Author's Note: This could not have been written if not for House's House of Whining/ and clinic_duty (script transcripts) at Live Journal.
Wilson staggered out of the chamber, sweating. Even the stifling August heat seemed fresh after the greenish fluorescent lights and close air in the chamber. To his amazement, he saw five-year-old Rachel Cuddy sitting on the wooden bench next to a plump red-haired woman outside the chamber. A five-year-old? They were trying for objective testimony from a five-year-old? What sort of kangaroo court was this?
This was Bizarro World. Next they'd be saying that Wilson told all of House's secrets. Like how House was accidentally in a porno. And how House slept with a patient. And how loud House's toenail clippings were.
Meanwhile, House kept quiet about Wilson doing unethical things to get a patient into surgery. And provided an alibi while Wilson was assisting a family member to commit suicide by hanging. And didn't tell Chase that Wilson was reading a book to try to connect emotionally with the man Wilson thought was his father.
Foreman was waiting for him in the car.
"All done?" Foreman asked.
"Thank God, yes. Let's go."
The gray Mercedes-Benz pulled smoothly away from the curb.
"How bad was it?"
"I feel like Kafka. They grilled me about everything, I mean everything I ever had to do with House, about House, helping House—you would have thought we were talking about two different people! I tried to keep calm, but I couldn't sleep nights. That's when I thought of all the things I wanted to say to that bunch of fanatics. There was this one woman...she had it out for me. I could hear her sharpening her knives between breaks."
"Damn, I know how you feel. Do you know, those assholes called me the hospital administrator, and not the Dean of Medicine?" Foreman sighed. "I hope Cuddy isn't dragged in there."
"You and me both. They kept interrogating me about my friendship with House as if I was some kind of—of dirtbag who was lucky to have such a saint as my friend. Jesus, don't they know House? I've done the wrong thing sometimes, but all of this shit he's given me—it was as if I only got cancer to ruin House's life! JESUS."
The Mercedes-Benz pulled up in front of a ritzy office building, the kind that had been springing up in Princeton's business district. Foreman received a ticket from the valet. When they entered the lobby, Foreman went to the security desk.
"Dr. Eric Foreman."
The security guard smiled. "Good evening, Dr. Foreman. They're waiting for you." He looked at Wilson. "Your name, sir?"
"Dr. James Wilson." The camera behind the desk snapped a picture of him, and then was printed on a card marked GUEST.
"39th floor, elevator to your left."
Wilson stopped. "This isn't another tribunal, is it?"
Foreman smiled. "It isn't, I promise."
He took Wilson's arm as they stepped into the elevator.
It took Wilson a moment to realize where he was. There was a conference table that had been pushed against the wall. It was done to make room for a large circle of chairs. Sitting in the chairs were Chase, two women he'd never seen before, Domenika, Dr. Nolan, Martha Masters, Taub and Stacy. Everyone wore name badges.
"Welcome to the Inquiry Support Group," said Foreman, sweeping his hand to include the others. "You know Chase, Domenika, Taub, Stacy, Domineka and Dr. Nolan. This is Lydia Bohm and Dr. Helen Martin."
Wilson almost fainted with relief. After the grueling hours with the Spanish Inquisition—er, panel—he had never felt so alone in years.
Foreman put his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Wilson has had it worse than any of us...he testified for days."
"Oh God, I'll wager they cut you to ribbons," Chase said.
Wilson sagged into a wooden conference chair. "You have no idea." They'd made it sound like he only got out of bed in the morning to make House miserable. That he and Cuddy were part of a vast conspiracy to rip House into little shreds.
"They gave me shit about buying the condo," Wilson said, not even believing it himself. "As if House had nothing to do with my decision. As if I still wasn't grieving about Amber. As if he wasn't genuinely happy when I bought it. Oh, that I was an ass for not letting House use my tub. That Cuddy was—I don't even know what Cuddy was. It just went on and on and on. Every time I was about to disagree, they changed the subject." Wilson slumped in his chair. "I am done."
"I'm Lydia Bohm," said a plumpish blonde woman sitting next to Chase. "I saw you drive Dr. House up to Mayfield." She looked down, sighed, then looked up, not meeting anyone's eyes. "I lied to that committee. Flat-out lied. About being in love with House, about wanting to leave my husband...I didn't want to come across as a—well, the fact is, he was a lovely man, but it was just amusement. Nothing else. I told him that. And then he showed up at my front door! I never gave him my address. What hospital allows a patient to go wandering off the grounds unescorted? Do you know, I even leant him my car, and he got another patient almost killed? I don't know what I was thinking." She looked at Dr. Nolan. "I'm so sorry. But what on earth were you thinking? And what did you tell the panel?"
For such a big man, Dr. Nolan seemed to shrink into himself. "I broke doctor-patient confidentiality."
"But why would you do that?" Wilson asked, astonished. "We never do that! It's one of the first things doctors learn!"
Nolan looked away. "They subpoenaed me. I should have brought my lawyer."
"What did you tell them?" Wilson continued to stare at Nolan.
"I told them about detoxing him from Vicodin, House's troubles with authority, his history of child abuse and the effects it had on him—"
"You're not supposed to tell ANYONE about that!" Stacy broke in. "I ought to know! Greg stole my psychiatric records and used them to manipulate me! God, I was so mad..." her voice trailed off.
"I didn't tell them about his going with me to see my dying father."
"You did WHAT?" Chase gasped.
"I asked him for a diagnosis. He diagnosed that I had no friends. And then he sat there with me and watched my father die."
"But—but you were his psychiatrist! You weren't his friend! You can't treat a patient after you've broken those kind of boundaries!" Chase looked around at the others. "How could you go on treating him?"
"I don't have an answer for that," Nolan said sadly. "The case should have been appointed to another doctor, but he was too interesting a patient."
Stacy broke in. "They asked me leading questions about his personality before and after the infarction. What am I supposed to say? That he was a big jerk beforehand, and an even bigger jerk afterwards? They twisted the facts about his surgery. They kept talking about his pain, his pain, his pain. I was his medical proxy, and my God, I felt like I was having needles stuck in my eyes. They tried to get me to say horrible things about Lisa. Do they even understand what a handful he is? I loved him, he's an amazing man, but one thing he is NOT is a special snowflake." She folded her arms, making an annoyed noise.
Wilson nodded. "The pain—as if I didn't know he was in pain! As if I didn't care that House was in pain! Our entire friendship was me ignoring all of his needs, or not anticipating them, or not caring about them. Yes, I got pissed off, but House is the neediest man on earth!"
"He did the DBS for you," Foreman pointed out. "With Chase's help."
"Well, he seemed all right after that," Chase said defensively. "After his medical leave."
"Yeah, that's one thing I feel crappy about," Wilson said. "They made it sound like a Machiavellian scheme that I took him in after he left Mayfield! And had him sleep on the couch! But I bought House a bed and gave up my den. Besides, it was fun living with him. Over the twenty years I've known him, he's always been fun, no matter what else. Except when my bank accounts were frozen, my car impounded, my practice closed, because House was a drug addict who didn't care what the consequences were to me. He gave new meaning to the word self-centered." Wilson paused. "He even admitted to me that he was an addict after he took Cuddy's bet and did that one-week detox."
"As I said to Chase, an addict is an addict is an addict," Foreman pointed. "Gambling, drinking, screwing around, taking wild risks...it's all the same thing. The adrenaline high. Same thing with the puzzles."
Chase looked at Foreman. "Did they give you a lot of shit about when you got sick?"
"You don't want to know. And for what it's worth, I'm still pissed at Cuddy."
"They asked me why he didn't have an assistant!" Chase laughed. "As if it was Cuddy's fault! My God, can you imagine, House coming into his office and finding some poor soul typing away at the computer? He wasn't happy unless he was dumping his workload on Cameron." He made a slight unhappy grimace when he said her name.
"They have it out for you and Cuddy," Taub said to Wilson. "Is Cuddy's name coming up in anyone else's testimony?"
"Yes," came the chorus from the room.
"Yours too, Dr. Wilson," said the elegant black woman seated next to Chase. "I'm Dr. Martin, his first fellow. I enjoyed working with him. And he brought so much money to the hospital—millions of dollars!"
Taub laughed. "Did he tell you that?"
Dr. Martin glared at Taub. "Yes, he did. And he was a brilliant doctor."
Taub grinned. "Dr. Martin, our department lost money every year, except for the occasional directed donation. Only the prestige of House's reputation kept it open. Made the hospital look good."
"I'm afraid I do not agree," Dr. Martin said frostily.
"A temporary CEO tried to close down Diagnostics because it wasn't turning a profit," said Chase. "If Wilson and Cuddy hadn't stood up for House, we wouldn't have had a job."
Taub looked down. "I told them about that insane patient who took everybody hostage. I forgot to tell them that House gave him back the gun! And that he almost got Thirteen killed. Damn, I wish we had time to prep for this stuff."
Dr. Martin turned to Wilson. "Do you remember what torment he went through after Stacy left him?"
"Oh, not that," Stacy groaned.
"Of course I do," Wilson responded. "I picked up the pieces!"
"Do we have to?" Stacy looked at him. "Isn't that bunch of lunatics bad enough?" She looked at Dominika. "Who are you? One of his hookers?"
Dominika drew herself up. "No! I am his wife!"
"You've got to be kidding." Stacy looked at Wilson, who nodded.
"She was one of his hookers originally," said Wilson.
"I made knishes!"
"Sorry, you made knishes." He turned to Dr. Martin. "House staged a wedding to hurt Cuddy after they broke up. He hurt Cuddy, Dominika got her green card. Now she's even a citizen."
"He tried to prevent it," Dominika said. "I think he was starting to like me. I was starting to like me, but he threw all of the letters into the garbage. When I found out, I left. How can you trust a man like that?"
Foreman stood up. "Guys, how about we take a break for some doughnuts and coffee?"
"Fine with me."
"Yeah."
"Is there milk, or just creamer?"
"I'm lactose intolerant."
TO BE CONTINUED.