Disclaimer: I own nothing in the House world...and in real life...not even a house.
Wilson
The nurses are gossiping and I can't help but listen. They don't understand how House can play that game of his while a child is dying. I get it. At least I have hope in his humanity that I get how he can sit there without looking like it is affecting him. Might be wishful thinking but I day dream that he is remembering back to that case where the Autistic boy gave him that toy of distraction. It was the last time I saw House making an emotional connection with a patient. For my friend's soul, I hope he feels that connection that hits ten on the Richter for me each time I can't save a child patient.
Foreman
I will never understand how he can listen to us and still be able to think of ideas on how he can treat the patient while he plays that infuriating game. If it wasn't for House's reputation and what I learn from him, I would break that thing in a million pieces. Visions of going "Office Space" on that thing dance through my head. I bet I can get Cuddy to help with that. After the wasted breath of ten reasons why he should stop playing and listen to our diagnosis of the patient and the treatment of said patient, I roll my eyes and leave to do the tests he recommends.
Cuddy
Foreman was right. I should just take that game toy away from him. This is ridiculous. I had to sit in a meeting with the parents of a patient while they quote back all the insults of volume four of "House and his Bedside Horrors". The dollar figures of a settlement spinning in my head like a slot machine in Vegas. I keep hoping the next settlement will not be the lucky 7 jackpot that will give cause for the Board to fire him. Heading out of the elevator and walking to his tenth known hiding spot, which should have been my first, I find him in his office playing that stupid game.
Chase
He is a great doctor. I get that. I can even see that the game should never be taken away from him if it helps solve the cases we get. But, what I don't understand is what Alison Cameron sees in him. What will it take to get that sparkle of hope out of her eyes every time she sees him enter the room? All he has to do is open his mouth and she should have been running and screaming away from the scene like Godzilla is attacking Tokyo. Instead, I witness a symbiosis that I will never understand—ten insults from House directed toward me and ten discrete smiles from Cameron shined upon House.
Cameron
The beeps and musical chime of his characters life being ended tell me he is finished playing his game. My pager has not gone off so I hope our patient has not faded away from the game of life as well. I feel jumpy. I know he is dissecting me with his sharp gaze. I can't stop my mind from wandering to my status of "lobby art." Does this round of inspection appreciate my value or does it simply devalue with each layer of my puzzle that he pieces together? Looking up from my desk I see his eyes drop to his red mug and I know he wants another cup. Sighing, I walk to the coffee machine and start to prepare the tenth pot of the day.
House
I have her outer pieces solved. They were the easy part. You just look for the straight edge pieces and start going around the perimeter until everything fits and we get the square that is Cameron. However, the inner puzzle that is Alison has me searching for connecting parts. The video game is losing its appeal but her puzzle is still like my first taste of Vicodin. Her puzzle is the distraction I focus on to save lives. I know I can't solve this case—there is no cure. The child will die. However, I made a connection to a patient. Hell, I agreed with a patient. We agreed on her. The sixteen year old Troglodyte was right. Her ass is a ten, especially in those pants.