You'll soon see 'em
On the shelf
"You have to stop her."
"Did you just barge in here while I'm actually seeing a patient?" House said into a woman's mouth.
His patient looked down at the wooden stick stuck to her tongue then at the brown-haired doctor. "Uyouin?" she asked, her mouth slightly full.
"Stop breathing on me, Lady. Contracting Mono from you because you have to spit out inane questions into my nasal passages is the worst way to get it."
"Shut uuupppp…." House snitted, throwing the depressor into a trash can. "Now, then. Wilson. What do I have to stop Cuddy from doing? She isn't buying turtlenecks for the new spring fashion trend, is she?"
"No- how did you know it was Cuddy?"
"Like you need me to stop Cameron for you? All you have to do is
make her go on rounds with you. After the third terminal cancer
patient, she'll get all weepy and emotional, and then go have some
breakdown in a closet somewhere."
"Excuse me, Doctor House? What do I need to do?"
"Not talk is the main thing. What else? Eat, sleep, skip school/kissing/holding your kid sister down and trying to not spit in her mouth- that kind of thing. Now go away."
"But what about antibiotics?"
"Sure, if you actually like pain and suffering."
"What Dr. House is getting at," Wilson interrupted, "is that antibiotics makes Mono worse. Rest is the only thing you can do." House flipped his gloves into the trash and grabbed his cane.
"Oh," the elderly woman said. "But what about my girlfriend?"
"You have to be patient and reduce all bodily fluid contact- don't share straws or cups- you spread it mainly through saliva- directly or indirectly."
"Right, well, my diagnosing is done." House said, leaving Wilson to finish with the patient.
"House! Wait up!" Wilson stumbled out a few minutes later,
catching up to the other doctor. "It's Cuddy."
"She wants to turn me into a billboard."
"She wants her head oncologist to go outside in 15 degree weather to flip a sign stoned while listening to Panic! At the Disco? Exactly which donor did you kill?"
"No, not a sign flipper- a real billboard- the highway kind."
"I can see her point- you're very photogenic. Young-ish looking, smart, a Jewish doctor with a full head of hair. I can't see why she wouldn't want to put you on a billboard. Thousands of Jersey-ite Jewish mothers will see this fifty foot handsome, ring-less oncologist and just start beating their way in with their daughters. They'll take one look at your twenty foot pocket protector and swoon that you know your way around a condom."
"What does my pocket protector have to do with condoms?"
"If you can't see the subliminal correlation between condoms and pocket protectors, then you're less of a man than I thought."
"I don't know why she just can't use Dr. Gupta. He actually wants to do it. He's out getting his lab coat tailored to fit him better. And he's just as Jewish as I am. Moreso, probably. His family's been Jewish for millennia. I know- he's gone into genealogical detail."
"She doesn't want Dr. Gupta, she wants you." House walked toward the nurse's station. "Let's face it, you've got the dimples for it." He grabbed another chart and wiggled it before the head RN. When he finally became interested in the gryating folder, House dropped it into a trashcan. "Dr. House is signing out."
"I don't have any dimples." Wilson frowned, feeling his cheekbones.
"Well, no , not on your face…"
"Jesus," Wilson grunted, looking at the nurse. "For the last time, House- we are not gay."
"I'll bet Cuddy even has a five thousand dollar ad agency thinking up some clever word balloon for you like 'Because I care' or something to that extent" House punched the elevator button with his cane. "So do you want my help or not."
"Yes…. " he sighed.
The two entered the half full car and hit their floor number as a little boy whistled loudly. "Pick a key and stick to it, Kid." House ordered as three more people pushed their way in.
"I don't want my picture everywhere. I'm already on the front page of the hospital's website. Half of my emails right now are solicitations for dates and 'other things.'"
"It's just more trouble than it's worth."
"Right." House agreed as the door dinged open.
They shoved their way past the others, and walked toward their boss's office.
Cuddy looked up as the two of them entered the room. "If you're here to try to get Wilson out of this, then you can take his place."
"You don't want me. I look like a hobo. And nobody wants to see a pill poppin' hobo doctor while parking in rush hour traffic on Highway 1."
"Not after I and the stylist get through with you."
"What're you going to do? Drug me?"
"Yes, upon which time, I'm going to shave your face, put you in a pinstripe Brooks Brothers suit and custom made lab coat, feed you some nitrous, let you wake up, and take as many pictures as I want while you smile for the camera. And then replace your happy little face on the website AND the billboard."
"I didn't know you were into shaving. But you don't have that kind of Devil Wears Prada employer brutality in you."
Cuddy grinned and opened the middle desk drawer. She reached into the dark recesses, and pulled out an electric razor. "Top of the line, House. This thing set me back about a hundred and seventy dollars, but it's worth every penny. I always liked the number three setting. I think it's called 'The Marine.'"
The razor clicked on, buzzing ominously through the room. "I thought about bribing you to my side- two weeks off clinic duty in exchange for ditching Wilson. But this is much, much more fun. I believe you wear a 30 inch-long, right? Once those Baby blues eyes hit the internet along with your profile of 'Dr. Gregory House, single, is an avid piano player, world-class diagnostician, and has a soft spot for children. But above all, he just loves donating his time at our state of the art free walk-in clinic provided by Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital for the entire public, so, by all means, ask for him by name. Because he cares.'"
"Just say the word, the web designer will hit the enter button, and it's good to go. Everyone from Scranton to Liberia will have access to your personal email- the one Cameron doesn't know about. The new page is already created, by the way- just not posted. He used an old picture from that last fund raiser- you in the tux. Just until I get the new pictures published."
"All right, I'm out."
"Glad to have you on board, Dr. Wilson. The photographer will be here at 9 AM sharp tomorrow. Tammy will be playing the part of the caring nurse."