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  Heros 
 by Jackyblu  

 It was a warm spring day in New Jersey. House and Wilson enter the
residence of House's current patient. She was well into her nineties and
the only reason House had taken the case was, he was bored. She had some
interesting symptoms, some which were contradictive. It was a waste of
time, as Foreman had grumpily pointed out. Even if they could cure her,
her advanced age was against her. House pointed out that
Princeton-Plainsboro was a Teaching Hospital. His three young employees
were bound to learn something from her, if not by curing her, then at the
autopsy, which was just as valuable.

Wilson stumbled over stacks of newspapers as House moved cobwebs out of
the way with his cane. They maneuvered from the entrance way and into the
'formal' dining room. "This place is worse than Mrs. Haversham's," Wilson
complained.

"Where's Pip?" House asked. Wilson gave House a surprised look. "Great
Expectations," House replied by means of an explanation.

"You've read it? You who says everything you need to know is on TV."

"PBS. They do Dickens on TV, Oliver Twist, David Copperfield, Bleak
House..."

Wilson pushed aside more newspapers and startled a rather large cockroach.
Cripe! "Why are we doing this? Where are Dewey and Louie?"

"Who?"

"Donald's nephews, Huey, Louie, and Dewey Duck. Didn't you read comic
books as a kid? I know you read them as an adult." He cut his eyes at
House.

House shrugged. "Dad thought they were a waste of time."

"But TV watching was okay?"

"He thought I would pick up on the native languages and customs."

"What about when he was stationed in the United States?"

"PBS."

"Ah. Anyway, why are we here? Why didn't you send Chase and Foreman?"

"The ducks are working with the 'swan princess' running tests on Mrs.
Haversham."

 "And you thought being here would be preferable to running the tests
yourself?"

"Have you met her?" House gave an exaggerated shudder.

"Okay. So where do we start? This whole place could be put in a petrie
dish."

"Kitchen, bedroom, and God help us, the bathroom."

"House? Is that a cat in the corner or a very oversized rat?"

"Neither. I believe that's a raccoon, or we have just caught a possum
breaking and entering."

Wilson moved nervously behind him.

"Why are you behind me?"

"You're armed. If he gets past you I'll go for reinforcements."

"You'll run like a little girl, and allow this beast to savage me?"

"Pretty much."

"Thanks pal."

"Any time." 

"Let's leave this room until later." House addressed the critter in the
corner. "Just help yourself to anything that appeals to you, but leave me
the really germ infested things."

"House, I think he qualifies as a really germ infested thing." The animal
made a move toward them.

"Oh good! Piss the little beastie off so he feels the need to defend his
nasty germ ridden honor." The critter reared on its hind legs. "Yipe!"

"Tactical retreat?"

"Unquestionably!" 

In unison they backed out of the dining room ceding it to the animal
within. 

"Not one word of this to anyone," House said raising his eyebrows.

"No, I frequently flaunt my cowardice around the hospital. It always
impresses my colleagues and potential dates," Wilson stated sarcastically.

"Okay, in our version there were two of them."

"A pack. Six or more."

"That's better. And they were rabid."

"No doubt about it. Also freakishly large."

"Good. Probably weighed fifteen to twenty pounds each."

"At least," Wilson agreed with a nod.

"Right. Kitchen next?"

"Awfully close to the dinning room don't you think?"

"Fair point. Let's check out the bedroom."

Walking into the bedroom was much like entering any other room in the
house. Disgusting! Piles of papers and magazines everywhere, trash over
flowing, half eaten meals now black and furry with mold, and evidence of
vermin in the droppings that they left behind. The smell made their eyes
water.

"Oh my God!"

"Here," House pulled a couple of surgical masks out of his back pack and
handed one to Wilson, then placed one over his own mouth and nose.

"Peppermint?" Wilson asked surprised.

"I took the precaution of adding a little essence to the masks, just in
case."

"Good thinking," Wilson said appreciatively.

They began scanning through the debris. House made an interesting
discovery. "Would you look at these magazines? They're all from the
forties. Time, Life, Look, The Saturday Evening Post, this is quite a
collection!"

"Fascinating and medically irrelevant."

"Not necessarily. Look around the room, what you can see of it. It's a
time warp."

Wilson cast his eyes around the place and saw that House was right. The
furnishings were right out of an old movie; the radio was housed in a huge
maple cabinet. There was a 'dressing table', and separate beds with maple
headboards, the pictures on the wall were presumably of family taken at a
time when men wore their trousers higher and two-toned shoes were the
rage. The women in the shots wore their hair up in front and loose at the
back. They wore dresses and open toed high-heeled shoes. The pictures that
stood out however were of the same handsome young man in an army uniform.
A captain, if Wilson remembered what House had told him about insignia
from the movies they had watched together. His hair was dark and wavy, his
eyes light in color and bright, he had high cheekbones and clear skin.

"If we turn on the radio and F.D.R. comes on, we are officially in the
Twighlight Zone." Wilson said sadly. What had happened to Mrs. H. that she
had stayed sixty plus years in the past?

House found an antique hatbox and opened it. It was full of letters sent
via armed forces post from Germany. He handed half the stack to Wilson who
voiced discomfort with the idea of reading someone's private letters.

"I don't think we should be reading these."

"Are you kidding? This is living history!"

"It's voyeuristic at best. These are probably love letters, or messages
from home. Nothing historical. The army wouldn't permit soldiers to write
anything that could have been intercepted by the enemy."

"Well duh. You have to read in between the lines."

"Oh, in other words just make stuff up that suits your sense of historical
whimsy."

"If that pleases you."

"It does not."

"Do you want to help me figure out what is wrong with the old lady or
not?" House opened the first letter in his stack and began to read.

"Not if it means we invade her privacy."

House glanced up from the letter and shot Wilson a narrowed eyed look.
"You are in her home and sitting on her bed. How much more intrusive is
too much for you?"

Wilson rolled his eyes, and looked at the first letter in his stack. House
finished the one he was reading.

"Well, we know the name of the mystery captain." He flicked his eyes to
the portrait on the wall. "James. Kind of a coincidence, huh?"

Wilson stopped reading. He turned his head away. 

"What's wrong?" House asked instantly alert to his best friend's
discomfort.

"He liberated Dachau," James said softly. He closed his eyes feeling the
full weight of his Jewish ancestry upon his heart.

House became thoughtful. "So, we are in the home of a hero."

"Looks like it," Wilson replied with a small smile. He moved a stack of
letters and found a hinged leather covered box. Wilson opened it and let
out a gasp. "Greg, look. A purple heart!"

"Yeah. Dad has one."

Wilson's head snapped up and he looked at House with a mixture of shock
and awe. "You never told me your dad was awarded a purple heart."

"When do you and I talk about my father?"

"Right. Still a purple heart is a big deal!"

"Yup. Dad thinks so too."

"You have to been wounded in action to get one of these."

"I know."

"You're not impressed?"

"John House, war hero. Okay?" 

"No. Well actually it's none of my business whatever is between you and
your father."

"But you're going to insinuate yourself into the situation anyway?"

"What are friends for?"

"Lending money and buying lunch?"

"That's your definition."

"And yours would be to push, prod, trick, and other wise nag a person to
do what they least wish to?"

"Sounds about right." Wilson sighed. He was sorry that Greg and his father
weren't close. He knew Greg adored his mother, but he couldn't forgive his
father for whatever slights the elder House had paid his son. He knew John
House was disappointed in Greg. He couldn't for the life of him figure out
why? "Are you going to tell me how your dad was wounded?"

"Are you going to drop it if I do?"

"Possibly."

"Fine. He was shot down over Viet Nam. A naval helicopter rescued him when
he had to ditch his plane over the South China Sea. He broke his arm
during the bale out. I was ten."

"Jesus Greg! I had no idea."

"Okay, so now you know. And as you said, medically irrelevant." 

Wilson wasn't so sure. As it applied to this case, yes it was irrelevant,
as it applied to his best friend it was relevant, very. House was now
introverted and sullen, a bad mix. Wilson decided to change the subject.
"So what makes a ninety plus year old woman freeze frame in the forties?"

House picked up a yellowed envelope and showed it to Wilson. It was from
the war department.

"Oh boy," Wilson breathed as he looked at the ominous envelope.

"Yeah." House opened it and began to read. "The department of defense
regrets to inform you that your..." he stopped. He raised his eyes to
Wilson's, "son, Pvt. Charles Edward Green was killed while in the service
of his country. Normandy. It seems that this was the residence of a couple
of heroes."

"Charles?" Wilson looked at the pictures on the wall of the handsome
captain. It was then he noticed that some of the pictures looked
different. In some the man was younger and wearing the insignia of a
private. "God. She lost her son on D-Day."

House picked up another of the dreaded department of defense envelopes.
"And her husband it appears." House opened it and read further down the
letter. "He was aboard the Antietam a Merchant ship. It was sunk by a mine
in the Bay of Biscay, January 29th, 1946."

"No wonder Mrs. Haver...Green wants to live in the past. I can't imagine
what loosing one member of your family is like let alone two."

"Can't you?" House said not raising his head while he put the letters
carefully away.

"Maybe," Wilson answered honestly. "Somehow I can't equate my brother
running off with the death of a son and husband."

"That's because you're holding out hope that he's still alive, even though
you know that's hardly likely."

"You know sometimes your bluntness isn't your best quality. It isn't
helpful, it's just fucking annoying."

"So I've been told."

"Then why do you do it?"

"Just a little something I picked up from dad."

Wilson snorted a small laugh. John House was the most direct man he had
ever met. He had bequeathed that trait to his only son. But, House had
refused to inherit the senior House's 'insane moral compass'. He pushed in
the opposite direction whenever possible. This got Greg into trouble
frequently, but it also made him interesting and fun to be around, unless
that lack of morality got James in trouble too. Oh hell, that was fun as
well. James Wilson enjoyed the reputation he had inherited being with
House. He had actually earned some of his reputation on his own.

"Hey." House's voice brought Wilson out of his musings.

"What?"

"We need to bag up some of this stuff." House pulled a couple of
heavy-duty plastic bags out of his backpack. "I'll get samples in here.
You do the bathroom."

Wilson placed his hand on the back of his neck. "How about I do in here
and you take the bathroom."

"Oh come on. You would make me limp across the room to the bathroom. A
strong able-bodied caring young man like you?" House pulled his most
pathetic face. 

"Good God! Give me a bag." House cheerfully handed one to Wilson.

Wilson walked across the room and into the bathroom. "Jesus Christ! House
you owe me big time for this!"

"Bad is it?" He was laughing to himself.

"Unimaginable. Don't these homes have indoor plumbing?" 

Whatever Wilson was seeing/smelling was too gross to be contemplated.
House congratulated himself on being able to pass off the most disgusting
room on his best friend. He maneuvered carefully around the stacks of
papers and magazines so as not to slip and ass plant on something unseen
on the floor. He placed moldy food samples, rancid cosmetics, damp papers,
and used utensils in the bag. House was shifting a pile of clothes in a
corner of the room when he heard a scuttling sound. He straightened up
immediately alert, backing carefully away from the noise. "Wilson," House
said with quiet urgency.

"What?"

"We are not alone."

"What?"

"I think we may have been out maneuvered."

Wilson came out of the bathroom with a very puzzled look on his face.
House pointed with his cane. "Our path of retreat has been compromised."
Wilson followed House's cane with his eyes and found an over-large mammal
at the end of it.

"Whoops."

"Yup."

"Remember the joke about rabies? Doesn't seem so funny now."

"Not particularly, no."

"Think it has it?" 

"It's not afraid of us." House moved his cane back and forth. The raccoon
followed it with his beady black eyes. Suddenly it launched itself at the
tip snarling. "Definitely aggressive. We're screwed."

"Maybe we can throw a blanket over it and run from the room?"

"Run?"	House asked incredulously.

"Okay, I'll run. You hold him off until I can get help."

"Hold him off? He damn near out weighs me!"

"You have a cane to use."

"Unless he takes it from me. I don't relish being beaten with my own cane
by a vicious carnivore."

"He's a herbivore actually."

"He's a breathing garbage disposal! He'll eat anything, dirty diapers,
moldy food, rancid whatever. He's a germ-atorium." House kept two huge
eyes on the raccoon.

"Well, that leaves killing it." Wilson said mater-of-factly. 

House gave him the 'are-you-out-of-your-fucking-mind' look. "Be my guest,
oh great white hunter."

"We just need a weapon," he said looking pointedly at House's cane.

"No. I like this one. It's balanced just right."

"Do you want to get out of here?"

"Yes, with my cane in one piece. Let's just try and slip past it. When we
get out into the hall, we'll close the door and trap it in here." House
gave Wilson a what-do-you-think look.

"Not exactly a 'Risk' kind of solution but worth a try."

"On three?"

"One," they moved together toward the door. "Two," House tossed a magazine
into the opposite corner to draw the raccoon's attention from them.
"Three," House limped through the door followed very closely by Wilson who
slammed it shut. They both leaned against the wall in the hallway and
laughed nervously as they removed their masks. Wilson shook his head.
"This story never sees the light of day."

"Not a chance," House agreed. "Unless we can be the heroes of our
version." He held out his fist and Wilson bumped it with his fist in
solidarity. 

"Sounds good to me."

"Still need to check the kitchen. Should be alright now that the beast is
in the bedroom." They moved through the house and entered the kitchen,
where they startled and were in turn startled by three large mask-wearing
mammals. "Oh for Christ's sake! What is this place a fucking raccoon
hostel?"

"More like a hospice. They all have rabies!" Every one of the creatures
were hissing and spitting at the two doctors in a most aggressive manner.
Shit! 

"Abandon all dignity ye who enter here! Sound the retreat Gabriel." With
Wilson in the lead and self-esteem in the wind, they backed out of the
kitchen and made for the front door. Wilson kept one hand on House's
shoulder to guide him out. House kept the cane in front of him as much as
possible to ward off an attack. He held his backpack in his other hand
figuring he could swing it at the animals too, if necessary.

"Almost to the door," Wilson told House.

"I think they're planning to outflank us."

"They're animals, not strategic commanders." 

The biggest of the three scampered to the front door. "You debate strategy
with them. Right now it looks like they would whip our asses at 'Risk'.

"Orders General House?"

"We hope the back yard is unoccupied territory."

"Greg? All your home invasions don't go this way do they?"

"Why do you think I send the ducks?"

"Oh. Greg?"

"What?"

"Thanks for including me."

"What are friends for?"

"Decoys?"

"There is that." They had made it to the sliding glass door that lead to
the backyard. Wilson worked the latch and House kept a very close eye on
the varmints. 

"Got it. Careful." They stepped out of the house and into the yard. Wilson
closed the door.

"You know how ridiculous this is?" House asked. "I am fairly sure that if
they got into the house they can get out as well."

"Let's just find the gate and get the hell out of here." Wilson scanned
the backyard for the exit, which was located next to a very inconveniently
placed doghouse. A very big doghouse. He pinched the bridge of his nose in
disbelief. "This is a freakin' nightmare!"

"Might be empty," House said, a hopeful little half smile on his face.

"With our luck?" Wilson shot him a very exasperated look.

"Right. We're screwed."

"Nothing in the food dish or water bowl. If there is an animal in there,
it's going to be very cranky."

"You used to own a dog. Go make friends."

"You used to own a germ ridden rat. Go back inside and talk it out with
the raccoons."

"Moron."

"Idiot."

House indicated the doghouse. "Something is stirring within." A sorry
looking German Shepard came to the opening and flopped down on his paws.
It was so pathetic.

"The poor thing. Looks like no one has been taking care of him since Mrs.
Green went into the hospital." Wilson was going into caring mode. He
looked around the yard for a bag of dog food. "Where's your food buddy?"
Wilson said mostly to himself.

"There's a shed over in the corner. Maybe she keeps it in there?"

Wilson checked the shed while House cautiously approached the dog. When he
got closer the dog rose and began a wholehearted tail wage. House gave the
animal a bemused smile. "Hey Buddy." He limped closer and carefully petted
the animal's head. The dog was overjoyed. He rewarded House with a
laughing bark. Wilson returned with dog food and other items that belonged
to 'Buddy'. He cleaned out the bowls and then filled them with fresh water
and food. Buddy fell on the bowls while House and Wilson sat on the over
grown lawn and watched. 

"How long do you think it's been since someone has been here?"

"Maybe a week, possibly longer." 

"He's in bad shape. Hair all matted with filth. Exercise limited to the
length of the chain he's hooked to."

"He has sores on his rib cage from lying in the same place for so long.
Some of them have become necrotic. The dead tissue will need to be
removed."

"Hard to access how bad he is without a complete exam. He'll need to be
cleaned up. I found his shampoo."

"We could just call a vet," House said looking at Wilson.

"Yeah. We could," Wilson answered looking at House.

They both knew they were going to do nothing of the sort. 'Buddy' became
their responsibility. They stripped off their shirts and began bathing
him. It was hard to say who enjoyed the afternoon more, the dog frolicking
in the water from the hose or the two 'grown men' that sprayed him and
each other. Buddy finally free of the chain chased a large yellow ball,
and a running Wilson, tackling him with ease. House got a close up look at
Buddy's ribs when the dog placed two muddy paws on his shoulders and
licked his face. Wilson complained that the dog would now need to have
lacerations to his tongue treated from House's beard. House flipped him
the bird, before he washed the mud off his shoulders and chest. His cell
phone rang. He listened carefully an accepting look on his face. "Rabies.
No it was too late. There was nothing that could have been done. Yeah.
We'll be back in the office later. Because we have some things to do,
that's why!" House hung up the phone with a snap. He cast a look at
Wilson's questioning face. "That was Foreman. Mrs. Green has departed."

"Rabies."

"Not much of a surprise now." 

"Not really."

House picked up the ball and tossed it for Buddy. "You know, the necrosis
isn't as bad as it first appeared," 

"Trim it off, apply some dressing and antibiotic?"

"That would do it." 

"Then what?"

"What do you mean?"

"What happens to Buddy?"

"He gets better?" House gave Wilson a puzzled look.

"Who takes care of him?"

"I live in a condo. No room for a dog the size of Buddy." 

"Yeah. No room in my apartment either." They both looked unhappily at the
frolicking animal.

"We'll board him!" House announced. "He'll get food, water, and lot's of
attention. We can check on him and make sure he heals well."

"We could take him for walks to the park."

"Sure. It'll just be temporary."

"Right."

This solution pleased everyone. Including Buddy who looked adoringly at
his two heroes.

"Think we could sneak him into the hospital?" House asked putting on his
shirt and handing Wilson his.

"I'm sure Cuddy will be most understanding," Wilson replied with a grin
slipping his shirt on and doing up the buttons. The day was too warm and
his pants were too dirty and rumpled to worry about putting his tie back
on. "She'll just remove the part of your anatomy that you are most fond
of." 

House grimaced. "The boarder's it is!" He declared as he finished
buttoning his shirt and putting on his jacket.

"Didn't you drive?"

"Yeah," House answered puzzled.

Wilson looked at Buddy. "I call shotgun!"

"It's a '65 Corvette. There is only shotgun."

"Just asserting my position," Wilson said casually.

"Right. Actually, I was in the market for a new best friend. What about it
Buddy?" House asked as he tickled the dog's ears. Buddy growled low and
showed his teeth. He laid back his ears and continued to growl. House
moved his hand like it had been burned. "That's a no then?"

"Greg," Wilson said quietly while nodding toward the house. "We have
company." Two of the raccoons were in the yard. Buddy had seen them and
decided they were a threat.

"We need to get Buddy out of here, before he tries to fight them off and
gets bitten."

"Come on Buddy! Let's go boy." Wilson took hold of Buddy's collar and
tried pulling the dog toward the gate. "Come on boy." Buddy wouldn't move.

House took hold of the collar too and urged the dog toward the gate. "Come
on boy, don't make Uncle Greg fall on his ass and be overrun by the nasty,
filthy, disease ridden giant rodents!" The raccoons were on the move. Oh
crap!

"Uncle James would appreciate that as well," Wilson assured the snarling
canine. Buddy looked at Wilson with complete understanding and walked to
the gate.

"See! I knew you and this animal were simpatico." 

Wilson reached up and undid the latch. He let House lead Buddy through
first and then followed, closing and re-latching the gate. 

"Yup. He obviously likes me best."

House's eyes flew open wide. "Whoa. He does not. He just recognizes
another desperate soul." 

"Desperate?"

"Pathetic?" House asked wincing.

Wilson placed his hands on his hips. "Guess so if I have you as a best
friend."

"Nice the way you turned that back on me." House pulled his keys out of
the pocket of his now dirty jeans.

Wilson shrugged. "Easy enough to do."

"Oh snap!" House held the door open for Buddy, who jumped in and managed
to arrange himself in the middle. Wilson climbed in the passenger seat and
took House's cane. He began petting Buddy, and then something caught his
eye. Wilson read the tag on the dog's collar.

"House. Buddy was a police dog! Look at his tag."

"Yipe, a cop! Put your seatbelt on, and not a word about my d-r-u-g-s."
House started the car.

Wilson became thoughtful. "Mrs. Green looses her family in the war, and
then she takes in a retired police dog. I'll bet Buddy isn't the first one
she adopted." 

"How about that Buddy? Was she your hero?" House ruffled the dog's ears
and then put the car in gear. Buddy barked happily as they drove down the
street. House and Wilson joined him.

  
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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.