In Sickness and Sonnets - A House MD & Dead Poets Society Fanfiction

Off The Leash

Wilson wakes up later than normal, yawning groggily, the dull morning light sluggishly creeping through the curtains. He stretches, joints cracking, and glances at the state of House's living room. God, what a disaster. Yesterday's unfinished resignation drafts lie crumpled around the table like a sad tribute to his plight. Wilson lets out a tired sigh, dragging himself to the mirror, his reflection looking almost as wrecked as the room.

No time for self-pity. He tiredly plods into the kitchen, glaring at the few dirty dishes House left with irritation. Breakfast is a blur of stale granola and coffee that barely qualifies as drinkable. Thanks, House. He strips off his crumpled work clothes he wore to sleep and hurriedly throws on a fresh outfit, trying not to choke on his half-chewed breakfast as he puts his coat on and walks out the door.

Wilson stands at the observation window of the operating room, tension etched into his features. Watching Neil closely, a slight tinge of regret flashes past his weary face. This would've been so much simpler had you not gotten me.

He braces as the door behind him swings open and Vogler enters, all menace and cold calculation. He positions himself uncomfortably close to Wilson, and the silence that follows feels like it could shatter glass.

Wilson breaks it first, voice uneasy. "First surgery?" He asks insincerely.

Vogler's gaze remains stony. "Hopefully my last," he retorts, eyes locked on the surgeons below.

Wilson raises an eyebrow. "You're supposed to be observing the patient, not glaring holes into the surgeons. It's distracting."

Vogler's lips curl into a disdainful smile. "Or it keeps them sharp. There's a lot riding on this, isn't there?"

Wilson holds back a snarky reply, though the thought passes his mind. Would've bet money I'd never meet someone who plays nastier games than House. "From experience," he says evenly, "that kind of pressure never ends well."

Vogler's smile freezes into something colder. "Speaking of pressure," he says, "how's that resignation letter coming along?"

"Oh, just fine, I would-" Wilson's eyes flick to the door of the O.R. swinging open, and his suspicions are confirmed. The surgeon holds his hands up as he's gloved, masked face looking up to Wilson. House, you beautiful bastard.

"I assume that's Dr. Dar-"

House interrupts with a muffled, "Dr. House in the house! Let's break some hearts."

Wilson struggles to suppress a grin as Vogler's composed expression completely fractures. Vogler lunges for the intercom, nearly foaming at the mouth. "House! If you don't leave this operation right n-"

House picks up a scalpel with theatrical flair. "What, you'll fire Jimmy? Too late for that bus!" Quickly focusing up to make the first incision.

Wilson can't help it; he lets out a strangled laugh. Vogler looks like he's about to explode, his face shifting from red to purple. "This," Vogler growls, "is a complete-"

House leans into the microphone, voice almost musical. "Sorry, what was that? Hard to hear over the sweet hum of surgical precision." He gestures to the O.R. staff, who are trying—and failing—to hide their amusement. The surgeons trade quick looks, following House's confident instructions.

Vogler turns on Wilson, finger jabbing. "You. I'll deal with you later." He threatens, quickly leaving the room.

"Hey, this wasn't my idea," Wilson retorts, the defensive tone in his voice vastly overpowered by the amused, "he's just a world class lunatic." He smirks ever so lightly as he watches House carefully instruct the surgeons around him.

Wiring the device with great care, he casts a glance up to Wilson,

"You'd better really like this guy," he says, training his eyes back on the implant, "I'll make sure the sutures are my best work for you."

The hours blur by as House completes the surgery, Wilson keeping a close eye on the monitors, nerves buzzing. Just as House gives the team a thumbs-up, Vogler storms back into the observation room, Cuddy in tow.

"All done here. Closing him up." An almost cruel smirk lays beneath his mask, glancing at Cuddy and Vogler argue as he sutures the incision. Needle deftly handled, weaving elegantly between the parted dermis, House finishes the stitches and ties them neatly. "Definitely my best work. We're done here, wean him off." He nods to the anaesthesiologist before departing quickly. Swiftly descrubbing, he grabs his cane from the prep room and makes his way up to observation.

"How'd I do, boss?" House asks as he swings the door open, interrupting Vogler mid-rant. The unrestrained self-satisfied grin on his face could outshine the operating lights.

Cuddy pinches the bridge of her nose. "Textbook, I'm sure—aside from the part where the surgeon is a total maniac." She levels a glare at House, eyebrow raised. "You don't think this will blow up in your face?"

House's eyes radiate mischief as he speaks, "Didn't you get my memo? Dargis came down with something nasty, named me his replacement. Last-minute thing." He throws a mock-thoughtful look at Vogler. "How about we discuss this in a big room, with a lawyer and lots of doctors I don't care about? What's that called again... some kind of committee?"

"Tomorrow." Vogler angrily points at Wilson and House, "And then you're both gone for good." He threatens, quickly leaving the room.

"I'll just... Go call a last minute session. It's just that easy." Cuddy says with mock relief, following after him.

There's a beat of silence between the two doctors as Neil is wheeled from the room.

"How. Just... How?" Wilson asks.

House smirks, leaning on his cane. "Dargis owed me a favour. Long story." He pauses. "Join me in my office? Think we have to plan for that meeting thing."

"Sure." Wilson says with a chuckle, holding open the door for House to limp out.