Disclaimer: Not my sandbox. Fox and David Shore demanded that I say House, M.D. belongs to them. Oh well, at least I won't get baylisascariasis.
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital clinic, 31 March, 11:43 PM
An alarm buzzed softly and a man groaned, swatting at it quickly. He got up from the clinic bed and ran through the list of things he had to accomplish before the ever-so-early birds Dr Cameron and Dr Wilson got in at 8 the next morning.
0. Disable the security cameras, then reconnect them after everything else is done
1. Repaint Wilson's office
2. Arrange for the pranks on Foreman, Chase, and Cameron
3. Zing Cuddy
4. Distract Cameron after she arrives
It was the first one that was going to be the most time-consuming, he thought, especially as he had very little artistic talent. The groundwork for the second had already been laid, so that was taken care of; and the zeroth and third would be easy, given that he'd managed to...acquire...the hospital administrator's user ID and password for the hospital mainframe.
The fourth, though...that was the kicker, and the main objective. He was going to drag her feelings out into the light of day if it was the last thing he did, because he was tired of watching her dance around them every single day.
It was with that thought in mind that he cackled evilly, rubbed his hands, and turned to the laptop he'd stowed in the cabinet.
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, 1 April, 7:57 AM
Dr Allison Cameron tended to be the trusting sort. Certain cane-bearing individuals would describe her as naive and saddled with an insane moral compass, but she'd personally thought of it as a strength. Today, however, she had the slight feeling that something was off as she crossed the lobby to the elevator bank.
As she left the elevator and turned to enter the Diagnostics Department conference room, she saw something that made her put full faith in the power of intuition.
Every surface in the room sported a stuffed toy kangaroo, holding a British flag in one paw, sitting atop a jar of Skippy extra-smooth peanut butter. Even the sanctity of the whiteboard had been violated; it had been tilted to the horizontal and given a kangaroo of its own.
Intuition couldn't tell her, however, just how much worse things were about to get.
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, 1 April, 9:17 AM
Dr Lisa Cuddy was not in a good mood. First Diagnostics had suddenly been invaded by an army of British kangaroos, and now -
"What do you mean, the Neurology lounge is full of barbecue grills?"
Nurse Brenda Previn could only shrug helplessly.
"I don't know. The head of Neurology paged me to ask what the hell was going on and why no one thought to inform him that his department had been transformed into a giant cafeteria. Apparently, someone moved a whole bunch of Foreman grills in there overnight. And their fridge is now stocked with hamburgers, buns, lettuce, tomatoes, and everything else."
"Foreman grills? H-"
At that moment, Cuddy's pager went off.
WHAT ON EARTH - DR WILSON
"House, you had better have a good explanation for this one," the dean muttered, putting a hand to her head, as she exited her office. "Excuse me, Nurse Previn."
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Dr James Wilson's office, 1 April, 9:20 AM
Oncology was not a very fun specialty. A lot of patients who came through the doorway of Dr Wilson's office didn't make it; frequently, whenever House didn't bother him, Wilson found himself pondering the philosophy of it all. Was it worth extra points in the scheme of things to choose this task, so others didn't have to deal with the misery that accompanied it? Did the satisfaction of being able to save a life make up for the negativity that surrounded not being able to do so?
At the moment, however, Dr Wilson was just finishing up the initial evaluation and prognosis for a 70-year-old man who had just been diagnosed with small cell lymphoma.
"...and the average survival rate for this kind of cancer is almost ten years."
"Wait, doctor. I thought small cell usually meant it was very aggressive."
"That's true in the case of small cell lung cancer, but small cell lymphoma is different. It's slower and much less aggressive than small cell lung cancer."
"I see. Would it affect my eyes at all?"
This question was unexpected. "I'm sorry?"
"Well, you see, I had some time to look around the office while you were on the phone earlier, and I noticed this beautiful painting on the ceiling. Are you a fan of horror movies by any chance, Dr Wilson?"
Completely taken aback, the oncologist followed his patient's finger and looked up.
Somebody had taken a page out of Michelangelo's book and turned his office into an advertisement for a double feature of The Eye and The Rings. However, the artwork bore 2 modifications: the title "The Rings" had had two words added, becoming "The Kayser-Fleischer Rings"; and the image of the eye underneath the modified title now sported the gilded rings that were a classic sign of...
...Wilson's disease.
"Excuse me one moment, Mr Hart," Wilson apologized, rising from his chair and paging Cuddy.
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Diagnostics conference room, 1 April, 9:30 AM
The team sat at their usual places along the table, trying valiantly - extra valiantly in Chase's case - to ignore the plethora of marsupials adorning the room while waiting for House to show up.
When Cameron had first come in, she'd dropped her bag and been speechless for ten full minutes. Then Foreman had come in behind her with his nose in a medical journal; not seeing her, he'd run into her, gotten off of her, apologized, and picked her up off the floor. And then he'd raised an eyebrow and chuckled upon seeing what had pushed Cameron into catatonia.
Then Chase had come in, stared...and promptly sat down and started doing the crossword without help from anybody, for the first time in recent memory.
Cameron thought he'd been stunned or annoyed into silence.
Foreman thought he was dreading House's reaction when the boss came in.
Speaking of which, where was he anyway?
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Dr Lisa Cuddy's unusually-full office, 1 April, 11:00 AM
"There is no way that you did not do any of this, House."
"No, you're right. It was all me. Me, me, me. What are we referring to, anyway?"
"The fresco in Dr Wilson's office, the Foreman grills in Neurology, and the kangaroos in your own department!"
"Oh, come on. I call Chase a kangaroo or a dingo half a dozen times a day already, actually demonstrating it would be...cliched."
"Still don't believe you. Clinic duty."
"Look, I know everything points my way, but I swear on my season pass for Prescription: Passion that I didn't do it!"
"Clinic. Now."
House left in a huff, muttering something about evil S&M witches with clinic duty fetishes.
Cameron, Chase, Foreman, Wilson, and Cuddy stared at each other for a while.
"Well, if he didn't do it, who did?" Chase asked, at length.
"This is exactly the kind of thing he'd do!" Wilson insisted.
"Yeah, sure, but how would he manage to paint that thing on your ceiling with his leg the way it is?" Foreman remained skeptical.
A cane thumping in the corridor outside caused all of them to drop back into the positions they'd been holding when he left. House entered, and took in the array of neutral expressions.
"Cool. Kinda like Night Court, except it's daytime."
"You have clinic. Why are you back here?"
"Well, Cameron, it looks like the deities known to man as 'Mick Jagger', 'Eddie van Halen', and 'Jimmy Page' have smiled on me and given Cuddy clinic duty instead."
"What?!"
"I tried checking in, and found out I wasn't scheduled for clinic duty. Instead, Cuddy monster, you are scheduled to take up the clinic hours of myself and everyone else in this room."
Cuddy stood there gaping for a while, during which House rush-whispered, "Nocomment?GoodI'mtakinganearlylunchbreak," and limp-dashed out the door.
The silence in Cuddy's office was now complete.
For about five minutes.
Then everyone filed out to lunch, agreeing just to ignore what had just transpired.
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital lobby, 1 April, 11:19 AM
A UPS driver got out of his truck and checked the instructions on the clipboard.
"Yup, yup, that's done, got that, hmm...okay."
The few patients, nurses, and hospital staff still around turned to look at him as he wheeled a five-foot eight-inch white marble statue with a halo and angel wings into the hospital lobby, slid it off the hand cart, and had a security officer sign for it. As soon as the driver left, the security man took one look at the four-inch-thick block identifying the statue, and immediately paged Cuddy.
DR ALLISON "HOUSE'S LOBBY ART" CAMERON
PPTH DEPARTMENT OF DIAGNOSTICS
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, 1 April, 11:45 AM
"Now can you deny it? You're the only one out of the six of us now who hasn't been hit by some kind of prank. It doesn't make sense that you would spare yourself if you weren't the guilty one."
House sat and pondered for a moment, tapping his cane. To cover his thoughts, he looked around.
"Ever *tap* read *tap* Agatha Christie, Cuddy? *tap* And Then There Were None?"
Cameron isn't the prank-playing type... *tap*
Foreman has no artistic talent... *tap*
Chase wouldn't humiliate himself like this... *tap*
"No, what's that got to do with this?"
"The murderer fooled everybody into thinking he was dead...it'd be easier for a prankster to do the same thing," House answered absently.
Wilson is too responsible to pull pranks without a lot of provocation... *tap*
Cuddy thinks of the hospital as her baby and wouldn't screw with it... *tap*
Try as he might, he couldn't figure out who had managed to pull all of this off. Unless...
"Did anyone check the security video for the past week?"
"Nothing. But all it proves is someone who knows my user ID and password, which means you or me. And it's not me, House!" Cuddy snapped.
TO BE CONTINUED...