TITLE: Quid Pro Quo
SUMMARY: House makes a bet with Wilson that Foreman's gay, and he'll go to any lengths to prove it! Even if it means bending the rules!
AUTHORS NOTES: We don't own the show nor do we own the characters! We just simply write for fun. It is Humor/ Parody. This story has been a long time planning, but we needed a break and in the end the break had been worth it. After so many times of re-editing and getting close friends to read through the synopsis and the first chapter itself, we have grown confident that it is time to start posting this. We warn that our updates will be gradual due to busy lives that we lead. But don't let the gradual update put you off!
This story also takes place when House has his old team. It's not after or before an episode. It will simply be that time period when Cameron, Chase and Foreman were House's ducklings. So, no, Thirteen, Cut-Throat Bitch and the rest will not par take in this crack!fic. We're still getting to know them. That is our reason…Nonetheless; someone mentioned that Foreman is gay. We're unsure as to what episode that was…but we presume it was the final episode before the writer strike had begun. If someone can recall where and what episode that was, please give us a shout.
And…yes…we're still standing to our time period of Cameron, Chase and Foreman being House's team. We're sure there are other writers out there who are still getting to know these new members in order to understand and write about them. Lastly, reviews, feedback and constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated. This is our first House M.D story.
And the very least...if you have ideas and would like to throw them our way, do so by review or send us a PM. We will take any feedback into consideration. Oh and fanfiction is being a pain in the ass, it keeps mucking up our settings! Like the spaces, for example.
CHAPTER ONE
(You're The Devil In Disguise)
Quid Pro Quo, I'm sure you've heard the term before. If not go look in the dictionary yourselves, you lazy asses!
SO while you're doing just that I'd like to convey to the rest of you who are familiar with the term that I – yes, yes – have released the serpent from my mouth many times that I can not remember. Wilson says it's because I choose NOT to remember. But really that man is lying. You shouldn't believe anything he says. It could get you into trouble one day. Seriously…
When it comes to QUID PRO QUO I just love watching the serpent coil around my victims' body, squeezing them so their pupils literally pop. I like to see them wriggle like a worm on a hook, their beseeching eyes begging for clemency. It gives me a good thrill. It makes the bones in my body shiver with anticipation. It's a friend who welcomes me for tea. It's a good listener who you and I can depend on.
And I'll use it till the day I die.
Don't believe me?
Oh, you will soon enough.
Quid Pro Quo, I like to call it my own little Pandora's Box. When I slowly open this little box the ducklings start to quack and make a break for it. You should see the look on their faces when they try avoiding me. Remember when I said their pupils pop? Well they certainly do, with a little noise to create a marvelous effect. Even for patients, Quid Pro Quo is responded with, "Oh shit!" Yes, they know what's coming and they have no choice but to spare me their agony and just sign their damn life away. It's called playing God, sometimes, and I love it. The Emperor, The King, The Ruler of Princeton-Plainsboro!
The only person who does not take me seriously is Wilson. He knows how to play my games. At least that's what he calls my tactics. He usually says, "Forget about it, House, I'm not playing one of your callous games of Survivor or whatever YOU like to call it these days." Then I say, "So you're not interested? Fine, I'll go ask a twelve year old within these walls. I know kids covet games. She'll love to play." Expectantly I cross the room to the door of Wilson's office, and on cue he grabs my arm. I remember gawking at him and he gawks at me with a look that clearly proclaimed, "All right. I'll play. Because a twelve year old girl will have no idea what you're up to." Good on ya, Wilson, you're learning. I smiled and clapped him hard on the back as if he'd been one of my favourite pupils. "Thata boy, Wilson. Thata boy!"
Nothing stops Wilson and I having a bit of fun, and who says you can't have fun while you work? Life gets a bit dull; we should be making the most of it.
Anyway, it wasn't long ago that I had thrust Pandora's Box back into the real world. When I did, realisation hit me -I hadn't used this baby for like...ever. So long I'm not precisely sure when I had stopped using it or when I had been threatened to stop using it. Oh, wait a second. As Celine Dion rightfully says, it's all coming back to me!
For a moment there I thought I was getting early signs of amnesia. Hah!!
Pss…one more thing…
If Cuddy finds out about this she'll double my shifts and won't hesitate to have her students-in-training castrate my jewels. So keep this hush hush! Okay? Don't make me stalk you! I'm good at that. Ask Wilson. He knows. I've done it to him so many times. Although, this day and age, he doesn't believe it's me who calls him late at night and then quickly hangs up. I swore on my blood cells it wasn't me. It's scaring him, I think. I can see dark circles enclose his eyes. I'll let him suffer for a little bit more.
"House!"
Wow, is that him? He sure has a knack of appearing out of nowhere whenever I mention his name. Unless these walls have ears, but I don't see any so I'll pretend I didn't hear him. I'm good at that, too.
Moving along now my sweet diary…the last time I opened my little Pandora's Box, it involved me and Cuddy, at my-
"House, where did you hide the Smarties?! I had a whole packet of them right here! House?! HOUSE! Are you listening to me?!"
Students, excuse me for a minute… we seem to have an intruder in our midst.
"What? Hey! HOUSE! What are you doing? You can't lock me out of my own office! HOUSE! PUT ME DOWN! HOUSE! H—"
Slam!Click! Ahhh…
Finally! Some peace and quiet!
"I'll let you in when I'm done, Wilson!"
Just what am I doing in Wilson's office?
You see, I was looking for my diary that I KNOW Wilson had taken and hid. This diary I received from Doctor Allison Cameron last Christmas who suggested I write personal problems. Since when did she ever take on a Psychology degree? I'll never know and I don't care. She expects all my woes, the pain, and sad-ass life of a loser to be spilled in one lame diary. She thinks it'll help relieve my stress, my tribulations and claimed it works for her. Again - who cares! I've decided not to expose my sorrows to a book. I'm using this diary for other means. Means no one BUT ME will see. ME! Can you tell? No one BUT ME will see my devious demise.
BANG!
At haste my head rose and there stood Wilson in the doorframe, panting, flustered. Had he just broken down the hinges? For the millionth time this hour I had been interrupted.
"You do realise you've broken into your own office?" A mild grin plastered itself across my face. "That's gonna cost ya."
"You threw me out of my own office, House." Wilson stated this as if I hadn't of known. Folding both arms across his chest Wilson narrowed his eyes, staring pointedly ahead. I didn't take him seriously, never do. He knows that.
"I didn't realise."
Wilson outstretched one arm and pointed a threatening finger at me. At least he tried. "Get off my chair."
Thinking over the demand, I replied, "Bite me. I'm delicious."
"You just can't walk in here like you own the damn place!"
I held the diary close to my chest knowing that's what Wilson is after. He stole it, after all, practically hid it in his underpants if I'm not mistaken. When Wilson said nothing, I added, much to his distaste, "I save peoples lives. And I get to decide who lives and who goes. That's what God and I have in common. I'm the head of this Unit like he's the head of Heaven. In conclusion, yeah, I do own the place."
Wilson held up a hand. "That still doesn't mean you get to rule Princeton-Plainsboro! And that's Cuddy's job. Not yours."
Propping both elbows on Wilson's institutional desk, I smirked. "I'm sorry – who did you say your name was?"
"Get off my chair, House!"
"And I recommended you bite me."
"I'm serious, House- I have a lot of work to catch up on, including a case of an eighteen year old boy!"
"And why is that my fault?"
Wilson looked exasperated. "I can't believe this. Okay. . . let's see. . . " He began to caress his chin and pace to and fro. I watched him with twinkling eyes. "We can do this the hard way or the easy way. Which suits?"
"Ooo, fiesty! I love it when you get dirty, Wilson."
"House!"
"You hid my diary," I stated a matter-of-factly. "No, wait, you STOLE my diary. What were you going to do with it? Show Cuddy?"
"No…" Wilson answered tentatively.
"No?" With vivacious effort I twirled the cane through my fingers. "Interesting. So were you reading it for your own enjoyment?"
"Diaries are supposed to contain inner feelings, House, not notes of cruel demise."
"Cameron gave it to me last Christmas. It's my gift. I couldn't let it go to waste." I leant forward, anew. "Plus, writing down my 'emotions' in diaries isn't my thing. Why would I want to waste my time spilling them out to a pathetic book that doesn't have a mouth and pair of ears to listen?"
Wilson reached out for the said diary and I quickly yanked it back, holding it to my chest. I remember doing this awhile ago when the guy held his eyes on it as soon as he barged in. "Mine!" I elicited a low growl.
Wilson placed his hands on hips. "House, you're not twelve." He so acted like a parent, it intrigued me.
"Move any closer and I'll bite. I have a penchant for human bodies that goes well with a glass of Chianti!" I feigned the grand sucking Hannibal Lector effect and a deathly glare resembling the infamous psychopath followed. Wilson scowled.
"I got a chance to read a bit. It says you think Foreman's gay."
"Really?" The Scooby-Doo tone was worth the endeavor. Wilson's lips twitched. I thought he was ready to burst into hysterical laughter; but, no, for the second time today I had been proven wrong.
"House – I'm not stupid. And don't look at me like that!"
The contorted expression of an idiot man disturbed him, I'm sure. He knew I was smart and even smarter for playing dumb.
"So you did read my diary?"
Wilson sighed, shoulders rounding forward in capitulation. Even the glow in his eyes dimmed. I had won this round, finally.
"Were you going to show Cuddy?"
"No!"
"You hid it to…?"
"Make you panic and think I was going to show Cuddy!"
Another thing I like about Wilson. He's a straightforward guy. Knows when not to waste my time, knows when to play the game.
I tutted and pointed the cane at him. "Very bad on your part, Mister Wilson. Make an old, cripple man suffer."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Why do you think Foreman's gay?"
"Why are you so suddenly interested?"
"Because it was written in your diary. . . and in your handwriting."
I put the diary on the flat surface and flipped through some pages. Page number 12 struck me. "Golly gosh, would you look at that! It's right there. Why didn't I see it before?"
"So why do you?"
"Have you seen the way he gawks at Chase longingly and bites Cameron's head off when she's near the pretty blonde?"
Wilson blinked and I gestured him to take a seat opposite. He did. Slowly. Probably feeling unnerved by the whole circumstance – that maybe I should be there instead of him. And that he should be here, in this seat, instead of me.
"Foreman and Cameron nevergot along from the start; not since they worked for you."
"And you're implying?"
Wilson's lips twitched again and I began to worry that it may become a habit. "You turn your minions against each other."
"They turn themselves against each other. I just give them a tug of advice."
"You never cease to amaze me, House."
"Oh, you know I'm here to please, Wilson. Without me, Princeton-Plainsboro would be doomed to monstrosity."
Wilson eluded a derisive laugh and, clasping his hands together on his lap, he said, "And Foreman's not gay."
"He so is."
"House, he isn't. He dates women."
"I still stand strongly to my opinion."
"He's not gay!"
Without warning I withdrew a hundred dollar bill from my inner jacket pocket and slammed it on the table between us. Wilson blinked as if he'd been slapped a million times and re-living it in memory like Bill Murray in Ground Hog Day. He had no idea this was coming, did he? It's obvious. I let my fingers stay immobile on the one hundred dollar bill, tantalizing his inner demon resting in dormant.
"Then let's bet on it."
"What?"Wilson shifted uncomfortably "No way!" he spluttered.
If one was looking at my features than downward at the one hundred dollar bill on the table, one would have noticed the immediate amendment in my expression.
It was kind of mocking and devilish all the same.
"What are you - chicken?"
"No. What if Cuddy finds out?"
I shrugged. "No big deal, but if it concerns you greatly, we'll keep this between us like it's a BIG secret."
Wilson paused.
I moved the one hundred dollar bill back and forth, back and forth, hearing the material scrape, taunting his soul. If the Devil were here right now he'd be laughing in hysterics and slapping his knee in glee.
"Fine," and with glaring eyes, Wilson added, "Deal."
"Great! Let's shake it on it- part of the contract, if I do say so myself."
We both shook. I couldn't have smirked any wider.
"If I win, and if Foreman's gay, you'll have to be my slave for a month."
Wilson scoffed. "What about you?"
"Me?"
"If I win, and if Foreman's NOT gay, you'll have to be my slave – that's for a year."
"Ouch, that sparks fire in my soul. Okay, sounds like a tasty deal to me."
I stood, the leather cave-like chair groaned as it pulled back at my command. The cane was wrapped in my fingers and the diary was tucked beneath my left armpit as I begin to meander around the institutional desk. I halted at Wilson's side (who remained seated at this point); bent my torso and muttered in his ear, "You're a dead man."
This bet is mine to win.