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2003
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"A little more to the left," House ordered.
Wilson made the adjustment, then stepped back and dropped into the chair across the desk from House. "I don't know why you're bitching," he said. "The reception's not that bad."
"I bitch," House said, "because Cuddy won't approve cable for my office." He considered the TV screen. The actors were slightly blurred at the edges, static dancing across the screen.
"C'mon, it's not like you really need to concentrate on the subtle nuances of the story here."
"No, but it's the principle of it. Every other department has its own lounge, complete with a cable package."
"Granted, but so far your department consists of exactly one -- you. I can see why she's a little hesitant so far."
"The key words there being: 'so far,'" House pointed out. "I've got actual funding now. For actual staff."
"Which you actually haven't used yet," Wilson said. "You'd better do it soon. Cuddy's told the personnel committee she'll free up funds for more hires in other departments if you don't bring someone in soon."
"That's what she told me too."
"So?"
"So what?"
"So what are you going to do?"
House looked in his mug and found it empty. "For now? Get some more coffee." He pushed himself up with both hands, then reached down for the mug. The door separating his new office from the mostly-empty conference room was propped open.
"House, I'm serious."
"So am I. Want a cup?" The move down to the newly-christened diagnostics department office meant he had to make his own coffee now, but at least he could make it to his own taste. "I stole some Kona blend from ortho," he said.
Wilson followed him into the other room, grabbed another mug from the shelf and placed it next to the coffee pot. He waited until House filled it, then grabbed a seat at the the end of the nearby conference table.
"Seriously, man, Cuddy means it," he said. "You've worked too hard to just let this slip away again."
As House stepped away from the coffee maker the full strength of the sun came through the open blinds to land on Wilson. He still looked improbably young, but House could see the start of some wrinkles along with the dark circles under his eyes. There were a few strands of gray hair mixed in with the dark brown.
"You worry too much," he said, pulling out a chair to sit near Wilson, lifting his leg up onto a second chair to stretch it out.
"One of us should."
"Who says it has to be you?" House took a sip of the coffee. He'd skipped the sugar this time to enjoy the dark chocolate taste of the Hawaiian roast. "Besides, I've already taken care of it."
Wilson eyed him warily. "Taken care of it how?"
"The usual way." House said, "I hired someone."
"What? How? When?"
"Hired. Offered him the job, and earlier this week. In that order."
"But when did you do the interviewing? I don't remember seeing the paperwork come through to bring anyone in."
"I talked to him on the phone for a couple of minutes."
"That's not an interview."
"I was satisfied."
"But there's a system," Wilson protested. "A way you're supposed to do things."
House shrugged. "I'm fine with the way I did it, and I doubt he'll complain."
"He might once he meets you." Wilson shook his head. "Did you at least check his references?"
"Didn't have to. You did."
Wilson managed to swallow his coffee. "OK, who else have you got writing scripts for you?"
"Oh don't look that way. You were the one who gave me his file, after all. You said his dad recommended him."
"Wait a minute, you hired Rowan Chase's kid?"
"Why not? He's got the credentials, he's got the experience, and having Rowan Chase for a recommendation has got to mean something." House took another drink and considered
his first fellow. "Of course that doesn't explain why he'd want to move 6,000 miles away from his only family to work for a guy he's never met in a country he's never visited. And then there's the possibility that Chase Senior just made the call to get the kid out of his sight. Now that'd be interesting."
"House, you can't hire someone just because you're curious about his personal history."
"Again, why not?
Wilson ignored the question. "And what if he gets here and you don't like him?"
"Why would that make a difference?" House seemed honestly stumped by the question. "Does likeability make you a better doctor? And since everybody hates me, it's not as if meeting me personally is going to make a difference to him."
"Not everybody hates you," Wilson said.
"Present company excluded."
Wilson just shook his head. "So why haven't you told Cuddy?"
"Oh please, where's the entertainment in letting her know I'm doing what she wanted?"
Wilson dropped his head back onto the chair and stared up at the ceiling tiles. "You could try to get along with her you know. She's not that bad."
"Compared to?"
"I give up," Wilson said. "I"m going back to my office." He didn't get up, though. Instead he stretched out his legs onto the same chair House was using as a stool.
House finished his coffee and looked at the pot, wondering if it was worth the hassle of getting up to pour himself a little more. It was getting toward the bottom of the pot anyway. Maybe he could get Wilson to do it. He looked back over at his friend, stretched out in the sunlight, arms crossed over his abdomen. He looked comfortable, relaxed for the first time in days. If House didn't know him better, he would have thought he was asleep.
He lifted his leg up off the chair and pushed himself up to his feet. He turned off the burner and limped back over to the table with the pot, splitting the remaining coffee between his mug and Wilson's. Wilson was watching him as he settled himself back down, then turned his face back up at the ceiling.
Wilson had taken to spending more time in House's new office recently. First he used the excuse that he was helping House settle in. Then he claimed it was because it was bigger than his own and more central to his patients. But House knew that the oncology department had turned into a pit of political infighting in the weeks since McMurtry's surprise retirement -- and cancer was an emotional enough specialty on its own.
The hospital grapevine had it that either Ekkens or Begin had the inside track to take over the department. Half the department had picked sides, and the other half were waiting to see which side Wilson was taking, expecting he had some kind of inside information, but he'd refused to pick, saying either one would do a good job. House also knew that the latest rumor had Wilson up as a dark horse candidate, though it would never occur to Wilson that the board would seriously consider him.
"You should come by this weekend," he suggested. "We could watch the game, drink some beer."
Wilson turned toward him. "What game?"
"There's always a game."
"True." Wilson rubbed at his face, then put his feet onto the floor and sat up. "But I can't. Got stuff I have to do." He stood up, gulped down the last of the coffee.
"What kind of stuff?"
"Just stuff. Nothing special." He rinsed out the mug and put it back next to the coffee maker. "Just do me a favor, though. Tell Cuddy you made a hire sometime before Chase actually shows up, OK?"
"You have no sense of adventure."
"That's OK. You have enough for both of us."
--------
There had to be a rhythm to this, Wilson thought. Some kind of mystical, zen-like attribute. A pattern.
Dig the shovel into the mulch. Lift the mulch. Place it in the wheelbarrow. Repeat until wheelbarrow is full.
Nope. Not feeling anything yet.
Push the wheelbarrow across the driveway, around the house, down the lawn and into the shade. Dump the mulch. Pick up the rake. Spread the mulch.
When Julie had told him he didn't sound enthusiastic enough about her shade garden idea, he'd assured her he was. He'd asked her to leave him something to do, so he could add his own sweat equity into her project.
"I mean our project," he'd corrected himself.
The wood chips, he'd said. He could handle that over the weekend. Even he couldn't mess that up, and it'd save Ray's crew the work.
Julie had looked at him skeptically, and he'd insisted. Manual labor, he'd said. It'll take my mind off of everything at work. It wasn't working, though. While his hands and legs and back suffered, his head spun through the possibilities .
Mulch in, wheelbarrow pushed, mulch dumped. Wilson was raking the wood chips into a more manageable pile along Ray's path when he felt an errant chip bounce against his leg. A moment later, another ricocheted off the wheelbarrow.
Wilson turned to see House taking aim with a third, the rubber tip of his cane placed along the rough surface. A quick flick of the wrist and the wood zinged off the denim cuff of Wilson's jeans.
"Hey!"
"You missed a spot," House said, pointing to the bare circle at the center of the garden.
"No I didn't." Wilson dropped the rake next to the pile of chips and placed the wheelbarrow back on its wheel and legs. "There's a plan and everything. I can show you if you don't believe me.
A wood chip flew past Wilson's knees. "Cut that out."
"Why? Is Julie going to spank me if she catches me?" House seemed to consider it. "Actually ...
"Not another word," Wilson warned. "And Julie's not here anyway."
Wilson pushed the barrow back to the driveway and filled it again. When he returned to the back yard, House was standing at the center of the garden, inspecting the shape of the central feature.
"It's the wrong shape for a jacuzzi," he said as Wilson pushed the barrow up to dump the mulch out onto the ground. "Way too small for a pool."
"In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say it was a ..."
'It's a koi pond," Wilson interrupted him.
"A koi pond," House repeated.
Wilson stood watching him, hands on his hips, waiting for the abuse he knew was about to follow.
"Huh. Must have been someone else who was mocking the pond at Cuddy's reception. Someone who just happened to look like you," House leaned onto the cane, and stared up at the tree tops as if he was searching his memory for the information. "I could have sworn I heard something about koi only being good for sushi."
"That was you," Wilson protested.
"Oh, that's right. You said they were only good for bait." House looked at Wilson, waiting for an explanation.
"OK, fine," Wilson said. "They're useless, pretentious, ornamental, trendy pieces of garden fluff."
"And yet?"
"Julie wanted one."
"What about what you want?"
"I want her to be happy," Wilson said. He picked up the wheelbarrow and pushed it back to the driveway. House was still at the center of the garden when he returned, flicking pieces of wood chips from the edge, a familiar look on his face.
"And if she's happy?" House ignored the lapse in the conversation.
"There's no puzzle here, House," Wilson said. "She's happy. I'm happy. Everybody's happy." He pushed the barrow up to the edge of the marked circle. "Now move before I knock you over."
House walked out, moving carefully on the uneven ground. Wilson waited until he was out of the way, then pushed the barrow forward. It tilted onto its side, the mulch spilling out from the preset path. He muttered a curse and grabbed the rake to move the chips back into place.
"So where is the lovely Mrs. Dr. Wilson anyway?" Wilson glanced back over his shoulder. House was carrying one of the cheap folding lawn chairs Julie had stashed in the garage when the new outdoor furniture arrived. He set it down in the shade and eased himself down into it.
"Tennis tournament."
"And you're not there to cheer her on?"
Wilson shrugged. "She says she gets nervous if I'm there."
"Julie and Cuddy as a doubles team," House said. "Is it just me or is that weird?"
Wilson shrugged again. "They've played at the same club for a long time. I guess it makes sense."
Fact is, he'd wondered often enough if Julie had sought out Cuddy because of her skills or because she saw their teaming as a chance to upgrade her husband's status at the hospital. He didn't question Cuddy's reasoning, though. Julie was a fierce competitor.
"What are you doing here anyway?" Wilson collected the wheelbarrow again and straightened himself up.
"Every good work crew needs a supervisor." House stretched out his legs and leaned back in the chair.
"And you appointed yourself."
"Who better?"
Wilson pushed the empty wheelbarrow back to the driveway. House didn't bother looking at him when he passed by with it full.
"Decisions, decisions," House said. "Too many decisions in this world. Such as: Wilma or Betty?"
"We talking cage match or otherwise?"
"Definitely otherwise, but if it came down to it, I'm pretty sure Betty could take them all on. She definitely wore the pants in that family."
"Well if you're going to put it that way, I should definitely go with Wilma."
"All right then, new topic: More gay, Betty or Velma?"
------
Chase arrived on a Wednesday. Wilson had insisted they should drive out to the airport together to meet his plane, but House was called in on a consult. Wilson found him in the lab, gathering test tubes, blood samples and paperwork.
"Just get him in here, would you?" House said as he shooed him off. "I could use an extra pair of hands."
Wilson had met Rowan Chase at an international conference two years earlier. They had both presented a paper and fell into an easy discussion about each others' work at a reception that evening.
Robert Chase looked nothing like his father, though Wilson could see he had the same effortless charm. Those attributes along with his good looks would make him popular with the hospital staff, he thought.
Wilson apologized for House's absence when they met outside baggage claim.
"That's all right," Chase said. He explained he'd booked a few weeks at a hotel, to give him time to find someplace permanent before having more things shipped to Princeton.
"You're probably pretty jet lagged," Wilson said. "I'll take you straight there if you want. You can meet House tomorrow."
"Nah, I'm fine. I stopped off with some friends for a holiday in L.A. before coming here. I'd rather see the hospital first."
Wilson pulled out of the parking structure and onto the main road. "So what have you heard about Princeton-Plainsboro?"
"The hospital in general or Dr. House specifically?"
"House."
"Some good things, some bad," Chase said. "But you could say that about everybody, couldn't you?"
"They're probably true," Wilson said. "Most of them, anyway."
"This where you're going to give me advice on how to handle him?"
Wilson took advantage of the red light to study the younger man. "I'll wait and see if you need it."
They left Chase's bags in the car and found House still in the lab, running samples.
"There's too many damned possibilities," he complained before Wilson had even introduced them. "I need more information. Chase, go find the wife, see if she can tell you where precisely he was on that business trip last month."
"Sure thing." To his credit, Chase didn't even blink. The hand he'd been extending for a handshake he instead shifted to pick up the file. "Who should I ask for and where will I find her?"
"The name's on the file. Warren something or other. Second floor ICU. Think you can find your way there?"
"I'll manage."
Three weeks into Chase's fellowship, and he still hadn't quit. Wilson wasn't sure whether to be amazed or grateful. Not that House hadn't given him a reason.
"Did I ask you what the radiologist's report said? No. I asked you for the films, right?"
"All right, I'll get them." Chase was up and out the door .
Wilson, taking a break between patients and away from the ongoing debate in oncology knew better than to get involved. He could tell House must be nearing the low spot in his fluctuating mood, when anything could set him on edge. Either he was due for another pill, or the one he'd taken hadn't kicked in yet. He heard the rattle of the pill bottle and didn't bother looking up from his paper.
Either House's new staff would learn how to ride the Vicodin wave or House would learn to temper his temper.
Chase was back moments later, posting the films on the light board. He stood behind House, examining both the films and his new boss.
"They're clear," House announced, clicking off the light.
"That's the same thing the radiologist said," Chase noted, taking down the MRI studies. "I'm not trying to start an argument, I'm just wondering if there's some reason I shouldn't trust him. Like maybe something off-the-record-like?"
"More than 40 percent of radiologists in the United States are sued for malpractice at least once in their careers," House said. "Nearly 40 percent of the pay outs for successful cases were for failure to properly diagnose. Now I'm not saying that means that there's something wrong with Sandhu himself, but it is a statistical likelihood that at some point he'll read a film wrong, I'm also saying I wouldn't want it to happen to me."
"So you think you can read a film better than someone who trained for that specifically?"
"No." House stood at the end of the conference table, the cane at the center of his body, both hands on the handle, leaning forward. "I'm saying that your typical radiologist is looking for something he's been trained to spot, what he -- or she, let's not be sexist when placing blame, shall we -- likely has had years of experience in finding. We, on the other hand, also know the patient's medical history, the meds he's been given, the symptoms we've witnessed, his blood pressure, his O2 stats, you name it. We are trying to diagnose based on a far wider field of information, only one part of which is that film you're holding in your hand."
"All right."
"That's it? No complaints? No bitching about the extra work.?"
"Nope." Chase placed the films back into the folder. "I'll take this back to radiology, if you're done with it."
House nodded and then he and Wilson were left alone in the room.
"Think if I hit him he'll complain then?"
"From what I've seen so far? Probably not. Looks like you're stuck with him."
---------
House's former department director handed him a case four months into Chase's fellowship.
Two cases, both young boys, one nearly 3 years old, brought to PPTH after days of vomiting and diarrhea. The second, six months older, transferred from another hospital just 12 hours later.
Both boys tested positive for E. coli and were still worsening, developing renal failure and hemolytic-uremic syndrome. They were receiving transfusions of red blood cells and undergoing dialysis, while a state health team was chasing down the possibility of contaminated beef.
"But it's not responding like it should," House said, as he and Wilson watched from outside one of the boys' rooms. "If it was something at home, someone else would have gotten sick there. If was a bad burger joint, we'd have more sick kids."
"What are you thinking?"
"Something. I don't know."
Chase emerged from the room. "He's stable for now, at least, and so's the other one."
The younger boy's two parents held each other inside his room. A single mother stroked her son's hair in the other.
"You've talked to the parents?"
Chase nodded.
"What about other members of the family? Grandparents? Aunts? Uncles? When little kids are sick there's usually a family circus," House said. "Track them down. Everyone. Everyone here and everyone you can reach at home. This thing started at least four days ago, so find out everywhere they've been, everyone they've seen."
"That's going to be a lot of people."
"Then you'd better get started."
Chase nodded and headed for the elevators at a trot, his lab coat flapping behind him.
"I could give you a hand," Wilson said.
"Don't bother. I don't know what I'm looking for yet." House looked back at the room, then turned to go back to his office, Wilson following him. "Besides, don't you have a very private anniversary party to get to?"
"I could call Julie, tell her ..."
"What, that you had to sit there while I went through every medical journal in the place trying to think of something? Go home." He hit the button for the elevator and the bell sounded a moment later, as the door opened.
"You're sure."
"I'm sure." House paused for a bit before hitting the button. "I'll call you if I need anything."
----------
Wilson left home well before Julie woke the next morning, a mixture of happiness from the previous evening's celebration with his wife and guilt over having left House on his own. His first stop was House's office. Chase was sitting at House's desk, dozing, his cell phone ready and telephone books open.
Next stop: the lab. There were stacks of journals and papers, read outs from previous tests and House perched on a stool, slumped over, peering through a microscope. He looked up long enough to take note of Wilson's entrance.
"Morning."
House looked up. "Guess it is. " He took a sip from his mug, making a face at the taste. "I've been going back over the same tests the state ran. I'm probably wasting my time." He turned back to the microscope.
"I suppose you've been here all night?"
"Not all night. Stopped to pee at 3 a.m."
"Quality time, I'm sure," Wilson said. "What can I do?"
"Find where they hid the good coffee in the pediatrics lounge."
"Tell you what, why don't I start by rerunning next couple of gels and you can take a break, go on the great coffee hunt yourself?"
"Nah, that's OK," House said, looking back into the microscope. "I've got a system down now. Maybe you could glance over those though, see if I missed anything." He gestured at the files stacked at the end of the bench.
Wilson set his briefcase next to House, then walked around him to get at the pile. "Sure you don't want Chase to do it?"
"You'll know what I'm looking for."
"So should he," Wilson said.
House ignored him and went on with his work. Wilson leafed through the papers, stopping just once in two hours to get them both some coffee.
He was surprised to see House's stool empty when he returned, but then heard his uneven steps. House's hands were filled with more test tubes, more equipment, more paper, his cane still leaning up against the lab bench. He stumbled slightly as he came around the corner of the bench, a few of the pieces of paper sliding out of the files.
Wilson stepped in to pick them up before House could react. "I'm fine," House said.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it."
"Sorry. I'll tell the voices in my head to keep it down." Wilson set the paper cup next to House's equipment stash.
Before he'd even sat down, Chase rushed into the lab.
"They're related," he said.
"Well of course ..." Wilson began.
"The kids are related. Some weird backwoods cousin thing where different sides of the family don't speak to each other for years. The parents don't know each other, but something seemed off, so I did a little more digging. Apparently there's contact through some older relatives."
"How'd you figure that out?" House asked.
"Ernie's mum -- the older one -- she seemed a little distracted and kept taking off to make calls from the pay phone. I loaned her my cell phone for a while, and she decided she could trust me. Seems social services has got a case open on her and she's not supposed to let the kid stay with anyone else without the case worker's approval, but her boyfriend was in town last weekend, so she sent him off to stay with an aunt."
"Nice." House passed his coffee over to Chase. "And let me guess, part of the reason mom fessed up is that the kid's getting worse."
Chase nodded.
"How much worse?" Wilson asked.
"O'Neal's team had to intubate, and his blood pressure's tanking. They've put him on pressors, but it's barely holding him steady.
"And where's the aunt now?" House interrupted.
"I've got calls out looking for her."
"Let the state know. Cops may be able to find her faster."
Chase nodded and headed back out.
House stared at the piles of paperwork, of tests and tubes and chemicals. "I've been wasting my time."
"You don't know that."
"I should have been talking to the family. Maybe I could have gotten it faster."
Wilson shook his head. "I doubt that," he said. "Chase is good with people, and he can do things you don't have time for."
House sat on the stool, tapping his cane on the linoleum floor. "But yet Cuddy complains when I tell him to fill my clinic hours." He bounced the cane a few more times, then stopped, holding it steady a few inches off the floor.
"What did Chase say about the family?"
"What, that they're dysfunctional?"
"No, not that. Something about them being rural."
"Backwoods."
House walked out, headed for the elevators. He hit the call button, then stood staring at the floor, tapping his cane once again.
"What is it?" House shook his head in reply to Wilson's question. The elevator door opened, and Chase emerged. House gestured him back inside.
"Find out if anyone in the family has a farm -- with animals, cows and sheep specifically, and if the kids have been there in the past week."
"All right," Chase hit the button for the second floor ICU, House for his offices on the fourth floor.
"What are you thinking?"
"Something I saw, a few years ago. I can't remember the details, but don't tell the parents too much," House warned him. "The survival statistics weren't too promising."
Ten minutes later, Chase had found at least one of the boys had been on a farm, and House had located a six-year-old British study on the rare double occurrence of both e. coli and Clostridium septicum. He told Chase to have them start both kids on gas-gangrene antitoxin and get both into surgery.
"But there's no gangrene," Chase pointed out.
"Not that you can see. It's attacking the intestinal tract, just like the e. coli did," House said. "And hurry. The Brits found five cases -- four of those infected died, one of them a two-year-old just a few hours after he was put on a respirator."
Chase rushed out the door and House slumped back in his chair.
"Think you caught it in time?" Wilson asked from across the desk.
"I have no idea." House raised his left leg up onto the corner of the desk, then lifted his right leg up to join it.
Wilson checked his watch, then headed for the door. "Crap, I'm late."
"Use me as an excuse," House offered.
"I always do."
House sent Chase home after the surgeries. Both kids were still hanging on, and there wasn't much more to do except wait.
"I don't mind waiting," Chase said.
"It's going to be a lot of waiting," House said. "I'll take the first shift."
The kids were finally beginning to show some improvement by the time Wilson showed up early that afternoon. The TV was on, but House wasn't paying attention to it. Instead he was shuffling papers on his desk. Wilson couldn't quite make out what was up on the computer screen.
'The voices in my head are telling me its time to take a break," he said. "I've got a craving for a sub from Manny's."
House looked up at him. "Which happens to be a block from my place."
"Hey, wouldn't you know it, Manny's is just a block from your place," Wilson repeated. "How about I give you a ride home and we grab lunch at Manny's on the way there?"
"I'm perfectly capable of getting home on my own." House turned back to his paperwork.
"Of course you are. I'm just thinking of how pissed the other drivers are going to be when you fall asleep at a red light," Wilson said. "You've been here more than 40 hours straight. No one's going to care if you take off early today."
House seemed to consider it. "If anyone asks, I'm telling them you forced me into it." He began straightening the papers into separate piles. "Besides, reception here sucks."
Wilson glanced over the work on House's desk, expecting to find medical journals, and instead spotted personnel forms. He picked one up and waited for House to respond.
"Cuddy's been threatening to cut my funding again if I don't use it," he said. "And I figured Chase could use a playmate."
"You planning to actually do some interviews this time, or just hire whoever sounds most interesting from the hospital gossip?"
House grabbed a few papers from his desk and stuffed them into his bag. He pushed himself up and stood there for a moment before grabbing his cane and stepping away from the chair.
"I don't know why you're bitching, it's not like my system worked that badly last time."
"It's a new requirement for board members: Bitch about House daily. It's in the bylaws and everything."
"Let me guess, Cuddy's idea?"
"Mine, actually." Wilson waited as house locked his office door. "I wanted my first proposal to be one that'd get unanimous support."
"And people said I'd only hold you back."