Julie | Fanfic | House

Toys and Games
by Julie Barrett

“12:54 p.m. Dr. House checks out of the clinic with a spring in his step, and a song in his heart.” He slapped the folder for his final case of the day on top of the reception desk. The nurse looked up from her computer with a scowl, prompting him to pick up the folder and set it back down again – quietly. “Is that better?”

“E-mail's down again.” She hit the Enter key on her keyboard several times, as though it would magically fix the problem. “I guess I can fax the test results over.”

“You could use a low-tech option, like one of those bicycle messengers. A guy in some really tight shorts could be just what the doctor ordered.”

“With my luck they'd send a girl.”

“In that case, call me. Or him.” He pointed at Dr. Wilson, who was approaching the desk, folder in hand. House looked at the patient file with the disdain he normally reserved for telephone solicitors. “Sorry, I'm on lunch.”

“This one isn't for you. I have the distinct pleasure of informing a patient that his tumor is benign.

“Speaking of tumors, how's the mother in-law?”

James Wilson made a sour face. “It wasn't a tumor. She had her gallbladder out. Apparently it looked like something out of a bad 1950s sci-fi movie, but she's going to be fine.”

“Ah, yes. The Gallbladder that ate Cincinnati.”

“Very funny.”

“I thought it was.” House pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled his name on the clipboard. “So Julie's still with mom?”

“Yeah.”

“And I suppose you want to drop by tonight?”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“Only if you say those three little words."

“I think I could manage that.”

Dr. House smiled, an expression the nurses rarely saw on the man. “See you tonight, then.” With that he grabbed his cane and went off in search of lunch.

Wilson let out a sigh. “He's in two, right?” The nurse stared at the wallpaper on her computer screen as though the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital logo would jump out and bite her. “Something wrong?”

“Uh, no.”

“Exam two?

ther nurse to the desk, where they began to talk, making glances in the direction of the exam rooms.

Lunch had been fast – a stale sandwich in the hospital cafeteria and another infusion of caffeine. House carried the eco-friendly foam cup in his free hand as he rounded the corner to his office – and stopped. Edward Vogler stood facing the window, idly playing with the abacus on the credenza. House briefly noted the chairman's Freudian fixation with balls and quietly pushed open the door. “I was doing some calculations on that, you know. About life, the universe . . .”

“And everything,” Vogler finished.

“I'm glad to know that you read something other than management books.”

“You should try one sometime.”

Who Moved My Cheese was excellent . . . for propping up a wobbly night stand.”

Vogler moved his hand from the abacus and turned to face House. “You're late.”

“I do get a lunch break, you know. I left the clinic at 12:54, and it's,” he glanced at his watch. He knew what time it was, but he wanted to make the point. “1:25. If you really want to help this hospital, you'll do something about the food.”

Vogler ignored the remark. “Didn't you get my e-mail?”

House moved to his desk and wiggled the mouse next to his keyboard. The display lit up, and he peered at the lower right-hand corner. “No cutesy mail picture.” He opened his mail client, just to show he had nothing new. “Nope, not a thing since I left for the clinic this morning, which I'll admit is rather unusual. I'll have had at least three offers to sell me Viagra by now. But while I was downstairs doing my job, a nurse complained that the e-mail system was down.” He eased himself down into his desk chair. “It's okay. Anybody can make a mistake.”

Vogler seated himself across from Dr. House. “I'm here for your decision.”

“Didn't get the memo, remember?”

“Dr. House, you've had ample time.”

House leaned back in his chair, a motion calculated to make irk the chairman. “I made it – but wait: You changed the rules. I didn't get the memo on that, either.”

Vogler's expression did not change. “I can't justify the cost of this department.”

“Perhaps you can't, but I can name at least fifteen former patients who can. They'd be happy to tell you what my team does. Except for the guy in the Witness Protection Program. I wouldn't try to locate him if I were . . .” House's pager chirped insistently. “Damn,” he exclaimed as he glanced at the display. “Respiratory arrest.” He grabbed his cane and headed to the door. “Of course, we can count beans if you'd rather. If he dies, there will be fewer to count. Easier on both of us.”

Vogler waved House off.

Allison Cameron flopped onto a stool in the lab. The last two hours had been touch and go, but now the patient was stable. Foreman and Chase stayed behind to monitor. House had practically ordered her to take a break. “Good call.” He flashed a hint of a smile as he handed her a cup of coffee.

She glanced briefly at him as she accepted the beverage. “Thanks. But I'm still leaving.”

He spoke as he poured himself a cup of coffee and added creamer. “You surprise me. I didn't have you down as the type to have a martyr complex.”

“That's not it.”

“Oh, am I still supposed to like you?”

“Contrary to popular belief, it's not always about you. I've had an offer.”

House shifted his weight to his cane. “Well.”

“That's all you can say?”

“If you think that taking this offer is going to solve my problem, then think again. I fire the right person: Vogler wins. Someone leaves: Vogler wins. In six weeks my department will still be eating too much money and I'll have to get rid of someone else. Before you know it, there will be no more Department of Diagnostic Medicine.” Dr. House's voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension that worried her.

“You said, 'fire the right person.' What does that mean?”

House put his cup down next to the centrifuge. “Edward Vogler is playing a very dangerous power game at our expense. I offered to fire someone. He refused to accept my decision, and threatened to cut the entire department.” He sat down stretched out his right leg with a sigh as Cameron digested that bit of information. “So maybe it is good if you take up that offer. You know the old adage: It's easier to get a job if you have a job.”

“Who did you try to let go?”

“It wasn't you. Before you get all misty-eyed, I offered up the one head he wouldn't accept.”

“For some reason that's not very flattering.”

“Flattery has nothing to do with it. I enjoy games, but I despise the kind he's playing and I refuse to play along.” He took a sip of his coffee. “It's my ass that he wants, and he's using you three to get to me. Think about that before you polish your resignation letter.”

Allison blinked in surprise. “How did you know I'd already written it?”

“Elementary, my dear Cameron. You told me you wanted to leave, and I suspected that you'd follow up on that. Besides, you shouldn't leave copies of your personal correspondence in a shared directory on the network.”

House took his coffee cup and went down to his office, leaving Allison Cameron shaking her head.

Dr. Cuddy must be psychic. House suspected it was no coincidence that she strode into his office just after he'd swallowed a Vicodin. “What in the hell did you tell Vogler?”

“I told him I didn't get his memo – and I proved it. Perhaps he doesn't like it when he's wrong. You may find this strange, but I can understand that.”

“He told me your conversation was bordering on insubordination, and that could be enough to get you suspended. It's not easy for him to fire you, but it wouldn't take much for him to suspend you. And when that happens . . . just watch your ass, okay?”

“I'd rather watch yours.”

“Nice.”

“It is from where I'm standing.”

Cuddy shot him an exasperated look and walked between the desk and the wall separating House's office with the conference room, where Dr. Chase was flipping through a medical journal. “Vogler seems to be taking this to another level. It's possible that this wasn't his idea, but he's taking advantage of it.” As if to punctuate her remark, two hospital workers walked past the office, whispering to each other and making furtive glances at the seated doctor. “Vogler's in a meeting. Let's go to my office. The walls there don't have eyes.”

Allison Cameron was tired. She looked at her watch. 5:00 could not come too soon today. The patient was still stable, and she was going to go home and crawl into a nice, hot bubble bath – but not before she poured herself a good stuff drink. Catching up on her paperwork shouldn't take too long. She walked into the conference room and found Chase hunched over the table. The sound of a pencil scratching on paper told her it was another crossword puzzle. She crossed the room without a word and sat at the computer.

“Hello, yourself.” Dr. Chase looked up from his newspaper.

“Sure those words aren't too big for you?” She jabbed at the monitor power switch and practically willed the desktop into existence. These things could never power up quickly enough when she was in a hurry.

“Ha. Ha.” Allison reached into her coat pocket and produced a USB flash drive, which she plugged into a slot on the front of the computer. “Stealing files?”

“Taking work home.”

“Stealing files is more traditional when you leave a job.”

“How did -?” Of course: Her letter was in the public directory. “I have ethics, unlike other people I could name.”

“And just what does that mean?”

“It means that we may discharge our patient the day after tomorrow.” Foreman pushed his way through the door and flopped down in a chair. The other two doctors simply glared at each other. “Come on, you're supposed to be happy.”

“Ecstatic,” Chase intoned without feeling.

“Okay, what did I interrupt?”

“Nothing.” Cameron began to type away at the keyboard. “Absolutely nothing of consequence.”

Chase licked at the lead of his pencil and began to fill in an answer on his crossword. “Have you heard the latest rumor going around the hospital?”

“You mean the one about Dr. House?” Foreman waved a hand in dismissal. “I'd sooner believe what I hear about Hillary Clinton, and I don't put any stock in that one whatsoever.”

Cameron's fingers stopped moving. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know, that the reason that her husband has to get it on the side because she's . . .”

“They always say that about strong women.”

“And about men when they're looking for a chink in the armor.”

“Well,” Chase cut in, “House and Dr. Wilson are very close.”

“It's all guy banter. Grow up.”

“Hold it.” Cameron turned to face her colleagues. “Are you telling me that Dr. House, and Dr. Wilson . . .” She shuddered. “No.”

“Maybe he's bi.”

“Chase!” Cameron made a face.

“Hey, we're all open-minded people – aren't we?"

“There's a difference between tolerance and believing every rumor that runs amok through this hospital.” Cameron turned back to her keyboard and began to type furiously.

“I'll second that,” Foreman rejoined.

Chase raised an eyebrow and cocked his head in the direction of Gregory House's office. The doctor stalked in, slung his bag over his shoulder and left without so much as giving a look at his minions. “Must be 5:00. You could set your watch by that man.”

“Chicken Tikka Masala.” James Wilson stood at the threshold of Greg House's condo hosting two bags aloft.

House's face broke into a grin. “Did I ever tell you that I love you?”

“Frequently. When you're drunk out of your head.”

“Well . . .” Greg House leaned on his cane and regarded his friend. Later. “Well, get in here before it gets cold.” James pushed his way through the door and to the coffee table, where two cold bottles of Kingfisher beer sat next to a pair of empty plates. House had pushed the piles of books to the side, and some perched precariously on the edge of the table. “Did you remember the naan?”

“What do you take me for? On second thought, don't answer that.” They ate and talked, sometimes pausing to listen to particularly good bits of the Chick Corea CD House had put on the changer. Eventually they both leaned back and put their feet on the coffee table, beers in hand.

“You know the way to a man's heart . . .”

“Is through the Superior Vena Cava,” Wilson finished.

“Medical humor. Gets me every time.” House closed his eyes and wished to hell he had a Vicodin.

James regarded his friend. Judging from the furrow of his brow it was obvious that his leg wasn't the only thing that was bothering him. “Okay, Greg. Out with it.”

Allison Cameron slipped through the door of her apartment and slid her large shoulder bag to the floor. Her shoes went off next. She sat on the couch, wiggling her toes and leafing through the mail. “House and Foreman may have the right idea after all,” she said to no one in particular as she massaged a cramp from her left foot. “Too bad they don't make athletic shoes with heels.” In her mind that did not include the clunky “fashion” tennis shoes she'd seen at the mall, marketed to teenage girls with expendable cash and foot problems years in the future.

Dr. House had asked her once why she wasn't a model with her looks. The truth was that she'd looked into modeling as a career, but women of average height need not apply, unless they had exceptional features. Besides, medicine was far more fascinating. It was probably worse on the feet than modeling, however.

The mail provided nothing interesting. A couple of bills, a come-on to lower her mortgage rate (yeah, all doctors owned their own homes), and an urgent letter insisting that the warranty on her car was about to expire. Somehow they hadn't gotten the message that she'd purchased a new hybrid last fall.

She dropped the bills on her desk, the other mail in the recycle bin, and went to the refrigerator. Excellent. There was still some of that good Chardonay left. That wine was supposed to be passé, but she liked the stuff. A small piece of chocolate cake sat on the top shelf, left over from when she'd had a friend over for her birthday a few days ago. “Take that, Chase,” she declared as she slid the cake on a plate and poured a large glass of wine. Another terrible truth: Yes, she worked out. Her job demanded a certain level of fitness. She smiled as she bit into the first chunk of cake. In another ten or fifteen years – maybe less – her metabolism would change, and she'd turn into her mother. “Eat, drink, and be merry . . .” She savored another mouthful of chocolate.

The ring of the telephone caught her with her mouth full. She glanced at the Caller ID on the base station of her cordless phone: No data. She let the machine take it. “Dr. Cameron, it's Dr. Ryan. Sorry I. . .”

She lurched over the kitchen counter to grab the receiver from its charging cradle. “Dr. Ryan. Hi. I just walked in the door. . . Yes, of course . . . By Friday at the latest. Thank you.” She pushed the button on the receiver and let out a sigh. She stared at the last bit of cake on her plate and decided that since it wasn't going to move on its own she'd finish it off. Life was rough. Cameron dropped the plate in the sink, topped off her glass, and carried it down the hall with her to start her bath.

“You're not serious?” James Wilson stared at Greg House with an air of incredulity he normally reserved for his last wife.

“Yep, you and I are officially an item.”

“I don't know whether to laugh or cry.”

“I'd cry if it wasn't so funny. I think Vogler is behind it.”

“Now hold on. You don't have any proof.”

“I didn't have any proof that Orange Skin Man's wife was having an affair, but I was right.” House stood and made his way to a collection of bottles. He called it a bar, but it was really just a place to put bottles. Okay, it was a nice English antique place to put bottles - pleasing to the eye, and it matched the finish on his piano He poured two glasses of the good stuff and handed one to Wilson. Sliding back into his chair with a grimace, he grabbed his right leg and propped it up on the table.

“It wouldn't hurt you to use that cane, you know.”

“Yeah, but then I can't carry two glasses.”

“You have a point,” he replied, hoisting his glass to his host. He took a sip. It tasted of old oak and moss; amazing stuff, and he expressed that opinion out loud.

“Only the best for my friend.” The singular of the word hung in the air. “Look, I don't have any proof that it's Vogler, but I'm pretty damn certain he's got a hand in it. He's been trying everything he can to break up this team. You know he refused to accept my choice.”

“I heard.”

House took a sip of his drink and allowed it to linger in his mouth for a moment before giving it permission to slide down his throat. “Mmm. That's almost as good as sex.” Wilson couldn't help but smile. “It's personal. He wants to get rid of me. He may ax the entire department, but he wants me out particularly.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Fight.”

James studied his glass for a moment. “Are you sure that's wise? Vogler is a man who is used to getting what he wants, and even if you win, there could be a lot of damage.”

“Think of it as an aggressive cancer treatment.”

“Sometimes if you get overly aggressive, you kill the cancer, but you also kill the patient.”

“But the patient will die anyway if this keeps its course.”

Dr. Wilson let out a sigh. “Look, I'm not going to argue medical metaphors. I'm just telling you to be careful.” He took another sip of the drink, savoring the flavor. As good as it was, sex was definitely better. “What would you do if Vogler fired you?”

“Play piano in a hotel lobby somewhere? I don't know, but that sounds good right now.” He took another sip of his drink, taking care not give into the temptation to swallow too quickly.

“What would you do if I got fired? Or Cuddy?”

“Vogler won't get rid of you two, unless he's even more of a rat bastard than I give him credit for. You're one of the best oncologists in the country, and he knows it. PPTH would suffer if you're gone. Even more than they would if I leave. Cuddy has nice boobs.”

“Greg . . .”

“And she'd sue his ass for that 100 million if he tried it. And he knows it. Besides, Cuddy is his buffer. He'll let her take the heat until she can't stand it any longer and she quits. She'll get one hell of a severance package, I expect, but she'll go on her terms.”

James Wilson laughed. “And I thought you didn't play office politics.”

“I observe office politics. I just hate to play the game.”

“You may not have any choice.”

Greg considered his friend's words. As much as he hated to say it, the man could be right. He stood and reached for his cane. “Come on, let's get some dessert. Chinese sounds good.”

“For dessert?”

House gave Wilson the look a mother might give a whiny child. “Okay, you can have an ice cream.”

“You're not going to drive, are you?”

“No, we're just going to the next block.” House shrugged into his jacket and grabbed his keys from the table near the door.

Wilson was surprised at his friend's newly-found energy, especially after the drink left him feeling like he didn't want to move a muscle for the next two hours. “I don't think I can eat another bite.”

“Then you can watch,” House replied with a leer and a wink. “You'll enjoy that.” Wilson eased himself up from the couch. His knees ached from sitting too long. One of these days he had to get back into a regular workout. Greg stood at the door impatiently. “Come on. You can trust me. I'm a doctor.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

At precisely 8:00 the next morning Dr. Gregory House strode into the conference room, a cup of coffee in his hand. His staff was waiting patiently. “Good morning. Glad to see you all here and on time. Foreman, how about an update on our patient?”

“He's improving rapidly. Cameron made the right call yesterday.”

House's eyes narrowed. “Are you saying that because it's true, or are you saying that to suck up to me because you want to keep your job?”

Foreman looked wounded. “You're gonna fire me for telling the truth? She made a gutsy call, and it was right.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, daring House to say something.

“Okay. Anything else?

“Vitals are stable, and he's breathing on his own.”

“Excellent.” Dr. House turned to the coffee maker for a refill. “Now, before we get caught up in another case, we need to talk about the personnel situation. He swore he heard a collective gulp from the group. “I don't want to break up this team. You can all give a sigh of relief now, although you'll be jumping through hoops to keep your jobs before the day is out, I suspect.”

Dr. Chase dropped his pencil. It hit the glass table top with a soft clink. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Vogler has threatened to cut the entire department.”

Foreman leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “He can't do that.”

“One hundred million dollars says he can. And if he can't then he can spread some nasty rumors around and try to embarrass people into quitting.” His staff all looked at each other. “Yeah, I've heard the rumors. And I owe you the truth.” He sat his coffee cup on the table and took a seat. “I'm a misanthropic son of a bitch, and I couldn't stay in a long-term relationship if you paid me.” He glanced at Cameron. She was taking this well.

“And this is news,” Foreman stated.

“Here's the juicy bit: Dr. Wilson and I have struck up a strange friendship. I don't know why the man puts up with me. It could be because he and my couch have an odd relationship; he comes running to it every time he and his wife go through a bad patch. But you know what they say: don't ask, don't tell. I think it's best that way.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “Any questions?” The group remained silent. “One more thing. When I do get any, it's with a woman.”

Chase tried to bury himself in his crossword puzzle. Cameron looked down at the table. Only Foreman seemed to be able to look House in the eye. “Your personal life is none of our business, Dr. House. Unless it interferes with your work.”

“If these rumors take on any credence, they will interfere with my ability to do my job. It will interfere with everyone's ability to practice medicine. Above all else we have to stick together. And that's as touchy-feely as I'm going to get.”

Cameron raised her head. “What do you want us to do?”

“Your jobs. And do not enable ANY rumor you hear in this hospital. Do not give our chairman any reason to to doubt your competency. In other words, don't play his little games. If you have any doubts, any questions, then come talk to me. Amongst the four of us – five, Wilson is in this as well – there will be no secrets.” He took a long drink of his coffee and noted with displeasure that it was cooling off. “Wow. This sounds just like General Hospital.”

He poured his coffee out in the sink and rinsed the cup. “Do I have your word?” Everyone nodded their heads in agreement. “Excellent. I've got clinic duty. Call me if there's an interesting case. Please. I beg you.”

He was well down the hall before Cameron spoke. “I need to catch up on some e-mail.”

Dr. Chase put his crossword aside and stood. “I'll check on the next round of lab tests for our patient, if you'll excuse me.”

After the intensivist left the room, Dr. Foreman walked over to Cameron. “Do you think he'll choose who has to go?”

“He's keeping the team, didn't you hear?

“Yeah, but do you believe that?”

; “Let's not deal with rumors.” Forman shrugged his shoulders and walked off. Allison opened her e-mail client and began to type. Dear Dr. Ryan . . .

“8:31 a.m., Dr. Gregory House checks in for clinic duty. I could fudge that extra minute, but I was in a staff meeting. Cuddy will just have to deal with it.” He produced a pen from his coat pocket and signed the register. “So, is the e-mail working this morning?”

The nurse looked up at him with barely disguised distaste. “Yeah.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Wilson entered, carrying a file. “Please tell me you've come to whisk me away from the boredom that is clinic duty.”

“No. You forgot to pay for your half of the takeout last night.” He stuck out a hand, wiggling his fingers in expectation.

“You're such a cruel man,” he said as he opened his wallet, “but fair.” He slapped a bill in Wilson's hand and the oncologist thanked him and left. House leaned over the counter. “You were probably wondering about what three little words could make me so rapturous. 'Chicken Tikka Masala.' I recommend the Star of India. Tell 'em I sent you.”

“I don't like Indian food.”

“Too bad. By the way, here's some hot gossip: Whoever started the rumor about me is probably lacking in the balls department. Notice I didn't specify the gender.” Dr. House grabbed the top file from the desk and went to see his first runny nose of the day.

Edward Vogler grabbed a stack of messages from his secretary and strode confidently into his office. He'd just had an excellent working breakfast with a pharmaceutical rep, during which he sold PPTH as the perfect environment for testing their new cancer drug. With an oncologist the caliber of Dr. James Wilson on board, how could he lose?

He began to toss the messages on his desk and then stopped. A turquoise box covered in delicate Asian fabric lay on the desk. Propped against the box was an envelope. Carefully, he placed the stack of papers on the desk and took the box in his hands. Inside was an exquisite pair of Chinese health balls. He opened the envelope. Inside was a card. Now, it read, you can play with your own toys.

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