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His throat was scratchy. And throbbing. It really hurt, too. House opened his mouth and tried to talk. A hoarse rasp came out.
Hm. Dry throat? Possible. That or laryngitis. He grabbed his cane and stood, reaching for his Vicodin. As he tipped one into the palm of his hand, he realized that even he couldn’t dry swallow a pill with a sore throat. He curled his fingers around the pill and limped painfully into the bathroom.
He hooked his cane onto the bowl of the sink and swallowed the pill with water. He reached for his cup (Wilson’s doing) and drank some water, hoping the scratchiness in his throat would disappear.
It didn’t.
He tried to talk again. Nothing.
Damn. Laryngitis.
Well. There were ways to make the day fun, even with laryngitis. It also meant that he didn’t have to do Clinic duty today, since he couldn’t talk.
He entered the hospital and ran straight into Cuddy, who was apparently lying in wait for him to do his Clinic hours.
“You owe me four Clinic hours for today,” Cuddy told him on his way to the elevator.
“Can’t talk,” House rasped out. He put on his repentant face and stepped into the elevator. Cuddy walked in after him.
“You really can’t talk or you just trying to get out of Clinic duty?”
“Laryngitis,” House coughed out. “Really.”
“If I hear the sound of your voice today, as loud and annoying as it usually is, then you are doing ten extra Clinic hours – unless you tell me now you’re just pulling my leg.”
“Really no voice.”
“You have a case, by the way. Cameron has the file.”
House stepped out of the elevator again, jauntily waving at Cuddy’s annoyed face.
He bypassed his office and walked straight into Wilson’s.
I need you now, House communicated in their secret sign language.
“Greg, I have work to do.”
It’s paperwork. Even you avoid that like the plague. I have a case.
“Why aren’t you talking?”
“No voice,” House said in a hoarse whisper. And only you know this language.
“Why didn’t I hear before?” Wilson paused in thought. “Oh, right, I left before you woke up today.”
House remembered it vaguely. Wilson’s pager going off at five in the morning, Wilson reading the message and frowning, hauling himself out of bed quietly, so he wouldn’t wake House. He had showered and dressed quickly and almost silently, and right before he left, he’d gone back to the bedroom, gently ran his fingers down House’s face, and brushed his lips against House’s.
Thanks for not waking me. Why did you get paged?
“Cancer patient took a turn for the worse. We got him stabilized, he’s fine now, but by the time I felt I could leave his bedside, it was seven. No point in going back home.”
Help me with the case?
“Oh, why not? I’m only doing paperwork after all, and that can wait.”
They headed over to House’s office.
“Details of the case?”
House shrugged. Cuddy said I have one. Can’t argue with her when I can’t talk.
“Careful, she might decide she really likes you with laryngitis. Might cut out your vocal cords or something, keep you this silent and complacent always.”
If I have to argue a point with her, I’m dragging you along to translate.
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t try to cut out your vocal cords – I have no desire to spend the rest of my life translating your faces into actual words.”
Oh, and don’t tell the ducklings I have laryngitis.
House entered the outer office, with Wilson trailing behind, almost apologetic for intruding on their space. He took a seat exactly opposite of House.
“We have a case. Cuddy said to make sure you take it.”
House nodded, waiting for Cameron to launch into the details.
“Heart palpitations, severe headaches, chest pain, sensitivity to light, vomiting, dilated pupils, dizziness, extremely high blood pressure…”
House had been writing at the whiteboard, but at the mention of blood pressure, he turned and signalled, How high?
Wilson nodded slightly. “How high?” he asked.
“201/127,” Cameron answered, tossing Wilson a confused look. She didn’t say anything, though. “Slurred speech, diarrhea, and skin rash.”
House finished writing with a flourish.
Differential diagnosis, people. What would cause this plethora of not-fun symptoms?
“Differential diagnosis,” Wilson stated.
That’s not what I said.
I know.
This time, Foreman and Chase shot Wilson odd looks, but turned back to House.
“Stroke?” Chase guessed.
Based on what?
“Why are you saying that?” Wilson asked.
“Slurred speech. Could be indicative of a stroke.”
Oh, right, pick that symptom when the rest of the list doesn’t indicate stroke.
“Nothing else does.”
Mind saying what I am?
Terribly. I’m not nearly as caustic as you are, and given that they don’t know yet that I’m speaking in your place…
If they don’t, they’re idiots. Why else would you be saying things that I should be?
Who knows?
You, by the way, are no fun. You should be answering me out loud. Confuse them even further. Everything you’ve said out loud so far can be logically arrived at. We’re never going to mess with their minds like this.
“True,” Wilson admitted, a sparkle in his eye.
Always knew I could convince you to play along.
“I do expect compensation.”
You’ll get it. Here’s what I don’t get, though. This language, by its nature, is slower than actually speaking. We’re not in a meeting and you can talk. Why would you even want to communicate like this?
Wilson rolled his eyes.
Unless you didn’t want to confuse them.
“Not everyone has your particular mischievous streak.”
You’re playing along now.
“I told you I expect compensation.”
And I told you you’ll get it.
The ducklings watched this rather like one watches a tennis match: eyes darting at House whenever Wilson wasn’t saying anything, darting back at Wilson when he answer, darting over to House again…
They’re gonna get dizzy soon. And we’ve completely forgot about the differential diagnosis.
“Their problem, and are you really trying to get back to it?”
“Can we get back to the differential diagnosis?” Foreman asked, trying to back away subtly.
No one’s stopping you. And James, do translate that correctly, please. Stop restating it nicely.
“No one’s stopping you,” Wilson pointed out, hiding a slight smirk. House smiled slightly – a tiny little smile – in response. Wilson had a mischievous streak too and could be incredibly playful – if one managed to coax it out of him. Apparently, House had just succeeded.
“Diet pills could cause these symptoms,” Cameron pointed out, looking at House and Wilson like particularly odd specimens.
How heavy is the patient?
“How heavy is she?”
“Barely 110 pounds.”
Okay. Diet pills are a possibility. Severe headaches lead me to believe something may be wrong with her brain, though. Do an LP, an MRI, a blood panel test, and one of you go to her house and check her stash.
“Diet pills are a possibility. But the severe headaches may be indicative of a neurological problem. LP, MRI, blood panel, and one of you go to her house and check her stash.”
The ducklings skittered out, still casting odd looks at the two department heads.
House and Wilson dissolved into laughter the second they left.
We should’ve done this ages ago, even if I didn’t have laryngitis. The looks on their faces… priceless.
“Not very nice of us, though. And who knows what they’re thinking? Perhaps they’ve decided that ESP is a possibility. Or they’ll think me crazy.”
Newsflash: they already think you’re crazy for befriending me.
“Do they know about us?”
No. Didn’t see a particular reason to tell them that I’m sleeping with you.
“It’s more than that, and you know it.”
House smiled slightly. Yeah, I do. I’m living with you. It’s still none of their business. Think they can tell?
“Probably not, we had all that sexual tension before we actually got together. They must think we’re just flirting still.”
You being able to figure out what I’m saying – I wonder how big of a tip-off that is.
“You know what I really like about you?” Wilson asked as he walked up close to House.
No, but I know nothing’s going to stop you from telling me.
“You never do anything by halves,” he murmured, kissing House briefly. “This language, for example. Most people, when they make up a secret language, either make it very simplistic, very crude, or give up half way. You, on the other hand, make it complex, elegant, and didn’t stop until we could say most things.”
House smiled slightly. I think I like that reason.
***
“MRI and LP showed nothing,” Cameron declared as she entered the Diagnostics office, Chase and Foreman a step behind her.
“Didn’t find much in her house, either,” Foreman added.
Which indicates you found something. What?
“Which indicates you found something. What?” Wilson asked, sneaking a glance at House, who was stifling a grin.
“A lot of cheese in her house. Aged, ripe cheese. Botulism?”
Nah, doesn’t cause all of this. The skin rash – allergy in combination with something?
Wilson translated faithfully.
“We’ll do an allergy test,” Cameron offered, not quite sure who to look at anymore.
Excellent. And check for botulism anyway, it might be two things. Lunch, James?
“Sounds good. Check for botulism anyway, since it might be more than one illness. And sure. Let’s go.”
“Where?” Chase asked.
“Lunch,” Wilson replied.
I’m starting to think I should just not talk during work any more. This is way more fun. Think we can somehow torture Cuddy with this?
“She’s not gonna be looking for you today. You haven’t ordered any dangerous tests and you aren’t on Clinic duty today.”
Guess it’s time for me to order a ridiculously dangerous test so that she’ll come and yell at me.
Wilson tried to hide his smile at the idea. “I dunno… wasting her time…”
All the better. Ridiculous test. I need a dangerous and ridiculous test.
“By the way, if we do torture her with this, she’ll realize what went on during the…”
Never mind Cuddy. Lunch.
Wilson breathed a sigh of relief. “Excellent idea. Anyway, you know how much I hate being the buffer between you two.”
Gets in the way of the excellent sex?
“Oh, please! I think we do just fine without her.”
If it’s just fine, I’ve been doing something wrong. House’s eyes are dancing as he watches the ducklings standing there, in classic “Ready To Treat Patient” position, staring at them like they were a bad but perversely fascinating sitcom.
“You know what I meant. It’s excellent without her!”
Ever heard the Woody Allen quote?
“No.” Expressing names had been difficulty until they’d come up with a way to communicate letters.
Sex between 2 people is a beautiful thing; between 5 it's fantastic.
“Not inviting three more people!”
Can’t even think of three people who’d join us.
“Always a point. I thought we were doing lunch?”
We are. Let’s go.
As they left, they heard Foreman saying in disbelief, “Which one of them has gone crazy?”
***
“Allergy test showed nothing. Botulism test showed nothing. Blood panel showed nothing.”
House scowled at the whiteboard and then at his fellows. What are we missing?
“It’s a stupid question. If you knew what you were missing, it wouldn’t be missing.”
Oh please. If I’m missing my car keys, I know what I’m missing, but it’s missing.
“Car keys aren’t an intellectual concept. If you’re missing a point, you don’t know what point it is you’re missing,” Wilson pointed out, drumming his fingers against the glass table. He was enjoying this at least as much as House was. His mischievous side got far less indulgence than House’s did, and there were times he really hated being the buffer between House and the rest of the world.
Torturing the fellows like this was fun.
Told you that torturing people could be fun, House smirked. Hey, you afraid of catching whatever I have?
“Not particularly. You can always return the favor. Why?”
This question of your compensation. If you’re worried about losing your voice too, you’ll be less likely to fuck me tonight.
Wilson smiled slowly. “I don’t think we have to worry about that.”
Is the patient on any medications?
Wilson checked the chart. “No.”
House turned to the whiteboard and scowled at it again. He turned again. We’re definitely missing something. He frowned deeply and grabbed his cane off the whiteboard. Walking now.
“Where to?” Chase asked, staring at House in bewilderment. House hadn’t spoken a word all day, although Wilson seemed to know exactly what was going on in House’s mind.
Talking to the patient. Or at least, James, you’ll be doing the actual talking part. Tandem diagnosing. Let’s go.
Wilson stood and walked after House. “Talking to the patient,” he explained as he left.
I have a theory.
“Care to share?”
Sure. Everybody lies.
“You always say that. What is this patient lying about?”
Don’t know. That’s why we’re talking to her.
House entered the patient’s room with Wilson a step behind him. “Hello,” Wilson greeted. “This is Dr. House, Head of Diagnostics, and I’m Dr. Wilson. Dr. House has a few questions for you. I’ll be asking them myself, since he’s lost his voice.”
The patient – Wilson quickly checked her name, Mildred – nodded.
Are you on any medications?
Wilson related the question to Mildred.
“No,” she answered. She shrugged. “Never needed to before.”
You’re depressed.
Wilson shot House a look. You sure?
Damn you, just say it. I can’t right now, and I’m positive.
“Dr. House says you’re depressed.”
“Feel blue sometimes, but…”
You went to see Dr. Vahn, a psychiatrist. Did he prescribe anything?
She already said no meds.
Either she’s lying or she’s got four illnesses. Which one’s more likely?
“Your chart indicates you’ve been to see Dr. Vahn, who is a psychiatrist. Are you sure he didn’t prescribe anything?”
Mildred bit her lip and looked out the window. House frowned slightly, the gears in his head turning quickly.
James, no matter how much you disagree with anything I’m saying, don’t question it right now.
Fine.
Mildred turned back to them. “I… don’t…”
You were prescribed MAOIs.
Wilson translated, not making the connection between MAOIs and heart palpitations, high blood pressure, and severe headaches. If anything, MAOIs reduced blood pressure.
“Yes.”
House sighed and nodded. The simplest explanation is always: somebody’s lying, House told Wilson. Off we go. I know what’s wrong with her.
As they left, Wilson said, “MAOIs reduce blood pressure, House.”
You’re forgetting something. Come on. Time to scare the ducklings again.
“You know, I hate it when you do this to me. When you see the answer and don’t share.”
You’ll see it in a few minutes.
They entered the Diagnostics office, Wilson casting hurt looks at House.
Everybody lies, House began, looking straight at Wilson.
With a sigh, Wilson nodded and said, “Everybody lies.”
“I can’t stand this anymore!” Chase cried. “This is ridiculous! Wilson’s saying the things House usually does and House hasn’t said a word all day! And sometimes it’s like Wilson’s talking to House, but House isn’t saying anything and…”
Didn’t I tell you this would be fun?
“Yes, you did. Did I argue with you on that point?”
No, but you did try to communicate back in our secret language.
“True.”
“Why isn’t House speaking? I’m going crazy here!”
If he hasn’t figured it out yet, I’m firing him. This is a simple diagnosis. Why do people usually not talk all day?
“You’re not most people, House, which might explain it better.”
House rolled his eyes.
“House lost his voice,” Wilson supplied. “Hoarse rasping is about all he can do today.”
“Yeah, but how do you understand him?”
You better say wicked cool psychic powers, or I’m denying sex.
“Wicked cool psychic powers,” Wilson answered immediately, his eyes twinkling. “Can we get back to the case?”
Much better than my lack of voice. Now, the patient’s been taking MAOIs, which caused all of these lovely symptoms.
“It’s impossible,” Cameron said the second Wilson finished translating. “MAOIs reduce blood pressure.”
Not in combination with cheese, they don’t. MAOIs inhibit certain monoamine oxidases, one of which is tyramine. Tyramine can be found in certain foods, like cheese. She didn’t listen to her psychiatrist when he said no cheese, which is why her blood pressure was high and why she had heart palpitations and severe headaches.
Wilson stared at House for a few moments before repeating all this.
“It really was very simple.”
When you accept that everybody lies, of course the answer is simple. I’m done for the day. Let’s go home.
***
“That, I think, was the most fun I’ve ever had consulting on one of your cases,” Wilson laughed as they exited the shower. “Did you know Chase would be the first to break under the pressure?”
Of course. Foreman doesn’t care any more and Cameron is slightly more tactful. Forget them. There is the matter of your compensation. Although, since you had fun…
“Uh-uh. You’re not getting out of it,” Wilson grinned, kissing House.
Not getting into it, either.
Wilson snickered slightly. “Almost like gagging you.”
Shut up and fuck me.
Wilson pulled House closer and kissed him again. “Sometimes, you have the best ideas.”
House tossed his cane onto the couch and clutched Wilson instead. They slowly made their way to the bedroom, shedding clothing as they went.
“You have any idea how much fun it is when you’re communicating in our language? Your face is so expressive… so much fun…” Wilson murmured as he pushed House onto the bed.
House rolled his eyes. You’re talking. There’s no reason for you to be talking. Fuck me instead.
Wilson laughed. “So impatient, just like a teenage boy.” He settled in between House’s spread legs and leaned forward, bracing his weight on his elbows. He kissed along House’s jaw, down his neck, along his chest, finding a nipple more by accident than design. He sucked on it sharply, revelling in House’s raspy hiss of pleasure.
Wilson’s mouth headed towards the other one, teasing it into a hard nub with his skilful tongue.
House’s hands were entangled in Wilson’s hair already, curling impatiently into the brown strands. Not being able to beg frustrated him even more and he tugged. Wilson raised his head obligingly.
Fuck me now.
Wilson smiled slowly. “Flip over.”
House turned over onto his stomach, resting his head on his arms. Wilson massaged House’s back, working out the knots in the muscle from propelling himself about on a cane all day. House hissed – his version of a moan today – and squirmed slightly. With his face half-hidden, he couldn’t even communicate clearly.
Wilson smirked, parting House’s ass and lowering his head.
The raspy noise was probably meant to be a shout, Wilson reflected, as he worked his tongue deep into House’s entrance. He thrust slowly, moving his tongue in as many directions as he could, encouraging House to relax. House was rhythmically pushing against the bed and curling his fingers and uncurling his fingers.
“Now!” House managed to rasp out.
With a soft sigh, Wilson sat up and reached for the lube and condoms. He coated two fingers and slipped them in, revelling in House’s soft sigh of pleasure. House was ready… so ready, clenching around his fingers and squirming, panting and moaning as much as he could around his sore throat.
Wilson tore open the packet with his teeth, spitting bits of foil out. House gave a breathy chuckle.
Wilson rolled the condom on and slowly, gently entered House, giving him time to adjust.
House pushed back into him. “Now!” he coughed out again. “Fast,” he added.
Well. Wilson was really bad at denying House things.
He drew out and slammed back in. House gave some sort of raspy noise probably relating to a moan or maybe a shout to glory, but it was immaterial now, now, when Wilson was thrusting into that tight, clenching ass and House was pushing into the bed and back onto Wilson’s dick, and Wilson, he was definitely moaning and perhaps shouting, lowered his head towards House’s shoulder, bit him gently, laved it with a repentant tongue, licked his way up to House’s ear and nipped at the lobe, and that caused House to buck madly and push back into him, rasping all the way there and all the way back into the mattress again.
House shuddered around him suddenly, coming fiercely, and Wilson was close, so close… he was there, there, white light shooting through him, out of him, and House was rasping at him, coughing something, and Wilson right now couldn’t care less, not while he was coming this hard.
He slumped against House, who protested hoarsely and scratchily.
Wilson pulled out and this time slumped next to House, who slung an arm over his chest.
“You know, I almost doubted that you have laryngitis,” Wilson smiled. “You’re almost never sick, and anyway, it’s a good excuse for playing that trick on the ducklings.”
House smiled disconcertingly and looked Wilson in the eye. “Everybody lies,” he deadpanned in a perfectly normal tone.