Chapter 20: The Pryce is Right

By the middle of January, House had become resigned to the routine of his life. It no longer seemed strange to be treating patients from the comfort of his own couch. Everyday, someone would join him for lunch—usually a member of his team, but occasionally Lisa or James would surprise him on the rare occasion when they could get away for an hour.

He'd gone back to his pre-surgery level of medication, and the enforced lack of walking was resulting in less pain in his thigh, which somewhat made up for the increase in back pain he was experiencing. Then there was the fact that his gastrointestinal system was becoming increasingly unhappy, as a result of being rearranged by the presence of the fetus. He was forced to monitor what he ate very carefully, and he switched to eating 5 or 6 smaller meals, which seemed to help reduce the persistent heartburn. He always made sure that one of those meals corresponded to noon-time.

Barry was happy with his progress, and had even eased up on the restrictions, so that House was allowed to sit up for brief periods of time to eat or play the piano, as long as he sat in a chair rather than the hard wooden bench.

He was playing a Mozart sonata when the doorbell rang. He grabbed his cane and limped slowly to the door. It seemed like everything he did these days was slow. He opened the door, expecting to see the delivery guy from the Wok Shop, but instead saw a man only a few years younger than himself. As soon as the door opened, the man spoke, "Dr. House. I…."

"No one here by that name," he interrupted.

"Please, Dr. House, I just…"

"Do I look like a doctor?"

"No, but you didn't when I was your patient."

House looked closely at the man, but couldn't place him.

"You told me my wife was having an affair because she hadn't noticed I was orange."

Maybe the man did look slightly familiar. For the first time, House felt a shiver of fear. "Sorry, no refunds." He tried to close the door, but the man had wedged his foot in the doorway. House backed away from the door, trying to locate the phone handset without being obvious about it.

The man followed him into the apartment. "Last week, you and your team saved my sister's life. I went by your office, but you were never there. This morning, I tried again, and your team was in the room next door, obviously teleconferencing a call with you. So I looked in the phone book and there was only one House listed. I just had to thank you in person."

Now House was looking even more uncomfortable; this was even worse than a deranged stalker. "Fine. You've said thanks. Now you can leave me alone."

"I can't just leave it at that. You saved my sister's life, and I know for a fact you saved me a couple of million in the divorce settlement. She didn't even contest it. Tell me what I can do for you?"

"Hospital policy forbids me from accepting anything from you." House stated, sinking down onto the couch. Maybe if he ignored the guy, he would go away.

But the man was not to be deterred. "Diagnostics is the smallest department in the hospital. I could endow another fellowship in your department."

"And have another person to train to be a half-way competent diagnostician? No thanks."

"How about a wing of the hospital named after you?"

The Gregory House Wing. He shuddered. "No way in hell."

"A piece of equipment?"

"If you want to give cash to the hospital, there's no way I can stop you. Just leave me out of it."

"There must be something I can do!"

At the moment, the doorbell rang. "You really want to do something for me?" House asked. The man nodded. "Fine. You can pay the delivery guy for the Chinese food," he said, nodding toward the door. The man laughed and went to open the door. Sure enough, there was a delivery guy on the doorstep. As he pulled out his wallet, he heard House call out, "don't give him too big of a tip, or he'll expect it next time."

"How much?" the man asked the kid with the food.

"Thirty-eight fifty," the kid supplied.

With a mischievous grin, he peeled off a hundred dollar bill and told the kid to keep the change. He turned around with the box in his arms. "Where do you want the food?"

He looked down at the coffee table, which was littered with charts and lab results. "Kitchen counter," he replied, gesturing vaguely toward the other room.

As the man headed into the kitchen, he heard a key in the lock, and he began to formulate a plan that had multiple benefits: punish the pushy stranger for invading his house, and the additional benefit of watching Wilson blush. Unfortunately the timing didn't work out right—the man returned before he could pull James into a truly lascivious kiss. Time to switch to plan B.

"Wilson. Let me introduce you to Mr. Orange. He just bought us dinner." He was rewarded by Wilson looking adorably confused.

Wilson recovered quickly. He had no idea why one of the hospital's largest donors was standing in the middle of his living room, but years of benefit events and schmoozing donors had trained him well. "Mr. Pryce. It's good to see you again." He went over to clasp the other man's outstretched hand. "I heard your sister is doing better." He'd followed the case after House's team had called him in for a consult, even after cancer had been ruled out.

"Thank you. We're hoping she can come home in a few days, and please, call me David."

Suddenly, Wilson was aware that he was standing there in his sock-feet, having toed off his shoes at the front door. He tried to play the good host. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

"Water?" David replied, sitting down next to House.

House watched as Wilson escaped to the kitchen. "What can I do so you will leave me alone?"

"Tell me what I can do to thank you. And don't say that Chinese takeout qualifies."

House could hear the freezer door open and the clink of ice cubes. He scowled. "NICU," he finally whispered.

David was confused; the acronym had been bitten out so abruptly that it sounded like a sneeze.

"Neonatal Intensive Care Unit," House elaborated, keeping his voice subdued so that Wilson wouldn't overhear.

"Anything in particular?" he whispered back, picking up on House's desire for secrecy.

House shook his head. "Just keep my name out of it."

When he returned, Wilson saw Mr. Pryce shaking House's hand. After a few minutes of rather strained smalltalk, in which House refused to participate, their unexpected visitor finally departed. From the expression on House's face, he knew not to ask what was going on. As they watched a movie from House's vast collection of DVDs, House was sullen and withdrawn, despite the fact the movie was a comedy. When they went to bed House was restless, unable to find a comfortable position.

Finally Wilson decided to find out what was wrong. "Is your leg hurting? Do you need another pill?"

"I'm fine." The fifth 'fine' of the evening.

James looked down at where Greg's right hand was resting. "Is she alright? Should I call Barry?"

House shook his head, no. Finally he realized that Wilson wasn't going to let this go. "She's active tonight. Moving a lot. Hard to settle down when she decides it's time to play."

Wilson nodded, and appeared to accept the explanation. Whatever was bothering House probably wasn't something medical.

By 11 AM, Lisa Cuddy was feeling frustrated. Why had she wanted this job? She hardly ever treated actual patients any more. Hadn't she become a doctor to help people? At least that's what she'd said on her med school applications. She sighed and pulled another stack of paperwork toward the center of her desk.

Her assistant poked her head into the office. "Dr. Cuddy? Do you have a few minutes for David Pryce?"

She moved the papers back to their original location. "Of course. Send him in." She got up as he entered. "David. How's your sister doing?"

"She's feeling much better. Dr. Chase said that she can go home this afternoon."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I would like you to tell me a little about the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit."

"Of course. I could give you a tour if you'd like." On the way there, she told him about the facilities – how many infants they could treat, and the types of cases they typically saw. They put on sterile gowns and entered the room. She lead him over to look down at the newest arrival—Philip Cavendish, born eight weeks premature, weighing 4 lbs, 4 oz.

He looked down in wonder. "I didn't know a baby could be so small."

"We've had much smaller. Especially as more people use fertility treatments and multiple births become more common." They exited the unit and removed their gowns. She led him to their success wall, filled with pictures of children who had been former patients of the NICU.

"I'd like to donate three million dollars to the NICU."

"If you are interested in children, we are currently raising money for a new pediatric oncology wing."

He shook his head. "No, it has to be the NICU."

She blinked at his choice of words. "Any idea of how you would like the money spent?" she asked, hoping he would be at least somewhat flexible.

"I don't care. Whatever will do the most good—whether that's new equipment or hiring more staff."

She was surprised; most donors went for things most easy to slap a 'donated by' label on them. She was even more surprised by his next statement. "The only stipulation I have is that the donation is to be anonymous." She was only partially successful at masking her surprise. One the way up to the 8th floor, they must have passed at least 5 plaques bearing the Pryce family name. There was even a fountain bearing the name of Cynthia Pryce, the ex-Mrs. David Pryce.

"Of course. Whatever you'd like."

They were almost at the elevators when they were joined by James Wilson.

David was quick to greet the newcomer. "Good morning, Dr. Wilson. It's good to see you again."

Wilson reached out to shake the other man's hand. "Mr. Pryce." His short answer was barely enough to qualify as a polite response.

As if he sensed the other man's hostility, David excused himself. "I need to get back to my sister."

He was barely out of earshot when Cuddy turned to confront Wilson. "Care to tell me why you were rude to a man who just donated 3 million to the hospital?"

"I was polite to him when he was in my living room yesterday, but House has been giving me the silent treatment ever since."

"Why was he at your house?"

He shrugged. "I have no idea. All I know is that House didn't want him there." He looked around at his surroundings. "So why are you on the eighth floor?"

"He wanted to donate 3 million dollars anonymously to improve the NICU. You don't think…" She looked over at her colleague who was slumped against the wall.

"Yeah… it would explain a lot." He could imagine the conversation Pryce and House must have had. He sighed. "I was going to try and head home early, but maybe I should leave him alone for a while."

Impulsively, she leaned over to hug him. "Let me know if there is anything I can do to help."

TBC