Chapter 4

Wilson walked into House's office carrying his coat and briefcase. House had his feet propped on his desk and was tossing his ball in the air. Skipping the greetings, House asked, "What would be funny to fill Foreman's locker with?" Wilson paused, then dumped his stuff and flopped into House's chair.

"Why do you ask, might I ask?" Wilson replied.

"I'm gonna fill Chase's with Valtrex, Taub's with Rogaine, and Masters' with chewable Flintstone vitamins. But I'm stuck on Foreman…" House explained.

"And you're doing this because?" Wilson probed.

"Team bonding," House replied. "Builds morale."

"So you're just skipping over the trust fall and all that stuff…" Wilson teased.

"Maybe Valium?" House was brainstorming. "He's a tense guy…"

"When are you planning to do this?" Wilson asked.

"Tonight," House replied. "Hemmorhoid cream?"

"So this morning you removed all the screws from my desk chair - nearly castrating me when I fell, by the way - and now you are planning drug plants on your team?" Wilson recounted. House ignored him.

"Maybe," House said, getting excited, "It'll fuck with him more if I don't fill his locker…"

"I think someone's lonely," Wilson sang in a teasing tone.

"Some of are dedicated to our jobs around here," House responded with mock indignance.

"Your case is over," Wilson reminded him. "You should have left hours ago."

"I have other responsibilities besides saving lives, Wilson" House explained.

"Aww, House, you miss Cuddy!" Wilson exclaimed.

"Jesus!" House cried out exasperated. "If I hear the word 'miss' one more time I'm gonna lose it. What's with all this analysis of the missing – she misses me, do I miss her. Blah, blah, blah."

"You don't seem to understand that your jaded, damaged soul schtick makes you fascinating to observe in emotional situations," Wilson chided.

"Ah, that must be why no one has any interest in your healthy balanced self," House retorted, beginning to balance the ball on the hook of his cane.

"True, healthy is boring. But damaged is… well, damaged," Wilson explained.

"You could stand to be a little rougher around the edges, Wilson," House retorted. "Maybe we could get you addicted to something. Or get your uncle to molest you."

"Thanks for the ideas, House, but I think I'll go home and iron my socks," Wilson replied, standing up and picking up his briefcase. He looked at House who was still concentrating on bouncing his ball off his cane and thinking of an appropriate medication for Foreman. "Or we could go get shit-faced?" he offered. House looked up. "Their lockers will be waiting for you tomorrow. And I'm sure you'll have an epiphany about what to do to Foreman while we're out – probably right after I say something important and soul-baring." House caught the ball midair, twirled his cane like a baton, and stood up.

"Good idea," he proclaimed, grabbing his jacket and backpack. "Let's go rough up your edges, Wilson."

As they exited the office, Wilson asked, "You're not gonna molest me, are you, House?"

House clicked his tongue and wrinkled his brow in thought as he limped toward the elevator. "I do miss Cuddy…"