Sorry it took so long to update, I'm notorious for being a procrastinator.
Anyway, I changed extra-strength Zoloft for Felixiatrin (a drug of my own invention), so changes have been made in the last chapter.
Now, on to the story!
Chapter 3:
The Diagnostician Strikes Back
As Chase took care of the replacement pills, Cameron and Foreman hovering over his shoulder, House quickly walked to Wilson's office. So the ducklings had finally grown a spine. "Mind you," mused House "it's a bit of a feeble prank, really. So juvenile."
When he reached the oncologist's office, he found Wilson stretched out on the couch, a copy of American Medicine on the floor beside him.
"Sleeping on the job, Wilson?" tutted House. "Ooh, I'm telling Cuddy."
"Fine. And I'll tell her that you're the one who keeps sending her spam e-mail asking if she wants her breasts enlarged." said Wilson, not opening his eyes.
"I still maintain that they're not big enough. They're just…"
"Okay, okay." interrupted Wilson. "Really, it's fine. I don't need any more information on Cuddy's assets. Now I'm guessing you came here for a reason? I don't have any money to lend you."
"Relax. I need your help with something."
Wilson knew from the tone of his friend's voice that this wasn't going to be a plain old consult. He could tell that it would not be something completely ethical and right, but his curiosity overrode his hesitance. He straightened into a sitting position.
"Okay, then. What cunning and surely diabolical plan have you concocted now?"
"Oh, it's not me. It's the ducklings."
"The ducklings? But Cameron and Chase are spineless. Even Foreman will back off if you glare at him hard enough."
"Well, Jimmy, the times, they are a-changin'."
"Meaning? ..."
"Meaning that they're plotting against me."
"This surprises you?"
"Nope."
"Then you must have already thought of some counter-attack for…whatever they're planning. I don't see of what use I could be here."
Wilson lay back down on the couch, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed.
"They stole my pills."
Wilson's eyes shot open. He sat up and nearly toppled off the sofa. A look of confusion was plastered over his features.
"What? Was I speaking Shippingese? Sorry, sometimes I forget who I'm talking to."
Wilson gave his friend an odd look. A sort of "come-on-be-serious" look.
"But you never let that bottle out of your sight. You only let the pharmacist touch it, and even then only for a minute. Even I haven't touched it."
"Aww, don't worry, Jimmy," House cooed in a false motherly voice." Someday I'll let you hold it, but only if you're on your very best behaviour."
"I'm serious, House. I'm scared."
"What do you mean? I'll be fine."
"No, I meant about the ducklings."
"I'm not going to eat them. On the other hand…"
Wilson was, by nature, a kind person. But once and again, a part of his conscience (the part that, for some odd reason, had House's voice) burst out in a fit of maniacal laughter. And, at the moment, Evil-Wilson-with-House's-voice was itching to cause some (mild) havoc. The oncologist picked himself up off the carpet and stared at his friend.
"Okay, what are you planning? I want in." Wilson hated swallowing his pride like this, but Evil-Wilson was still kicking.
"Ohoh!" said House, leaning back in Wilson's office chair. "I thought you couldn't be of any use here."
"House, whatever you're scheming, I know it involves me somehow. It always does. So tell me already."
"Okay, here's the low-down: Chase has rallied Cameron and Foreman into swiping my pills and replacing them with Felixiatrin."
"'Felixiatrin'? You mean that new anti-depressant?"
"The very same. Now here's what we're going to do…"
The diagnostician scooted his chair closer to the couch and the two doctors plotted away, their conspiratorial whispers punctuated with laughter and the occasional sound Wilson falling (yet again) to the floor.
The ducklings had just gotten back from the pharmacist's counter and were sitting in the diagnostics department, debating on how to give back House's pills without him knowing that they had them. The answer presented itself when a rather frazzled-looking diagnostician limped into the room.
"Has anyone seen my pills?" He sounded out of breath.
"Yeah, you left them in the clinic this morning." Said Chase matter-of-factly. "Weird since you never take your eyes of them."
"Yeah, well," said House sounding perfectly fine now, relieved to be reunited with (one of) the only thing(s) that made his life bearable. "I guess I kinda zoned out this morning."
He snatched the bottle out of Chase's hands, and held it up to the light, suspicious.
"You didn't switch my pills, did you?" he asked suspiciously.
The intensivist turned bright red, but House pretended not to notice. This is going to be fun, he thought fiendishly.
Well, there you go, another chapter. Please, please, please review. Next one coming soon (hopefully sooner than this one).