Summary: Kutner and the newbies show Foreman how they spend downtime playing a game. Of course, there is House and Wilson too. Takes place around "It's a Wonderful Lie"

Characters: Foreman, Kutner, 13, Taub. Special Guest Stars: House & Wilson

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: I take the 5th. The only claims are on my W-4

A/N: All my thanks to my terrific betas, bookfan85 and kimmiekins for their diligent proofreading skills, suggestions and support. I owe them big time chocolate. Due to my compulsive need to tweak I'm solely responsible for any and all errors. Cookies will be served to all those that read and review.

Eric Foreman runs late for work. His morning slips off schedule when his car doesn't start, and he is forced to take the bus. Apparently, the bus driver is running behind schedule too, and tries to make up for lost time by hazardous daredevil moves that cut off street corners and more than one car. He vows as he walks down the steps of the soup-can-on-steroids into the hospital that he's never taking one of those rattling behemoths again.

He is just in time to trade greetings with James Wilson as they both wait for the elevator in the lobby. Wilson actually looks well put together. Under his heavy overcoat, he's wearing a navy suit with a solid blue tie that lies trimly against a blue and white striped shirt.

"Didn't get much sleep last night, Foreman? You look tired."

"Maybe I slept too long. I remember dreaming about scantily dressed women playing volleyball on the beach in little white bikini nurse's uniforms, but all I kept hearing was House's voice saying 'which means . . .' Which means, what? I hope I have that dream again someday, but with the soundtrack missing."

The ding of the elevator beckons them inside as they continue their conversation.

Wilson knits his eyebrows together, looking up over the doors as a backlit 'L' trades places with a glowing '2.' "Next time dream that all the women are naked, then all you'll hear is House saying, 'Interesting.' Trust me . . . much easier to ignore."

"I'll do that." Foreman is smiling as he decides to follow Wilson and stop by the conference room before dropping off his coat and briefcase to his own office. He opens the door as Wilson continues past him.

He is surprised to see the new fellows already congregating in the conference room with full mugs of coffee marking their places around the table. They are wearing freshly pressed lab coats, and their clothes are unwrinkled, but their tired and worn appearances betray a long night and little sleep because the caffeine hasn't fully jolted them to life.

He wonders for a brief moment why they are not sitting in their customary seating arrangement. Taub is nearest the conference room entrance. Thirteen is along side him, and both are facing Kutner with the view of the balcony behind him.

Kutner converts a worried frown into a smile, nods at him and makes eye contact as Foreman walks through the door, but doesn't miss the silent looks each one gives the other as he passes by, dropping his coat and attaché on the chair near the back of the room. He heads over to the coffee maker for his own personal drug-of-choice.

"Hey guys, you're here early. What's up with the patient?" He finds one of the red mugs and pours three quarters of a cup of opaque brew into it, and makes himself comfortable at the head of the table between Taub and Kutner with his back toward House's office.

Kutner scans the others looking for encouragement before he answers for them. "The patient isn't worse, but he's not getting better. We stayed late waiting for the tests results House wanted, and decided to come in early to prepare Mr. Bromley for a colonoscopy."

"A colonoscopy? The man must weight 500 lbs. House ordered one?"

"Five hundred and forty-two lbs to be exact," Thirteen picks up the verbal ball thrown by Kutner, "House hasn't ordered it - not yet, but we're thinking the results are inconclusive to what's going on in his intestinal tract, and it's going to be too much of a temptation for House not to have . . ."

". . . The opportunity to torture the three of us and the patient," finishes Taub.

"Wow, you're finishing each other's sentences, which means . . ." Foreman stops himself in mid-sentence, blinks and clears his throat as if he is suppressing a bad dream. "Uh, you're beginning to come together as a team, aren't you?"

There's a trace of weariness in Taub's voice as he answers, "Well, we seem to be a medical miracle. Triplets joined at the hip. We spend a lot of time working together and waiting together."

"I hear you. The down time can be worse than when all hell breaks loose around here." He takes a sip of the brown sludge and grimaces. "Have you three come up with any new and interesting ways to pass time other than crossword puzzles and answering House's email?"

Kutner again looks at the two newbies as if asking for permission before he starts, "Actually, we came up with a game." Kutner's hands are floating above the table as his knuckles rap a rhythm on the tabletop in syncopation to his words. "We were playing it before you came in."

"Oh, a game?" Foreman is thinking of the research paper on his laptop he would prefer to be polishing for publication than participating in some game the fellows thought up, but feigns interest. This could look good on his upcoming review. "What kind of game?"

Small sparks shoot out from the dark eyes of the young doctor, "It's a riddle game of sorts. We all take turns going around the table telling riddles or jokes . . ."

Foreman's façade of interest is slipping, "You mean like 'knock-knock' jokes?"

There's a slight laugh coming from Taub's direction, "Not exactly. Kutner came up with the idea, so of course you might say it's a little-left-of-center." His eyebrows rise as he looks at the man across the table from him, and raises his hands in surrender. "That's not meant to be an insult."

Kutner smiles, "No harm," and then looks sheepish as he continues, "Uhm, all the jokes or riddles are theme based. They must contain a reference to House or Wilson to earn points."

"Points?" Now Foreman is intrigued as he leans forward with his forearms folded in front of him on the table, "Go on."

"No additional points for riddles, but two points extra if it is a joke. Two points for either House or Wilson as the subject. One additional point if both are included, and two additional bonus points if Cuddy or uh . . ." the rest of the sentence is lost in a rush of words.

"Did I hear my name mentioned in that last part?"

Thirteen steps in to relieve the geeky doctor's discomfort. "Yes. Two bonus points for every additional reference to you, Cameron or Chase."

Foreman keeps a straight face as he raises his arms and folds them in front of his chest, his eyes narrow as he looks back at Kutner, "Uh huh. Why should I even be surprised since this is coming from you. Anything else I should know?"

"No, but to earn points all characters must have active parts – not just be onlookers in the story. Points are doubled if any one person is stumped by a riddle, or laughs at a joke, and" Kutner looks again at his cohorts in crime, "We play for a dollar a point."

"Really?" This game is starting to sound better all the time. "So let me get this straight. If I tell a joke where, let's say House and Wilson walk into a bar, get drunk and see Chase and Cameron at another table . . .

"Yes, but they'd have to talk to them and Cameron and Chase would be required to answer back," Kutner is nodding affirmatively.

" . . . and if the joke concludes with one of you laughing, that would be, ah . . . 20 dolla . . . I mean 20 points, right?

Foreman's surprised when all three eagerly answer as one, "Right!"

Kutner takes the reins and asks, "Do you want to try a round?"

With a shrug of his immaculately tailored suit, the veteran of the diagnostic department agrees, "Sure, why not? It couldn't hurt my wallet that much, and we have some time to kill." He lifts the mug to his lips and swallows the last dregs in his cup.

The room is quiet, the sunlight brighter, and only the sound of fresh coffee trickling into a fresh pot can be heard while all four doctors diligently write notes on spare notepads found wedged between some medical books on a nearby shelf.

Every once and a while one looks up to gauge how the others are doing. Finally, all eyes make contact.

Taub's eyebrows shoot up as he checks in with the others "Are we all ready?"

Everyone nods his or her assent.

The pencil tip is leaving little marks on Taub's pad as it see-saws betweens his fingers, "If it's okay with all of you, I'll start."

Three heads nod in unison again.

"How many diagnosticians does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

There is a mutual groan from Thirteen and Kutner while Foreman looks on, and they answer simultaneously, "None, the oncologist will do it."

Thirteen turns her head and looks pointedly at Taub, "Seriously, is that your best shot?"

With his head tilting slightly and a quick shrug, "Well, yeah, for the first round anyway." Then more aggressively, "I still get 5 points for mentioning House and Wilson. It's your turn, see if you can do any better."

Foreman's bluffs his way in agreement with the others, but he's thinking, damn this is some team building exercise. No wonder they can finish each other's sentences. One of these days I've got to try this game out when I'm working in another department.

Checking her notes, Thirteen begins, "If House used a cane made out of hickory – what would you call him?"

Foreman is stumped, and he looks at Taub who is also grasping for a clue, then he spots Kutner looking up at the ceiling, mouthing a few words, and breaking into a smile, "Hickory, DICKory, Doc."

Her hands turn palm up in defeat, "Right. Only 2 points for me. Kutner, now it's your turn."

The young man takes another sip of coffee as he watches the other contestants over the rim of his mug, and sets it down. "Alright everybody, be prepared to laugh your ass off because I've got a joke." His hands are chest high in front of him, rubbing his palms and fingers together as if he is trying to get warm, but Foreman doesn't miss the gesture for what it is – flat out nerdy glee.

"I'm going for big points!" He begins by raising both arms, each hand's fingers touching its respective thumb to mimic a pointy face that is looking at the other . . .

Taub interrupts, "Oh no you don't. You can't use puppet hands, or I'm docking 10 points off your score."

"Okay, okay." Kutner's eyes are overly round from the unusual outburst, but returns his hands to the tabletop. He begins . . .

Wilson is sitting and eating his lunch when House joins him with his own tray of food. By the slight limp, Wilson suspects House is in a pretty good mood and decides to test his theory by retaliating and stealing some French fries from the diagnostician's plate, and is rewarded with hot crispy potatoes without any snark or hand slapping.

Wilson looks at House, "Why are you in such a good mood? Did you maneuver less clinic hours out of Cuddy, or win her red thong again?"

House replies amiably, "No, and it wouldn't run a close second to what happened this morning."

There's silence. House eats his sandwich and waits for Wilson to crack.

"You actually are going to tell me?"

"I had clinic duty today."

"Well . . .that's reason for Cuddy to celebrate, but for you . . .?"

"I had an interesting patient."

"You seem to have more than your share of interesting clinic patients. Uhm, so share."

"Seems this guy came in because he got his iPhone stuck up his ass. He wanted to check out the vibrating mute feature."

"Well, doesn't everybody? I recall an incident with an MP3 player . . . "

"Another iPod would be boring, but I said an iPhone, you idiot!"

"Yes. I can see there is a whole lot of difference between one hunk of metal and plastic with a click wheel and one without."

"It's makes all the difference in the world. It seems between his body heat and the pressure from his sphincter the gadget ran amuck, and both iTunes and the phone were working at the same time. It was automatically dialing his address book and playing music to all the recipients."

Wilson is already chuckling, "Do I want to know what the number one song on his hit parade was?"

"Of course you do. The patient realized that all 102 phone numbers, which by the way include his mother, his employer, and the local president of the Young Republicans were treated to renditions of 'Backass.' He found the nearest pay phone and booked a one-way airline ticket out of the country."

Muffled guffaws and snorts are heard around the table as Kutner grabs the air with his fist, gives a sharp yank in victory, and hisses, "Yessss!"

The plastic surgeon looks at Kutner, "You're not counting any points for Cuddy, are you?"

"No, only a paltry 14 points to your what? 5?"

Foreman is dabbing the corners of his eyes with the back of his finger as he tries to regain his composure. It isn't Comedy Central, but he thinks he might not be able to look at an iPhone the same way again.

He makes a mental note to try out that joke on Cameron and Chase the next time they meet for drinks.

It's now his turn, "Alright, guys. I know I'm out of my league, but here goes, "How do you greet House on Halloween?"

He waits expectantly for a response, but none of the newbies look him in the eye.

He senses a change of atmosphere - as if Darth Vader entered the room. "Don't tell me. House is standing right behind me, isn't he?"

A voice rumbles next to his left ear, "Tritt-er Treat, Foreman!. Guess who is personally administering the colonoscopy to Mr. Obesity? The rest of you can watch and help as needed. There should be plenty of Mr. O to go around, so what are you waiting for? Get on it, people!"

House is in his element as he leans forward on his cane watching Foreman get up from his chair and walk out the door.

As Foreman reaches the hallway he's shaking his head, and suddenly remembers something his father taught him years ago, "If you can't figure out who the mark is at the table . . . it's probably you."

He is successful in controlling his shoulders from shaking with laughter as he thinks, Man, they set me up, those dirty rat bastards! That's what all those looks were about when I first came in this morning, and that's why they were arranged around the table differently, so that I couldn't see House come in. I bet Kutner orchestrated the whole scheme and timed it down to the split second for me to be telling a joke as House walked in the door! A bark of helpless laughter escapes before he rounds the corner and heads down the hall to the hapless patient, but he knows he's honor bound to get his revenge. I'll be sure to return the favor by telling him a gory hospital ghost story the next time we work after midnight.

Thirteen and Taub follow in Foreman's wake, but just as Kutner reaches the doorway, he hears His Master's Voice calling him, "Back in here, Kutner."

House runs his appraising eyes over the dark haired doctor, "How much did you make on that joke?"

"I haven't collected yet, but . . . " Kutner's eyes look upward as he does a quick mental calculation, "it comes to forty-two dollars."

House also appears to be doing his own kind of mental acrobatics. His forehead wrinkles, and his eyes look heavenward and to the left, "You get 2 points for style, zero points for originality, and a minus 10 point penalty for eavesdropping on my conversation with Wilson."

House's hand is palm up with his fingers flexing back toward him, "That'll be exactly 50."

Kutner can't get the leather out of his pocket fast enough and prays he came to work with that much money on him. He promptly hands everything over to the waiting palm, including some lint and odd change floating around in the corners of his other pockets.

House looks pleased at his haul, but is not about to let Kutner off the hook that easily, "You're short forty-five cents." You're lucky I'm a cripple or I would turn you upside down and shake the rest out of you, but I'll do you a favor and round the missing change up so that it will be easy for you to remember. Pay me five dollars tomorrow."

Kutner looks shame-faced for an instant, but only for an instant as he says, "Sorry." The look is quickly wiped off his face as his eager curiosity gets the better of him. "It was a great story. Just tell me this . . . was it true?"

House is already limping back to his office door as he looks back at Kutner with not an unfriendly leer, "Why don't you find out for yourself? Go to the local Apple Store after work, buy an iPhone, enter my phone number in the address book, download everything from Van Halen, then shove it up your ass, and see if it calls me in the morning."

Fin

A/N: As a thanks for reading, here is one last riddle:

Q: How many doses of Vicodin does House take per day?

A: Eight. Two for his leg, and the additional is for the headache he gets from Wilson's nagging about all the pills he takes. (5 points / 10 points if you laugh!)

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