"Puppet Master"

Chapter Three- "Putting on a Show"

By: Purpleu

Wilson walked toward House who was leaning against the car; while House was smiling, he was not.

"You know, you really shouldn't leave the windows down. Never know when it's going to start raining," said House as he watched Wilson walk around to the driver's side.

"Yes, I hear the forecast is calling for sheer and utter lunacy perpetrated by a self -absorbed, mindless jerk," responded Wilson.

"What, just because I was being playful with my girlfriend and wanted to make sure you weren't trying to get in on the action? Besides, we do have to get going; or did you forget that I'm the self-absorbed, mindless jerk who's going to help you save the biggest draw for the hospital, not to mention your department?" Wilson sighed; he pushed the clicker to open the car doors. He knew House was right; as self-centered as House could be, he was going to help Wilson out with his dealings with the Hunters. House looked up at the bay window as the car pulled away from the curb. He saw Lydia standing there, smiling as she waved good-bye. Returning her smile and gesture, House still had trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that this little domestic scene was normal, something that people do all the time. He sighed; hopefully Lydia had an inordinate amount of patience.

"Route 58 is only a few blocks away. I'm going to hop on that; it'll be the fastest way to the hospital," Wilson said. "I see what you mean about Annie having issues. You and Lydia were going from one bedroom to another and as Annie passed by me, I simply put my hand on her upper back; she froze and then pulled away from me. She wouldn't look at me again until you started joking around when we were ready to leave."

"It's going to take some time," noted House as he looked out the window. "The SOB that made her like this, she met on the rebound. She had been dating someone for three years; when that went sour, she met this louse. They hadn't been dating long when he and his buddies attacked her." Wilson shook his head.

"She's so nice; I can't imagine how anyone could hurt her as viscously as they did."

"She has the James Wilson personality flaw," said House, "She sees a hurt puppy by the side of the road and she immediately takes it home to care for it." Wilson shot House a look. "This guy handed her a line, and she fell for it." Wilson drew a deep breath.

"I would just…really like to get to know her. She seems to be someone special; I think you'd have to be to survive what she went through. I just don't want to hurt her in the process."

"If you need any help, ask Lydia; she's got a pretty good handle on the situation. Although you really surprised her today when we saw that Annie wasn't keeping you away with a whip and chair." House looked over at Wilson. "I think you meet with Lydia's approval." Wilson glanced at House as he put on his indicator and got on the entrance ramp for the highway.

"You mean I'm allowed to talk to your girlfriend? I'm honored."

"As long as you're talking to her and not flirting with her, everything will be fine." Wilson laughed.

"Why are you so hung up on the notion that I might flirt a little with Lydia? You know I don't mean anything by it and I'm sure she knows that, too. You usually don't care if I show any interest in the same woman as you. With a few exceptions." House nodded.

"True, but that's because the women have been hookers. With them, there's always the next guy; I never cared whether it was you or someone else." Wilson rolled his eyes.

"I have met a couple of your …'companions' shall we say. However hot looking they were, I wouldn't touch them with a ten foot pole."

"That's because you don't have a ten foot pole," House shot back quickly. Wilson opened his mouth to say something, then just closed it and laughed as he realized House was laughing, too.

"You know, I have to get used to this," Wilson said. "You are the least miserable I have ever seen you in the entire time we've known each other." House frowned.

"Yeah, and I don't know what to do with it." Wilson was exasperated.

"Enjoy it! You've managed to find someone who had a similar childhood and background to yours, can relate to some of the problems you had with isolation and loneliness and trust; and while she handled them in a way that inflicted less damage on herself…honestly, it was still kind of screwed up for her to marry under the circumstances she did." Wilson looked over his shoulder to move to the exit lane. "You both have your issues, but she's willing to help you with yours. As long as you can do the same for her, you've got a pretty good formula for success." As Wilson left the highway, House noticed the blue 'H' signs indicating the way to the hospital. He realized it would be a good idea to move out of personal mode and into a work state of mind.

"Diving into the belly of the beast, do we know anything at all about this kid we're supposed to be working a miracle on?" asked House.

"The medical files arrived just before I left to meet you. All the tests in there are at least a year old. It seems the Hunters were involved in a relatively minor car accident right after their son turned three. He was in his car seat in the back and was somehow 'thrown'," Wilson said with more than a little sarcasm, "out of the seat and onto the floor of the car." House smirked.

"The kid probably figured out how to unbuckle the strap. Did he get hurt?"

"Bumped his head on the cup holder on the back of the middle console. X-rays revealed a hairline fracture above the right temple. MRI and CAT scans were completely clear." House looked at Wilson incredulously.

"They did an MRI and CAT scan because the kid had a hairline fracture?"

"Remember whose son we're talking about," said Wilson, "And they didn't do the tests right away. The boy kept complaining that his head hurt, so they brought him back to the hospital about a week later and insisted on the tests."

"Which showed nothing."

"Yeah; so Hunter comes up with the idea to sue everybody claiming PTSD." House shook his head in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me? Post-Traumatic stress in a three year old? What sushi-brained jury bought into that?" Wilson gave a little laugh.

"The one that sided with him against the car seat manufacturer and the driver of the other car. The guy who was driving was at fault; but like I said before, an exaggerated fender bender. He owned a small business; notice I said owned as in the past tense." Wilson put on his indicator to turn into the hospital parking lot. "His life completely fell apart when he lost the lawsuit and he tried to commit suicide, only he failed. He's brain damaged and living in a nursing facility."

"He probably has the room next to Cuddy," said House wryly. Wilson made a face and was going to comment, but he decided to let it go for now. He turned and headed for his parking spot. House was going to tell him to pull into his spot by the door, but he was too preoccupied thinking about what he and the team were getting into. "How do you know about who the viper went after?"

"Foreman gave a call to Dr. Murphy over at St. James Hospital in New York once we got the file. His advice was to decline taking the case at all costs." Wilson pulled into his parking space, put up the windows and shut off the car. "When Foreman told him we had no choice but to deal with it, he said he'd keep us in his prayers."

"Like that's really going to help," House said as he got out of the car. "What diagnosis did the doctors at St. James give them? And why do they think it's wrong?" Wilson closed the door of the car.

"Hunter pressured them into giving PTSD as the official diagnosis so he could have some basis for his lawsuit. He was filing one to start with over the accident itself against the driver and the car seat manufacturer, claiming negligence. When his son started to display all of these problems, he increased the award he sought for punitive damages based on the diagnosis of Post-Traumatic stress."

"Which worked fine until mumsy and da-da realized that a phony illness still had real complications," House noted as they walked toward the hospital entrance. "What is the kid doing that freaks them out so much?"

"I really don't know. I only had a chance to look at so much of the chart before I came to meet you. Hopefully when we get upstairs, your team can fill…" Wilson stopped talking as House grabbed his arm and pulled him off the walkway.

"I think our patient has arrived early." Wilson looked over to the roadway by the entrance and saw that a black limousine had pulled up by the front door. The driver stepped out and went around to the back. As he opened the door, a flurry of activity and noise came from that direction.

"Tyler, no! Grab him!" Tyler, the six year old son of Jeanne and Malcolm Hunter, had bolted out of the car and was running around on the sidewalk, flapping his hands rapidly up and down, like a bird trying to take flight, a huge smile, ear to ear, frozen on his face. He was a blur of movement, running up to passers-by and trying to hug them, all while eluding the efforts of the limo driver to snag him. Mr. and Mrs. Hunter piled out of the car and joined in the efforts to rein in their son.

"Tyler, Tyler, come to Mommy; Mommy will give you a hug. Come here, baby," Mrs. Hunter pleaded. Mr. Hunter took a different approach.

"Tyler, stop; stop right now. This is unacceptable and you know it. Tyler get over here," his father called out and after a minute, Tyler finally did go over to his father. He ran full tilt at him and head butted him in the groin. House and Wilson both grimaced as Hunter double over in pain. He made an attempt to grab his son and managed to get a hold of his arm, something Tyler did not like at all. He had been silent until now, but suddenly began to make a sound that could best be described as a dying siren on a fire truck. Tyler also started to rapidly and repeatedly hit his father.

"Grab him!" Hunter screamed at his wife and the driver. The two had been standing off to the side, trying to figure out the best way to contain the boy without incurring his wrath.

"I see the child does have some redeeming qualities," commented House. Wilson simply stared in amazement. Just then, the boy suddenly stopped hitting his father and squirmed out of his grasp. Continuing with his flapping hand movements, Tyler quickly ran over to the fountain in the plaza in front of the hospital. His wailing turned to low hum and he began to poke his fingers into the water, one at a time, examining each one after they became wet. Mrs. Hunter came up behind him slowly and quietly, not wanting to disturb the calm that her son seemed to have achieved. She crouched down, reached inside a large bag she was carrying on her shoulder and pulled out a plastic water bottle.

"Tyler?" she said softly, "Look what Mommy has for you. Water. A water bottle." Tyler turned away from the fountain and took the bottle from his mother. He turned it one way and then the other, watching the water flow within the container. Mrs. Hunter stood up and took Tyler by the hand.

"I'm going to take him inside and get him changed," she said, not looking at her husband. She turned and slowly walked with her son into the hospital, ignoring the stares of people who had stopped to watch the scene.

"I'll be right in," Mr. Hunter called out. House and Wilson watched as Hunter began to yell at the limo driver for not being more helpful with his son.

"House, let's get up to your office. The fact that she has to change the kid's clothes, will give us some more time to look at the file." Wilson glanced over his shoulder. "Let's take the west entrance." As he started to walk away, he noticed House hadn't moved; he was still watching Malcolm Hunter berate the limo driver, reducing him to a lump of flesh with slouched shoulders and a drooping head.

"House?" He turned to look at Wilson.

"Sorry; just experiencing some déjà vu." House turned and walked with Wilson to the side entrance of the hospital. Yeah, House said to himself as he entered the building; someone is still doing the Macarena on his grave.

Wilson and House took the elevator up to House's office. Chase, Taub, Thirteen and Foreman were all in the conference room, pouring over the records the Hunters had sent over. The paper work had been sorted out into piles; each team member had at least one pile in front of them. House's gut instinct told him that whatever it is that the kid has, it's not going to go away with a little pill or even a bunch of little pills. If it can be treated, it was going to need a pill the size of Cleveland.

"Since I'm officially out on medical leave, please tell me that you have solved the case of the imaginary illness plaguing our all too real patient so I can get out of here and get back to doing the horizontal hustle with my girlfriend," House said as he entered the room and sat down at the head of the conference table.

"In your dreams and not even there," said Chase. House shot him a look. "Sorry, but this case is just so bizarre."

"You'd find it even more bizarre if you saw what we just did by the entrance to the hospital," said Wilson. "The Hunters arrived early with their son. As soon as the car stopped, the kid jumped out and ran in circles on the sidewalk. He responded to neither his mother nor his father. When he did go near his father, he barreled head first into the dad's groin."

"It left quite an impression, said House, "And I'm not talking about the size of the kid's cranium." Thirteen looked down at the table and put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. The men in the room just shook their heads and squirmed uncomfortably. "I'm on your side," House said to Thirteen. "I thought it was hysterically funny and proved to me that all is not lost with the kid." Thirteen looked around at her colleagues.

"Sorry; knowing who the father is, it almost seems like poetic justice," she said.

"You'd be right," said Wilson with a laugh. He sat down at the table. "It was an unbelievable sight. There were a bunch of strange things happening. Like the kid wanting to play with the fountain all of a sudden seemed odd, to me at least."

"The drinking fountain?" asked Taub.

"No, the fountain in the little plaza just outside the doors. I thought for sure he was going to dive in and get soaked. Instead, he very deliberately got one finger wet at a time. The mother was able to get him to calm down even more when she showed him a half empty water bottle. She convinced him to come inside the hospital and change his clothes; he had calmed down that much." Wilson looked at House. "It didn't seem to me that he got all that wet. I don't see why she had to change him." House was sitting with his arms folded across his chest, staring down at the table.

"She didn't need to. Maybe it was just her way appearing to be the perfect mommy by keeping junior presentable in appearance since he's anything but in his actions."

"Wait a second," said Taub. "Did she say she had to change his clothes or that she had to change him?"

"Obviously the little tyke has to change," House said. "It starts with a fountain in a plaza; the next thing it'll be Niagara Falls in a barrel."

"What difference does it make?" Chase asked Taub,

"According to the file, Tyler was potty trained at age two and a half. No Pull-Ups, no accidents. Then, about six weeks after the car accident, he started wetting his bed. It progressed until he lost control of both his bladder and bowel functions. What she had to change before," said Taub in conclusion, "was his diaper."

"The parents couldn't get out of him why he was regressing?" Foreman asked as he poured a cup of coffee. "Nothing about monsters under the bed or anything?"

"It never monsters," said House. "It's always the Boogeyman."

"The kid couldn't tell his parents anything even if he wanted to," said Wilson. "All he was doing when we saw him was making sounds, not words."

"And yet," said Thirteen as she rummaged through the various piles of information from the patient's file. "Here it is; 'Tyler spoke his first word at a year old'," she said, reading from a report. "'From what the parents report, it appears that while he could talk and understand what was said to him, his expressive language was limited.'"

"Maybe the kid just didn't have a lot to say," offered Chase.

"Or the kid was too intimidated. Given the type of personality his father has, he probably figured it was better to just keep quiet and avoid any problems," said Foreman

"I'd keep quiet rather than taking the chance of getting slammed by Malcolm Hunter," Taub said "He brought a case against a friend of mine; I went to court one day, just to show moral support. Saw him make a man on the witness stand cry."

"You know, there was probably a lot of yelling going on when the accident happened. Hunter would be screaming at the other driver, maybe at his wife and kid," Thirteen said. "God only knows how terrified the boy was. Some of this could be attributable to PTSD." House looked over at Wilson and saw that his hands were clenched and he was staring down at the table.

"Post-Traumatic stress in a three year old is not impossible, but highly unlikely," House said. He stood up and began to move about the room. "We're born with only two natural fears: the fear of falling and the fear of loud noises. All other things that give us the heebie-jeebies like spiders, snakes and thought of Justin Bieber reproducing are acquired traits. At three years old, you don't have enough time logged into life to have had that much fear programmed into you."

"Not only that," said Chase, "but some of these behavioral issues are not consistent with being in shock. A person with PTSD would tend to withdraw…"

"Become aphasic," interjected Wilson. House turned quickly to look at him; Wilson was rubbing his forehead, his eyes closed.

"Right," Thirteen said, glancing at Wilson. "The boy is still making sounds as if he's trying to communicate; he just can't."

"Or won't," said Foreman.

The sound of a pager filled the room and everyone looked to see if it was theirs. Foreman was the lucky one. "It's mine. The Hunters are looking for us."

"Boys and girl, it's show time." House addressed Foreman. "Bring them up to pediatric ICU. If they ask why the ICU, tell them it's so we can monitor their son more closely. Make them feel all warm and cashmere-y inside." He looked at Chase, Thirteen and Taub. "Get a fresh set of basic tests from the kid. Blood, urine, X-rays of the head and chest. If they question it, tell them it would be best for their little Sasquatch. I don't expect to find anything new, fun or exciting, but it will kill some time while we consider where the lie in all this is."

"What makes you so sure they're lying?" asked Taub. House spread his arms open wide.

"He's a lawyer." Everyone on the room seemed to give their silent agreement as they stood and moved toward the door.

"House, aren't you coming down?" Foreman asked. "You know he asked for you specifically."

"Of course I'm coming down. Wouldn't miss it for the world," House said sarcastically. "Wilson and I will bring up the rear so I can make my grand entrance." He held his cane handle up to his mouth with the shank of the cane perpendicular to the floor and began to make the sounds of a trumpet fanfare.

"See you down there," Foreman said half laughing as he and the team left. House put down his cane and turned to look at Wilson. He was drumming the fingers of one hand on the table while the other rested on his head. House walked over until he was standing directly above Wilson.

"Rule number one if you want to work with my team is to leave any personal attachments out of the analysis of the case." Wilson looked up at House.

"What are you talking about?" House walked back to the head of the table and sat down.

"You're sitting there seeing some oblique analogy between this kid and what Annie went through. Any similarities, if they even exist, are so slight that there's nothing to be gained by taking note of them. You will, however, skewer your thinking and possibly that of my team; I won't allow that." Wilson looked over at him.

"You'd throw me off the case for the sake of your team?" House made a face.

"As much as I hate to admit this, I'd do for your own sake, too. Don't make Annie have to push you away. I've found that people have a hard time forgiving you for that." Wilson nodded.

"Thanks." House stood up and as he turned to walk toward the door, his cell phone buzzed with a text message. He pulled out the phone and flipped it open to read it.

"It's from Lydia; they're taking the house. They faxed the lease and their credit reports to the owner, he approved them and they are set to go."

"Fantastic," said Wilson. "We have a minute, why don't you give her a quick call?"

"You were reading my mind," said House as he hit speed dial. He put the phone up to his ear; it rang three times before Lydia picked up. He could hear her laughing before she even spoke.

"When did you have time to make my phone say ELF when you call?" she asked.

"When you were busy cooking breakfast. I had to make myself useful somehow. Congratulations on your new living quarters."

"Thank you. I am so excited. This is the first place I have ever lived that I picked out for myself, that I had some input into the decision making process. I feel like a grown-up."

"You've been a grown-up for a long time now. You just never had tangible confirmation of that fact. How does Annie like it?" Wilson had gone over to the coffee machine to get a cup, but moved nearer to House at the sound of Annie's name.

"Her place downstairs is lovely; a bit smaller since she has the attached garage at her level, but there are still three bedrooms, a living room/dining room combo and a breakfast bar in the kitchen." House smiled.

"Martha Stewart would be thrilled," he said. "Listen, this case is probably going to take up a lot of my time, in the next few days at least. I wanted to try and help with some things, but I don't know…"

"Greg, don't worry about it. I'll manage. I always have."

"Yeah, but I didn't want you doing this alone," he said as he started to pace around the room.

"You'll be there in spirit. At least I know I have that. Do you think you'll make it home tonight?"

"I hope so. My bed is a hell of a lot more comfortable than anything here. And the company is better, too." Lydia laughed. "Why don't you stay at my place tonight rather than go back to your friend's house? That way when I do get home, at least we can go to bed before we go to sleep." There was silence for a second.

"You are an ELF. And I love you."

"I love you, too. Bye." House closed his cell phone.

"So, how are they?" asked Wilson. House was startled; he had forgotten that Wilson was in the room.

"They're fine. Annie's section of the house is good. Seems like they're all set."

"Great," Wilson said. House started to walk to the door of the conference room; Wilson stood by the white board looking down at the floor. "You know you're very lucky to have someone like Lydia." House nodded.

"Maybe you'll get lucky, too." Wilson tilted his head to the side in assent.

"Maybe."

"Come on; let's go see what makes this Tasmanian devil tick," said House holding open the conference room door. Wilson walked forward and through the doorway.

"At least we have Wile E. Coyote to help figure it out," he said gesturing in House's direction. House smirked and walked with Wilson toward the elevators. He only wished that this was a cartoon.