Title: Ownership
Rating: G
Summary: Greg House owns everything in his world.
Greg House owned the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Everyone knew it. Even people who lived in other countries knew it (which was why he'd acquired a small furry wombat when he hadn't even ordered one).
He may not have legally owned it, but why would he want that? He'd have to go to parties and deal with fake breasts and hair and smiles, and he would definitely miss out on his daily torture sessions, so he was content to be exactly what he was: ruler in everything but name.
Of course, he couldn't care less about most things that had to do with the hospital itself. The various nurses and doctors he crossed paths with were only good for a cursory glance, perhaps a naughty thought or two, but certainly never direct eye contact or a conversation unless they'd done something to annoy him. They seemed to understand that too, the way their eyes would slide away as he walked past, even if part of the reason was the cane he always carried. (He firmly believed the other part was his nice ass, but Cuddy wasn't impressed when he'd told her that).
The various patients deserved more attention, but most of them his brain subconsciously threw into a box of toys labeled "To Be Played With Later." His own patients, of course, held a slightly higher place, perhaps level with his PSP or even Wilson on a bad day. (He refused to entertain that the box his special toys were in was carefully crafted and maintained, and that none of the toys went in there without some new paint or perhaps a fixed hinge, and only a little dented in other areas).
However, there were five people in the hospital that had his attention every day, and these five people he owned above all else.
The first was Wilson. When they'd first met, Wilson hadn't planned on becoming best friends with the prickly diagnostician, but House had a way of sucking the people he wanted into this whirlwind before they realized it, and by the time Wilson had realized what was happening, he was so swept up that he didn't even want to get away. To those he was closest to, those he treasured most, House gave one thing that kept people hooked: rare glimpses into a soul that, for all its rough edges, had a center so indescribable you'd spend your life trying to figure it out. Wilson wasn't even halfway there yet.
The second was Cuddy. Oh, she fought his hold more than any of the others, perhaps because she was afraid to get too close, to become like Stacy was, broken inside yet still loving him despite it. But it was already too late; she was firmly in his hold. That was why she accepted his obsession with her breasts and his constant undermining of her authority. She'd been lost the moment she realized that— despite his prickly personality and his blatant disregard for the rules she clung to so fiercely—she respected him far more than she disapproved of him.
Next, of course, came his ducklings. He'd had other ducklings, of course; funnier ducklings, cleverer ducklings, hotter ducklings. But this particular group was unique in a way he was still figuring out; each of them possessed something of him that he wanted to mold and nurture, if only to see what he would have been like, if he wasn't a mix of all three of them.
Foreman had his pride and disdain for other's opinions. That was definite. But he didn't have House's knowledge and flexibility; he was too stubborn, too set in his own field. Foreman was determined that, instead of starting from the center of everything like House did, he would start from the far left, where he felt most comfortable, because House preferred the middle and Foreman refused to let himself have anything in common with House (even though he had never met a doctor he respected more than he respected House).
Cameron definitely had his affinity for figuring people out, but the problem was, her insistence on easing suffering and seeing the best in everyone kept her from seeing the real problem most of the time. She usually felt most comfortable treating the symptoms, not the problem. House had been trying to break her of that, but she was stubborn, and her faith in humanity was really quite sickening.
Chase was the hardest to crack, which didn't make any sense, because with his bundle of issues, it should have been easy to mold him the right way. He definitely had House's brilliance, his versatility in the field, but perhaps it was the fact that he was an intensivist that was the problem; to Chase, the problem had to be something that had occurred right then, that could be located, treated, and sent off in moments. He was too used to doing things quickly to notice the slower, deeper problems that House picked up so easily. It was difficult to make him slow down enough to really consider something before thinking of what the cure was. He refused to just let things sit in his brain and stew.
Despite their faults, though, these ducklings were his most promising, which was why he was going so far to ensure that they stayed his. These three were too important, he'd invested too much in each of them to let them slip away, to let their gifts be wasted because of their issues or their natural personalities.
So, while House owned everything in his world, he was also finding that the things in his world owned a little bit of him. And, by the time he noticed, it was far too late to break free.