Playing Doctor
by Julie Barrett

“Breathe in and out. Slowly.”

“I know the routine – damn!” Gregory House jumped, a move that sent a startled Dr. Wilson reeling in the direction of the exam room wall. “Don’t you warm your stethoscope?”

“Only for the ladies. I hear you keep yours in the refrigerator in the lab.” James Wilson placed the apparatus back on the other man’s chest. “Come on, breathe.”

The diagnostician sighed with exasperation. “And we have to do this why?”

Wilson stood, letting the stethoscope fall away. “Because it’s policy. You know that just as well as I do.”

“Come on,” House whined. “You can just put down the same stats as last year. Or have Cuddy examine me. At least there’s something interesting to see when she leans in with the stethoscope."

“Already sent out the lab work.” Now Wilson positioned the stethoscope on House’s back. The man could be such a baby sometimes. “Cough.” The patient let out a pathetic wheeze. “Look: The sooner we this over with, the sooner you can watch General Hospital.”

“Do you think I’m that shallow?”

“Cough, or I’ll get out the rubber glove and the K-Y Jelly.”

“Why, Jimmy! I didn’t know you cared.”

The oncologist swapped out the stethoscope for a small hammer. “Okay, reflexes.”

“You know, doc, I’ve got this problem with my right leg…” Wilson whacked House’s right knee with the small end of the hammer - hard. “I didn’t think you could move that fast,” House remarked as the other man jumped to narrowly avoid the bare foot aimed squarely between his legs.

“I think your reflexes are fine,” Wilson responded as he snapped a pair of latex gloves onto his hands.

House visibly squirmed on the table. Wilson looked away and smiled. He was enjoying this. “You know the protocol for prostate exams, or do I need to remind you, oh, great Oncologist, that I’m still this side of 50?”

“This is for your flu shot.”

“Oh, all right.” The diagnostician braced his arm and looked out the window.

“I didn’t know you were squeamish about needles.”

“I’m not. I’m just bracing for you to talk about your inadequacies. You know, ‘this is just going to be a little…’”

“Thank God,” Wilson exclaimed as someone knocked at the door. “Come in.”

“Lab work on Dr. House. Thought I’d better bring it myself.” The brown-haired nurse gave Dr. Wilson a significant look.

“Stick around, Brenda,” House offered as he made a nod in the direction of the other man. “He was just telling me about his little…”

“Trust me, boys, size doesn’t matter.” Both men stared after the nurse as she left the room.

“Boy, she’s got a mouth on her,” House quipped as Wilson sat down to read the results. “I wonder if…”

“House.” Wilson looked up from the paperwork and took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“Oh, come on. You can tell me: I’m a doctor.”

“Well, I’m afraid the news is a little …”

“Yes?”

“Strange.”

“Strange? What does that mean? Is that some new medical term?”

It’s amazing what all can race through the mind in the space of a few short seconds:

AIDS. I had that glove tear a few months back … no, there was no fluid. Besides, this is a bit soon to be getting HIV blood work back.

Cancer. Some marker in the blood. No, the results are back too quickly. White count through the roof?

I put some pee in a cup. Damn, were they testing for drugs?

Wilson swallowed, and House could hear it from his position on the edge of the exam table. The air conditioning kicked in, literally sending a shiver down his spine courtesy of the hospital gown which barely covered his manhood, much less any other part of his body. He briefly wondered if he hadn’t been given a children’s gown, but realized that it was loose in the shoulders. Just like a hospital to maximize the embarrassment factor.

“I really don’t know how to tell you this.” Wilson fidgeted in the chair, rolling it back and forth in a small spot on the floor.

The great Jimmy Wilson. He can deliver bad news so smoothly that they thank him for the privilege of receiving it. But telling a friend is different. “Just say it, damn it.”

“Okay. You’re … you’re pregnant.” Wilson looked down at the lab results as if to make sure he hadn’t read them wrong for yet a fourth time. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Lab switched the results. Happens all the time.”

“Hey, you wrote your name on the cup.” He glanced back at the paperwork. “Well, the tech noted that you wrote ‘Charlotte Palmer’ on the cup, but she knew it came from you. The hairy hand was a dead giveaway. So was pushing the door on her side open with your cane.”

House coughed (Wilson wished he’d have had his stethoscope at the ready) and then clasped his arms around his torso. “Would someone turn that damned air conditioner off?”

“It’s on a thermostat. You know that.”

“Let me see that.” House slid off the table, reached across and swiped the folder from Wilson before the other could react. For a man with a bum leg, he sure could move fast sometimes.

“Hey!”

“Let’s see,” he growled, studying the folder. “Gregory House. Male. At least they got that right. Hmm . . .” He flipped through the pages in the file, clearly not finding what he was looking for. “Where is it,” he asked with a fury normally reserved for first-year med students.

“Here,” Wilson said, waving a pregnancy test stick in the air. “It belongs to Shelly.”

“The lab tech?”

“Yeah, she thought ‘Charlotte Palmer’ might be amused.”

House grabbed the stick and held it up to the light, noting that it indeed showed a positive result. “When’s she due?”

“May.”

“I’ll tell my secretary to get her a gift.” Both men knew perfectly well that the closest House had to a secretary was Allison Cameron. She’d probably get wind of the happy event – if she hadn’t already – and send a gift. No intervention needed.

“Right.” Wilson grabbed the folder from House. “Next time, try a little cooperation. You might be pleasantly surprised to find how quickly this goes.” Wilson put his hand out for the door handle. “Get dressed. It’s freezing in here.”

Thanks to Hssarth for the beta. Also props to the folks at GAFF for the plot bunny.

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