After taking a short nap, House put on his jacket and headed back up to the dining hall to get a cup of coffee. The weather wasn't quite as cold as it had been but still chilly. Parks was sitting next to the fireplace but he didn't see Blackburn nor Simmons anywhere. After a short debate with himself, he decided to sit down with Parks, to test if this team building thing was really changing things as much as he felt shook up by it.
"House," she said, nodding him a hello as he sank into the chair.
"Parks. What are your reading?" he asked, noting she had a book in her lap.
"A romance novel," she admitted then held up her hands to forestall any comment by him. "I know! They're all made up, but hey, a girl can dream. Guys watch porn, that's all made up too."
House snorted and nodded in agreement.
"What did you do with your free time?" she asked after a moment.
"Took a nap. Nothing as exciting as yesterday's slip and slide down the trails in the rain."
"Yeah, I'd rather not do that again. That one rope climb we did was slippery enough, I wouldn't want to do the whole trail in a soaking rain like that," she agreed.
House chuckled and settled back to drink his coffee while she went back to her book. They stayed that way, in companionable silence until the others arrived and they all went into the dining hall.
"So what does the box have for us this afternoon?" Simmons asked as Cyrus pulled the question box over to him.
"Let's see," Cyrus said, pulling out the slip and reading it. "What is a recent book that you enjoyed and why? Hmm," he said, tapping his lips with his finger while he thought about it.
"I would have to choose My Dearest Friend: Letters of Abigail and John Adams. It was a great example of true partnership in marriage, one that lasted through long separations, severe hardships, and war. Abigail Adams did so much more than just take care of the farm and children while John was gone. She truly was a support and sounding board that he cherished and relied on. Their relationship gives me hope that such marriages can still exist today."
Simmons pulled the box over in front of him and pulled a slip out. "Can't say I've read any books lately to even answer that question. What about you, Parks?"
She shook her head and smiled. "Well… I read romance novels, so that's what it would have been. Not too much angst, just enough drama, the guy and the girl got together at the end. What about you, House?"
House blew out his breath and chuckled. "The last few books I've read recently were medical journals in various languages. But I did enjoy them. Lots of rare diseases, some new treatments to try, things to stump my team with."
Simmons grinned and opened up his slip. "What is one word you would use to describe your team? Hmm. Just one word… overworked."
The other three laughed but nodded, acknowledging the truth of how busy the ER was.
"I would describe my team as methodical," Parks offered. "Lots of dotting i's and crossing t's in pediatrics."
"I try to teach my team to be calm," Cyrus said. "When patients are agitated and out of touch with reality, it's amazing what remaining calm can do, both for staff and for patients."
"I'd call my team determined," House said after a moment's thought. "Determined to find the diagnosis, determined to prove me wrong."
"Don't you find that counterproductive?" Parks asked. "That they are so determined to prove you wrong, sometimes over anything else?"
"Nope," House answered. "I want them to try to out diagnose me. I want them to make a diagnosis and stick to it, even if I tell them they're wrong."
"What if they are wrong?" Simmons asked. "Chances are better that your diagnosis is right than theirs."
"But that's not the point. If they're ever going to learn to do this by themselves, then they have to be able to stick to their diagnosis with everyone around them telling them they're wrong, with even test results leading them in a different direction. They learn to do that by first being absolutely determined to prove me wrong," House explained.
The other three doctors looked at him, still confused about his method of dealing with his team. House shook his head and grabbed the box. Now wasn't the time to try to explain the way he worked his team.
"Oh geez. When are you the happiest?" he groaned, tossing the slip down onto the table. "Happiness is overrated."
"Oh come on, you've got to have something that makes you feel happy, if only for a moment," Simmons prodded.
House's expression darkened then he looked away from them, across the dining hall at Wilson for a brief moment, before fixing his gaze firmly on the offending slip of paper. "I did. I don't anymore."
An uncomfortable silence ruled for a few seconds. "Oh come on. You can't base your own happiness on whether or not Wilson is friends with you," Parks interjected. Cyrus started to object but she held up her hand to stop him. "What about your music? You told us that was something you'd hate to lose even over practicing medicine. Doesn't your music make you happy?"
House looked up, still wearing a dark expression though he was clearly considering her question. "Music makes me… feel things. Not all of them happy. But… for the context of the question, yes, overall, music makes me happy," he added, nodding as though he was just realizing that.
Maybe he was just realizing that, Cyrus thought.
"That's good," Parks encouraged with a small smile. "Music, what kind you play depending on what mood you're in or wish you were in, is something you control. That's much better than relying on the changing whims of another person to make you happy."
House didn't reply in anyway, just set the box in front of her, ready to step out of the spotlight. Parks accepted the box and the change of topic, pulling out a slip.
"What do you think you'll be doing in twenty years?" she read then tapped her fingertips to her lips while she thought for a moment. "In twenty years, I think I'll be deep into planning my daughter's wedding," she answered with a smile.
"I do hope you'll let your daughter take the lead on that," Simmons teased as the other two men smirked.
"Maybe," Parks answered, returning their smirks.
"I plan on buying a boat, so that's where I'll be in twenty years," Simmons offered.
"I hope to have finally finished writing a book," Cyrus said, looking over at House. "How about you?"
"I'll be dead," he shrugged casually.
"What?" Parks asked sharply.
"If another infarction doesn't get me, liver failure from opiate use will. I'll be dead," he repeated with flat resignation.
Parks was silent, as were Simmons and Cyrus. They all suddenly realized the harsh reality; that House wasn't exaggerating his claim. House looked at all three of their faces then looked down at the table, waiting for them to snap out of it. After a moment, Cyrus cleared his throat, drawing their attention.
"I wonder what the activity for this afternoon is. We need to work on our skit, especially our falsettos," he added, grinning at Simmons as he jumped to a much lighter topic.
"Uh, yeah, right. Well, we can always notch our belts too tight, that ought to do it," Simmons answered, slowly at first then smiling back.
The afternoon activity involved the entire group. An area in the front of the room was taped off from the tables, forming a large box.
"Now, we'll ask a series of questions," the administrator announced. "If you answer yes to the question, come up and stand in the box."
The questions were basic, meant to point out things that they had in common with each other. Switch sides if you are single. Married. Have children. Have grandchildren. Speak another language. Play a musical instrument. The composition of the groups on each side of the line changed with every question and the questions became more specific and a bit more personal. Each time a question was asked a picture of the participants who answered yes was taken.
House was intrigued after initially wishing he'd skipped the afternoon activity. He started paying more attention to the people around him in the box. Some of the questions got into some sensitive areas. He found himself answering yes, that he had been bullied and also yes, that he had bullied someone else. Yes, he was lonely. The questions and pictures went on for thirty minutes before the administrator pronounced the activity finished.
"We will be making a picture booklet for each of you, with the coordinating question captioned on them. Thank you all for being honest and so willing to participate."
House retreated to the piano bench, followed by his table mates who settled in around him.
"That was really interesting," Simmons commented as he took a seat.
"I'm glad they are handing out picture packets," Parks said. "I really didn't think about keeping track of who was in the box right away. I want to go back through and really study the pictures with the questions."
"It will be good to have the pictures to study," Cyrus agreed.
"So go over to the props box and pick out what you want to wear for the skit," House prompted them, preferring not to talk about the activity anymore right now.
The other three got up and went over to the box, beginning to root through all the props. House was playing an improvised tune on the piano, just fiddling around while he waited for them to come back.
A few minutes later a feather boa was draped around his neck and a pair of huge plastic sunglasses with fake rhinestones worthy of Elton John were put on the piano in front of him.
"Really?" he guffawed, flipping one end of the boa up and over his shoulder then put the sunglasses on his face.
"Definitely you," Simmons laughed, wrapping his own boa around his neck. Each one of them had a boa and sunglasses and Parks had picked out a lime green tutu that matched her boa to wear as well.
They spent an hour working out some choreography and practicing it, then running through their lyrics before breaking up and heading back to their cabins.
"This song and dance will be a blast if we can keep the choreography straight," Cyrus said as he sat down on his bed.
"Yeah. It'll be a blast even if you screw it up. Just milk any mistake like it was planned," House said, settling down for a nap.
"You want me to wake you up for dinner?"
"Yeah. Give me 45 minutes warning."
"You got it," Cyrus agreed, picking up his book and settling in to read.
