Title: In His Footsteps
Author: SrslyNo
Summary: Part 10: House arrives at Trinity Hospital in time to have a confrontation with...West.
Characters: House/Wilson, Wilson/OC
Rating: R for Language
Warning: Future AU, slash. Eventually, there might just be a happy ending among all this angst. ;)
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be.
A/N: A big thanks to my ever fantastic betas, bookfan85 and bishojo_kitsune. Also, I want to thank hwshipper for creating Wilson's salt-of-the-earth oncology secretary, Nora, who is the inspiration for peppery admin, Bruce.
Concrit welcome.
Engrossed in the spreadsheet she was building, Bruce wasn't aware of the tall man standing over her desk until he banged it with the head of his cane. Pink message slips fluttered to the ground like exotic birds seeking cover from ferocious prey.
Her name plate waved in front of her. "Where's this guy? I want to speak to him," the voice demanded.
She pinched her lips together in disapproval and lowered her glasses on her nose to get a better look at the impatient man. She was impressed. He didn't flinch as her laser eyes scanned his bristled face.
Snatching the plate back, she took her own sweet time positioning it precisely back on her desk. She then raised her finger for him to be patient as she bent down and picked up the blushing escapees from the floor.
Again upright, she saw the man was beating a rhythmic tattoo with his fingers on the upper counter of her desk and staring at the ceiling in tightly controlled irritation.
"I'm Bruce Sorenson. How may I help you?"
Blue eyes scoped out the short, squat granny with a clip full of ammunition packed into her brown orbs, "Seriously dude, you should have saved your money and not had that sex change operation."
Bruce only sighed. "This is what time and eight babies will do to you. You wouldn't have questioned my name when I was twenty." Something clicked as her personal voice recognition system kicked in, and decided to risk releasing a barb, "Did my name raise your hopes that there was more under the dress than a shapely figure?"
"Ouch! And, I'm not saying that because you're hot." A smile was threatening to crack open on House's face. He appreciated the woman's irreverence. "Wilson's taste in hospital staff has changed. You're no simpering Debbie from accounting."
"And, you're not an insurance rep from India." She took a stab in the dark about the title adding, "Dr. House."
The smile that was in jeopardy of exposure finally made an appearance. The woman was getting to him. Besides, he needed to win her over. In the last few years without Wilson, he was forced to develop a fly's crap of charm to secure what he wanted, and put it to good use now. He leaned conspiratorially across the tall fortress with one hand over his heart, "You got me. I'm an old friend of Dr. Wilson's and wanted to surprise him, but looks like he surprised me. His office is locked. Where can I find him?"
A man's voice behind him responded, "You'll have to come back tomorrow. He went home for the day."
House turned around, narrowing his eyes. Standing in front of him was a youthful version of himself, if you could make color adjustments like you can for a television. It was the man from the airport, but in casual clothes instead of a suit. He looked like he spent the day writing toe tags for plague patients. In other words, he looked like shit. The eyes were red and cushioned by dark half-moons under the eyes. "Nathan West, I presume?"
"That's Doctor Nathaniel West."
House twisted the scalpel, "Internist and friend…or is that enabler and boy toy to Dr. Jimmy?"
"You got the first one right."
Both doctors appeared cool, but they were sizing each other up. It was 'ER at the OK Corral.'
"Are you any good?"
"Most of my patients walk out of the hospital with a healthy prognosis and a minimum of torture."
House approved of the response. Appeared West owned a sharpening steel of his own.
"Think you're a hotshot, don't you?" Standing several feet away from West, he leaned his back and elbows on the counter and fired. "Let's see how good you are." He started with what he considered an easy case.
"A patient is admitted with hallucinations. She looks younger than her age."
"Diffuse lepromatous leprosy," West shot back.
"A patient has a stroke. Can't do an MRI because there's a plate in his jaw. Mini strokes continue though he's given blood thinners. There's evidence of mood swings. It's not an aneurysm. The patient has gorilla breath."
"Fulminating osteomylitis. The infected tissue caused blocked blood flow." West didn't so much as blink.
Straightening up from the desk, House moved toward West, "A brother is about to donate bone marrow to his sibling, but sneezes. Has a fever, enlarged spleen, a sore shoulder and swollen testicles. Test results come back high for CKMB and the mitral valve is thickened and fibrous. Patient begins to bleed out from the ears."
"Histoplasmosis" Another step from West.
The ghost of Moby Dick swam across House's vision as he machine gunned a series of symptoms, "Bloody diarrhea, ataxia. Kidney shut down. A small mass which could lead to pituitary failure. Respiratory failure." House checked out West. He could see the gears turning. "Haven't got it yet? Do you want a lifeline before your final answer?"
West nodded, "Yeah. What else?"
"A mass on the right atrial valve. Eventual cardiac arrest, but the patient was shocked back to life in time to make an accurate diagnosis and save him." It was House's turn to be the aggressor. He walked forward.
They were within a foot of each other.
House could feel West's breath on his face as he answered, "It's rare, but it must be Erdheim-Chester."
Both scrabbled to gain the last few inches of territory between them. Now they were nose to nose.
No doubt about it, this Clanton-Kovac knew his stuff, but House decided to test a theory.
"A woman's liver cancer goes into temporary remission due to another patient touching her face."
West's voice faltered, "I-I-I don't know." He backed away, conceding defeat.
If House had six-shooters, he would be twirling them back into the holsters.
He was still the toughest bad ass hombre in this or any hospital. Numero Uno.
A quick nod for emphasis, "Which only proves from your answers that you're a good listener when Wilson talks to you about my cases. You didn't know the last one because he doesn't speak about his need for neediness. Ask him about Grace sometime." Silently, House hoped West would never get a 'next time' if he had anything to say about it.
West snorted, "Wilson needs neediness? Are you sure we're talking about the same James Wilson?"
Claxons went off in House's head. Had Wilson changed so much? Could this trip be a waste of his time? He quashed the thought. At the very least, he wouldn't go home until he spoke face-to-face with him and got answers, "Give me his home address and let me find out for myself."
"It's against hospital policy to give out the addresses of personnel. You'll have to wait until tomorrow," explained Bruce as if she was reciting the official admin's handbook.
West spoke up. "Of course, it is, Bruce, but Dr. House is a visitor to our city. We should entertain him while he's here. Perhaps, a small sightseeing tour by way of a puzzle would interest you? I understand you like them. How about a treasure hunt?" West pulled out one of his cards and scribbled an address on the back.
"All you have to do is go here, and tell the man at the desk that you're visiting me. I'll let him know you're coming. He'll direct you to my place." West gave House a glacial stare before continuing. "Don't knock, because even if I was home, I wouldn't answer. While there, you might like to see how the natives live. Check the tenth floor below mine. A very nice, friendly group. Everyone has floor mats with 'welcome' printed on them except one guy who can't be bothered. Really annoys the hell out of the neighbors." West couldn't prevent a strangled laugh from escaping, "You'd think the person living there owns a big dog because of the scratches around the keyhole, but…" West leaned toward House's ear to whisper in all confidentiality, "The owner is too blind drunk to fit the key into the lock. You really must see it for yourself."
He checked the time on his watch, "You may get lucky and beat the SOB to the door. He usually stops for take-out and a bottle of liquor before going home. He might be the prize package you're looking for."
House took the card and handed West one of his before saying, "You think he's a son-of-a-bitch because you pushed him about my phone number, and didn't get the response you were expecting.
"I'll consider you did me a favor and that I owe you one. Call me if you ever have the urge to torture a patient of your very own one day."
Having the last word, House turned his back and walked to the elevator.
Neither West nor Bruce spoke as they watched the limping figure recede down the hall.
Too pumped up with adrenaline from the confrontation to say anything, West couldn't believe the emotions that flooded through him. In front of Bruce and to House's face he described Wilson as an SOB. He was hurting about the breakup, but never fathomed how angry he was.
A soft voice intruded on his thoughts. "It'll be alright, honey."
There was no way anything would ever be alright, but he wasn't about to lose control again. It was bad enough to behave like a jealous lover last night, but not in the hospital. He willed himself back together, and took a deep breath.
Turning to Bruce, West exhaled, "Next to House, Wilson acts like Katie Holmes."
"Nuh-uh," Bruce shook her head, "I told you, you need to watch 'An Affair to Remember' then you'll understand. Wilson is much more than Katie. He's Deborah Kerr." She turned her head back to the corridor House disappeared into , "And, there goes Cary Grant."
Lifting an eyebrow, West was at a loss.
Squeezing West's hand, Bruce consoled, "You look awful, dear. Everything came to a head last night, didn't it? Don't worry Butch, the Sundance Kid is looking forward to meeting you at Thanksgiving."
tbc...
A/N: Thank you for reading. All comments always welcome.