SUMMARY: "I hope I see him the next time I have to come to the clinic."
CHARACTERS: House, other canon characters
RATING: R for language and themes (gen fic).
WARNINGS: Details the aftermath of events in Bad Company, a rough, violent story. Aftermath isn't always pretty; may distress some readers. Adult themes and adult language.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Never will.
NOTES: The pieces of this shattered story are numbered. The first number signifies the number of days that have elapsed since the original event in Bad Company; the second number signifies when the fic occurs during that day.
"What the--" Foreman asks just before a pink rubber ball bounces off his shining dome.
Chase doesn't say anything when an oversized tennis ball scatters the papers and pens in front of him.
"OW!" Cameron yells when an undersized kickball hits her upside the head, digging her glasses into the side of her nose.
"Ooops," House says and retreats into his office. Balls of various sizes and shapes continue bouncing and rolling around the conference room, silent reminders of House's oddly...bubbly mood during the morning differential.
The fellows look at each other, then at the superball still bouncing on the table.
"I take it Wilson's feeling better," Chase mutters as he rearranges the forms in the patient's file.
Cuddy always stops at the clinic desk when on her way to and from her office; today is no exception. The exception appears to be that House signed in to the clinic roster on time. Cuddy can't hide the astonished expression on her face when she realizes that House appears to be covering Wilson's hours.
Amazing. The man won't do his own hours, but he'll steal someone else's.
The patient leaving Exam Two looks...not angry. Cuddy steps over to her as she signs some paperwork.
"Excuse me," she says and the woman turns quickly. "Hi. I'm Dr. Cuddy, the Dean of Medicine here. Which doctor did you see today?"
"I'm not sure of his name," the woman replies quietly. "But he had a cane? I liked him."
Cuddy shakes her head once, trying to recalibrate her ears. "You...what?"
"He was nice. He was so gentle when he stitched up my hand." She waves her bandaged hand at Cuddy and smiles. "I hope I see him the next time I have to come to the clinic."
Cuddy turns to Brenda, who is looking back at her with the same expression of incredulity, and says, "Write that down somewhere."
Cameron stands at the coffee machine, watching the liquid drip into the pot. The side of her nose still throbs gently under her glasses. When it finishes (finally), she retrieves a clean mug and pours it full of caffeinated goodness. She takes a deep breath before pushing the door of House's office open.
House is sitting in his desk chair, carefully arranging CD cases like dominoes and humming to himself. Cameron has to stop and blink; she hasn't seen him playing like this in his office in over a year.
"Are you on drugs?" The words are out before she can think about them.
House doesn't look up. "Always."
Cameron walks over to the desk and carefully sets the mug down in the only empty space. "No," she says, "are you on some new and/or illegal drugs? Because you're..."
House looks up this time, raising his eyebrows and tilting his chin, encouraging her to continue. "I'm?"
"You're in a good mood!" Cameron half-shouts. She puts her hands on her hips to keep from flailing; she can see his expression turn calculating as he figures out just how much his unusual behavior is bothering everyone around him. She knows she's giving him ammunition, but she can't help it. "What the hell, House? It's got to be drugs."
He starts to smile, that evil little lopsided curly smile that shows off that damn dimple and can only mean trouble. "Nope," he replies. "I drugged Wilson. And then I slept with him."