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If there was one thing that Lisa Cuddy didn’t explicitly enjoy about her job, it was Greg House–the man was a walking malpractice lawsuit waiting to happen. He got results, but usually at steep costs and at the behest of his poor team’s sanity. Last week she’d caught them breaking into someone’s house on his orders, and there had been some serious conversations between her and House’s closest confidant about how to temper the string of illegal information gathering. Needless to say, House was back on his bullshit faster than she could blink; however, she had given him this case personally and it would really be her own damn fault if another malpractice suit came in. Then there was the other contingent issue at hand–the fertility injections kept her at House’s mercy, and while he didn’t reveal her secret to anyone, it left him with quite a bit of leverage over most situations.
Like right that moment, when he’d barged into her office, brows furrowed and already chomping at the bit; she’d denied him a test on the principle of how invasive it was to the current patient, and now he was throwing a tantrum. With her luck, Cuddy fully expected House to have had his interns kidnap the poor patient for testing, luring them out from under whatever safety net held them by some insane reason. And, knowing House, it would probably work, but it was still frustrating that he continued not only undermining her authority, but also risking patients in such a way. It was no wonder their legal team was air tight, although House miraculously came in under the malpractice budget she set for him every year.
“House, I said no. It’s risky, and you don’t even have a diagnosis yet. I went by and saw the whiteboard.” Her hands shifted the paperwork on her desk, the pages coming together neatly under skilled fingers.
“And if the whiteboard was all we had to go off of, then I would tell me no too. But this patient is showing signs of Lesch–Nyhan Syndrome, and my team found no other signs in his personal belongings.” That smug look on his face made her so angry, but she bottled it up, raising her chin to look up at him.
“The answer is still no.”
A few hours later, House had done exactly what she’d said not to do, and had saved a patient’s life yet again. But his methods were edging towards insanity, and she’d seen him popping more painkillers as of late. Maybe it was high time she sent Wilson to reign House back in. At least then she’d have less worries about him toeing the line of malpractice and giving the hospital a bad name—even if he was the best damn infectious diseases specialist around.
“You called?” James Wilson knocked on her door, and Lisa stood, gesturing for him to sit. “It’s not about House again is it? You know I can’t control him.”
“I’m afraid it is. If he keeps going at this rate I’ll have to fire him. He’s getting cocky, and we both know what happens when a doctor gets cocky. People become a commodity, and that’s something we can’t afford.” Her attention turned to her paperwork, scribbling away notes on another doctor’s caseload and budgeting for the clinic downstairs.
“Then put him on clinic duty again. He hated it enough that he changed and got back to his regular self.”
“Something is different this time.” Cuddy ran a hand over the feathery hairs that refused to stay put in her meticulous styling, rubbing at her temples. “He’s far more defiant than normal. Find out what happened.”
With an expression between flabbergasted and curious, Wilson cocked his head to the side. “And what makes you think something happened?”
“He’s popping his pain pills more than normal. More erratic behavior, even reported from within his team.” Her eyes were sharp, but Cuddy’s emotions were written all over her face—she was worried. And if she was worried, then something was most definitely wrong with House. “Apparently he even told a patient they’d be better off dead than continuing their lifestyle, but that’s more on par for House’s normal behavior.”
Something had indeed happened, though Wilson wasn’t entirely sure what—and neither was Lisa Cuddy. House going on a binge never boded well for anyone, but him on a binge like the current one…it would get someone killed or maimed, and that was if they were lucky. “I trust you, and nobody else, to get House back to normal. He considers you his closest friend, and you’re the one likely to get him to crack.”
It didn’t sit well with Wilson, that Cuddy thought House would reveal himself so easily, but she wasn’t wrong—he could pry things out of House when no one else could. “I’ll see what I can do. But don’t expect a miracle.”
“Of course not. This is a hospital—we deal in medicine, not miracles.” A wry smile formed on her face as Lisa watched Wilson walk out from her office, his stride carrying him towards the elevators. “Good luck.”
— — —
Luck was not on his side today, as tracking down House was almost impossible in the current situation. He’d all but disappeared the minute Wilson had stepped on the floor, and the tell-tale sounds of a rubber-tipped cane hitting the floor were nowhere to be found. Not even his team of interns knew where he was, though they suspected House was off trying to break into a patient’s home or possibly into the clinical pharmacy again, though neither option could be confirmed or denied. Wilson had one more inkling on where House could have gone, but knowing the man and his slippery nature, he could be gone before Wilson got there.
Thankfully, he was not, tossing a tennis ball between his hands on the roof, cane propped up against the railing. House was lost in thought, the tennis ball firmly in his grasp as he spotted Wilson coming from the stairwell.
“Ah, come to see me, have you? What conspiracy does Cuddy have now—am I high on drugs, no regard for human life anymore? Or maybe I finally get to go to the padded cells she keeps telling me we have.” The sarcasm dripped from House’s words, sharp as ever, though it didn’t deter Wilson.
“Obviously, the padded room. You have a blatant disregard for your own life, but you wouldn’t be where you are if you didn’t care a little bit.” Wilson copped it towards House, holding out a bottle of water for the other man to take.
“It’s not caring, it’s money. And the challenge to get to that money.”
“You’d be terrible in Vegas.”
“I was terrible in Vegas. I got kicked out from the blackjack table for telling the dealer their hand was bad every time on purpose.” He said it almost jokingly, though Wilson could sense something heavier beneath House’s words. “What?”
“Nothing. Never did take you for a gambler, that’s all. It seems too risk-intensive even for you.” House snorted at that, throwing the tennis ball at Wilson as he reached for his cane.
“Me? Nah. I love taking risks. That’s why I’m diagnosing patients while I’m high on pain pills.”
Wilson waited until House had his cane before he spoke up, brows pinched together. “So, what’s triggering this particular bout of risk taking?”
Pausing, House turned, looking over his shoulder. “I can’t tell you all my secrets. We’re not even married yet. What would Mother think?”
“Your mother isn’t even alive anymore, is she?”
“The audacity to assume she’s not living high on life like me…” House harrumphed, the normally wicked gleam in his eye softened just slightly. “She’s not dead, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Aha. So that was why House was on this particular binge. He’d have to tell Cuddy, and keep a closer eye on House. The man’s mother was a saint and one of the few people that managed to keep House honest and a bit softer than he was currently. He’d have to make a few phone calls, and figure out what the issue was. Thankfully, that was a task that was easy enough to accomplish, and he didn’t have to tell Cuddy.
— — —
At least, Wilson thought it was going to be easy. One would think that finding House’s mother would be a simple enough, minor search through the phone book, but no. House had probably made it difficult to contact her on purpose, just to keep pesky coworkers—and Cuddy—away from her. It kept them all a little further from reading the man’s true intentions, and it kept the team from calling her unnecessarily over House’s behavior. Smart, really, though Wilson wasn’t surprised. House was madness and genius all in a single person, and while it was beneficial for most people, it was horrific for others.
His head was in his hands just as one of House’s team rounded the hallway towards his office, a cup of coffee in hand. Chase was friendly enough, and probably the most empathetic out of the current team. A steaming cup of coffee was held out to Wilson, and he took it, sipping the bitter liquid as he looked up at the younger man.
“I don’t suppose this is a pleasure visit, and not one of the ‘House is on a rampage’ visits?” His eyebrow quirked just as Chase sat across from him in the small office.
“Well…not a pleasure visit, but not a concerning visit either.” Wary eyes looked over the cup of coffee at Wilson, and he turned his head slightly.
“Are you playing messenger boy to Cuddy? You know if House finds out he’ll torment you over it.”
That earned Wilson a laugh, and Chase shook his head. “No, no. Not searching out for the administration either. Just…checking on you. You seem like you’ve got something on your mind. And…”
“…House is complaining about it.”
“Yep.” Chase took a sip of his coffee, looking around the room suspiciously. “Is there somewhere we could talk more privately? I feel like House could walk in at any moment, spouting his nonsense, which will eventually turn into sense.”
“This isn’t private enough?” Wilson frowned, but obliged, opening up the door to the balcony and looking around for House. “The coast is clear out here.”
“Sorry. One day I swear House said he’d bugged your office, and I still don’t know if it’s true. But knowing how he is…”
“…it probably is bugged. Damn it.” A hand ran through short brunette locks as Wilson looked over the balcony, towards the open parking lot and green space around the hospital. He’d have to find the bug later. For now, Chase was here, and this was private enough. “So tell me, what’s bothering you? House being more cruel than usual? Or has he done a one-eighty and completely turned into a nice person?”
Both men looked at each other, giving a slight chuckle. Greg House was many things, but his biting personality and sharp wit made him perfect for the job he was in. A nice version of House would be absolutely terrifying, nightmare fuel that even Cuddy would avoid.
“No, not at all. At being a nice person, that is.” Chase ran a hand through his hair, huffing over his coffee cup. “He’s not worse, but something’s off. He’s not insulting Cameron and Foreman nearly as much. And he skipped the option to break into someone’s house entirely.” With a long sip of his coffee, Wilson kept his mouth shut, until Chase put out the poignant truth. “I figured you might know something.”
“What makes you think I know something?”
With narrowed eyes, a knowing expression formed on Chase’s face as he turned to face Wilson, leaning against the concrete wall that spilled green foliage over the side of the hospital. “Because out of anyone in this hospital, you piss House off the least, and you would be the first to figure out if something is wrong, besides Cuddy.” Something on his face must have given away the fact he had insider knowledge, and Chase stepped closer. “I knew it. You do know something. Foreman owes me twenty bucks.”
“Don’t count on it just yet. I’m following a hunch, but I can’t discuss. Cuddy’s orders.” Wilson felt a shiver go up his spine, as if House’s presence drew near, and he shooed Chase off. “Discuss it with no one. Especially Cameron or Foreman. I don’t want them chasing leads they have no business taking part in. And yes, that includes breaking into House’s apartment.” The younger man’s eyes lit up, and before Wilson could stop him, Chase had given him a firm handshake and nod. “Don’t do it. I’m telling you it’s a terrible idea.”
“And yet it could keep us all from being half as miserable as we are now.” Chase had a point, and he was gone before Wilson could stop him—and just as well, because as soon as Chase rounded the corner into his office, House was striding through the door on the opposite side of the balcony.
“Well, well. Consorting with the enemy?” Sharp blues raked over Wilson, and he shook his head.
“Hardly. Just having a friendly chat with Doctor Chase.”
“Right. And my leg actually works, I’ve just been faking the limp for years now.” House knew how to cut through bullshit, and Wilson was a terrible liar anyways. “I guess it’s a good thing I bugged your office and the balcony. Never know what kind of secrets get spilled out here, wouldn’t want to miss all the juicy gossip.” Holding up a small radio, House grimaced, somewhere between annoyed and a cheshire grin.
“You bugged my office?!” Chase had been right, and Wilson was flabbergasted at the audacity of House’s actions, though honestly he should have expected it. “You’re violating doctor-patient confidentiality!”
Leaning over on his cane, House’s face scrunched into a scathing expression, raising a brow. “Oh relax. I only turn it on when something is interesting, and when my soaps aren’t on. Can’t get my rocks off by listening to crying families and hopeful stories.” Turning away to limp back towards the opposing door, House turned his head. “Looks like I’m going to be breaking into my own place. Never thought I’d have to do that. You got a diagnosis? Symptoms?”
“House…”
“All I’m saying is if they think something’s wrong, they need to get out of Cuddy’s low-cut shirts and into their own heads. You too. I know you’re playing messenger boy for Cuddy. Cut it out.”
“I am not!” House waved the radio in the air, his brows knitting together.
“You said so yourself. You’ve always been a terrible liar, Wilson.”
— — —
Not a single drop of information had trickled into Cuddy’s office by the end of the next day, and nothing in the morning hours. House was six minutes late, which wasn’t unusual on days he had clinic duty, but something felt different. He was almost hissing, and she’d seen at least two people leave the clinic in tears. On any other day she’d let it go, but today was not that day—Lisa was tired of House’s foul mood and Wilson hadn’t reported to her yet, so she had no reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary.
“I’m coming in.” Her knuckles rapped at the door to House’s designated clinical suite, which he’d picked out for himself when she had forced him to take on the extra hours and duties for his misbehavior. This room was far enough from prying eyes that House could close the door and watch his soaps in peace without most disturbances.
“I’m with a patient.”
“Bullshit.” Her eyes could clearly see the mini television set up, his feet kicked up on the table. No wonder they went through so many sanitary products and replacements during House’s hours.
House ignored her, popping a chip into his lips as his focus stayed glued to the screen.
“House. You’ve got to reign in that bitterness. Not everybody likes taking their coffee black.” His eyes snapped to her, his scruffy jawline taut with annoyance at being disturbed during his soap opera.
“Commercial’s not for another five minutes. Come back later. Josefina just found out Jorge has been cheating on her with her twin sister, Angelina, and I don’t want to miss it.” If looks could kill, Cuddy would have been grazed by a bullet for sure, though something in House’s demeanor was more than just his normal prickliness.
“Fine. But you’re going to have two more clinic hours because of Angelina and Jorge.”
“Josefina couldn’t stop their love and neither can your nice low-cut blouses.” House retorted as he listened to the click of the door shutting, relishing in his favorite salted snack as the show continued. “I’ll tell you how it ends!”
Which, of course, he did, albeit at exactly the wrong moment, though none of it was planned in advance. Sometimes annoying Lisa Cuddy was spontaneous, if spontaneity included Hispanic soaps and ‘terrorizing’ a free clinic for two hours a day. She knew he hated clinic hours, but it gave him a touch more variety other than ‘people are dying, solve their problems’, and as an admin of the hospital, she was obligated to give him some sort of retribution for the amount of malpractice lawsuits House incurred on a regular basis. Really, she did not understand how he managed to stay under the budget she set for him, though Lisa was glad he did.
“Josefina has an STD, and she’s dying because of it. Jorge gave it to her, and Angelina doesn’t know. She’s also pregnant.” House’s snark was on point, seemingly returned to normal for the moment, and Cuddy raked her eyes over her paperwork, glancing up at House incredulously as he burst into her office. Unfortunately, Cuddy had a guest, who stared at House just as incredulously.
“Who?”
“Josefina. Angelina wishes she could be carrying Jorge’s love-child, but the only thing she’s going to carry is his balls in her purse.”
“House, is this necessary? Are you talking about a patient?” Tired eyes roamed over him. as he took in her guest, then the paperwork in their hands. “No, this isn’t a case for you. This is a request for Wilson to handle.”
With a huff, House’s dramatics failed to cease, and he limped towards the door. “You never let me have any fun anymore, Mom.” There was a peculiar emphasis in his phrasing, and Cuddy went back to work, listening to a rubber-tipped cane tap down the hallway.
She really needed to talk to Wilson, and soon.
— — —
The moment Cuddy had been waiting for came sooner than later, as Wilson quite literally bumped into her on his way back from lunch. Or, what she assumed had been lunch, until Chase and Foreman walked in slightly behind him, heading off in a separate direction. House, thankfully, still had another hour at the clinic before he was back to terrorizing staff and patients alike; Cuddy was forever thankful at the timing as Wilson flustered.
“Where was lunch today? The cafe?” Her gaze raked over Wilson from atop the stack of patient files, pen in hand. “Or perhaps someplace new?”
Chase and Foreman had already disappeared, leaving Wilson with the smoking gun as he faltered only slightly, but it was enough to catch Cuddy’s disapproving look. “Ah, someplace new. Can’t really comment on the food though—too busy talking with House’s team.”
Lisa turned her head to the side, disbelief in her features. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”
“We..ah…yes.” Flustered, Wilson clutched his bag a little tighter, though he shook his head slightly at the notion that she might think they broke in. “I have a key. So it wasn’t really…”
“I see. And did you find anything of interest?” Her head turned, keeping an eye and an ear out for House’s inevitable appearance. The last thing she needed was for Greg House to discover that his best friend and two of his interns had broken into his apartment looking for answers to his behavior. Wilson shook his head in response, though he looked as though he had something that he couldn’t share just yet. “Aha. Maybe we’ll have dinner and discuss it further?”
“That would be to everyone’s benefit…the discussion to enhance the cancer screening department, that is.” House had rounded the corner just as Wilson had agreed to dinner with Cuddy, and he wasn’t about to blow his cover and risk House’s wrath—the man could get downright creative with his punishments, and there would be no telling when he’d exact revenge or how long he’d hold the grudge for. “See you at six, then?”
“Make it seven. I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on, and then I’ll meet you at our regular spot.” Whenever they did have dinner together, for business purposes only—contrary to other opinions—it was at a small restaurant with a quiet atmosphere. And while House knew where it was, he’d followed Lisa and James enough to know that they would never talk about something interesting enough to warrant spying on them for more than a few minutes. It was always work and no play, at least to House’s knowledge.
“Another boring, outside of hours meeting? What will the board think!” He’d caught the tail end of their conversation, and James grinned haphazardly as House mocked them. “Keep at it and they’ll think you’re sleeping together, like everyone assumes we’re sleeping together.” He gestured between himself and Lisa, leaning on his cane for support. “Wouldn’t that be a shocker. Maybe we should, it’ll keep them honest.”
“House.” Lisa’s tone was a warning signal, and the man simply brushed it off. “It’s just business. Wilson is proposing a new budget for the cancer screening department, and I’d like to think about it over a glass of wine. Anyone would, if they had you bursting in on every conversation unannounced.” A gasp of mock horror filled the space, House’s hand flying to his chest.
“Oh my god, she does bite! Who would have guessed?” Ignoring Cuddy’s eye roll at his teasing, House stared at Wilson, calculating any kind of weakness that the other man might be showing. “Careful, Wilson. She might eat you, and then who would I harass while my interns are busy? Think of the cancer kids!”
Wilson’s disapproving glance only seemed to bring House more joy as he limped towards the elevators, stealing the steaming cup of coffee that had been freshly placed on the nurse’s station. Wrinkling his nose, he took a sip, the trademark glare disappearing behind the elevator doors as House went back to his particular floor of the hospital. Wilson only hoped that Chase and Foreman had managed to not touch anything that would give away the fact that they’d been snooping in House’s home. The man could be like a damn bloodhound sometimes, and it boded well for no one.
Lisa made eye contact with him, and then they were gone in separate directions until their arranged meeting time, where hopefully everything would make more sense and would go smoothly.
Which, of course, was not what occurred, no thanks to House’s interference.
— — —
They’d just managed to get to the restaurant, and had chosen the table furthest from the door, with an occupied table behind them; both Wilson and Cuddy breathed a collective sigh of relief that House hadn’t managed to sneak in again. Last time it had been him with a newspaper, another time he’d bribed the host with a hundred dollar bill to place himself inconspicuously close to them. Thankfully, there was not a single sign of House to be found, and both doctors flipped open their menus.
“So.” Cuddy didn’t lift her eyes from the menu, concentrating on which dish she was going to take. It all sounded good, but with the fertility treatments, some of it made her sick or couldn’t be consumed. “What did you, Chase, and Foreman find?”
Swallowing, Wilson raked his eyes over his menu, a grimace forming on his lips. “Not much. House is…well, House. His apartment is messy as usual and the answering machine is mostly cleared off, though the only calls he gets are from the hospital, random women, and his mother.”
“His mother…she’s still alive?” House told nobody about his family life, only that his stepfather had passed away and House had refused to go to the funeral on the principle that he couldn’t lie to his mother. The woman must have been a saint for House to act like he did, and as far as Cuddy knew, she was the only other person besides Stacy to call House by his first name.
“I was surprised too, but it seems that’s where House’s tenacity comes from. Can’t say he got his temperament from her though—the one time I caught him talking to her it was like watching an episode of the Twilight Zone. He was actually nice to her.” House was nice to nobody unless it benefitted him in some way. “The only thing I found was that he’d had a few calls from her over this past week. Seemed they were talking quite a bit.”
Their waiter had come by to take their orders, glasses of water for both, and Wilson relaxed slightly at the knowledge that House hadn’t followed them and wasn’t spying on their dinner. Maybe they’d finally broken House from stalking his coworkers when they needed to discuss an extraordinary set of circumstances involving him. Surely it wasn’t this easy—only a few months of fake out dinners and he lost interest? “You know…he said he bugged my office.”
“He bursts into mine enough that it doesn’t matter whether it’s bugged or not.” Lisa chuckled over her glass of water, though she squinted—she must have been seeing things, because there was a flash of leather that was suspiciously like House’s riding jacket. “But he’ll forgive you easier than he will me. He always does. Did you happen to grab her number from his phone?”
Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Wilson pulled out a tiny slip of paper, written in ink from his own pen and a piece of scratch paper from one of his old pharmaceutical pads. “I did. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to call her though. We both know House—if he finds out, there will be hell to pay.” And not even the proper kind of hell, now that James had time to think about it—House would pull every bit of blackmail material he had on either one of them, or on the interns that had helped him break into House’s apartment. “So if you do call her, I had nothing to do with it. He’ll probably assume it was the interns, most likely Cameron, and that will be that. I don’t want to provoke him if he’s already in a bad mood.”
The absolute last thing Wilson wanted was to damage his already fragile coexistence with House—their friendship had been on and off after Amber’s death and House’s numerous violations of James’ privacy and wellbeing. He wasn’t sure he wanted House to drug his coffee with speed or make him lose crucial hours with patients because he was knocked out cold. Wilson wasn’t sure how Lisa still managed to tolerate House’s antics, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out anytime soon.
“Are you kidding? It’s House. He’ll figure it out and then he’ll torture us all. But maybe his mother can temper his bad mood for a bit if we do this right.” There was a calculating look in her eye as Cuddy took the slip of paper from him, tucking it into her purse just as the food was brought out. “Ah, good. I’m starving, it’s been a hell of a day…”
Little did either of them know that House was around the corner, buying coffee from one of the local bodega-type grocery stores that was still open; he had a pair of headphones slung around his neck as he paid for the steaming cup, taking a sip as he listened to their meaningless chatter. Wilson hadn’t listened to him—sure, he’d bugged the office, but he didn’t tell him what he’d bugged in the office to begin with. The object he’d placed the bug in was sitting right next to Wilson, worn leather straps hidden beneath the cream linen tablecloth.
Cuddy was right—he’d figure it out all right, though sooner than either one of them thought. Plus, he had two of his interns to scold alongside his friend. Time to figure out how to make the little pigs squeal.
— — —
Over the next few days, things had become increasingly tense, but not in the way that anyone was expecting. House was being nice—almost too nice, really. It was off-putting and even the patients who had come to know House for his general hostility and blunt nature seemed to be wary of him as he approached. He was even whistling, which reminded everyone of when Stacy had been around and House had a reason to be in a decent mood. There was even a new case for him, courtesy of Cuddy, and it was hand-delivered to his office, no less.
“Something interesting came in today.” Her lipstick was an appealing shade of red today, though House couldn’t be bothered as he snatched it lightly from her grasp. “I thought I’d bring you something to cheer you up, considering that my best diagnostician has been replaced by a robot.”
“Ah, not quite. We haven’t progressed to the Terminator yet. They couldn’t program my raw magnetism if they tried.” House was almost jovial, and Lisa turned her head slightly, raising a brow.
“You sure? I don’t think you’re ever this happy unless I mention Stacy.” That cut into him, and House’s mood switched, a tinge of his normal, acrid persona leaking through.
“Yeah, well, Stacy’s gone. But at least she’s not plotting behind my back. I’ve got something special on the way for that, though. Can’t cure betrayal with rainbows and puppies, after all.” House watched as Cuddy stiffened slightly, before she gave him her signature ‘behave’ look. Not that he would obey it, but it was always amusing to have her try to reign him in. She cared about people, but it didn’t balance out with caring for patients in the same way, or even her coworkers—why she still bothered with him he’d never know.
“Betrayal. That’s a new one. I thought that’s what was happening to Josefina, Jorge, and Angelina, not office politics.”
With a snort, House threw the file onto his desk amid the cluttered piles of paperwork and odd knick-knacks. “So you were paying attention. Great. Except we’re not playing STD roulette in real life, Cuddy. We’re playing ‘who was dumb enough to break into House’s house’ roulette.” Feral eyes scanned past the glass door to the space where he deduced illnesses with his team, landing on a guilt-laden Chase and Foreman. Cameron looked confused, but House wouldn’t spare her in any capacity—she could have stopped them from going with Wilson. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a case to work, people to torture, y’know, regular things.”
“All I’m saying is that it’s not breaking and entering if they have a key.” She remembered when he used the excuse to break into her place, snooping around in her drawers while the kid who had fallen from her roof was slowly turning septic in their halls. House looked shocked, and Cuddy acknowledged it with a shrug of her shoulders as she left his office, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop once Wilson found out his information gathering had been compromised.
Wilson had barely gotten off the elevator before House had spotted him, and he slid away into the nearest hallway, hoping that House hadn’t been able to catch up to his stride. Unfortunately, House was like having a living homing beacon in the hospital—he had a knack for finding people, especially when they didn’t want to be found. His laser-like focus was concentrated on Wilson, and eventually House found him in the free clinic, screening patients and assisting with the workload, no doubt thanks to Cuddy’s influence.
A nurse had pointed out Wilson’s location to House, trying to stop him as he was with a patient, but that didn’t stop House—it rarely did. But when House heard the soft tones that were unmistakably familiar, he paused, hesitating for just a moment before bursting into the room anyways. Wilson was sitting across from none other than his mother, who was smiling softly, though she looked as though she was ready to scold House at a moment’s notice.
“Hello, House. I’ll be right with you as soon as I’m finished with this patient’s exam.” Wilson had never met House’s mother in person up to this point, but she’d come in on his advice to chat, and to have a general wellness check. Having suspected that House had figured him out, Wilson, for once, was a step ahead of his friend; it was a momentous occasion if it wasn’t for the fact that there was a heavy atmosphere and awkward tension arising between the mother and son in front of him.
“You can get out, I’ll deal with you later. How dare you call my mother.” Unhappy, House raised his cane to wave it slightly at. Wilson, though his mother stopped him.
It was at that moment that Blythe House held up her hand, delicate and wrinkled with age, shaking her head at her son’s antics. “Gregory House. I know I raised you better than this. Fighting with your friend isn’t going to solve any issues, and I need to finish this checkup so I can get back home.” Her eyes lit up slightly, before turning to Wilson with a candid smile on her face. “He never was one for interacting with his coworkers much. I’m so glad he has you and Lisa to ask after him. Greg’s been terribly upset since he found out I was dating again.”
“I apologize, Blythe. Normally he tells us nothing, and even the interns were starting to worry—he was grouchier than usual.” Wilson wanted desperately to find the humor in the situation, but with House staring at him with daggers in his eyes it was hard to concentrate. “And he can make life a little difficult sometimes.”
“I do not. You’re all just soft-hearted goody-goodies, which makes it all too easy to be the big bad wolf in this place.” The damning stare didn’t leave House’s face as he huffed. “We’ll, maybe not all of you. Obviously you have some wits about you, playing dirty like this. Kudos to you.”
“Can’t let you win them all, House. Where would the fun be in that?”
“Don’t you have some cancer kids to attend to? Someone presently dying of, I don’t know, something that requires you anywhere but the clinic?” The biting tone was back, but softer, as though House had finally put the pieces together. “I can read over her chart with her.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Blythe interrupted the banter between the two men, a tired gaze coming over her features. “James is a wonderful doctor, just like you are. And I remember that it will violate my doctor-patient confidentiality if we’re related.” She made a shooing motion towards House, who reluctantly backed out of the room, eyes narrowed at Wilson—this conversation was far from over, and would likely take place elsewhere, after his mother was gone. “I’ll meet you out front and you can walk me to my car.”
“Fine. But don’t expect me to take it easy on him once you leave. I have no patience for people who snoop. They shouldn’t have called you.”
“Actually…it’s a good thing we called her. I’m taking a few small samples since she has a patch of skin that looks suspicious to me. I’ll take good care of her, House, you know I will.” Wilson grimaced slightly at House’s expression, though with his mother present House was far more manageable than usual. Besides, that was all that House would get out of him, unless Blythe told House herself what they’d discussed about her health—but not about their discussion of House.
Wilson let her out a few minutes after House had left, finishing up her chart notes, when he was promptly hit in the shin by House’s cane. He barely had time to look up from being doubled over in pain to see House escorting his mother out to her car, her body leaning on his for support. Ignoring the blooming ache on his shin, Wilson dropped the chart off at the nurse’s station and headed towards the elevator, intent on finding the bug that House had placed inside of his office.
— — —
Every inch of Wilson’s office was torn apart, the door locked to prevent any intrusion as he took every book off the shelves, opened every drawer to his desk and cabinets, and searched between files. House was clever enough to hide a bug in here, and there’d be no way he’d make it easy to find—the man loved to torment people and amused himself at Wilson’s expense more often than not as of late. He apparently had blackmail material on Cuddy as well, since she had promptly excused herself to do more paperwork and hadn’t shown up outside of her office since. Whatever House had on her must have been worth her silence on the matter; Wilson couldn’t blame her for wanting to keep a secret or two from the nosy eyes and ears that seemed to surround them. He had just pulled another set of books from the shelves when a series of knocks sounded at the glass door leading to the balcony, where House was watching him intently, a smirk on his features.
“You won’t find it in the bookshelves, or the cabinets. I’m smarter than that, you know. Like how the scrap of paper in Cuddy’s office wastebasket with my mother’s number on it was written on your old pads.” Said scrap of paper was produced from House’s pocket, waved in front of Wilson’s face, and promptly shredded into minuscule bits as Wilson watched. “You had no right.”
“Like you’re any better with your patients. Call it regular investigation and practice for Chase and Foreman. I know you probably found something they left behind.” Wilson’s tone bit back at House almost playfully, causing the other man to huff in indignation—Wilson knew that House had other suspicions before he’d been compromised.
“You’re not wrong. I haven’t had a blonde over for fun in months. Might be time to tell Chase he’s in need of a haircut—there’s only room for one doctor with raw magnetism, and that’s me.” Smugly, House’s eyes fell to Wilson’s bag, his gaze rising up before the other man realized that his bag contained the bug. “And Foreman wears entirely too much cologne. He needs to change it if he wants to sneak around doing my dirty work.”
That earned House a chuckle from Wilson, who sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. The search for the bug was proving to be fruitless, and if House wanted to spy on him then he’d just have Cuddy put him on more clinic hours, or wait until House grew bored of constant patient talk. Nothing interesting happened in his office, save for the time House had caught him rolling blunts for a patient with glaucoma. “And here I thought Cuddy was right, and you’d been replaced by a robot. It’s not nearly as entertaining when you’re not constantly sardonic.”
It earned him another grunt of appreciative cynicism from House, just as the man turned to leave Wilson to his rummaging. “You haven’t found any of them, by the way. It’s more fun for me to watch you squirm. Think of it as punishment for calling my mother, which you will not ever do again, got it?”
“Got it. I can’t stop her if she calls me though.” The grin on Wilson’s face seemed to reach his eyes, even if he annoyed House past his regular breaking point. “Maybe if she does you’ll talk to me more instead of hiding in your office and off-loading with more Vicodin. Sulking’s a pretty good look on you some days, but it doesn’t hurt to talk with me, even if you’ve got my office bugged.”
“I don’t have your office bugged. But I’ve got something in here bugged. I’m waiting to see how long it takes you to figure it out before you just give in and ask me to tell you.” House’s snark was back and in order, though it did seem a little softer than usual “Anyways…thanks, I guess. Sometimes even I need someone to play God and interrupt my life once in a while.” Withdrawing a key from his pocket, House tossed it to Wilson, the sharpness in his eyes faded only slightly from his previous expression. “Tonight. I’ll order your favorite. And then we’ll talk. Cuddy is coming too.”
“How’d you manage to talk her into dinner at your place?”
“Same way I’m telling you—blackmail. You should really learn how to do it, Wilson. Be less nice. Maybe next time you’ll get some of the cancer weed too.” His mouth dropped open to retort, turning to face House with a book in his hand, but the other man had already left Wilson to his own devices, the sound of the glass door clicking shut the only indication House had been there in the first place.
— — —
Upon reaching House’s apartment, the scent of Chinese takeout floated through the air, the unmistakable aroma of Wilson’s preferred sweet and sour chicken and chow mein noodles hitting Wilson in the face as he knocked on House’s door. He heard the grumbling from within, and Cuddy’s voice softly sounding that she’d get the door, but House denied her the privilege, opening it to face Wilson instead. “Don’t just stand there—the neighbors already saw Cuddy come in and I told them I was having a threesome. Don’t want any awkward stares when you come to pick me up in the mornings.”
Ushered inside, James hung his pag and coat on the rack, listening as House closed the door behind him with a loud snap. “Of course not. I’m sure your reputation here is far less lurid than at the hospital.” House simply waggled his brows at the notion, gesturing for Wilson to sit. “Ah, you waited for me? You shouldn’t have.”
“He insisted. Said it was important that we were both here to listen to his screeching.” Lisa grinned, picking up a pair of chopsticks, which House snatched away. “House, what are you doing?”
“Ah ah ah, can’t be eating with these. Never know what kind of weird chemical they might be in contact with. Better to use the plastic fork. Wouldn’t want to hurt the baby, you know.” House waved the plastic cutlery packet in front of her, grinning as he crinkled the plastic wrapper. “Look, it even has salt and pepper.”
“You’re pregnant?” Wilson’s eyes lit up, the shock growing on his face as he reached for his personal container, only to be smacked away by House’s hand. “Congratulations!”
“Damn it, House.” Lisa’s face pinched as she snatched the fork from his smug-faced grasp, ignoring Wilson for the time being. “No, I’m not. At least not yet. It was supposed to remain quiet.” House didn’t even shrink under her gaze, instead snapping up his chicken with snap peas between the stolen chopsticks. “Oh, so it’s totally fine for you to eat with them, then, but I have to use a plastic fork that’s filled with just as many chemicals?”
“You’ve got to think about at least one thing during our little sessions, besides me feeling you up and sticking you.” It was grunted between bites, watching as Wilson finally picked up his food and began to eat. “And you. I didn’t think you’d be breaking into my apartment. I hope you found the surprise.”
“Surprise?” A nervous energy enveloped Wilson, and he gulped. “What surprise?”
“If you don’t know, then one of my idiot interns found it instead. I was hoping you had found it, I would kill to see the look on your face. I guess I’ll just have to ask Kangaroo Jack and Tupac what they found instead.” The vitriol never left his voice between bites of chicken and snippets of rice, and House grumbled as he sat down his container to take a drink of his glass filled with amber whiskey. “But that still doesn’t explain why either of you thought it would be a good idea to go around behind my back instead of asking me head on what my problems are.”
“Because you’d just avoid the question and spin it into a hateful metaphor. Or you’d use your blackmail material to force us to tell you—not that you can do that now, obviously—and then we’d be playing into your head games. We’re supposed to be your colleagues and friends, House, not your nannies.”
“You sure? Seems like you do an awful lot of babysitting, considering the amount of paperwork on your desk and that you’re attempting to create a loin fruit.”
“House.”
“Don’t get me started on you. You have a key to my apartment for emergencies and you used it to break in. While that’s incredibly clever and certainly something I have done and will continue doing to save patients, I am not your patient. Or a patient at all.”
“No, you’re my friend. And you wouldn’t tell me anything, so of course I went digging. Someone has to worry about your sorry self besides Cameron, Chase and Foreman. Mostly Cameron, she has a bleeding heart for you for some unknown reason.”
“It’s for my sparkling personality, obviously. And the fact that if she needs me, I am there to tell her when she’s wrong. Like I’m doing to you two right now.” House rolled his eyes, taking another sip of whiskey. “Don’t sneak around behind my back and get my mother involved, even if she’s the issue. She dealt with more than enough while she was still married to my stepfather.”
“Well, then talk to us instead of making us fight you for answers. Cuddy was worried about you and so was I. Maybe take a break from being a bastard all the time and just let us help you when we can, hmm?” Wilson’s tone was biting as he took another bite of food, while Cuddy stayed quiet, watching the exchange between the two men.
“Fine. But you’re not going to like it if I come to you for anything else other than entertainment purposes.”
“And what would you call spying on my dinner with Cuddy? Or bugging my office? Or even tormenting your team—they’re not even interns anymore, they’re your dependents!”
“Well, every bird has to get out of the nest sometime. That’s why I fired them a while back, if you don’t remember.”
“No, that was just you being spiteful!”
“Boys, boys.” Lisa interrupted them, causing both men to pause almost immediately in their conversation, looking at her incredulously. “You both care about each other, but you suck at it. I’m here to mediate, obviously, and because House hasn’t had a floozy in a while and he wanted to flaunt touching my ass everyday. We good now?” She took a sip of her water, before stabbing her fork into the fried rice, finding a piece of pork. “Now, House, will you please just relax so we can enjoy dinner? We haven’t had this in a long time and I’d prefer it if we weren’t arguing before we got to the fortune cookies.”
“Ah, just a minute. I’m waiting for something.” Suspicion grew in Wilson’s eyes, and he looked down at the container of chow mein, praying that House hadn’t poisoned his takeout. “In three, two…”
“You didn’t!” Wilson’s eyes rolled back into his head just as House grabbed his container of food and shoved him backwards into the couch with his elbow.
“Again, House?! Seriously, you had to dose Wilson with sleeping medication?” Lisa pressed her fingers against Wilson’s throat, taking his pulse to make sure House hadn’t killed one of her best doctors and the only close friend he had.
“It’s the only way he’ll relax. Plus, it’s funny, and he’ll still think I’m mad at him when he wakes up. He’ll be paranoid for weeks.” House eyed Wilson’s bag, hanging on his coat rack, and had a small chuckle to himself, knowing that Wilson wouldn’t think to look in his bag for the hidden bug until he’d exhausted all efforts otherwise. “Not to mention he still hasn’t found the bug yet.”
“Tell me you didn’t.” Cuddy’s face grew serious, and House rolled his eyes, before hobbling up to take the small, dark disc from a pocket on Wilson’s bag that was seldom used.
“Killjoy.”
“I can only handle so many lawsuits a day because of you, House. Don’t push your luck.” Her smile crept up onto her lips, defiantly sticking her fork into House’s Mongolian beef and taking a bite as he gaped. “Don’t look at me like that. You said no chemicals, and no alcohol, but not stolen food.”
Smirking, House gently snatched his takeout back from Cuddy’s reach, shaking his head. “Well, well. Looks like you haven’t lost your bite either, Cuddy. Or your sense of humor. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
— — —
With all of the recent events finally aired out, things seemed to go back to normal, at least for what counted as normal at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. House was back to being his sarcastic self, already working through another strange case after barely finishing the other. He still got scathing looks from the family as he limped past them in the recovery ward, and he was headed towards the elevator in a fairly high mood. He was even whistling again, something that had sent the two newest hires scuttling in the other direction after they’d asked him about it. Needless to say, all was decently well.
Wilson had yet to find the missing bug, though House knew it was driving him insane. Only he and Cuddy knew that the bug in Wilson’s bag was gone, but he still had the balcony bugged. It wasn’t until House showed up to his office and there was a live chicken in a cage next to his desk that he knew Wilson had figured something out. The chicken even had a small roost, food and water—as if Wilson was taunting him to bring it back and see what had happened.
“Challenge accepted,” House murmured, tucking the hen up under his arm as he walked into the diagnostics office, where his team was staring at the chicken in confusion. “So, what’s our patient like today? Rabies, oozing scabs, anything fun?”
“House, is that…”
“You’re Australian, Chase. Surely you’ve seen an emu or two.” The sharp tone from House made the younger man huff in apparent frustration, running his hand through his shorn locks. “You already lost one war. Don’t lose another one.”
Foreman was silent, staring at the file and ignoring House’s attempt at eye contact, and Cameron was downstairs attending to someone else for the moment, otherwise he’d be harassing her as well. He continued with his admonishments, setting the cane off to the side as he picked up the marker and began to write down the symptoms of the newest patient, all while holding the chicken steadily in his other arm.
Cuddy peered around the corner with Wilson, having come to see that there was indeed a chicken in House’s possession, and she sighed, a hand pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “This is a hospital. Why does House have a chicken with him?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I didn’t put it in his office, though, if that’s what you’re asking. It was there when I showed up without House this morning.” Wilson was just as confused as Cuddy sounded, though he heard her chuckling next to him, mischief sparkling in her eyes.
“I know. I watched Foreman and Cameron put it in there. He’s going to think it was you, though.” At least it was an easy prank to pull, and House would have to deal with the chicken before the day’s end—his team pulling their own personal revenge on him was unheard of, but warranted, considering how he’d tormented Chase and Foreman after finding out they’d helped Wilson break in for information. “Chase doesn’t have a clue though, which makes this slightly more amusing. I guess House was offended that he searched the bedroom and didn’t take a trophy to prove he was there.”
“They don’t do that unless it’s health related, and only ever in sample bags. Despite the methodology and madness, House’s methods do work. Just…maybe not lawfully or necessarily ethically.”
“And that’s why I handle the malpractice lawsuits, and you handle House’s on and off temper tantrums.” Cuddy clapped him on the shoulder, before striding off in the other direction. “Good luck, by the way.”
“With what..?” Wilson barely had time to question her intentions of luck before he was met with House carrying the chicken beneath his arm, leaning on the rubber-tipped cane as he strode towards Wilson, eyes like daggers as the hen clucked. “Ah, House. What are you doing with a chicken? Did you lose a bet?”
“Oh, the bet’s still good, you know. Just like the bug in your office is still there.” A semi-malicious grin formed on House’s face, and he limped towards the elevator, gesturing towards the buttons. “Push it down for me.”
“You could put the chicken down, you know.”
“And let poor Henrietta slide around and spread disease to the whole floor? Wilson, you’re slipping. A chicken in the hospital is bad for hygiene.” Shaking his head, House shoved the tip of his cane against the elevator buttons, not even bothering to let Wilson do it. “You’re too slow. I’ve got something interesting to go see, but you might be chicken-sitting for a bit while I take care of business.”
“Why am I babysitting your chicken?” Wilson raised a brow, just as House stepped into the elevator, the chicken absently clucking as the doors began to shut.
“Because you’ve got access to the balcony, and nobody’s going to question if you have a chicken.”
“Nobody would question if you had a chicken in your office either, House!” But the elevator doors had cut him off, making Wilson wonder just what House was going to make him do with a chicken. Especially after whatever debacle House was going to cause at that moment with said chicken.
Hours later, Henrietta had found herself a place on the balcony between House’s office and Wilson’s, pecking away at the ground up corn that had been left behind for her and hopping up on the concrete barrier to pick for bugs among the flowers. Her drastic appearance outside of Wilson’s space could only mean one thing—House had used the hen to harass a patient for some tidbit of information and he was currently hiding the chicken until he could do something with her. But at least she wasn’t disturbing his patients, which James was thankful for—just a few odd comments about having a chicken in a hospital were the least of his worries.
Except now House was outside with what appeared to be a harness and leash, neither of which had been anywhere near his office beforehand. Wilson was a smart man, but House had him beat on resourcefulness and the ability to gain the upper hand in certain situations—but a chicken harness just appearing out of nowhere was beyond even his scope, surely. “You’re still out here, then? Did you figure out what you’re going to do with the chicken?”
“She’s going to a farm after work. I have someone from an animal rescue coming by to pick her up.” At Wilson’s disapproving look, House rolled his eyes, clipping the harness onto the chicken with some degree of difficulty persisting. “Relax. It’s an egg farm. Cameron’s bleeding heart wouldn’t let me take Henrietta to a meat farm.” Once the harness was on, the chicken went back to strutting about the area, pecking at the dirt once more.
“You sure you don’t want to keep her? Seems like a good choice of pet for you. And you do like eggs.” A friendly jab left Wilson’s lips before he could stop himself, his hand almost instantly coming up to cover it as he laughed. House’s sardonic, mocking laugh and head tilt in return made him chuckle worse, and just as House was about to lay out another biting comment, the chicken pecked a dark piece of metal with its beak. The ping silenced them both, and Wilson bent down to pick up the fallen metal disk—the peck had flipped it onto the concrete standing area—and he held it up in his hands. “Seriously, another bug, House?”
“Oh no. That one’s been there since before Chase decided to probe you for answers and you planned the break in at my place.” It was stated so matter-of-factly that Wilson barely had time to blink before House was gone, leaving him alone with the planted bug and House’s pseudo-pet chicken until he returned once again. His current load of paperwork didn’t take terribly long to do, but Wilson decided that maybe he’d caught up enough for the day to start planning appointments and calls for the next few weeks, looking over his patient charts, and keeping out of House’s way for the moment. Something was up with House, and he didn’t know what the man had planned—especially since he hadn’t driven him to work that morning, and since he wasn’t about to put a live chicken in his car to transport it.
The mystery, however, solved itself with relative speed; House’s team had finally managed to get their patient to a stable condition with the nursing staff doing general monitoring, which let two of the three go home for the evening. House, however, was nowhere to be found, and that was an oddity indeed. Wilson scoured the area looking for him, but found no sign of House in his office, their shared balcony, or even near the free clinic—House had evening soaps he liked to watch and his usual escape was to one of the empty patient rooms. Still, Gregory House had dissipated into thin air, and Wilson was stuck with the chicken until he returned to claim her.
It didn’t take long for House to reappear, walking past Wilson in his office to collect Henrietta from the balcony, though he was sporting a different backpack than usual, and what appeared to be a tiny helmet.
“Please tell me you are not going to take the chicken on your motorcycle, House. Is that even legal to do?” Wilson could only stare as House placed the tiniest helmet he’d ever laid eyes on over the chicken’s comb, carefully snapping it into place.
“Hasn’t stopped me before. People do it with dogs and cats all the time, they’re not going to stop me with a chicken. Imagine what will happen when I pull out her service animal paperwork.”
“That’s a new low, even for you, House.”
“Oh, relax. She is doing me a service—getting on your nerves while I work on mine.” Grinning, House tucked the chicken under his arm, the leather jacket squeaking slightly as it accommodated the extra body. “The cops can’t catch me anyways.”
“Not with your attitude, no.” Wilson could only chuckle as he watched House limp away, chicken under his arm, off to do any number of things that should have been a felony. Minutes ticked by until he heard the telltale rumble of House’s motorcycle revving up, and he peered over to catch one last glimpse of his friend before he took off, the shine off of a tiny helmet glimmering in the dying rays of the sun.