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Vacation
by Gameboyrocker
"Y'know...being jerk to your patients is one thing. However, being one to your best friend...well, I don't know if I'd be able to live with myself if I were you."
Gregory House stared at James Wilson, Wonder-Boy Oncologist, who was sitting across from him in the hospital cafeteria, a homemade salad and bottle of cranberry juice sitting out in front of the latter. "Yeah, well," he said cockily, "it's a good thing you're not me. You would`ve been dead a long time ago."
Lowering his fork, Wilson frowned at the other doctor. "Yeah, and that's why aging test say I'm going to live twenty years longer than you?"
House rolled his eyes as he leaned forward ever so discreetly. He snapped his hand out towards Wilson's salad, but his best friend slapped his hand away.
"Don't even think about it."
"Those tests are full of crap. I can't believe that even you would be gullible enough to believe that they're accurate."
"House. You need to fix some things in your life. Seriously."
"I just can't get over how much you care," House said. Wilson, even with his years of experience deciding whether or not his best friend was being sarcastic, he couldn't tell this time.
"Are you--Are you saying that in a good way or a bad way?"
House shrugged and stared hard at Wilson. "Well it doesn't really matter, does it? You're still going to care."
Wilson glanced up from his salad to look at House. "That's not a bad thing--to care about someone no matter way. If you ask me, it wouldn't be a bad thing for you to care about someone."
House answered without hesitation. "I do."
Wilson's hopes raised a little. He had always hoped to get House to admit what their friendship meant, but he hadn't had much luck lately, or ever.
"Well...who?" he asked cautiously, preparing himself to be disappointed.
Again, House answered without a moment's silence. "Me."
Wilson sighed in disappointment, and annoyance, as House continued, "Seriously, find me someone that doesn't put themselves before others."
"Gee, that's a hard one. Cameron."
"I said someone, not something."
"So you're suggesting that all she is to you is an inanimate object? That's cruel, even for you."
"Not really. I feel the same way about Foreman and Chase." Ignoring Wilson as he rolled his eyes, House continued, "I'm suggesting that no one can be as nice as she makes herself out to be."
"Yes, so she's been nothing but a fake since her first day here."
"What?"
"You need to find someone else that puts others before themselves. Go ahead; I'm waiting."
"What do you want me to say, House?"
House shrugged. "I...don't know. You brought this up, not me. You care, don't you?"
"About what?"
"What do you think? People. You care about people. Isn't that why you became a doctor?"
"That's...part of the reason," Wilson said cautiously, nervous about where House was leading with this discussion.
"You must've known what kind of people you'd be working with when you decided to go into Oncology," House said seriously. "People, your patients, dying all the time. If you go into GYN, you get to work with women, if you go into OB, you get to deliver babies. Why would you want to work in the one department that, more often than not, tells patients that they're dying?" Before Wilson could respond, House said, "It's because you're good at it. You make people feel happy about dying. You care how they feel about it. And that, Wonder Boy, does matter."
Wilson stared at his best friend incredulously. "House...have you...have you had a near death experience?"
House opened his mouth to respond, but then he saw Chase emerge from the cafeteria entrance. The Australian doctor scanned his eyes around the cafeteria, obviously looking for someone.
"Ugh," House moaned, making Wilson look up at him.
"What?"
"...He's here..." House said, assuming the same voice that Faramir used in The Lord of the Rings to warn his brother about their father. The movie was classic to him and Wilson; when the final film had come out, they had seen it eleven times a the theater.
"Who?" Wilson asked, turning around in his seat to look around. "I don't see--"
"Don't, don't!" House hissed urgently, lurching his hand forward to pull Wilson back into his normal sitting position. In the process of grabbing Wilson, House's hand knocked both Wilson's cranberry juice and his salad into their owner's lap.
"HOUSE!"
"My bad," House said, not really paying as much attention to Wilson as he was Chase.
"Yes, it is your bad!" Wilson was ranting, shaking slimy salad dressing and juice off of his hands. "I hope you know this stuff does not come out of clothing, especially white lab coats! Lord..."
"I said I was sorry!" House tried, hoping that him admitting that it was his fault would be enough of an apology for Wilson. He bit his lip as Chase's eyes finally locked onto him and the younger man quickly began walking over to him.
"No, you said that it was your fault!" Wilson argued. "Trust me, House, I know that it was your fault. I know. Never did I blame myself for spilling my own red juice and salad on me. You didn't have to say that it was your fault, didn't have to state the obvious, but you could apologize. At least then I'd know that you didn't do it on purpose."
"Oh, but I did," House said as Chase arrived at their table. "I really did have a dream about myself doing it with some Australian guy. In fact, he looked just like--whoa!
Wilson, Wilson!" Wilson shook his head and groaned at House's show. "This--This was him!" House said with mock excitement, pointing a finger madly at Chase. "Wilson! It was this guy!"
"House, that's...that's wonderful," Wilson sighed. "Congratulations on finally defeating your erectile dysfunction."
"How did you know about that?" House asked, his face completely serious.
Chase, now, was genuinely nervous. Was it true that his boss couldn't hold...couldn't...really? "I just wanted to tell you that I'm going back to Australia on Thursday."
"For good?" House asked, not hopefully, but not nervously either.
"No, just for my aunt's birthday. I'll only be gone a week."
"But you're leaving tomorrow?"
"...Yes..."
House nodded in acknowledgment. "Fine. You'd better hope nothing happens while you're gone. Foreman doesn't seem the type to want to travel across the world to pick up his baby coworker."
Chase only rolled his eyes at this remark and turned to leave, but House wasn't yet done with him.
"Chase."
Slowly, loathingly, the younger man turned around. "Yes, master?"
"No need to get snippy," House said, though his voice carried a smirk. "Have I ever told you guys that I require at least a week's notice before you go anywhere? Cameron's going to her great-aunt's funeral; she told me about that months ago. See, that's notice."
"So I can't go?" Chase said, a fake smile on his face to cover his anxiety.
"Oh...no, you can go. You just have to do clinic hours the rest of today and then the first three days that you're back."
"Fine," Chase agreed quickly. "Unlike you, I don't mind patients."
"Yes, and unlike you, I know what the meaning of `haircut' is," House muttered as Chase stalked off. When Wilson chuckled, House looked up at him.
"I can't believe he didn't even catch the thing about Cameron's aunt."
"What about it? You don't think she planned on her aunt dying? That kind of navet is what gets you killed, dear doctor."
"Well, and she was in love with you. I guess that's another strike against her."
"She was not in love with me; she thought that I needed her. Maybe you can't discriminate against the two."
"Is she really going somewhere this week?"
"Who?"
"Cameron, House."
"Oh. I believe she said she's going to her sister's wedding. She's the `maid of honor', or whatever they call the bride's best friend."
Wilson smirked, not at House's remark, but at his thought. "So it'll just be you and Foreman."
"Yeah. Just think of all the fun-filled things we can do over the week. That's what friends do, right?"
Wilson looked up from futilely attempting to wipe the cranberry juice out of his white lab coat and frowned. "How would you know what friends do? You only have one friend and, you never do anything with him."
"...Relax," House said, ignoring what Wilson had previously said, like he did with most things that included the word `friendship'. "If we, meaning I, really even get any cases, Foreman will be able to handle them. They need me to work; I don't need them."
"Uh-huh. So you're okay with having to run tests, take a history, give medication? None of that bothers you?"
"Of course it does. That's why Foreman will do all of it." House lowered his eyes to Wilson's coat. "You know, you'd better get that to the cleaners as soon as possible."
"Nah, it's already too late," Wilson grumbled. "I'll just get a new one."
He stood up, House following in suit. They began heading towards the diagnostician's office, walking shoulder-to-shoulder without even realizing it. They walked in silence, Wilson mentally groaning about the embarrassment he'd have to go through with his stained coat for the rest of the day, unless he wanted to be a rebel like House and just not wear it; House was contemplating giving Foreman the week off. If he had no doctors, he would have no team, if he had no team, he would have no patients, if he had no patients, he would have no work, if he had no work he would have......what?
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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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