Chapter Two

Yay! ms. imagine, and PrincessCat, got it right. House snipping at Cameron and alluding to Alice in Wonderland with the smoke ring and the 'Alice' (that's why SimpleNClean92. You had your thumb right on it. Just probably haven't read the right stuff. So do. Very trippy book.) was the idea that started this whole ball rolling. Just had to get him into a position where he would do that, which took a bit longer, heh. Mentor vs. protege? Hmm... That one was unconcious.

jen: Ididn't even think of that, completely accidental. Nice close reading though :D Cynthia: Just a tad meaner than usual you think? The man's being a right bastard. Thanks for the reassurance with Cameron; I was worried that I didn't justify her reaction enough. AilciA: You're not dumb. Possibly need to sign off ffn once in a while and read some literature though. Nah, just kidding. I've always stuck by the firm belief that that stuff is useless. Transylvanian: See above. And thank you.bbeltballerina: Thanks. Soon enough?

Oh yeah, now it's time to spot the homonym related to the name... anyone?

Wilson and Cuddy were in the cafeteria, talking over cups of strong coffee on one of the rare breaks that Cuddy allowed herself, and then only since it was nearing eight o'clock and the hospital was settling down for the night.

'He made Cameron cry,' stated Wilson, looking pained.

'I know,' replied Cuddy, sympathy in her voice for the young doctor. 'He also solved more cases by mid-morning than usually comes out of that department in a year.'

'They were the easier cases- the ones he normally won't take because they're too simple.'

'Yes, but it did just turn rather a large profit.'

'Great. Profit. At the expense of a serious strain on interpersonal relationships.'

Cuddy sighed, taking a sip of her coffee. 'If only he could do one without the other.'

'I should have warned them not to talk to him today.' Wilson was blaming himself, always feeling like crap when his friend had problems. 'Maybe if we got him a gag.'

'Screw that. Why not just cut my tongue off?' House slid into a seat beside them, having crept up without being heard.

'Shouldn't you just avoid people for the rest of today?' Wilson said dully, eyes accusing his friend.

'It's out of my system,' shot back House, bouncing his cane on the floor with both hands under the table, eyes fixed on where it would be if he could see through the wood.

'House, other people learn to restrain their sociopathic tendencies on bad days.' Cuddy sounded tired, and she wasn't looking for a fight. Whatever House said, he was. He had a jittery, frustrated air surrounding him.

'Other people wear blouses that fit them,' he replied with a directed stare. The lone server at the cafeteria was watching the discussion of the three of them, the only ones around at this later hour.

'I'm not as easy to make cry as Cameron,' she said pointedly. House didn't react, just bounced his cane a little bit harder.

'The girl's too sensitive.'

'Which is exactly a reason to make her cry. Of course.' Wilson's pass at sarcasm was weak.

'She'll cry by herself if you leave her alone.' House didn't mention that it was thoughts of a dead husband that would move her to tears, even in that current mood. He could keep necessary secrets through fire and brimstone.

'As opposed to you, who goes up to the roof alone to sulk and smoke,' Cuddy snapped at him, sick of his attitude.

'Oh, is it pick on the cripple day? They forgot to tell me.'

'You're picking on yourself. I mean, Christ House, I'm an oncologist. Could you at least have a different vice to do when you're down?'

House jogged his left leg to rattle his pill bottle with a tilt of his head and a meaningfully deadpan expression.

'This is going nowhere,' Cuddy stated. 'Don't come into work tomorrow if you're still feeling like being a bastard.' She'd finished her coffee, so she stood and stalked off. She knew that, one on one, House could rip apart anyone in the hospital, and she knew that was why he had come to sit with both Wilson and her. He wanted them to beat him down, so he could have one more reason for self pity. He was good at goading, but they'd silently agreed on not giving him the ammunition to put himself into a deeper slump. Leaving Wilson to handle him on his own perhaps wasn't fair, but strangely, Wilson would probably be the only one that could fix this.

The two men both watched her leave, the cafeteria server nervously pretending to wipe down the counter when House's eyes flicked to him once Cuddy had left the room.

'You think she'd be grateful for the large profit I 'turned',' House sniped, turning back to Wilson. Wilson sighed.

'You do this every year,' he said tiredly. He was referring to the one day a year when House would both work like a dog, and nearly kill anyone that dared to come within twenty feet of him.

'Well it's a bit more of an interesting date than a birthday.'

'Sure, lets celebrate misery. That'll show them.'

'Isn't that why you get married?'

'Low blow House.'

'Chase has the right idea. He admitted to batting for the other team today.'

'Really?' Wilson was interested suddenly.

House snorted, reaching one hand out from under the table to tilt Cuddy's abandoned coffee cup towards himself. Finding it empty, he went back to bouncing his cane. His reaction essentially said that he didn't believe it. Wilson sighed again.

'Wanna get Chinese?'

'Don't think they serve it here.'

'That would be why I'm suggesting going back to your place and ordering it,' spelled out Wilson clearly. The corner of House's mouth quirked.

'You really think today's a good day to be spending more time with me?'

'No. But I think tomorrow's a good day not to be reading in the papers about you OD-ing on Vicodin at three in the morning.'

'Now that would be poetically ironic. The leg giving me both the motivation and the means to kill myself.' Amazingly, sniping at Wilson was actually starting to make him feel better. When Wilson spared him a small smile, he realised Wilson knew it too.

'Trust you to see the poetry in a situation like that. Such a romantic.'

'What can I say? I idolise Shakespeare.'

'An old, dead Brit, with an inability to say good morning in under three pages. Great.'

'Probably why I idolise the OC more.' House stood, with more fluidity then was normal, muscles feeling loose and compliant after his exercise in getting up and down the stairs to the roof. He didn't wait as Wilson threw back the last dregs of his coffee, picking up both his and Cuddy's cups.

'Get a TV,' snapped House at the ogling server as he limped past. The man jumped and stumbled an apology that House didn't hear as he caned away. He turned as Wilson came up to dispose of the two cups. 'Sorry about him, he's in a bit of a bad mood.'

'I- I h-heard that it was the anniversary of his infarction,' stuttered the man. Wilson nodded once in confirmation, stomach clenching at hearing it spoken out loud. The reason behind House's limp and cane wasn't common knowledge in the hospital, but the select few in on the loop, who knew where to ask, were aware of it. Wilson wouldn't have picked the cafeteria server as one of them, but people could surprise you sometimes.

Realising he'd hovered long enough, teetering on deciding to say something else to the server, Wilson scrambled after House. Chinese food, and a good session of passing snarky comments about all the actors on a taped episode of General Hospital, and House was almost back to normal. For the first time on an anniversary of his infarction, he took no more than his usual dose of Vicodin and went to bed on time. In the morning he would apologise to Cameron.

The End.