sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-11 01:11 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-11 01:11 am
Entry tags:
Synchronicity, 2 of 3. R.
Title: Synchronicity
Rating: R for graphic sexual situations, as if canes and cigars weren't symbolic enough.
Summary: Dead patients, car wrecks, drug overdoses, journalists, Comatose Charlie, and orange chicken. Must be love. House/Wilson.
Notes: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
simon, setissma, and juniper200 for betaz, and for not making fun of the whole surfing-instructor thing. Rad, man.
Chapter 1
***
When Wilson woke for the second time, he had a brief moment of concern; there hadn't been any alarm, and he had no idea what time it was, and it felt like he was in a real bed, which was unsettling after a few weeks on House's couch.
He remembered ending up in Greg House's bed, actually.
And what had happened beforehand.
The new development, actually, was that Greg House himself was curled against Wilson's back, face pressed into his neck, one arm slung over his waist. And he wasn't asleep.
Wilson pondered what one said in this situation. "Good morning" seemed banal, but "are you awake enough to make out with me now" was tres high school. While he was considering other options, House (as usual) figured out exactly the inappropriate thing to do, and did it.
Wilson tilted his head back a little as House's hand slid under the waistband of his pyjamas. The pads of his fingertips explored, more slowly than was preferable, but House only hurried when he wanted, and Wilson, still half-asleep, had the time to wait. He'd waited much longer for much less from House before now.
"You're awake," House said in his ear.
"Observant," Wilson replied. House's hand tensed on his thigh. "You were about to molest me?" he asked hopefully.
"Observant," House answered, fingers tracing upwards. His fingernails just brushed Wilson's fast-growing erection. "And...responsive."
Wilson caught his breath when House's hand finally tightened around his cock. His hips jerked slightly.
House kissed him just below his ear, then his jaw, then low on his throat, but Wilson was paying more attention to the way his hand moved, fingers tightening and releasing every time Wilson moaned. They didn't talk, which somewhere in the back of his mind was noted with surprise, because normally House never shut up. Of course, normally House wasn't giving him the best early-morning sex he'd had in years, either. And it wasn't properly even sex.
He could feel himself tense, could feel how close he was to the edge, and he just barely managed "House -- Greg -- Christ -- " and House instead of saying "best two out of three" said "James" in an expectant, commanding voice he'd never quite heard him use in a decade of friendship and then House bit him.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually enjoyed an orgasm that much. It felt so good. He could hear House making fun of this thought even as he thought it, but most of the past few months -- years, really -- it had just felt so good to get it over with.
When he caught his breath, and after House had deftly removed his hand from his best friend's pyjamas, he opened his eyes and turned his head slightly.
"You bit me," he said. House looked unrepentant.
"Covers up the hickey."
"You gave me a hickey? Are we in the tenth grade again?"
"Man, if only I was getting play like this in the tenth grade," House replied, sitting up and wincing. Wilson rolled over fully and studied the curve of House's back for a moment.
"How's your leg?" he asked.
"Mornings aren't great," House answered. Wilson, who was thinking a shower and a load of laundry might be in order, sat up and pressed his forehead against House's.
"Bet I could help," he offered, hooking his fingers in House's white t-shirt.
"Coffee helps," House replied, pulling away and sliding off the bed. Wilson sat stunned for a second before he reacted.
"Coffee? I'm offering you a blowjob and you want coffee?" he asked, as House limped his way into the living room. House paused, looked at where his cane lay on the floor, decided not to bother, and kept going.
"A little louder, I don't think our upstairs neighbors heard that," he called from the kitchen.
"Is there something wrong with you?" Wilson asked, leaning forward for a clear view of the kitchen. House was pouring coffee from last night's pot into a mug.
"Physically? No," House said. "Aside from a splitting hangover and stabbing pain in my leg."
He put the coffee in the microwave and pressed the minute-plus button. A thousand Starbucks baristas screamed out in agony, and then were silent.
"Here's the thing," House continued, turning to face him. "I'm not a morning person. I don't even like that they exist. I hurt, a lot, and I'm subhuman until the hurting dies down, and then I have to decide what to wear and whether today's the day I actually have to shave, and it's a whole big thing. Morning sex, no."
Wilson pursed his lips. "But you just..."
"Well, just because my morning sucks doesn't mean yours should. Besides, it's a reminder."
"Of what?"
"What you'll be missing if you decide to freak out about this, like you sometimes do," House said, carrying the coffee back into the bedroom and leaning against the doorway. He sipped, winced, gulped, winced some more, and glanced at the nightstand. The pill bottle sat there, temptingly close. Wilson followed his gaze, then looked back; House was watching him, now.
"I'm going to...take a shower, then," he said. "But I'll, uh, hang around until you're ready, we should go pick your bike up before it gets a ticket or something."
"Or something," House agreed.
***
Wilson fixed breakfast while House was showering, but given the time and the fact that at some point that morning Cuddy had called, they ate in the car. House was all for breakfast number two at the diner, but Wilson insisted on following his motorcycle to the hospital.
They didn't talk much as they walked in together, but then they never had. Talking was reserved for moments of angst on Wilson's part and extreme fuckheadedness on House's. Or times when they were simply amusing each other. That wasn't really the case either way, this morning. So, they were quiet. And that was fine.
Wilson seemed....satisfied, so that was all right, and House wasn't actually sure what he himself was. He probably could have handled the whole "please don't give me a blowjob" conversation better, on reflection.
"So," Wilson said, as they reached Diagnostics. "Lunch?"
"Yeah," House said, stopping just shy of his office. "I'm in favor of lunch."
"And maybe -- "
" -- dinner in."
"Right, right. Want me to pick up Chinese?"
House grinned. He was enjoying this on so many levels, not the least of which was Wilson's total lack of clue about how to handle it. Two spots of color appeared on Wilson's cheeks.
"You're staring at me," he whispered.
"No, I'm laughing at you," House whispered back.
Then the door of his office opened.
And people came out.
Way more people than should have been in his office, in fact. And Cuddy, who knew she wasn't allowed in his office unless he got to talk about her panties in front of his ducklings.
"Doctor House," Cuddy said suavely. Too suavely. "And Dr. Wilson, excellent. This way, gentlemen..."
"No," House said, as if this ought to be obvious. "Who are they? What were they doing in my office?"
"It's almost ten in the morning. They were waiting for you to deign to put in an appearance. Smile nice for the cameras," Cuddy said. "Apparently you two saved a bunch of peoples' lives last night. I'm guessing maybe Wilson was behind that."
"I save lives every day," House objected. "Nobody ever calls a press conference about it."
"I....need to go," Wilson said. House grabbed his arm. "House!"
"Neither of you are going anywhere except into House's office to tell the harrowing story of how you rescued puppies and small children from a burning car."
"Were there puppies?" House asked, twisting around to look at Wilson as Cuddy hauled him forward by his sleeve.
"No, seriously, I need to go -- "
"Dr. Wilson," Cuddy said.
"Or...not," Wilson sighed, following them into House's office.
I give him one hand-job and they call the newspapers, House thought to himself as he kicked and cane-smacked his way through the room to his chair. If he was going to have strangers in his office, he was going to make full use of the Seat Of Power. Wilson was busy fussing with his tie. Part of the bitemark stood out just over one side, but they wouldn't all notice it if he'd stop drawing all their attention to it.
He waited for Cuddy to start talking.
Three.
Two.
One.
"All right, I think we can -- "
"Let me be clear about this," House said. Interrupting Cuddy was a joke that never got old. "We are very busy and important doctors and have lots of life-saving to do of people who aren't stupid enough to crash their SUVs full of children and potentially puppies into a tree. You get one question each, which should be a nice challenge for you. My name is Doctor Gregory House, I'm a diagnostician, that means I tell people what's wrong with them, which is the best job ever. That's Doctor James Wilson, he does something with cancer, I've never really asked."
Wilson pursed his lips. House grinned at him again. It was a good morning for grinning.
"You, with the weird hair," he said, pointing his cane at one of the younger reporters in the room. "You want to ask a question or are you just going to get the press release from Dr. Cuddy later?"
The man made a fish-face. House sighed. It was going to be a very long, very tedious morning, and the female reporter standing near his desk was going to ask him if he'd have a look at the undiagnosed impetigo on her arms.
He wondered just how many points Cuddy's blood pressure would spike if he popped a painkiller for the cameras.
***
Cameron was about halfway through her sandwich when Foreman showed up.
"You too?" he asked, closing the door behind him and making sure the blinds were drawn.
"I couldn't deal with it anymore," she said. "You want my potato chips? I got ranch-flavor by mistake."
"Your loss," Foreman said, taking the snack bag of chips and unpacking his own lunch onto the empty half of the hospital-bed tray. "Hi, Charlie," he added, to the unconscious man beneath the tray.
"Is that his name?" Cameron asked.
"I call him that. Comatose Charlie," Foreman explained.
"Oh. I call him Rip."
"Rip?"
"Like Van Winkel?" she said hesitantly.
"Can I join the party? I brought Coke," Chase said, putting his head in through the doorway and holding up a Diet Coke. Cameron and Foreman obligingly made space for his salad on Charlie's tray. "Thanks," he said to Charlie.
"Do you know his name?" Foreman asked.
"Who?"
Foreman gestured at the man in the hospital bed. "Comatose Charlie."
"I call him Rip Van Winkel," Cameron supplied.
Chase gave them both a wide-eyed, confused look. "I just call him 'that coma guy'," he said, bemused. "Are you hiding from House?"
"He's being really weird," Cameron said. "He's smiling a lot."
"He's planning something," Foreman added. "He's gotta be. Some kind of horrible, twisted prank."
"Nah, come on," Chase said. "He hasn't even got a patient to be mean to. Maybe he just..."
"Well?" Cameron prompted.
"I was going to say, maybe he got a good night's sleep, but I think maybe it's that he didn't."
Cameron glanced at Foreman. "It's a thought," Foreman said. "He's showing all the signs."
"With who?" she demanded. "Twelve hours ago he was pulling someone's broken body out of a car. You don't go out clubbing after something like that."
"Well, there's this concept I've heard of called prostitution, I hear it's really big in some areas," Chase said.
"Maybe he's upped his pain meds," Foreman said thoughtfully.
"If he has, we should probably keep an eye on him. He's always doing stupid stuff like that," Cameron sighed.
"Or," Chase offered, "Wilson's staying with him. Maybe he made those pancakes again. Or House went out somewhere and got a massage or something."
Foreman rubbed his chin. "We should know. If we diagnose, we can treat, right?"
"Do we want the old House back?" Chase asked. There was a moment of silence.
"So, Differential?" Cameron suggested. The other two leaned forward interestedly. "Symptoms."
"Euphoria -- "
"I wouldn't call him euphoric," Chase argued.
"For House?" Foreman asked.
"All right."
"Increased appetite -- he left for lunch like an hour early," Cameron added.
"We should check his iPod, see what his playlist is," Foreman decided.
"He was playing it really loud this morning when you guys were getting coffee -- sounded like Wagner," Chase said. "Um, and the Pixies. And the usual Blues and stuff, just not quite so much of it."
"Let's rule out a medication change," Foreman said. "If he was high I don't think Wagner would be his music of choice. Besides, he has increased motor skills, most painkillers don't do that."
"Could still be a rush of endorphins," Cameron mused.
"Pretty strong endorphins, to last through that circus about the car accident this morning," Chase said. "Not to mention what happened yesterday. Did he smell like massage oil?"
"Did anyone sniff him?" Foreman asked. They both turned to Cameron, who turned pink.
"I don't go around smelling him," she said quickly.
"But he didn't, did he?"
"Cologne, like usual," she muttered.
"What's left? Pancakes?" Foreman asked skeptically.
"Prostitute's still on the table," Chase said. Cameron snickered. "You have a filthy mind."
"No, I was just..." she stopped and snickered again. "No, sorry. I was just picturing House hiring a prostitute and then diagnosing her while they -- "
Both men interrupted her with moans of disgust.
"Sorry, sorry," she said, still smiling. "Could be he just enjoyed all the press attention he and Wilson got this morning."
"Yeah, that sounds like House," Foreman answered.
"Wait a minute," Chase said slowly. "Who's actually spoken to Wilson this morning?"
"I...delivered some labs up to him, why?" Cameron asked.
"How was he?"
"Cheerful, relaxed -- but he's always like that," she said. "What are you thinking?"
"Maybe they had post-trauma life-affirming nookie," Chase said.
The other two stared at him, then burst out laughing.
"You almost had me," Cameron gasped, pointing at him. He grinned at her. "Right up until nookie."
"Ahh, haa." Foreman wiped his eyes. "Nice. Hoo. House and Dr. Wilson."
"Seriously though, I have heard of it happening," Chase said. "I mean, not House, sure, but I knew these two guys, right, totally straight -- "
"Suuure," Cameron interjected.
"This was back in med school, and we all were studying for our final exam together, and the night before the big day, we all had a last-cram session at one guy's house. So when we all leave the other guy stays to help clean up, and the next morning they both come up to me -- "
"Why you?" Foreman asked.
"I don't know, maybe I project a sympathetic aura, unlike some people -- "
"Hey!"
" -- anyway, they come up to me, separately, and have these little freakouts about having had sex with the other the night before."
"What did you do?" Cameron asked. Chase downed the last of his Coke.
"I told them it was just blowing off steam with the only person that happened to be around," he shrugged. "It wasn't that weird."
"How about you, were you blowing off steam?" Foreman asked.
"I waited until the test was over," Chase said.
"And?"
"And...then went out and used 'I'm a doctor, you know' as a pick-up line for the first time."
***
House was already eating when Wilson sat down; he'd been held up by Leukemia. Which, you know, sometimes happens.
"Steak and salad again?" Wilson asked as House scraped all the lettuce off the concealed T-Bone underneath.
"It's healthy and hearty. Nice soup."
"I like soup. Good for the digestion."
"Given up on cooking, hm?"
"Well, you keep eating my lunch when I do. Listen, if you had a patient with -- "
" -- huh uh," House stopped him with a wave of his fork. "Do I have a patient?"
"Probably not."
"Proceed."
"I have a patient with breast cancer, in remission, but she's developing benign tumors. And there's arrhythmia. Is this some weird disease you're going to know off the top of your head, or is it just something I can write up for the NEJ of M?"
"It's just weird," House said. "Your bitemark's showing."
Wilson put a hand to his neck. House groaned and dropped his head.
"No, no, no. You say, what bitemark, and then I say the one on your neck, and then you say a pediatrics patient clocked you. You're never going to keep any of this from Cuddy if you keep up like that."
"House, there's no this to keep. Not yet, anyway. One...early morning incident..."
House smirked. "Do I give good incident?"
"I'm trying to keep things discreet for now," Wilson said. "You may not care, but I'm in the middle of a divorce. This is the kind of thing a wife uses to get ridiculous amounts of alimony."
"Mmh," House said. "So here's a question. When I asked you why you -- "
"Hst!" Wilson hissed. "People are listening!"
House rolled his eyes. "When I asked you why you intubated my patient last night and you asked me why I thought you'd had...three pelvic exams today..."
"Yeah."
"Did you mean that the pelvic exams were to cover for your preference for intubation, or did you mean intubating my patient in particular?"
Wilson stared at him.
"I...am...pretty good with both intubation and pelvic exams," he said slowly. "I assumed you were too."
"I like biopsies," House said.
"Uh, do you mean what I think you mean?"
"What do you think I mean?"
Wilson dropped his voice. "Like....whips and...?"
House tried really hard to keep a straight face. Wilson sighed.
"You're just messing with me. You are, aren't you? I'm trying to have a serious conversation about intubation and you're messing with me."
"It's just so easy sometimes," House said. "Fine. We can talk about intubation all you want over dinner. And after dinner."
Wilson watched as House glanced down at his plate, eyelids dropping slightly. He licked his lips. Dinner suddenly seemed a long way off.
"I enjoy this part," House said quietly.
"What part is that?" Wilson asked. House didn't grin at the pun.
"The part where you can't wait to get alone. The part where you stare at the person a lot and act really stupid. Been a long time since I was doing anything more than watching that happen for someone else."
"It's moving fast."
"What, thirteen years? That's pretty slow," House said, looking up. He licked his lips again. Wilson was going to have to sit there and think about naked geriatric patients before he could go back to work.
"Let's not screw it up," Wilson said. House nodded.
With the utmost timing, Cuddy appeared.
"I should have known I'd find you two together. I hope you paid for that steak," she said to House, not waiting for an invitation to sit down. "You have a case."
"You lied to me," House said to Wilson.
"A very wealthy donor to the hospital -- and this pains me greatly to say -- has requested you," Cuddy said. "You will treat her. You will be kind to her. She's leaving us fifty million in her will."
"How old is she?" House asked. Cuddy looked surprised.
"Forty-two," she said.
"I could kill her," he offered.
"Oh, I can't wait to hear you explain this one."
"Conflict of interest. She's leaving the hospital money after she dies. Cut me in for fifty percent and I'll off her. Discreetly."
"I'd do it for twenty percent," Wilson put in.
"That's why you're still working for a living," House replied.
"Whatever, I'm beyond caring," Cuddy said. "Don't kill her, House. She's leaving the money to the OB-GYN program."
"Damn."
"Tomorrow at nine. You will be here and you will look nice. And if you cure her, I'll give you a month off clinic," she said. She stood to leave, but at the last minute she hesitated.
"Dr. Wilson, there's something on your neck," she said. Wilson clapped a hand over the bitemark.
"Yeah, uh, pediatric oncology patient. Clocked me one," he said unconvincingly.
"Looks nasty. You should have someone take a look at it."
"I'll do it," House volunteered.
"No MRIs on Wilson so you two can giggle at pictures of his brain!" Cuddy called as she departed.
"She never lets us have any fun," House grumbled.
Chapter 3
Rating: R for graphic sexual situations, as if canes and cigars weren't symbolic enough.
Summary: Dead patients, car wrecks, drug overdoses, journalists, Comatose Charlie, and orange chicken. Must be love. House/Wilson.
Notes: Thanks to
simon, setissma, and juniper200 for betaz, and for not making fun of the whole surfing-instructor thing. Rad, man. Chapter 1
***
When Wilson woke for the second time, he had a brief moment of concern; there hadn't been any alarm, and he had no idea what time it was, and it felt like he was in a real bed, which was unsettling after a few weeks on House's couch.
He remembered ending up in Greg House's bed, actually.
And what had happened beforehand.
The new development, actually, was that Greg House himself was curled against Wilson's back, face pressed into his neck, one arm slung over his waist. And he wasn't asleep.
Wilson pondered what one said in this situation. "Good morning" seemed banal, but "are you awake enough to make out with me now" was tres high school. While he was considering other options, House (as usual) figured out exactly the inappropriate thing to do, and did it.
Wilson tilted his head back a little as House's hand slid under the waistband of his pyjamas. The pads of his fingertips explored, more slowly than was preferable, but House only hurried when he wanted, and Wilson, still half-asleep, had the time to wait. He'd waited much longer for much less from House before now.
"You're awake," House said in his ear.
"Observant," Wilson replied. House's hand tensed on his thigh. "You were about to molest me?" he asked hopefully.
"Observant," House answered, fingers tracing upwards. His fingernails just brushed Wilson's fast-growing erection. "And...responsive."
Wilson caught his breath when House's hand finally tightened around his cock. His hips jerked slightly.
House kissed him just below his ear, then his jaw, then low on his throat, but Wilson was paying more attention to the way his hand moved, fingers tightening and releasing every time Wilson moaned. They didn't talk, which somewhere in the back of his mind was noted with surprise, because normally House never shut up. Of course, normally House wasn't giving him the best early-morning sex he'd had in years, either. And it wasn't properly even sex.
He could feel himself tense, could feel how close he was to the edge, and he just barely managed "House -- Greg -- Christ -- " and House instead of saying "best two out of three" said "James" in an expectant, commanding voice he'd never quite heard him use in a decade of friendship and then House bit him.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually enjoyed an orgasm that much. It felt so good. He could hear House making fun of this thought even as he thought it, but most of the past few months -- years, really -- it had just felt so good to get it over with.
When he caught his breath, and after House had deftly removed his hand from his best friend's pyjamas, he opened his eyes and turned his head slightly.
"You bit me," he said. House looked unrepentant.
"Covers up the hickey."
"You gave me a hickey? Are we in the tenth grade again?"
"Man, if only I was getting play like this in the tenth grade," House replied, sitting up and wincing. Wilson rolled over fully and studied the curve of House's back for a moment.
"How's your leg?" he asked.
"Mornings aren't great," House answered. Wilson, who was thinking a shower and a load of laundry might be in order, sat up and pressed his forehead against House's.
"Bet I could help," he offered, hooking his fingers in House's white t-shirt.
"Coffee helps," House replied, pulling away and sliding off the bed. Wilson sat stunned for a second before he reacted.
"Coffee? I'm offering you a blowjob and you want coffee?" he asked, as House limped his way into the living room. House paused, looked at where his cane lay on the floor, decided not to bother, and kept going.
"A little louder, I don't think our upstairs neighbors heard that," he called from the kitchen.
"Is there something wrong with you?" Wilson asked, leaning forward for a clear view of the kitchen. House was pouring coffee from last night's pot into a mug.
"Physically? No," House said. "Aside from a splitting hangover and stabbing pain in my leg."
He put the coffee in the microwave and pressed the minute-plus button. A thousand Starbucks baristas screamed out in agony, and then were silent.
"Here's the thing," House continued, turning to face him. "I'm not a morning person. I don't even like that they exist. I hurt, a lot, and I'm subhuman until the hurting dies down, and then I have to decide what to wear and whether today's the day I actually have to shave, and it's a whole big thing. Morning sex, no."
Wilson pursed his lips. "But you just..."
"Well, just because my morning sucks doesn't mean yours should. Besides, it's a reminder."
"Of what?"
"What you'll be missing if you decide to freak out about this, like you sometimes do," House said, carrying the coffee back into the bedroom and leaning against the doorway. He sipped, winced, gulped, winced some more, and glanced at the nightstand. The pill bottle sat there, temptingly close. Wilson followed his gaze, then looked back; House was watching him, now.
"I'm going to...take a shower, then," he said. "But I'll, uh, hang around until you're ready, we should go pick your bike up before it gets a ticket or something."
"Or something," House agreed.
***
Wilson fixed breakfast while House was showering, but given the time and the fact that at some point that morning Cuddy had called, they ate in the car. House was all for breakfast number two at the diner, but Wilson insisted on following his motorcycle to the hospital.
They didn't talk much as they walked in together, but then they never had. Talking was reserved for moments of angst on Wilson's part and extreme fuckheadedness on House's. Or times when they were simply amusing each other. That wasn't really the case either way, this morning. So, they were quiet. And that was fine.
Wilson seemed....satisfied, so that was all right, and House wasn't actually sure what he himself was. He probably could have handled the whole "please don't give me a blowjob" conversation better, on reflection.
"So," Wilson said, as they reached Diagnostics. "Lunch?"
"Yeah," House said, stopping just shy of his office. "I'm in favor of lunch."
"And maybe -- "
" -- dinner in."
"Right, right. Want me to pick up Chinese?"
House grinned. He was enjoying this on so many levels, not the least of which was Wilson's total lack of clue about how to handle it. Two spots of color appeared on Wilson's cheeks.
"You're staring at me," he whispered.
"No, I'm laughing at you," House whispered back.
Then the door of his office opened.
And people came out.
Way more people than should have been in his office, in fact. And Cuddy, who knew she wasn't allowed in his office unless he got to talk about her panties in front of his ducklings.
"Doctor House," Cuddy said suavely. Too suavely. "And Dr. Wilson, excellent. This way, gentlemen..."
"No," House said, as if this ought to be obvious. "Who are they? What were they doing in my office?"
"It's almost ten in the morning. They were waiting for you to deign to put in an appearance. Smile nice for the cameras," Cuddy said. "Apparently you two saved a bunch of peoples' lives last night. I'm guessing maybe Wilson was behind that."
"I save lives every day," House objected. "Nobody ever calls a press conference about it."
"I....need to go," Wilson said. House grabbed his arm. "House!"
"Neither of you are going anywhere except into House's office to tell the harrowing story of how you rescued puppies and small children from a burning car."
"Were there puppies?" House asked, twisting around to look at Wilson as Cuddy hauled him forward by his sleeve.
"No, seriously, I need to go -- "
"Dr. Wilson," Cuddy said.
"Or...not," Wilson sighed, following them into House's office.
I give him one hand-job and they call the newspapers, House thought to himself as he kicked and cane-smacked his way through the room to his chair. If he was going to have strangers in his office, he was going to make full use of the Seat Of Power. Wilson was busy fussing with his tie. Part of the bitemark stood out just over one side, but they wouldn't all notice it if he'd stop drawing all their attention to it.
He waited for Cuddy to start talking.
Three.
Two.
One.
"All right, I think we can -- "
"Let me be clear about this," House said. Interrupting Cuddy was a joke that never got old. "We are very busy and important doctors and have lots of life-saving to do of people who aren't stupid enough to crash their SUVs full of children and potentially puppies into a tree. You get one question each, which should be a nice challenge for you. My name is Doctor Gregory House, I'm a diagnostician, that means I tell people what's wrong with them, which is the best job ever. That's Doctor James Wilson, he does something with cancer, I've never really asked."
Wilson pursed his lips. House grinned at him again. It was a good morning for grinning.
"You, with the weird hair," he said, pointing his cane at one of the younger reporters in the room. "You want to ask a question or are you just going to get the press release from Dr. Cuddy later?"
The man made a fish-face. House sighed. It was going to be a very long, very tedious morning, and the female reporter standing near his desk was going to ask him if he'd have a look at the undiagnosed impetigo on her arms.
He wondered just how many points Cuddy's blood pressure would spike if he popped a painkiller for the cameras.
***
Cameron was about halfway through her sandwich when Foreman showed up.
"You too?" he asked, closing the door behind him and making sure the blinds were drawn.
"I couldn't deal with it anymore," she said. "You want my potato chips? I got ranch-flavor by mistake."
"Your loss," Foreman said, taking the snack bag of chips and unpacking his own lunch onto the empty half of the hospital-bed tray. "Hi, Charlie," he added, to the unconscious man beneath the tray.
"Is that his name?" Cameron asked.
"I call him that. Comatose Charlie," Foreman explained.
"Oh. I call him Rip."
"Rip?"
"Like Van Winkel?" she said hesitantly.
"Can I join the party? I brought Coke," Chase said, putting his head in through the doorway and holding up a Diet Coke. Cameron and Foreman obligingly made space for his salad on Charlie's tray. "Thanks," he said to Charlie.
"Do you know his name?" Foreman asked.
"Who?"
Foreman gestured at the man in the hospital bed. "Comatose Charlie."
"I call him Rip Van Winkel," Cameron supplied.
Chase gave them both a wide-eyed, confused look. "I just call him 'that coma guy'," he said, bemused. "Are you hiding from House?"
"He's being really weird," Cameron said. "He's smiling a lot."
"He's planning something," Foreman added. "He's gotta be. Some kind of horrible, twisted prank."
"Nah, come on," Chase said. "He hasn't even got a patient to be mean to. Maybe he just..."
"Well?" Cameron prompted.
"I was going to say, maybe he got a good night's sleep, but I think maybe it's that he didn't."
Cameron glanced at Foreman. "It's a thought," Foreman said. "He's showing all the signs."
"With who?" she demanded. "Twelve hours ago he was pulling someone's broken body out of a car. You don't go out clubbing after something like that."
"Well, there's this concept I've heard of called prostitution, I hear it's really big in some areas," Chase said.
"Maybe he's upped his pain meds," Foreman said thoughtfully.
"If he has, we should probably keep an eye on him. He's always doing stupid stuff like that," Cameron sighed.
"Or," Chase offered, "Wilson's staying with him. Maybe he made those pancakes again. Or House went out somewhere and got a massage or something."
Foreman rubbed his chin. "We should know. If we diagnose, we can treat, right?"
"Do we want the old House back?" Chase asked. There was a moment of silence.
"So, Differential?" Cameron suggested. The other two leaned forward interestedly. "Symptoms."
"Euphoria -- "
"I wouldn't call him euphoric," Chase argued.
"For House?" Foreman asked.
"All right."
"Increased appetite -- he left for lunch like an hour early," Cameron added.
"We should check his iPod, see what his playlist is," Foreman decided.
"He was playing it really loud this morning when you guys were getting coffee -- sounded like Wagner," Chase said. "Um, and the Pixies. And the usual Blues and stuff, just not quite so much of it."
"Let's rule out a medication change," Foreman said. "If he was high I don't think Wagner would be his music of choice. Besides, he has increased motor skills, most painkillers don't do that."
"Could still be a rush of endorphins," Cameron mused.
"Pretty strong endorphins, to last through that circus about the car accident this morning," Chase said. "Not to mention what happened yesterday. Did he smell like massage oil?"
"Did anyone sniff him?" Foreman asked. They both turned to Cameron, who turned pink.
"I don't go around smelling him," she said quickly.
"But he didn't, did he?"
"Cologne, like usual," she muttered.
"What's left? Pancakes?" Foreman asked skeptically.
"Prostitute's still on the table," Chase said. Cameron snickered. "You have a filthy mind."
"No, I was just..." she stopped and snickered again. "No, sorry. I was just picturing House hiring a prostitute and then diagnosing her while they -- "
Both men interrupted her with moans of disgust.
"Sorry, sorry," she said, still smiling. "Could be he just enjoyed all the press attention he and Wilson got this morning."
"Yeah, that sounds like House," Foreman answered.
"Wait a minute," Chase said slowly. "Who's actually spoken to Wilson this morning?"
"I...delivered some labs up to him, why?" Cameron asked.
"How was he?"
"Cheerful, relaxed -- but he's always like that," she said. "What are you thinking?"
"Maybe they had post-trauma life-affirming nookie," Chase said.
The other two stared at him, then burst out laughing.
"You almost had me," Cameron gasped, pointing at him. He grinned at her. "Right up until nookie."
"Ahh, haa." Foreman wiped his eyes. "Nice. Hoo. House and Dr. Wilson."
"Seriously though, I have heard of it happening," Chase said. "I mean, not House, sure, but I knew these two guys, right, totally straight -- "
"Suuure," Cameron interjected.
"This was back in med school, and we all were studying for our final exam together, and the night before the big day, we all had a last-cram session at one guy's house. So when we all leave the other guy stays to help clean up, and the next morning they both come up to me -- "
"Why you?" Foreman asked.
"I don't know, maybe I project a sympathetic aura, unlike some people -- "
"Hey!"
" -- anyway, they come up to me, separately, and have these little freakouts about having had sex with the other the night before."
"What did you do?" Cameron asked. Chase downed the last of his Coke.
"I told them it was just blowing off steam with the only person that happened to be around," he shrugged. "It wasn't that weird."
"How about you, were you blowing off steam?" Foreman asked.
"I waited until the test was over," Chase said.
"And?"
"And...then went out and used 'I'm a doctor, you know' as a pick-up line for the first time."
***
House was already eating when Wilson sat down; he'd been held up by Leukemia. Which, you know, sometimes happens.
"Steak and salad again?" Wilson asked as House scraped all the lettuce off the concealed T-Bone underneath.
"It's healthy and hearty. Nice soup."
"I like soup. Good for the digestion."
"Given up on cooking, hm?"
"Well, you keep eating my lunch when I do. Listen, if you had a patient with -- "
" -- huh uh," House stopped him with a wave of his fork. "Do I have a patient?"
"Probably not."
"Proceed."
"I have a patient with breast cancer, in remission, but she's developing benign tumors. And there's arrhythmia. Is this some weird disease you're going to know off the top of your head, or is it just something I can write up for the NEJ of M?"
"It's just weird," House said. "Your bitemark's showing."
Wilson put a hand to his neck. House groaned and dropped his head.
"No, no, no. You say, what bitemark, and then I say the one on your neck, and then you say a pediatrics patient clocked you. You're never going to keep any of this from Cuddy if you keep up like that."
"House, there's no this to keep. Not yet, anyway. One...early morning incident..."
House smirked. "Do I give good incident?"
"I'm trying to keep things discreet for now," Wilson said. "You may not care, but I'm in the middle of a divorce. This is the kind of thing a wife uses to get ridiculous amounts of alimony."
"Mmh," House said. "So here's a question. When I asked you why you -- "
"Hst!" Wilson hissed. "People are listening!"
House rolled his eyes. "When I asked you why you intubated my patient last night and you asked me why I thought you'd had...three pelvic exams today..."
"Yeah."
"Did you mean that the pelvic exams were to cover for your preference for intubation, or did you mean intubating my patient in particular?"
Wilson stared at him.
"I...am...pretty good with both intubation and pelvic exams," he said slowly. "I assumed you were too."
"I like biopsies," House said.
"Uh, do you mean what I think you mean?"
"What do you think I mean?"
Wilson dropped his voice. "Like....whips and...?"
House tried really hard to keep a straight face. Wilson sighed.
"You're just messing with me. You are, aren't you? I'm trying to have a serious conversation about intubation and you're messing with me."
"It's just so easy sometimes," House said. "Fine. We can talk about intubation all you want over dinner. And after dinner."
Wilson watched as House glanced down at his plate, eyelids dropping slightly. He licked his lips. Dinner suddenly seemed a long way off.
"I enjoy this part," House said quietly.
"What part is that?" Wilson asked. House didn't grin at the pun.
"The part where you can't wait to get alone. The part where you stare at the person a lot and act really stupid. Been a long time since I was doing anything more than watching that happen for someone else."
"It's moving fast."
"What, thirteen years? That's pretty slow," House said, looking up. He licked his lips again. Wilson was going to have to sit there and think about naked geriatric patients before he could go back to work.
"Let's not screw it up," Wilson said. House nodded.
With the utmost timing, Cuddy appeared.
"I should have known I'd find you two together. I hope you paid for that steak," she said to House, not waiting for an invitation to sit down. "You have a case."
"You lied to me," House said to Wilson.
"A very wealthy donor to the hospital -- and this pains me greatly to say -- has requested you," Cuddy said. "You will treat her. You will be kind to her. She's leaving us fifty million in her will."
"How old is she?" House asked. Cuddy looked surprised.
"Forty-two," she said.
"I could kill her," he offered.
"Oh, I can't wait to hear you explain this one."
"Conflict of interest. She's leaving the hospital money after she dies. Cut me in for fifty percent and I'll off her. Discreetly."
"I'd do it for twenty percent," Wilson put in.
"That's why you're still working for a living," House replied.
"Whatever, I'm beyond caring," Cuddy said. "Don't kill her, House. She's leaving the money to the OB-GYN program."
"Damn."
"Tomorrow at nine. You will be here and you will look nice. And if you cure her, I'll give you a month off clinic," she said. She stood to leave, but at the last minute she hesitated.
"Dr. Wilson, there's something on your neck," she said. Wilson clapped a hand over the bitemark.
"Yeah, uh, pediatric oncology patient. Clocked me one," he said unconvincingly.
"Looks nasty. You should have someone take a look at it."
"I'll do it," House volunteered.
"No MRIs on Wilson so you two can giggle at pictures of his brain!" Cuddy called as she departed.
"She never lets us have any fun," House grumbled.
Chapter 3
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Those are some weird ass euphemisms, but somehow, they make sense...
Gothic Author
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I'm a diagnostician, that means I tell people what's wrong with them, which is the best job ever. OMG, so true. *loves this line*
THEY ARE USING THE COMA GUY'S LUNCH TRAY. *adores this*
Also, I adore what Chase did after his exams. And his use of the word 'nookie'.
And what they do with MRIs is just so incredibly them, and delicious, and snickerful.
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Forget the rest of the story, this line ALONE makes it the best fic ever! :D
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HAHAHAHA!
Also: "You're just messing with me. You are, aren't you? I'm trying to have a serious conversation about intubation and you're messing with me."
Classic. :)
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*snerk* They so would too.
You bring joy to my day sam!
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Sam, you just made my monday not so monday-ish! Many thx!
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"Forty-two," she said.
"I could kill her," he offered.
So very House.
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"You're staring at me," he whispered.
"No, I'm laughing at you," House whispered back.
Poifick, Sam. Poifick. Seriously, that was just a section that I could hear in their voices, and I could see exactly how they would act it, and I'm so impressed.
MORE HOUSE FIC PLEASE.
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BWAHAHAHAHAH!!!
Oh, man. That made my morning.
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ROFL!!!
This story is terrific!
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That was the dirtiest comment ever. Except for maybe 'Do I give good incident?' Moving on to the next chapter.
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AHAHAHAHA. *next chapter*
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XDDDD
*continues*
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"Did you mean that the pelvic exams were to cover for your preference for intubation, or did you mean intubating my patient in particular?"
Snort!
Loved this when I read upon first posting and love it again when revisiting via the crack_van!
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hahahaha. I had this exact same thought when he poured last nights coffee, and then I read on and found this line. Even funnier because I *am* a Starbucks barista :D
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and
"No MRIs on Wilson so you two can giggle at pictures of his brain!" Cuddy called as she departed.
made me giggle and flail in a highly joyous manner. Win.
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"Hst!" Wilson hissed. "People are listening!"
House rolled his eyes. "When I asked you why you intubated my patient last night and you asked me why I thought you'd had...three pelvic exams today..."
"Yeah."
"Did you mean that the pelvic exams were to cover for your preference for intubation, or did you mean intubating my patient in particular?"
...
*SNERK*