Archive of Our Own

"You've got to stop doing that."

House didn't even look up from his Game Boy. "Doing what? You're going to have to be a little more specific; I'm doing any number of things at this exact moment and location in the space-time continuum: breathing, blinking, thinking, trying to blast space monkeys into oblivion--"

"Paging me in for nonexistent consults."

This time, House spared him a glance, but only the briefest. "Or do you mean paging you into unoccupied exam rooms for nonexistent consults that could very well be mistaken for quick, life-affirming sex before sending you back out to the death and gloom that is your job? Don't think I don't know what they say about us." He stopped to wag a finger at Wilson, but the tinny noise of an explosion let them both know that was just the break the space monkeys needed. "Damn!"

"House, it's inconvenient and I have other things to do. It really has got to stop."

House was looking at him with that assessing eye he usually reserved for his own staff or white board and for the first time, Wilson found himself wishing the monkeys hadn't won. "You're really bothered. Why? It's never bothered you before. Unless it's not you who's bothered. Wait, is it Brenda the nurse?"

"Lisa is the nurse and Brenda is on General Hospital, though I don't think she is anymore. And I don't think she was ever a nurse."

"No, she was a lot of things, but never a nurse. And Brenda was also the brunette in Legal, if I recall correctly." Wilson didn't say anything, but acknowledged him with a nod. "So it's Lisa who's really bothered. What, she doesn't mind sleeping with a married man, but she does mind him playing hooky in the middle of the day to hole up in exam rooms with his friend?" He gave an expansive sigh. "You always could pick them. Next time I'll page you as Dr. Cheats-on-Wives, is that any better?"

"And suddenly we're in the middle of Dances with Wolves. What does that make you, Dr. Bastard-with-Cane?"

"Of course I'd have to be Cain. I'm certainly not able."

"Ha," Wilson replied, completely devoid of laughter.

"Oh, lighten up," House said, with a none-too-gentle whack of his cane. "I really did call you in for a consult. Here." He slid a file across the exam bed. "I’m looking for a fourth."

"A fourth? A fourth what?"

House rolled his eyes. "I always thought that expression about fucking one's brains out was metaphorical, but maybe there really is a medical basis. A doctor. For my staff. Here at the hosp--"

"Yes, yes. I understand." Wilson picked up the file and leafed through it. "Why do you want a fourth? And why is that fourth a psychiatrist?"

House shrugged. "I wanted a pathologist first, but Cuddy said it wouldn't engender faith in my patients. And this way we can save on psych consults. Schizophrenia's the new vasculitis, or didn't you know?"

"So you want a psychiatrist instead?"

"Next best thing. Nearly as ineffectual, with the added bonus of stirring up trouble with the living rather than the dead." He smirked. "I did well: she's even a Freudian."

"A Freudian? You'd be on her couch before she had time to stir up anything, trying to explain why a duck is just a rubber duck."

House frowned. "I hate rubber ducks. Those little demonic rones have ruined them all for me."

"I know," Wilson grinned.

"Although I wouldn't object to being on her couch. Look at her picture; she has fantastic breasts. Nearly as formidable as Cuddy's. They're certainly a force to be reckoned with." He waggled his eyebrows. "Think we could arrange some sort of duel?"

Wilson gave him a pointed look. "She also has fantastic credentials."

House sighed his you're no fun sigh. "Yeah. That, too."

"You still haven't explained why you want a fourth."

"Happy doctors are terrible doctors."

"You object to the fact that your staff happens to be getting along and working well together?"

"You know better than to sound so surprised."

"You're utterly beyond hope. And anyway," Wilson added, paging through the file, "there's no way we could afford her."

"I said I wanted her, I didn't say we could have her."

"So, what?" Wilson asked. "You're going to make some noise to Cuddy about it and leave the file lying around for someone to find?"

"You have to admit, it's all rather elegant."

"Not exactly the word I'd use."

"Well, yes. That's because you're nice. I hate nice people almost as much as I hate happy doctors and rubber ducks."

Wilson headed for the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. "Leave it somewhere where Chase will find it. He'll show it to Foreman, and when Cameron finds out she'll think they were hiding it from her. Maximum trouble for minimum effort."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

Wilson let the door swing fully open before he replied, "And all this time, I thought it was for the life-affirming sex."

When Wilson heard a page two days later for Dr. Cheed-Sonwives, he wasn't in the least bit surprised.

When House found a rubber duck sitting on his desk the following morning with a jaunty bow tied around its neck, he wasn't the least bit surprised, either.