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House pulls up to his office five hours late, as per usual. As he walks through the door, he curses the fact that his dumb fucking fellows are all looking at blue folders, which unfortunately signifies that there is some idiot patient who needs his help. He takes three Vicodin to prepare for this conversation.
“House,” Chase says, “this patient has leg pain.”
House takes a Vicodin. “Have you checked if it’s broken?” Chase looks nervous. This hadn’t occurred to him. (He’s not a very good doctor.)
The hot girl fellow sighs dreamily. “House, you’re so smart.”
House takes a Vicodin. “No, you’re all just stupid. I wish that Cuddy would let me fire you.”
“I also wish that,” Foreman says.
House takes a Vicodin and raises an eyebrow. “So that you can return to a life on the streets?”
Foreman has learned to repress any sign of emotion, except for that time that Chase kissed a cancer-stricken nine-year-old, so he doesn’t let any part of his face move other than his mouth. “I am going to kill myself.”
House takes a Vicodin. “Okay.”
<><><><>
As House waits the four hours that it takes his three employees to take a single look at the patient’s leg, he hears the tell-tale click of a pair of heels marching hotly and angrily down the hall. Cuddy does not knock.
“House!” She looks hot today, as she always does. She is wearing a cunty little outfit and her hair is curled to perfection. The breeze (which comes from nowhere) sweeps her hair slightly back out of her face, and she moves in slow motion as she places a hand on her hip.
“We should have sex,” House says as he takes a Vicodin.
Cuddy’s blue orbs narrow angrily. “Why did one of the nurses say that you told a patient you wished that they would die?”
House just stares at her. He doesn’t understand how she is still so surprised every time he does something shitty. I mean, he does something awful, gets in trouble, fixes it maybe 50% of the time (?), and faces zero repercussions. This is an ongoing pattern, and has been for at least the last season. It’s incredible that she’s still able to be so shocked.
“I told the patient I wished they’d die because I hope that they die. Also, you dress like a whore.”
Cuddy laughs as though House is joking or teasing her. He isn’t. He is just being a dick for no reason.
Before leaving, she points at him. “Also, you are four years behind on clinic hours.”
He takes a Vicodin. “You cannot make me do them.” He is right. He is an active legal liability and should have been fired long ago. However, he helps people sometimes, and also Cuddy wants him.
<><><><>
Speaking of people who want House, Wilson looks up from his paperwork when he hears a knock on his office door. He sighs, as he’s prone to do. “Come in.”
Cameron walks in, looking sad. She keeps her eyes down so that Wilson can’t see the tears glistening in her orbs. “I have a question, if you’re available.”
Wilson pretends to consider. All of his patients are currently dead, and the paperwork strewn across his desk is for his second divorce of the month, not hospital business. “I guess I can make the time.”
“Do you think that House likes me?”
Wilson is lucky that Cameron isn’t looking at him as he stifles a laugh into his hand. “House doesn’t like anybody.” Except for me, he adds proudly, in his head. He doesn’t bother to analyze that further.
“Yeah, but I think I’m special…” she says sadly.
“You just have issues,” Wilson informs her. He doesn’t do so very politely, because he is a dick despite what half of the people writing House fanfics on AO3 seem to think. Cameron looks shocked, then angry.
“You just want him all to yourself. It’s not fair!”
Wilson tightens his grip on his pen, which he holds in a very odd way and in his left hand. “That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is!” Cameron cries. “You are so obviously gay and in love.”
Wilson grows very angry, which is partially because he thinks he is straight and partially because Robert Sean Leonard was desperately hoping for a role where he didn’t have to play a tragic gay twink. Unfortunately, it’s something about the eyes.
“No. I like women.” For proof, he proudly points to the shelf that’s home to the large collection of wedding rings he’s amassed over the years.
Cameron shifts from sad to morally righteous, which are her only two emotions. “You’re a womanizer.”
Wilson stares blankly. This is 2005 and he is a white man. He does not give a fuck. “Don’t you have a patient?”
“Chase and I left Foreman to deal with them and their entire extended family. Chase is going to break into their house and snoop around even though we don’t think it’s an environmental issue, and I’m going to shame some dying lady for making choices I don’t find ethical.”
She turns on her heel and leaves. God, she’s annoying, he thinks. Then, I wonder what House looks like naked?
<><><><>
Later, back in the diagnostics department, Foreman sits down heavily and puts his head in his hands. He considers his life up to this point. Was medical school even worth it? He hates himself.
As if drawn to self-hatred, House appears. “Hey, gangsta.” Foreman imagines House’s dead body. Unaware, or aware and uncaring, House continues. “Anything interesting?”
Foreman takes a deep breath. “Patient developed psychosis and tried to kill me. I was legally dead for twenty-three minutes.”
“Hm,” House says offhandedly. “Okay.” He is distracted by Wilson, who seems to spend most of his time in House’s office despite being the head of a major department.
Foreman then begins to explain the results of a variety of blood tests and other examinations. All of the findings point to one clear problem. At the end of his explanation, just when he’s about to say the name of the diagnosis, Chase stumbles into the room carrying a fishbowl. “I found some fishes at the patient’s house.”
House’s eyes grow wide. “I figured it out. Thanks for the final clue, Chase.” The bimbo puffs up his chest proudly, though he doesn’t know what he did.
House leaves, with Wilson trailing along like a loyal puppy.
<><><><>
A few days later, House’s team (and Wilson and Cuddy, who somehow don’t have anything better to do) are in the meeting room listening to House be clever and impressive. Cuddy eventually cuts him off to tell him that he and Wilson need to stop eyefucking in public because it’s making their patients and coworkers uncomfortable. Wilson is baffled. House is not.
“Wilson, I want to have sex with you,” he says bluntly.
Wilson laughs. “Yeah, okay, House. Sure.”
Foreman attempts to mentally dissociate. I hate gay people.
Lucky for him, his phone rings, and he steps through the door from the meeting room to House’s personal office. He does not close the door behind him though, so moving a few steps south doesn’t do anything to hide his conversation. Also, the walls are glass. “Hello?”
House, using his astute observational skills, identifies that Foreman is on the phone. He shushes Cameron, who is trying to get his attention so that he can help a patient.
“This is Eric Foreman… yes, I applied for the job. No. No. Yes. No, no—yes. Yes. Yes. No. Hm…no. Yes.” After a pause, he turns around to stare at House. “He told you that I’m a pedophile?”
Chase freezes at the word ‘pedophile.’ “Oh no…” he says, “they’re gonna send me back to Australia.”
House looks at him with disgust. “You wouldn’t go to Australia. You’d go to federal prison, you idiot.” Chase bursts into tears.
In the time that this interaction has taken place, Foreman has come back into the meeting room. He pulls out a gun and shoots House, and Wilson falls to his knees and starts shrieking like a little girl. Foreman and Cuddy share a look. They’re both getting secondhand embarrassment. Cameron, being the only remotely competent doctor in the room who wants House to live, starts to help him, but Foreman points the gun at her.
“Get out.”
Despite all of her moral posturing, she hauls ass. Before Chase can say another stupid fucking word in Australian, Foreman decks him.
Cuddy places a hand on Foreman’s shoulder and smiles. “I have to go check on the clinic. Bye.”
He nods respectfully. “Bye, Dr. Cuddy.”
On the ground, Wilson is curled up next to House like how a baby deer curls up next to its dead mother. House looks up at Foreman.
“Did you… learn… to shoot that gun… in the hood?” House laughs at his own joke until he dies in a pool of his own blood.