House takes on the SGC

I own neither the characters of "House", nor those of "Stargate SG1", and I derive no financial advantage by writing about them.

House Takes on the SGC


It was Saturday and it sucked being called in on an emergency on Saturday and where the hell were Foreman, Chase and Cameron, his little minx? Dr. Gregory House limped his way down the sanitary corridor toward his domain, the Diagnostic Medicine unit of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. And then he was inside the unit, where a tall, handsome man was standing over Chase snarling in his face.

“Damn it! I have to see her right now!” the man shouted at Chase. The body language on both Foreman and Cameron indicated they'd already dealt with this guy, whoever he was and they were intimidated. Well, no one intimated House's people, but House.

“May I help you?” he offered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Foreman relax. Daddy come to protect them. House made a mental note. Have to deal with that later, he thought.

The tall man stepped back and sized up his latest opponent. House watched the man's dark brown eyes sweep his form from sneaker tips to the top of his unkempt hair. He noticed the man nod minutely to himself, assessing the situation. This was no dummy. “Major Samantha Carter,” the man said, stress clearly coloring his steely voice. “I need to see her.”

House turned indolently toward his staff. “Who?” he asked, eyebrows raised, innocently. He deliberately turned his back on the man. He guessed this was a man who was used to being feared, respected, obeyed, and House had a perverse need to put him in his place, to show him he wasn't threatened.

Like puppies who suddenly discover the crate door is now open, his people began to talk. “She's the patient who came in earlier today with conflicting symptoms,” Foreman began.

“Aaaaannnndddd....” House said, dragging the word out just to be irritating.

“BP is 180 over 120, SED rate 110, dermatitis of unknown etiology across her chest and hands, no known illnesses... she's not taking any medications... depo provera inserts,” Cameron piped up.

“No fever. No cough. No congestion. Heart rate is slightly elevated,” Chase listed, reading from a medical chart. “She was brought in by ambulance from the University this morning after she passed out during a speech she was giving at the Grand Ballroom in front of some Defense Department bigwigs.”

House spun around to look at the tall man again, his salt and pepper hair nearly as unruly as his own, as if he run his hands through it over and over again. “And you are?” he asked, as disrespectfully as possible. He watched the other man set his teeth, biting back a retort of some kind. House smiled humorlessly.

“Colonel Jack O'Neill, U.S. Air Force.”

“What are you... her husband?” House saw the man's eyes pop slightly. “Boyfriend?” he asked suggestively. The man hesitated and began to shake his head adamantly.

“I'm her Commanding Officer,” Jack said.

House tucked his chin back, raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Sorry!” he said shortly, turning away from Jack again. “Family only.” He began to walk away from the agitated man, his staff following at his heels. In seconds, nanoseconds, he felt the man's hand close over his shoulder, halting him in his tracks. With frightening ease, the Colonel spun House around to face him.

“You don't understand...” Jack began.

“No, you don't understand, Colonel,” House interrupted, invective dripping from every syllable. “This is my hospital. These are my doctors. This is my unit and your little Major is my patient. Hospital rules say only family may see patients. You are not the Major's family. You may sit down in the waiting room, and maybe, when one of my doctors is ready, and a member of the Major's family arrives to be told about her condition, someone will tell you what's going on. Until then...” House squirmed out of the man's grip and limped away, nearly able to hear the man fuming behind his back, a huge shit-eating grin on his face.

The four doctors entered the private, glassed-in room where Major Samantha Carter was waiting, eyes closed, pallid, a sheen of sick sweat visible on her forehead under the flourescent lights. “Well,” House announced in a loud voice, loud enough for Jack to hear as the glass door swung shut, “aren't you the little hottie!”

Sam's eyes creased open slightly, scanning the hoard who'd entered her space, trying to sit up, her fists behind her at her hips, pushing herself upright... but she was weak, and in mid-gesture she fell against the elevated back of the bed, exhausted, her eyes slipping closed again. House's eyebrows raised. He stared at his new patient for a moment assessing. She didn't look good.

She was obviously a young woman in the prime of her life, fit, successful, ambitious. What could have laid her so low? And what was going on with the tall Colonel outside? House turned to his staff, observing their exchange of nervous glances. The inquiry began.

* * * * * * * *

House sat in his office playing with the dry erase marker with which he'd just listed possible diseases, which might account for the Major's symptoms. His staff surrounded him, glancing at the scribbles on the board and at their notes. Without warning Colonel Jack O'Neill entered, obviously angry, accompanied by a somewhat bug-eyed and frightened Dr. Cuddy. The Colonel had a cell phone in his hand.

He placed the phone on House's desk. “Go ahead, sir,” he said tersely.

“Dr. Gregory House?” a familiar voice said, coming from the speaker on the little phone.

“Yes,” House responded, looking at his people, who obviously recognized the voice.

“This is the President of the United States.” The voice paused, as if waiting for acknowledgment, which was not forthcoming from House. The voice continued. “My friend, Jack O'Neill, has my utmost confidence, doctor. You are to treat him as Major Samantha Carter's family and give him complete access to your assessment of her condition and to treatment decisions.”

House's eyebrows rose. He looked around the room, noting his staff's response. Cuddy, he also noticed, was thoroughly overwhelmed. “Is that all... uh... sir?” he asked sardonically. Cuddy began to motion with her hands, trying to get him to stop.

“Dr. House?” the President said. “I know all about you. I know you're a good doctor, probably the best, and I know you and your team will give Major Carter the care she needs, but, doctor, you have no idea what this woman means to this country, and the only person I trust to advocate for her in your hospital is Colonel O'Neill. Is that clear?”

“Yes... Mr. President,” House mumbled, and before another word could be said, the aforementioned Colonel snatched up his phone, clicked off the speaker, and held it to his ear. He turned away and muttered something, before snapping the phone closed and turning back to the gathered forces of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital's Diagnostic Medicine unit.

“Okay,” he said tersely, “talk.”

* * * * * * * *

The blond Major was going from bad to worse. She'd developed a slight fever and surprisingly slipped into a light coma within eight hours of arriving, despite the best efforts of the Diagnostic Medicine unit. House still didn't know what was wrong with her, and her Commanding Office (in his mind, House put quotation marks around that phrase) was getting increasingly anxious... and angry. Being the thorough clinician he was, House sent his puppies scattering to find clues in the lovely Major's hotel room, the ballroom where she passed out, anywhere which might have impinged on her health. House, himself, was looking over the Major's lab results, blood work, urinalysis, everything, looking for abnormalities. He'd just focused on protein markers, when he heard a distinct tapping coming down the corridor toward his office. He looked up in time to see a small, dark haired woman in uniform pushing her way into the room... ah! the source of the tapping... her terribly well-polished, yet plain and practical, heeled pumps.

House looked up from the woman's feet, along her well-proportioned calves, shapely hips and generous breasts, formally encased in a blue military jacket, decorated with medals. His eyes traveled up the column of her neck to her face, chestnut colored hair, pulled back and pinned, with a number of naughty, escaped tendrils, and the most deliciously flared nostrils, topped by two lovely brown eyes glaring at him with an intensity and fierceness he rarely saw in anyone, let alone a woman. This one's a keeper, he thought, declining to stand, knowing it would irritate her further, but he did reach for his cane, just in case. I bet she's a screamer in bed, he thought errantly, turning back to openly ogle her again.

“Dr. Janet Frasier,” she nearly spit.

“Gregory House,” he said, looking directly at her breasts, which were eye level for him. “But you knew that already,” he said, finally looking at her face. Janet opened her mouth to speak, but House stood, Sam's file in hand, effectively forestalling Janet's response. “I expect you've come for my little Major,” he said, silkily, suggestively. “Who are you? Her girlfriend?” he asked, now staring down at Janet balefully.

Janet snapped her jaw closed and looked back at this tall and exasperating man, sizing him up. Very deliberately she let her eyes wander across House's shoulders, down his torso to his groin. Lazily she rolled her eyes back up his body and smiled slightly. She noticed his trousers were a bit tight. “I'm her doctor,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

House was taken aback. Rarely, if ever, did anyone check him out so blatantly. Usually he offended everyone around him so thoroughly that they spent as little time in his presence as possible, rarely even making eye contact, let alone groinal ogling. Damn! now his pants were even tighter. He saw the woman's nostrils flare again... and then she smiled, looking him straight in the eye. Oh yes, this one was trouble... big trouble.

“Right!” he said. “I expect you'll want to see her,” he said, tossing the file on his desk and limping toward the door, leaning on his cane more heavily than usual, if only because his cock was straining against the seam of his jeans, making walking even more painful than usual. He went out the door and began walking toward Sam's room, when he realized the little doctor wasn't behind him. He turned... and there she was, sitting at his desk, looking through the folder he left there. House pursed his lips. Slowly he returned to his office, opening the door, standing in the doorway. “Care to join me?” he asked.

Slowly, turning a page, before she swivelled in his chair to look at him, Janet chewed the inside of her cheek. She seemed to be considering the idea. Abruptly she stood and moved toward him, her heels clacking. Janet tried to brush past him, where he stood partially blocking her egress, when House lifted his cane across the opening, to halt her, mid-progress. “That's my desk,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, towering over her, trying to use his height to intimidate her.

“She's my patient,” Janet snapped back, before she grasped the cane and yanked it out of his hands. Moving quickly down the hallway, Janet looked back over her shoulder, waving his cane at him. “Coming?” she called.

* * * * * * * *

Sitting in the glass room, by the side of Sam's hospital bed, Jack felt useless. He eyed the attached tubes and wires and scrubbed his hand over his face tiredly. At first, Sam knew he was there, calling him “sir” in a barely audible whisper, military even in her distress. But she'd been in a coma for some time now and Jack didn't think she had any idea he was there, let alone where she was. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and stared at her, concentrating, willing her to regain consciousness... but she remained inert, her breathing slow, her color bad, the machines beeping all around her.

Thinking about it, Jack decided that he should really try to talk to her. He'd heard somewhere that coma patients could hear everything that went on around them. They just couldn't respond. He cleared his throat. “Carter,” he croaked, his voice breaking. It had been so long since he'd spoken a word, he could barely make an audible sound. He tried again. “Carter... wake up. That's an order, airman,” he said, smiling grimly. Shit, if Carter could, she would have woken right the hell up, because that woman followed orders like nobody's business.

“Carter... Sam,” he started, “it's Colonel O'Neill... er... Jack.” Unconsciously he reached for her limp hand, enclosing it in his warm one. “You gotta wake up, Sam,” he said, his voice cracking again, this time from emotion. He looked down at the floor, shaking his head. Zeroing in on her face, he tried again. “Come on, Sam... you can't let a little thing like this, some kind of virus or something, get you down... I mean you've faced the gould! Hell, you shot ole Hathor and faced down Baal. You've blown up a sun. Christ Carter! Wake up.” He shut his eyes and opened them again. “I mean, who's going to kick my ass when I get outta line, if you aren't there to do it. And whose six am I gonna watch... certainly not Daniel's, I can tell ya.” Jack smirked, thinking about it.

He went silent, looking at her sweet face, slack from lack of consciousness, his heart hurting. He held her hand, stroking the soft web between her thumb and forefinger with his thumb. He half-stood and swiped a hand across her forehead, getting her blond strands out of her eyes, before sitting back down, contemplating how cold and clammy she felt. It was unnatural... and it was definitely not his Sam.

His Sam... and that's where the trouble began and ended. She wasn't his Sam, even though he felt as if she were. He knew he loved her, probably from the moment she walked into the briefing room before the second Abydos mission, and she knew it, even if neither of them ever spoke about it. The closest they came to stating it out loud was during that damn zatarc testing, when he'd lamely confessed, “I care about Carter a lot more than I'm supposed to”, and she admitted caring for him as well. And now she was dying. He didn't give a rat's ass about that fucked up doctor or his toadies. He knew she was dying, and they didn't know why she was sick, or how to keep her alive.

Jack lifted Sam's limp hand to his lips and kissed it. He didn't even realize he was doing it, until he heard a familiar sound, an insistent tapping coming down the corridor. Janet! Hallelujah! He released his hold on his 2IC's hand, and sat back in the visitor's chair, trying to look relaxed. The door swung open.

“Colonel.”

“Doc.” Jack barely acknowledged House, with a short nod in his general direction.

“How's Major Carter, sir?” Janet asked gently, looking from one officer to the other. Sam looked bad, but the Colonel, beneath his ever-present tan, was showing the strain.

“No change, doc.” He looked at Sam's face longingly, unaware of the naked emotion flitting across his features. Janet stole a quick look at House. He noticed, his eyebrows raised, a small, but nasty grin curling his lip.

“So... Colonel,” House began, giving Jack's rank a deeply sarcastic edge. “What's your considered opinion of the lovely Major's condition?” Jack's eye slid sideways to glare at the doctor, before turning to Janet.

“You gotta help her, doc.” he said, his hand snaking back to take Sam's.

“We're doing all we can, sir,” Janet responded reassuringly. “Dr. House is the best in his field. I'm sure he'll figure out what's going on with Sam, and have her up in no time.” She put a hand on the tall man's shoulder and rested it there. It was a gesture of deep knowledge and intimacy, the touch of a woman who was more than just a doctor. She was a caring friend. House snorted derisively.

Jack stood abruptly, letting Sam's hand go, the visitor's chair scraping harshly on the tiled floor behind him. He turned toward House and for the briefest of moments considered taking the man out, wiping that supercilious expression off his face and tearing him a new one. It would have made Jack feel much, much better... but what about Sam? Jack clenched his fists by his sides, looking into the indolent eyes of his opponent, and managing somehow to find his last shred of patience. He flicked his eyes toward Janet, nodded shortly and stepped to the glass door.

“Be sure to stop by our gift shop, Colonel,” House offered, his voice flat. “I'm sure some flowers will help the little Major get all better.” Jack pulled the door open and stepped outside, taking a deep breath. “Or maybe a nice stuffed animal,” House called.

“I wouldn't bait him, if I were you, doctor,” Janet said lightly, turning and walking to Sam's side. Gently, but thoroughly, the petite medico examined her patient, checking every line into every vein, all of Sam's responses, palpating surfaces, flashing light in her inert eyes, thumping for reflexes. House stood aside and watched her work, impressed with her old school technique. Lifting Sam's hospital gown, Janet turned and fixed the other doctor with a glare. “Pull the curtain, please, doctor,” she said sharply, waiting until House gave her and Sam some privacy before proceeding with the rest of the exam.

Janet emerged from the white curtain a short while later to find House, Sam's chart in his hand. “What aren't you telling me, doctor?” he asked, his voice low. Janet held out her hand, reaching for the folder. House offered it to her, but when her fingertips grazed the manilla, he pulled it away, pasting it to his chest. “I don't think so,” he said, challenging her.

“Don't be childish,” Janet snapped, her hand still outstretched.

“Why not?” House countered, capering a little, as much as his lame leg allowed.

Janet stepped up to him, toe to toe, rising only as far as his chest. “Give me her chart, or you will regret it,” Janet said evenly, looking up into House's craggy face.

“Oh sure, it's all fun and games, for y...” House interrupted himself, yelping in pain, bending forward at a hard angle. Janet reached for the file, still plastered to House's chest. He spread his fingers over the manilla, as if he could keep the folder from her by covering a larger surface area. He yelped again sharply. Breathing rapidly through his nose, he handed the small woman the folder. Her smile was grim, as she pivoted and exited the glass room, clacking down the hallway away from him.

Dr. Wilson, who just rounded the corner, watched in fascination as House, bent forward at the waist, one large hand grasping his balls, came into view. “Who's the little brunette... and,” he eyed his friend sympathetically, “did she do that?” House glared up
at his colleague balefully.

“She's trouble, Wilson... and yes, she grabbed my balls and twisted.” House tried to stand, but quickly bent forward again. “Twice.” Wilson smiled uncontrollably, trying to get his expression under control.

“Are you okay?” he asked, glee clearly present in his voice.

House looked up at Wilson, and then back down at the floor tiles. He sighed mightily. “I think I'm in love.”

* * * * * * * *

Sam was going from bad to worse and Jack was ready to kill someone. It might as well be that asshole doctor, he thought. He moved rapidly, quietly down the corridor to House's office, finding the ornery diagnostician bouncing a ball against the wall and catching it with the top of his cane. “Where are your flunkies?” he asked, as House cradled the ball expertly before tossing it for another bounce.

“Your Major is burning up. She's got a fever I can't explain and none of the antibiotics I've tried on her infection are knocking it out.” House flipped his cane top, to the left and then to the right, bouncing the ball up in the air and catching it. “My flunkies, as you so eloquently put it, are in the lab culturing your Major's blood, trying to find something to kill whatever superbug she's got.” House stood up and looked at the tall man before him. “You didn't give it to her, did you?” he asked, baiting Jack.

“I promised Janet I wouldn't hit you,” Jack said quietly, “but that doesn't mean I don't want to.”

“Well I have news for you, bucko, if you have anything you want to tell your little Major, you better do it soon,” House said matter-of-factly. Jack glared at him.

“Why is that?” he managed to get out between gritted teeth.

“'Cos she might be dead soon,” House responded, just this side of flippant. Jack flinched, his eyes closing. House watched as Jack performed a complicated series of breathing exercises, designed to give him back his control. “I'm only half kidding,” House reiterated, and was gratified when Jack pivoted away from him, exiting his office. He turned back to his desk, thinking he'd seen the last of the Colonel, when he heard a harsh crash, the sound of glass shattering. He turned just in time to see the tall man pull his fist back and shake it, standing amid the shards of a room partition. House smiled grimly, and returned to his work.

* * * * * * * *

Janet came into House's office with Sam's file. “Where's the MRI?” she asked perfunctorily.

“I love you too,” House answered, turning in his chair to give Janet the once over, before he swivelled back to his desk.

Without rising to the bait, she leaned over him, her breasts resting on his shoulder, brushing the side of his head. She couldn't see his face, but she knew he was rolling his eyes. He leaned his head just a little in her direction, getting a better feel for what was under her jacket. Seeing the MRI file, she snagged it and stood back up. “Awwww,” House complained. “Just as we were getting to know each other better!”

Janet gave him a glare over the top of the folder. “Spinal series? C1 through C5?” she asked, looking for images of Sam's upper back and neck. House's eyebrows rose. He turned back to his desk and fished amid the folders for a moment, before he pulled the right one and handed it to Janet. She looked at the images carefully. “When was this done?” she asked, her eyes scanning the edge of the picture for the date. “We need another one,” she said. “Now.” She turned and opened House's office door, looking over her shoulder at him, where he sat. “What part of 'now' didn't you understand, Gregory?” she asked, rolling his christian name around her tongue like a dirty word.

House stood rapidly and joined her at the door, towering over her. She didn't move and he came into full body contact with her, the front of his body connecting with the back of hers, heat coming off her in waves. Janet smiled, and reached up, a good stretch, to cup his neck, just under the hairline. She pulled his head down over her shoulder and kissed him full on the lips, slipping her tongue along the seam, parted in surprise. And just as abruptly, she released him, walking away, hips swinging a tiny bit, as her sensible heels made their signature sound on the floor tiles. House watched her for a moment, before following, tugging on the fabric of his jeans, which had definitely tightened beyond his comfort level.

* * * * * * * *

In Sam's room, House's team readied the patient for surgery. A lumbar puncture showed an exotic strain of bacteria... something on the new MRI, an odd filament wrapped around the patient's spine, telling the military doctor what she needed to know to make the diagnosis. She shipped in an experimental antibiotic from Colorado, and the bacteria responded. It was all very hush-hush, and the team wasn't allowed to examine either the bacteria or the antibiotic, but the results were promising and the patient was now conscious. It was clear, however, that what was causing the infection was not going to just up and leave the Major's body. She required surgery to remove the filament.

Dressed in scrubs, Jack sat in a corner of the room watching the doctors move around Sam's bed, changing IVs, readying syringes, taking her temperature... who knew what else. In the middle of it all, he saw Sam's eyes focus on him, the first time, since she slipped into a coma, that she seemed to acknowledge his existence. “Uh, guys?” she said in a quiet voice, the sound surprising amid the bustle of medical procedure.

“What is it?” Cameron, the woman doctor, asked.

“Could I have a moment in private with my ... CO?” Sam asked, her eyes on him. The three young doctors looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

“Sure,” Foreman responded, a little smile starting in the corner of his mouth. “Come on,” he said to his colleagues, motioning them from the room. “Five minutes!” he said, as the door closed. The three doctors stood in the hall, looking in, waiting, checking their watches, trying not to be too voyeuristic with the scene unfolding inside the room.

Limping down the hall, House saw his team huddled together. “Why aren't you getting the patient ready?” he called, coming closer.

Chase pointed. House's eyes focused on the people in the glass room. The Colonel was sitting on the edge of the Major's bed. He had her hand in his lap, fingers interlaced. She was talking. His other hand went to her cheek, an oddly jointed thumb slipping across her cheekbone, his fingers curling under her chin. He was saying something. He leaned in. They kissed, a sweet peck. Her hands went around his neck. They kissed again, and again, and again, each touch of their lips deeper, more sensual. His hands went around her body, one big palm slipping under the hospital gown in back to feel her skin.

“Alright!” House said, opening the door. “That's enough of that... Colonel... Major...” The two separated at the very first sound of his voice, but their fingers found each other and threaded together again, watching the obnoxious doctor advance on them. “You,” House said, looking at Sam, ”have surgery, right ... about .... now.” He looked at his watch, motioning for his team to join him inside the room, tapping his watch crystal to indicate the need for speed.

The team returned to the room, and suddenly it was crowded in there. Foreman pushed the syringe into Sam's IV and she felt her eyelids begin to close. “And you,” House said, turning to Jack, “need to leave.” Jack stood, bringing Sam's hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “Come on, big fella,” House said, “you can molest her all you want after surgery.” He smiled wickedly at Jack. Reluctantly Jack released her hand and left the room, standing outside, watching the medical team work. Sam was already unconscious, this time from anesthesia.

They finally wheeled her out into the corridor, pushing her toward the elevators, and from there to the operating room. The three young doctors did the hard work of pushing and keeping her lines clear, while House limped along behind, unaware that Jack followed them. At the bank of elevators, he suddenly found himself slammed up against the wall, the Colonel's hands on his lapels their faces millimeters apart. Quietly, in as deadly a tone of voice as House had ever heard, the Colonel said, “You make her better.” He glared at the doctor. “Don't fuck up, House... or I'll kill you myself.” And then he released the fabric and stalked away.

The three young doctors looked at each other knowingly. What they wouldn't have given to slam House up against the wall a few times... House eyed each one sourly. “Don't get any ideas,” he said, tugging down his shirt, as they entered the elevator.

* * * * * * * *

Sam's operation went well. With Janet supervising and Dr. Warner from the SGC handling the actual surgery, the last filament from Jolinar's blending with Sam was removed. It was the tiniest, hair-like tendril, one Janet had missed on countless MRIs, through no fault of her own. The only reason she saw it on House's MRI was something, probably time, had caused it to lose its blood supply and begin to decay. It should have disintegrated harmlessly inside Sam's body, but instead her immune system recognized it as foreign and attacked it, making it bloat with bacteria and infection. By the time Sam arrived in the hospital, she was being poisoned from within.

House and his team were allowed to watch the operation from the operating theater, but they were not privy to any of the results. There was much discussion about the nature of the tissue removed from the Major's spine, until Janet told them that the excess tissue was a congenital defect. House, of course, didn't buy the story. And when the Air Force sent its sweepers to remove all traces of the lovely Major's presence from the hospital and its records, House knew something was up.

He stood in the hallway looking into the glass room at the young, blond woman resting in bed, considering. Around the corner, approaching rapidly, he heard what was rapidly becoming one of his favorite sounds, Janet Frasier's heels. He turned as she rounded the corner, just to watch her walk toward him, her breasts shifting with each step.

“How's our patient?” she asked, drawing alongside him.

“Recovering,” he said, turning to look at Sam. As the two doctors watched, her eyes flitted open, then closed again, then opened, searching her surroundings. Before either physician could move, Jack bounded up from a chair in the corner of the room, still in scrubs, coming over to her bed. He sat beside her, taking her hand. “We better get in there before he starts sucking face with her again,” House remarked conversationally.

“They're in the same chain of command,” Janet said. “He's her commanding officer. There are fraternization regulations against...”

“I don't think he cares anymore,” House said, his hand on Janet's arm, looking at the couple in the room. They were kissing again. House looked down at her. “Do you?” Janet cocked her head and looked at him.

“Dr. Warner, the sweepers, and all the samples and charts left for Colorado Springs an hour ago,” she said.

“Uh huh,” House responded.

“I still have to check out of my hotel,” she said.

“Yep,” House replied.

Janet gestured, her palm upward, index finger pulling back and forth, the universal, “come here” signal. House moved closer, lowering his head. “Why don't you come back to the hotel with me.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked, unable to keep the smile he was trying to conceal from breaking across his features.

“Because if you come with me, I won't see what Sam and Jack are doing, so I won't have to report to my superiors.” House frowned slightly. “And... I'll ride you until your other leg is lame,” she finished, turning and walking away from him.

Standing there, bent slightly forward, House blinked, repeatedly. He straightened, watching Janet's retreating back and shapely ass. “Wait up!” he shouted, waving his cane.

* * * * * * * *

Dr. House stood in the Diagnostic Medicine unit with his team. They were talking, the younger members about to leave. Passing them in the doorway, Dr. Wilson, stuck his head in. “Where have you been?” Wilson asked.

“Huh?” House responded.

“I've been calling you since last night, at home and on your cell. Cuddy's been trying to reach you too.”

“Oh,” House replied. “My phones were on the fritz. Hope it wasn't too pressing.” Wilson looked at him strangely.

“I guess not. I just wanted to see if you wanted to get dinner, and then coffee this morning... and Cuddy wanted to talk to you about a fundraiser later in the month.”

“So, we're okay, then?” House asked, sitting at his desk.

Wilson looked carefully at his friend. He was fishing in his pocket for the ever-present bottle of vicodin. “Leg hurting?” he asked. Usually such inquiries elicited endless, obnoxious diatribes from his friend.

Instead House just looked over his shoulder at Wilson, and popped his medication in his mouth. “Yeah, a bit,” House responded, swallowing.

Wilson left House's office shaking his head, running into the rest of House's team at the elevator. “What's with House?” he asked them.

“He was helpful, informative, friendly and patient,” Cameron said.

“So, I repeat,” Wilson said, “What's with House?”

Foreman began to tick items off on his fingers. “He's being nice. He isn't yelling at anyone, or insulting them. He's tired. He's limping more than usual.” He thought a moment, stroking his chin. “I'd say he got laid... more than once.” The four doctors looked at each other, then burst into peals of laughter.

“The Air Force lady?” Chase asked.

Behind them, House's voice rose. “The Air Force lady... indeed.” The team and his friend turned to look at him as he limped toward them. “Now get to work,” he said. “I don't know how long the post-coital euphoria will last... and you don't want to find out.” The team scattered, leaving Wilson and House looking at each other, both grinning to beat the band.