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Three AM
by AndreaLyn
"Three in the morning and you're here."
House looked up from his magazine, murmuring something under his breath as he watched the door open and shut swiftly - as swiftly as someone can at that hour in the morning. He flipped the magazine shut and turned his lamp light around, shining Wilson in the face like an interrogating room before turning the lamp back to his desk.
"Three in the morning and you're here," Wilson remarked loudly. "I'd think that would be the more interesting question." He tidied the charts in his hands and let out a yawn, hiding it behind his hand. "Why are you here?"
"It's a pain," House commented, eyes widening as he popped a pill, shuffling to kick his legs up onto the desk and relaxing, closing his eyes as he rubbed at his temples. Wilson made his way over and grasped the cane between his hands when it began to slip slowly to the floor from being jostled by House's legs. He inclined his head to the side to study the bags under House's eyes and took a moment to think back to all the cases they'd had brought in over the past few weeks. They were averaging more lately. House opened his eyes and furrowed his brow in mock-realization. "No, sorry, that's the incredibly painful pain in my leg. My bad." He glanced to the door, slumping down in the chair. "Hide me. Foreman's on the loose and the others are backing him up."
"On the loose?" Wilson echoed with amusement in both his face and his voice. "On the loose from what?"
"Who knows? Escaping from the cops so he won't have to do hard time?" House said in a hushed tone, sounding like he was confiding in a friend. He leaned forward slightly. "Maybe he's got drugs. If he slips you some, just say no and the principal won't suspend you." House smirked. "Did you do drugs in high school? You seem the type. You know, two years of hard drugs, then repent, repent," he clasped his hands together and looked to the ceiling, "oh lord, forgive me for I have sinned, and then went on to the bright, apple-polishing 4.0 that led you to this life of saving those damsels and other people in distress and so on."
"I've never done hard drugs," Wilson replied, making sure the cane was sturdy before sitting down in the chair opposite the desk.
"Nice evasion," House commended. "I checked your file, I know what you did."
"What's Foreman really doing?" Wilson asked before House could go any further.
House frowned, holding up a piece of paper - unsigned, unmarked, uninteresting? No. Very, very interesting. "What is this?" he remarked with utter disdain. Wilson took the paper into his hands. "Foreman, incidentally, is running samples and he's trying to get me to help. I sent Chase and Cameron down instead. It's that case, the uh...the...kid?"
"It's a twenty-two year old male. They're doing samples at three in the morning?" Wilson murmured distractedly, reading the letter.
House sighed. "We've established that it's three in the morning. Welcome to reality, Jimmy Wilson, we've got a beautiful array of tragedies and `life's joys' waiting for you," he said, ridiculously and overdramatically. Wilson didn't respond though. He was too busy frowning at the letter. "What?" House scoffed. "Did that one hit a soft spot?"
"No," Wilson reacted defensively, his face arranged in shock. "It's this," he gestured to the letter, his face half-amused, half-terrified. "It's a love letter."
House froze.
"It's..." Wilson sputtered with shocked laughter, pushing the piece of paper across the desk. "It's an honest to god love letter. I think my world just spun off its axis."
"Please tell me Cuddy isn't writing love letters so I'll work clinic hours?" he scoffed as he snatched the letter. He frowned, reading aloud. "Though the sun shines fairly on troubled days, nothing can brighten me more than your gaze." House looked up. "Is my syphilis patient back? Did she bring me flowers?"
Wilson shook his head, eyes wide. "No! Trust me, we'd know if she were back. We were actually, uh, waiting so that we could have a good laugh."
"Then who wrote this?" House shook the letter with vehemence.
Wilson shrugged wildly. "Don't look at me!"
"Then who did this!"
*
"You think he found it yet?" Chase leaned up against the counter, glancing over his shoulder to see if the urine samples had spun yet. He suppressed his laugh. "That was nice, Cameron. Quoting Shakespeare and then soft-core porn," his face lit up with a laugh.
Foreman laughed. "No Epstein Barr," he reported, tapping a few keys into the computer. He tapped his fingers on the counter. "Chase, I liked the thing you wrote about his eyes paralyzing with their stunning ability to capacitate in their beauty. You know he's gonna get off on that for weeks."
Cameron scoffed, putting on her glasses to study the results. "No, the gold was you, Foreman. With the rendez-vous point and the `I couldn't stand to live without you in my life, how I need you, oh, how I need you'," she recited and faked a swoon, laughing. Her laughs were cut short though as a look of realization flickered over her features and she sighed. "He's going to think it's me, isn't he?"
"Should he?" Chase asked wickedly.
The door slammed open. "Which one of you wrote this?" House held the letter up in plain view, leaning heavily on the cane. He wasn't playing any games and Cameron was in his path. Cameron blinked, eyes wide as she stepped forward and studied the letter, almost as if afraid of it. "Well, Allison?" House asked sarcastically. "It was you, huh? I should have known. It's rather cute writing."
"Oh!" Cameron exclaimed, a tiny noise - a cute noise. "Dr. House, this..." she looked up apologetically. "I saw Dr. Wilson put a letter that looked exactly like this on your desk, just a few hours ago!
House stared at her dubiously, but she held her ground.
"Wilson?" House asked with a scoff and a half-smirk.
She nodded as innocently as she could, not letting that look slip off her face until House turned slowly, limping off the same way he came in, muttering as he went. Cameron turned around, smug and victorious as she grinned and returned back to the samples.
"Not bad!" Chase marveled.
"Yeah, well, serves him right if we're here at three AM," she muttered.
THE 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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