House Moving WIP - Part 3
Jun. 29th, 2007 11:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
out_therePart 1 and part 2.
***
It wasn't surprising that Cameron was the first to approach Wilson and commiserate with him. She understood how frustrating it could be to find yourself embroiled with House -- how hurtful and annoying his random selfishness could be -- and all the reasons why Wilson stayed around despite that. She left him with a pat on his shoulder and good wishes for the house hunting.
Chase was the next to stop by. They compared horror stories of bad moves -- damaged furniture; missing boxes; the hassle of remembering that you lived somewhere new and the embarrassment of showing up at the old address and wondering why your keys didn't work -- and starting discussing the amount of packing that was looming in Wilson's future.
When Foreman showed up at his office, Wilson started to put the pieces together. "Let me guess, you're here to console me about my enforced move?"
"No," Foreman said with a quick shake of his head. "I just wanted to know how much stuff you had."
With a flash of uneasiness, Wilson saw where this conversation was going. "House said he'd pay for my move. Did he actually mean he's forcing his team to move my stuff?"
"Not forcing. Betting."
Wilson winced. "On a card game or a patient?"
"Patient," Foreman said with a careless shrug, leaning against the doorframe. This was what knowing House did to people: made them nonchalant about betting on a person's survival rate.
"Of course."
"Whoever doesn't get the right diagnosis is organising your move."
"You know that he'll win, right?"
"I know that at least two of us will lose." Foreman pushed himself upright and flashed a quick grin. "I just don't think it'll be me."
"Then why are you here?"
"Figured it can't hurt to stress the importance of finding a building with a good lift. We already put up with House. We shouldn't have to deal with stairs too."
***
Apart from the occasional sympathetic smile from Cameron, the three didn't bother Wilson again. It didn't put his mind at rest.
House had promised to pay for the move, but this was House. The chance of House actually paying, and subtly accepting responsibility for acting badly, had always been slim. Wilson had been expecting a lot of griping about having to pay and a last-ditch excuse to avoid it.
House tricking his team into doing the move for him… Hmm. It was a partway gesture. Not an acknowledgement of guilt, per se, but it was an attempt to soothe Wilson's ire. Which meant that House either regretted his actions -- a laughable thought, really, but there was always a chance the eviction hadn't been specifically planned -- or he just really liked the idea of using well-educated subordinates for physical labour.
Or was trying to lull Wilson into a false sense of security because something else was about to happen.
The sooner Wilson knew why he had to move, the better. He had a sinking feeling that it was going to be incredibly humiliating. He wasn't sure how -- couldn't imagine it because he wasn't a soulless psychopath or twisted diagnostician -- but House was capable of it, and anything House could do, he did.
Wilson opened his office door, wondering how bad it could be, and found the culprit sitting on his couch, cane resting across his lap. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm thinking about having sex in your office."
"With anyone I know?" Wilson asked, since it was pointless to ask how House had accessed a carefully locked office filled with confidential patient information. He glanced at his desk drawers nervously.
"I'm thinking about Nurse Alty. Rumour has it she's on the rebound." House held his hands out, palm up, as if considering a difficult choice. Then he tilted his hands up, fingers pointing towards the ceiling. "Knockers out to here."
Ignoring that, Wilson finished checking that his drawers were still locked and the files were as he left them. "Your team visited me today."
"All together? Did they sing in harmony?" House blinked and a quick frown passed across his face. "Wait. Do trios sing in harmony?"
"I would assume so, but they visited separately." Wilson watched House closely, but House was doing a wonderful imitation of being completely bored.
"What did Huey, Dewey, and Louie want?"
"To discuss my plans to relocate."
House shrugged.
Wilson sighed. "You realise all three of them will make woefully over-educated and under-experienced movers, right?"
"We agreed that I was paying for your move. Since their salary gets paid from the Diagnostics budget and that budget is technically mine, I'm arranging the payment as promised. You never specified professional movers," House said, standing up and shuffling across to Wilson's desk with a smug grin that made Wilson a little nervous. "If you don't specify, how am I supposed to know what's expected?"
"House--"
"Like that whole no sex at work idea of yours, where you specified that I would never, ever get any nookie in my office due to the glass walls and my team of under-experienced movers," House said logically, moving round the desk. Wilson lurched to his feet, trying to stall, but House moved faster than a self-labelled cripple should be able to and hooked an arm around Wilson's waist. "Your office, on the other hand..."
"Is still out of the question," Wilson managed as House cocked a hip against the desk edge, dropped his cane and started tugging at Wilson's belt. It was mortifying and completely inappropriate and so hot that Wilson had to remember to breathe. He gathered the brain cells that weren't blinded by the glint of House's victory grin or focused on the teasingly light slide of House's fingers and the low snickering of his zip being opened (all twenty-three of them) and said, "House, stop."
House snorted. "No."
"House--" Wilson paused for an inconvenient gasp as fingers brushed over bare skin and those twenty-three neurons were reduced to fifteen. "Work and sex is a bad idea. A ve-very bad idea."
"It's a brilliant idea. After all, it's mine. Stands to reason."
"I didn't even lock the door..."
"Next time, you should remember to do that."
"No next time. No--" The hand on Wilson's back slid down, squeezing as House started a slow rhythm that made Wilson's breath catch. "No this time."
"You are such a spoilsport," House nagged, twisting his wrist just right and forcing those last fifteen cells to abandon the fight. Wilson closed his eyes and surrendered to the inevitable.
Then House suddenly pulled his hands back and turned as the click-click-click of angry heels became the low creak of a door opening.
Specifically, his door. And the angry heels were Cuddy's.
Wilson sat down as fast as he could.
"What you doing?" she asked, staring at House. For a moment, Wilson feared the worst: that she'd seen, that this incident would be hospital gossip for years.
"Playing hide the cane." House stood there insolently, clearly confident that his untucked shirt would cover any evidence. "Want to play?"
Cuddy stared him down and for once Wilson was glad that House'd got her up in arms. Otherwise she'd have noticed the embarrassed flush Wilson could feel creeping up his neck. Fear of humiliation -- and the unpredictability of Gregory House, who could and would say anything -- made him unwilling to risk the sound of a zipper being pulled up, but each tiny breeze of air-conditioning left him quite aware of being exposed.
He'd be fine as long as Cuddy didn't step any closer or have any reason to look under the desk.
Cuddy, thankfully, stayed standing in the doorway. "I want to know why your three doctors have booked three MRIs for the same patient."
"I'm teaching them to be thorough."
"At the hospital's expense," she replied. "There is no way the patient's insurance will pay for that."
"I'm sure they would," House said, pausing for effect, "if you went over in person and asked very nicely while leaning over their desks."
Cuddy's entire face tightened, proving House's Botox theory wrong. "So you have absolutely no medical reason for this?"
"Is ‘because I want to' a valid reason?" Keeping one hand on the desk for support, House leaned down and picked up his cane. On the way back up, he waggled his eyebrows at Wilson. Even though Wilson was certain House couldn't have seen under the desk from that angle, he had to fight to keep his expression calm. House grinned, then turned back towards the door. "What about ‘my dog ate my homework'?"
If cuddy noticed Wilson's reaction, she was too annoyed to care. "You just lost testing privileges, House."
"The ability to test isn't a privilege," House objected. "You can't expect me to diagnose patients based on a Magic Eight Ball. I need results."
"From now on, you need permission. Before you order any tests, MRI, blood-tests, everything, you need my permission." She turned her attention to Wilson, who tried to look concerned instead of mortified. "Do not be tempted to book his tests under your name. I'll be checking on both of you and you don't want to push me on this. Understood?"
"Yes," Wilson said and nearly sighed in relief when Cuddy pierced them both with one final glare and then sashayed out.
House watched her go with a calculating expression. "That wasn't how I saw this tryst ending."
"Get out, House."
Sporting a wounded pout, House whined. "It's not my fault we were interrupted."
This time, Wilson glared at him. "Get. Out."
He waited until House left, closing the door behind him, before finally closing his fly and dropping his head to his desk.
***
Continued here
***
It wasn't surprising that Cameron was the first to approach Wilson and commiserate with him. She understood how frustrating it could be to find yourself embroiled with House -- how hurtful and annoying his random selfishness could be -- and all the reasons why Wilson stayed around despite that. She left him with a pat on his shoulder and good wishes for the house hunting.
Chase was the next to stop by. They compared horror stories of bad moves -- damaged furniture; missing boxes; the hassle of remembering that you lived somewhere new and the embarrassment of showing up at the old address and wondering why your keys didn't work -- and starting discussing the amount of packing that was looming in Wilson's future.
When Foreman showed up at his office, Wilson started to put the pieces together. "Let me guess, you're here to console me about my enforced move?"
"No," Foreman said with a quick shake of his head. "I just wanted to know how much stuff you had."
With a flash of uneasiness, Wilson saw where this conversation was going. "House said he'd pay for my move. Did he actually mean he's forcing his team to move my stuff?"
"Not forcing. Betting."
Wilson winced. "On a card game or a patient?"
"Patient," Foreman said with a careless shrug, leaning against the doorframe. This was what knowing House did to people: made them nonchalant about betting on a person's survival rate.
"Of course."
"Whoever doesn't get the right diagnosis is organising your move."
"You know that he'll win, right?"
"I know that at least two of us will lose." Foreman pushed himself upright and flashed a quick grin. "I just don't think it'll be me."
"Then why are you here?"
"Figured it can't hurt to stress the importance of finding a building with a good lift. We already put up with House. We shouldn't have to deal with stairs too."
***
Apart from the occasional sympathetic smile from Cameron, the three didn't bother Wilson again. It didn't put his mind at rest.
House had promised to pay for the move, but this was House. The chance of House actually paying, and subtly accepting responsibility for acting badly, had always been slim. Wilson had been expecting a lot of griping about having to pay and a last-ditch excuse to avoid it.
House tricking his team into doing the move for him… Hmm. It was a partway gesture. Not an acknowledgement of guilt, per se, but it was an attempt to soothe Wilson's ire. Which meant that House either regretted his actions -- a laughable thought, really, but there was always a chance the eviction hadn't been specifically planned -- or he just really liked the idea of using well-educated subordinates for physical labour.
Or was trying to lull Wilson into a false sense of security because something else was about to happen.
The sooner Wilson knew why he had to move, the better. He had a sinking feeling that it was going to be incredibly humiliating. He wasn't sure how -- couldn't imagine it because he wasn't a soulless psychopath or twisted diagnostician -- but House was capable of it, and anything House could do, he did.
Wilson opened his office door, wondering how bad it could be, and found the culprit sitting on his couch, cane resting across his lap. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm thinking about having sex in your office."
"With anyone I know?" Wilson asked, since it was pointless to ask how House had accessed a carefully locked office filled with confidential patient information. He glanced at his desk drawers nervously.
"I'm thinking about Nurse Alty. Rumour has it she's on the rebound." House held his hands out, palm up, as if considering a difficult choice. Then he tilted his hands up, fingers pointing towards the ceiling. "Knockers out to here."
Ignoring that, Wilson finished checking that his drawers were still locked and the files were as he left them. "Your team visited me today."
"All together? Did they sing in harmony?" House blinked and a quick frown passed across his face. "Wait. Do trios sing in harmony?"
"I would assume so, but they visited separately." Wilson watched House closely, but House was doing a wonderful imitation of being completely bored.
"What did Huey, Dewey, and Louie want?"
"To discuss my plans to relocate."
House shrugged.
Wilson sighed. "You realise all three of them will make woefully over-educated and under-experienced movers, right?"
"We agreed that I was paying for your move. Since their salary gets paid from the Diagnostics budget and that budget is technically mine, I'm arranging the payment as promised. You never specified professional movers," House said, standing up and shuffling across to Wilson's desk with a smug grin that made Wilson a little nervous. "If you don't specify, how am I supposed to know what's expected?"
"House--"
"Like that whole no sex at work idea of yours, where you specified that I would never, ever get any nookie in my office due to the glass walls and my team of under-experienced movers," House said logically, moving round the desk. Wilson lurched to his feet, trying to stall, but House moved faster than a self-labelled cripple should be able to and hooked an arm around Wilson's waist. "Your office, on the other hand..."
"Is still out of the question," Wilson managed as House cocked a hip against the desk edge, dropped his cane and started tugging at Wilson's belt. It was mortifying and completely inappropriate and so hot that Wilson had to remember to breathe. He gathered the brain cells that weren't blinded by the glint of House's victory grin or focused on the teasingly light slide of House's fingers and the low snickering of his zip being opened (all twenty-three of them) and said, "House, stop."
House snorted. "No."
"House--" Wilson paused for an inconvenient gasp as fingers brushed over bare skin and those twenty-three neurons were reduced to fifteen. "Work and sex is a bad idea. A ve-very bad idea."
"It's a brilliant idea. After all, it's mine. Stands to reason."
"I didn't even lock the door..."
"Next time, you should remember to do that."
"No next time. No--" The hand on Wilson's back slid down, squeezing as House started a slow rhythm that made Wilson's breath catch. "No this time."
"You are such a spoilsport," House nagged, twisting his wrist just right and forcing those last fifteen cells to abandon the fight. Wilson closed his eyes and surrendered to the inevitable.
Then House suddenly pulled his hands back and turned as the click-click-click of angry heels became the low creak of a door opening.
Specifically, his door. And the angry heels were Cuddy's.
Wilson sat down as fast as he could.
"What you doing?" she asked, staring at House. For a moment, Wilson feared the worst: that she'd seen, that this incident would be hospital gossip for years.
"Playing hide the cane." House stood there insolently, clearly confident that his untucked shirt would cover any evidence. "Want to play?"
Cuddy stared him down and for once Wilson was glad that House'd got her up in arms. Otherwise she'd have noticed the embarrassed flush Wilson could feel creeping up his neck. Fear of humiliation -- and the unpredictability of Gregory House, who could and would say anything -- made him unwilling to risk the sound of a zipper being pulled up, but each tiny breeze of air-conditioning left him quite aware of being exposed.
He'd be fine as long as Cuddy didn't step any closer or have any reason to look under the desk.
Cuddy, thankfully, stayed standing in the doorway. "I want to know why your three doctors have booked three MRIs for the same patient."
"I'm teaching them to be thorough."
"At the hospital's expense," she replied. "There is no way the patient's insurance will pay for that."
"I'm sure they would," House said, pausing for effect, "if you went over in person and asked very nicely while leaning over their desks."
Cuddy's entire face tightened, proving House's Botox theory wrong. "So you have absolutely no medical reason for this?"
"Is ‘because I want to' a valid reason?" Keeping one hand on the desk for support, House leaned down and picked up his cane. On the way back up, he waggled his eyebrows at Wilson. Even though Wilson was certain House couldn't have seen under the desk from that angle, he had to fight to keep his expression calm. House grinned, then turned back towards the door. "What about ‘my dog ate my homework'?"
If cuddy noticed Wilson's reaction, she was too annoyed to care. "You just lost testing privileges, House."
"The ability to test isn't a privilege," House objected. "You can't expect me to diagnose patients based on a Magic Eight Ball. I need results."
"From now on, you need permission. Before you order any tests, MRI, blood-tests, everything, you need my permission." She turned her attention to Wilson, who tried to look concerned instead of mortified. "Do not be tempted to book his tests under your name. I'll be checking on both of you and you don't want to push me on this. Understood?"
"Yes," Wilson said and nearly sighed in relief when Cuddy pierced them both with one final glare and then sashayed out.
House watched her go with a calculating expression. "That wasn't how I saw this tryst ending."
"Get out, House."
Sporting a wounded pout, House whined. "It's not my fault we were interrupted."
This time, Wilson glared at him. "Get. Out."
He waited until House left, closing the door behind him, before finally closing his fly and dropping his head to his desk.
***
Continued here
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2007-06-29 05:40 am (UTC)Perfect recipe.
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Date: 2007-06-29 08:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-29 05:56 am (UTC)PS hello, long time no talk ;)
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Date: 2007-06-29 07:59 am (UTC)One of the things that I always love about your stuff is that you just get the voices exactly perfectly right.
And as usual, your feedback makes me grin and hunger for more.