Christmas conundrums
Over the course of the next couple of weeks or so, House and Cameron settled into a rhythm. Each morning, the former would arrive at work to find his girlfriend wearing an outfit ever so slightly sexier than the day before. The shape that difference took varied. Sometimes it was a tighter skirt; sometimes a subtly changed hairstyle; sometimes a fresh scent. These alterations were never obvious, but always, at least to House, noticeable. It was a game to see who would blink first. If the others were aware, they kept quiet. In any case, the game only had two players.
House liked games. What he didn't like was admitting that Cameron held the upper hand. Christmas was rapidly approaching and things inevitably grew more festive: trees and little bits of tinsel dotted the lobby and wards, and people seemed cheerier. As a rule, he hated cheeriness as he hated Christmas—most of the time he spent trying to avoid people. This year, however, there was an upside: Cameron used the festive period to inform her wardrobe and, unlike all the years prior, he no longer felt like a creep for checking her out.
And this brought it back to the game. Resisting her in a plain blouse was one thing; something else entirely when she insisted on arriving to work in figure-hugging reindeer sweaters and elven hairbands. Such observations even helped take House's mind off the Wilson situation, which still had not been resolved, despite the latter's assurance that everything was normal. At some point, a more direct approach would be required. They met up for lunches as usual, discussed sports and women as usual. But medicine conversation rarely arose. Or at least, arose even more rarely than before. Before…what? Now that was a question.
During their latest differential (a girl suffering seemingly random debilitating seizures), House snapped out of his reverie and coughed. The fellows had all got to their feet in preparation for the agreed-upon tests but stopped and sat back down at his gesture. "So", he said, "we've a couple of weeks 'til Christmas…".
"I'm surprised you noticed", remarked Chase drily, spinning a pencil between his fingers.
"I'll have you know that the birthday of our Lord and Saviour is the highlight of my year".
"Shouldn't we deal with the case first? Joan's still pretty bed-bound". Today Cameron was wearing a star-shaped necklace.
"This won't take a minute. Secret Santa. I hear that it helps boost office morale".
"Where'd you hear that?", asked Foreman.
"Tucker Carlson's show on Fox".
Everyone stared at him.
"What? Guy's got great hair. Anyway…". House reached under the table and produced a Santa hat. "Names are all in here. Ladies first, I think. So, Chase? Have at it".
The Australian rolled his eyes. "Just you and Cameron do each other, surely. No use attempting to keep it secret".
"Well, then it kinda defeats the point of secret Santa, duh. Come on. Pick".
"Fine", sighed Chase, reaching into the hat and reading a name before tucking the paper in his pocket.
The hat went around the table until it was empty.
"May we go do medicine now?". Cameron was impatient to get started. Most patients in Diagnostics were adults, but the small proportion who were not always affected her the most. Children did not belong in hospitals.
"Go. Be the best. Cure diseases". House watched as his fellows leapt into action before taking the paper from Secret Santa out of his pocket and reading it again.
Cuddy found him standing by the window a few minutes later. "Err, you OK?".
"Mmm?". House half-turned towards her but his eyes remained fixed on some indistinguishable point beyond the glass.
"What's with the star gazing?". She moved to stand next to him.
"Nothing". Truth be told, Wilson was posing a problem.
As if reading his mind, Cuddy glanced across. "Look, what you said last week about Wils-".
"-if you're gonna bust me for crashing your meeting with Wilders and wotsisface, I really don't care".
"Of course you don't. I think I've left it a bit late in our relationship to start calling you out for things like that", she laughed.
House smiled at the phrasing because it reminded him of a similar comment made by Wilson some time ago. "So", he said finally. "What's up?".
"I've been thinking about it and I agree with you that our friend has been a bit weird lately. Cagey. At first I thought it was to do with Mathilde-".
"-have you met up with them much?".
"No". The pair tracked an ambulance as it pulled away from the hospital entrance. "But that's not surprising. Guessed he was enjoying the honeymoon phase".
House grunted, thinking back fondly to his own time with Cameron. I can appreciate that.
"But then", she continued, "I heard through the grapevine that they've not actually been hanging out all that much".
He glanced down sharply. This was news. "What?".
"Yep", she shrugged. "Maybe you should ask him outright what's going on".
"I have. He says everything's fine".
The silence grew, each lost to their own thoughts. The trio were all close friends, and any one member knew all there was to know about the others. But still, the friendship remained defined by unconventionality. Openness, for instance, did not come naturally. Normally, House could perceive problems as they arose. But here he had very little to go on and it made him uncomfortable.
Cuddy glanced at her watch. "I should go. By the way, there's a little Christmas thing organised next week. Could you let your staff know?".
"You aren't gonna ask if I'm going?".
She shrugged and moved to the door. "I made you attend the last one. This one you'll either be there or you won't. No skin off my nose. Hey, what're you gonna do about Wilson?".
"Oh, you know. This or that".
"Just…I dunno", she waved a hand in the air, "don't kill each other. I'd rather my prize assets remained in one piece".
"Sure thing, boss".
The three fellows were eating lunch together in the cafeteria. Their patient was in a critical but stable condition, and the nurses were under orders to page through if circumstances changed suddenly. "You OK?", asked Chase of Cameron, who was currently staring out into space.
"Huh? Yeah. Was just thinking about the little girl. I really hope we solve it in time".
"Of course we will", he smiled reassuringly.
"Yes, we will". Foreman spoke with a strange emphasis on the 'we'.
"Why're you speaking weird?". Cameron took a bite of her sandwich.
The neurologist regarded both his colleagues keenly, and seemed on the point of sharing more, but in the end he sat back. "Nah, nothing. Doesn't matter".
"Spit it out, man", sighed Chase.
"I can't". His gaze flicked to Cameron.
She noticed. "For God's sake. I've said before: I prefer it when you tell me things straight up. We've worked together long enough".
Foreman considered the request before leaning forwards again. "Fine, but you're not gonna like it. Do you guys think…", as he spoke he rotated his mug on the table, "…that House has been kinda surplus to requirements in the last few cases? Like, he hasn't really contributed all that much".
"What do you mean?". Automatically, Cameron was on the defensive.
Chase kept his head down, sipping his Sprite.
"It's pretty self-explanatory what I mean. The differentials nowadays are mostly just us. House tends to sit there in his own little dream world. He doesn't really contribute".
"That's a load of crap". Cameron folded her arms.
"Is it? The main thing he does is rubberstamp our suggestions".
"If House has taken a back seat lately, it's only because he's made a conscious decision to delegate. Diagnostics is collaborative".
"Uhuh". Foreman was not convinced.
"You're just bitter because he refused your request to flex at Holy Cross one day a week or whatever".
"That has nothing to do with it. I think you are too invested to see what's right in front of your face. I'm just telling you what I've observed".
"What you've observed is wrong", she insisted, feeling her temper rise.
Chase held out a hand. "Hey, guys-".
"-no, it's fine. We're just having a chat", said Cameron.
"Well, what does Chase think about it?", asked Foreman, and both of them turned to their colleague.
"Eh, I'd rather not get involved". The man himself was thinking back to the Café Spoleto argument and didn't particularly fancy a repeat.
"Honestly, what do you think?", she prompted.
"Well…", Chase began, "…kinda agree with Foreman, to be honest. But it doesn't really matter. We're all seasoned diagnosticians, aren't we? No harm, no foul as far as I'm concerned".
Cameron shook her head. "Well, I completely disagree with you. And I think it's pretty damn low you talking about him like this, especially since he's had both your corners in the past". This referred to situations where House had berated his staff for mistakes made over the last year or two. But, when it came to it, he had strongly defended them before the top brass. And before even that, under Vogler, he had been willing to take a pay cut if it meant keeping the three fellows. She'd not forgotten.
"Do you think he's operating at peak efficiency, then?". Foreman was looking at her closely.
"He's not a damn robot", she replied shortly, aware of all the little insights into his personality she had gleaned during their time together.
"Can't help but notice you haven't answered the question".
"I mean", her inherent honesty compelled her to concede, "he may have been off the boil a little bit over this last month or so. But even a House functioning at 85%-".
"-I thought you said he wasn't a robot", interjected Chase.
"-is three times better at medicine than all of us put together", she finished firmly.
"You guys talking about me?". Before any further retorts could materialise, House sank into the booth next to Cameron and fixed the fellows with a familiar blue-eyed stare.
"Err-", stammered Chase.
"-relax. I don't care. Satan knows I speak about you lot all the time". House immediately took a huge bite of his girlfriend's sandwich and munched it thoughtfully.
"Really?", Foreman scoffed.
"Of course not. How's the patient? Fill me in, dudes".
Over the next fifteen minutes, the foursome discussed the case: ongoing symptoms, possible diagnoses (and prognoses), and treatment. Since there was no whiteboard available, House scribbled down their working on a paper napkin.
"OK", he announced finally, "let's start with this". He circled one option. "Then this". Another circle. "And then these two. The old two birds with one stone. Does this meet with your approval, Formdog?".
"Yes, I agree with that priority", he replied levelly.
"Absolutely delighted. Let me know how it goes". House took a long slurp from Cameron's drink and got to his feet.
"Where're you gonna be?", they queried.
"Cracking open the Trojan Horse and seeing what's inside". With that he left without a backward glance.
"Hell does that mean?", wondered Chase.
"No idea", Cameron admitted. "Let's go. The sooner we get down there, the sooner we can cure this girl".
Relentless modernisation had many drawbacks, but one of the real positives, at least in this particular situation, was that the diaries of all staff members were accessible from the central hospital portal. Consequently, House knew that Wilson would be out of the office during lunch. Although unfortunate that it had come to this, there really was no other option. House took his relationship with Wilson very seriously, and he could brook no caginess or secrets.
Not even bothering to try the man's door, House instead returned to his own office and walked out to the balcony, a bitter December wind immediately lashing his face. It would be only a matter of time until the snow, New Jersey's speciality, began to fall. Quickly vaulting over to Wilson's balcony, he tried the handle of the external door and was relieved to see it open with very little coaxing.
House slipped into the office and immediately went to the light switch. A glance at his watch gave him about thirty minutes before Wilson's return. Time enough to have a look around. Quite what he was looking for remained unclear, but something had been troubling Wilson, and curiosity demanded the source be found. Going on past experience, he knew that Wilson liked to keep handwritten notes, so he sat in the desk chair and rifled through the drawers, none of which were locked. Apart from a chocolate bar, which he pocketed, there was nothing too interesting in here—just normal doctor things. The man was a conscientious record keeper. Boring.
After this, House moved to the cabinet in the corner which, he quickly found, contained mountains of notes. Next to the cabinet, however, was a carefully stacked pile of Christmas presents, presumably given to Wilson from grateful patients. The one on top had a little card, and House read it:
Dear James, thanks so much for being there during every stage of Liam's treatment. Meant a lot to us. Happy Christmas.
It never ceased to amaze him how saccharine some people could be this time of year. Returning to the desk, he span slowly around on the wheeled chair. Disappointingly, there were very few personal items indicative of…anything, let alone an affair. House shuffled absentmindedly through the papers and switched on the computer which was predictably password protected. Thwarted at every turn. There was nothing for it but to have a go with some educated guesses:
Qwerty
JamesWilson
Password
123oncologyJW
Houseisbetterthanme
Dammit.
House's time was up. If he wanted to get to the bottom of things, more drastic measures would be required. Ensuring that everything was as he had found it, he slipped back out to the balcony, vaulted over to his side, and entered Diagnostics.
