounded like popcorn, "It's not liver failure. Patient been out of the country lately?"

"Does Hawaii count?"

"Snorkeling?"

"Diving."

"Any cuts?"

"None."

The doors to the elevator dinged as he rushed down the new patient's wing, ignoring the staring nurses and orderlies.

"Male in his early to middle twenties?"

"How did you know?"

House snorted, "Women will tell you about a hangnail they had in '89. Older men would try to patch the cut somehow. Younger men, however, are still just dumb enough to think a scrape won't give them microscopic bacteria they've never even heard of. Dumbass probably scraped himself against a reef with heavy algae. Check his elbows and between his fingers."

Ichigo ignored the startled patient and pulled up his hands, immediately beginning to check between each finger.

"Holy shit," he breathed into the mouthpiece, finding a yellowing cut between the pointer and middle finger. It looked like an angry paper cut.

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner."

Ichigo hung up on House and began to explain the bacterial infection that had gotten the idiot diver sick. He called in a nurse and had them switch the IV bag, feeling a little depressed once he knew the kid was going to be fine.

He hadn't figured it out for himself. He'd relied on House. Again.

Maybe he wasn't as strong of a doctor as he'd thought.

Grimmjow smirked as he made his way up a flight of stairs, a six-pack in one hand and a extra large cheese pizza balanced precariously in the other. He usually walked everywhere with his cane, but he'd given it up in favor of being hungry. Besides, he'd only had to make it from his car to the elevator of the apartment complex. He slammed his foot against the base of the apartment door repeatedly, his arms getting tired.

An exhausted Ichigo answered the door. Grimmjow lifted an eyebrow at the disgruntled young man, ignoring the fact that he looked damn sexy with what was probably couch head, striped boxer shorts, and a light grey tank top with what looked like a coffee stain.

"You're looking like a panda with those saggy eyes, Wombat," Grimmjow said, shoving past Ichigo into the tiny but cozy-looking apartment. He wrestled his bounty onto the coffee table, throwing himself back on the couch and popping one of the nearly icy beers.

"It's almost two a.m., House," Ichigo grunted, taking a seat on the couch next to the crazy genius, "I'm due back at the hospital in four hours."

"No you're not," Grimmjow said, passing an unopened beer to the tired orange head, "You've got the next two days off."

"No I don't."

"According to that case you just solved by yourself, yes you do," Grimmjow argued, crushing his now-empty beer can as he opened up the big cheesy pizza, "And don't lie to me, Wombat. Your employee number is on 80% of the blood tests ran today, not to mention you were the only one staring at our handy-dandy white board for hours on end. I say you've earned a day or two. 'Sides, don't act like you wouldn't pass out from exhaustion sometime around noon tomorrow. You're dehydrated, too."

"Beer isn't really an effective means of curing hydration," Ichigo said tersely, taking a sip of his own beer anyway and nearly spitting it out, "Ugh, what is this?"

Grimmjow snorted, "Sure as hell isn't that sheep piss you call beer Down Under, kid."

Ichigo took another sip, adjusting better to the strong Millwauke brew, "So…you're rewarding me? You solved the case."

Grimmjow shrugged, "You practically handed it to me in an Easter basket."

"But you're…being…nice…to me?"

Grimmjow smirked through a mouthful of pizza, somehow still managing to look attractive. Ichigo ignored his crotch in favor of listening to the man, "Pride cometh before a fall, Young Skywalker. Besides, I didn't forget that you still need a proper punishment for your whoring expedition with Cuddy's little clinic."

Ichigo's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as Grimmjow leaned towards him, his breath hot on his face. He hated the smell of this American beer.

"And it's gonna be worth the wait, Wombat. I promise."