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Entertainment Value
by Jayne Leitch
Rating: G
Spoilers: none, really
Disclaimer: not even close to being mine. But oh, if they were...
Notes: for Slodwick's A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words challenge.
Thanks to Ms MaryKate for providing her usual handy beta services. Thanks also to Summerfling on LJ, with whom I inadvertantly shared a brain.
ENTERTAINMENT VALUE by Jayne Leitch
2005
They'd been hiding out in House's office for an hour--the one o'clock hour, because House had said the murder mystery playing out on _General Hospital_ was a psychological exercise in the sublime and not to be missed, and Wilson had taken that to mean at least three of the women involved were starlet copies of his former wives--when Greg, eyes glued to the teaser for tomorrow's episode, said, "I need another doctor."
Wilson took a moment to drag his brain back from the ether it had escaped into shortly after the soap's opening credits. "What, in your team?" He gave House a skeptical look. "You never use the two you've got."
"That's because I'm one short," he explained, as if forgiving Wilson for not seeing the obvious. "The dynamic's all wrong."
Wilson acquiesced with a nod and a wave of his hand. "Oh, of course. Because two's company...?"
"Three's company, too. And I have no John Ritter." House pulled his legs down from their stretch on the footstool, then reached for his cane; after levering himself to his feet he began pacing stiffly around the room. "I want three. I'm budgeted for three. And Cuddy gets smug when there's money lying around not being used."
"And then she cuts your budget."
"And fiscal responsibility is boring." Pausing mid-step, House stared out the windows at the sunny August afternoon, a thoughtful tilt to his head. "Of course, I could just *say* I'm hiring a third, steal the paycheques and run away to Cuba. Nothing's sexier than a man escaping embezzlement charges in a country with no extradition."
Wilson nodded. "You could." He watched House, silhouetted against the view, his hand working reflexively on his cane. "But you need three."
The look House sent over his shoulder made Wilson remember that some people really liked kicking puppies. "I need three."
*
Cuddy arrived at House's office--for the meeting she'd scheduled to start twenty minutes ago in *her* office--with an armful of files and a skeptical air. Watching him with narrowed eyes, she strode over to his desk and dropped the files in front of him with a solid *thunk*. "I can't believe you're so eager to go through the hiring process again," she announced, her now-free hands landing on her hips. "Unless this is just another excuse for you to postpone your return to clinic duty. *Again.*"
House gasped, giving her a scandalized look over the top of his magazine. "I love hiring people! It's so economically responsible!"
She rolled her eyes. "You hate having to seriously consider applicants' credentials almost as much as you love terrorizing them for their shortcomings."
"You and Wilson, so concerned about my sadistic tendencies." Now adopting a look of wounded determination, he tossed the tabloid aside and reached for the stack of files. "It's not about terrorizing them. It's about judging how well they're capable of performing in the uphill obstacle course we call life. SATs, GPAs, rankings and percentiles--they're all just one leg of the race. I need more than that. I need long-distance athletes with excess lung capacity and overdeveloped muscles."
Cuddy stared, then bit off a sigh and seated herself across from him, taking a file for herself while she waited for the other shoe to drop.
She only had to wait a few seconds before it did, with the sound of an impressively thick resume hitting the trash can. "Nerd," House said by way of explanation. "Would've needed his inhalor two steps out of the first leg." He paused with his hand on the next file, and quirked his eyebrows at her. "Metaphorically speaking."
*
"Published in the Journal of North American Medical Practise for your study, 'Vascular Invasion and Haematological Abnormality in Advanced-Stage Prostrate Cancer'." House looked up from the resume on his desk to the reedy young man who had submitted it. "From all accounts, that's a devastating diagnosis for the religiously devout. Although personally, I've always thought it would be worse for lazy people." Leaning forward, staring avidly as the applicant's ears turned bright pink, he said, "You did the study. What do *you* think?"
*
There was no discernable order to the sliding stacks of files littering House's desk, but Wilson suspected Greg knew exactly whose carefully-constructed resume he was currently using as a coaster. Or a paper towel. "Any promising candidates?"
Swivelling away from his computer screen--which Wilson couldn't help noticing definitely wasn't displaying a work-approved site--House glared at the files. "They're pathetic. If this were a real obstacle course, most of them would be tripping over their own feet, falling ass-first onto a pylon, or boring me to death with their blandly competent performance."
Wilson considered this as he moved to his usual chair and lowered himself into it with all the grace of a man at the end of his shift. "You said most. What about the rest?"
"That's a very select group." House slid the only open folder on the desk towards Wilson, then went back to his computer.
"A group of one, I see." Scanning the contents of the file, Wilson nodded; House had spent three full days obsessively researching this one, then hadn't mentioned him for a month. "Have you told Cuddy?"
"Nope. Deadline's not for another day and a half."
"Chase and Cameron?"
"I told them getting a new sibling shouldn't make them insecure enough to start competing for my attention." House looked up, his brow furrowed. "You don't think they assumed that was sarcasm, do you?"
Wilson chuckled, still paging through the file; it was more than comprehensively detailed. "Why this one?"
"Killer references," House said absently, squinting at the monitor. "He'll make a very interesting third."
"Well." Wilson flipped the folder closed, tossed it back onto the desk, then craned his neck to see what had captured House's attention. "As long as he's interesting..."
"As long as he is."
With a decisive mouse click, the office rang with the strains of a song about llamas.
End.
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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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