Dr. James E. Wilson, P.I.

A/N -

Just a humorous (I hope) little one-shot I came up with while watching The Good Guys. Not a crossover; it's all House, but I was inspired by the cop show :-)

I*heart* Wilson!

Anyway, I hope you like it!

As usual, I don't own anything House related, except some DVD's and a t-shirt, David Shore and Company own everything else... ;-)

Dr. James Wilson prided himself on being the most professional doctor he could be, but he slipped up sometimes. And usually those times were the times he was caught.

He'd had a rough morning. He had gotten into an argument with Sam over something small and stupid, for which he planned on apologizing for later, then, when he got to his office, he discovered that someone had once again took down his prized movie posters and replaced them with posters from the student film-turned-porno that House had discovered he had a role in. He sat down at his desk, only and he turned on his computer, only to discover a blown up picture of himself wearing antlers and a tunic staring back at him. He could kill House for discovering this little bit of information about him.

He tried to move the mouse, so he could put the original office safe PPTH back ground back, except the mouse wouldn't move. On further examination, every item on his desk had been glued down. All of them. Even the pens he had left laying out had been glued to his calender, which had been glued to his desk.

He wasn't enthused.

Not so surprisingly, House had failed to show up in his office all morning, causing Wilson to go and try to track him down through the hospital. He'd searched all the usual places: coma guy's room, vegetative state guy's room, the morgue, the roof, the fourth floor men's bather room, stall 3, the clinic's exam room 2. He wasn't in any of his usual places.

Unfortunately, he didn't have all day to track House down, and after about an hour of searching the hospital, he had to go back up to his office and see if he couldn't loosen some of the items from the grip of the adhesive. After that, it was time to see patients, always a happy task. At least none of them threw up in his office after being told their diagnosis. That happened more often than he would like.

By mid-morning, he was drained. He looked at his clock, and the numbers only read 10:30. He had another hour and a half to lunch, but he had a thirty minute lull in between patients. He normally spent lulls conversing with his best friend, who was still yet to be seen. He decided instead to take a page out of House's book, and he leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the polished surface of his desk. He closed his eyes and deepened his breathing, preparing to take a nap.

That plan, like so many before, was never seen to fruition.

He had just closed his eyes, trying to force his tense muscles to relax when his door burst open. He groaned inwardly, but he opened his eyes anyway, only to see a flustered looking Cuddy staring at him from his door frame.

She put her hands on her hips, transforming from friend-who-looked-like-she-wanted-advice to Dean of Medicine in 2.6 seconds. "Are you...sleeping? She asked, her voice rising a half of an incredulous octave on the last word? "Taking lessons on how to slack off at work from House now?" Her tone was dry, but her lips had quirked up into a slight smirk.

Wilson groaned and rubbed at his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. He sat up, pulling his feet off his desk. He massaged his forehead, "I've had a rough morning." He looked up at her. "What do you want? And if it's about House," he quantified quickly, "I have no idea where his is, or what he's been doing. Other than super gluing all my things to my desk. Including my mouse," he muttered.

She was taken aback by his information. "Super glued," she mouthed, her finely arched eyebrows shooting up. A grin broke out on her face. "So, he has been a busy boy," she muttered, turning to leave the office.

"Cuddy?" he asked, loudly, to get her attention. "What did you want?"

She paused, biting her lip. Finally she turned around. "Today is House's birthday," she finally said, nervously rubbing her hands.

Wilson sat back, frowning. "And?" he asked, confused. "He doesn't celebrate his birthday," he told her. "Well, he might go out to a bar tonight and drink the day away, but that's nothing unusual." He stared at her for a moment. "Why do you suddenly care now? What's going on?"

"Nothing," she answered way too quickly. "Just...nothing. I was just wondering if you knew. To keep him out of trouble." She turned and quickly left the office, leaving Wilson to ponder her unusual reaction to his questions.

Finally, he sighed aloud. "Right," he drawled out under his breath, shaking his head. He knew Lisa Cuddy pretty well, well enough that she was hiding something from him. He frowned, then looked at the clock. Only five minutes until his next patient. He'd have to wait until after lunch to do some more sleuthing. And this time, he wouldn't waste his time looking for House.

The rest of the morning moved slowly; Wilson kept checking his watch every fifteen minutes, wishing that twelve thirty would come quickly. When it finally arrived, he quickly left his office, leaving word with his assistant that he was going out for lunch, and that he wouldn't be back until one thirty. He headed to the elevator, the words everybody lies ringing in his ears.

He headed to the balcony, he and House's usual meeting spot before heading down the cafeteria, and he gripped the rail with his hands spread far apart, slightly leaning over it. He watched as Cuddy left the hospital quickly, twisting her head as if to make sure no one was behind her. Curious and curiouser, Wilson thought to himself, smirking slightly at his boss's suspicious behavior. I wonder who she's off to meet? Who she wouldn't want anyone know she was meeting? He pondered the thought.

It was common knowledge that she and Lucas had broken up about a month before. In fact, he'd won the pool Chase had going, saying that it'd last for a year before she would come to her senses. Not that he didn't want her to be happy; he just didn't think that Lucas Douglas was a good fit for her. She needed someone who could stimulate her intellectually, and he didn't think that Lucas fit the bill. He was good fun, but when he got serious, she'd cut him loose.

Wilson thought about that, and he lifted a fuzzy eyebrow and frowned in thought. She hadn't seemed all that upset after the break up. Not that Lisa Cuddy was the type to be distraught over the end of a relationship, but she had been much calmer about it than she should have been.

He was just about to push away from the rail to commence his plan, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye that caused him to pause. He took a couple of steps back from the edge of the balcony; far enough that no one could see him watching from them from above. He watched intently as House's limping form hobbled through the wide foyer, heading out the double doors, nearly following the same trail that Cuddy had followed across the tile floor. Unlike Cuddy, his eyes were straight ahead, a grim scowl twisted on his features, causing even the bravest of souls to scamper out of his way.

Wilson, however, was even more intrigued, and his eyes never left House's limping form until long after he had exited those large glass double doors.

Making sure that House didn't come storming back in, Wilson didn't leave the balcony for a good five minutes after he saw his friend leave the building. Then, he headed to the stairwell, and headed down to the first floor. He walked through the busy clinic, hoping not to draw too much attention to himself as he calmly headed to her dark office. Her latest assistant sat at her desk, and her dark eyes watched as Wilson approached. "Doctor Cuddy's left for lunch," she informed him primly, sitting up straight. "Is there something I can help you with?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.

"No, Amy," Wilson gave her his best smile, the one that caused his cheek to dimple deeply. He held up a folder. "My latest draft of the oncology budget. I was just going to leave it on her desk, if that's alright." He gave her a reassuring look. "You saw me bring it in, so she knows that I brought it on time."

Amy laughed. "Go on in, Dr. Wilson. So far, you're the only department head to turn that in. Dr. Cuddy said you'd have it either today or tomorrow." She turned her eyes back to her computer, allowing him to have access to Cuddy's office.

He walked to Cuddy's desk, and he quickly turned around to see if Amy was watching him. He had to fight to keep from feeling smug as he watched her type away with her back to him. He turned back to the desk, and he couldn't help but feeling a little full of himself. He fought the feeling, tell himself he wasn't done with this task just yet. Once he was safely back in his office, he could celebrate his first solo breaking and entering...okay, it wasn't exactly breaking and entering, but it was snooping on a higher level.

He stepped behind her desk, still watching through the open blinds, and he put the file in her inbox. He then briefly glanced at her large desk calender, searching for clues. He frowned, squinting at the little scribbles she had dotted all over the paper. Hair, spa, and massage appointments didn't interest him, and neither did the all the board meetings, although, he groaned to himself, he forgot about the transplant board meeting Monday morning at 7am.

His dark brown eyes skimmed over the sheet, and he smiled as he saw that she had her evening sitter scheduled for tonight. That little bit of information could be useful, especially since she had been asking about House's birthday today.

His eyes widened as he thought about. Why would Cuddy be hiring a sitter for the night of House's birthday. No, he thought, those two things couldn't be connected, could they? He sat back in Cuddy's chair, and he began to think about how his two friends had been acting recently. He had been too wrapped up in his own relationship with Sam to notice, but they had been acting strange, tiptoeing around him...

He shook his head, he was imagining things, wasn't he? There was no way that they... No, he told himself. No way. Especially not after everything that had happened this past year. No way in hell...

He was jolted from his thoughts as he heard the doorknob jangle. He looked up, his face frozen in a look of shock. Crap, he thought. I've been caught. Cuddy strode in, and she paused momentarily as she noticed him in her chair. He started to stammer out an excuse for being in her office, but she just held up a hand and rolled her eyes. "You really are turning into House," she commented dryly. She spotted the budget folder in her inbox. "At least, you used an excuse, unlike him," she muttered. She gave him a wry look. "Now, please, get out of my chair."

Wilson scrambled up out of it, nearly tripping over himself. He held his hands out in front of him in a gesture of apology. "I'm sorry, so sorry," he stuttered, nearly running over Amy as he headed out the door. Cuddy sat down in her seat, watching him beat a hasty exit in wry disbelief.

He rapidly traversed the busy clinic, his heart thrumming in his chest. He didn't break out into a dead run, but he trotted the last few yards to the elevator. He felt his face heat in embarrassment at the thought of being caught, sitting in Cuddy's chair, obviously having not supposed to be there. I guess I'm really NOT as good as House, he thought, running a hand through his hair nervously. A couple of the other people on the elevator stared at him as he exhaled loudly.

He'd never been so relieved to be out of the elevator as he was when those doors opened on his floor. He quickly made his way down the hallway, worrying his bottom lip nervously as passed his assistant. "Dr. Wilson," she began, standing up, trying to get his attention, but he waved her off.

"No time, Erin," he said dismissively as he unlocked his office door. "Mr. Burnett will be here in," he checked his watch, "ten minutes. I have to get his files ready."

"But," she began, but he had already opened his door, and found Greg House sitting in his chair, his green Nike sneakers crossed on desk.

Wilson pursed his lips tightly together, shaking his finger at the smug looking doctor. "You...you...you..." he blustered, trying to come up with some witty thing to say, but failing in frustration.

"I what?" House grinned smugly at him. "Thought you'd try to walk in my well worn sneakers?" he arched a graying eyebrow at me. He hopped up from the seat, heading towards the door. He raised his eyebrows, giving the younger man a smirk. "You just don't have the skills, yet." He walked out the door, laughing, leaving Wilson fuming.

The rest of the day passed, and Wilson managed to calm down. He stopped fuming, and he started plotting. It was time to figure out what was up with his two friends. He figuratively put on his houndstooth thinking cap. He was a smart guy. After all, he'd graduated from med school and was the head of his own oncology department, he wasn't dumb by any stretch of the imagination, but, next to one Greg House, he felt like a total moron. House was...cool, and he felt like a nerdy sidekick to the Fonz.

At six p.m., he sighed, pushing back from his desk, and he headed out of his office, locking the door behind him. He walked to the elevator, and when he started to press the down button, the rubber end of a cane slapped his finger away. He raised an eyebrow, but he moved his finger out of the way. "Going home to your love muffin," House grunted.

Wilson sighed. "We had a fight this morning, and she's out of town for a few days."

"Ah," came the monosyllabic response. "So, you're going to go home and feel guilty until you just can't stand it anymore, and you'll rush to her in an overblown gesture of aplogy."

Wilson nodded as the elevator doors opened. "Sounds like a plan," he commented, stepping inside. He faced forward as the elevator descended. "How's living by yourself been going?" he asked. "I hardly ever hear from you anymore."

House shrugged, leaning heavily on his cane. "I don't have to put up with you snoring, anymore." He smirked a little. "And I can walk around naked anytime I want."

"Not...an image I wanted to imagine," he muttered. "Thank you, House," he groaned, sarcastically.

"Anytime, Jimmy," House grinned.

"Doing anything tonight?" Wilson asked. "I thought we could go to Brewski's and watch the Phillies game." He paused. "I'll buy."

"No can do, Jimmy," House replied. He gave Wilson a knowing smirk. "I've got a date tonight."

"Wait, what?" Wilson sputtered. "A date? With whom?" In the back of his mind, Wilson had an idea who it might be, but he didn't want to give anything away.

"No one you know," House scoffed as the elevator doors opened.

They walked out into the balmy June air. "One of your working girls?" Wilson asked.

"Now, Jimmy, that would be giving you the answer." House climbed inside his old blue beater. "I think I'll just let stew for a few days thinking about it. He slammed the door, and drove off, leaving Wilson standing alone in the parking lot.

Wilson went home, but not for long. He changed from his office attire into khakis and a green polo. He went to a small diner for dinner, then, he started his stakeout.

It was around nine o'clock when he parked down the block from Cuddy's house. He had thought about going by House's apartment, but decided that would have been too risky. Cuddy had moved downtown, but her new place had more sheltered spots for him to park his car. All the parking near House's apartment was street parking, and House knew his car all to well. He would have spotted it a mile away. At least here, it was a little easier to hide in the shadows.

Nobody told Wilson what a pain in the ass stakeouts were. His experience had been watching '70's and '80's cop shows, and those had always seemed so fun, so exhilarating. Not one had mentioned how boring a stake out was. He had a foam cup of coffee resting on the dash, but after a few hours, he began to squirm in his seat. A few hours later, he resting his head on his steering wheel, checking his watch every five minutes. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they had gone back to House's place after all. Maybe his plan to catch them coming back from their date had been thwarted by House. It wouldn't be the first time that one of Wilson's ideas had crashed and burned due to his being outsmarted by House.

He wound up staying up all night, watching Cuddy's house, waiting for any sign of them. At seven a.m., he could barely keep his eyes open. He was leaning on his elbow, nodding off. It had been a long, boring night of playing private detective. He was just about to give up, when a tapping on his driver's side window jolted him out of his daze. He rolled down the window, and Cuddy was staring at him in her jogging outfit. "Wilson? What the hell are you doing out here?" He opened his mouth to answer, but she asked him another question before he could respond. "Have you been out here all night?"

He opened and closed his mouth several times, but finally he hung his head. "Yes," he mumbled, not feeling particularly suave or smart.

"May I ask why?" Cuddy put her hands on her hips and she arched her eyebrow in question.

He rubbed his face, stifling a yawn. "I've been watching to many cop shows," he muttered, sheepishly.

"What did you think you were going to see?"

He thought about it hard, and he figured he might as well come clean. "I thought I was going to catch you and House going out," he sighed, feeling utterly ridiculous.

She blinked at him. "James, if I didn't know you any better, I'd say you were on drugs." She shook her head, cupping his chin in her hand. "Go home. Go to bed. We'll both forget that this ever happened," she giggled. "Me and House. Seriously?" He felt the fool, and he was sure that his face was beet red with embarrassment. "I'll see you Monday." She set off on her morning jog, leaving him feeling abashed.

He started his car, and he drove back to his apartment, feeling like an idiot. He stepped inside, and he changed into his pajamas. He was too upset at himself to sleep, so he sat on his couch brooding. He heard a loud, piercing beeping noise, and he went to retrieve his cell phone. There was a picture message from House, and he opened it. He stared at it for a second, and he had a funny feeling that the picture of him sitting in his car, rubbing his nose, was going to be posted all around the hospital by Monday morning.

It was the text message that made him smile, though.

Nice try, Watson, it read.

He sent House a quick reply of Hope you had a Happy Birthday, for a change. He tossed his phone on the coffee table, smiling to himself.

The game was truly afoot.