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Everybody Lies	By : clueless1der Category: G through L > House Views: 3646 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own House, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Everybody Lies
- 2-1
- 3-2
- 4-3
- 5-4
- 6-5
- 7-6
- 8-final - 7
- 1
- 2
- 3
Some fool was in love with potpourri. They
should be maimed. No, killed. No�. maimed then killed. The smell, mixed
with the antiseptic and floor cleaner associated with all hospitals, hit
like a fist to the gut when the doors slid open. House�s nostrils flared
as he shot a rather irate glare to the candles that were arranged at the
information desk. He paused, shook his head to acclimate himself to the
stench, and continued his slow, limping walk towards the elevator.
He pushed the button with his cane and looked
around at all the decorations. There was the huge Christmas tree, brightly it
and depressingly cheerful, the tasteful Menorah and Kwanzaa candles on a table
near the tree. Gaily wrapped presents were strewn around. House�s lip
curled as he imagined Cuddy�s reaction to the �culturally and equally diverse�
display.
He loathed this time of year.
The elevator bell dinged and the doors
swished open. House paused as a gaggle of elderly ladies, intent on their
discussion of grandchildren, maneuvered past him. He slumped against the back
of the elevator and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his hand.
He had awakened on his couch, still dressed
from the day before. There had been an empty prescription bottle as well
as an empty Dewars bottle on
the coffee table. His brain was still fuzzy; he couldn�t really remember
what had set him off. But he had the hangover from hell, and his leg was
killing him. If he hadn�t been paged by Cuddy to get here NOW then he�d still
be snoring on his couch, oblivious to the world.
The doors swished open on his floor. Now, if
he could just get to his office without anyone annoying him. Surely, that
wasn�t too much to ask. He limped off, leaning more heavily on his cane
than usual. When no one stopped him it was almost enough to make him
believe in a Deity.
Almost.
He had his iPod buds in his ear, but couldn�t
bring himself to actually turn the music on. He was almost feeling sick from
his hangover; sick enough that not even the Who could soothe. House eased back
and put his feet up onto his desk. Propping his head back just so in the chair
eased some of the pressure. His eyes shut� he dozed�
�YOU IDIOT!�
The crash of files on his desk caused him to
jump enough that he jarred his leg. He swung his legs down and took in the
sight that was Cuddy, dressed for the day in a pink blouse that showed enough
cleavage that if she didn�t calm down, her agitated breathing would cause a
serious wardrobe malfunction.
�Was there something�?� House asked carefully
using the very mildest, pleasant tones.
Cuddy�s mouth shut with a snap. Her lips
compressed thinly, and then when she spoke she too made an effort to modify her
tone.
�I get that you feel that you don�t need
anyone�s help in anything that you do. I even get that you will go so far
out of your way to get out of doing something that you don�t want to do, your
high school teachers are probably still in therapy over you. But. How. Can.
You. Not. EVEN. CHECK ON HIM???� Despite her best efforts, her
voice rose on the last part of the sentence.
House cocked his head to the left and for the
first time looked up to her face. He blinked and raised an eyebrow.
�Him who? Crohn Disease Kid? He was diagnosed and scheduled to be sent home
last night.�
Cuddy�s eyes narrowed. She leaned
forward as menacingly as she could mange with the twins in her way. Her small
hands fisted on the pile of files.
�Wil-son. � She said it very deliberately.
House was suddenly wide awake, his hangover
headache faded to a high-pitched whine. �Whil-?�
was all could manage, albeit stupidly. He had to clear his throat and say his
name again. �Wilson? What the hell are you talking about? Wilson was
scheduled to leave later this afternoon for the conference.�
Cuddy turned away from House�s suddenly
sharp, blue gaze. �House. There� was an
accident.� She took a step towards the door.
House heaved himself to his feet. He had
to stagger-lunge to catch her arm. Her face was still turned away when she
spoke. �Drunk Driver. He�s out of the ICU- room 504-
but it doesn�t�.�
House left her in his office. He was
someone who tried not to move quickly unless there was a damn good reason.
Knowing he would pay for the pain later, he was blankly pushing elevator
buttons before he had any idea where the hell he was going. When the doors
swished open, autopilot sent him out. As he exited the elevator, he saw Foreman
walking with Cameron, both their heads buried in charts.
He barked their names and strode towards and
past them, beyond impatient, ordering something about they were on their own
and his schedule was to be cleared for the next week. He practically elbowed a
CNA away from a computer in order to find
Wilson�s room number. Shit! His name wasn�t listed. Cuddy had said something�.
He stopped for a moment. 504? Room 504? Why the hell
would they have moved him to the fifth floor? His gaze cut to the room numbers
near the nurse�s station that he was at. Damn! Wong floor!
He swung back around and quickly limped back
towards the elevators.
As House blew by them again, the two�s eyes
met. Foreman had the smallest of smirks hovering on his lips. Cameron looked
after House with a pitying expression on her face.
�I don�t think that this is ri-� She started, when Foreman interrupted her. �This is
something that Cuddy cooked up. I really wouldn�t get in the way. I think it
serves the bastard right.� Asking a question plainly meant to divert Cameron�s
attention, he lightly steered her towards the patient�s room.
House opened the door to room 504 with his cane, causing it to
slam back towards the wall. For a moment he was grateful that these rooms
were designed for people who didn�t want anyone gawking at them through the
glass. The door made a horrendous sound as House strode through. Opening his
mouth to speak, he was completely floored when Wilson�s head popped out from
around the curtain. He was holding a clipboard.
�What on Earth? House?�
The shock of seeing him standing there, even
with the extremely irate look on his face, after everything he had been
imagining on the way up here hit House almost like a physical blow. He
staggered back into a plastic chair, absently noticing that other heads were
popping out from around the curtain. His heart had felt like it had skipped a
beat then sped up as his heart rate skyrocketed. House could feel the blood
draining from his face. He felt lightheaded. The hangover returned so
fast that his stomach swam with nausea.
�I--� Very rarely was Gregory House at a
loss for words.
Dr. Wilson, on the other hand had no such
problem. �Mr. and Mrs. Abernethy, Sheila� please forgive my colleague�s
outburst.� Years of apologizing for House brought the smile to his lips as he
turned to his patient. �As I was saying�.� He covered the speech with the
older couple while their daughter�s gaze moved from between House to Wilson as
he spoke to her parents.
House sat there dumbly. His mind worked
furiously. He saw again Cuddy turning away from him over and over. He played
the conversation on a loop in his mind as he sat there listening to Wilson
drone on about getting her into possible clinical trials. Wilson, who wasn�t
dead, or maimed, or bloody and broken�
Eventually Wilson said his goodbyes and
mentioned that Dr. Bergenton would be taking over his
caseload while he was in California for the medical conference. He shook hands
all around and moved towards the door and House.
�Coming? Dr. House?�
House�s mind was still whirling, but his mood
was getting decidedly more fowl by the second.
Cuddy.
�That, Bitch!� In his mind�s eye
he saw her advert her eyes from when she mentioned a drunk driver.
Passing nurses looked somewhat shocked. House
wasn�t often seen on this particular floor, which was mostly used for patients
getting routine or regularly scheduled care.
Wilson almost ran into House as the
diagnostician stopped suddenly. By long acquaintance, he knew that word
in that particular tone could only mean one person. He winced as
House�s cane jabbed viciously at the elevator button, but kept his silence.
Whatever was going on, House�s mood was decidedly less than warm and
fuzzy. He entered the elevator behind House, standing against the wall.
It was a surprise when the cane came up and
jabbed his chest.
Simultaneously, House�s hand reached out and
smacked the emergency stop button.
The sound of the buzzer faded as angry,
narrowed ice-blue eyes met wide, surprised brown ones. Wilson�s mouth fell
open as the suddenly aggressive House actually took a step forward into his
body space.
�Why did you let her?� House�s query was
meant to sound direct and angry, but it rang in his own ears as more hurt than
anything else.
Wilson blinked. �Why did I let her what?
What? Why did you barge in there like that? What the hell are you talking
about?� He angled his head back a little, quite mindful of the miniscule
distance between their faces. �Are you still drunk?�
House removed his cane and spun around so
that his back was to Wilson. He banged the button so that the elevator stopped
sounding like a 40 foot bee on steroids, and the elevator resumed
movement. His shoulders hunched as he tried to put as much space as
possible between him and Wilson.
�House?� The tentative word rang with confusion. �Wha-�
At just that moment the elevator slid open to
Cuddy�s floor (was he having crazy elevator karma today or what??) and he was
able to limp out, completely ignoring Wilson�s question.
Wilson stood there so long that the doors
actually slid shut before he hit the open button and power walked after him.
Whatever the hell it was that was happening, it wasn�t good.
Cuddy cringed as she caught sight of the look
on House�s face as he walked towards her. She wanted to crawl under her
desk when she saw that Wilson was about five steps behind House, his handsome
face a study in absolute bafflement.
�Yes. Well, the hospital is quite cognizant
of--� House reached over her desk and very, very gently pushed the button to
hang up the call.
Cuddy looked up, knowing she was in the wrong,
but refusing to acknowledge the psychological advantage. She hung up the
receiver and folded her hands on her desk.
�Dr. House, Dr. Wilson. How can I help you?�
Instead of speaking, House�s narrowed eyes
studied her, taking in the way her high heel was rapping on the carpet, the way
she still wouldn�t meet his gaze, and the two bright red flags of color on her
cheekbones. A horrible suspicion began to dawn on him.
House took an abrupt step backwards and
gestured for Wilson to sit down. His mind was working furiously.
�I�m beginning to believe that this wasn�t
entirely your fault.� House decided to stand for this
conversation. He got out his prescription bottle, shook it significantly
in Wilson�s direction and popped a couple of Vicodin, hardly noticing the
bitter taste anymore as he dry-swallowed them. All his galloping about had
made the throbbing in his leg more pronounced.
He had the pleasure of seeing Cuddy fold like
a house of cards.
�I�m sorry, House� really. I didn�t want to!�
Wilson looked from House to Cuddy to House as
If he were watching a ping-pong match. �You didn�t want to what?� He
sounded incredibly feeble and knew it� and was beginning to feel the first
stirrings of anger.
�Really? And who has the authority to make you do something that
you don�t want to do?� House damn well knew the answer but he wanted to
hear her say it.
�That would be me.�
The deep, cultured voice caused Cuddy�s eyes
to widen, caused Wilson to swing his head towards the door, and cause a
smirk to cross House�s lips.
�Surely Not! You? Vogler? The evil puppeteer in this little play? Whatever did
you do with the evil mustache?
�Dr. House, believe me when I say that you
are the last person that I want speaking for this hospital at any function held
in public, but circumstances,� at this Vogler looked
pained �have come to front. You need to go. Dr. Cross was unable to attend, and
per your contract��
He waved the tenure contract around, and then
flipped it at House, who had to fumble a bit to catch it without losing his
balance or dropping his cane. It was a cheap, petty move and recognized as
such by all.
Vogler�s tones were smug now. �According to Doctors� Foreman and
Cameron you have cleared your schedule for at least a week. I�m sure that can
be extended if need be. Luckily for you, your friend will be accompanying
you. You know, making sure that you make it on your flight and all of
that. Cuddy has the flight and conference information.� For the first time
he looked over towards Cuddy to meet her eyes. �I�m sure you understand the
ramifications, here.� He swung is gaze back to House�s. �You have a good
week in California, now.� With that parting line, the business mogul
turned on his heel and left Cuddy�s office.
House sat down and looked over the contract.
Some secretary had been helpful enough to highlight the specifics for him.
He cleared his throat.
�Well? It happened. I am well and truly
fucked.�
Thump. Thump. Thump.
�So she told you that I had been killed by a
drunk driver?!�
Thump. A nod.
�And you believed her.� Wilson�s voice
portrayed volumes.
Thump.
�Seriously? Me? Dead?�
THUMP. House shifted in the
uncomfortable airport chair, trying to get his butt to wake up.
�Okay, enough with the cane already! Just a
second� let me see if I can put this together. You come to work late, hung
over again. Cuddy ambushes you in your office, tells you that I am no
longer among the land of the living� why? What was the point of the
not-so-elaborate tragedy routine?� Wilson paused, thoughtfully sipping his
late. �Oh! Of course� it was so that Vogler could
have the extreme pleasure of his little talk down. I have to admit House, as
much as I dislike the guy, he really has you over the barrel. And�� he once
again sipped his latte, making an unconscious little �mmm�
sound as did so.
House tried not to hear it. In fact he had
been trying not to hear Wilson�s Yenta impression-to no avail. He deserved
Wilson�s little speech.
Every little bit of the scene was branded on
his brain. Wilson was sitting across from him looking horribly smug. A smugness
that was easy to understand, he supposed with the idiotic way he had just
acted. He was still wearing his suit from work, but the tie had been ditched
somewhere leaving his shirt unbuttoned. His jacket was off, draped over the
chair next to him, covering his laptop and carry-on bag. He was sitting so
that one arm stretched out over the other three chairs next to him as he slowly
sipped his latte.
�� You do know that you have brought all of
this on yourself? All of this� never mind what has been going on with me� I
mean, it�s not all sunshine and light but I�m dealing with it. But, the
situation you find yourself in where Vogler feels he
has the upper hand over you enough that he can make you into his bitch.�
Wilson paused, smiling at the mental image.
Enjoying this just a wee bit didn�t make him the kindest of people
he supposed. But really, if there was ever someone who deserved to
squirm as much as House� well, he couldn�t think of who they would be.
House sighed. Wilson�s words from earlier
that week rang in his head. "I've got no kids, my marriage sucks;
I've only got two things that work for me: this job and this stupid, screwed-up
friendship, and neither mattered enough to you to give one lousy speech." He
leaned back, closing his eyes. Guilt wasn�t something that Gregory House
really acknowledged. There was very little point feeling morose over something
you couldn�t control. But this? The memory
of Wilson�s face� the internal jolt he felt when he saw Jimmy�s office being
stripped naked� well he hadn�t coped well. That was an understatement. Sarcasm
and a few smartass remarks was what came to him naturally. But
the guilt? The guilt came later, before he fell asleep. When
upsetting dreams- too tenuous to be called nightmares work him up in the middle
of the night�. Yeah. The guilt was there alright.
�Ladies and gentlemen, flight number 607
nonstop to San Francisco is ready to board. Will all persons needing special
assistance please make their way towards the counter.� There was some muffled
talk as the flight attendant put the intercom to her shoulder and spoke with
another person. �Excuse me. Will Dr. Gregory House please make his way to the
check-in desk? Dr. Gregory House.�
Wilson�s eyes met House�s. �Now that�s a
spiffy wheelchair.�
House rolled his eyes. �No
doubt a parting gift from my favorite chubby guy.� Actually the
chair looked as if it had been used by a serial killer on his way to collect
victims from a mental hospital.
House heaved himself to his feet, slinging
his backpack over his shoulder. �Well, Sparky. See you on the plane. Cripples before rich people.�
Wilson just grinned, saluting him with the
Starbucks cup.
House had the plane headphones in his ears
and was the picture of contentment as he looked towards the movie screen,
hands folded in his lap. Wilson stowed away his carryon and sat down besides
House. �What�s on?�
�Dead Poets Society. Gonna have myself a
man-cry.�
�Hm. I think I remember that. Robin Williams?�
�Yeah.�
�Cool.�
The stewardess came by to ask if they needed
anything. House asked for a Coke, Wilson declined.
Wilson settled back and into his headphones,
after cleaning them with the little bottle of Purell
he kept on his keychain. He ignored House�s patented eye roll and settled
in for the long ride.
House�s eyes were on the movie, but his mind
was whirling away. To put it mildly, he resented being made to go on this
little jaunt. I mean really, what was he supposed to go do in San Fran? Hang
out at the Golden Gate Bridge? Pfft. The
conference was guaranteed to be a major snore. He couldn�t even count on going
to all the seminars with Wilson since Oncology was such a complex field. Bor-ring. House
briefly thought about ditching the damn thing, but the thought of the fallout
for Wilson made him nix the idea. He was right. House did owe him,
whether he would acknowledge it or not.
He heard Wilson snort and he snuck a peek at
him out of the corner of his eye. Wilson was deeply engrossed in the film
and not paying any attention to House. When he grinned and laughed, House
had a sudden desire to reach out and touch his face.
Oh, fantastic. That would be such a great
idea� I�m sure Wilson wouldn�t be at all freaked out that. He would surely just
want a cuddle, fall into my arms, maybe join the mile High club� you know.
Normal stuff for two good old buddies.
The thought caused House to glare. It was
ridiculous. To have a crush on your best friend. Your married, straight best friend. It was
pathetic. Okay, so the �crush� had lasted the better part of twelve years. He
was nothing if not dogged.
House turned away from Wilson to stare out
the miniscule plane window. It was nice not to be in Coach, he supposed. It was
a sign of Cuddy�s guilt that she hadn�t booked him in the cheap seats. He
sighed, thoughts wandering again. It could be worse. (It could always
be worse.) At least he was spending the next week or so with
Wilson. He smirked for a second at what Wilson�s wifey
must be thinking. Since Wilson wasn�t staying with him he figured they were
�on� again. I bet if she knew that he was going to be with me for the
week, that �on� wouldn�t be for very long. Heh. He noticed the
stewardess refill his drink, but wasn�t in the mood for niceties. He
popped another Vicodin, curled up against the window and fell asleep.
�Damnit ,HOUSE!�
House jumped, his elbow striking something
soft, turned his head and saw Wilson holding aloft his laptop while he stared,
rather stupidly, at the mess. The ignored soda had apparently landed in
his lap. House grabbed some of the napkins and started trying to mop up the
soda and ice cubes.
�Uh- I got it.� House ignored him and
continued trying to clean up the mess. Wilson grabbed House�s wrist to still
him before he embarrassed them both. House looked at him, batted his eyelashes
and said, �Gee Whiz, Jimmy, is that a soda can in your lap or are you just glad
to see me?�
Wilson rolled his eyes so hard he was
momentarily afraid of spraining something.
�I got it. I told you, thanks.� Was his voice
a little high-pitched?
By now a gaggle of stewardesses had come to
assist Wilson. Thank god. House pulled free of his grip and made kissy noises
in Wilson�s general direction, turning back to his window and his nap.
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Everybody Lies