| FIC: The Oncologist Trap 1/6 (House/Wilson, PG) |
[Jun. 4th, 2007|11:27 pm] |
Title: The Oncologist Trap (1/6)
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing/Rating: House/Wilson, PG.
Length: 1100 words.
Spoilers: Post-ep for "Half-Wit", mentions of events up to "House Training".
Author's Notes: I'm crossposting this from lj because my poor little comm needs some love. This thing is one-third written and one-half plotted, so if WIPs aren't your thing, hold off for a week or two 'til I can get the rest of it done. Enjoy!
Summary: House subtly seduces Wilson. Somehow.
The really annoying thing about Wilson is how his voice won't shut up inside House's head, even hours after House has escaped the sermon. When House is annoyed, and he's got something to forget--either Wilson's ridiculous little theatre bow, or else the nagging ache of his leg--House walks. And walks.
And walks. The snow and the ice make it difficult, but the challenge is the whole point. If House is spending every ounce of concentration on placing his feet and his cane just so and not falling on his ass, then he's not thinking about how Wilson has basically asked him out. Pretty pathetically, too.
So he walks, expecting that between the Vicodin and the exercise, he'll be tired enough of thinking to actually sleep when he gets home. But both Wilson's words and the pain in his leg are still stubbornly refusing to be forgotten when House passes the restaurant. He glances up--it's entirely an accident--and when he sees his trusted lieutenants sitting there, acting as if they actually have lives outside the hospital, House knows exactly what he's going to do about Wilson's little speech.
What is easy--what, in fact, is something he's known for a long time. How, though, is another question altogether. House puts his hand on the restaurant's door handle, debates internally for as long as it takes to turn it and push the door open, and has already reached a conclusion by the time he's stalking through the maze of tables.
The chatter from the diners covers the noise of his uneven steps. House sneaks up behind Chase just as he takes a swig from his pint glass, and barks, "What the hell are you doing?"
Half of Chase's beer spews across the table at Cameron. She scrambles back, her nose wrinkling in distaste. The other half Chase swallows the wrong way, and he chokes and coughs like a dying man. Foreman grimaces at Chase, like he's watching a stranger at a bus stop collapse from a heart attack, and he's debating whether it's worth it to announce that he's a doctor. House fights a grin and hooks a chair from the next table with his cane, pulling it over and ignoring the yelp of "Hey!" from the people eating there.
"House, what do you want?" Foreman asks, finally deigning to pat Chase on the back once or twice.
House swings around their table and slides into his stolen chair. "Wilson told me that I faked cancer because I felt I didn't belong," he said.
"You wanted to spend time with us?" Cameron asks, half astonished and half hopeful. She nudges a napkin dispenser towards Chase. "You're welcome to join us."
"No," Foreman says, "he's not. He faked brain cancer to mess with us."
"That wasn't the reason," House says. "It's also no longer the issue. Keep up."
"Wait," Cameron says. "Wilson said you'd benefit from actual human contact, and now you're here..."
"Correlation, not causation," House says. "It's a wonder you've made diagnostics your specialty if that's an example of your logic."
Cameron subsides, hurt and bewildered. Chase glares at him and throws a balled-up napkin down on the table. "So why are you here?" he asks, his accent rasping stronger for a moment as he recovers his voice.
House tilts his head and studies them all evenly. "I think it's time I seduced Wilson," he announces.
It's possible--just--that the looks on their faces are even more priceless than when he told them he wasn't dying after all. Foreman's the first to recover. "What?" he says. "Why?"
House blinks at Foreman for utterly missing the obvious. "He's been getting very needy lately."
"That doesn't make any sense," Chase says. "And even if it did, it doesn't answer why you're here. You'd be out--" Words seem to fail him at that moment, but he makes an aborted gesture that finishes his sentence with either "stealing third base" or "shagging Wilson". House thinks it's pretty accurate either way.
"Obviously, I'm here because I thought I'd hired three doctors who are--sometimes--" House pauses to look meaningfully at Cameron, "creative thinkers."
"You want us," Foreman says, shaking his head like he wants the bad thoughts to go away, "to help you seduce Wilson?"
"It's a service for all of mankind," House says. "Or, all womankind, actually. If I don't do this, he's going to go get married again."
"If that would make him happy--" Cameron starts.
House shakes his head at her pityingly. "Marriage never makes Wilson happy."
"This time--"
"And frankly I'm kind of worried about Cameron," House says, shouldering her out of the conversation and turning to Chase and Foreman. He steamrolls over whatever nonsense she's spewing about people learning to grow and change. "You know she's pretty much exactly Wilson's type--willowy, dark haired, emotionally clueless, willing to put out if it means she can make a man bleed."
Foreman raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're not describing yourself, House?"
House stares at Foreman, profoundly saddened by the total lack of getting it that surrounds him on a daily basis. "Exactly Wilson's type," he repeats slowly, so that the remedial students in the class can catch up.
"If you want Wilson, why don't you just tell him so?" Out of the three of them, Chase seems to have best embraced the romance of the idea.
It's time to cut that sort of idiocy short. House says, "Well, obviously that's not going to work. Have you been paying attention at all? I want to trick him."
"You could try being nice to him," Foreman says in exasperation.
"No, no, he'd suspect something right away if I did that," House says. He gets nothing but blank looks in exchange, and he wonders how these three morons managed to sneak into his employment in place of the geniuses their letters of recommendation made them out to be. "Come on, people. You spend a day diagnosing me to get neurosyphilis out of brain cancer when I don't want your help, and now that I do, you can't manage to come up with a single unique idea?"
"It's two completely different things," Foreman explodes. "That was medicine. This is about your sick, sordid romance with a man who doesn't even know you want to jump him."
"They're exactly the same!" House says.
"Okay," Chase says slowly. "I think I'm beginning to see the problem."
to be continued
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