Part 8

"I need a consult."

House hadn't bothered knocking before barging into James Wilson's office, and the oncology chief didn't look the least bit surprised. House was pleased, however, that Wilson didn't have a patient in with him for a change.

"You told me this morning your schedule was clear and you were devoting yourself to world domination," Wilson said, putting aside the folder he'd been reading.

"Everybody lies," House told him before plopping himself down in the seat in front of Wilson's desk and stretching his leg out. "And this one just arrived downstairs in the clinic. You might say he floated something by me that caught my attention."

"You actually saw him?"

"Cuddy sentenced me to hard labor in the clinic for hijacking Chase's medical records."

"Ah! And you think this patient has cancer?"

"Nope," House answered breezily.

"Did the oncology plaque on the door throw you?"

"The 'Chief' part didn't. Actually, I'm here to give you the golden opportunity to resprout your ethics wings after, shall we say, a less than GRACEful screw-up way back when."

Wilson's eyes narrowed, but House didn't feel the least bit penitent. Wilson should have known his affair with Grace would come back to haunt him—House had never been above blackmail where a patient was concerned. "You need a consult because you need to tell me something, no, you want me to do something that you can't get away with. The last time you did this, I ended up in a mess with the organ transplant team, Vogler canned my ass, and nearly canned yours."

"Ah, but we are here and he is not, thus demonstrating the fallacy of your argument," House offered reasonably as he stretched his leg out and reached into his pocket for his Vicodin.

Wilson took a deep breath, appearing momentarily indecisive, but House knew he'd cave. "Fine. I'm consulting. What is it that I'm going to regret in the morning?"

"That lab tech you've been sniffing around…and a DNA test that I need you to run."

"A DNA test?" Wilson asked, clearly perplexed. "That you can't run yourself?"

"Nobody's going to question you if you go near the sequencer…hell, you got away with scanning Cuddy's building blocks without so much as a rap on the knuckles from Mother Superior," House told him before popping a pill. "Last time I ran an unauthorized test—which, for the record, saved a kid's life—I got stuck with a bill for $3,500."

"I lost a lot of money on that bet."

"That's what you get for doubting the master."

"And why is it the master needs me to run an unauthorized DNA scan? You in for higher stakes this time?"

House fidgeted for a moment as he contemplated the best way to handle the situation, drawing a surprised look from Wilson.

"Let's say, for consult's sake"—he watched Wilson nod his acknowledgment of the hypothetical—"that we have a patient whose symptoms would pretty definitively indicate that he got lucky in the genetic lottery and landed the X-gene."

Wilson stared at him. "Define symptoms."

"He yanked my Game Boy across Exam 1—just as I was about to get to the next level mind you—without laying a hand on it. Then he spun it around the air a couple of times to show off."

"You saw this?" Wilson asked, incredulous. "You actually saw a psychokinetic at work?"

"Have you not been paying attention?"

"I'm a little confused," Wilson admitted. "This sounds like a no-brainer. Why not just do the test yourself to confirm it? Problem with the parents?"

"Definitely has problems with his parents," House confirmed. "But that's not the issue—our patient is way past the legal drinking age, but first started moving things without benefit of contact a couple of months ago after the world shared its own collective hangover."

"Okay," Wilson acknowledged slowly, nodding his head. "Certainly different, which makes the test an even smarter move. And the insurance company won't even balk if you call it a genetic screening." He paused. "Though a positive result..."

"…might not have such a happy ending," House concluded. "Moneygrubbers won't even recognize the fact that mutants statistically have better immune systems and are more likely to cost them less cash."

"If the journals are right, they won't have much choice within a couple of decades," Wilson mused aloud. "Money conquers all."

House smiled. "Better be careful. If all of my cynicism rubs off on you I won't have any left to torture my posse with."

"Too late for that." Wilson paused for a moment, before adding, "but an insurance problem's never stopped you before. Still doesn't explain why you want me to sneak this by Cuddy."

"Our patient is a doctor at this hospital."

Wilson sat up abruptly, and House could almost hear the alarm bells going off in his head. "You think Cuddy would fire a guy just because he's a mutant?"

"Cuddy hasn't fired me yet, no way she fires a guy because some gene decided to get a facelift," House observed with a snort. "But Cuddy isn't 'The Board,' and the vast majority of human beings are not as enlightened as say, yours truly, and aren't renowned for their rationality. If people were rational, we wouldn't get half our business at the hospital and you and I would have to take pay cuts. Thankfully, most of the beings that occupy this planet are incredibly stupid."

"You think we'd drum up an excuse to get rid of this…patient?"

"And here I thought you were ready to join me in the ranks above the Irrationals."

Wilson appeared to chew on that for a minute before finally nodding. House wasn't surprised. They'd both learned wariness when it came to hospital dealings the hard way. "You have the sample?"

House removed the sealed test kit from his pocket and handed it over to the oncologist.

"Do I get a name?" Wilson asked as he accepted the kit.

"Do you really want one?"

Wilson was silent for a minute, then slowly shook his head. "I'll do it as soon as I can."

"My patient will grovel in thanks before you," House told him, reluctant to get caught in an act of gratitude.

"My way of evening out the karma of the universe," Wilson replied with just a little self-satisfaction. House knew he wouldn't be able to hold Grace over Wilson's head anymore, but it was the sort of Faustian bargain House couldn't help but approve of.

"You can tell our patient that he doesn't have any markers for cancer," Wilson told House four days later as he held out an envelope marked confidential. "But there was a chromosomal abnormality he might want to check with a genetics counselor. Why his symptoms started now? Not really my area."

"I'll let him know," House acknowledged as he accepted the results, recognizing Wilson's words for what they were.

"And you can tell him I practiced my underused—and seriously unappreciated—espionage skills and left no paper trail."

"Sure, just change your last name to Bond," House replied sarcastically. "You have the women thing down pat, though 007 didn't end up in divorce court as much. And the car needs work, too."

"You're the one who likes living on the edge," Wilson told him with a smile before turning to leave. "I have a department meeting. Let me know if you need anything else."

House, who'd opened the envelope and was perusing its contents, barely acknowledged Wilson's departure. Once he'd absorbed all the nitty gritty details of the report, he set it on his desk, swung his chair to face his computer, and pulled out the duplicate he'd made of Chase's medical file as a back-up—and a set of films he'd recently acquired from neurology. Chase's results hadn't surprised him and, to House's way of thinking, the test had been a mere formality. But why the Aussie had manifested so late in life was a puzzle that House was enjoying.

Twenty minutes later, feeling very self-satisfied, House pulled up several articles from the Journal of Medical Genetics and Human Mutation by doctors Jean Grey and Henry McCoy. He'd begun researching the best referral for his fellow right after he'd conned Wilson into using the sequencer. Having Chase around would be doubly fun now, House thought as he dialed Columbia Presbyterian's genetics program, but replacing glass windows every time Chase got annoyed could get both tiresome and expensive. And House had no doubt that it would be his own paycheck that would take the beating if Cuddy ever found out.

To be continued