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House Rules
by Mer
Gregory House's life is marked by extremes of pain and numbness, curiosity and boredom. The Vicodin numbs the pain and makes the curiosity possible, but it can't do anything to solve the boredom. He has his remedies for that malady - video games, music, soap operas - but the only things that consistently help are work and Wilson. Unfortunately, House's workdays too often consist of bursts of frenetic activity interspersed with long periods of waiting. That's where Wilson comes in.
James Wilson is, on the whole, a busy man. He has a large department to run, as well as patients who can't be fixed with a clever diagnosis and the latest wonder drugs. Even so, there are gaps in his days: half an hour between meetings; waiting for test results and labs; lunch hours and coffee breaks. He prefers to spend his free time in the Diagnostics office, which suits House just fine. Wilson is surprisingly entertaining for a man who wears a pocket protector.
Few people at Princeton-Plainsboro see the side of Wilson that House treasures. They don't look past the starched white lab coat and the perfectly pressed suit to the mischievous boy hidden inside. They are impressed by his publications and professional honours, but none of them have seen Wilson's jaw drop when presented with Monster Truck tickets.
House hates the lab coat and the suits - he really hates the ties - but he looks past the protective colouring. He respects Wilson, but he adores Jimmy. Wilson pokes and prods him into taking care of himself, signs his prescriptions with a disapproving sigh, lends him money and pays for his lunch. Jimmy lies for him, covers for him, loses his job for him.
Jimmy plays with him.
They now play games with the same fierce competitiveness that used to infuse their golf or tennis matches. Sometimes they sneak down to the paediatrics ward and play foosball or table hockey until the duty nurse kicks them out. When they play table hockey, House has to endure Wilson's rambling memories about the game he had when he was a boy and how his brother never let him be the Flyers. House pretends not to listen, but since Wilson's revelation about his missing brother, he pays careful attention to all Wilson's childhood stories.
"We used to watch the Hockey Game of the Week on Sunday afternoons," Wilson says, flicking the puck down into House's end. "After the second period I'd run upstairs and put on my Peter Puck pyjamas to watch the cartoon in the intermission. It was the one day of the week my parents could get me ready for bed early."
"Weren't you just cute as a button," House sneers, gathering the puck from behind the net. He would never admit it, but the image of a tiny James Wilson scampering about in cartoon pyjamas is strangely endearing. And perfect blackmail material. "I'll have to ask your mother if she has a picture of that so I can post it to the hospital intranet."
Wilson ignores that, as he ignores most things House says, and intercepts the puck in front of the net, slipping it past House's goalie. When he dances around the room celebrating his victory, he looks exactly like a six-year-old boy. It's almost worth the loss.
Other days they hole up in House's office, improvising elaborate games to pass the time. House has enough gadgets and toys in his office to entertain a kindergarten class, but they prefer inventing their own diversions. Cuddy once threatened to audit House's office supply orders after she walked into a skeet shooting match involving mini-discs, elastic bands and marbles. Fortunately, Wilson has a contact in accounting.
When they get bored with beating each other, they invite House's fellows to join a game. Wilson thinks it's a positive team-building experience, but he's the kind of boss who remembers everybody's birthday and brings pastries for the staff lounge.
"They never win," House points out. "How could it be a positive experience?"
"It's not whether you win or lose," Wilson replies, trying hard to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards. "It's how you play the game."
"Chase plays Scrabble like he just got off the boat. He flushed all the 'z's down the toilet and sulked for days when we wouldn't let him spell 'color' with a 'u'."
"We could hardly let him have another letter." Wilson's team-building intentions don't extend into the actual game. He's more ruthless than House when it comes to winning.
Most of the games they play with House's team end, if not in tears, then in frustration - and the occasional trip to the nearest toy store to replace damaged goods. And yet they've never refused an invitation to play. Wilson calls it a triumph of hope over experience (and he would know). House decides it's simply more interesting than sitting around filling in crosswords.
Foreman and Cameron are doing just that when Wilson pokes his head through the conference room door, a box under his arm. It's after hours, but they're waiting to see whether their latest patient will respond to treatment. "Guess what I found?" he proclaims. House recognises the mischievous grin on his face. Jimmy is in the room.
"The lost civilization of Atlantis?" House muses. "The fountain of youth? That at least would explain your freakishly boyish looks."
"Better," Wilson replies, looking even more boyish than usual. "Risk." He drops the box on the table.
It is all House can do to keep himself from rubbing his hands together in glee. "Where did this come from? I thought you threw it out after I redrew the map to modern-day borders."
Wilson's eyes narrow and House remembers that Wilson had owned that game since he was a boy and he wasn't pleased by House's vandalism. "I did," Wilson replies, leaving no doubt that past transgressions have been neither forgotten nor forgiven. "This belongs to one of my patients."
"You stole a board game from a cancer kid?" Cameron asks, shocked.
Wilson's smile fades away altogether. Cameron won't be getting any breaks tonight. "I didn't steal it," he replies defensively. "He loaned it to me. I have to bring it back tomorrow. So put your markers away," he warns House.
"That's hardly enough time to plan and execute world domination." Actually if past games and past fellows are any indication, it's more than enough time. Fortunately Chase drew the short straw and is sitting with the patient. He's never forgiven House for not letting him keep Australia the last time they played Risk. House suspects that was the real reason for the Vogler betrayal.
"No mission cards then," Wilson suggests. "And house rules, of course."
"What are house rules?" Foreman asks suspiciously.
"Whatever rules I make up. How much time do you have?" House asks Wilson.
Wilson glances at his watch. "Board meeting at 7:30."
"Less than two hours. No time for subtlety." He looks at Cameron appraisingly. Her devotion is usually annoying, but in this case it might come in handy. "Probably won't even need it."
Wilson's smile turns predatory. "Shall we roll to go first?" he suggests.
"Age before beauty," Foreman smirks.
Wilson just shrugs. "I go second either way."
"I think you're selling yourself short, Jimmy," House leers.
"Aw, do you think I'm prettier than Cameron, Greg?" Wilson replies, leering back. Shock the children is one of their favourite side games.
"You bet, baby." House isn't entirely joking. Cameron is beautiful, but half the time the effect is ruined when she opens her mouth. House never knows whether smart and sassy Cameron or whiny, self-righteous Cameron is going to show up. Of course the same can be said of Wilson, but House likes those odds better.
Foreman rolls his eyes, but Cameron can be a good sport. "There are women who would kill for your cheekbones," she tells Wilson. She looks closer. "And those lips. That's just not fair."
"You should have seen him when he was your age," House confides. "Put him in a dress and he would have looked like a young Audrey Hepburn." He watches Cameron process that information and apply it to Wilson, who blushes under her scrutiny. "Back off, Cameron," House warns. "He's off-bounds." He's not sure if he's protecting Cameron or Wilson. Or the balance of the universe. All that earnest caring crashing together would surely cause a rupture in the space-time continuum. He hands out the pink armies to Cameron, the black set to Foreman, the green one to Wilson, and snags blue for himself. They match his eyes.
"It'll be faster if we deal out the countries to divide the board," Wilson suggests, changing the subject and dealing ten cards to each player. He gives the two extra cards to House and himself. "Seniority," he explains, when Foreman looks like he's about to protest. "Everybody starts with thirty armies. Place one on each of your territories and spread the rest out."
They wait until Foreman and Cameron have finished placing their armies, holding their cards in front of them like a poker hand. "Venezuela for Indonesia?" House suggests and they switch cards.
This time Foreman does protest. "You can't do that!"
"House rules," House replies smugly. "Limited trading between allies is allowed until a country is occupied." He smirks and starts laying down armies. If he didn't know better, he'd think Wilson had stacked the deck. Nobody has an obvious advantage, but he can already tell that it will only take a couple of rounds for Wilson to control North and South America, by which time he'll have Africa, Australia and most of Europe sewn up, leaving Cameron and Foreman to bleed their armies away fighting for Asia. There's almost no point in playing. He reminds himself that it's the journey that matters, not the destination. Particularly when the first stop is crushing Foreman's spirit.
"By the way, Cameron," Wilson says casually. "One of my residents is going to be a theme editor for Virtual Mentor. I showed her your article and she's interested in building an issue around informed consent. I thought maybe you could meet with her. She'd really value your input."
Years of practice allow House to keep a straight face, but only barely. He has to look down, though, as the expression on Foreman's face shifts from amusement to chagrin when he realises what Wilson has done. Foreman and Cameron might have had a slim chance of survival if they joined forces, but Wilson has just stoked the fires of vengeance in Cameron's heart, while making himself golden in her eyes. There's a chance, of course, that Cameron will remember how angry she was with House as well, but House knows Wilson has his back - or at least his frontiers.
Wilson winks at him and suggests that they start in reverse age order. No one is surprised when Cameron ignores Wilson's temporary vulnerability in North America and attacks Foreman in Kamchatka. She takes that as well as Yakutsk and Mongolia, but everyone knows you never get involved in a land war in Asia.
Even Foreman, who tries to take Indonesia from House. House wonders if he's making a statement - Foreman doesn't have any territories adjoining Venezuela - or if he's just trying to delay the inevitable by hunkering down in Australia. They'll never know. Foreman is forced to retreat and turns on Wilson in Quebec. House can only assume that Foreman doesn't know Wilson went to McGill. Wilson retaliates against this attack on the home of his alma mater by slaughtering Foreman's forces in North America and then conquering South America. The first round ends with House taking Eastern Australia and New Guinea for the continent and whittling down Cameron and Foreman's armies in Africa.
Cameron finishes Foreman off in Asia, but then makes the tactical error of attacking House in Siam. She doesn't really have any choice, but unfortunately she's given Wilson the excuse he needs to ignore Foreman's holdings in Europe and attack Cameron through Alaska. It won't do to let Cameron hold Asia for reinforcements, but House knows that Wilson's ruthlessness is curbed by a misplaced sense of chivalry.
"I'm a lover not a fighter," he joked the one time House called him on it, but House knows it wasn't really a joke. Fortunately, Wilson's loyalty overrides his quaint chauvinism every time.
In fact, once Wilson consolidates North America, wiping Cameron out in Alberta and the Western United States without any qualms, he conquers Kamchatka, but merely moves in a nominal force. House knows it's because he wants the opportunity to conquer the territory again. Wilson loves saying, "Kamchatka." When it comes time for tactical redeployment, he takes his excess armies in North Africa and gives them to House in Egypt.
"You can't do that," Cameron objects. She's vulnerable through the Middle East.
"House rules," House chirps.
"So I could give Cameron my reinforcements to hold you off?" Foreman asks. It's not as if they'll do him any good at this point.
"Not unless you can produce a ratified treaty to that effect." The most important House rule is that a House rule can only actually benefit House - and, by extension, Wilson.
"And you can?" Foreman retorts with uncharacteristic navet.
"As a matter of fact..." Wilson pulls a tied scroll from his jacket inside pocket with a flourish. "Article V." His expression is grave - one would almost think he was arguing before the UN Security Council - but anyone who knows him can see the mirth dancing in his eyes.
Foreman knows him, because he is smiling ruefully even before he unrolls the scroll. "The Treaty of Princeton-Plainsboro," he reads aloud, swallowing a laugh before passing the scroll over to Cameron. He shakes his head. "That explains a lot."
Cameron's irritation fades as she reads the paper. She spreads it out on the table and House can no longer keep back a smile when he sees the familiar parchment, printed in Copperplate Gothic.
THE TREATY OF PRINCETON-PLAINSBORO
Signed and duly ratified by:
The Esteemed Leader of the Kingdom of Wilson, His Most Charitable Highness James Wilson
The Greater Glory of the Empire of House, His Exalted Majesty Gregory House
The following articles form the basis of the Treaty of Princeton-Plainsboro:
I) Signatories to the Treaty shall be the legal representatives of the Kingdom of Wilson and the Empire of House.
II) The terms of the Treaty shall take effect from the date of ratification and shall be automatically renewed on a yearly basis, barring any future agreements that take precedence.
III) Upon ratification, the Kingdom of Wilson and the Empire of House agree to enter into an exclusive alliance in all arenas of internal and external relations, including, but not limited to Risk, Diplomacy, Department Head meetings and hospital betting pools.
IV) Any attack upon one signatory of the Treaty shall be deemed to be an attack upon both signatories.
V) The signatories undertake to offer material support, where possible, in all endeavours embarked upon by either party.
VI) Any breach of the Treaty shall result in public humiliation in a manner to be determined by the injured party. Continued and blatant flaunting of the terms shall result in the unilateral abrogation of the Treaty and the alienation of the offending party.
"Why are we even playing?" Cameron complains. She is smiling, though.
"We have to have somebody to defeat," House replies, as if explaining the obvious. "Conquering the world requires someone to be conquered."
Foreman frowns. "So you were just going to stop playing once you knocked us out? No end game?"
"End game's boring. There's no strategy to it, just luck of the dice." Except House can already tell that Wilson is poised to sweep through Europe and Africa and his fondness for saying "Kamchatka" guarantees an eventual attack on eastern Asia. The game is Wilson's and they both know it.
"It will take too long anyway," Wilson adds, glancing at his watch. "I should prepare for the board meeting. I'll leave the game, though, and you three can duke it out."
House rolls up the treaty and ties the red ribbon back around it. Velvet, he notes. God is in the details. The paper appeared on his desk one morning, after House made an off-hand comment about the hospital board being worse than 19th century Europe for entangling alliances. He has to hand it to Wilson. When something grabs his attention, he always follows through. He supposes it's a strength in an oncologist. "Lock this back in the safe," he tells Wilson. "We wouldn't want it to fall into the wrong hands."
"God forbid," Wilson replies, his eyes dancing. "It could spark an international incident." He sketches a quick salute and takes his leave, tapping the scroll against his leg as he walks away. House can almost see him shift back into responsible doctor mode.
His departure leaves a vacuum in the room. Foreman and Cameron glance at each other. Without Wilson as a buffer, the idea of playing a game with their boss is absurd. Foreman picks up his newspaper and Cameron murmurs that she'll check on the labs.
House is already bored.
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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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