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I. HERO
Kutner finds her kicking a vending machine. Methodically, like she’s testing its structural integrity or something.
He stops beside her, following her line of sight. “Snickers stuck?”
“Trail mix,” she scowls, practically glaring at the vending machine. “I paid. it’s mine.”
He nods solemnly. “Justice must be served.”
Kutner, then, without hesitation, drops to the floor and shoves his arm up inside the vending slot like he’s trying to perform surgery.
“… Kutner, what the hell are y—”
“Don’t worry. I’ve trained for this.”
He wriggles his fingers; retrieves a dusty bag of doritos instead.
She stares — at the doritos, then at him. Evidently unimpressed. He offers them to her, sheepishly smiling. “Close enough?”
Thirteen blinks once. Twice. Then takes them and walks away.
A smile blooms across her face. A laugh followed right after.
Because of how ridiculous he was. Obviously.
They weren’t friends or anything.
II. MALFUNCTION
They get stuck between floors.
Thirteen doesn’t really care. Kutner apparently does.
“This is it. This is how we die,” he paces, fidgeting with his hands. He does that a lot.
“We’re not dying,” she says flatly, staring into the distance. “It’s an elevator, not a guillotine.”
“Claustrophobic spaces kill thousands every year!”
“They don’t.”
He stops. Squints. “Really?”
“Really.”
They pause.
He exhales dramatically. “Fine, but if I do die, you’re not telling House. I don’t want him making a joke about me haunting the second floor or something.”
She actually laughs at that: a quick, breathy sound. But it counts. At least it does for Kutner.
He raises his eyebrows, not expecting the reaction she just had to what he’d said.
After a brief pause, he mumbles, “You like me,” looking at her with a big grin on his face, feeling oddly proud.
“I never said that,” Thirteen shrugs, the faint grin on her face betraying her statement.
“Your laugh said it.”
She playfully rolls her eyes, breaking eye contact.
When the elevator starts moving again, she doesn’t step away from him right away.
He’s funny.
III. DISCOVERY
Kutner catches her crying in the stairwell once.
Not sobbing. Just one sharp breath, quickly wiped away.
She holds her head down, not looking him in the eyes.
“... Allergies.”
He nods like he believes her. (He doesn’t, but he sits down anyway.)
“To what?” he asks. “Bullshit?”
She lets out a dry laugh.
He doesn’t press. Just sits with her, legs stretched out on the step below. He talks, about nothing — some bad sci-fi movie he watched last night, a few comics he bought the other day.
She listens, fidgeting with her hands. Doesn’t tell him to leave.
IV. EXPERIMENT
Kutner convinces her to help him with an “experiment.”
... Which turns out to be how many mentos can you fit in your mouth before drinking diet coke.
“This is science,” he stated, cramming in a fifth.
“This is idiotic,” she says, lips pursed as if trying to keep herself from smiling, while she films on his flip phone.
He gargles the soda and almost chokes. She tilts her head; laughs so hard she almost drops the phone.
Later, when house steals the video and emails it to the entire hospital staff, kutner swears revenge.
She shrugs. “You deserved it.”
“Hey, you laughed,” he counters, playfully nudging her.
She doesn’t deny it.
V. CLOSE
Kutner asks her out once. Not seriously. More like: “We should go to a movie sometime. Just as coworkers. Or non-coworkers. Or whatever.”
She looks at him, careful. “I don’t date coworkers.”
He nods. “Me neither. It’s just. It’s easier to ask you than Taub.”
That earns him an eye roll, but also a softer look. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Thanks, you’re pretty cool too.”
They never mention it again. But she starts sitting next to him in meetings after that.
VI. FRIENDSHIP
Months later, she still doesn’t delete his number.
Sometimes, late at night, she scrolls past it. Sometimes she almost calls. Just to hear his voice say something stupid and bright.
One night, she does.
She doesn’t say anything when the voicemail picks up.
She just listens to his old message. the one that says, “Hey, it’s Kutner. If this is Taub, I’m not loaning you money. If it’s anyone else, leave a message!”
She doesn’t leave one.
She hangs up, sits in the dark and feels her hands shake. Convinces herself that it’s because of her diagnosis and not because she’s about to cry.
He would’ve made a joke. An unfunny, yet somehow charming one. Something about… elevators. Or vending machines that eat your change. Maybe. (Probably not.)
Truthfully, she’s not quite sure what he would’ve said. He’d always been better at stuff like that, anyway. She just knows that he would’ve said something that would’ve made her laugh when she really needed to.
Maybe he was her friend after all.
Maybe she misses him more than she expected. More than she wants to.