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

Playing For Time

The light in House's office softens, noon slowly giving way to the blue shadows of evening. Snow falls gently outside, dusting the hospital grounds in a hushed white. House props his feet on his desk, fingers idly drumming on his cane.

"Vogler looked like he might sprout a second head back there," House says with a wicked grin. "I'd buy front-row tickets for that horror show. Only downside? Double the bitching." He leans back in his chair.

Wilson chuckles, recalling Vogler's forehead vein, which had pulsed with alarming ferocity. "I swear, his veins were trying to escape him. They had a mind of their own."

"Cuddy too. Isn't she hot when she's mad? Gets that look in her eye."

Wilson groans, rolling his eyes. "And that's where you lose me."

House tosses his ball at Wilson, who fumbles before throwing it back. "Hey, your wife isn't speaking to you," House teases. "I think that means you're officially allowed to sexually harass your boss. Standard protocol."

Wilson snorts. "Right, because that makes sense. Not a warped, House-ian concept at all." He shakes his head, but his smile lingers. "So how the hell did you swing that favour from Dargis? I remember him being a total hardass back in Pennsylvania."

House raises an eyebrow. "Maybe that's where you get it from. Dargis is all holier-than-thou, up on his moral high horse."

"Yeah, sure. I'm the ass here," Wilson retorts, stifling a laugh. "You planned this whole thing in advance. Signed off on charts as Dargis. There's no way he'd have agreed if he knew."

House shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. "Had a hunch."

Wilson's eyes narrow. "You don't do hunches. You do educated guesses, wrapped in wild bravado. Spill it. What did you do for him?"

House's grin turns wicked. "Quickie in the faculty lounge. Top shelf scandal."

Wilson throws up his hands. "House, seriously."

"Fine, fine." House waves a hand, like he's shooing away Wilson's scepticism. "His wife was poisoning him. Thallium. Classic case: incontinence, hair loss, erectile dysfunction. I caught her red-handed, powdering his food."

Wilson's jaw drops. "What? You caught her? How?"

House's eyes gleam. "Ah, if he knew how I caught her, he might not owe me a favour. Some things are better left unsaid."

Wilson stares, incredulous. "You're joking."

"Yep," House says, his gaze flicking over Wilson's shoulder. "Speaking of jokes, play along."

"What-"

The door creaks open, and the same cop from before steps in, looking between them. "Dr. Wilson! Been trying to track you down since yesterday. You're a busy man."

House leans forward, eyes wide with mock sincerity. "We were just in the middle of planning our honeymoon. Come back another time?" He winks, earning a heavy sigh from Wilson.

Wilson massages his temples. "We were not."

The cop's expression remains impassive. "Just a few questions, then I'll be out of your hair."

House tilts his head, eyes narrowing, scrutinising, "Old house, huh? The one you're investigating? Must be. We found PI cytokines in Mr. Anderson's blood. Lowers liver function thresholds. He probably visits often to get that kind of mould exposure." He sighs dramatically, his mind seemingly drifting. "Sorry, always thinking about patients."

The cop blinks, surprised. "Uh, right... impressive deduction. Normally, we're dealing with blood splattered on floors." He gestures for Wilson to follow. "Dr. Wilson?"