DOTY

by gena

Title:DOTY Author: gena Characters: H/W Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Mine! All mine! Unfortunately I am delusional. Summary: House causes trouble for Wilson. A/N: This is in honor of the new Emmy selection process. Gosh, it worked like a dream.

Dr. Lisa Cuddy was a third generation doctor. In the depression her grandfather, Issac had made house calls in the poorest neighborhoods in New York City, taking payment in pennies and promises. If a person could say medicine ran in her veins then the heart which pumped it was the bustling hospital she ran. Cuddy had her finger on the pulse, she knew all her employees from the world famous doctors to the newest dishwasher in the cafeteria. At any given moment she could tell when the boilers were acting up, the supply of bedpans was running low, and the candy stripers were gossiping in the lounges. She knew who was coming and who was going and what was being said in any corner on any floor. So when people began acting differently Cuddy knew strange doings were afoot and because something was going on she hightailed it to the one place where strange goings-on's usually originated.

"House, what's going on?" She demanded crossing the threshold into the Diagnostic Medicine office. Dr. Gregory House was not a third generation doctor, but he possessed survival skills honed by at least one generation of slippery characters.

"Why Dr. Cuddy whatever do you mean?" He asked, glancing up from his Game Boy and widening his eyes in as innocent a look as he could manage. The fact his eyes dropped almost immediately to the ample bosom on display negated his innocence by a few points.

Cuddy frowned, eyes narrowing as she surreptitiously looked around his office. There were no obvious signs of insubordination; no stacks of confidential files strew on the floor, no day planner open on his desk with 10AM - Lie to Cuddy penciled in, no incriminating evidence anywhere. She shot a quick glance toward the adjoining conference room. House's three Fellows stared back at her with bland expressions, though for a moment she thought Chase might be trying to signal her with his eyes but it turned out to be a quirk of his floppy hair falling into his face. She turned back to House, still not convinced of his innocence because - well, because the man was still breathing. "I'm keeping an eye on you," she warned.

"I'd rather it was a pair of legs," House leered, "maybe wrapped around my -" Cuddy spun on her heel so quickly she wobbly and exited the office in a cloud of muttered curses. "I head that," House shouted after her. "Words hurt, you know?" Once the demonic clicking of her stilettos had faded so too did the faux air of purity House had produced. He turned to his team, shouting, "Underlings!" There was more muttering and a couple of surly looks but they trooped obediently into his office.

"Couldn't you call us something besides Underlings?" Cameron questioned.

"Minions? Grunts? Ducklings?" House suggested. He waved the conversation away as if it were a bad odor. "You have your orders. Any questions? Good," he said without giving them a chance to speak. "Ducklings Away!" He smiled, and nearly rubbed his hands together in devious delight as the three young doctors hurried off on their assigned duties. A plan, a stunningly cunning plan the likes of which few had ever seen before had come to him in the middle of eavesdropping on a few colleagues, now he reached for his cane and went in search of James Wilson, the first step in setting his plan into motion.

Down in the lobby at the clinic reception desk Nurse Brenda directed lesser nurses and candy stripers, assigned patients to doctors and generally created order out of chaos. She was tired, harried, and a little cranky so when she turned back to the her paperwork and found a steaming extra large latte she blinked in shock. A note had been attached and upon reading it a smile blossomed on her tired face. Allison Cameron witnessed the smile with a sigh of relief, ticked off a line on her list and headed for her next chore.

Foreman and Chase crouched in the supply closet on the third floor, ears pressed to the door. "This is ridiculous," Foreman hissed. "I went to Hopkins! I was first in my class! I -"

"Stop bitchin', mate," Chase said, "He can make our lives a living hell if we screw this up." Foreman fell silent, though his expression stayed locked somewhere between resigned and murderous. "You ready?" Foreman grumbled softly but held up a small paper sack. A faint scrabbling sound came from the bag and a moment later Chase nodded. He carefully eased the door open, and shuffling across the hall, the pair opened a specific office door, dumped the bag's contents inside and closed the door before they hurried back to the closet. Five minutes passed, then ten but finally a series of escalating shrieks came from the office. They shared a look meant to steel their nerves then dashed towards the uproar, threw open the door and Chase snapped half a dozen photographs before they slammed the door and ran for the stairs. "Oh Lord," Chase panted as they caught their breath in the stairwell. "This had better work."

Gregory House sauntered into his friend's office, "Hello, Handsome!" Wilson shot him an amused look.

"Hello back, Grizzled," he greeted, smirking at the pout this produced.

"If you're not going to be nice," House warned, "I won't invite you to lunch."

"Heaven forbid I miss an opportunity to put food in your belly," Wilson said. He rose and made to follow House to the door but the older doctor abruptly stopped and turned so quickly that Wilson, in an effort to keep from knocking House down, sidestepped him, cracked his shin on a table leg and fell himself. Looking up at House while rubbing his abused limb, he asked, "Are you trying to kill me?"

House shook his head and offered his hand. "It's not my fault you're clumsy," he explained. Wilson took his hand but didn't allow House to take any of his weight as he stood. "Don't move," House said, his tone changing from flippant to serious in the span of a heartbeat. He held Wilson's hand with his right, his left on Wilson's shoulder, keeping him still as he leaned in close. His blue eyes narrowed as he made a show of examining Wilson, the same intense expression on his face as when he was searching for signs of a serious malady. While Wilson was occupied watching House he did not notice his balcony door opening and a silent figure creep inside. He did not see this figure sidle up behind him and unfurl a devise. It wasn't until he caught sight of a reflected image in one of the framed diplomas on his wall that he realized that he and House were no longer alone. "What the -? Cameron? What - is that," he struggled to look over his shoulder, twisting and turning as House fought to keep him still. "Is that a tape measure?"

"Hold still!" House commanded, but it was too late, Wilson had already freed himself and was whirling on Cameron. House did the only thing he could. With a stifled shout he flung himself on Wilson and knocked them both to the floor. They flailed around, he could see Cameron, struggling with her task, stooping, twisting, contorting her lithe body into weird shapes. It was just like one of his fantasies, except they weren't naked and covered in apple butter - and Cameron was there. Finally House managed to signal Cameron to leave. She held up her list, shaking her head, and rubbing what looked like the beginnings of a bruise on her forehead. She escaped while House tightened his grip on Wilson "Stop moving, Wilson. You're crushing my nuts."

"What the hell is going on?" Wilson asked, disentangled himself. Breathing hard, he pulled House to his feet and looked him over with a concerned eye. "Are you hurt?" House shook his head. "Good, because I'm going to kill you."

"Wilson," House whined.

"Don't whine at me," Wilson snapped. "Whatever it is you're planning better not get me tossed in jail."

"I'm not planning anything," House promised, remembering just in time to cross his fingers so he wouldn't be struck by lightning. He crossed his eyes for added effect and gave Wilson his most winning smile, the one that didn't make him look like a shark ready to take a bite out of a tasty swimmer. Wilson shook his head, mentally calling himself a fool and left with House for the cafeteria.

The next day was a hectic day for Cuddy; besides the normal hustle and bustle of running one of the finest teaching hospitals in the country and the strange rash of behavior which was sweeping over her staff, she had a huge hospital Event taking place that evening. As she entered the building on the way to her office she passed small huddled groups of doctors chattering excitedly together. She edged nearer but their conversations died as she approached, and all she could discover was they were discussing "Rat-man-du". It went on for hours, people stopping to talk in hushed tones, their laughter quickly stifled and nervous glances all around whenever they thought someone might overhear. She could feel her heart begin to pound with fear, House was up to something, he had to be. She kept her eyes peeled for any other bizarre happenings and was not disappointed. Later that morning she witnessed the sight of Dr. Wilson heading towards the clinic but upon his seeing Allison Cameron he pressed himself to the wall, dark eyes hooded with mistrust as he watched her. Cameron, who it looked like was sporting a bruise, went scarlet and turned away. All sorts of scenarios reared their ugly head in her mind; had they finally come to blows over House? No, she was just being paranoid. But then she saw that Chase and Foreman seemed just as skittish. She watched them blanch when faced by Dr. McNab of Radiology, babbling that they were late like twin version of the White Rabbit, if he'd been black or Australian. She realized she'd stopped making sense, much as the actions of her staff so Cuddy locked herself in her office for a few hours to get some work done.

She knew she was taking a risk when she finally ventured out around 4:30 but a gnawing need to know just how hard the shit had hit the fan drove her from the relative safety of her office. Before she got further than the main bank of elevators she caught sight of House and Emerson from Orthopedics in the midst of what looked like a heated argument. House was leaning heavily on his cane, a malevolent gleam in his eye. Emerson wore a round-eyed look of panic, shaking his head and gesturing wildly. She heard Emerson say "Ground cover" to which House replied "Jumpin' Jack Flash" and, like a spy who'd received the right response, he handed over something. Visions of Ken Follett aside, could her hospital be hot bed of espionage? Cuddy was just about to march over and demand to know what was happening when Foreman appeared out of nowhere. He peppered her with questions and by the time she shook him off, House had disappeared.

"Pssst, Lisa." The voice belonged to Dr. James Wilson but it seemed to be coming from a potted fern beside the snack stand. "Lisa," the plant hissed again and a hand waved from the branches.

"James? What the hell -"

"Avoiding House," Wilson whispered. She could see his dark eyes between fronds. "He's been acting strange - stranger," Wilson confided, "and he's had Cameron following me around with a tape measure. I hope he's fitting me for a coffin because he's driving me to an early grave."

"That makes two of us," she said.

"Talking to plants now," House asked, making Cuddy jump and the fern quiver. "I hear it does wonders for them; makes them all bushy eye-browed and bright-tailed or something. Though I think your board of directors might take umbrage if you're discovered chatting with the begonias or taking cacti out for drinks."

"I was just admiring its - uh, foliage," Cuddy said. She scowled at House, arms crossing over her chest in her habitual preemptive stance. "And stop trying to distract me, House. I want answers. I've got little clusters of people laughing, Chase and Foreman are all atwitter, Emerson seems on the verge of a nervous breakdown and Dr. Wilson," the fronds rustled nervously but she ignored them, "is being stalked."

"It's what he gets for being so cute," House said. "You have no evidence that any of these phenomena have anything to do with me."

"How `bout women's intuition?"

"Only works if you're a woman," House pointed out with a smirk, "and we both know the truth."

"House -"

"No, I swore I would never reveal your secret," House said, placing a hand where his heart would have been if he'd had one, "it's not my fault Wilson found out you're a transvestite. He can sense these things. Can't you, Jimmy?" The fern quivered again. "Come on, Jimmy. We'll be late for the party."

This stopped Cuddy from ripping him any new orifices, "You're - you're really going tonight? I mean, without me having to barter clinic hours?"

"Why, my dear Cuddy, I wouldn't miss it for the world." Something in his tone made her go cold inside and set the plant next to her shaking as if a hurricane had sprung up.

7:30PM found Drs. House and Wilson swaggering back into the hospital, their normal attire of suit and tie and t-shirt and jeans abandoned in favor of tuxedos; House's with a blue cummerbund while Wilson's was of a deep maroon. Though neither man would confess to vanity they had both taken pains to be as presentable as possible - which meant Wilson had taken pains with his appearance then held House hostage until he'd agreed not to wear a Voodoo Lounge t-shirt instead of the required shirt and black tie. Heads turned as they entered in a way that both found gratifying, though House's belch ruined the effect somewhat. Wilson had the boyish looks that attracted a large selection of the female population as well a certain number of mal admirers, House exuded an air of danger and animal magnetism that those who lived on the edge found irresistible. Almost the entire hospital staff, members of various boards, VIPs, people from the media and dozens of guests were all turned out for the party. All around the big conference room people began whispering. At first Wilson took it all in stride, assuming House's uncharacteristic arrival had stunned their colleagues but after a few moments he realized the questioning gazes were directed at him. A feeling of dread began to rumble in his stomach.

"House," he whispered, catching hold of his friend's arm and pulling him in so that their heads were nearly touching. "Why is everyone staring at me?"

House glanced around the room, eyes wide in mock astonishment. "Why, Jimmy, did you forget your pants?" Wilson couldn't disguise his instinctive glance downward any more than House could his knowing smirk.

"What's going on," Wilson demanded, fingers digging in a bit harder to House's arm. "You did something, didn't you? I'm going to have to dye my hair and change my name, I know it." In the midst of a full blown panic attack it too Wilson a second to realize Dr. Lisa Cuddy had mounted the stage and was standing behind the podium. House disengaged Wilson's fingers and led him over to a festively decorated table. Chase, Foreman and Cameron all waited for them. Cuddy began a singularly stirring speech on - something stirring and House ordered Chase to fetch them drinks. The Australian, as Australians are wont to do, returned with enough alcohol to send all their livers into a coma, followed quickly by a prolonged state of presevation. Cuddy rambled on and after a round of drinks it became clear she was gearing up to something that made House and his team exchange silent, expectant looks. Wilson took a large gulp of scotch, gasping when he realized he didn't actually drink scotch, being more of a rum and coke man himself, and prepared to dash from to room if it looked like anyone might approach him with sewing paraphernalia.

"I'd just like to congratulate all the nominees," Cuddy was saying and began clapping. The rest of the room followed suit, though many seemed reluctant, and several outright hostile. House whistled loudly and his team, prompted by a menacing look, applauded with enthusiasm. Cuddy offered the crowd a tight smile. "I know some of you feel these awards aren't really representational of the accomplishments presented during the year and for that very reason we have adopted a new system. We chose a blue-ribbon panel who evaluated each department, holding them to a strict set of standards and criteria on which everyone would be judges. It is my hope that this year, the person most deserving will be Doctor of the Year!"

More applause, though it seemed punctuated with skepticism. House, didn't seen deterred, neither did his team. They all slammed down a round of shots, carefully avoiding Wilson's eye. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Wilson asked.

"Because you're a rational human being," House said, "and probably because you know me extremely well." He laughed even while instructing Chase to find Dr. Wilson a paper bag to breathe into.

"So without any further ado," Cuddy said. She smiled, picked up a large envelope and ripped it open. "It is my pleasure to announce - Dr. James E. Wilson as the 2006 Princeton-Plainsboro Doctor of the Year!" All around the tables people seemed to be grumbling and comparing notes, the muttering almost as loud as the smattering of polite applause Wilson received. "Dr. Wilson," Cuddy called, gesturing for him to come onstage and receive his award. Wilson shot House a murderous glare and rose, red -faced from his chair. He mounted the steps as if they were the gallows and accepted the plaque from Cuddy with all the enthusiasm of a man accepting a dead possum in a pickle jar.

"Thank you, Dr. Cuddy," he said then waited for House's catcalls to die down before continuing. "I would just like to say how grateful I am for this award, how much it means to me. I never expected it," he shot House a sharp glare. "To know that my peers think me worthy such recognition is simply overwhelming." His heartfelt gratitude seemed to prevail and the mood of the crowd began to warm. Wilson smiled, the shy genuine smile he reserved for winning over frightened children and little old ladies. He held up the award, "And in closing I'd just like to say - whatever it is House did, I had no part in it!" With that he bolted from the stage. After a second of stunned silence the crowd surged to its feet and roared its appreciation.

At House's table his chin dropped to his chest and a smile formed on his features. He tapped his cane on the floor and pushed himself to his feet. "Don't stay out past your curfew, kiddies," he warned. "Mommy and I worry so." He limped out of the room in the direction Wilson had fled.

He found his friend on the balcony they shared, sitting on the dividing wall in his shirtsleeves, the DotY award propped in a chair and reflecting stray rays of moonlight like broken promises. "I thought you'd be swilling gin and dancing on the tables," House said by way of greeting. "That thing," he poked his cane at the plaque, "is worth its weight in free alcohol and willing flesh."

"Gee, thanks," Wilson said. He didn't turn to face House, just kept his back resolutely turned.

"Aw, come on," House chided. "I got you the award, what's wrong?"

Now Wilson did turn, he whirled like a viper, "What's wrong? What's wrong with winning a stupid award when no one thinks you deserved it?" His dark eyes gleamed with anger but just as quickly he closed them, rubbing a trembling hand over his forehead. The rigid set to his shoulders drained away, leaving him limp.

House stared at him, then looked out towards the lights glittering across the street. Street sounds barely reached them up there, making the fact they were in the middle of a sprawling medical complex seem almost impossible. At night, with the rustle of leaves and the twinkle of stars it felt more like a sanctuary than the builders had probably intended. He didn't need to look at Wilson's slumped shoulders to know he'd done the wrong thing again. "You try so hard," House said quietly, "to be perfect. You take the weight of the world on your back and pretend you can carry it with starched shirts and Windsor knotted ties. You need to be needed just to prove that you matter." He could feel Wilson's eyes on him but couldn't bring himself to stop. "You like your awards, they're tangible proof that you have succeeded at something, that you have done your best." He heard a shakily breath drawn and hurried on, "but those are for superfluous things; golf, fishing, handball. For the thing that really matters, the thing you dedicate your life to, you don't ask for recognition, as if by doing so you invalidate it." House paused, turning at last to lock eyes with Wilson. "You deserve the award, Jimmy. More than anybody and I wanted - I wanted you to have it for once."

Neither man spoke but so much was said by the shared look. Wilson ducked his head eventually. "So," he cleared his throat and tried again, "so what did you have to do to get me all the votes?"

House laughed and moved over to sit beside him, "You don't know how much this cost." He then recounted the entire process he'd gone through to secure the panel voted for Wilson. He told of stealing a lab tech's prized racing rat and turning it lose in the office of Dr. Cynthia McNab. He elaborated on the antics of Chase and Foreman as they delivered the rat and obtained the photos of Dr. McNab atop her desk, short skirt hiked up, shrieking. He detailed how these photos were then offered to the good doctor in exchange for the correct vote. There was also the racing tips provided to Dr. Emerson, which had won the doctor a bundle as well as insured he would play ball. Nurse Brenda had been easy, they'd bribed her with caffeinated beverages, all accompanied by a note bearing Wilson's name. She, of course, influenced doctors all over the hospital, and had gotten the final votes swayed.

"You did all that for me?" Wilson wondered.

"Of course, I did," House said with a grin. "I figured with a nifty new award and enough alcohol I could have my wicked way with you."

Wilson laughed. "You didn't need to bother." He leaned towards House, staring into his eyes before dropping his gaze to House's lips. There was one instant, one second of electric anticipation and then the world stilled and all House knew was the moist breath that caressed his cheek. Sweet and warm, Wilson's mouth met his in a kiss that made House realize he had never been kissed before. It was as if Wilson entered his soul through the seal of their lips, and now held his heart captive in a living web of emotion. He would have willingly stayed caught for the rest of his life, dying there locked to Wilson except his soon to be lover pulled back. House nearly gasped at the shock of cool air against his face and it took him a moment to open his eyes.

"Wha-"

Wilson had a speculative look in his eye and House realized too late he was in trouble. "What about the tape measure?" He demanded.

"Uh, well," House took refuge in hefting his cane, twirling it before stabbing the concrete floor with it. "That's for the clothes." The speculate look quickly became one of wary curiosity.

"What clothes?"

"See, Wilson, people find you attractive," House hedged. "They take one look at your buttoned-down splendor and it starts them thinking about what you might look like - not so - buttoned-down." House could tell by the sweat popping out on Wilson's forehead that whatever he said next would not be taken very well, but he soldiered on. "Take Dr. Sails, for instance. He's the kind of guy that might like to see you in - oh, leather."

"Leather?" Wilson squeaked.

"I know, I know," House held up a hand. He edged away, casting a quick look back towards his office to make sure the path was clear. "Leather is so pass but you've got to admit you'll look scrumptious in it."

"House, j-just what have you done?"

House smiled, taking another step back. "I sort of promised Dr. Sails you would model a set of butt-less chaps and a sexy little vest for him. Very tasteful, nothing tawdry."

"House!"

He had the advantage of the two seconds it took Wilson to get over the wall and it got him nearly to his door. And then two strong arms caught him, and he was held against a heaving chest. He could hear Wilson's laughter like summer rain in his ear and feel each beat of his heart like a endearment. "Am I in trouble?"

"No," Wilson whispered and kissed his cheek.

The next year Cuddy and the Board of Directors declared the Doctor of the Year awards defunct and just gave everybody a gift certificate to Applebees.

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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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DOTY