The Best Medicine

by Mer

9:42am House was enjoying his morning cup of coffee when he first heard it. The sound of laughter, deep and unrestrained, floated across the balcony from Wilson's office. House smiled involuntarily and glanced over. Wilson's sliding door was open and House could see his friend standing next to his desk, shaking with laughter.

House couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Wilson laugh like that. He smiled often, chuckled when he was amused, and occasionally sputtered softly when House surprised him with something particularly amusing. But an outright belly laugh was rare.

Curious, he slipped over the dividing wall. "What's so funny?" he demanded, sticking his head through the open door.

Wilson was peering at his computer monitor, one hand on his desk and the other resting on the head of a teenaged boy, who was sitting in Wilson's desk chair. Wilson turned to face him, smiling broadly. "House!" he exclaimed. "You have to see this. Start it again, Tommy." He stepped aside to give House a view of the monitor.

House found himself smiling again. Normally Wilson barely tolerated his office invasions. It wasn't often he was genuinely delighted to see House when he was in the middle of a patient appointment. But House knew this patient. He had helped diagnose him nearly a decade ago, identifying the underlying condition that complicated the boy's leukemia. He had passed along a death sentence to the boy's attending oncologist, a first-year fellow, and then watched that fellow keep the boy alive longer than anybody had predicted. This remission had lasted nearly three years. House didn't think there would be another one.

"Hi, Dr. House," Tommy said, moving Wilson's mouse awkwardly cross-body with his right hand. "I found this last week and I just had to show it to Dr. Wilson." He clicked the play button on the media player and started the video again.

House watched with half his attention, laughing in all the right places. The other half of his attention was focused on Wilson, who was chuckling, more at Tommy's delight than at the video. He glanced up, saw House watching him, and grinned. House nearly grinned back.

When the clip ended, Tommy looked up at Wilson. "I guess it's time."

Wilson patted him on the shoulder. "Only when you're ready."

The boy took a deep breath and stood up. "I'm ready. I'll see you later, Dr. House."

House nodded, not trusting himself to speak and say something typically insensitive.

"Hey, did you bring that new game you were telling me about?" Wilson interjected. "You can show it to House afterwards," he said when Tommy nodded.

"Better not," House warned. "I'll kick your ass at it."

"In your dreams," Tommy retorted, sounding a little less frightened.

"I bet I can beat you both," Wilson added, pretending to look hurt when the others laughed.

"I'd take that bet, Tommy," House whispered conspiratorially. "Wilson sucks at video games." He followed them out of the office, stopping at the door to Diagnostics while Tommy and Wilson continued to the elevator. Wilson listened, nodding occasionally, as Tommy told him a long, involved joke. He hit the punch line as the elevator doors closed and the last thing House heard was the sound of Wilson's laughter.

It stayed with him until lunchtime.

12:10pm House found Wilson in the cafeteria, staring morosely at his salad. It was a particularly depressing salad, House had to admit, just mixed greens with a vinaigrette dressing. Nothing worth filching at all.

"How's the kid?" he asked, sliding into the seat across from Wilson, hoping that Wilson was hiding a bag of chips or a cookie.

"The chemo was hard on him," Wilson replied, stabbing his fork at a something especially leafy and unappealing. "The game will have to wait until tomorrow."

"That better not be an excuse for weaselling out of the challenge. I'm looking forward to humiliating you in front of one of your patients."

"You say that as if it were a rare occasion," Wilson said wryly. "But if it will make Tommy laugh, humiliate away."

House would rather hear Wilson laugh. "Speaking of humiliation," he said, flipping through a dozen possible anecdotes in search of the one most likely to amuse Wilson. "Did you hear about Korne in Radiology?"

Wilson shook his head and House was glad that he was the first to tell the story. "Apparently he was up in Vermont last weekend skiing. He was riding the chair lift with one of his buddies and I guess they were debating whether or not your tongue really could freeze to metal. One thing led to another..."

Wilson's eyes widened. "No!"

House grinned gleefully. "Yes. He was literally stuck on the lift until the supervisor stepped in and stopped the chair. After he'd gone around twice."

Wilson was shaking with suppressed laughter. "Oh god. No wonder he didn't say anything when I asked him how his weekend was."

"I doubt he could say anything at all. Apparently he didn't wait quite long enough before he tried to pull away."

Wilson grimaced in sympathy. "Oh man. That just sucks."

"Actually, I believe it licks." When Wilson sputtered, stalled, and finally burst into laughter, House didn't even care that he didn't have any chips.

12:57pm "What are you doing here?" Wilson hissed when House slid into the seat next to him in the boardroom.

House looked around, feigning confusion. "Isn't this the department head meeting?" he stage whispered. "Or is there more than one excruciatingly boring meeting happening at the same time?"

Wilson was not amused. "You know what I mean. What are you doing at a department head meeting?"

"The last time I checked I was a department head," House replied innocently. "At least that's what my business cards say."

"And yet in the five years you've been a department head, you've never once attended a department head meeting." Wilson looked at him suspiciously. "Whatever it is you're planning to do, don't. Cuddy's on the warpath."

Like a demon summoned by name, Cuddy suddenly appeared behind House's chair. "How nice of you to grace us with your presence, Dr. House," she said, her voice bright with false sincerity.

House turned until he was eye level with Cuddy's breasts. "Why, Dr. Cuddy. You're looking particularly perky today. New bra, or are the girls just happy to see me?"

"Happy isn't the word I'd choose," Cuddy replied. "Don't make me regret making you a department head." She glanced at Wilson who was pretending not to listen. "Make sure he behaves," she said and took her seat at the head of the table.

"I know you people believe in miracles this time of year," House commented, "but that seems wildly optimistic on her part."

Wilson glared at him. "You're not funny. You're not even mildly amusing."

"I am a barrel of laughs," House protested. "I am the king of comedy."

Wilson pressed his index finger against his lips thoughtfully. "Hmmm. Obsessive, delusional and dangerous. That's definitely you."

"Your knowledge of '80s pop culture never ceases to horrify me," House replied.

Wilson shrugged. "Can't help it. Those were my formative years."

"That explains a lot." House rolled his eyes while Cuddy droned on about budget figures. Somebody needed to liven the proceedings up. He pretended to listen attentively for a few minutes until Wilson relaxed enough to join in on the discussion of the new community outreach plan. House decided it was time to do some outreach of his own.

"What about a guerrilla medicine campaign," he suggested loudly. A satisfying silence fell in the room. "We could send med students onto the streets, checking blood pressure outside coffee shops and passing out preferred customer cards. That could really drum up business."

Cuddy closed her eyes briefly. "Thank you, Dr. House, for that well-thought out suggestion. Does anyone have anything rational to add to the discussion or can we move on." It wasn't a question.

"Or how about a band of minstrels wandering the streets, singing the praises of Princeton-Plainsboro," House whispered, just loudly enough for Wilson to hear.

"Where have all the patients gone, long time passing?" Wilson sang softly under his breath.

House was almost startled into laughter himself. Wilson didn't always play along, but when he did it was more always more fun. "Not bad," he acknowledged. "I was thinking something along the lines of, You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave."

He glanced at Wilson, who was trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably. Their eyes met, and Wilson coughed to cover a strangled laugh.

"Is there a problem, Dr. Wilson?" Cuddy asked coldly

Wilson shook his head and took a sip of water. "Sorry. Sudden tickle in my throat."

House smirked and nudged Wilson with his elbow.

"Not looking at you, not looking at you," Wilson chanted, fixing his gaze almost desperately on Cuddy.

That was fine. House didn't actually need eye contact to make Wilson laugh. He had many tools at his disposal. He silently shredded the agenda Wilson had thoughtfully passed him, rolling each strip of paper into tiny balls. He flicked the first paper ball onto Wilson's lap to get his attention, and before Wilson could stop him, sent the next one arcing across the conference room table and directly into Jensen's coffee cup. House blinked with surprise. That had gone even better than he could have hoped. Beside him, Wilson sighed, but House knew Wilson's sighs well, and that one barely registered on the annoyance scale.

"Bet I can get the next one down Cuddy's cleavage," House whispered.

"Don't even think about it," Wilson replied, genuinely alarmed now.

"Too late," House said, launching another ball. It sailed harmlessly past Cuddy's shoulder, so House made the next one a spitball to give it a bit more trajectory control. It didn't gain entry to the Land of Milk and Honey, but it did land in her hair. House didn't know if it was his own expression of satisfied glee or the way the spitball bobbed in Cuddy's dark hair as she nodded emphatically at a point someone just made, but Wilson suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle a slightly hysterical burble of laughter.

"Is something funny, Dr. Wilson?"

House had grown up on military bases, but he had never met a drill instructor as intimidating as Cuddy when she was angry. He didn't blame Wilson for whimpering under his breath. He stuck out his tongue at Cuddy, and Wilson lost what tenuous control he had gained over the laughter.

Cuddy wasn't amused. "All right, that's it. Since you two obviously have no interest in being here, you can leave now and spend the rest of the afternoon in the clinic." She frowned, rethinking the wisdom of sending them both to the same corner. "I take that back. House, you go to the clinic. Wilson, you can go through the personnel records from the last three years and put together a comparative staffing summary by department."

House winced. Wilson had definitely gotten the worse end of the deal. Wilson apparently agreed, because he glared at House as he gathered together his files. One step forward, two steps back.

Cuddy apparently wasn't finished doling out punishment. "I expect this kind of behaviour from House, but really, Wilson, I'm disappointed in you."

House heard a snicker from Jensen and hoped the Head of Surgery would choke on the paper in his coffee. Wilson flinched and ducked his head in embarrassment before hurrying out of the conference room.

"You know that wasn't his fault," House accused Cuddy.

"I know that my assistant is on stress leave because of you. I know that I need that report. And unfortunately for Wilson, I also know that he's good at those kinds of projects."

House had always admired Cuddy's streak of pragmatic ruthlessness. But not at Wilson's expense. "Fair enough," he admitted. "But the rest of it. That wasn't worthy of you."

"Maybe not," Cuddy admitted, not looking at all contrite. "But it got your attention. I'll apologize to Wilson. Will you?"

House ignored the suggestion. His eyes lingered on the spitball still nestled in Cuddy's curls. "You've got a..." He brushed his hand over his head, then decided she didn't need to know. "Never mind," he said, strolling out of the boardroom.

3:16pm "There you are, my little pretties," House cackled, sweeping the conference room door open. He had managed to escape the clinic after only two hours, which was a minor miracle worth celebrating. "I have a mission for you."

"A case?" Chase asked hopefully, settling his chair down on all four legs.

"A mission," House repeated. "Should you choose to accept it. No, wait - you have no choice. Put your research skills to work and send me the funniest jokes and sites on the Internet. Worksafe only, though. He'll just get pissy if I get him into trouble again."

"House got Wilson kicked out of the department head meeting," Foreman explained to the others. "Is this your way of apologizing?"

"I don't apologize," House retorted. "This is all part of my master plan."

"Well, I think it's sweet," Cameron said, turning on her laptop. "Dr. Wilson could use a good laugh right now."

House ignored the first comment and concentrated on the second. "What are you talking about?"

"Haven't you heard?" Cameron asked. One of these days he was going to train her not to answer a question with another, unnecessary question.

"I've been trapped in purgatory for the past two hours. How could I have heard anything?"

"The funding for the new imaging lab fell through," Cameron said. "Which you would have known if you had managed to sit through the department head meeting."

Damn, House thought. Wilson had been counting on that lab to support a new clinical trial that would have given the hospital national profile. No wonder Cuddy had lost her sense of humour. "I suppose he's sulking in his office," he sniped. "Better find some pictures of puppies and kittens to cheer him up." He was fairly certain that if Cameron sent Wilson one of those cuddly, feel-good Internet cards it would be guaranteed to get a laugh. He retreated into his office to search for less wholesome pictures.

After forwarding on the best links that the winged monkeys came up with, he retired to the balcony to listen for the sounds of success. He was about to give up and count this part of the mission a failure when he was rewarded with Wilson's full, deep laugh. A few minutes later the balcony door slid open and Wilson came out carrying a bag of plain Lays.

"You're not forgiven," he said, but he was smiling as he held the chips out to share.

4:39pm Wilson did patient rounds in both the morning and late afternoon. It seemed excessive to House, but Wilson actually enjoyed patient contact. It was just one more sign of his general deviance, along with left-handedness and a love of watching golf on television.

Once or twice a week, after he'd finished rounds, Wilson gathered the younger children in the paediatrics lounge and read stories or played games with them. House thought it was completely pathetic, but as long as it kept Wilson from burning out, House didn't mock him about it. Too much.

When he walked into the lounge, Wilson was sprawled on the couch, surrounded by half a dozen bald-headed, tumour-ridden children. He was reading to them from a large illustrated book of poetry. House watched silently for a moment before gagging audibly. He filed the dawning look of horror on Wilson's face away for a day when he needed to be cheered up.

"Poetry!" he exclaimed. "Are you torturing these poor children, Wilson?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Don't be afraid," he whispered. "That's just Dr. House. He's only mean to adults."

One tiny boy, who was curled in the crook of Wilson's arm for the best view of the pictures, glared at House. "Don't be mean to Dr. Jimmy," he ordered fiercely. "He's the nicest doctor ever."

Dr. Jimmy's ears were turning delightfully red. House decided he should do this more often. "Shhh," he warned, limping over to the group. "Don't say that too loudly or Dr. Cameron will hear and start to cry. She thinks she's the nicest doctor ever."

"Well, she's not," the boy replied loyally.

House appreciated loyalty, so he darted a hand at the boy's head and pulled a quarter out of his ear. "You're right," he said flipping the coin gently into the boy's hand. "He's much nicer." He passed his hand in front of Wilson's face theatrically.

"Are you going to find a quarter in Dr. Jimmy's ear?" a little girl cried out, dark eyes huge in her pale face.

"Dr. Jimmy is a big-time cancer doctor," House replied, earning a glare from Wilson and a round of giggles from the children. "He doesn't bother with loose change." He swept his hand over Wilson's head, ruffling his hair in the process, checked both ears with exaggerated care, and then pulled a dollar bill from Wilson's nose. "Go get me a soda," he ordered, as the children squealed with delight and disgust.

Wilson hesitated, but when House pulled a face that made the children laugh even harder, he smiled ruefully at House and extricated himself from his groupies. "I'll just be a minute," he reassured the children and warned House. "If Dr. Greg asks you to do something, wait until I get back."

House waited until he was gone and then took his place on the couch. "Dr. Jimmy is nice, but he's not very fun," he confided, picking up the book and tossing it on the coffee table. "Anybody got a balloon?" he asked.

The children patted their pyjamas, looked around the room, and shook their heads sadly.

"Are you sure?" House asked, extracting a long red balloon from his mouth. He blew it up, pretending to puff with exhaustion, then with a few deft twists fashioned a long-eared donkey.

The children shouted out requests and House created a latex menagerie, realising only when he'd run out of balloons that it was taking Wilson a long time to buy a soda. He glanced up and saw Wilson leaning against the doorframe, watching with a fond smile on his face. He wasn't laughing, but the children were, and it was almost good enough.

7:28pm "You're late," he said when Wilson let himself into the apartment.

"Sorry," Wilson replied, and House could actually hear fatigue stretch the word out. "The chemo really did a number on Tommy. I sat with him while his parents took a break and got some dinner."

"Don't they have nurses for things like that?" House asked. He didn't think he'd be able to make Wilson laugh, but pissing him off was better than hearing the soul-crushing weight in his voice.

Wilson settled on the couch next to him. "I didn't know you were aware that nurses had any function other than being the recipient of your scathing wit." He handed House a brown paper bag.

"I thought you were bringing pizza." House opened the bag and found a Styrofoam container. "What is this?" he asked suspiciously. "Healthy food?"

"It wouldn't kill you to eat a well-balanced meal once in awhile," Wilson replied, opening his own container.

House pretended his mouth didn't immediately start to water at the sight of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and some less attractive mixed vegetables. "Pizza contains all the food groups," House protested, but reached over and scooped some of Wilson's mashed potatoes with his finger.

Wilson pulled his meal out of House's reach. "You've got your own," he chided, curling his body in a vain effort to protect his food.

"Yours tastes better," House whined, hoping for a smile.

Instead, Wilson shrugged and handed his meal to House, taking the unopened container. House let him have his minor victory when a smile did tug the corner of Wilson's mouth. He watched Wilson eat, thinking how pathetic it was they were eating out of Styrofoam. He limped, caneless, to the kitchen and grabbed two plates and cutlery and brought them back to the living room. Wilson looked up when he dropped them on the coffee table. "If you're going to make me eat real food, we should use real dishes."

He knew he'd done the right thing when Wilson smiled and carefully scooped their food onto the plates, and then made his own trip to the kitchen to grab them each a beer. At least one of the good food groups was still covered. "I picked some DVDs up," he said, when they'd finished inhaling the food. Even the vegetables.

Wilson glanced through them, raising his eyebrows. "These are all comedies," he observed.

"Wow!" House exclaimed. "Did you take a film studies class or something?"

"What happened to the gratuitous sex and violence you usually pick?" Wilson asked suspiciously.

House rooted through the cases. "This one has sex and violence," he said, holding out Slapshot.

A huge grin spread across Wilson's face and he mimed spearing House in the ribs. "You do that, you go to the box, you know," he quoted in a nearly flawless Quebecois accent. "Two minutes by yourself, and you feel shame, you know."

"How is it that you can do that, but you sound like an idiot when you try to mimic Chase?"

Wilson shrugged. "I've never slept with Chase."

"You've slept with a French-Canadian hockey player?"

Wilson waggled his eyebrows. "I don't know if she played hockey, but she was a great stick-handler."

It wasn't fair. House was supposed to be making Wilson laugh, not spitting his own beer halfway across the coffee table. Except that did make Wilson laugh, so it worked out in the end. "Put the DVD in," he said, wiping his mouth.

But Wilson didn't move. "What's going on with you?" he demanded. "You've been acting weird all day. Telling jokes, sending links, picking comedies. Playing with the kids. It's almost as if you've been trying to make me laugh."

"Gold star for Dr. Jimmy," House proclaimed.

"You've been trying to make me laugh?" Wilson exclaimed. "Why?"

House paused. There was no way he could answer that question without sounding nice. He opted for petulance instead. "Tommy made you laugh," he sulked. "I bet you didn't cross-examine him."

Wilson's face scrunched together when he was puzzled. It was his least attractive expression. "You've been trying to make me laugh, because Tommy made me laugh?"

When Wilson put it that way, it sounded ridiculous. Accurate, but ridiculous. House decided he had no more dignity to protect. "I'm the only one who's allowed to make you laugh." Except he didn't want Wilson to laugh now.

Wilson didn't laugh, but he did smile.

Once, while trying to take his mind off a particularly painful PT session, House had catalogued all of Wilson's smiles. There was the one corner smirk that meant House had said something outrageous, but he was amused anyway. There was the tight-mouthed smile that said, "You're an asshole, but we're in public, so I'm being polite." There was the soft smile that he used to reassure patients and distraught co-workers, but never tried on House. There was the teeth-flashing grin that always made House smile back, even when he was the butt of the joke. There was even the mocking, bitter grin, only the orientation of the mouth keeping it from being a grimace; Wilson's way of denying despair. House had put that grin on Wilson's face too many times to count.

And then there was this one, a full smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made House feel like he was the centre of Wilson's world. It had been a long time since House had seen that smile.

"I laughed for Tommy because it made him happy," Wilson said, his voice serious despite the smile. "I laugh for you because it makes me happy."

House got up quickly, before he accidentally said something unbearably sentimental, and retreated to the kitchen to replenish their beers. When he got back, the DVD was on the menu screen.

Wilson took a beer from him and started the movie. "Thanks," he said. He didn't elaborate and House didn't ask.

Five minutes into the movie, Wilson laughed out loud, and House smiled.
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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 NBC/Universal, 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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The Best Medicine