Curiosity kills cats
House was slouched in a chair playing his Gameboy, but not really focusing. After a good night's sleep, the answer to the Wilson conundrum had presented itself, but what he had in mind would have to be done from home. So here he was killing some time while the minions oversaw their patient, who, it turned out, suffered from sickle cells. A correct diagnosis in the end, but, actually, it had taken longer than usual to reach the answer. House briefly wondered if it had been a mistake to initiate a Secret Santa – such a thing inevitably led to a deterioration in focus across the board. Christmas time could take a hike.
A blunter approach would be required moving forward into the new year. After all, as yesterday's breaking and entering showed, sometimes directness paid off. Maybe it would do him some good to actually write the annoying year-end performance reviews himself rather than palming them off to Cameron. The fellows had been talking about him at lunch yesterday, and if there was one thing he hated, it was feeling like he wasn't in control. Dissension in the ranks could not be tolerated. Maybe Townsend's suggestion of an additional hire had merit – really shake things up and put the cat among the pigeons.
Sonic the Hedgehog duly collided with a falling rock and the console beeped. Game Over! Try Again? House turned it off in disgust and tossed the thing onto the desk, closing his eyes instead.
A few minutes later, sounds of movement came from the joint office. The fellows had returned. Rather than get up and destroy his pleasant drowsiness, he stayed put, waiting for Cameron to poke her head through, which she did before long. "Hey-", she began before realising he had been dozing, "-oh, sorry".
"Mission success?", he asked, eyes still closed.
"Yes. Our…delays", the word emerged softly, "didn't cost her. Should have a long and fruitful life".
"Except for the pain episodes and constant treatment, you mean?". House did finally look at her.
Cameron nodded but said nothing further, waiting on the threshold. Long experience taught her that he liked his own space after a case.
But the nephrologist held out a hand, which she took. The two remained in silence for a few moments as Foreman and Chase both left for the day, the door swinging shut behind them. Down the corridor a phone rang, and indistinct conversation filtered through the glass as people passed by:
"…need you over there right now, Chris. Like right now…".
"…told Ben I needed help to cover with…".
"…such a beast. Saw him in concert a few months back…".
"Who'd you reckon that was referring to?", queried House suddenly.
"Bruce Springsteen?", answered Cameron.
The other scoffed. "No way. Dude must be like eighty or something".
"Probably", she shrugged. "I think he still tours, though".
"Unsurprising. How much do regular concerts make, you think?".
"More than our salaries".
"Mmm". House got up finally and walked to the window, still holding her hand so she had no choice but to follow. The pair looked outside as snow fell gently, blanketing the hospital grounds in white. Only the parking lots and pathways were clear, the snow there quickly reduced to sludge. Cameron felt cosy up here in the office beside him, and the memory of the night on the hospital roof came back to her. "Who'd you get in Secret Santa?", he asked.
"Not you, which I found surprising. Assumed you'd give us all your name".
The nephrologist adopted a tone of offence. "Do you really think so little of me?".
"Kinda depends in what sense you mean", she chuckled. "In medicine, and as a man, I think very highly of you. In workplace shenanigans…I'm always on my guard. No petty move is beneath you".
"I did actually consider rigging the hat. But in the end I thought it'd be more fun to see what you got each other".
"I'll just get my guy a scarf or something".
House nudged her with his hip. "And what have you got me for Christmas?".
"You'll have to wait and see, buster".
House snorted but allowed the silence to grow. Traditionally, he despised Christmas, but Cameron's sexy outfits had been hitting the spot. Today she had her hair caught up in a high ponytail, as if she were about to go for a run. But half-moon earrings and a woollen sweater sporting a Christmas hat-wearing turkey suggested otherwise. Suddenly he turned to the side and pulled her into a hug, nuzzling her ear with his nose. "I like you", he whispered.
"No, you like my clothes, hair and jewellery".
"Same difference", he grunted, pulling back to kiss her on the lips.
"You wanna meet up tonight?", she asked once they broke apart.
"If I recall, you were gonna cook for me at some point".
"Yes, yes. But it'll have to be at yours as my kitchen is too small". Cameron had already picked out a suitable recipe.
"No worries. Just bring the stuff over and you can knock my socks off with your culinary wizardry".
"Half 7?".
"Make it 8. Need to do something beforehand".
It took a bit of effort, but House discovered that out-of-hours IT services for the hospital were provided by a company located in Pennsylvania. This was unsurprising. Generally, public institutions preferred to farm out low-demand jobs to private specialists. Not only did the local government subsidise this, it was also much cheaper than keeping their own technicians on call 24/7. Cameron would be round in about thirty minutes, which gave him time enough to enact his plan.
Before long, he reached the desk he wanted. "IT services", came the monotone voice.
"Ah, yes, hello". House adopted the same exaggerated British accent he had once used to get additional information on a patient. "I wonder if you could help me. I've been trying to access my email at home, but I seem to have been locked out".
"Can I get your name and that of your hospital, please?". The man seemed bored out of his skull, and House didn't blame him.
"James Wilson. Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital".
"One moment, please". Sounds of typing filtered down the line. "We've registered a few failed attempts to log into the system already".
This must be from earlier today, when he had tried to guess passwords. House had an excuse handy. "Yes, I brought my son to work and I think he may have mashed a few keys while I nipped out of the office. The keyboard was all sticky when I returned…".
"OK, well, we can push a code to your cell, and then you'll need to follow the link to reset your password".
House didn't have access to Wilson's phone. "Ah, thing is, I dropped my phone in the sink by accident and it's currently being repaired. Are there any other ways you can verify my identity? It's quite important that I access my email. I'm waiting on some overnight test results". The nephrologist allowed some English impatience to slip into his tone.
"Hmm". Again, more typing. "If you can answer your secret questions I can reset it for you. That's the best I can do".
"OK". With a bit of luck, he would know Wilson's answers.
"Right. One second and I'll pull them up…".
House tapped the wooden desk with a little trepidation. If Wilson's secret questions were obscure, there was no chance of getting into his account and the ruse would be for nothing.
"OK…place of birth?".
"Westwood, New Jersey".
"You don't sound like you're from New Jersey".
"I grew up in England".
"Uhuh".
House was trying to decide if this was a suspicious 'uhuh' or a bored one, but the man moved on with no fuss. "And…alma mater?".
"McGill University, Montreal". Boom.
"OK, Dr. Wilson. I'll just quickly reset your username and password. Have you got a pen and paper handy to write these down? Remember to change it again yourself to something memorable".
"Yes, thanks again, sorry. Have a good night".
House was in. Prior to browsing the man's email for evidence of illicit liaisons or some such, he reset the password to Housewinsagain2021. Disappointingly, a quick scan of the inbox revealed nothing especially noteworthy. Just a whole bunch of standard hospital correspondence. Perhaps he was using his personal email for communication, but then there were a few Mathilde messages here, so clearly he wasn't averse to using the work address for that. House read them for any evidence of coolness, but they seemed predictably sweet. Ugh.
House carefully checked through Wilson's emails from the last three weeks or so, searching for anything that might give a hint as to his friend's preoccupation. Were there any unusually titled, or obviously non-medical, ones? Not really. It all seemed pretty standard, entirely consistent with Wilson's predictable professionalism. But House was sure there must be something somewhere. The man's cell was the last potential hiding place, but gaining access to that would be difficult indeed, not least because it needed facial recognition. Feeling somewhat deflated, House prepared to sign off and get ready for Cameron when a subject heading in the sidebar caught his eye. RE. Amina Ahmed. The name rang familiar, but he couldn't quite place it, so he clicked on the thread to have a look.
Thirty-six minutes later, Cameron was walking along the hallway, her left hand clasping a bag which contained ingredients for the meal she planned to make. Although she would never admit as much to House, a couple of rehearsals had gone into it. Cooking did not come naturally to her. For one thing, it was impossible to tell how fast certain things heated through; for another, whenever even minor alterations to the recipe were attempted, confusion and anger inevitably followed. But, as the immunologist reached House's door and raised her hand to knock, she felt confident that the evening would be a success. As long as the beef didn't burn.
Suddenly the door flew open, and House walked straight into her. "Oh! Hi-", she managed.
House, who had brought his hands up to soften the collision, used them to shepherd her to the side. "Hi, sorry. You OK?".
"Yes. Are we-".
"-go in. I need to do something first", he interrupted, already moving off down the corridor.
"But I thought…what about dinner?", she called after him.
"Just go in. I have to do something, sorry". House disappeared down the stairs.
Cameron looked after him in complete bewilderment, standing in the doorway for a few seconds. That was weird. Even weirder was the look in his typically expressive eyes as he brushed past. The blonde shrugged and moved to drop the supplies off in the kitchen, grabbing herself a beer from his fridge. When House had a mission, it was best just to ride it out. He would be back eventually – food was too important for him to skip.
Deciding not to begin cooking straightaway, she unpacked her shopping bags and went into the living room with her drink. About to turn on the TV, she glanced down the hall, noticing that a few books usually perched precariously on a small wooden table had tumbled to the floor. Cameron moved to replace them. All three concerned various aspects of infectious diseases, one of House's specialisms. Rising to her feet, she noticed the door to the study wide open. Curiosity won out and she wandered in.
Having reached the desk, she placed the beer to the side and sank into his chair, flicking through a battered copy of Arthur Conan Doyle's The Hound of the Baskervilles resting on the small TV. A smile emerged, for it reminded her of the present she had got House for Christmas. One of these days she would need to revise her Sherlock Holmes knowledge. But not today. She tossed Hound onto the wooden top and stretched back in the chair as the screen woke up from standby to reveal the hospital's email client. It was unlike House to bother checking into work from home, and a thread was still open.
Without really registering what she was doing, Cameron's eyes drifted over the lines of text. Moments passed. Gradually, she leant forwards and the beer bottle, from which she had been sipping lazily, froze in mid-air. Her heartbeat quickened and she scrolled down, following the conversation to its conclusion, each sentence causing a tremor.
"Oh, God". The words hung in the still air of the study. She knew where House had gone.
