Disclaimer: If I owned House and/or Star Trek, would I bother writing fanfiction for them?
-Edit Note: Special thanks to Chanah Emiliania for catching a rather bad typo. It has been fixed.-
"You are so into Tracy from Accounting," accused House who had once again barged into Wilson's office for the sole purpose of harassing him.
Wilson looked up from the papers he was shuffling to see House leaning over his desk and sighed at the evil expression on his friend's face. "Should I even bother to deny that?" The oncologist looked back down at his paperwork.
"I think Amber might be a little pissed if you don't."
Wilson shot a death glare at House. "Like you care. And besides, if I do bother to deny it we'll just end up having the same annoying conversation that we always do when you're convinced that I'm lusting over someone."
"So? I like that conversation. You say you aren't into her, I point out all the evidence to the contrary, you make another feeble protest, I call you an idiot-"
"Yes, it's hard to miss the attraction of that," snapped Wilson.
"I always have fun," said House.
"You're a jackass!" said Wilson indignantly.
"Like I haven't heard that before. And the conversation could be different."
"How?"
"You could actually admit that you're into her. Promise I won't tell Amber." House uttered the second sentence with such total obnoxiousness that Wilson had to resist the impulse to smack him.
In an attempt to keep his temper under control (always an important thing to do when "chatting" with House), the scowling doctor took a deep breath before responding and actually managed to keep his tone even. "I'm dedicated to Amber. You know that."
"You still haven't denied that you're into Tracy," said House in an almost sing-song voice.
Wilson stared resolutely into House's smirking face. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath, trying to find some modicum of inner peace. I must not lose my temper, he thought to himself. When he opened his eyes again, Wilson's entire bearing was a study in tranquility. His body was relaxed and his face bore no scowl. His eyes met House's, and he said with perfect calm, "Bite me." House burst out laughing, and Wilson grinned, too. When House had sobered up somewhat, he added, "And besides, you would tell Amber that I was being unfaithful regardless of what I was actually doing."
House smiled wickedly for a silent moment. Then he repeated one word. "Would?"
Wilson groaned like a wounded beast and dropped his head onto his arms. "House, please," he pleaded as he looked up beseechingly at his sadistic friend.
"Oh, come on. You know that Amber would never believe that coming from me," House pointed out consolingly.
Wilson paused a moment, then groaned again and said, "Which is why you're going to get someone else to tell her...." His expression was pained as he anxiously watched House's face. When the diagnostician's response was to flash an evil smile, Wilson groaned for a third time and buried his face back into his arms.
"Who do you think Cutthroat Bitch would trust more, Kutner or Thirteen?" House asked jokingly and affected a contemplative pose. When Wilson didn't react to his sarcastic humor, House realized that Wilson was taking him seriously. He took pity on his friend and said earnestly (which for House meant honesty wrapped in sarcasm accompanied by rolling eyes), "I'm not going to rat you out to Amber…."
Wilson looked up at House and smiled. "Thanks, Hou-" He froze and looked exasperated again. "'Rat me out?' I'm innocent!"
"Sure you are."
"I love Amber!"
"Yeah, just like you loved all those other women. You know, when you were married?" Wilson scowled as House backed up into the middle of the room. "You just won't-" House was abruptly cut off when a Klingon careened into the room and in his haste knocked the doctor down.
Wilson jumped out of his chair and yelled, "Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" but no one listened to him. Their attention was taken by the two phaser-wielding redshirts that had been following close behind the Klingon. They were far more polite than he, however, as they stopped just inside the room instead of running in and knocking someone else down.
The Klingon stopped on the other side of the room, and when he saw that he was at a dead end, he swore and turned around. He quickly took in his surroundings, noting the positions of the redshirts and both doctors. Seeing that there was no way to escape other than jumping off the roof just outside the other door, he swore again.
"Klingon, you are under arrest!" said one of the redshirts. "Surrender, or I will be forced to shoot!" Both redshirts aimed their phasers directly at the Klingon.
House grimaced and rubbed his bad leg. "Who let the sci-fi freaks out of the psych ward?" he muttered crossly. "Damn RPers."
"I will never surrender!" yelled the Klingon. He yelled a battle cry in Klingonese and charged at the redshirts. This was a rather stupid move, really, since they were armed with phasers and he made a rather clear target. The redshirt who had spoken before fired and hit the Klingon dead on, knocking him out. Wilson, meanwhile, stood with his mouth open in shock. House continued to sit on the floor where he had fallen. He watched the redshirts with mingled curiosity and anger, trying to figure out what was happening, but also pissed because getting shoved over had made his leg hurt rather badly.
With the threat of the Klingon neutralized, the two redshirts put their phasers away. The first one pulled out his communicator to contact the Enterprise, but before he could start transmitting Wilson said shrilly, "What just - is he dead?!" He pointed at the unconscious Klingon.
"I don't think so," said House. "He looks like he's still breathing." The doctor leaned forward to peer at the fallen alien.
The redshirts focused on the two doctors for the first time, and they were somewhat less than pleased with the new complication. "Oh crap, they saw everything," swore the second redshirt. "What should we do?"
"Leave them," said the first redshirt dismissively. "We can beam up with the Klingon. There won't be any evidence that we were here, so even if they tell someone about this they won't be able to prove anything."
"And what are we supposed to say to the captain? 'Here's the Klingon we captured, and oh, by the way, two 21st century guys saw us run in, fire our phasers, and beam up. If you're wondering what we did with them, we just left them there. Never mind the security breach, sir, it's not as if they can prove we were there.'" His voice was dripping with sarcasm.
"All right, I get it," said the first redshirt impatiently. "But what are we supposed to do? Erase their memories?"
"What?!" shrieked Wilson. "You can't erase our memories! That's - unethical!"
"I'm more concerned about getting shot with one of those things." House gestured towards the redshirts' phasers.
The first redshirt looked at House. "We're not going to shoot you." he said contemptuously. House scowled at being talked down to, but for once he decided to avoid provoking anyone and kept his mouth shut.
"We can't alter their memories-" started the second redshirt.
"Because it's unethical?" interrupted the first redshirt obnoxiously.
"Because we don't carry that equipment around in our back pockets," responded the second redshirt, annoyed.
Is that guy new at this or something? He doesn't seem to know what the hell he's doing. House frowned slightly to himself as the two redshirts bickered. I hope the idiot doesn't pull out that ray gun thing again. Getting shot once was quite enough. I don't need to go through that a second time.
"We'll have to beam them aboard with us," concluded the second, and apparently more responsible, redshirt.
"…Agreed," said the first redshirt after a pause. But before anyone could make the mistake of considering him mature, he added, "And with any luck, once we beam aboard they'll become someone else's problem." He smirked and opened his communicator. "Landing party to Enterprise, five to beam up."
The second redshirt rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, "Immature prick."
House, however, was far more alarmed at the thought of getting carried off by these two seemingly insane people. He opened his mouth to protest, but Wilson interrupted before he could say anything. "You're going to kidnap us?!" yelped the oncologist. He had tried to remain calm, but he panicked anyway and his voice went about an octave higher than it should have been.
"That's one way of putting it," said the second redshirt. "Personally, I'd rather say that… um… you're witnesses." Wilson looked frightened. "And, uh, we need your testimony." Wilson still looked frightened. "You're going to help with our investigation of Klingon activities in this area!" He smiled brightly at Wilson, but the smile faded when his only response was a whimper.
House chuckled weakly. "Bullshit. We're your prisoners, aren't we?"
"No, not prisoners. More like - guests," he responded, trying to keep the two doctors calm.
"Yes, five," said the first redshirt ignoring the others. "Myself, Ericson, the unconscious Klingon, and two locals that saw more than they should have."
"'Saw more than they should have,'" repeated House. "And you expect me to believe that we're your 'guests'?"
"Look, it's not -" They all energized and a moment later reappeared in the Enterprise's transporter room. "like that," finished the unfazed redshirt. "We just… uh, are you guys okay?" He noticed that House and Wilson both looked totally freaked out. Wilson promptly fell on his butt and stared wide-eyed straight ahead. The redshirt stepped over to him and bent down. "Hey, is something wrong? Hello? Sir?" He waved a hand in front of Wilson's face, to no response.
Meanwhile, the first redshirt quickly walked off the transporter platform and into the hall just outside the room. Although House and Wilson were too shocked to really take in what was going on, they did hear the redshirt speak with someone in the hall.
"What shall we do with the Klingon, sir?"
"Put the Klingon in the detention area. We will question him once he regains consciousness."
"Yes, sir. But what should I do with the locals we picked up?"
"Bring them to my quarters. They will be out of the way there. I will speak to them later."
"Very good, sir."
The redshirt reentered the transporter room. He escorted House and Wilson out of the room as a few other redshirts picked up the Klingon. They quickly and wordlessly walked through the ship's halls until they reached the area with the officers' rooms. The redshirt wordlessly opened a door and gestured for House and Wilson to enter. They entered quietly and looked around. Before the redshirt closed the door, he sneered at the two doctors and said in a decidedly non-reassuring tone, "Good luck." Then he locked the door and left.
Wilson shot a fearful look at his friend. House looked expressionlessly at Wilson for a few moments, then shrugged and said calmly, "He's just screwing with us." He gazed around the room, and then started limping around to get a better look at the furnishings.
Wilson watched House for some time, and then asked, "What do you think is going to happen? Do you think we're going to be okay?"
House shrugged again. "Damned if I know," he responded gruffly. His leg still hurt from getting bashed into.
Wilson stood still for another moment, and then he turned to look at the door behind him. "You think it's locked?"
"Probably." He was busy examining a chess set on a shelf.
Wilson exhaled and turned to face House. "Well, now I guess we wait." He walked over to House and joined him in looking at the room's contents.
Author's Note: I'd just like to thank my two betas and real life friends, SwiftShadow and kanboku91 (the latter of which may still not have an account yet…), for graciously helping me with my fic by using their extensive vocabularies, excellent grasp of English grammar, and ability to spot typos to make my story better than it otherwise would have been. Thank you both! Also, a special thanks to SwiftShadow for helping me come up with a good title.