| FIC UPDATE: The Oncologist Trap 4a/6 (House/Wilson, PG) |
[Jun. 12th, 2007|06:58 pm] |
Title: The Oncologist Trap (4a/6)
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing/Rating: House/Wilson, PG.
Length: 1200 words.
Spoilers: Post-ep for "Half-Wit", mentions of events up to "House Training".
Author's Notes: In the interest of keeping my WIPish promises, here's the first half of part four. Stay tuned for more wacky hijinks and more choose your own adventure madness in the next bit.
Summary: House subtly seduces Wilson. Somehow.
This is pretty much the worst day Foreman's had at work, ever, and he's including the day House deliberately infected him with Legionnaire's disease in his assessment.
"I wonder how it would work..." Cameron muses, and makes some vague hand gestures in the air, as though shaping a scene that she can't quite picture. Chase looks on, looking about equal parts appalled and fascinated. "You know. Considering his leg," Cameron finishes.
"Frankly, I don't want to know," Foreman says, but it doesn't seem to put a dent in Cameron's speculations. Short of covering his eyes, blocking his ears, and singing "la la la la" at the top of his voice, Foreman has no idea how he is supposed to be able to escape this. Maybe he will take Cuddy up on her offer of extra clinic hours for anyone who's had their flu shot and knows their way around a bottle of aspirin. Right now, vomiting, whiny, sick kids are coming in second in terms of torture he'd prefer to endure, but the race is getting tighter with every passing moment.
"Do you think Wilson overheard us betting?" Chase asks, finally jumping in to do his part in getting Cameron off her half sighing-schoolgirl and half detached-physical-therapist examination of the mechanics of House and Wilson getting it on.
Cameron shakes her head, still staring off into the middle distance. "He'd have been sputtering more if House had said anything. Wilson doesn't have a clue."
"Maybe we should do something about that," Foreman says. "Maybe we should tell Wilson, and get this over with."
"That eager to lose your money, Foreman?" Chase grins at him, and Foreman ramps up his glare. Two hundred bucks. Cameron, he might be able to stand losing to, but House is not going to let this go. If Chase was right that House expected them to follow Wilson and him to the cafeteria, then Foreman wouldn't put it past him to have predicted the bet, either. If he treats Wilson like his personal ATM, he's not above using his fellows for found money, either.
Speaking of the manipulative bastard, House pushes open the door and saunters in, carrying his portable TV and a file folder tucked under his right arm.
Cameron raises an eyebrow at the TV. "Does Cuddy know your lunch hours include watching General Hospital anywhere you can hide and still get a signal?" she asks ironically, stressing Cuddy's name slightly.
House leans back on his cane and eyes her. "I bill those hours as professional development."
Foreman snorts. Of course he does. House gives him an inscrutable look as he stashes his portable TV among the junk scattered on Cameron's desk.
"Here." House tosses a folder on the table. It spins across the glass and lands between Cameron and Chase. "Chase, start running bloodwork. Cameron, get the patient's history." Foreman knows what that means--he's stuck on break and enter duty. Twice in one day is asking a lot, even for House, but if it'll get him out of speculating on just how fabulous Wilson is in his spare time, he's all for it. Finally, they're getting back to their actual jobs, and he doesn't have to worry that House is going to send him out to buy flowers or candy with obscene versions of Hallmark cards tucked inside. He reaches to take the chart when Cameron offers it to him.
"Not you, Foreman," House says, and whatever Foreman hates about the man, he's got to admire his perfect timing. "You're coming on a little fieldtrip."
Foreman clamps his mouth shut. He is not going to ask, "Why me?", because House probably has a reason, and Foreman definitely isn't going to like it.
House shoulders his way out of the conference room, holding the door and waiting. Foreman forces out a sigh and stands up to follow him. House is watching him in that way where he's pretending he's not, but it's goddamn obvious and House has got to know that it is.
"What's the matter, Foreman? Don't you think Wilson's going to treat me right?"
"First off, House, I don't care. And secondly, I don't see you as the plaintiff in the spousal abuse suit."
House sighs, playing the wounded victim. "I'm just sorry you can't see it in yourself to accept our love. We're brothers in this fight! You've suffered, I've suffered--"
"House, this isn't love!" Foreman stops, and House turns to look at him. "And you did not just play the gay rights card to me."
"I was thinking of getting a rainbow banner for the office." House jerks his head for Foreman to follow, and he does. Wherever House is taking him will be bad enough, but all he has to do is grind his teeth and endure it. For a month, or less, because this is House, after all. Foreman lets his shoulders fall, and chuckles.
House eyes him askance, clearly wondering what caused his mood to lighten. "Are you mocking my taste in interior decorating?"
"No, I'm laughing because you are going to self-destruct within a month," Foreman says.
"You must be pretty familiar with the process," House says, then, with that irritating-as-hell false brightness of his. "How is Wendy, anyway?"
Foreman glares, the hope of a moment ago knocked right out of him. "None of your damn business," isn't going to go over well, so he shuts his mouth and follows House. Over the years, he's gotten used to shadowing House's slanted, bull-shouldered walk, keeping to his good side as much as possible, and always prepared to leap back, or to the side, in case House stops or spins around or knocks an unwary nurse into his path. Foreman stews for a bit, thinking about the extra car payment he was planning to make with two hundred bucks that will probably now go to Cameron head-hunting Chase and House treating Wilson to a trip to the local strip joint for chicken wings and beer. Two hundred bucks!
He follows House onto the elevator, his jaw set, hands stuffed in his pockets. House pushes the button for the fifth floor.
"Where are we going?" Foreman asks, although it's a futile hope that they're heading anywhere except the main oncology inpatient wards.
"Nowhere," House says, even as he grins at the duty nurse and moves past her towards pediatric oncology, ignoring her call of "Dr. House! You know Dr. Wilson asked me to page him if you came on the wards without him!"
House waves his cane behind him, and Foreman shoots the nurse an appealing glance, asking her to do exactly that. He's not exactly eager for the next round of House's molasses-in-January approach to telling Wilson whatever the hell's on his mind, but anything to save the poor kids from House that doesn't involve Foreman taking the blame would be just fine. He steps up his pace to catch up with House just as he's entering the pediatric oncology ward, where there are several small children listing about, not making much of the toys and games on the tables nearby. There are a few parents sitting at bedsides, and the whole place has an air of cheerful depression about it. Foreman's glad all over again that he chose neurology as his specialty.
House looks one way, then the other, taking in all the sick kids and their parents. He grins maniacally and claps his hands together. "All right, dying kids, listen up," he says. "It's time to dish."
to be continued |
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