Chapter Three: Odd One Out

"These are…really good. Considering that it's made of frozen punch…" House slurped as he fought to keep the thick blue juices from falling to his chin. "My props to your hood, dawg!" he continued in what Foreman knew was meant to be mocking.

"Not my 'hood'. We didn't have a candy lady. Next project over," Foreman corrected, softly jabbing a pen to his cheek in thought.

"Who cares? I'm twenty-five bucks richer."

"You know, the love of money is the root of all evil," Wilson interjected as he entered. He dropped a brown bag on House's desk as he took a seat next to Foreman.

"Says Saint Jimmy, our Angel of Death," House replied. His curiosity got the best of him, as it usually did, and he peered into the bag. He hadn't asked Wilson for anything, so he didn't really expect to bring him something. As he carefully pulled the edges apart, a familiar series of scent s flushed through his nose. His eyes closed as he looked relaxed for a moment, but remembering that he wasn't exactly alone, he caught himself, opened his eyes and bore down on Wilson, and let out an overdramatic, "Aw, you shouldn't have," as he pulled a burger from the bag. He eyed it curiously—as he often did most things before eating, and began to unwrap it.

Foreman raised a brow. He knew that Wilson was House's best friend, albeit his only friend, but he wasn't the only one who found their friendship odd. Foreman felt that he had no real room to criticize. House had one more friend than he did. And Cameron and Chase didn't count. He didn't hang out with them unless he really needed to, or, on the off chance, that Chase would invite him for a drink. Both men knew that Foreman was something of a last resort, and they both knew that taking a few drinks was something like an attempt to lift his spirits. He felt a smirk slip onto his face, and while House had his mouth full of burger, he decided to ask,

"Is there something special about this sandwich?"

"It's from that local place," Wilson started, idly twirling one of his wrists.

"Best burgers on this side of town," House added after he swallowed. "You can't have any."

A light scoff came from Foreman, then a stifled laugh. Not that he wanted any, he thought, still sort of jabbing the pen into his cheek. It would click if he'd pressed it hard enough, but for now, he pressed it just enough for it to come close, but pulled back and let the spring uncoil before giving it a chance to click into place.

"You know," House started, and despite the serious tone he was imitating, Foreman could feel that House was probably about to start riding him, in some way, shape, or form. "Fantasizing about a blow job isn't going to get you closer to a real one."

"I'm just so full of sexual frustration," Foreman said as he rolled his eyes.

"So…" Wilson said a little louder than necessary. "Aren't you gonna tell me about your case?"

"Fifteen year old that coughs up the red stuff and loses the heavy stuff," House declared between bites. "…Oh, and he skipped school today."

"Sounds—"

"Kinda boring." House interjected. "But mommy's making me do it."

"Do you know where the blood's coming from?"

"Not yet. But Chase and Cameron are supposed to come back and tell me. And the Dark One is here so I can look that much paler by comparison."

Wilson's eyes sort of narrowed, and Foreman formed a light scowl.

"You're an ass." Foreman said calmly.

"Hee-haw," House smirked.

Foreman rolled his eyes again and continued to prod his cheek with the pen, allowing it to click occasionally. There was a bit of a silence, only broken by House's chewing, until Wilson spoke again.

"Did you do the straw thing yet?"

"Nope. But I will be…in three…two,"—Cameron and Chase swung through the door— "One."

House wiped his hands and reached into a nearby drawer, and displayed the infamous straws. He held them out in a way that gave each of them the appearance of being the same length. But his team were smarter than that, each of them knew that one of them was shorter than the other, and considering that Wilson wasn't officially on the case, there was a mere one in three chance of drawing the dreaded short straw.

"Don't you want to know what we found first?" Chase asked in an attempt to stall.

"Not that you found anything interesting," House deduced. His arm tensed to emphasize the fact that he was still holding the straws. "You can't find where his blood is coming from. This is the part where I send you to do some more doctor stuff, in which you will not find the answers you seek. Now shut up and pull a straw…before I make them all short."

Chase sighed and sort of shook his head as he took the first straw. He eyed it, wondering if he'd chosen correctly. Sleeping at the hospital wasn't exactly his favorite past time…

Cameron leaned in after him and took the straw that was furthest to her right, with an on precision, as if she were surgically removing it from House's grasp. It averaged between four and five inches—it was rather similar to Chase's straw, give or take a few fractions of an inch.

And that left the final straw—one with a blue stripe, all on its lonesome. Doomed to the grasp of Eric Foreman, who took no hesitance into taking it up, not truly caring about the current game at hand.

"And the winner is…" House's voice trailed off, as his team faced each other and opened their hands to expose the full lengths of the straws.

Foreman looked over at Chase's straw first—pink stripes, cut right before the part where it was going to bend. A bit over five inches…maybe. Something like that. And then over to Cameron's straw—yellow stripes, and a bit longer…but you'd have to really examine it to tell. Foreman could see that one end—the one facing away from her fingertips, was the actual end of the straw that it was cut from. And then, there was his straw, lying perpendicular to his fingertips in his left hand. Three and a half, four inches at best. Obviously shorter than the rest, he'd concluded. Well, it's not like he had any plans.

"Dark One! I mean…Foreman—is our lucky winner today," House announced with way more enthusiasm than necessary. "Come on down; you've one a night with Anti-Social-Because-Something-Really-Sucky-Happened-When-He-Was a-Kid Guy. How do you feel?"

"Ecstatic," Foreman replied dully as he rolled his eyes.

Chapter Three-End

A/N:

Sorry about the wait. I've decided to actually attempt to finish both of my House fanfictions. Then I'll finish up World Not Part Of…maybe. It depends. I know after I finish What I Believe and Race, that I'll start posting Spencer's Game—which is going to be a sort of sci-fi adventure House fic, inspired by the too much TV and video games I partake in—and the sequel to What I Believe, which still doesn't have a title yet. I'm open to ideas for the name. But I want it to sound like it's part of a series. I may do a few one-shots from that continuity too. But anyway, R&R for the loving pancakes. I'm no doctor, so my medical things may be off…don't flame me. I'm an art major…:/