A/N: Thank you one and all (once again) for all the reviews and support. Some of you have very keen insight into where I am going, and keep suggesting things that will, in fact, appear later in the story, which is frustrating to me as a suspense artist but thrilling as a writer. It could possibly be a bit of a wait for the next chapter (nothing major, a few days maximum) since this coming week is finals week for me. One more chapter to tide you over until then...
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House decided he would tackle Chase first. Since Chase hadn't actually quit his job in the first place, and was generally a pushover, he figured it wouldn't be too difficult and would give him a starting place in his efforts to persuade Foreman and Cameron, who would doubtless both prove tougher sells. His plan fully formed, House set about putting it in action.
House has decided that with Chase, he'd better attempt to be nice. He really does want Chase to come back, after all. That's why he was sitting in his office at five o'clock on a Thursday night with the phone in his hand. He dialed Chase's number and listened to the ringing for almost half a minute before Chase picked up.
"Hello?" Came the Australian accent.
"It's House."
"Oh. What do you want?" Curious, not angry, House noted.
"Meet me at Johnny's in half an hour." House commanded into the phone, not giving Chase a chance to object before he hung up.
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The bar was dark and smoky when House arrived, and one glance inside showed him that Chase had beaten him there. He sidled over to the bar and slipped onto the barstool next to Chase.
"Scotch." He informed the bartender. Chase acknowledged House's presence before directing his own attention to the bartender.
"I'd like a refill." He decided.
"It's on me." House reached for his wallet. Chase gave him an incredulous look.
"What the hell is going on, House?"
"What do you mean." House feigned innocence.
"I mean," The Australian was working hard to keep his temper in check, "You drag me out to a bar only weeks after you fired me for no apparent reason, you're acting nicer than you've ever acted in your life, and you just bought me a Manhattan without making any snide comments about girly drinks. What gives?"
"I want you to come back."
"Not funny, House."
"I'm serious. Cuddy's getting pissy because she has no diagnostics department. Wilson's getting pissy because he's alone, all the nurses are wise to his antics, and he's PMSing, and I'm getting pissy because I need underlings in order to solve cases, but I'm not about to go interview a whole bunch of brand new idiots and then spend years training them. I want the old idiots back."
"So basically, you're insulting me and at the same time, begging me to come back to my crappy job that I just got out of because it would make you happy."
"Basically, except I forgot to mention that there would be benefits of some sort. Cuddy wasn't exactly clear on said benefits, so you'll either be making more money or scoring more time in the sack with Cuddy. Either way, you win." House paused. "So, what'll it be?" Chase glared him with a look of disgust mingled with a little bit of awe.
"Fine." House drained his glass and left the restaurant as Chase lowered his head to the bar and shouted for more alcahol.
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With Chase back at the hospital to cover his clinic hours, House was free to go Foreman-hunting during the day. He decided he needed to refine his approach in order to convince the intelligent neurologist to return. He knew, though, that deep down Foreman hadn't really wanted to leave.
Which was why, he told himself, he had shown up at Foreman's apartment in the middle of the afternoon completely unannounced, carrying a stack of forms and a labcoat. He rang the bell and waited. Soon, Foreman emerged from the apartment. The confused look on his face deepend as he took in the sight in front of him, and was threatening to take over his entire face by the time he stammered in invitation inside to House, who accepted wordlessly.
"A brand new Fellowship." House finally began. "Effective immediately. Four years more as my subordinate and then an automatic promotion to department head, either in a newly formed second diagnostics department or in the neurology department. Salary increase. More benefits. Great health plan."
"You want me to come back?"
"I didn't want you to leave. You won't find a better offer anywhere, even with your credentials. A world-renowned hospital, and a department all to yourself in a few short years." Foreman hesitated. House sighed and began the second part of his practiced speech. "You're not me, Foreman. You never will be. You want to know why? It's because you care. It hurts you when you lose a patient. You don't like breaking rules. You actually keep records, for God's sake. You've seen what I am, Foreman. I know you're smart enough to see that you're not the same way."
"I still don't like you." Foreman replied, choosing his words carefully. "But I've decided there are better ways to prevent turning into you. I'll come back, but those benefits better be everything you said they would be."
"I wouldn't have it any other way, doctor." House tipped his hat cheerily. "Here's your labcoat. Oh, and by the way, we have a patient." House dumped the coat and the stack of files onto the dining room table, smirking his way out the door.
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Back at PPTH that night, House sat in his chair bouncing his tennis ball, the way he always did when he was deep in thought. Cameron's resignation still puzzled him. She was an unanswered puzzle and he wasn't quite sure what he would have to do to get her to come back. He doubted she'd ask him out again. She'd learned her lesson the last time she'd blackmailed him into a date. She was going to test all his persuasive powers, that was for sure, but he couldn't bear the thought of his department without her. He sat back in his office chair and tossed the tennis ball several times before suddenly sitting up with a start. He had an idea.