Reputable Sources

MK

House

It was a Tuesday and lunch time when Wilson strode down the hall and into the offices of Diagnostic Medicine. Or what had formerly been known as the offices of Diagnostic Medicine. They appeared to have very recently been replaced with the offices of Cat Fights For Six Year Old Girls.

“Got in another fight with Paediatrics?”

“No, but I got my colours done and I’m a winter, so I decided it was time to re-decorate.” House was scowling, sitting in Wilson’s chair (it was supposed to be a guest chair, but guests were wisely few and far between) facing the windows.

“I always thought you were more of a fall, myself. I guess now would be a bad time to say ‘I told you so’.”

“Actually, it’s probably a once in a life-time chance. I’d revel in it while you have the opportunity.” House and Wilson had an agreement. House studiously ignored the many times that Wilson had been right, and Wilson kept tabs only in his head. (This was number 16 for this year.)

The office’s glass walls had been scribbled on using House’s own white-board markers by the looks of things, and the new decorative scheme was reminiscient of how one Frank Dasher’s office may or may not have looked at some point a few years back. Not that Wilson had anything to do with any t.p’ing incidents at PPTH.

He admired the lines for a long moment. “Lunch?”

“Sure.”

On Wednesday, he found House in the Oncology lounge, making use of their new TiVo. “You lied,” he spoke up from where he lay sprawled in one of the many over-stuffed chairs, cane swinging back and forth in one hand.

“Darn, you caught me. The truth is, I’m a woman. My failed marriages are all because two women just can't share sink space.”

“This TiVo was only installed last week. You said you were getting one months ago.”

“Oh, that lie.” Wilson leaned on the armrest, admiring the pleasantly plump and silicon-based breasts of the soap stars of General Hospital. “Forget I said anything, then.”

“I can pretend, but I’m sure you’ll catch me checking out your finer assets in the near future. Professional interest, I promise.” He was treated to a ridiculous leer and grinned.

“Are you here for the TiVo, or were you just longing for the sounds of med-students crying?”

“My office is clean,” House said after a moment.

“Ah. A tragedy. Lunch?”

“Sure.”

He only understood what House had meant on the way back from lunch when he passed by the entirely empty space that had only yesterday been crowded with bathroom tissue and primary-coloured drawings. House by-passed his own door and headed into the adjoining room.

“I see you finally took my advice and went for the Zen thing. I don't think that chair quite fits the minimalist theme, though." House had parked himself in very comfortable chair that looked suspiciously familiar, but definitely did not belong in Diagnostics.

Cameron had walked in just then, setting a series of print-outs down on the table. "He had Chase and Foreman steal it from Clinical Trials this morning."

"No," Chase corrected, three steps behind her and followed by Foreman, "He ordered us to steal it from Discharge Planning."

"Everyone knows Discharge doesn't need chairs. They're called Discharge," House rolled his eyes.

"It's so hard to find good help these days."

On Thursday he avoided House's office in favour of doing some work.

When Friday rolled around, House stomp-tap-thudded into his office and glared at him. "I hate you."

"You're just jealous you didn't get to it first."

House broke, collapsed into the guest chair that was sometimes his. "I knoooooow!" he whined. "I was building up to something great! Something so terrifying, her breasts would leap right out of her shirt!"

"They do that anyway."

"Well, they do when I'm around."

"Out of sheer terror, no doubt, struggling towards the filing cabinet in hopes of grabbing a sexual harassment form before it's too late."

"Please. My reputation is still worth something at this hospital," House preened, sitting up straight.

"Which reputation?"

"The one no one seems to realize I share with you."

They mulled over that for a moment.

"Lunch?"

"Sure."