This is definitely not what I’m supposed to be writing. Here, have an encounter between House and Henry…
"I was sad to see you’d died, Dr. House," Henry said. "You and your team’s journal articles were always fascinating. I’m glad to see that reports of your demise were inaccurate."
"It’s just ‘House’ now, no ‘Doctor.’ Though I kind of prefer ‘Smith.’ Little less obvious that I faked my death that way." House bounced his cane on the floor. "You understand that, right, Dr. Morgan? If that’s even your name…"
"Excuse me?" Henry raised his eyebrows.
"The faking-your-death thing." House smirked. "You don’t recognize me, do you? No, of course you don’t; you were kind of unconscious and dying at the time…”
Henry’s heart began to pound. Surely House didn’t know about his immortality—how could he? They’d never met. Forcing himself to keep his voice level, Henry said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
"Right." House rolled his eyes. "Like I didn’t see you ‘die’ when I was doing my ER rotation in med school, ‘Henry.’" Henry’s heart stopped. House knew. "You’ve aged really well for a corpse, by the way." House sniffed the air. "Smell pretty good for a corpse, too. Who’s your plastic surgeon? I need to know who to call when I really start to rot.”
"Again," Henry said, smiling, even though his blood ran cold with fear. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."
"Huh," House said. "Most people wouldn’t forget being shot. I know I haven’t. But maybe you did forget, somewhere between my attending calling your time of death and you vanishing from the morgue."
Ah, Henry thought. That incident. Not one of his worst deaths, but definitely one of the most stressful. Grimacing, he said, “‘Henry Morgan’ is no alias—it’s the name I was born with, and is the name I shall die with. And you are mistaken. Obviously I am very much alive—you can feel my pulse, if you’d like. Also, if I were to fake my own death, why on earth would I use the same name later—and while working closely with law enforcement, no less?”
"Maybe that’s how you get your rocks off?" House shrugged. "Don’t know, don’t care. I know what I saw, and I know I wasn’t crazy back then, either. You—" He jabbed a finger toward Henry. "Died. Three GSWs to the abdomen, one fatal, and I’d bet you anything that if I opened up your shirt, I’d see the exact same scar that guy had on his chest, because that guy was you.”
"You are completely wrong," Henry said.
"And you’re a liar and a fraud," House retorted, with a grin, and extended his right hand. "Nice to meet you, ‘Henry.’ I’m Greg—well, Smith, now."
"Just ‘Smith?’" Henry asked, pointedly refusing to shake House’s hand. "How very creative."
"Oh, I picked that one for you." House waved off Henry’s rebuff. "Just as bad as picking the name of a pirate from a rum bottle, isn’t it? Or taking the name ‘Morgan’ and then going to work in a morgue. You’re not very creative, either."
Henry sighed, and got up from his desk. “I need to get back to work. So, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave, thank you.”
House held out his cane, smacking Henry’s shins and blocking Henry behind the desk. “I mind that very much, actually. I was kind of enjoying our little talk.”
"Need I remind you," Henry said, maneuvering around the cane, "that the police are just upstairs? And, considering that you are on record as being dead, and I am not…"
"Look, just one more question," House said, and poked Henry in the back with the cane. "Who are you? Really?"
Who indeed? Henry thought. Sometimes, even he wondered. But, Henry looked over his shoulder at House, and told the truest lie he could. “I am Dr. Henry Morgan, I am a medical examiner for the city of New York, I am very much alive and have never died, and, right now, I have to go help the police investigate a homicide. Good day, Dr. House. I’m sure you can find your way out on your own.”