This is my new House/Bones crossover. It is going to take place over a longer time period, and will be more procedural than my last crossover. It will be B/B, of course, but the House pairing is still undecided. It takes place after "Wilson" and "The Goop on the Girl". And for those of you who are reading "More Questions", the last chapter is up, but the alert system doesn't seem to be working.
Enjoy the first chapter!
"The Man in the Mirror"
Chapter 1: Meetings and More
Gordon Gordon Wyatt wasn't entirely impressed with his situation. In two short months, he had gone from a rising star chef to a lowly, reinstated FBI shrink. It wasn't as if he had been given a choice, though. An old case of his had opened up again upon the escape of the infamous serial killer and rapist Fredrick Walker, and, having an extensive knowledge of the man's thought processes and habits, he was an essential component to the case's team. However, his newly regained role as a man of the mind rather than food hadn't been adapted without much fight. He had run away several times, in fact, but the FBI had tracked him down, finally convincing him that the state of New Jersey needed his skills more than his restaurant's patrons. So, here he was, sitting on a bench in the Princeton University grounds, looking over his files for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. So far, three bodies had been discovered in the short three months since Walker had escaped, and he could only think that those were only the ones that had been found. Walker killed three at a time, and stored his victims together, tying them up with twine or another string-like material. He didn't spend much time stalking his victims, picking three seemingly different targets. Gordon Gordon could always thread them together, though. There were always clues hidden in the victims, and it was up to him to thread them together. Hopefully, if he could get the man behind bars again, he could go back to cooking and away from head-shrinking for good.
He wasn't exactly doing anything at the present time, but the FBI wouldn't let him go anywhere outside of New Jersey for more than a few hours. The work had kept him busy, and he had barely had time for a couple of drinks before needing to go back to his hotel to look over new information. He had had a lonely Christmas, with only a few casual acquaintances to share crackers with, and his Christmas morning consisted of sitting in his hotel room, opening the few presents he had been sent. He longed to return to D.C, where he knew his staff and patrons were waiting for his return from the mysterious, last minute trip, but there were more important things to be done, and even in his resentment, he recognized that he was needed to solve this case. He just wished that he had had time for the drink he had promised Booth, as well as tying up the other loose ends back in D.C. But Princeton was nice. And he was looking forward to looking up an old acquaintance. Now if only he could make headway with the case… and get rid of that annoying nausea.
"House!" Wilson shouted from the bathroom of their new loft, sounding like the older man had tried to do something worth murdering him over.
"Yes, dear? Did we run out of toilet paper again? I swear I stocked up last time we were at the Wal-Mart." House called back to his roommate, smiling sweetly as he waited for the explosion.
Wilson emerged from the bath room, wearing only a mint green towel and a scowl, and proceeded to walk up right up to his best friend and point a finger at his face.
"You tried to dye my hair purple! You're lucky I'm in the habit of making my shampoo into suds before putting it in, or you would have been in big trouble!"
House held back a laugh. He hadn't counted on Wilson not noticing the unusual colour of his favourite Pantene, but if it had worked… well, it would have lasted a few weeks.
"Moi?" he asked innocently, pointing his finger in the same direction as Wilson's.
"Well, actually, come to think of it, it was probably the evil shower gremlin that I warned you about last week when you…I mean, someone, put my razor head on the wrong way and replaced my shaving cream with…foaming spermicide. He's a sneaky little bastard, but I haven't been pranked… I mean, hit by him yet. You should watch out, House."
"Oh, I will." House replied, smiling evilly. "And purple would have been a good colour on you, Wilson. That evil shower gremlin knows what you look good in. Well, I'm off to work. Have fun at that Oncology seminar. I'll be sure to take pictures during clinic duty, so you know what you've missed. You'll get me some of the slides on testicular cancer, right?"
"I'll be sure to, House. And it's not an Oncology seminar, it's a seminar on alternative pain medications, something you really should be going to."
House made a face.
"I'm good with my ibuprofen, thank you. Why are you going, then?"
"In case you haven't noticed, House, many of my cancer patients have chronic pain and are in need of pain relief. Hence, I'm going to this thing."
"Alright. Just don't get too weepy or try to make a career-killing speech again. I won't be there to save you again, seeing as Cuddy's got me knee-deep in crotch rot and swine flu. Goddamn pandemic." He looked at Wilson darkly, before rolling his eyes at his best friend's concerned expression.
"Oh, for the love of god, what do you think's wrong with me this time?"
"How are you two, by the way?" Wilson asked, as casually as the oncologist could be under the current circumstances.
"Well, after our wedding in the Philippines, we were thinking of going on a honeymoon around the world!" the diagnostician answered in a sarcastic falsetto.
"Seriously, House." The older man sighed. It seemed like every second sentence had something to do with his wellbeing. Quite frankly, it was getting rather annoying, seeing as Wilson didn't seem to care all that much about his happiness. Or was that reading into the lines too much?
"Same as always, except she hurries out of the room whenever I walk in, and she resents the very fiber of my being." he answered bitterly. "You know, classic 'I'm dating one of House's friends and am so happy that it's not a secret anymore!' Cuddy behaviour. I'm not too worried."
"You know, if you two don't sort through whatever it is that happened between you, the hospitals going-"
"To be in shambles in a few months, I know. I'm just going to hold out until then. Besides, she's the one who doesn't want to say anything besides the fact that there never was an 'us'. If she wants to keep it at that, I'm fine. If she's happy, I'm-"
"Miserable.' Wilson finished for him. "I know. But then again, you're always miserable."
"Oh, I don't know, Jimmy, I was pretty… un-miserable a few months ago."
"Yeah? Doing what?"
"Trying to become happy." House answered, matter-of-factly.
"Right. You were actually content at one point in the past year? Contentment that wasn't the result of a hallucination?"
"Well, technically, it was the result of a hallucination, but not directly. Mind you, it only lasted a few days before falling apart."
"Mayfield? Are you going to tell me? You haven't told me ANYTHING about Mayfield yet."
"That's because I know you'd want to read into every little thing that happened. Since that hasn't happened, I've been spared a fair amount of grief."
"Did you make a friend there? Why haven't you kept in contact? Why haven't I heard anything about this?"
House sighed again. Trust Wilson to take on of his comments and twist it into the Great Important Thing.
"Just a woman, Jimmy. Oh, lust, the fleeting feeling of frivolousness…" he trailed off, waggling his eyebrows.
"Wait; you had an AFFAIR while in a MENTAL HOSPITAL? Why didn't you tell me? Was she a patient? Was she hot? Did you sleep together? What happened?"
House rolled his eyes.
"Again, I didn't tell you because you would want to pick apart at it until you had me convinced that we had actually gotten married and had three children, all before I killed her father and her long lost half-cousin whose children she had beared in her past life."
"You tend to exaggerate everything, Wilson. No, she wasn't a patient; she was the wife of a patient's brother. She was pretty, and yes, we had sex. And then Freedom Master cured her friend and they all left to be a big, happy family in Arizona with her husband and two kids. Ta-da. Now you know my awful secret." He brushed a few fake tears off his face before walking to the hall to find his shoes.
Wilson took a few moments to collect his thoughts, before following his friend to the closet.
"Okay, so let me get this straight: You had an affair with another married woman, with children this time, and… who the hell's Freedom Master?"
"Oh, look, I'm late for work." House said evasively, trying to push past the man who had barricaded him inside the loft with his still toweled body to get to his collection of sneakers.
"Just wait one minute, House. You can't tell me you got some action while in the nut house-"
"I find that term offensive."
"-While in a psychiatric facility without discussing the details with me. Where the hell did you do it? On your bed?"
House gave up his search for the right pair of shoes. It was best to deal with Wilson while the topic was still fresh and hadn't had time to fester.
"It was on a chair, if you must know. And no, we didn't get caught or anything, and as far as I know, she didn't tell her husband. Just flew off to Arizona."
"Does Nolan know?"
"Of course Nolan knows, what did you think I was using him for?"
"So, you got through it okay?"
"Well, obviously, otherwise I would still be there with the manic Hispanic, wouldn't I?"
"Uh, yes? Do I want to know?" Manic Hispanics and Freedom Master? He was certainly going to weasel more information out of House later.
"Not really. But seriously, Wilson, I'm going to be late. And you know how important punctuality is to me."
"Right." Wilson muttered, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so important. Who knows how much hiding from clinic duty you've missed because of the bombshell you dropped on me?"
"Well, there's only one way to find out. I'll have to go to work. Fajitas tonight?"
"Make sure you pick up the steak on your way home, okay?"
"Why do I have to get it? I have a handicap." House whined, pouting.
"Because the butcher is on your way home today. Enjoy testing schoolchildren for H1N1, House."
"Bye." House grumbled, lacing up his sneakers before heading out the door. If he didn't have a case, he would have to come up with a… creative way to cope with his boredom. One which a certain Dean of Medicine would not approve of.
"House!" shouted an aggressive, feminine voice from the doorways of the morgue. Damn. The She-Devil had managed to find his hiding spot once again. It seemed all people wanted to do was shout at him today. What was wrong with a little bit of harmless fun and relaxation, anyway?
"What?" he whined loudly, swearing when his character on Super Mario lost his last life. Damn Cuddy and her need for doctors in the clinic. He had said it before and would say it again: his talents were wasted on strep throat and teenage chlamydia.
"House, in what universe is it acceptable to shirk your duties and sneak down to the morgue to play video games?"
House giggled loudly.
"What?" she asked, exasperated already. Last night, Rachael had caught the twenty-four hour bug, and while she was fully prepared to deal with puking infants in her workplace, it was a different story at home, especially with Lucas out of town for the night.
"You said 'duties'."
Cuddy rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.
"Of course. I said 'duties'. Clinic. Now."
"Up. Now! Or I'll-"
"What; cut my salary? Increase my hours? Give me even more clinic duty that you know I won't do? I don't think you have anything left in your arsenal, Cuddy. Face it; you can't get me to do anything."
"Who says I won't fire you?"
"Your guilt does. Not only did you cut out part of my leg, but you…crushed my dreams." He sucked back a fake sob.
"Hmm, I won't fire you if you don't do what I hired you for? There seems to be a problem with that statement…"
"Yeah, yeah, I'll go and swab privates. But just you wait, Cuddy. Revenge is coming. I'll get you, my pretty, and your little boy-toy too."
"I'll be sure to keep a lookout." Cuddy replied drily. "UP!"
"Alright, alright, I'm going. Stupid pandemic…" He pushed past her, making sure he invaded her personal space enough to make her uncomfortable, and headed for the elevator. Today was going to be a long day…
After three cases of the flu, two pregnancies, and an unfortunately misshapen nose, House walked into the clinic to the most unexpected thing he had seen in a long time.
"Greg?" the middle aged man in a suit asked in an English accent. He looked under the weather, pale circles appearing around his eyes, making him look older than he was.
"No way…" House said, a grin pushing its way onto his face, despite his best efforts. "Gord? What are you doing in New Jersey?" Come to think of it, what was his teenage friend Gordon Wyatt doing in America?
"Well, I can't really tell you, it being official business and all." House looked at him incredulously. "Christ, it's been a long time. The last time I saw you… well, you didn't have nearly as much facial hair. You've managed to age quite nicely, Greg."
"Can't say the same for you, Gord." House grinned. "The last time I saw you, you were seventeen and living the life, back in England. You looked like hell."
"No offense, I'm sure. And unfortunately, I matured to the point that 'living the life' no longer seemed to satisfy me. I'm a psychiatrist now. Well, I'm not really supposed to be, but I got called back into duty by the FBI, and oh, goodness, I miss my restaurant in D.C…"
"Whoa, hang on. You're a shrink? For the FBI? Never would have guessed that Gordon Wyatt would have wanted to work with crazy people. You were all about the ladies, back in '74…And you didn't sound like such a stuck-up British git, either."
"Minds change, as I'm sure yours has, Greg. Though I can tell from your reputation that you've retained your dislike for authority."
"Well, as a shrink you'd be able to pick apart all the little reasons for that, right? Jesus, I never thought I'd see you again. I thought the closest I'd ever get to Gordon Wyatt again was listening to a Noddy Comet album." Wyatt chuckled at that. He sure missed those days, that was for sure.
"Yes, well, I hadn't held out hopes after your father had uprooted your family once again. Did you move much after England?"
"Not too much after that." House answered, reminiscing. "Mom wanted Dad to settle down more, so we got a place right in the US of A."
"Ah, I see. I suppose you're wondering how I ended up working for the FBI? It's a rather long story, I'm afraid, and I'm more concerned with the bouts of nausea I seem to be experiencing. I'll try my best to hold my rather awful lunch in, but I can't make any promises. You'll have to be careful."
"When did the nausea start?" House asked, settling into diagnostician mode.
"Around twelve hours or so ago, I believe. Waking up in the middle of the night to empty the contents of your stomach is not something one wants to experience repeatedly, so I looked you up, knowing, from various articles in medical journals that your current residence was here in Princeton, where I have been staying for the past couple of months, dealing with a rather nasty case of escaped serial killer."
"The guy who busted out back in October?" Reading the newspapers on the odd occasions that his Game boy died or he ran out of porn seemed to pay off occasionally.
"The very same, I'm afraid. So, the nausea?"
"Are you on any medications? Recent trips? New sexual partners?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Greg, just look at my chart. Everything you need to know is on there."
House reluctantly examined the chart for a few minutes, before taking out his scrip pad.
"I'm writing you up a scrip for Tamiflu. Your pallour suggests fever, and the way you've been carrying yourself tells me that you've been experiencing mild to moderate fatigue."
"Oh, very good, Dr. House. I suppose you think I have that awful swine flu that's been going around?"
"Your symptoms do match, and I've seen enough idiots today with the damn thing to not be able to diagnose it in my sleep."
"I do hope you don't think me an idiot, Greg. I was more interested in getting to talk with you than in my flu-like symptoms, so forgive my apparent caution. I'll get this filled out right away, and get out of your hair."
"Well, you could stay for a while. I have a vixen of a boss who thinks that every minute not spend diagnosing STDs is a minute wasted. General Hospital's on in a few minutes, we could watch on my portable."
"Is that what you do all day, Greg, watch awful soaps while avoiding interaction with the public? I was under the impression that your job consisted of curing the incurable."
"I don't have a case right now, hence, clinic duty. Which, I suppose, brought me the great gift of a long lost friend, so that's not all bad. Where are you staying? We should get a drink later."
"If you can squeeze one in after eight, that would be lovely. It seems that after many months of no contact with my small circle of friends, I've been blessed with two social encounters, all after Christmas, of course. Two of my friends from D.C. have been called in for the investigation… well, I really shouldn't be telling you all this, but the Gregory House I knew had a knack for knowing when to keep his mouth shut… not around his father, unfortunately. But that's all in the past, isn't it? If they're both free, you wouldn't mind me dragging them along, would you? You do give off the impression that you need more friends."
"I have plenty of friends. Well, two. One and a half, actually. Wilson's just fine, except when perfect strangers need his help, then he's off trying to save them, and Lucas is dating my boss, who I… maybe we should save this for later. One and a half friends."
"I daresay we'll have much to talk about over a good bottle of scotch, but perhaps your personal life isn't something we should be talking about when you're supposed to be doing your job."
"Are you kidding? That's all we ever talk about in this place. I wish I had been there when the nurses got wind that I had gone to the loony bin. That would have fed their hunger for gossip for months."
"The loony bin?" Wyatt asked. "Good heavens, Greg, what on earth have you been up to?" House smiled grimly. Gordon Gordon Wyatt had a lot to hear about.