Rating: T
Disclaimer: The usual. I'm borrowing, kids, don't panic!
Author's Note: Second installment up--thanks for the initial feedback, all of you! This chapter features Cuddy and Wilson, would someone tell me if I've managed to nail down their characters at least somewhat competently? I'm not as familiar with their workings, I don't think. Oh, just an FYI: Lindsay House is a rather superflous character that will probably make a few more cameos, but isn't ultimately that important, so don't worry. Thus far, she's an instrument for House's possible impending doom. Heh. Enjoy, cheerful readers!
"It's not a complete lie—"
"House, he's not you! How is wearing a nametag that has your name on it not a lie?"
"Well, there's the doctor part, right? Chase is a doctor… I think." House began, obviously groping for a better reason, and Lisa Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Oh c'mon, Cuddy, how'd you find out about this anyway? Is the Wombat snitching again?"
She snorted derisively and shook her head. "Oh no, he wasn't screwing you over, if that's what you think. In fact, if you need to know, a mother of two walked into my office about fifteen minutes ago and complimented me for a lovely hospital, and extremely wonderful doctors." Cuddy paused here and gave him a knowing glance, which he pointedly ignored. "Naturally, I asked her which doctor had attended to her children's needs, and she began spouting about the charming, handsome and brilliant Dr. House! As you can imagine, she got to handsome and I realized that either you had Dr. Chase masquerading as you in the Clinic, or the poor woman had bigger worries than sniffling kids because she was probably suffering from brain damage."
House stuck out his tongue at his boss and narrowed his eyes at her. "Ooh, burned— one point, Cuddy!" he conceded, and held out his hand. "Gimme five, dude!" She only looked at him with a raised eyebrow and huffed in that spectacular Cuddy-huff sort of way. Two fingers found their way to her temple, and she closed her eyes in exasperation.
"Look, House, just do your own damn clinic hours—"
"But Mom, you wouldn't get any more rave reviews! I know how you're addicted to approval and all," he smiled, rocking back on his heels and tossing his cane from hand to hand. Cuddy opened her mouth to reply, but thankfully, just then an interruption to their pointless conversation arrived in the form of Dr. James Wilson.
"Not interrupting anything important, am I?" the oncologist asked carefully, taking in the way Cuddy was glaring at House with little surprise. "Okay, so what'd he do this time?"
House immediately assumed a look of injured innocence and appealed to his friend with a pout. "Aww, Wilson, why must you assume that I've wronged Cuddy?"
"Because you always wrong Dr. Cuddy."
"Point taken." House smirked and reached between the two of them to dig in the receptionist's jar of lollipops. Finding a cherry-flavored sucker, he happily jammed it into his mouth and looked back up at his companions. They were mirror images of each other—one hand on the hip, the other rubbing the brow.
Wilson sighed a long-suffering sigh very similar to the kind Cuddy always indulged in, and sent her a sympathetic glance. "Any damage control I can help with?" He offered supportively, and House snorted.
"St. James to the rescue, eh? Going to retrieve sweet Cuddy from the evil clutches of a limping fiend?"
Steadfastly ignoring their candy-pilfering counterpart, Lisa Cuddy nodded gratefully at Wilson. "Just get him out of my hair. Take him anywhere—tie him up, gag him, whatever—just keep him occupied. I've got a group of donors to show around at one, and I think we've got a better chance of seeing that new radiology unit if said benefactors don't accidentally run into the village idiot," she explained, jerking a thumb at House who only cocked a lecherous eyebrow at her.
"Tie me up and gag me? Oh, yes please, Jimmy! It'll be just like when the boss does it, except—wait, how do you look in fishnets and ass-less—" He was cut off as Wilson grabbed him by the arm and began leading him away.
"C'mon House, let's go get lunch."
The diagnostician brightened considerably after nearly falling over, and matched his hobbling gait to his friend's. Cuddy could still hear him jabbering as they receded down the sterile hallway. "Amen to that! I'm starving, how good of you to notice and care!"
"Actually, I figured that maybe with food stuffed in your mouth, you'd shut up."
"A lunch date and sweet talk from dreamy Boy Wonder? What lottery did I win?"
"Shut up, House."
Cuddy listened to this familiar banter, and couldn't help but chuckle softly. Being the Dean of Medicine meant handling inconceivable curve-balls and changes in tempo, but those two and the way they interacted was a constant. Admittedly comforting, in some sort of weird way. She shook her dark curls once more before straightening her pastel pink blazer and turning to sweep down the hall, heels a-clicking. She had a hospital to run.
...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...
"House, I bought you your own lunch so you wouldn't steal mine!" Wilson stared on incredulously, as a handful of his french-fries disappeared into the loudly chewing mouth of his friend.
"It's not whether I have my own food, Jimmy, it's the fact that if you have food, I have to steal it. It's the principle of the thing," House managed to explain around the mouthful of Reuben and fries. He swallowed with some difficulty and reached across to take a sip of the other man's coke. "And if nothing else, I'm a man of principle."
"Principle. Uh-huh." Wilson repeated dully, watching another few fries and half of his drink meet the same slurping/munching end. "So," he started, leaning forward on one elbow and taking a small bite of his hamburger. "You certainly seem… more delightful than usual today." It was an open-ended statement, one that obviously demanded explanation—a demand that a certain caustic diagnostician was an expert at ignoring.
House only nodded and poked his tongue out the side of his mouth to retrieve a stray smear of ketchup. After receiving no answer aside from noisy eating, the oncologist pulled a face of mild disgust. "Okay, first of all: close your mouth when you eat, seeing a ball of slobbery sandwich rolling around is making me nauseous. Secondly: care to explain the reason for your extra-sugary personality?"
The taller man paused in his chewing and stared pointedly at his friend, before opening his mouth wide to give his best friend a non-compromised close-up of the half-masticated food. Hey Wilson, you like 'see-food'?! Wilson glanced away, his mouth pulled down in a grimace. The self-satisfied smile of a petulant child appeared on the features of House, and only then did he bother to speak.
"Leg's in good shape today," he said with a wave of the hand. Open and shut case, my dear Watson.
"Oh. Is that all?" Wilson pressed, not really expecting to get anything else. His friend did not disappoint—a shake of the head ended that particular inquiry. "Alright, so nothing, say, out of the ordinary happened to you this morning?"
The tone of voice caused the older doctor to pause for a moment. Uh-oh… Wilson had that alarmingly smug 'knowing' expression on those baby-soft features of his—better figure out what that's all about. He raised a curious eyebrow at his companion. "Hmm… Nope. I mean, Cuddy was a little extrarough today, but that's not exactly out of the ordinary."
Wilson neatly side-stepped this lewd comment about their boss, and went straight for the proverbial jugular. "So, you didn't get a wedding invitation this morning that requested the presence of Gregory House and guest?"
"Jeez, someone really needs to learn to keep their overly-sensitive and sympathetic yap shut."
"Yeah, okay. You're indignant that Dr. Cameron broke the unspoken confidentiality agreement you expect her to keep, I got that part. More interestingly, what's up with this wedding thing? Who in their right mind would want you present for that kind of blessed event?"
House rolled his blue eyes skyward and let out an annoyed grunt. That question sounded oddly familiar. "Apparently nobody in their right mind. Cameron asked the same thing." He crammed another too-large bite of Reuben into his mouth and chewed sullenly.
"Always knew that girl had brains to back up those good looks!" Wilson grinned and leaned forward further, the rest of his own lunch now forgotten. "So what's the deal? You're not going, are you?" The somewhat venomous glare that was sent in his direction wasn't exactly subtle. "Okay, okay, so you're not going. Why not, then?"
The other man took his time with swallowing. "You mean beyond the fact that family is most likely going to be in attendance?" House commented sarcastically, reaching over to thieve the rest of those unattended fries.
"Oh c'mon, House. It could be fun—"
"You are truly delusional if you actually believe that statement." Another swallow of coke. "Nuh-uh. You're not going to psycho-babble me into going to this stupid thing. Why the Hell do you care, anyway?"
"You mean beyond the fact that I'm me?" Wilson smirked, and House gave him a grudgingly appreciative smile in return. "Seriously though. It would probably mean a lot to the people who invited you, don't you think?"
"No, I don't think. Like you and Care-Bear Cameron were so noble as to point out: no sane person would actually want me to attend their wedding. Think of the liability."
The oncologist thought about this for a moment, an image suddenly flashing through his mind that involved House actually raising his hand at the part where the priest asked if anyone had any reason as to why the couple should not be wed, spouting some misanthropic line that included "everybody lies!" He shook his head and laughed. "Hmm, yeah," he agreed after a moment, and the taller diagnostician nodded sagely.
"Case in point. I'm not going."
Wilson, being Wilson, was just about to try a different tactic of persuasion on his acerbic friend, when suddenly a new voice entered their conversation.
"Excuse me, Dr. Wilson; Dr. House," Each turned to look and spied Allison Cameron standing at the end of their table.
"Oh, well if it isn't Snitchy McBigmouth herself!" House smiled patronizingly at his immunologist, who rolled her signature eye-roll and ignored her boss's usual sarcasm.
"Just wanted to let you know that you have a phone-call. Line two in your office." Cameron said, before nodding cordially at Wilson before leaving them to fall into the lunch line.
Ah, the perfect reason to escape Jimmy Wilson's manipulations! House wasted no time in getting to his feet, sliding his tray of rubbish across to his friend. "You heard her, Jimbo—one of my adoring fans is on line two! Can't keep them on hold forever!" And he began limping away towards the exit.
Wilson stared down at the two trays for a moment, before calling out to the receding form of his friend. "House, you—"
"GIVE IT UP, WILSON—I'M NOT GOING!"
Jimmy Wilson, Boy Wonder Oncologist shook his head, brown eyes twinkling in slight amusement. Something told him he hadn't heard the end of this topic.
...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...
Gregory House dropped into his chair with a sigh, dry-swallowing a few Vicodin for good measure. Wilson was turning into a mother hen again. He thought wryly, before glancing to his left and noticing the blinking light on his phone. Oh yeah, phone-call. He contemplated simply cutting the caller off and saving himself the prattle of some moron, but ultimately decided that whoever it was would probably call back later and he would get an earful from Cameron about common courtesy. Might as well just answer it, declare their apparent idiocy, and be done. So thinking, House reached over and picked up the receiver.
"House."
"Greg? Greg—is that you?"
Of all the responses he had been expecting, those words coming in an obviously female tone weren't on the list. He stopped fiddling with the tennis ball, his brow furrowed. "Um, yes. Who's this?"
"Greg, it's Lindsay!" the voice all but shrieked, and realization dawned across House's features, even through the wince at the piercing screech.
"Eesh, okay—if this is who I think it is—I know it's been awhile, but really, I haven't gone deaf since we last spoke." The female voice laughed shortly and the diagnostician sat forward in his seat, an odd half-smile forming on his lips.
"Sorry. It's just… well, like you said, it's been a long time, man!"
"Yeah, yeah. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call, Linz?"
At the other end of the line, Lindsay House smirked at the sarcastic tone of her older cousin and leaned her own desk chair back. "Because I need a reason to have called you, right?"
"Exactly. People in our family tend to ignore the fact that I exist, so hearing the voice of one of them begs the question of what drove them to committing such an atrocity."
"Shut up, Greg. You certainly haven't changed—"
"That's the word on the street," House cut her off, a definite quirky grin now settling across on his face—of all of the members of his family, Lindsay was the one he tolerated, and even liked, the best. "But no, really… Why pick up the phone and call caustic cousin Gregory? Not enough bitter sarcasm in your life these days?"
Lindsay sighed and rolled her eyes, a gesture lost in the fact that he couldn't see her face. She decided, as she should have realized from the start, that there really wasn't any use in beating around the bush. "Yeah, so you caught me. I didn't call to enquire about your health."
"Really?" The sarcasm was tangible and she laughed.
"Cut it out. I just wanted to know if you got the invitation to Mike's wedding."
House had put his feet up and had begun a solo game of catch with his ball, but these words froze him. The red and gray toy fell to the floor unnoticed, and rolled underneath the desk. Crap, he should have seen that coming. As if it wasn't bad enough having Wilson trying to talk him into going—he was going to have to shut his younger cousin down too!
"Greg… you there?"
The voice on the phone interrupted his thoughts, and he responded absently. "Yep."
"Oh. Okay, so did you get it?"
"Yep." The invitation still lay on top of his computer keyboard, exactly where he had dropped it earlier. House glared at it in annoyance, as if that would help. "Can't believe Whiny Do-Nothing found a hapless victim at long last."
"Hah, yeah, seriously. But actually, I called 'cause there's something you should know about this invite…"
Well that certainly got his attention. "Wait, what?"
"Well, there's sort of…" Lindsay paused, wondering exactly how she should break the news to her grouchy cousin that he was basically once again the center of family ridicule.
"Sort of what? Spit it out, Linz," House demanded, bracing himself for the answer. One never could tell what sort of infuriating complications his family could present.
"A bet. There's a bet."
"What—? What kind of bet?"
"The kind where there's a pool on whether you'll show up or not, and if you do, whether you'll show up with somebody, and whether you're still the same miserable bastard you've always been at family reunions." She blurted out and scrunched her eyes shut, waiting for her words to sink in.
Gregory House didn't say anything for a moment, the gears in his mind whirring. There was a bet riding on his attendance and state of being?! What kind of twisted idea was THAT?! In the back of his mind, the diagnostician made a mental note to tell Wilson about his newest legitimate reason for hating his family and their gatherings. More importantly, his ego had just received a swift kick to the balls.
"...Greg?"
He startled out of his somewhat enraged reverie. Wha—? Oh yeah. Lindsay was still on the phone. "You guys are sick. And people wonder why I'm a miserable bastard when I'm subjected to your company." It was a statement, and the responded sigh indicated agreement.
"…Yeah, I know. I swear though, I'm not in on it and it certainly wasn't my idea! Look… Greg, I just thought you should know, or something."
"Right. Or something." The good mood he had been hanging onto all morning was a fleeting memory at this point. House popped another Vicodin. Another sigh into the phone.
"Right… Well, hey... I um. Don't worry about it too much; this family is comprised mainly of sociopathic, self-concerned assholes."
House told the little voice in the back of his head that reminded him that a handful of people had referred to him in that exact way, to shut the hell up. "Yeah," he mumbled dully. There was an awkward pause, and he got the idea that Lindsay was now regretting that she had bothered to call.
"Yeah. So, uh… So maybe I'll see you around then, huh?"
"Yep, you'll see me at the wedding." He blurted out.
"Wait—huh?"
Yeah, HUH?! Oh Christ, what had he just said..? Judging by the squeaky pitch that the phone voice had suddenly taken on, it was difficult to tell who was more surprised by that outburst—she or House! His stomach did a nasty flip-flop as he realize he had seriously stuck his foot in his mouth this time. Damn pride. Shit, too late to recall that now… The diagnostician cleared his throat, hoping that his voice wouldn't crack when he spoke again. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll see you at the wedding."
"What? You're… You're coming?"
"Well, that's what I said, isn't it?" He had closed his eyes tightly and had covered his face with one large hand.
"Yes… but I—you—I mean…"
"Listen: I'm coming, and not only that, but I'm bringing somebody with me. New girlfriend. Yeah, yeah she's really hot. And smart. And funny. And everything else that's great. And hey, know what else? I'm happy as a clam these days, so you can tell everyone to expect Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows at the reception! GOTTA GO, PEOPLE DYING, BYE!"
Gregory House let his finger drop on the 'end call' button and released it. The sound of a distant dial-tone reached his ears. A by now limp hand replaced the phone, and then came up to cradle a scruffy face. Had he actually just told his cousin that he was going to that wedding..? With a declared-gorgeous date..? And a sunny outlook on life..? He swallowed hard, his stomach now tying itself into knots as the gravity of the situation hit him hard. Granted, the revelation that his family was making frivolous bets on his misery stung, but did he have to say those things?!
The good mood had definitely completely evaporated. He tossed back yet another chalky white pill. Apparently, there was some truth to the popular rumor that he was unable to let his ego get bruised. Now hunched over with his head in his hands, House snorted derisively and laughed a barking laugh that could have been a construed as a pained groan.
Oh God—what he Hell had he just gotten himself into. Wow, House, you've really done it this time.