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Making a Deal (Part 2)

Summary: Your date, gentlemen and distinguished folks

Warning(s): House being rude to waiting restaurant staff, being misgendered/mistaken as a woman (being called ma'am), self doubt, and anxiety

Pairing(s): Greg House x ftm reader

You stood on the sidewalk waiting for House to drive up. He had insisted on picking you up and treating it like an actual date. He was even on time when you recognized his car approaching you.

You gave him a small wave and watched as he pulled up along the sidewalk, and stopped the car a few feet ahead of where you were. 

You frowned as you started walking towards the car. He got out and started limping around to the other side.

“What’d you do that for?”

“Because if I pulled up beside you, you would get in the car myself. And if memory serves, that’s not exactly how dates go.” He responds, opening up the passenger door for you.

“Right, but isn’t that for women?”

“Ever heard of equality, l/n? Get in the car.”

You huffed, and got in—him practically slamming the door shut after you. He slammed his door shut as well after he got in, and you wondered if he knew he didn’t need to slam it for it to properly close, but decided against bringing it up.   

Aside from the radio playing, the majority of the car ride was silent between the two of you—House made a few comments about the restaurant he was taking you to, and made a joke about how he didn’t know what food you liked. He occasionally made comments about what was playing, but he never changed the station. 

“Don’t get out yet.” He ordered after he had parked the car. He got out himself, then limped to your side, and opened your door for you.

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” House made a point of saying the words, but he loosely linked his arm to yours as you made your way toward the restaurant. He gave the greeter his name for the reservation, and the two of you were led to your table.

The restaurant was admittedly nicer than you thought it would be, however, the conversation was as forced as you predicted it would be, despite the few compliments he made. 

It wasn’t very long before the waitress introduced herself, and offered to get your drinks. House ordered your drink for you—insisting you try something and trust him—and by the time the waitress got back with your drinks, she took your orders. 

House decided to go first, and you were about to make a biting comment about how he could’ve just picked something for you when you realized something: you had never presented as male before in public. Not like this, at least. You hadn’t been able to get any interviews yet, and when you went to the store, you were always able to go to the self-checkout. 

“And for you sir?” The waitress turned to you, and you barely registered that she was talking to you. 

You cleared your throat, attempting to deepen your voice.

“I’ll take the—” You cut yourself off by the waitress’s expression.

“I–I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize—I meant ma’am.”

You tried not to flinch at the word. You glanced at House and saw he was glaring at the waitress.

“I know they don’t pay you much,” he growled, making her turn to face him, “and obviously you didn’t get much schooling, but you must be an idiot to refer to my boyfriend as ‘ma’am’.”

He made a point of mocking the word ‘ma’am’, like a child who just learned a new nonsense word, and thinks it’s the most ridiculous thing ever to roll off their tongue. 

“I—right, I’m sorry, it’s my mistake—” She said, turning to address you now. 

“That was established.” House scoffed. 

“What can I get for you, sir?” The waitress asked a little quieter now, though you were sure it was only to avoid any more ridicule from House. 

You gave her your order—her quickly jotting it down as you said it, repeating it to the both of you to make sure she got both orders right, and quickly walking back to the kitchen.

House rolled his eyes. “Honestly, if I can’t escape idiots at work, you’d think I’d at least be able to avoid them here.”

“It’s okay.”

“Not really.”

“No, I mean…I understand why she thought…I don’t look very masculine.”

House cocked his head to the side. “Sure, maybe you don’t have a beard to make it obvious you have a mix of testosterone and the proper hormones to give some people the hint that maybe you possibly are male, but that doesn’t mean she should be rude about it.”

“She wasn’t being rude.”

“Yes, she was. You’re clearly presenting as male, she had no issue in assuming that we were two men having dinner, and did not hesitate to call you ‘sir’. She only changed when she heard her voice. Which is rude. Especially considering there could’ve been a genetic reason or medical reason for you not having a lower voice.”

“I know that, but—”

“No buts. Let her learn her lesson.”

You gave him a look. “When did you teach her a lesson?” You teased slightly.

“That she shouldn’t have just assumed what you preferred to be called. If you didn’t want to be called ‘sir’, you would’ve corrected her the first time. Or I would have.” House paused, before slightly furrowing his brow. “Besides, no one wants to be called ‘ma’am.”