Work Text:
House lasts less than a week after the new fellows start working for him before his need to scheme takes over. He wakes up and goes about his morning routine as per usual when he finds himself unable to take his ring off. In the metaphorical way, obviously. He stands there, staring at his bastard of a husband blow-drying his hair through the mirror, and something in him just refuses to take it off.
Wilson, of course, notices. “You okay?” he asks when he places the hair dryer back in its place. It pulls House back into reality from his thoughts and his distanced frown turn into a smirk. He knows Wilson understands what’s coming before House has the chance to say it.
“I’m going to get the game started,” he says anyways, waving his ring finger in Wilson’s face obnoxiously.
Wilson snatches it with his right hand and brings it closer to his mouth, planting a soft kiss on it with a dopey smile. “Thirteen’s gonna see right through it within the week and you know it.”
House pulls his hand back but still gives Wilson a soft smile. “They don’t really know us that well yet,” he reasons. But he knows Wilson is probably right.
Leaving his ring on wins him ten minutes of making out by the door right before they leave the house. While they both know House is too all-over-the-place to wear his ring to work, what with him barging into operating rooms with barely half a decent scrub-in, House knows that Wilson loves the idea of that still happening. He knows it drives Wilson crazy thinking of that ring on his finger screaming this man’s taken. It kind of makes House wish it takes the team longer than a week to figure it out.
They carpool to work. They rarely do it, mostly unable to coordinate their ends of the day, but it’s raining like crazy and House doesn’t even pretend to go get his bike coat already knowing Wilson will bite his head off before he lets him on the deathtrap when it’s so wet outside. If one of them ends up taking a cab back or waiting for the other, that’s okay.
When they get into the hospital Wilson walks directly to the clinic to get some hours out of the way before going up to do his morning rounds, so House has to go up the elevator in his own. When he walks into the office the new team is already there. Thirteen has her nose in a file, reading through it as Taub and Kutner debate some possible diagnoses, and Foreman sits at the corner of the table with his hands folded over it and a frown on his face.
They all startle when they hear his backpack landing on his chair and look up right before he crosses the threshold between his office and the outer office. It seems to him like Foreman sees the ring first because his annoyed frown turns into a small smirk for a split second before he manages to shut it back down. “I see you think we have a case,” House sighs when he turns to grab his mug from the shelf.
“It’s a 14-year-old girl with intermittent episodes of severe headaches,” Foreman tells him. House doesn’t even acknowledge that he heard him, pouring himself a coffee and sitting down at the head of the table. “She also says that during those headaches she has some visual disturbances, sees flashing lights, and has a blurry vision.”
“Sounds like a boring case of—“ House starts saying. But right as he picks his mug up, preparing to drink his coffee, Kutner yelps. And it makes him stop in his tracks and give him a dirty look, because what.
Kutner has the decency to at least look a little ashamed at the sound that escaped his mouth, but he recovers quickly, looking directly at House’s hand. “Did you get married last night or something?”
“Nope,” House says, popping the P. He sees Foreman shake his head with a small, not-well-hidden smirk.
Taub seems to locate the ring. He gives House a look, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “So, you’re wearing a ring for fun?”
“Nope,” again with that popping P.
Thirteen still has her nose in the file, still frowning at the things she’s finding there. “You just remembered you’re married suddenly?” she asks, but she doesn’t bother lifting her head up to even look at him.
“Do I need to bother with that nope anymore?” House asks, picking the file in front of him up and finally looking at it.
“Maybe bother with a straight answer so we can move on,” Foreman interrupts. House’s eyebrows shoot up suggestively, because straight, ha. And then he shakes his head with a sigh that’s meant to sound suffering. Like someone is making him do it. Like it hasn’t been the plan all along.
“I’m just simply married. The only thing I forgot is to take my ring off this morning. Too busy having mind-blowing sex to remember such a mundane thing.”
This seems to shut the team up. Maybe because they’re confused, maybe because they’re too busy picturing, or rather trying not to picture if he’s judging by Kutner’s face. They manage to get back to the patient, and House has no choice but to listen to Foreman tell him about what must be the most boring 14-year-old with the most boring case of Migraines.
When their pagers go off in the middle of the whole thing with House’s ring, they all shuffle to her room stuck in their own heads. It seems like the only one not taken by surprise is Foreman, Thirteen notes, which makes her realize that House has probably shown up to work before with this ring. It makes it so that this isn’t a joke, unless of course, Foreman is in on it which doesn’t really fit what she made out of his personality.
When they reach the room, they find the girl’s mother frantic. “Something’s wrong,” she tells them, hovering over her daughter’s bed.
The girl, Sarah the file says, looks scared. She stares at them, eyes wide. Thirteen goes to check her pupils, responsive but dilated and tries to ask what’s wrong. They stand there in front of her, all trying to decipher what she’s trying to say, when suddenly some of the stress leaves her body.
“I…” she stutters, “I couldn’t speak.”
Thirteen shares a confused look with Taub. “Could you understand us?” she asks.
Sarah nods, but it’s hesitant, “Mostly, I think,” she whispers. “And my left side felt funny. Like, numb and tingly?”
Foreman pokes her with his pen in several spots, making sure she has regained full feeling on all sides and limbs, and Taub manages to get the mother a little more relaxed, assuring her they’re doing everything they can to find the issue. Thirteen knows they’re all secretly a little relieved that there are additional symptoms now because it means House will finally try to find what the issue is.
“So,” she says when they wait for the elevator back up to their office. “House is married?” She directs the question at Foreman mostly, assuming he has at least that answer.
“Yeah,” Foreman says. He sounds bored, and his resting frown is back. Thirteen doesn’t know who he thinks he fools with that face, but she lets him live in his delusions. It does annoy her though that he doesn’t say more than that.
“To whom exactly?”
“Can’t tell you that,” Foreman shrugs. The elevator dings open and they all walk in.
“Since when do you take part in House’s games?” Kutner asks him with a raised eyebrow.
“Since I know he’s going to kill me if I tell you because he did the same to us when we started working for him four years ago.”
“The same what?” Kutner asks in return.
“Forgetting to take the ring off, making us guess who he’s married to, enjoying our frustration.”
“Sounds about right,” Thirteen mumbles to herself as they get out of the elevator.
They walk into the outer office to find House standing alone in front of the coffee machine making two cups of coffee for some unknown reason. They all sit around the table, Taub already listing the new symptoms to House.
“Excuse me!” House exclaims, his back still to the team, “Wait until I can add them to the board.” He turns around holding the two mugs, his cane still resting on the counter by his side. Thirteen wonders how he plans to walk with the two cups and without his cane.
She’s about to open her mouth to ask exactly that when Dr. Wilson walks into the room looking tired. “I need another coffee,” he mumbles at no one in particular. He walks in the direction of the coffee machine, suddenly locating House as if he appeared out of thin air. A smile spreads on his face and he takes one of the cups from House. “Thanks,” he says, lifting it.
Thirteen watches, confused. She doesn’t know the man very well yet, but his friendship with House struck her as a weird anomaly from the beginning really. She watches Wilson as he looks into the cup before it touches his lips. “Oops, wrong one,” he says then, giving the cup back to House and taking the other one from him. He takes a sip and sighs happily. “Thanks.”
House seems weirdly happy with the exchange, and when he’s finally left with the right cup of coffee in hand, he grabs his cane and walks to the whiteboard. He hooks his can on its edge and opens a marker, looking at the team expectantly. When they don’t say anything, all still staring the tired Wilson standing in the corner of their office sipping his coffee lazily, he lifts his hands in the air and waves them around. “DDx people!”
“Numbness of her left side and difficulty producing and understanding language,” Foreman supplies.
It seems to pull the rest of the team back into the conversation, and as they suggest diagnoses in rapid-fire Thirteen can see Wilson leave the room from the corner of her eye. They have a few options on the table pretty soon, and the whole Wilson thing leaves her mind.
“Do an LP and start treating for Epilepsy,” House determines. They’re up and out of their chairs in a matter of two seconds.
When they come back from the Lumbar Puncture Taub makes them make a stop at Wilson’s office. He knocks on the door softly after making sure with Dr. Wilson’s secretary that he’s not with a patient, and waits for the soft “come in” that follows.
They walk in, completely aware of how intimidating it is to barge a doctor’s office as a group of four. Wilson gives them a smile that Taub can’t really decipher, but it lands somewhere between I’m a nice and normal doctor, as opposed to your boss and I was warned about this. He has no idea which of those he’s hoping for.
“Can we ask you a question?” he asks Dr. Wilson, trying to pass as polite and kind. He doubts it’s actually working.
“Sure,” Dr. Wilson says. The smile is still there.
“So, House’s married.”
There’s silence for a couple of seconds. Dr. Wilson looks at Foreman standing to Taub’s right. They exchange a look that lasts less than a second before Dr. Wilson looks back at him expectantly. “That’s not a question,” he points out when Taub says nothing.
“Right. Umm… Who is he married to?”
“No,” Dr. Wilson chuckles. “I can’t tell you that and you know that.”
“Worth a try,” Kutner mumbles behind him. And, he’s not wrong. It was worth the try. At least they have some sort of confirmation that House is married if Dr. Wilson’s word is worth anything.
“Can you tell us anything?” Taub tried again.
Dr. Wilson smiles at him again. “Sure,” he shrugs. “He’s been married for almost fifteen years, and you can probably figure out to whom if you look hard enough.”
“Like, around the hospital?” Thirteen asks. She gives Dr. Wilson a suspicious look. He just nods in response, a smile still on his face. They’re silent for a second and he lifts his hand up, shooing them out silently. They leave.
“Fifteen years means she’s got to be at least like, thirty-something, right?” Kutner mumbles as he closes Dr. Wilson’s door behind them.
Thirteen rolls her eyes at him. “Assuming he didn’t have a child bride? Yes, I think that’s a fair assumption to make considering the law.”
“Are you planning to go around and ask all thirty-somethings if they’re married to House?” Foreman snorts when Taub opens the office door open. They all walk in.
“Maybe,” comes Kutner’s defensive response. “I’m assuming you have a better idea?”
Foreman shrugs. He grabs a cup and pours himself some coffee. “I don’t need ideas, I have the answers.”
When they can’t find House, they go downstairs to the cafeteria to get some lunch, assuming he’ll be there anyways. Foreman disappears to sit with Dr. Cameron and Dr. Chase and Kutner is holding on to his tray and following Thirteen and Taub in their search for a free table, when they make a sudden stop. When he looks over Taub’s head he sees they’re standing in front of House and Dr. Wilson.
House has a cup of something in front of him and he’s watching intently as Wilson picks at his salad. There’s a plate to his side, and he’s removing pieces of sad-looking mango from it, dropping them into the plate.
“She’s got involuntary movement of the limbs,” Thirteen tells House.
“I’m busy,” he bites, not even looking up at her.
“Doing what exactly?” Taub asks, unimpressed. “Staring at Dr. Wilson getting rid of his Mango?”
“Exactly,” House says. Kutner just gets even more confused when, once he’s done separating the mango from the rest of the salad, Wilson picks up a piece of mango and puts it in his mouth.
House picks a second fork up and stabs it into the salad, stealing a mouthful. “You could get your own salad you know?” Wilson says, happily chomping on the mango.
House’s face crinkles into an over-exaggerated frown. “But mango is icky,” he whines, stealing another bite.
The next morning House, yet again, wins a ten-minute make-out session by the door for not taking his ring off. He loves how hot it gets Wilson to see him with his ring, like fifteen years of him wearing it anywhere else isn’t enough. Like the novelty hasn’t worn off for some reason. It warms his heart and makes something in his stomach flutter like a teenager in love.
They have a hard time going through the door, and carpooling again because today is even colder and wetter than yesterday. They manage it eventually and walk slowly to the car. “I think Thirteen’s close to figuring it out,” House says sardonically when they exit the driveway.
“Yeah, I think so too,” Wilson replies with a small smile.
They arrive at the hospital and manage to go up the elevator and all the way to House’s outer office before they realize that something’s wrong. Someone from maintenance is standing on a ladder by the entrance to Wilson’s office, blocking the entry.
“Excuse me?” Wilson asks, confused. The maintenance guy looks down at them tiredly.
“AC is out on this floor,” he says, bored.
House realizes very soon after exactly what’s wrong. The floor is ice cold, colder than the ER is kept. It’s so cold it feels like they’re standing outside in their boxers. “Shit,” he mumbles under his breath.
“Shit,” Wilson echoes. “Okay, let’s… I have a heating pad somewhere in the department that I can get you… Wait, um… Wait in your office. Or, do you want to come with me? What’s...”
House puts his hand on Wilson’s arm, virtually shaking him out of his trans. “Wilson,” he says softly, a hint of fondness in his voice that he just can’t hide. “I’m okay for now.”
“No, I want to take care of that before you have a chance to not be okay,” Wilson says with a determined nod of his head. “I’ll go locate the heating pad.”
House sighs and walks into his office, ignoring his team for now. He hates the cold; everyone who knows him even slightly knows that. But Wilson is aware of the stakes here. Of how the extreme cold could end up triggering him, could end up throwing him into a PTSD type of reaction that will not end well for anyone involved. He sits down, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his leg. He needs to stay calm if he wants to avoid the flood of memories.
“She has a fever and stiffness in the neck,” Foreman calls through the glass doors.
House takes a deep breath and gets up again. He crosses to the outer office, closing his eyes momentarily to brace himself. “Sounds like we have our answer then, why are you still here?”
“What—“ Kutner starts, confused.
“Autoimmune Encephalitis, morons. Go get an MRI to confirm and start treating with corticosteroids.”
They scatter out of his office just in time for Wilson to walk in with the heating pad. He presses the remote on it bringing it to life and places it gently on House’s lap, before he sits down in the chair in front of his desk. “You okay?”
“Yeah, cold,” House grits.
“I know,” Wilson says softly, his eyes searching House’s. “You’re safe inside, darling. I’m here with you, you’re not outside, it’s midday, and I promise I’m here,”
“I know,” House says, but it doesn’t sound convincing. He’s getting too cold already and the heating pad isn’t doing enough for that. A shiver runs down his spine.
“I talked to Cuddy, they’re doing everything they can to fix it. But if they don’t fix it in the next thirty minutes we’ll go find you an office to work from somewhere where the AC is still working properly okay?”
House nods. It feels a little better, with the heating pad on the maximum temperature and Wilson’s voice in the background, and he’s pretty sure he can hold on for a bit longer as long as the team keeps out of his hair for a bit.
He closes his eyes and wills himself to focus on his breathing for a bit. At some point, Wilson stops speaking and House starts feeling himself slipping into panic. He starts shivering uncontrollably, cold reaching his bones and hurting his leg.
Wilson’s hand finds its way to his and squeezes lightly. “You’re safe Greg, we’re inside. No ice baths, no sleeping outside in the snow. Just a faulty AC. I’m right here with you.”
House opens his eyes when the door slams shut, and finds himself staring at a wide-eyed Thirteen. She gapes for a second, looking between the two of them, then turns around and walks out of the room without saying a word. He doesn’t have the willpower to think about it for another second.
The AC is fixed within the hour and House’s mood changes drastically as it is. He throws snarky comments at his team, pesters Wilson, and actively hides from Cuddy. When he walks into Wilson’s office in the afternoon ready to make him go home, he finds his husband sitting in his office with Thirteen.
“House,” Thirteen jumps up when he barges into the office with his normal dramatic flair.
He furrows his brows, confused to find her there. “You done?” he asks Wilson, choosing to ignore her.
“Yeah,” Wilson smiles at him. He jerks his head in Thirteen’s direction. “Told you she’d figure it out before the week is done.”
“She walked in on you mothering me,” House shrugs. “Did you tell the other morons?”
“Nah,” Thirteen smirks. “I think I’m gonna let them figure it out in their own time. Will probably give you another year or so of stupid mind games.”
House smirks back at her. He figured a little while ago that she was going to turn out to be his favorite new duckling with her scheming mind and annoying wit. He stills himself as if he’s sending Wilson a warning before his face turns into a comically sappy smile.
“Come on, hubby,” he says in a sickly sweet voice, smiling to himself at Wilson’s cringe. “Ready to go home?”