Disclaimer: House, MD, it's characters, stories and situations are property of FOX and Creators/producers David Shore and Brian Singer.
Author's Note: My muse is the weirdest, most cruel thing in the writing universe. I had written this story a while back, left it to mature a bit, edited it, couldn't thing of anything to add, published it anyway. Two days after, inspiration strikes me for the epilogue. So here it is (hopefully) for your enjoyment. I finally feel it's nicely rounded up.
When Foreman and Cameron came back from their respective chores, they found Chase balancing two enormous trash bags and a scowl.
"He's been on the phone the entire time," was all he told them.
The two doctors looked at each other and continued towards the apartment, laden with grocery bags. The door was ajar, and they entered without knocking. They could see House's head and shoulders as he lounged on his sofa, his impatient voice drawling in French.
"Mais c'est pas possible!" He repeated three or four times.
Foreman and Cameron ignored him and unloaded their burdens in the kitchen area. House turned at the noise and waved cheerfully.
Foreman almost growled.
"Vortre recherche est inutile. Et vouz, vouz etes un bete, un incompetent, un- allò? Allò? Tsk, Dommage. " He put the phone down and turned to watch his Fellows.
Chase came back and closed the door around this juncture.
"Now, is everybody done?"
"Yes," replied Chase, irritated.
"You owe me eighty-four ninety-five," added Foreman, crossing his arms. He was not going to put the stuff away as well, enough was enough.
"Really? Let's see the check first, money later," said House, stretching on the sofa and regarding them with amusement. When Foreman didn't move, he made a "gimme" motion with his hand. The young man sighed, exasperated, but fished the bill from one of the bags and handed it over.
Chase shook his head and washed his hands.
Cameron went and sat on the edge of the armchair, mindful of the books and the open magazine precariously stacked there. "Are you satisfied now?" She asked, surreptitiously casting a look around. House had dressed and draped himself on his sofa, propping his legs up on his coffee table, right on his books. His hair looked still wet, and his feet were bare. She found the sight strangely sexy, and lowered her eyes, not wanting to end up ogling.
He took the long check and seemingly smoothed it between his hands, humming, then replied. "Well, well, well. They cheated you. They charged you two-fifty more than they should have. And you forgot the shaving cream." He handed the check back to a shocked Foreman.
"No way," he said, dumbly taking it.
"Well, it's not listed there. Unless you got it on the black market?"
"No- no way you checked the whole list and made the addition that fast. And you don't use shaving cream."
"Well, no, not in the traditional sense I don't. Neither condoms, come to that. But I can still keep a packet of them in a drawer near my bed, fill them with shaving cream and drop them on the neighbor's dog when he starts barking at four in the morning. " He grinned at Foreman, who was scowling at the slip and doing the metal math, and nodded as Chase dried his hands and joined them. "I don't suggest you look in there. That's where I keep my porn," said House suddenly, turning his intense stare on Cameron.
She jumped, and blushed fiercely. She had been eyeing a half-open drawer near the wide-screen TV and behind three different video-game consolles. When he caught her she recoiled instinctively, but she blushed because now she was even more tempted. Not that she wanted to know what House was into, sexually speaking. She nudged the drawer with her foot when he turned away and, to her dismay, it rolled close instead of opening a fraction.
Foreman swore. House had been right on the addition.
"All right. Now you've done your chores, here's your homework. And don't slack, or no pocket money this week." He handed them a sheaf of printouts each.
Cameron glanced at hers. "But… this is in French."
House nodded.
"I don't speak French."
"We don't speak French," interjected Foreman.
Chase nodded.
"Oh! Well, in that case…" House picked a thick book from the table and handed it to her, saying they'd have to share. It was an English/French dictionary.
"There's a bad mistake in there. Since the researcher didn't take my corrections sportingly, we'll just have to expose him the old fashioned way. The first of you who figures it out gets a new, shiny dollar." He smiled at his Fellows, as they regarded him glumly.
"Now, what have we learned today?"
"No breaking into your house," said Chase petulantly. "And polishing cars is hard work."
"No getting caught," supplied Foreman, seething. "Also, don't trust cashiers."
"No prying into your private life," added Cameron demurely. "And… er… learn a foreign language?"
"Excellent."
The end. Really.