19.
It felt like he'd been waiting forever. It was a good thing he'd brought his yo-yo out here, because at least he had something to play with, and his jacket too, since the early evening air was chilly. He was still bored, though, yo-yo or no-yo.
He was perfecting 'around the world' - with little regard to the threat such a trick posed to every breakable object within reach, which in this instance was a number of windows - when finally he saw the light go on in Wilson's office. He limped over and thumped the door with the end of his cane.
"So," he said once Wilson had joined him out on the balcony, "these board meetings - really just twelve of you sitting around bitching out all the other doctors who don't get to sit at the cool table, right?"
"That's about it," Wilson agreed, taking a cautious step back as the yo-yo arced dangerously towards his head. "Your name comes up a lot, of course."
"That's just 'cause the head cheerleader's got a crush on me."
"Apparently."
He glanced up at Wilson's pointed reply, then looked back down at the yo-yo, now spinning in place at the end of its string. "Did she do it?" With a flick of his wrist it sprang back up into his hand.
"She did."
"And?"
"It... went okay, actually. She handled it like a pro - played the integrity card, appealed to their sense of loyalty..."
The yo-yo travelled its path down and then up again. "Think it'll go any further?"
"Formally? I doubt anyone will have the nerve to go up against her."
"She's good."
"She is."
"Of course, informally you're all just a pack of mangy strays who'll turn on the top dog at the first sign of weakness."
Wilson's tone took on a bemused air. "You're worried about her."
"I'm worried about me - I am involved in this, remember. She is my mortal enemy. War has been declared. An epic battle between the forces of good and evil is going down right here in our humble little hospital." Wilson just looked at him, nonplussed. "My parents are coming to visit and it's all her fault," he elaborated.
"So you've told me."
"Mentioned it, have I?"
"Several times," Wilson replied. "A day. Going on a week now so that I really wish you'd just shut up about it."
"You're supposed to be on my side."
"You're supposed to be a genius, not a complete idiot, and yet?" Wilson held up his hands with a shrug. "You brought this on yourself, you know."
"Sure, blame the victim." He turned and leaned over the edge of the balcony, playing with the yo-yo some more, letting it hang out into space. "I've been thinking about it though - it's not like they're coming to see me. They want to make nice with Cuddy, ensure their visiting rights, touch the sacred belly - I don't actually need to be present for any of that stuff."
"House..." Wilson began warningly.
"Not like they'd notice if I happened to skip town and wind up in, oh I don't know, Tijuana," he mused.
"Mexico? But that's still in the same hemisphere as your parents. Surely that's not far enough away."
"Got great hookers south of the border," he pointed out, because really, wasn't that reason enough?
"You and whatever STDs you pick up will have to come back eventually. And then Cuddy will kill you. And haven't you pissed her off enough already for one lifetime?"
"Who can say when enough is enough?" he wondered philosophically.
Wilson was silent for a moment. "You're not going anywhere and you know it. It would hurt your mom's feelings for one, and even you try not to do that."
"It's not just my mom - it's him too. And we're all going out to dinner, and Cuddy's bringing her mother and all of us together talking about how wonderful it all is - it's going to be excruciating. And I don't know if you've noticed but I don't do well with pain."
"You told them, brought them into this. Part of you must want them involved."
"They can be as involved as they want, as long as they leave me out of it."
Wilson took up a similar position next to him. "How can you still be like this? I know fatherhood is a big thing but I would have thought even you would have gotten used to the idea by now."
"Vive la résistance." He waved an imaginary flag in the air.
"Does Cuddy know you're still so... skittish?"
"Like she's doing so much better," he scoffed.
"Oh so it's like a competition - very mature. You've both been dealing with this for a while now, this isn't new stuff."
"Yeah, but the way we used to deal with it was by sleeping together. We're not even doing that anymore."
"You're definitely not right now? It's hard to keep track."
"Tell me about it."
"Maybe you could try just... talking to her, without the jumping into bed part. Or the pissing her off part. Seriously," Wilson pressed, "it would make a nice change. I think she'd appreciate it."
"And yet?" He held up his hands, mimicking Wilson's previous stance. "I just don't see it happening, somehow. That would be conspiring with the enemy. People get shot for that."
"I mentioned you're an idiot, right?"
"At least I've got my health. Oh, wait." Wilson just rolled his eyes. House smirked, and pushed himself up, shoving the yo-yo into a pocket and taking up his cane again. "You can continue your 'insult the cripple' game over dinner. You're taking me someplace nice."
"I am?"
"Or I'll sic the PC police on your ass," he threatened, and headed back inside.
Behind him, Wilson followed with a resigned mutter. "Because they haven't been after you for years..."
The next morning he got in to work on time - or more on time than usual. He was in the middle of a case and wanted to know of any developments overnight. Though since there hadn't been any phone calls waking him at three am he assumed the patient was still alive, at least.
He made his way from the front entrance over to the elevators, keeping his head down. He didn't know what he was expecting. Maybe for the whole bustling foyer to come to a screeching halt while everyone stopped and stared. That didn't exactly happen, though as he hit the up button and stood there waiting he was fairly sure that was a speculative look one of the receptionists at the front desk had just thrown his way.
The elevator finally arrived and upon reaching the fourth floor he approached his office warily. He could see his three employees gathered around the conference table, in the middle of what seemed to be a heated debate. As soon as they noticed him entering his office the talking stopped and he could feel their eyes boring holes in his back as he dumped his helmet and jacket. A short burst of furious whispering had started up again by the time he pulled open the connecting door. He ignored them and headed straight over to the coffee machine.
"Is it true?" Cameron demanded of the back of his head.
"Yes, it's true," he announced. "Shoe size really does relate to penis size." He tapped the side of his sneaker with his cane. "Thirteens, in case you hadn't noticed." Mug in hand he turned, propped a hip against the counter, and took in their expressions as he idly stirred sugar into his coffee. Cameron's face showed distaste, Foreman's bland disapproval - although that was kind of his default expression anyway - meanwhile Chase was hiding a smirk.
"You want a better answer," House went on, "ask a better question. Or here's a nutty idea, our patient? Anyone dropped by to see her this morning?"
"Her vitals picked up overnight, she seems to be responding to the antibiotics, do you really not know what I'm talking about?" Cameron switched topics mid-sentence.
"He knows, he's just messing with you," Chase said.
"If it's just a crazy rumour, he might not have heard," Cameron said.
"Since when is House the last to know about anything?"
Foreman rolled his eyes and addressed House directly - it was nice that one of them at least remembered he was in the room. "Apparently Dr Cuddy is pregnant and people are saying you're the baby-daddy. We thought maybe you'd like to comment on the situation?"
Foreman, he thought, was enjoying this just a bit too much. He took a slow sip, enjoying the caffeine almost as much as the way they were hanging on his next words. "So. There's a bun in Cuddy's oven and everyone thinks I rolled the dough? Nice."
"It's not true, then?" Cameron persisted.
He cocked his head to one side, considering her. "What do you think?"
She didn't respond. Chase, however, was happy to. "It's almost too crazy not to be true. Although it is pretty damn crazy, so -"
"The fact that he's hedging actually lends credence to the rumour," Foreman said. "If it wasn't true, he'd be telling everyone it was."
Cameron frowned. "This is hardly something to joke about."
"You're just hoping it's not true," Chase said.
"A yea vote from Foreman, nay vote from Cameron, and Chase is sitting, oh-so-pretty, on the fence - no surprises there. Does it not bother any of you, being so predictable? Have I taught you nothing?"
"You could just tell us, instead of stringing us along," Cameron said. She was getting pissy now.
Foreman rolled his eyes again. "But where would be the fun in that? He's not going to confirm or deny. We're not the only predictable ones," he said pointedly.
"You are, however, the only ones who can be fired at my slightest whim. Our patient - remember her?" They looked back at him dumbly. "I'll take that glaring silence as a yes. Cameron, when are those cultures done?"
"They need another few hours."
"Well until we can confirm the diagnosis, 'seems to be responding to the antibiotics' just doesn't work for me. And probably not for young Becky either."
"Becky?" Chase asked.
He frowned and tried again. "Betty? ...Billie?"
"Rhonda," Cameron supplied.
"So close! Well let's make sure we haven't been treating a secondary infection while whatever's really killing her continues to do so - that is if you three are done sitting around gossiping about the whereabouts of my genetic material."
They were at least smart enough not to reply to that, and so he rattled off a series of tests and told them to monitor Rhonda closely in case any new symptoms cropped up - all of which would have the added benefit of keeping them busy and out of his hair.
They got to their feet and Chase and Foreman headed dutifully for the door, but they paused when Cameron lingered stubbornly. He'd known she wasn't going to be put off that easily. If he'd been anyone else he might have told her just to put her out of her misery - an act of mercy more than anything. Mostly, though, he just wanted her to stop standing there, looking at him like that.
He jumped in before she could speak, knowing he didn't want to hear whatever it was she was working up the nerve to say. "If Cuddy says I'm going to be a daddy," he began, "then popular wisdom says you should believe her - unless you want to call the Dean of Medicine a big fat liar. Might not be the best career move, but you're welcome to try it. Then again, since we all know exactly how much of a problem I'd have calling her a big fat liar, the fact that I'm not should also be a fairly good indicator."
"It's true." There was no question in her voice this time.
"Whoa." The soft exclamation came from Chase over by the door, eloquent as ever.
House spread his hands grandly, including all three of them in his proclamation. "Go forth ye and spread the word."
Cameron lifted her chin. "Congratulations," she said quietly. Then she turned and was gone, the other two exchanging a wide-eyed look before following.
He sighed. It was going to be a long day.
"Cameron's looking at me like I skinned and ate the Easter bunny. I think Foreman's kind of enjoying it. With him it's hard to tell."
"Chase?"
"Caught between worrying about how this might affect him, and resisting the urge to high-five me."
Wilson nodded sagely, leaning back in his chair. "And what about you?"
That tone was really put to better use with the more pathetic of Wilson's patients, House thought. Of course, he was currently stretched out on Wilson's couch, the site of many a teary conversation and comforting hug, so maybe the oncologist was just confusing the situation.
"I'm in here, aren't I?" he replied finally.
Hiding out in Wilson's office had seemed like his only resort at this point. But if he was going to get all touchy-feely then this usual place of refuge was going to lose all appeal.
Wilson, however, just responded dryly, "You're always in here. No matter how much work I have to do."
"Get used to it. I'm not going back out there. This place puts high school to shame - coma guy probably heard about it before morning rounds. Now I'm just that guy who knocked up the dean. I've lost all sense of identity."
"But your sense of the dramatic - still holding firm, I see."
"You're going to have to get my lunch from the cafeteria and bring it up to me. Or you could just give me yours." He lifted his head, looked over at Wilson hopefully.
"Don't you have a patient?"
He let his head drop back against the armrest. "She bores me. No projectile vomiting or convulsions or bleeding from the eyes or anything remotely interesting."
"That's just plain inconsiderate."
It was, though. If he had something better to think about, he wouldn't have to bother caring about this.
"It'll all blow over," Wilson said. "Just give it some time. Cuddy will handle the board, and the gossip will die down eventually. And Cameron will get over it - she'll be back to making eyes at you in no time."
"Making eyes at me? Is that before or after we step out to one of those new-fangled 'moving picture' shows I keep hearing about - unless you think they're the work of the devil."
"Fine, she'll be hittin' on that. Or whatever. I'm sorry I'm not down with the street lingo like you are."
He smirked. "It's a good thing I'm not planning on going anywhere. Maybe prolonged exposure to my advanced state of cool will start to deconstruct your geek matrix."
Suddenly there was a light knock on the door, and whatever retort Wilson had been about to make died on his lips as he called out instead, "Come in."
The door opened and Cuddy poked her head inside. "Have you seen - oh." She paused, catching sight of him on the couch. "There you are." She came in and closed the door, leaning back against it. "Your team is looking for you. Though Foreman was the only one brave enough to ask me about it. I guess they know, huh?"
"Of course they know," he muttered. "Everyone knows."
"House," Wilson prompted then, "your patient?"
He made a noise of frustration. "No urgent pages. Which means they just want me to know the diagnosis has been confirmed, the patient is out of danger, and wasn't I just saying something about boring?"
Cuddy raised an eyebrow at Wilson. "What's his problem?"
"He's withdrawn from public life. Can't stand all those accusing eyes out there."
"I've been slandered. Plus that idiot Singh tried to hug me. This is all your fault."
"My fault?" she said. "You were the one after me to tell people."
"Self-destructive, remember? I'm the last person you should be listening to."
"Wonderful. Anyway, you can't hide out in here all day. If Rhonda Maclay is doing well, great, but you do have clinic duty this afternoon."
He threw an arm over his face. "Can't make it. I'm too busy plotting your demise."
"You can't do that just as well while you're not treating patients down in the clinic?"
"That's awfully close to your office. People might think I'm down there for a booty call."
"Or, they'll think you're doing your job for once. Look, I shouldn't have to tell you this is hardly the time to be making waves."
"But it's what I'm best at."
There was an audible sigh. "Just try and curb those impulses, will you? I'd appreciate it."
He didn't answer, and then he heard the door open and close and he realised she'd gone without another word. He dropped his arm to rest across his middle and heaved a sigh of his own as he stared up at the ceiling.
An exam room, he knew, would be just as good a place to hide out as anywhere else. Just as he knew he was going to be down there, signing in, probably on time and everything. He was such a well-trained little helper monkey.
Wilson, who'd been sitting silent for a moment, cleared his throat. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Oh shut up," he replied.