TITLE:Diagnosis;Wilson AUTHOR: L.M. Griffin
FANDOM: House, M.D
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: Wilson gets more than he bargained for when he lets the ducklings diagnosis him.
DISCLAIMER: Oh c'mon. Try to sue me for this. I'll just laugh and borrow House's cane to smack you. I have no money!
NOTES: I blame secret_base for this. She's a total enabler. Also, as always, I thank the lovely Sly for her editting skills of WOAHgoodness, RSL and Hugh Laurie for being sexy beasts, and to Fox for having such an excellent show on the air.

If you clap your hands really hard and WISH, at the end of this there might be some slash.


Diagnosis: Wilson
------------------

He could feel their surprised looks even after their conversation trailed
off, Foreman's strident, aggravated tones fading the last of all, like the
bass notes in some dissatisfied symphony. He tapped his pen against his
comfortable chair for a moment, contemplating them dangle for a moment in
the hold of confusion, but he relented after a mere second. After all, he
never could attain Gregg's levels of snark, and beyond that, he liked the
'ducklings', as he had humorously dubbed them.

So Doctor James Wilson raised his head, flashed the three of them a bland
and mostly self-deprecating smile, trying to play off the fact that he was
sitting with his feet up in their little consulting office, crossword puzzle
in hand and newspaper spread out before him in a clear indication of just
how long he had been there. "Anyone know a six letter word for 'clever'?
Besides, well, clever?"

They blinked, as one, and then as one came back to themselves. Cameron was
the first to snap to, as she always was, stuffing her hands into her pockets
as so not to start tugging on her long dark locks. A nervous habit
supplanted by a nervous habit, Wilson surmised, and found it gratifying to
find it backed up by her soft and slightly embarrassed. "Hello, Dr. Wilson."

"Hello, Allison," Wilson returned gently, his smile relaxing into warmth,
dark eyes flashing mirth. “Eric, Robert. Come in, make yourselves at home.
God knows I have."

The three exchanged another look, before Chase grinned, nudged Cameron in
the arm and moved towards the coffee machine, drawling with his Australian
accent. "Try 'tricky'."

"As bored as we are?" Foreman asked wryly, as he followed Chase in. He
flopped in the chair next to Wilson, rummaging through the paper, a frown
working over his expression, dark eyes narrowed.

"Tricky... hah!" Wilson gleefully wrote that in, before glancing up,
answering Foreman's unspoken question first. "Sport section is off to the
left - just don't touch the comics. House will have your internal organs if
you get to it before he does." Foreman snorted, and Wilson smiled, moving to
the next word as he also moved unto the spoken one. "Slow week. Everyone is
staying healthy, damn them. I came down here to lend a hand."

Cameron leaned on the doorway. "Funny, we were looking for you to see if we
could do the same."

"No new cases?" Wilson asked, tapping his pen again as he glanced at each
one of them. All three shook their heads 'no'. "House couldn't find
something else for you three to do?"

"He could...." Chase said slowly, as he took the filters out of the
cupboard. He smirked over his shoulder. "You know, if we wanted to do his
laundry."

"Or use our extensive medical knowledge to detail his model cars," Foreman
added flatly. flipping a page viciously. Wilson had the feeling that was a
direct quote.

"I offered to go through his mail again. He said he didn't need a master
forger until he went to steal the Mona Lisa," Cameron answered, blue eyes
filled with rueful humor.

"He's currently off stalking the halls. Terrorizing nurses and television
sets alike," Chase added. The sounds of fresh coffee filled the air as he
opened the container.

"Wish I could help, but I discharged my last serious patient two days ago.
And I do my own laundry." Wilson's lips curved, but there was no glint of
humor there. "Anyways, if he's out on the floor he'll find something soon
enough." That was the way it was with House - when the cases didn't come to
him he went to the cases. Bad leg and all.

Wilson always admired that.

Foreman was speaking, and Wilson made himself tune in to hear, "...and even
if he -does- stumble on a case, figuratively speaking, we're all going to be
so damned rusty we won't be able to tell if the patient has a head cold,
much less a serious disease!"

Silence fell, as heavy as rock falling on stone. Wilson found it a mark of
how close the team had become when all three of them sighed in unison. Not
to mention a little creepy.

"There are ways around that, you know." he finally said, frowning at the
definiton before him. 'Great Chinese Military Philosopher', again, six
letters. "Logic games, brain teasers. One slow period early on in our
acquaintence, House and I once spent four hours diagnosing what was wrong
with the coffee machine."

Foreman snorted again, but there was a faint smile to his lips afterwards.
Chase grinned broadly, and Cameron leaned into the room, her voice filled
with curiousity and humor as she asked, "What was the final verdict?"

"Bad socket plug - the machine wasn't getting enough electric current to
brew the coffee properly. We had to take it into pre-op, stat." Wilson
laughed then. Gregg ever so seriously working on the bent plug with the
intense expression, he offering unhelpful advice and snarky commentary.
Chinese food containers everywhere, and Gregg yelling mockingly at him when
he -dared- to critize his plier-holding abilities, 'Dammit, James, I'm a
doctor, not an electrician!'

The snorts of laughter that followed, the suddenly warm smile on Gregg's
face...

"...but the patient made it."

"That doesn't sound like a half bad idea, actually," Cameron said, her tone
clearly saying she was warm to the idea. "We could run a mock diagnostic."

"Cameron, I don't really feel like figuring out what's wrong with the
toaster." Foreman shook his head again, putting his gaze firmly back to
basketball scores.

"No one said we had to do household items. We could... do a person," Chase
said, setting the timer on the coffeemaker, before sauntering back over ot
the rest, his hands in his pockets. He grinned at the skeptical look on
Foreman's face, "We've even got a test subject right here. Dr. Wilson."

"I hate to be the one to point this out, but wouldn't he have to have a disease, first?" Foreman interrupted, arching two dark eyebrows. "The only
thing he has that's unexplainable is his liking of our employer."

Chase tilted his head for a moment, then nodded once. "Perfect. We can
diagnose his 'House-opothy'." He turned on his wellshod heel, taking up one
of the markers and writing down 'House-opothy' in his faintly curling
handwriting on the clear board.

"Hey now, wait a minute," Wilson protested. "Being House's friend is not an
illness, for chrissakes, nor is it any sort of great mystery. It's perfectly
reasonable and rational."

Cameron looked at him keenly. "Can you explain why you're his friend?"

Wilson stared at her for a moment, his mouth dropping open. "Ah, well... not
in so many words, no."

"Put down, the patient is unable to remember where he contracted the
disease." She said, grinning a little. Off his crestfallen look, she said
quietly, "It's just for fun, Dr. Wilson."

Wilson's mouth opened, then shut, as he gazed around at the three doctors.
Cameron was giving him that open, earnest look that looked like he was about
to kick a kitten if he said no. Chase's eyebrows lifted, giving him the
inquisitive choirboy look. Foreman even looked up from his paper, his
expression derisive but with a hint of hopeful puppy.

Wilson sighed. House picked three of the most visually manipulative looking
doctors he could find. One wide-eyed look and you felt like giving into
anything. He couldn't help thinking, somewhat caustically, that House must
have added that into his list of requirements. 'Staff
must be able to manipulate patients with cow-eyes.'

He exhaled, looking back at his crossword puzzle, "You should be starting
with a patient's history, not jumping right to the disease."

"He's right, you know," Chase said, turning to the board, "Right, what do we
know. Patient is male, Caucasian.. mid to late thirties..."

"Thirty-seven. In June." Wilson murmured, forcing his gaze back to the
puzzle. Five letter word for 'wench'.

"Thirty seven. Slightly above average height, normal weight, and
concurrently healthy, as he is a doctor and should keep himself that way,"
Cameron said, the grin obvious in her voice. "Any bad habits?"

"Don't smoke, considering my profession, and I don't drink except socially."
Wilson answered, stretching his legs a little under the table. He could hear
Foreman tapping his fingers against the table, felt the vibration at his
elbow. "Never did drugs."

"Or so he says." Foreman finally chimed in.

Wilson's chin jerked up, as did his eyebrows. All three doctors shrugged and
spoke together, "Everybody lies."

"Ah. Right. Are we sure I'm the only one who is suffering from
'House-opothy'?" Wilson asked dryly. Five letter word for 'serving girl'.

"What do we know about the patient's personal life?" Chase asked, putting
down drugs with a question mark by it. Not that Wilson was glancing out of
the corner of his eye, or anything.

"He works 50 plus hour weeks, due to the fact that he is the head of
Oncology," Cameron supplied, moving closer to the board. "A lot of that time
is down in the clinic."

"Where he doesn't have to be, because unlike other doctors in our
acquaintance, he keeps up with his hours." Chase scribbled that down. "What
else?"

"He's married." Foreman put the newspaper aside. Wilson grimaced behind his
own part.

"Married. Got it. Any hobbies?" All three looked over him expectantly.

Er. "I like old movies? You know, Astaire and Rogers. Clark Gable and
Katherine Hepburn. And, ah, I play the guitar." He blinked. "I also jog."

"Cultured, active, and musically talented." Chase tapped his pen against his
chin for a moment. "Patient is often found in a good humor."

"He's also considered kind," Cameron added, with a shy look sideways.

"But fair." Foreman leaned back in his chair. "He also doesn't slack off
unless he doesn't have anything important to do - also unlike certain
doctors we know."

"All right, we've covered the patient..." Chase murmured, his pen hovering
for a moment.

"And flatteringly so." Wilson couldn't help the faint amusement

"We'll get to the lies later." Chase smirked, before circling
'House-opothy'. "Now, let's talk about the disease."

"Nasty virus." Foreman smirked, "Tends to hit the ego with smarmy comments
whenever possible."

"Brutal on the senses." Cameron confirmed, her hands going back into her
pockets. "Has a way of getting under your skin, very rash like."

"Not to mention warping your sense of reality. Causes severe dementia."
Chase scribbled all these out.

"I think you're all being a little harsh here." Wilson complained, sitting
up a little. "Sure, he's all those things, but that's not always a -bad-
thing. Sometimes, you need to have your perceptions shaken up."

Three sets of eyes stared at him, then looked at each other, before Chase
started to write again. "Patient shows signs of Extreme Over Exposure ...
how long have you known each other?"

"Nearly ten years." Nine years, five months, ten days, four hours and twenty
five minutes ago he turned a corner, ran into the hospital's brilliant
diagnostician on his way to the cafeteria for a quick sandwich before
throwing himself into his first shift as an attending
oncologist.

Nine years, five months, ten days, four hours, and twenty four minutes ago,
he had gotten a full dose of House sarcasm, 'You know, this is why people
have to stop at four way signs. I could have your license revoked for
violating traffic laws.'

Nine years, five months, ten days, four hours, and twenty three minutes ago
he gathered up his shocked wits enough to answer, 'Then it's a good thing
I'm insured for rude jerks who ran into me first, isn't it?'

Nine years, five months, ten days, four hours, twenty two minutes ago was
the first time he saw Gregg House blink as he slid past him, and moved down
the hallway, furious and ruffled. Ten later the same tall man, sans cane and
dimmed attitude, showed up at his cafeteria table, sat himself down without
asking permission, and said simply, 'You didn't leave your insurance
information.'

They stared at one another, for a whole 45 seconds, then started to snigger.

...The others were talking. Wilson really had to snap himself out of
flashback mode. He shook his head a little, then said, "Hm?"

"...I was asking you if you thought you showed any signs or symptoms, but
obviously we can put down, 'loss of reality' right off the bat." Foreman smirked a little. When did he get over to the board? Oh. Right. When Wilson was having his 'moment'.

All Wilson could do to answer was smirk, easing back into his chair as he
looked at his crossword puzzle again.'Quarter of a circle'.

The three ducklings were huddled around the board, intent. "Patient shows
all the symptoms of a severe case." Cameron said, leaning back a little,
"The question is, why is the illness so far progressed?"

"Prolonged exposure? Ten years is a long time." Chase scribbled that down.

Foreman shook his head. "Dr. Cuddy has known him equally long, and she
doesn't show a single symptom."

"Not everyone's immune system is the same," Cameron said. "Keep it up there,
Chase. Could be similiar backgrounds. Both hard working doctors, heads of
their department. Professionally, something is bound to show up."

"Yes, but we're talking personally, not professionally, or we might as well
put ourselves down as terminal," Chase mused slowly, "Similar morality?"

"Oh, c'mon. House doesn't have a moral code. He's got a moral Spark Notes
set," Foreman scoffed.

"Yes, but let's remember that Dr. Wilson is not as moral as he comes off at
first glance. He's had three wives, not just one, and rumours of affairs,"
Cameron pointed out. Wilson winced behind her, trying to slump further into
his chair.

"Ye-es, but not one of those women has talked trash about 'im, or there
would be some question about his ethics." Foreman pointed out. "So whatever
his problem is with women has nothing to do with the fact 'he's a dog'.
Besides, he's got nice shoes."

The other two nodded their heads thoughtfully in agreement.

"...What do my shoes have to do with anything?" Wilson couldn't help
speaking up. A moment later he wished he hadn't, because the serious,
clinical look he received from the three of them was disconcerting. He found
himself looking at three little Houses.

He shifted in his seat.

"Nice shoes means expensive shoes. So whatever happened with your marriages
didn't happen because you were unfaithful, or they would have sucked you dry
for alimony," Chase supplied.

"Don't think they didn't try," Wilson muttered, earning him a sympathetic
smile from Cameron, before the three of them turned back to their board.

"Well, all we've got is the morality angle, to work with, which means the
disease has more morals than we thought..." Chase tilted his head a little,
"But it still doesn't account for the severity."

"You are all discounting the most obvious answer," Foreman said, nodding
towards the board. "It's staring us right in the face." He took up the red
pen and wrote, 'Homosexual'. Then as an afterthought, he added, 'Closeted'.

There was the sound of a pen dropping down on a table.

"...All right, explain that leap into the unknown?" Cameron asked, arching
one eyebrow as her arms folded over her chest.

"Simple. Nice shoes, silk ties, a generally nice guy who is musical and
likes old movies, does his own laundry and is considered a pretty great
except for being 'man-whore', but no one seems to have any problems with
the 'man-whore' part. Man does that kind of sleeping around, he's either
trying to prove something, which Dr. Wilson isn't, or he's trying to hide
something. Taking into account that Everyone Lies, and considering all the graff you get for being a gay doctor these days, it's not hard to see why." Foreman outlined it all carefully.

"Yes, but what does that have to do with the... oh!" Chase knocked himself
lightly against the head. "Of course. Love."

"Or at least sexual attraction," Foreman said, gesturing with his pen.

"No. It's love," Cameron confirmed, and she snagged the pen from Chase's
hand, circling. "The disease points to it - the patient has a tolerance
beyond belief to the rash and the ego cuts - not to mention he doesn't have
any problems with the dementia. Anyone that tolerant to something that
possibly dangerous is either insane or in love."

"Right, so, final analysis, 'House-opothy' either causes insanity, or love."
Foreman smiled snarkily at his companions. "Fitting."

"Which means in final diagnosis, Dr. James Wilson is a closeted homosexual
who is in love with his best friend," Chase summed up, before adding dryly,
"Or, we're suffering from the early stages of dementia."

"Yeah, it does all sound rather crazy when you put it up in black and..."
Cameron half turned, her blue eyes widening silghtly. "...white?"

Foreman and Chase followed her gaze to Wilson, puzzled.

Who sat, elbows on the table, hands clasped so tightly in front of him that
the gold ring on his second finger glittered around too-pale skin. The
usually easy, open handsome face was tight with pain, lips pressed together
so tightly there was nothing but a faint pink line, and his eyes were shut
firmly.

Chase's mouth dropped open. Foreman just stared, his dark eyes as wide as
plates. Cameron made a little choked noise.

Wilson... breathed.

Then his eyes opened, and there was something distant in that dark gaze. "I
keep telling him that you're all overqualified, and he doesn't believe me.
Idiot." Then he slumped lightly back in his chair, craning his head a little
back towards the hallway. "He's coming. You might want to erase that."

"Ah," Foreman said dumbly.

"Uhm," Cameron stuttered.

"Er," Chase's mouth shut with a resounding click.

"The board," Wilson repeated himself, a touch more gently. "You should erase
the board."

Not taking his stunned gaze from Wilson, Chase lifted his hand and erased it
wth the eraser. Wilson watched, impassively, before picking up the pen and
the crossword puzzle again, just as the 'thump, step' of House pervaded the
hall, and House appeared a moment later, arching craggy eyebrows at his team as they continued to gawk at Wilson. "You know, if you keep watching him like that, he's still not going to boil."

"Ah."

"Uhm."

"Er."

- Were his replies.

If at all possible, House's eyebrows rose more. He shifted his weight from
his bad leg to his good, and picked up his cane to poke Wilson in the arm.
"All right, what have I said about turning my staff into mindless zombies
for your sick plans for world domination?"

Wilson tilted his head, as if considering his answer, before dipping his
head back down. "I have to wait twenty minutes after eating?"

"Damned straight. Global destruction can give you stomach cramps like that."
Snap of the fingers. Poke, poke went the cane. "I'm bored. Entertain me.
Make me gargle spit uselessly like Foreman."

Foreman didn't even blink. House narrowed his gaze on him while Wilson spoke
firmly, drawing the tall man's attention back to him. "Give me a second ...
what's an eleven letter word for 'long, unrequited love on one side?" He
looked up then, his eyes asking something his words were not.

"...Infatuation," Chase finally managed to get out, before his elbow found
its way into Cameron's side. "And now, we're going."

"Ah!" Cameron yelped, before smoothing herself down and shoving her hands
firmly into her pockets, before she yanked them out again. "Yes. For food." Her hand smacked against Foreman's chest.

"Eh? Ah, er, yeah. Food." Foreman shook himself a little, and one by one,
they filed hurriedly out of the room, avoiding House's steely blue eyes as
if they were as contagious the man himself seemed to be.

"Yes, you go. Get food. See if you can find full sentences and your
vocabularies while you're at it," House called after them, still frowning,
before he turned back to poke Wilson with his cane again. "I mentioned I was
bored, right?"

"As the bruise on my shoulder can attest to, I can tell. Shall we go stalk
out the maternity lounge and steal their donuts and TV time? That always
gives you a vicious thrill." Wilson said, dropping the crossword puzzle to
the table as he rose, grabbing his lab coat in the process. "Or, you know, you could get in your clinic hours."

"I like the donut plan better. Less annoyance, more sugar intake." House
turned his head lightly, frowning as he looked down the hall where the
ducklings had disappeared. "Seriously, what the hell did you do to them,
James?"

Wilson stopped for a moment. Thinking back on three failed marriages, lovers
and 'girlfriends'. To broken coffee machines, and how 'pretty' he looked
with his new tie. Blue eyes that said everything but what he wanted to hear.
Laugh lines and pain lines. Canes and divorces.

Nine years, five months, ten days, four hours and now forty minutes.

He smiled to himself, before he smoothed down his collar, speaking as glibly
as another man could faced away from the object of his affection, "My
undying love for you, Gregg."

"What, again? I thought I told you, I'm not that kind of doctor." House
arched an eyebrow at his friend. "And you an unhappily married man, too.
With his own nurse."

"What can I say, House. Sometimes you want what you can't have." Wilson took
his time clipping his pen back to his pocket.

"Ah, but as the famed philosopher Cuddy once told me, "Sometimes you get
what you need." House tapped his fingers to the side of his head. "Smart
woman. Luckily her brains weren't outbalanced by her breasts."

Wilson managed an eyeroll as he turned around, "Don't you need your sugar
intake? C'mon, let's go."

"Yeah..." House frowned, looking around the room again. At the untouched
coffee sitting on the brewer. The smell of ink and Cameron's perfume in the
air. The hastily scrabbled out markings on the board. The newpaper dropped
so casually atop the table.

His eyes fell on the crossword puzzle.

A faint smile touched his lips, before he turned abruptly and followed
Wilson out into the hall. Later, when he was sure Wilson had a mouthful of
coffee in him, he'd ask what 'House-opothy' was.