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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