| FIC UPDATE: The Oncologist Trap 2/6 (House/Wilson, PG) |
[Jun. 6th, 2007|08:14 am] |
Title: The Oncologist Trap (2/6)
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing/Rating: House/Wilson, PG.
Length: 2000 words.
Spoilers: Post-ep for "Half-Wit", mentions of events up to "House Training".
Author's Notes: Seeing as I'm getting into writing the third part, thought I'd post the second. Successful asylum! w00t!
Summary: House subtly seduces Wilson. Somehow.
Cameron leans on the hotel desk, smiling prettily at the clerk. "He said he'd leave me the key," she said. "At the desk." The clerk blinks at her, and Cameron holds back a sigh. She'd love to try the medical emergency card on him, but considering that enduring House's mockery hasn't been recognised as a life-threatening situation (yet), she's going with the clueless girlfriend routine. If half of what the radiology techs say about the oncology nurses is true (or vice versa), then it's not unlikely that Dr. Wilson has visitors--women, of course--coming to his hotel room at all odd hours of the day. Another bright smile, a flutter of her eyelashes, and a half-formed wish that she had Cuddy's persuasive abilities in a low-cut top later, the clerk finally crumbles. Cameron does her best not to snatch the key card out of his hand, and doesn't roll her eyes until she's turned her back.
Foreman pushes off the wall he was leaning on and follows her to the elevator. "Nice work," he says, grinning, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
Cameron tries her best death glare on him. "I got the card, didn't I?"
"We could have used a credit card." Foreman shakes his head. "Or, here's an idea: we could have blown this off, gotten a nice lunch, and then gone back and told House we didn't find anything."
Cameron stabs at the elevator button. "You think House would accept that?"
"He hasn't been accepting reality well since this started," Foreman says. "I don't think 'not finding anything in Wilson's room' is going to be the thing that tips him over the edge."
The elevator doors open, and Cameron gets on, leaning against the back wall. She crosses her arms and frowns a bit. "He's just--"
Foreman rolls his eyes. "I hope you're not going to finish that thought with a hopeless romantic."
"Obsessed," Cameron says wryly. "That's not new."
"You seriously think this is for real?" Foreman eyes her sideways, and Cameron fights not to shrug. Foreman raises his gaze to the ceiling and tsks silently at her. "House isn't the only one whose grip on reality I'm concerned about."
Cameron bristles, even though she promised herself that she wouldn't let Foreman get to her. "He clearly wants this to go somewhere," she says. She's not sure if she believes that, but Foreman's huffy sighs make her want to play devil's advocate. "He's got Chase researching all of Wilson's past relationships to see if he's ever dated men."
"Yeah, and 'circus freak' was also on the list," Foreman says.
"Bearded lady," Cameron corrects, and Foreman snorts in derision. "I think it's sweet," she insists. It really is. For House.
"Are you sure 'creepy' wasn't the word you were looking for?" Foreman asks.
Cameron grimaces. It was, actually, but she's not going to admit that. The elevator doors open, and she glances both ways down the hall to check the direction of Wilson's room number. There aren't any maids' carts in the hall, so they should be able to get in and out without being seen. She slots the key card into the door, the light shines green, and they're in.
The hotel room is cut from the same pattern as every other hotel room ever designed. The bedspread is an ugly floral pattern; the bathroom is small, utilitarian, and hopelessly beige; there's one window, one small desk with a chair, and one very lonely looking suitcase sitting at the foot of the bed.
Foreman walks into the room and lifts the lid on the ice-bucket, finds it empty, and turns to face her. "What the hell are we supposed to be looking for?" he asks. "Medical evidence that Wilson's into guys?"
"Maybe there are gay-making spores in the carpet," Cameron mutters, already tired of Foreman's pessimism. She opens the closet to find three shirts, two suit jackets, and one hangar with just a tie thrown over it. A pair of dress shoes are lined up neatly underneath.
Foreman rolls his eyes again, but he pulls out a pair of latex gloves and starts going through the drawers in the bedside table. "Bible," he says, holding it up.
Cameron shakes her head, pushing the hangars to one side, though there's nothing to see behind them, and nothing on the shelf above. "Are you trying to prove that Wilson knows he's going to hell if he agrees to go out with House?" she asks.
"Trust me, that would be hell," Foreman says. "Maybe Wilson's already paying for his people killing Christ." He tosses the Bible back and moves to the other side of the bed.
"Right." Cameron sighs and moves to the bathroom, peering under the sink automatically looking for mould, then rolls her eyes at herself. "It's not evidence of absence," she says, checking between the towels for no particular reason except that House will ask if she did when they get back. Wilson's toothbrush sits in the holder, a half-rolled tube of toothpaste sitting beneath it. There are little bottles of hotel shampoo and conditioner, and a tiny paper-wrapped bar of soap, lined up on the edge of the tub. There's really nothing else to see.
"You know," Foreman calls from the main room, "it looked like that clerk believed you. About being Wilson's girlfriend. If Wilson's bringing women back here, then that shoots House's theory all to hell."
"And you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Cameron says, amused. "You hope that Wilson's straight."
Foreman chuckles. "I don't believe that he's not," he says.
"He could be bisexual," Cameron says.
"Yeah, right. Just like House. Both of them. And all the time we've known them, they've only been attracted to women." Foreman comes to the door of the bathroom. "Doesn't this bother you?"
"Breaking in to Wilson's hotel room?" Cameron bends down to check the garbage can, but it's been emptied. "House would have done it if we hadn't."
"No," Foreman says. "That House is interested in Wilson."
Cameron stands up, hands on hips, and advances until Foreman backs out of the bathroom. "Yeah," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "And this is Dr. Eric Foreman's prestigious fellowship: breaking into his boss's best friend's hotel room in an attempt to finally get those two crazy kids together. Like you're not crying on the inside?"
Foreman cocks an eyebrow at her. "I'm not the one who blackmailed House into a date," he says. "This might be your idea of romance, but it isn't mine."
"I'm over him," Cameron says, rolling her eyes. "And I don't think that this is House's idea of romance, either."
"Exactly," Foreman says. He strips off his gloves and tosses them into the empty trash can. Cameron sighs. There's nothing at all to find here. Foreman opens the door for her. "Trust me," he says as they head back to the elevators. "This is just one of House's jokes. And Wilson's going to take it and come back for more, just like always." Foreman shakes his head. "The only thing I don't understand is why."
Cameron shrugs and smiles to herself. "Maybe he's in love."
***
"This is stupid," Foreman says. He takes his seat at the conference table and starts drumming his fingers, staring at House in disgust. "Of course there wasn't anything to find. What did you expect?"
House rolls his eyes and slams his cane down on the table. "Other than Wilson's illicit den of iniquity? Only that my diagnostic staff would be a little more observant than the trained monkeys that Cuddy wouldn't let me have, damn her evil need to hoard them for herself."
"We got in," Cameron protests. She accepts a cup of coffee from Chase, who looks almost as curious as House about what they found. "The maids had already cleaned. Wilson's suitcase and clothes were there. That's it."
"Your break-in skills suck," House says. "I should have sent Chase."
Cameron holds back a snort when Chase stands up straighter and fails to look like that scrap of praise from House didn't just make his week.
"After all," House continues, twirling his cane thoughtfully, "if the desk clerk had mistaken him for Wilson's girlfriend, I'd have a better idea if I was on the right track."
Right on cue, Chase deflates, and Cameron has to swallow her laughter. Foreman crosses his arms. "Is this done yet?" he asks. "Because I'm actually here to practice medicine--"
"Where were his socks?" House stops twirling his cane and fixes his intense blue stare on her.
Cameron stares back at him, caught completely off guard. "What?"
"His socks. Where were they? In the suitcase, in the closet? Tying Foreman's wrists to the bed while you got your ya-yas out?"
"In the suitcase," Foreman says. "It doesn't mean anything. House--"
House ignores him and focuses on Cameron. All that burning curiosity, directed at her like a laser, and she's caught. House leans over the conference table towards her. "Hotel shampoo or some fancy frou frou stuff from a salon?" he barks.
"Hotel," she stutters. "The soap, too."
"Tie in the closet: green, or a really ugly puce colour?"
Cameron kind of wants to look away, but she can't. "Green," she says.
House nods, and seems to go into a trance, forgetting about her completely from one instant to the next. Cameron blinks at Foreman and Chase, while House stares off into the middle distance. He could be a statue, except for his thumb brushing repeatedly along the handle of his cane.
"So," Chase drawls, bringing his own coffee to the conference table and sitting down to watch House. "How about that weird case of impetigo that turned into nephrogenic fibrosing dermopathy?"
House doesn't even twitch. Cameron wonders if the three of them can sneak out without him noticing. Chase is already discreetly glancing his watch, and in about two minutes, he and Foreman are going to be laying bets on how long House can stand there, palpably thinking.
Cameron starts edging back from the table, still focused on House, so that when the conference room door opens and Wilson walks in, she jumps guiltily and lets out a startled squeak.
"Hi," Wilson says, smiling faintly at her, looking a little bewildered. Cameron blushes, mortified. Half an hour she was going through every inch of Wilson's private life, and she's helping House to make his best effort at seducing the poor man. She feels sorry for all of them that House has roped into this ridiculous scenario, and she wants to take Wilson aside and drop him a few helpful hints. She doesn't get the opportunity, because House comes out of his reverie and looks thoughtfully at Wilson.
"What's up?" Wilson asks, taking in Chase and Foreman, glancing at the whiteboard's lack of symptoms, and finishing on House.
"Patient," House says dismissively.
Wilson looks significantly at the whiteboard. "You don't have a patient."
"If I went to the clinic as often as Cuddy demands, then I'd have too many. It's a balancing act." House points his cane at Chase. "You. Keep digging." He swings around to face Foreman. "You. Observation." And finally, to Cameron: "You. If I get wind of any heart-to-heart chats with the patient, and I'm never letting you near one more single man with a terminal diagnosis."
Cameron glances quickly at Wilson, then jerks her gaze away. "I'm not..." she says, but House isn't paying attention to her any longer, and she trails off.
Wilson looks at her, then narrows his eyes, studying House sideways. "You're up to something."
"Yeah, lunch," House says. "You're buying."
"Oh," Wilson says, nodding. "Of course. You're right; everything's perfectly normal."
House grins. "Let's go," he says. "Front row seating in coma guy's room fills up fast."
"That's because there's only one chair," Wilson says. He opens the door for House and holds it for him as they leave. House's next reply is blocked by the glass, but they're heading down the hall in perfect time, and Wilson's already laughing.
"They really are in love," Cameron sighs, watching them go, and turns to Chase to ask him about the circus freaks.
to be continued
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