Seasons Change

Title Seasons Change
Chapter 1: Beginnings
Author Cryptictac
Pairing Gregory House/James Wilson
Rating This chapter: PG-13.
Disclaimer House, MD and all its affiliates belong to David Shore.
Summary For Gregory House and James Wilson, nothing ever stays the same because, like everything, seasons change.

~

Seasons Change
Chapter One: Beginnings

He who lives in solitude may make his own laws.

~
The day was hot, the sun baking everything to a crisp with its harsh rays, and the still and stifling air was equally as unmerciful. From the tops of cars and across the flat expanse of black bitumen roads, heat could be seen undulating in thick fumes, giving everything a hazy appearance in this sultry Tuesday afternoon. Cars rolled past each other in an endless stream of lazy summer traffic, and people on the footpaths strolled along in restless crowds, trying to combat the heat by pointlessly fanning themselves with newpapers and attempting to quench unquenchable thirsts with bottles of water, or by slurping on sugar-filled icicles.

In the air-conditioned silence of his office in Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Dr. Gregory House gazed from the window down at the scene of life moving by through the sadistic heat. Heat-stroke, sunburn, dehydration; as far as he was concerned, people were idiots for subjecting themselves to the brutality of New Jersey summer. He loathed clinic practice in the summertime more than any other time in the year for this very reason. People did stupid things in summer: forget to apply sun cream or bake themselves like pork crackle on the beach. The more stupid dregs of society did inane things such as wading around rocks where creatures that don’t like human beings invading with curious fingers loitered, or diving into the shallow end of swimming pools, or forgetting to lock swimming pool gates even though they have a toddler. House’s clinic hours had been filled with such patients; mainly ones of lesser intelligence that thought coconut oil to be the same thing as coconut-scented sun cream.

He had been trying in vain to escape having to commit to clinic hours all summer, without any luck. He gave excuses, mainly petty ones, such as complaining that he would miss the daily episode of ‘General Hospital’ if he tended to Mrs. So-And-So and her self-inflicted sunburn. In spite of his endless string of excuses, it was always in vain; Cuddy was an obstacle that was virtually impossible to out-manoeuvre when it came to clinic hours. It didn’t stop him from trying, though. No challenge was worth giving up on as far as he was concerned. He just hated it when the challenge defeated him. Or, rather, when Cuddy overruled. Which, in effect, made Gregory House secretly respect her all the more.

In fact, he was due to be in the clinic in… Greg glanced down at his watch. Fifteen minutes. He sighed and frowned at the watch face, wishing that if some miracle couldn’t come along and rescue him from his dreaded clinic duties at least some greater divine being could intervene and force time to backtrack a few hours. Wishful thinking -- what a waste of time. Irony was a mocking little bastard. Gripping his cane and turning away from the window, he looked up when he heard the door open. The momentary burst of hospital bustle out in the corridor filled his office before the door sealed closed again and shut out the hubbub behind his visitor, James Wilson.

“Wilson,” he greeted airily. Gregory moved to his desk and leaned his cane against it, rifling through some files that lay strewn across the desk’s surface. He glanced up. “Maybe you’re the miracle I’m hoping for.”

His colleague gave House a mild look of confusion, replying slowly, “Miracle… for what?”

“Clinic,” he answered simply, returning his gaze to the desk as he began to organize the files into a neat pile.

“Ah. That I’m covering for you? No such chance.”

“Damn.” Looking back up and spying Wilson’s attire, he added saccharinely, “Nice tie.”

Wilson self-consciously lifted his hand to his green tie, touching it with the tips of his fingers. “Thanks. I think?”

House shrugged quickly, remarking matter-of-factly as he continued to shuffle the files together, “Yes, that was a compliment. Even though I think your wife has exceedingly poor taste.” He stopped what he was doing and added, “You are still married, right?” The look Wilson gave him made House grin -- how he loved to goad him. Slapping the last file on top of the rest, House continued, “So, seeing you aren’t here to relieve me of the sadism of clinic duty, did Cuddy send you to come and check up on me, then? See if I am actually heading down to the clinic and not trying to escape out the window?”

Wilson offered a quick laugh and slipped his hands into his white lab coat pockets. “I’m not your babysitter.”

House gave his colleague a wry smile. “I bet she’d up your pay if you were.”

“She’d probably give me a leash, too. Just to keep you in line.”

House’s smile broadened as he scooped up the files and gathered them into his arms. “Ooh, kinky.” Greg took note of the brief flush across Wilson’s face as he took his cane back into his right hand, stepping back from his desk. “So, she didn’t send you in here to check up on me?”

“I’m not your babysitter,” Wilson repeated, more insistently.

“Pity.” House began to limp towards his colleague. “Cuddy can’t keep her beady hawk-eyes on me all the time. She ought to be more vigilant.”

“She’s vigilant enough and you know it,” Wilson noted, reaching for the office door handle. He grasped it and pulled the door open. “Besides, it would be like abrading my skin with a cheese grater, babysitting you.”

“Hey!” Greg protested as he stopped at threshold of his office, turning to face Wilson. “I’m a lot of fun to baby sit.”

Wilson laughed again; a dry and sarcastic laugh. “I’m sure you are.”

House scoffed. “You underestimate me.”

“And you overestimate your charm.”

“I have charm? Wow. That’s the first I’ve ever heard of that one.”

“There’s a first time for everything, Greg, no matter how far from the truth it may be.”

“Yeah, well. Everybody lies.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“What -- you don’t believe me?”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “I’d be lying if I said I did.”

“See? Proves my point precisely.”

Ushered out of his office by Wilson, the door closed behind them as Wilson fell into step with him, heading for the elevator. The corridor was filled with typical hospital activity: a bed that had a freshly operated patient asleep under scratchy hospital blankets squeaked past; two doctors House vaguely knew and greatly loathed muttering importantly as they strolled by; someone’s pager beeping; a nurse wheeling a metallic drugs trolley from one patient’s room to the next; the phone in the nurse’s station ringing relentlessly and no one was bothering to answer it. It was bitterly reminding House of the clinic duty that awaited him downstairs. And that he was going to miss ‘General Hospital’ again.

Walking with Wilson, however, was something of a distraction enough for Greg. Even though he would never admit such a thing, he liked James’ company. That he was accepted for what he was; not many people gave Gregory House that kind of benefit of the doubt. And rightly so, considering how much of a misanthrope bastard he was. It was further proof, in Greg’s mind, that Wilson was something of a masochist. Either that, or Wilson saw something in him that everyone else failed to see. To avoid having to think too deeply and dig too much into the areas of emotion, House just settled on the masochist reasoning. It made things easier and simpler to reason things away with simple explanations.

“So,” Wilson began as they strolled down the corridor together, his hands still in his coat pockets. “Any new cases?”

House was glad for the distraction from the bitter thoughts of clinic duty. Cane clicking in time with each affected, pain-inducing step -- he was due for another Vicodin -- he looked at Wilson as he remarked, “Nope. Quiet as a left-fielder that no one wants to pass the ball to. Kinda boring, really. Rubick’s has been giving me the cold shoulder of late.”

“No new cases?” Wilson replied incredulously.

“Watching the cobwebs form in the empty patients’ room as we speak. The ducklings are getting bored, not that entertaining them is part of my job requirement.”

“Huh.” They rounded the corner, the elevator in their sight. They both side-stepped a patient being wheeled in a wheelchair and halted briefly in their tracks as another nurse with another drugs trolley cut across the corridor from one ward to the next. Resuming their pace, Wilson added, “Your feet must be itchy for something constructive to do, then?”

House cast him a sideways glance. “Always. Though, on the upside, there’s lots of time for ‘General Hospital’. Well… except for when Cuddy decides to punish me with extra clinic hours. She’s such a sadist.”

“A case to keep you busy would be a better cure for the itch than your beloved ‘General Hospital’.” Reaching the elevator, Wilson leaned forward as he drew one hand from his pocket and pressed the ‘down’ button.

Looking up at the floor numbers above the elevator -- their ride was two floors away -- House said, “Having no clinic duty would suffice.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Greg tutted. “Shame. Maybe if I make a few more compliments to Cuddy about her ample assets, she might let me off.”

Wilson, as he slid his hand back into his pocket, laughed disbelievingly. “Yeah. With a sexual harassment suit, perhaps.”

“Oh, please,” House scoffed, turning his head to look at a bed being wheeled past by doctors clad in operating theatre gear, the patient dressed and prepped for whatever operation he was going in for. “If she is going to be that much of a spoilt sport, she might as well have hit me with one of those long ago.”

“It’s never too late.”

Greg faced back to Wilson. “You ever read ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

He smiled briefly at Wilson. “She’s had all these years to fire me. She hasn’t. I’ve made plenty of passes at her about her assets amongst various other things, and she only gives me that authoritative glower of hers. Maybe a few catty remarks to go with it. Personally, I think she gets off on it. She files sexual harassment? Well, I’ll just have to spank her pretty behind for being such a spoilt sport.”

"Kinky," James noted with feigned distaste, trying to mask the smile forming on his lips.

The elevator dinged, the doors slid open and a young female doctor stepped out and brushed past them importantly. Greg saw Wilson turn his head to look at the woman as she walked off, and remarked before venturing into the elevator, “See, now that is sexual harassment.”

Snapping his head back in House’s direction with a flustered look on his face, he stepped into the elevator after Greg, exclaiming, “I was just-- I wasn’t-- I was just looking!”

Leaning his cane against his leg, House punched the first-floor button and then reached into his pocket for his Vicodin as the elevator doors slid shut. “She didn’t like your tie,” he said plainly, popping the pill bottle lid off and he tipped a tablet out onto his palm. “Makes you look like a married man. Oh, wait, I forgot -- women like the married men, don't they?”

Wilson unconsciously touched his tie again with a blush on his face. “How does my tie make me look like a married man?”

“Oh, please.” Greg threw the pill into his mouth and swallowed with a slight grimace. Recapping the bottle, he slipped it back into his pocket as he added, “No bachelor ever wears a tie as unfashionable as yours.”

He saw Wilson look him up and down pointedly, eyeing House’s choice of clothing. Greg was dressed in tattered jeans, grey-and-blue Nike Shox, an old white Rolling Stones t-shirt and his grey jacket. A far-cry from Wilson’s more stoic, doctorly manner of dress. “And this makes me look married, how?”

“Before you make some derogatory comment about what I’m wearing, just remember: I’m not the Borg in the white lab coat.”

“Borg? I’m not a--”

“And your tie makes you look married because only married men are complacent enough to wear such ugly ties.”

“Since when were you the fashion expert?”

“Since now. Got a problem with that?” House clasped his hand around his cane again as the elevator arrived at the first floor. The doors slid open, revealing the scene of the outpatient clinic. The very bane of Gregory House’s existence. He stepped out of the elevator. People with red flushed faces, bathed in sweat from the heat outside milled about listlessly in the outpatient area and nurses busily tended in the triage with frustrated frowns etched on their faces. Great. It was a busy day. An instant mood-dampener in House’s books.

“There’s a lot of things about you I have a problem with,” his colleague rebuked as he ventured from the elevator after Greg.

“Really?” House queried sarcastically as he limped towards the clinic. He pushed the door open with his elbow and headed towards the triage desk. “You’ll have to write me a list sometime.”

“Give me a ream of paper that stretches the length of this triad and I’ll get to it.”

House dumped the files that were in his arms down on the desk for the nurse to file away. “You suck at grossly over-exaggerating with style.” Picking up a pen, he scrawled his signature on the sign-in sheet.

Wilson propped his elbow up on the desk and leaned against it as he considered House. “There’s a style to exaggeration?”

Dropping the pen back down carelessly, Greg faced Wilson with a wry smile. “For someone who says he has so many problems with me, you certainly like to hang around. At least Cuddy keeps her altercations with me as brief as necessary.” His colleague scoffed, though Greg saw Wilson’s cheeks tinge with a faint blush. House noticed, also, that Wilson’s fingers continued to toy idly with his tie as though he was inwardly irked and very self-conscious of the fact that his (unhappy) marital status was so obvious. “Haven’t you got some cancer to treat, Wilson?”

“You suck at grossly displaying tact.”

“Tact. Hm.” Taking his cane back into his hand, House stepped away from the desk. “Not my forte, I’m afraid. I get off scot-free there. That’s what makes being a law unto myself so fantastic. Tact is for the spineless.”

“No, tact is for the sociable.”

“The sociable. I don't identify with that mob.”

"I know you don't. You have the tact of a porcupine."

"What -- cute and cuddly?" House quipped.

Wilson snorted. "You, my friend, are far from cute and cuddly."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Greg replied sarcastically. "I'm like a giant, cuddly teddy bear. All my patients think so."

"I'm... sure they do, Greg." Wilson glanced around the triage before he stood back from the desk. “Haven’t you got some outpatients to treat?”

“No, I’ve got some whiners to offend.”

James shrugged with a small, amused smile on his lips. “Same difference, I suppose.” House watched him let his tie go and slip his hands into his lab coat pockets again. Wilson never seemed to ever be in a hurry to leave his company. House wasn’t sure if this was necessarily a good or bad thing. Perhaps it was just best not to read too deeply into that. “Want to go out for a drink after work?”

Greg considered that for a moment, glancing sourly at the line of patients he had waiting for him by treatment room four. A drink now sounded good. A drink later would have to do, however. He turned back to Wilson. “Sure. Make sure you bring along that list.”

Wilson nodded with that same amused smile playing on his lips. “I’ll be sure to underline in red pen the things about you I have the greatest problems with. You’ll have to owe me a new red pen after that, you know.”

“How about I just shout you a drink? If I’m feeling generous enough, that is.”

“Yes, well. You go and offend your… whiners, and I’ll go and treat some cancer. Meet you in your office at the end of the shift.” James surveyed the triage one last time as if pitying House for the clinic duty he had to endure. Pulling his hand out of his pocket to wave goodbye, Wilson turned away and walked back to the elevator.

House watched him silently for a moment, remembering briefly the first time they’d gone out for a drink together. It had marked the beginning of their friendship on a distant, unspoken level. And each time they went for a drink, it resulted in marking the beginning of something new in their personal lives: James’ first divorce. The end of House’s relationship with Stacy. James’ second divorce. James’ third engagement. Gregory House wondered what this get-together drink tonight would mark the beginning of.

The phone ringing at the desk he was standing near snapped him back to the clinic he was in and the dreaded patients he had waiting for him. Turning around, he limped further into the clinic area and scowled at the various sweaty, hot and bothered outpatients that sat slumped on their chairs, some cradling injured limbs, some so sunburned they couldn’t move, some looking like there was nothing wrong with them at all, save for the self-pitying looks on their faces. He headed towards treatment room four where the patient files were waiting for him. Taking the first one when he reached the door, he called out gruffly, “Mrs. Arnez?”

A large, bloated woman with a sunburn as red as a cooked lobster’s shell gave a pig-like squeal of pain as she pushed herself up from the seat and she waddled towards him with a distressed look on her pug-like face that instantly irritated Greg. Stupid woman, thought House as he opened the door for her and followed her into the treatment room. She was probably one of those people House was thinking bitterly of earlier that thought coconut oil was the same thing as coconut-scented sun cream. His mouth watered for the promise of that stiff drink that was waiting for him in the bar after work. It was only the beginning of his shift and he already wanted nothing more than to be drinking his aggravation away with a hard, harsh drink of whisky.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

~