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It was plain obvious to Kutner that he lived the life of a Ninja Turtle. Granted, his New Jersey apartment did not have quite the same sewer-like charm as his previous one. And his job did not feature nunchakus or katanas but sometimes syringes, a stethoscope and his co-workers were enough to keep up Kutner's adrenaline level. He also fought villains, albeit only bacterial or cancerous ones.
Like the other day when they all were working late on a case that had developed in a quite expected unusual way:
There were really only two possible explanations left as to why their patient suddenly died much faster than was to be expected of him. Either toxic exposure or a rare genetic defect, the latter of which would result in House's insistence to inflict a batshit crazy procedure on the patient to save him. Kutner had read about it; it was neither Cuddy- nor FDA-approved, of course, and featured two potentially lethal substances and three other minor moral dilemmas. Thirteen, Taub and he were now waiting in the conference room for Foreman to return from the lab.
Thirteen sat bent over a medical reference book. With the lights in the office reduced to a minimum and the night pouring in from the windows she could probably not read anything but her keeping up appearances somehow kept up the fighting morale for Kutner.
The ballpoint in her hand tapped continuously against the paper of her notepad and disrupted the else silent room. In the past twenty minutes she had only halted the tapping twice. Once to sloppily pin on a red hair barrette to prevent her hair from falling into her eyes while reading and once because House had shouted, "Is this a sign of your Huntington's? If not, stop it!" from the other side of the glass wall. "Yeah, it is," she had deadpanned and had kept on tapping.
Although she already had visible bags under her eyes Thirteen still looked more energetic than any of her colleagues. Including himself, Kutner suspected, given that an hour ago he had acquired mold samples under very dubious circumstances. For that purpose he had entered a private garage with the help of a Bunsen burner, ruining his brand new orange sneakers in the act. At the moment he was seated at the long side of the table and chewed on a slice of a pizza that he had ordered in and none of the others cared to try from. 'Weirdly topped?' What was so wrong about pineapple with anchovies? He didn't get it.
Taub had inspected his blue tie for seven minutes straight when Foreman finally entered the conference room with a sheet of paper rolled like a fighting staff in his right fist.
"We gotta rule out the toxins."
Kutner's heart sped up in excitement. They would be able to try out the experimental treatment and save the patient at last. House entered the conference room at that moment. Foreman locked eyes with his boss and tried to communicate his doubts and reservations one more time. As much as Kutner wanted them all to get going he was fascinated by the silent exchange that was taking place before his eyes. He doubted that being confronted with a stubborn attitude would change House's mind though.
Kutner looked back and forth between the two men and felt obligated to observe loudly, "It's so cool that sometimes you two not saying anything is more telling than a full-blown argument."
"It may not have crossed your mind but sometimes there are reasons why people don't talk, Kutner," Taub said.
But Foreman rolled his eyes and with the tension between him and House deflated by collegial goofiness he gave up resistance.
"Great, then you know what to do," House said turning away from Foreman and striding towards the window. "Go forth and free the world from the sick!"
Taub and Thirteen got up, not even bothering with being annoyed and both headed for the door.
"This is insane," Foreman stated matter-of-factly but followed them all the same because he had already tried being morally outraged and House hadn't budged one bit. Even in defeat Foreman maintained his intellectual superiority complex. That must be the most annoying thing about Foreman, that he knows he's brilliant and always forgets that being brilliant doesn't mean to be right. Kutner was sure that it couldn't be a coincidence that the Turtle's whiz kid Donatello also wore purple all the time.
Kutner stayed seated at the table watching his boss who was staring out of the window. The stark darkness outside made it impossible to see anything behind the glass surface. There was only a copy of their world with the many glass layers complementing and contradicting each other. House's reflection had its eyes closed; its body seemed tense but the face looked calm in a distorted sort of way.
Despite anything House wanted to make his fellows believe he was not an evil overlord ruling his kingdom with an iron hand. Kutner thought of him more as wise leader with a twisted sense of humor. He may be like a rat on the outside, biting and hard-boiled but on the inside he just wanted them all to be...-
Without turning towards him House spoke. "Were you going to treat the patient or sit around some more and stare into nothingness?"
"'Course, boss!" He got up and headed out of the door into another adventure, a battle cry on his mind and a smile on his face.