Summary: "This is a wedding invitation." Her hazel eyes scanned the writing again, and then the front of the envelope. "Hmm, maybe it was misaddressed—who would invite you to a wedding?" House is busy with life as House, when an invitation arrives. Will he go? What about the 'and guest' part? Things get a bit complicated when he finds out that there's a bet involved... Gregory House is competitive by nature, but will it get him into trouble this time?
Rating: T
Disclaimer: The usual. I'm borrowing, kids, don't panic!
Author's Note: This is a fiction that I accidently dreamed up the other day, instead of paying attention in bio-chem. Oops. Hopefully you will appreciate the effort spent on dreaming this up more than my professor did, eh? For once, I actually have a plot-structure all worked out for this story... Should be intersting, I hope. Reviews are always greatly appreciated, and constructive criticism is completely welcome. Cheers!
"Good morning, little rays of sunshine!" Dr. Gregory House announced in an offensively cheery tone as he limped into the department of diagnostics. His apparent enthusiasm went unmatched, however, as his underlings sank, if possible, a bit lower in their chairs. He stared around expectantly for a moment, cocking his head patronizingly. "Hey, I think that's your cue for a rousing 'Good morning, Dr. House!'"
"Good morning, Dr. House," parroted Allison Cameron obediently, if predictably. She was standing by the coffee maker, rinsing out a red mug. His red mug. House allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction at the sight. Oh good, she was making him coffee.
"Well, that's one proper greeting," he conceded, now standing by the white board and inspecting his other two team members with a smirk. Almost as predictable as Cameron's sunny compliance, were Drs. Chase and Foreman's reluctance to play the game. But oh, he would get them to play—he always did. Now shielding his eyes in a mocking display of a search, House allowed his blue eyes to alight on the latter of the two. "How about you? Yes, you with the deep tan."
Eric Foreman rolled his eyes and brought one hand up to scrub across annoyed features. "Leave it alone, House."
The older doctor sucked in a breath and cocked an amused eyebrow, his mouth curled down in a comical excuse for a frown. "Uh-oh, someone's cranky today," He needled, accepting his coffee from Cameron with a nod, before turning his gaze to his neurologist again with a mischievous glint. "But the question is why? Hmm… What do we think, guys? Differential on Dr. Foreman's grumpy-pants personality—Go!"
And while on the topic of predictability, it was probably the most predictable of all that neither Cameron nor Chase immediately jumped on the band-wagon of teasing Foreman. House sighed dramatically. He could teach them most things, break them of most habits, but he hadn't yet coaxed them into the blatant taunting of each other. Ah well, he'd get around to that eventually.
"No ideas? C'mon kids, what am I paying you for?" For the time being, he settled for an over exaggerated shrug and uncapped the black marker. "Okay, I'll start us off then—symptoms: meanie-face, tense posture, grinding of the molars…"
Whilst House stood at the board scrawling the symptoms in his messy handwriting, the three younger doctors regarded each other with questioning glances. The Mad Scientist was being more happily abusive than usual, especially for such an early hour—something had to be up.
"…White-knuckled grip on the coffee mug, and otherwise completely clenched." Apparently, the head diagnostician had finished his list, and now returned that expectant gaze to his fellows. "So, causes?" Still nothing. "No comments from the peanut gallery? Am I really going to have to do this all myself?" Adverse to his words, his tone bespoke the fact that he would be more than happy to. "Ookay then. We'll start with 'lost a homie to gang wars'—"
"What is up—? What, you get laid last night or something?" Foreman sat forward in his seat with hands akimbo, staring at his boss with a frown. House merely shook his finger knowingly at the younger man and tsked.
"Ooh no, we're not talking about me, Dr. Foreman—although as long as we're on the topic, clearly you didn't get any either last night," he thought for a moment and stroked his stubbled chin dramatically. "Unless, you did and it was really ass-backwards awful… Hey, that could be a cause! Good for you for contributing!"
Within moments, the words "no/bad sex" were shining on the whiteboard as well. Foreman made a strangled sort of noise in his throat and the other two shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. This had the potential to turn ugly. Apparently oblivious, House continued his differential unfazed.
"How about tainted drugs? Plausible, right?"
"Okay, you know what? You win— GOOD MORNING, DR. HOUSE!"
Gregory House stopped what he was writing, turned slowly, and smiled a dazzling, toothy smile. Hah: Victory. He peered around the room and his face lit up as he apparently just noticed his neurologist. "Well good morning, Dr. Foreman! How was your evening?"
At this point, Foreman dropped his face into one hand and waved the other defeatedly. "Fine. Yours?"
"Oh just dandy." Blue eyes strayed next to a certain blond intensivist, whose own eyes widened in alarm. Before the older doctor could sink his proverbial teeth in, he spoke up.
"Good Morning, Dr. House!"
While smug at his latest victory, House still managed a puppy-dog pout at the fact that Robert Chase hadn't put up any sort of fight—thereby nixing the need for teasing. "Aww, you're no fun, Wombat," He paused and took a sip of his coffee. "Okay, so does anyone have a new case for Daddy today?"
Relieved that the ritualistic mockery seemed to be over, Cameron was the one to speak up with a shake of her auburn curls. "No, nothing—Jason is being discharged as we speak."
"Who is Jason?"
The pretty female doctor sighed at the sight of her boss's deadpan. "I think you called him: 'Snot-Rocket-Boy.'"
"Oh yeah, him. Well, if he's going home, then that makes Booger-Face old hat—I want something brand spankin' new!"
"Well we don't have anything." Cameron's voice was clipped, and she had crossed her arms in annoyance. It never ceased to bother her how flippant House was with the lives of his patients. "I'm sure you could go down to the clinic and snap something up, if you're that desperate for a puzzle."
"Oh don't get your panties in a twist, Cameron—Although your concern about my boredom is nice, if misplaced—" House smiled indulgently and pulled a Rubik's Cube from his jacket pocket. "So I'm all set! All that leaves is stuff to keep the kiddies busy…" he thought for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Got it: Cameron, you can sort my mail," She rolled her eyes and pulled her arms tighter across her chest. "Chase, you toddle on down to the Clinic where you will play the role of a very courteous Dr. House," The Australian also pulled a face, but said nothing as his boss tossed him a nametag. "And Foreman… Oh I don't know, go help someone with something. Do that brain thing you love."
Having finished doling out tasks, the head of diagnostics raised an eyebrow at his team. "Alright, everyone got the play? Okay…" he bent over and clapped his hands together. "BREAK!" he leaned back and held the cube in one hand, feinting passes like a quarterback. They stared at him blankly, wondering at his antics.
"Oh for Pete's sakes," he griped, letting his arm drop to his side as a long-suffering expression passed over his features. "Okay, so I know that Cameron doesn't do the sports metaphor thing, but c'mon you guys! I yell 'break' and you're supposed to go out for the long ball—i.e. you go and do what I told you." More blank stares. "See, 'cause I'm the QB and you're the—" He sighed. "Oh, forget it. Just get out of here and do what you do."
Drs. Cameron, Chase and Foreman exchanged more puzzled glances, but this time got up and one by one filed out to do their allotted tasks—except for Cameron, who followed House into his office. A weird morning with Gregory House, M.D.—par for the course.
...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...
Okay… Top row of red all lined up—DAMNIT! What is that BLUE one doing there?! House cursed silently to himself as he spun the Rubik's Cube between long musician's fingers, seemingly able to complete the entire red side, except for that one rebel blue square."Crap…" he mumbled to himself, but loud enough to attract the attention of the other person in the room.
Cameron glanced up from the letter she was currently opening and allowed her hazel eyes to settle on her boss, who was sitting across the room in that reclining chair of his. Seemingly unaware that she was observing him, the lanky diagnostician spun the cube again and squinted one eye at it, the tip of his tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration. God, he was adorable when he wasn't busy being an asshole… The female doctor repressed a sigh and shook her head in self-deprecation at her latest thought. She couldn't be thinking those things anymore… It wasn't going to happen! For Heaven's sakes, girl, stop staring! She chided herself, and almost to distract herself, the young immunologist ripped into another letter with a bit too much fervor—the manila envelope caught her thumb at that painfully perfectangle and blood immediately beaded along a new paper-cut. "OUCH—!"
At the yelp, House tore his eyes from his puzzle and peered across the room to the source of the noise. "Something wrong, Dr. Cameron?"
"No, nothing. Sorry I disturbed you." She would apologize.
He raised an eyebrow as she stuck the injured digit into her mouth and absently sucked it. A lock of auburn hair fell across her face, and House suddenly had the idea that she looked impossibly young and cute behind his desk. An unbidden chuckle found its way from his lips, and he shook his head. "Ooh, paper-cut, huh? Hate those."
Cameron nodded distractedly, pulling the thumb from her mouth to inspect it. Crimson welled up again immediately, and she sighed—she'd need a bandage to avoid getting her blood all over his mail. "Hey, do we have a first-aid kit in this office, or anything?"
He seemed to think about this for a moment, before snickering. "You know what? I don't think we do. Ironic that we're in a hospital and without a band-aid. Maybe I should mention that to Cuddy…"
"Oh, it's okay, I'll just go down to Pediatrics—"
"Don't bother, I think I've got something." She glanced up in surprise at that statement, and found him rummaging through his blue backpack. After a moment, House's blue eyes emerged victorious from inside his bag. "So, are you a SpongeBob, or a Snoopy kind of gal? I've got both."
"Beg pardon?"
"Band-aids." He annunciated slowly, giving her a look that clearly questioned her mental capacity. "I have SpongeBob ones and Snoopy ones. Which would you prefer?" The diagnostician held up both hands, a colorful box held in each, to emphasize his point.
At this, Allison Cameron straight out laughed. She couldn't help it—he actually had band-aids in his backpack, and cartoon ones at that! "Why do you have kiddie bandages in your bag..?"
"In case my clumsy immunologist sustains life-threatening injuries whilst attending to my mail, that's why," House explained sarcastically before shaking the boxes at her once more. "Just pick one!"
"Oh er… SpongeBob, I guess?"
"Good choice, SpongeBob is the man." He nodded at her approvingly before cocking his arm back as if to throw the box. "How's your catching ability, Cameron? Am I risking you further bodily harm by assuming that you might be able to handle a projectile?"
"Just throw it, House—I grew up with brothers." She held out her hands, and he made an exaggerated under-handed lob in her direction. The wimpy throw fell a bit short, and the pretty young doctor had to all but dive across the desk in order to catch it. "Oof—!" Sitting back in the chair clutching her prize, she rolled her eyes at the man who had tossed it. "Jeez, you could have thrown it properly, I said I could catch!"
The older doctor only shook his head with a slightly aggravating sideways grin. "Couldn't risk it—Everybody lies."
"Yeah, yeah I know." Cameron conceded, setting about the task of peeling the wrapper from a band-aid and applying it to her right thumb. Moments later, she let out another soft snort at the sight of her paper-cut now encased in a neon-green, sponge-riddled strip of plastic. "Cuuuute."
"Oh yeah, the sponge is totally you," he agreed, and then held up his hands again. "Okay, so second part of the gym test—does she throw like a girl?"
Instead of answering, the she sat up straighter and hefted the box in one hand—
"HEY! WHA—!" House barely had time to throw up his hands in defense as the package of band-aids came rocketing across the room and burst into a flurry of individually wrapped bandages as it hit his palms. After a second, he peeked through his fingers to see a smug Cameron smirking at him. SpongeBob band-aids were all over his lap. "What the Hell—? Cameron, what was that?"
She looked at him innocently. "What?"
"You! You nearly just killed me with a box of SpongeBob Squarepants band-aids! How would that have looked in an obituary?!" House exclaimed, his blue eyes wide in shock.
"You wanted to know if I threw like a girl…" she shrugged and didn't do so well at concealing a grin.
House shook his head in wonderment, staring down at the mess before him. "Schyeah, that was out of nowhere—what happened to the "I hate sports" Cameron? What have you done with her?" he demanded, seeing the woman in front of him in a slightly different light.
Cameron only shrugged again and wagged a finger at him. "Nuh-uh, I never said I hated sports, just sports metaphors." He didn't say anything immediately in response, so she calmly went back to what she had been doing before—sorting the mail.
Still sitting in his chair, House fixed his pretty immunologist with a calculating stare. Well that had certainly been unexpected and out of the blue—what else could "innocent" Allison Cameron be hiding besides an ace pitching arm? He wondered briefly, before suddenly her voice broke his thoughts again.
"Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Jacobson request the pleasure of your attendance to the marriage of their daughter Sarah Catherine to Mr. Michael Leonard House at St. Mary's Church in—"
"Wait, huh?" He glanced up sharply as her words sank in slowly, to see her reading from what appeared to be very fancy stationary from a very fancy envelope.
Cameron looked up as well and met his gaze for a moment, motioning to the piece of paper in her hands. "This is a wedding invitation." Her hazel eyes scanned the writing again, and then the front of the envelope. "Hmm, maybe it was misaddressed—who would invite you to a wedding?"
"Oh ha-ha, Cameron—" House scoffed, getting up and brushing off the errant band-aids before limping over to where she sat. "Gimme that." He went to snatch the paper from her.
"Nope—not a mistake. Says here: Mr. Gregory House and Guest," she said, jerking them out of his reach for a second. "Although, if the addressee wasn't a typo, this line certainly was—'and guest If this is your family, they can't possibly think you've got friends…"
If he was paying more attention, House would have realized at that point that Cameron was definitely acting differently than normal. Since when was she the snarky one..? However, he was too intent on grabbing both pieces of paper from her and scrutinizing them himself.
Coincidentally, Allison Cameron was thinking the exact same thing. Mocking House..? Was she out of her mind? He would take her apart for it, she knew… and braced herself for a verbal barrage. But, it didn't come, and she allowed herself a tentative glance at her boss to confirm that he was engrossed in the letter. Cameron let out an inaudible breath of relief and thanked a god she didn't really believe in that he hadn't noticed her cheek.
"Mr. Michael Leonard House," he read, and shook his head. "Mike's getting married? Bratty, spoiled Mikey? You've got to be kidding me!" House mumbled, more to himself than to her.
Cameron contemplated him for a moment, his blue eyes skimming back and forth across the page and the spurts of laughter under his breath, before leaning in to read over his shoulder.
"Huh, that's this weekend," she pointed out, surprised. "Funny that they wouldn't give more notice, isn't it?"
House checked the front of the envelope absently and handed it to her, still staring at the invitation. "Got sent to the wrong place a few times, I guess." He was right, the postage had many stamps over top of it, and declarations of "Return to Sender" and "Address Does Not Exist."
"Oh. Well, are you going to go?"
She had thought it was a pretty obvious question, being that it was an invitation, but her words had a strange effect on House. He stiffened immediately, and she literally felt the comfortable atmosphere get sucked from the office. His long fingers crinkled the edges of the nice paper as the grip tightened.
"Go where? To my stupid cousin's stupid wedding? Are you kidding?" The tall doctor demanded, suddenly towering over his underling. Well, she hadn't been kidding, but apparently the correct answer was to shrug, so she did. This lack-of-response seemed to appease him, and after a moment, House shook his head and gave a careless shrug of his own—the stoic mask was back in place. "Nah, why the Hell would I go? Like you said, weddings and I don't really mix."
Cameron was dumbfounded as he tossed the small packet of papers back onto the desk and turned to leave the room. The wedding invitation fluttered innocently down to rest on the remaining mail, and the young doctor stared at it almost accusingly. Now what was that all about? All that over an invitation..? He had been in such a good mood, too… She wondered, but admitted grudgingly that she could only speculate at this point. Chances were, he wouldn't want to talk about it.