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Goldfish
by Mel
NOTE: Thank you and many loves to Druin for the amuing conversation about House and Wilson's "children" that made this story possible. My first House fic.
House wasn't quite sure when it had all begun. In fact, he hadn't even taken the time or effort needed to notice what was really going on. All he knew was that flowers were beginning to appear on his desk, daily. It wasn't long until a new pastime sparked from it: seeing what he could do to the plants until they died, and his antics were quick to become an annoyance around the clinic, much to his amusement. An amusement that suppressed his curiosity to find the origin of the flowers for a while. It wasn't as if he had anything else to do ever since Cuddy took his GameBoy away, and being a "plant-torturer," as she called him, was still better than working in the clinic.
Wait, everything was better than clinic duty.
This went on for a little over a week, the custodians having cleaned up about ten dead plants, each strategically placed in front of Cuddy's office. House sacrificed getting an earful from her, but it was worth seeing her track potting soil down the hall. On the eleventh day, he arrived at his office earlier, a rare occasion for him, but his curiosity had been revived by the threat of more clinic hours if he didn't stop with the flower mayhem. Thus the only way to cure himself of his new pastime was to eliminate the cause permanently. Therefore a plant must never be left in his office again.
He still did not know who the plants were from and why, and doubted he'd find the answer without a little hunting, until he walked into his office to find Dr. Wilson already there. A rather startled Wilson, that is, with a sort of deer-in-headlights look from his premature entrance, a new potted plant in hand. That's when he learned of his friend's intensions, or mission rather, to "spice up" his office.
"Should I have brought the 'Weed-Be-Gone'?" House commented, eyeing the new plant his colleague had just placed on his desk. He had only paused briefly in the doorway before striding right by Wilson to sit in his chair, blue eyes traveling up to him as he reclined. "Great timing too, I was about to call the landscaper to have my desk mowed anyways. It's due for a good trimming."
A smile twitched at Wilson's lips. "Now, now. You spend half of your time in here; why not spice it up a bit? Or at least make it less dull."
"No-- I spend half my time avoiding Cuddy and work."
"--At least you're honest about it," Wilson interrupted smugly, folding his arms and leaning against the corner of House's desk. He anticipated that the man had much more to say, so no harm was done in getting comfortable, though he easily could've sat in the chair opposite to him.
House seemed to notice this but didn't dwell on it, only raising a questioning eyebrow before continuing, searching his pocket for his medication bottle as he spoke. "Isn't spice added to please other people's tastes? I don't know about you, but I'm not here to please other people, OR to have them in my office."
Wilson watched as his friend successfully retrieve the bottle and opened it, fishing for a pill. His slight smile had morphed into a fully-fledged grin by then. "I guess I don't count as "other people" then?"
House paused, a Vicodin lying in his palm, his hand half-poised to toss it down his throat, his mouth slightly open. The blue gaze swept over Wilson again, from the desktop he sat upon to his head, making eye contact and holding it steadily. "To make it clear, you're the one who spends half your time in my office."
Blue eyes broke their gaze to look at the ceiling as he downed the pill. That was that.
And by the late evening, an eleventh, and slightly burnt, plant that smelled vaguely of chemicals found its way to Cuddy's office door.
House got ten more clinic hours.
So no more plants were snuck into the office of Dr. Gregory House, though that didn't mean Wilson abandoned his mission entirely. He experimented with a few different items, some of which were never even touched when he put them there, like the artwork on the walls. He doubted House had even noticed them, but they remained there in the office, so he took it as a little success. Some things Wilson had to stay away from entirely, like the mini basketball hoop or the dartboard, both of which spelt disaster if combined with House, and Wilson suddenly felt like he was shopping for a child. A very grown up child with a weak leg and enough "snarkiness" to spare.
*
Not even a full month had passed before Dr. Wilson unhappily ended his mission, walking with a dignified step to his colleague's office with a final object held carefully in both hands. House didn't look up from his magazine when he entered, and failed to do so even when Wilson put the object on his desk rather loudly. Clearing his throat, he finally got his attention.
First House looked up at his friend, only to peer down at his desk when Wilson gestured for him to do so. His expression instantly turned incredulous, but with a hint of curiosity. His lips pressed into a flat line as he peered into the glass bowl, and at the golden object wiggling around in it. "I didn't know sushi was on the cafeteria's menu."
"It's a goldfish." Wilson made sure to get his point across. House just looked at him like he had two heads.
"Really now?" His tone was sarcastic, but then his expression altered to that of amusement. "I know it was popular in college, but I didn't think it was a hard habit to break. Perhaps it could be more addicting than smoking, how interesting. Maybe you need a goldfish-patch, or some goldfish-gum?"
"What are you talking about?"
Blue eyes lifted from the bowl and his forehead wrinkled a bit. "Goldfish swallowing contest?"
"No, Gregg," Wilson shook his head in mock-disbelief. "And if you're just going to kill it or... or eat it... then I'll gladly keep it in my office." He reached out to pick up the bowl, but House swatted the hand away, making his friend slip from his perch on his desk and have to get to his feet.
"Oh no, I like it. You've really outdone yourself this time, James. I was just thinking of naming it Goldie, or maybe Mr. Fish. How about Dr. Fish?" His eyes sparkled in a fake fascination. "Ohhhh! Doctor Goldie, how miraculous!"
Wilson rolled his eyes at the sarcasm, moving to take the fishbowl again, but this time his colleague prodded at him with his cane until he moved away.
"I never thought of you as a fish-napper," House smirked, leaning over the bowl and dabbing a finger into the water. The fish swam in circles around it, before latching onto the digit and House donned a startled look for the briefest second before removing his finger. The fish continued to swim in its circles while Wilson couldn't help but chuckle.
"Well then, if that's all settled, just don't kill it," Wilson smiled, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. "Good day, Dr. House..." The smile grew comically. "... Dr. Goldie."
As he walked out of the office, he had enough intuition to step aside before the thrown pen hit him in the back of the head.
*
Over the following week, the fish stayed alive. Remarkably. House would enter his office to find it swimming around in circles and leave with it doing the same thing. As for the others, Foreman ignored the thing entirely while Cameron insisted on buying colored rocks, a fake water plant, and a little castle for the tank. As for Chase, he was found sticking the cap of his pen into the water several times. House didn't doubt that it was entertaining watching the fish nibble on everything that entered its domain.
And back to Wilson... He was amazed the fish had lasted so long, though he was the one who constantly reminded House to feed it, if he didn't feed it himself. There had only been one incident so far, where he had walked into the office to find House giving his undivided attention to the fish as it continuously ate and spit out a dissolving, white object. It wasn't long until he had recognized the object as a Vicodin, though House had insisted he accidentally dropped it into the tank, and that he would never do such a thing as drug their child.
Wilson replied that it must've gotten its looks from Dr. House.
He dodged another pen.
An inevitable conference soon rolled around that called for Dr. Wilson's presence. That meant a week without looking after the goldfish's well being. A week without babysitting Greg. He had left a little timidly, giving only the instructions to leave the fish alone, but had stopped halfway out the door to remind himself that it was only a fish. Poking his head back into the office, he stated a simple "nevermind" and walked out entirely. He was out of House's office and heading for the stairway, but still heard him speak to the fish.
"Oh, don't worry. Mommy's going to be back in a few days."
*
Those few days passed by rather quickly, without any anxiety toward the health and livelihood of Dr. Goldie or the possible antics of Dr. House. Even so, Wilson couldn't help the growing sense of impending doom as he retraced the familiar path to House's office. It was further increased when he saw the door closed, which made him pause, regarding it with a look of part worry, part wonderment.
He knocked twice, lightly, then entered.
He closed the door behind him firmly.
House was sitting at his desk, hunched over it with his chin resting in both hands, his head slightly cocked to the side. Blue eyes were fixed, unwavering, on the fishbowl. They were tired, but studying with the same undivided attention he always had for the fish, and Wilson approached the desk silently, running the fact of the case House had just finished over and over in his head.
"Gregg..." He was standing right beside his friend now, but the other doctor made a "shush" noise at him, lazily leaning back into his chair, his gaze still not moving.
"Our child is sleeping."
It was then that Wilson truly looked at the fishbowl. The goldfish was there, only floating upside-down at the top of the tank. He winced, bunching up the muscles in his jaw. "Gregg... what did you do to the fish?"
"It's sleeping."
"Don't be stupid. I know you know it's dead."
"Me? Stupid? Is that the apocalypse I hear?"
"What did you do to the fish? You killed it, when I told you not to."
For the first time since he entered the office, House looked up at Wilson, thoroughly amused by his colleague's new demanding tone. He smirked, the wheels in his mind turning, but when he spoke, his words were honest. "Ridiculous, I didn't even touch it."
That made Wilson think for a moment. A thought came quicker than expected and an eyebrow was raised. "Did you remember to feed it when I was away?"
House gave him a look that said, "what do you think?" which momentarily relieved his friend from the thought that he had killed it, but then Dr. House opened his mouth. "I told you I didn't touch it."
*
Dr. Wilson was left highly discontented and Dr. House's fishbowl lay empty for a few days, that is until House became annoyed with the rather immature "silent treatment" he was receiving from his friend. His office also seemed rather boring without the other doctor sprawled in a chair across from him. So he walked out early one night, armed with both an idea and an empty fishbowl.
It didn't take long for Dr. Wilson to notice the familiar fishbowl on his own desk when he came in the following morning, with a brightly colored beta fish swimming around in it. Nor did it fail to make him smile just a little. As House had predicted, his friend was leaning at his doorway in a matter of minutes of the discovery, watching him swallow a Vicodin dry with an endearing look.
"Alright, you're forgiven," Wilson sighed, the smiled still playing on his lips. House gestured for him to come in and he followed the command, sitting in his customary chair. House was then picking up the snack bag he had been munching from prior to his colleague's entrance and scoffed down a handful. Wilson waited for a sarcastic remark, but it never came.
"I never thanked you for the artwork," House said calmly, absently looking around the office at the pieces. Wilson followed his gaze until they were both staring at one another, so he cleared his throat but no reply seemed fitting. Thus he sat, silent, as House stood, holding his snack bag and cane in the same hand and approached him.
For a moment, it seemed as if House was heading out of his office by the way he passed his colleague, but as he did, he turned so he was behind Wilson, laying his free hand on the man's shoulder. Wilson had to fight to keep his eyes on the desk in front of him, rather then looking behind him at House. The hand on his shoulder was warm, comforting, familiar.
"James..."
Wilson blinked, his eyes now focusing on the object dangling before his face. It was unmistakably the bag House had brought over. "Cheddar flavored Goldfish crackers..." he read the label aloud, trailing off as it took a few moments for his brain to register it. When he did, he laughed, finally looking over his shoulder to find his friend smirking widely.
"I like fishes 'cause they're so delicious," House remarked, and Wilson couldn't help but finish the statement for him.
"... got Goldfishes."
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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