title: Introductions
fandom: House
characters/pairings: very vague House/Wilson
rating: G
warnings: none
summary: Wilson wants to spread his joy, but House is skeptical.
notes: for aethrin, for this request on fic on deman. this takes place pre-muscle death, etc, so this is not set at the Princeton hospital. apologies to aethrin if this doesn't suit, but i was going for the same tone on the show, plus, not sure house was ever that nice to his patients. ^_~

"...and I couldn't get up the stairs without taking a breather. Of course, Matthew's children were running all over the place, and the little one - that's Jeremiah, remember? - ran right into the center of my back. Well! That put a damper on Easter, you see, because I had to spend the next few hours on the couch, and Louie and Joey were watching football or basketball or... what sport do they play on Easter Sunday? Anyway. That was fun, I can tell you. Louie has horrible gas. I keep telling him to see the doctor. That's just not normal! He just doesn't listen, Dr. House. No one ever does. Anyway, ever since then, it's been my legs, you know? Well, now that I think on it, there was that time, too, at Thanksgiving, but I'd been on my feet on the stone floor - we have a stone floor in the kitchen. I knew it would be bad for my legs, but it's only twice a year I really go all out cooking. Anyway, I'm sure there was nothing more to that. So..."

House stared at his patient in fascinated horror. Nothing could stop the torrent of words. He hadn't seriously tried yet, because she was his fifth patient today, and there was a woman with anal itching in the next room. So, he was willing to let her yammer on, in the hopes that someone else could deal with that.

"...and Joseph, he's my Lucy's husband, Joseph said that it was maybe Lou Gehrig's disease. Well! After he said that, I thought, maybe I don't want to see the doctor! But then I fell, and Doctor, I spent a week on my back, which would have been a lot more fun thirty years ago, as I'm sure you can imagine. Well, after I got mobile again, I started to think about it, and it couldn't be Lou Gehrig's disease, I thought. I mean, I don't do anything athletic at all. So..."

There was a subtle knocking at the door, and Dr. Wilson, who should have been here four minutes ago when she was talking about her granddaughter's rash, poked his head in.

This in no way stopped the flow of words.

House stood up, and waved his prescription pad in her face. "Ma'am! Mrs. Smith! Enough!" She stared at him as if he was pissing on the teacup ride in Disneyworld. "Ma'am, look. Your legs hurt because your support hose are cutting off circulation. See, the roll of flesh hanging over the top? Buy the larger size. The other aches and pains you complain about are because time keeps moving forward, instead of backward, and with the march of time, there is also a nifty concept called entropy. Your joints are wearing out. When you are sitting, keep your feet up, and try to walk more every day. Now, the pain in your hands is arthritis, and it's probably gotten worse since the last rainy season. If your pain is too hard to manage with over the counter drugs, you need a prescription. Here, this is for prednisone. It's a steroid. It will make you feel better, but follow the directions from the pharmacist to the letter. Now. I'm going to go."

She looked at the piece of paper in her hands as if it had magically appeared. "Oh! Thank you, Doctor!"

He pushed Wilson out the door, and around the corner to the files room.

"You gave her prednisone without even taking an X-ray?" Wilson laughed.

House gave him a sharp look. "Wonderful thing about drug prescriptions that most doctors don't talk about; they shut patients up. So. I'm going to assume you're not here for a patient consult."

Wilson smirked, in that way that he did because he knew that he was cute. "I want you to meet someone." He edged over to the window out to the waiting room, and pointed to a tall, dark-haired woman in a nice suit, a simple cross at her neck, and wearing tasteful shoes with thick heels.

"It's a woman," House narrowed his eyes.

"Your ability to determine the gender of a person from across a room based only on a visual inspection is astonishing to me. Clearly, I still have much to learn, Dr. House," Wilson joked, too aware of his humor.

House rolled his eyes. "Your interest in my love life is..." Well, it was to be expected, from a certain point of view. But they never talked about that. It was just something that happened, when no one else was around. They couldn't talk about it, which was... what it was. So House quickly derailed. "You realize you are doing this only because you are afflicted with the same syndrome that all people who are facing marriage have: the desire to set up their friends so they will be as screwed as you are. Sorry, not interested."

Wilson laughed, because he wasn't listening to House. "Oh, come on, she's great! She's a constitutional lawyer, so she's smart but she won't be bored with you being smart. She's pretty, but not so pretty she'll make you feel insecure. And she doesn't take any crap from anyone!"

"Well, great, now she can fight for truth and justice and the American way!" House sneered.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Just come for a coffee with us. I'm buying. And by the way, this has nothing to do with me getting married. Sully introduced us, and I immediately thought of you."

House sighed. "You're an idiot."

"And you're cheap," Wilson, grinned, touching House's elbow, leading him on gently. "So come on. Free coffee."

House looked at the hand on his elbow. The things he did because of this man... "What's her name?"

"Stacy Warner. And you'll like her, I promise," Wilson winked.

House didn't want to like her, but he followed Wilson anyway.








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