Sleep, and all it brings

What ho all! Exams be finished. And even if I miserably failed each and every single one, I will never, NEVER do that again. If I mention I'm going to do that again, slap me. Anyway- stories now! Tootle pip.

When Wilson finally caught up to House, he was standing in the hall outside the diagnostics lounge, staring in through the window. Pausing from a little way off, Wilson narrowed his eyes at his friend, wondering what he was doing, before figuring that the best way to find out would be to go and ask.

House glanced at him as he approached; that briefly penetrative stare, which was quickly flicked back to his original object of interest. Intrigued, Wilson took a few more steps forward and followed House's look.

Cameron and Chase were in the office, and both were fast asleep; Chase resting his head on his arms on the table, and Cameron using a medical text as a pillow.

'What did you do to them?' asked Wilson in vaguely horrified fascination.

'I believe it's what they call case loading,' replied House, still watching his two protégés through the window. Wilson glanced back to him, and House finally tore his gaze away and returned the look, raising inquiring eyebrows.

'Uh, I've got an unusual patient. She's got breast cancer with a good prognosis, but there are other weird symptoms. I was wondering if you could give me a consult.'

'Well it's only fair, since you do seem to spend half your time in my office giving consults. Or is that just what we tell Cuddy? I get confused.' House spoke absentmindedly as reached for the file and flicked through it. Foreman took that moment to wander up. House paid no attention to him, still browsing through the file, but Wilson blinked, surprised, as he took in the neurologist's appearance. Haggard would probably have summed it up nicely.

'Mrs. Reynolds' tox screens are running, as are Liz Badger's protein gels…' Foreman paused, smothering a yawn. House glanced up at him, impatient at the interruption. Too tired to bother to take offence at House's manner, Foreman continued. 'Bill Tam's mother's gotten back to us, and he had a dog as a kid, but not since he was ten. Umm…' another yawn, stifled, whilst Foreman tried to remember the rest. Wilson was looking sympathetic. House seemed unaffected by his plight.

'And… what was that patient you thought had neoplastic syndrome?'

Wilson knew about this one, so he lent a hand, chipping in with; 'The guy with the bright red hair? Carl Hoburn.'

'Yeah, him. I've put him on immunosuppressors, and plasmapheresis-'

'So we'll know if I'm right in a couple of hours.'

Foreman nodded groggily, swaying on his feet slightly, simply waiting for some other instructions. He looked beyond anything resembling conversation. House looked bemused, the file still propped open in one hand as he grabbed his cane with his other and leant on it, looking Foreman up and down.

'Is there a reason you're telling me all this? Is there actually any new information which will go far to solving one or all of the cases?'

Foreman tried to think for a moment, tilting his chin up wearily. 'The dog thing…'

'Zoo-otic parasitic infection was a long shot anyway.'

'Guess I'm just keeping you informed then,' stated Foreman blandly. 'I'm gonna go and check on…'

'Bobby?' offered House.

'Nah. Other one. With the blood pressure.'

'Tch tch tch Dr. Foreman. These are patients we are discussing here, not just symptoms.' This managed to get a rise out of Foreman, but only as far as a dirty glare. Cutting it short when it ran out of energy, he walked around the two doctors standing outside the diagnostics office, presumably heading for a ward. Wilson watched him leave with the same expression he had watched him arrive, and House went back to scanning the file.

'I knew you were a bastard House, but that's just cruel.'

'Hmm?'

'Look at them!' Wilson waved an expansive gesture towards the two exhausted doctors sleeping on their shifts and the third who was probably only upright through sheer force of will.

'You do have such a protective streak sometimes Jimmy.'

'Only to make up for a complete absence of one in you,' retorted Wilson.

'Tough love,' shot back House, cutting between Wilson and the glass wall of the lounge to enter his office. Briefly rolling his eyes to the ceiling, perhaps in supplication, Wilson trailed in after him. House slumped down at his desk chair with a tired sigh, setting the file down on the desk in front of him and looking up expectantly at Wilson. If you wanted to follow House into his office, then you had to have a reason for doing so. Wilson was one of the lucky few that could usually get away with token reasons, but at that moment he realized House hadn't had any more sleep than his team, giving him pause.

'Is it mystic's week, or do I get an explanation for your gracious presence?'

'You… haven't slept either, have you?'

'Ah, I see. Not mysticism. Protectivism.'

'Isn't a word.'

'Is now. Neology. The art of making up new words. If there's a word for it, then it must be true.'

'Um- bullshit?'

'Ah, no imagination. That one's already been taken. I believe it means something to do with untruths'

'Now how would you know a thing like that? You never lie.'

'Everybody lies.' The response was almost reflexive, making Wilson smile, which made House narrow his eyes as he tried to figure out why. Instead of explaining, Wilson sighed and moved to sit in one of the other chairs, although they were less comfy than Greg's master chair.

'It's my three minions that are meant to be all tired. Not you.'

'How about you?'

'Thought we cared about patients here. Has she got long hair?'

'Huh?' Wilson had been caught slightly off-guard by that comment, but got it as House glanced meaningfully down at the file again.

'Your patient's screwing up on her chemo meds. Explain to her the difference between the yellow pills and the red pills, and why keeping her hair isn't as important as keeping her life, and she'll be all better.'

'You sure?' questioned Wilson.

'Am I ever wrong?'

'Good point,' conceded Wilson with a meek smile.

'And yet you're still here,' noted House, after a pause.

'Yeah, that would be the other issue. Of you trying to kill your staff.'

'They gave informed consent.'

'What- to be run into the ground? You're risking malpractice on their behalves. And yours, I suspect.'

'Pfft. I eat malpractice suits for breakfast.'

'I see. And you're teaching your young grasshoppers to do the same?'

'Not if they don't screw up.'

'Excellent plan. Push them. And it will be entirely their fault if their sleep fogged-minds happen to confuse 0.2cc of epinephrine with 2ccs.'

'Well… yeah.'

'House, that's stupid, and you know it. It's possibly only coming out your mouth because you're as tired as they are.'

'Aw, come now Dr. Wilson. That's a completely unfounded claim.'

Wilson gave him a long look. House returned it steadily, and Wilson remembered that he never won staring competitions. He gave up.

'Just… send them home. That's all I'm asking. You're not going to figure out what's wrong with any of your patients in this state, so they'll either die, or they'll still be here when you get back.'

'How cold of you Dr. Wilson… I'm impressed.'

'It seems I'm learning from the best. Please House…'

'Oh stop it with the puppy eyes already. You should have been a door-to-door salesman. Half of America would buy vacuum cleaner nozzles they didn't want if you gave them that stare.'

'Thanks,' replied Wilson dryly. House inclined his head graciously. Pursing his mouth, Wilson reluctantly stood and left. Trying to force House into anything was essentially a lost cause before it was even started. You had to figure out a way to make him think it was his idea in the first place, which, with him being a borderline genius, was difficult too. At least he'd tried. And gotten an answer on his puzzling case.

House picked up his ball and tossed it up and down a few times in a thoughtful manner. Deciding, he placed it down again and used his cane to lever himself to his feet, standing for a moment until the world wasn't quite so fuzzy, before limping to the door connecting his office with the diagnostics lounge.

By the looks of the situation, Chase had come in first, to quickly gulp down some coffee in an attempt to stay alert, put his head down 'just for five minutes' and gone out for the count. Cameron, being the sweet soul she was, would have quietly entered later (careful not to wake him), and pulled out the textbook to leaf through it for some ideas. It looked like she was about up to 'M.' The problem with textbooks was that at some point, they all just started to look so comfy. And out went Cameron. Foreman was too damn stubborn to fall asleep at work, but House had been planning to let him go home to sleep when he asked to. He was yet to figure that that was his out clause, and thus the reason why he was still running the rounds.

House poured himself a cup of coffee then rifled through all the shelves and draws till he found some sugar. With the drink flavoured to his liking, he turned and leaned back against the counter, surveying his two protégés as he sipped.

Cameron looked even younger when she was sleeping (and House noted with amusement, dreaming), and he wished he could see Chase's face as well. He wondered if the man would actually become mussed from this situation, or if, the moment he sat up, his hair would all fall perfectly back into place. House was betting on the latter.

It would have been nice to get the trifecta and have all three of his ducklings clonk out on him on the diagnostic lounge's table, but Foreman wasn't going to give him the satisfaction, and besides, Wilson had given him the Puppy Eyes. He took another sip of his lukewarm coffee, savouring the moment a little longer before he did what he had to.

yay! TBC. Aren't they just your favourite letters in the whole wide world? (The tiny part of me that's still sane apologises profusely. I'm just... so very, ver' happy. hic, sniffle, gargle)