But House didn't stab her. At least, not right away. He was curious though. Especially with her little voice-less taunt. He didn't like thinking that someone else might be more "in the know" than himself. Usually they weren't. In fact, she was probably just lying. Everyone lied. But House had to know. Because he had to know everything.
Which was usually how he got into trouble at work.
That and his charming personality.
He shook his head and tsk tsk'd her when she knocked the syringe out of his hand. Really! Some child could pick that up! Or a pigeon might swallow it! Or whatever. So House stepped aside, picked up the needle and tossed it in a nearby trash can. Not exactly the most sanitary means of needle disposal, but if the garbage guy was stupid enough to pick up the bag from the bottom (well, he probably deserved any pokes he got.)
House reached in his pocket and removed another needle (this one wrapped up in plastic -- wow! never before used!) and his bottle of Vicodin. Oh dear. Only one left. He gave a little pout anf shook the bottle to emphasize his pain. Getting that prescription refilled in this city without stealing was going to be difficult.
What don't I know? He mouthed back in question, as he popped the last pill in his mouth.