Fairy God Doctor
Summary: Wilson and House attend a medical conference. One of them gets into some unexpected and serious trouble and the other must come to the rescue in an unexpected way.
Rating: ADULT. Pre-slash and SLASH. NC-17, M. Mature.
Discalimer: I don't own Gregory House, dang-nabit!
Cuddy stared at her dark haired Oncology Department head with eyes that brokered no argument. "Because you can tolerate him for four days."
Wilsons' eyes bugged from his head. "No I can't. I may lov –" Wilson licked his lips and with a sigh started again. "House is my friend but even I can only stretch that so far. One day with him leaves me -"
Cuddy was mercilessly curious. "Yes? Leaves you how?"
"Like a wrung out dish-rag ready for the scrap heap."
"I'll be sure to note that in the budget report. This is a medical conference on diagnostics. House has to go, it's in his contract but the only way he will go is if I make him go under threat of financial ruin or twenty-five hours of clinic per week until he turns sixty-five."
Wilson was curious now. "That's weak."
"And," Cuddy added, "ordering you to cut off his Vicodin."
Wilson pondered for a second. Unlike House, he would do as Cuddy requested because, though he wisely kept his mouth shut about it, he and she had never slept together and she signed his paychecks. House blankly refused to acknowledge the power of her position. Hired by the one of the few women who had at one time or another, loved him. House was such a lucky bastard. "Thanks. Please - make my life even more miserable than his. So he agreed to this multi-dimensional blackmail?"
Wilson frowned. "Really? Now I am worried."
"House wants to go. He just needed to get his daily fix of making me miserable. Now I pass that torch to you. Have a good time."
Wilson left Cuddys' office with a heavy step. Four days. It would be the longest time spent in Houses' company since Amber died. Wilson wondered if he had enough insurance.
Wilson had to give her credit, Cuddy had made the arrangements specific to Insane- House-management.
The room had no bar fridge for House to plunder and every expensive porn channel on the television had been locked out.
Wilson was also glad to see that, though Cuddy had thought of her expense account, she had also considered Houses' physical needs. The spacious washroom had bathtub bar assists and non-slip mats. The beds were both king-sized and pillow-topped for comfort. There were extra heated blankets in one dresser drawer and, on the large dresser, lay two pre-paid appointment coupons for a masseuse if Houses' leg got really bad.
For all her warbling over what a pain House was, Cuddy still tried to take care of him. She reminds me so much of me. Wilson looked around and took the bed farthest from the washroom.
House, if he noticed the gesture, didn't comment and dropped his suitcase on the floor. "Didn't you tip the bellhop?"
"He wouldn't carry my bag in."
"Maybe that's because you told him he looked like one of Santa's elves. And last I heard you had money."
"Sure but I forgot to bring it."
"Right." Wilson had suspected as much and had brought twice what he thought he would need plus another third.
House stood in the middle of the room, looking around with a frown on his face.
Wilson knew the answer but "What?"
House looked at him in horror. "No bar fridge?"
"No bar fridge. Cuddy's orders."
"Bad enough she sends me to a conference – to a conference with you – and makes me share a room, she denies me alcohol too??"
"She doesn't want a call from the manager, the New York City Police Department, The New York Fire Department or the Governor. So, yes, no bar fridge."
House screwed up his face in a candid display of grief. "She's such an evil witch. I can't believe I let her sleep with me yesterday."
"Sure she did." Wilson said with all the words of belief and none of the inflection.
Wilson removed his carefully folded shirts from his suitcase and hung them up in the room's one closet. "Aren't you going to unpack?"
"No, you're going to. I'm going down to the hotel's non-fridge type bar and work on my speech."
"You're giving a speech?"
"Cuddy certainly thinks so. Somehow I think she's mistaken."
"So you're going to drink before the opening tonight?"
"Think I was going to do this thing sober?"
"It crossed my mind, just for a split second. She'll be mad."
"All the better to start getting drunk now."
Wilson left the rest of his things unpacked and grabbed his wallet. "Wait for me."
Wilson sipped at his fruity cocktail and watched with disgust as House downed shot after shot of whiskey. "House, you've got four days to get stinking drunk, you don't have to accomplish it all on the first night."
House signaled for the barkeep to top his glass and raised it to Wilson. "I have not yet begun to drink."
"I'll bet I could bounce a quarter off your liver."
House smiled. "Not just my liver."
"Charming." But Wilson was beginning to feel the unmistakable mental fuzz of an alcohol induced buzz and smiled stupidly.
House narrowed his eyes at his oncologist friend with the deep, dark eyes and the brown floppy hair that would never thin if he lived to be a thousand. "Why'd you come to this conference with me?"
Wilson frowned a little. "Because Cuddy asked me to."
"Right. Because baby sitting a drunken House is your favorite hobby."
"House, drunken or sober, is my bestest friend and he has no idea when to stop soaking his poor liver or pissing off the hotel management." Wilson signaled for a refill of his own drink. "So I am here to make sure that doesn't happen."
House studied him. "You love me, that's the only reason you're here. You hate picking up the tab for me." House interrupted his own monologue to up tip his glass and swallow the molten liquid. "You hate cleaning up my social messes and the bathroom after I'm done entertaining myself in the shower."
"I do hate all of those things. As for loving you, I was kidding."
Wilson watched House swallow his drink and take cane in hand. "Where are you going?"
House looked at him with sober reason. "The conference has started."
"You're giving your speech drunk?"
"No speech. But if we want to eat the free prime rib dinner, we better get a table."
Wilson looked down at his tie-less shirt with the lemon juice stain. "I need to change."
"K. Meet you in there."
"Where will you be sitting?"
Without looking back, "Somewhere near the dessert trays."
Wilson did not show and House sat through two boring speeches before he decided to abandon any hope for dinner and scout around for him. "Must have met a busty brunette." He muttered under his breath as he surveyed the hotel bar. "Probably getting married right now."
But there was no sign of Wilson. House slid his key card into the hotel room door. Wilson was not passed out on the bed or asleep in the bath tub. "Hm."
The room's phone rang. House snatched the receiver from its cradle. "Wilson, if you're out buying rings-"
"-Is this doctor House?"
House paused. "That depends. Are you carrying a grudge and a hand gun?"
"Sorry? This is Sergeant DeMarcus. There's a James Wilson down here in the hotel kitchen - claims he knows you."
"Did that cheater hit on your sister? Don't worry, I'll discipline him later myself."
"Quit the smart-ass routine and get down here, Doctor House. There's been an incident."
Houses' heart dropped to his shoes. He slammed the phone down and limped his way to the elevator as fast as a gimpy man could possibly move after a half bottle of Daniel's best.
Incident. House waited for the arrival of the frustratingly slow elevator to take him eleven stories down. Incident was a polite, hotel manager word for something bad.
Wilson's broken another mirror. House imagined the red faced maître- de' in a monkey suit standing by while Wilson wrote another big, fat check to cover his deplorable lack of self control. Idiot.
The elevator opened with a polite ring and House entered, punching L for lobby. Hope entered, stood in the corner and took the ride with him.
Wilson was seated and people stood about for sure, some red faced, some as pale as kitchen witches.
The few really out of place persons were the two paramedics, a police officer who was taking notes (probably the same one who had called him), and a man lying on a gurney with the oxygen mask over his substantial nose. He wore a black suit and was clearly a member of the conference patronage at the hotel.
No one noticed House approach a much more sober looking Wilson and sit down next to him. "So? How'r you enjoying the conference so far?"
Wilson looked paler than most of the others and offered House a veiled sideways glance. He looked miserable. "I saved his life."
House glanced at the man on the gurney and nodded. "I agree, very upsetting. But-"
Wilson sighed, rubbing his face at the same time, a subconscious gesture that House recognized from the depths of years that Wilson was an emotional mess.
"-He was choking. They called for a doctor, I offered-"
"Of course, because you were the only possible doctor of choice in a hotel ball room of two thousand other doctors. Makes sense."
Wilson ignored Houses' interruptions. "I applied the Heimlich maneuver, dislodged the obstruction and he was fine."
"Which is why they're taking him away in an ambulance?"
"House, he didn't stay fine." Wilson tiredly explained. "I must have torn something, or ruptured something inside him. Suddenly he couldn't breath and there was nothing I could do."
House sighed, got to his feet, grabbed Wilson's arm and dragged him over to a more private bench outside the kitchen near the lobby. "Don't worry." He said to the watchful policeman. "We won't be making a run for it." House held up his cane. "See?"
House pushed Wilson down onto a cozy, padded velvet two-seater and perched beside him once more. "So he might die. So what? You want to adopt his children? Bed the wife as an apology? You saved his life. End of story. The rest . . ." House shrugged, "could have been caused by anything."
Wilson. "I might have just killed a man and you're making jokes."
"Oh, stop breaking my heart. Your Jewish conscience is confessing to involuntary manslaughter before there's even a body. Before you know anything." House pointed his cane back to the kitchen and the man lying on the gurney. "You know who that is?"
When Wilson shook his head, House explained. "That's Doctor Maurice Terrance Morgan."
House pursed his lips. "Yeah, I know - awful name isn't it?"
"House. This is bad news. This is even worse than I thought. Morgan's the top oncologist in the country. He's published more papers than I've had patients. If he dies-"
"-If he dies, you'll move up from being oncologist number five hundred and eighty-seven to five hundred and eighty-six. Relax, Wilson, this is good news, not bad news."
"How drunk are you? How could me killing a man who could squash my career like a benign polyp possibly be good news?"
"Because Morgan's had one foot in the grave for ten years. Long before you came along to play sloppy doctor – why do you always have to do that anyway? Twenty-four-seven, where ever you go, you act like a doctor. Don't you have any hobbies other than being a really, really nice guy?"
"I am a doctor."
"But not a great one. You should keep your profession to yourself more often. The Great and Fearful Oncologist Morgan has a dicky heart, he's fifty pounds over-weight if he's a hundred and best of all, he smokes like a coal-fired steamer."
"Yes, that is great news. What is your point?"
"My point is, he's going to die soon, so don't fret over anything you just may have but probably not hurried along a little. Besides, you probably didn't do anything wrong."
"I do try."
Wilson still looked miserable. "The cop thinks I might need a criminal lawyer."
"The cop is probably right."
"I thought you thought I didn't do anything wrong."
"I do think that but Morgan might not." House sat back and tapped his cane on the thick carpeting. "So, know any really good criminal lawyers?"
"No, but I have a feeling I'm about to."
House patted Wilson's boney knee and stood up. "Wait here."
"Where're you going?"
"To find you a really good liar."
"You're kidding me."
House blinked at her disbelieving tone over the speaker at his ear. "No. If I said Wilson had saved the entire hotel from a mysterious plague, I would be kidding. Wilson almost killing someone is believable. He's had so much practice."
House lowered his voice into the phone and Cuddy caught the worry in it even from as far away as Princeton. "Wilson might need a good lawyer. You know any?"
"Sure. I have you on the payroll don't I?" She sighed and asked the ridiculous question. "What terrible thing is poster boy Wilson supposed to have done anyway?"
"He saved a man's life." House glanced over to his slouching, hand-wringing, lovable idiot of a friend.
Part II ASAP