House and the P.L.O.T. Device: 1 of ?
“I wanna go to the toy store.”
Wilson, still half asleep, pries open one eye. House is looming over him, his face inches from Wilson’s. “What time is it?”
“Time to go buy toys.”
“Go back to sleep.” Wilson pulls the pillow over his head.
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Then go watch TV.”
“I don’t wanna watch TV. I wanna go to the toy store.”
“Then go by yourself.”
“But then I can’t make you buy me things!”
“Exactly.”
Unfortunately, Wilson’s awake now. He sits up and yawns. “Won’t it be more fun to go to the toy store after you’ve been through the P.L.O.T.?”
“We can go more than once.”
“True.” He scratches his chest. “I’m gonna take a shower. Put some coffee on.”
House will be going through the P.L.O.T. device in a few days. Wilson feels like he ought to be in a frenzy of preparation, but there really isn’t that much to do. They have plenty of clothes and toys left from Chase’s transformation, and Cuddy is sufficiently afraid of having a six-year-old House running around the hospital that she’s doing everything possible to make it easy for them to take the week off. She doesn’t want, she says, Wilson coming in to deal with an emergency and not being able to find a baby-sitter.
“Don’t we have daycare here?” House had asked, an evil grin spreading across his face.
“No!” Cuddy and Wilson had yelled, in unison.
The only difficult errand had been going to Pediatrics to get a mobility aid for mini-House. He’d been dismayed to discover that they didn’t make classic wooden canes for six-year-olds. He’d only given up complaining about it when Wilson suggested, “You could pick one of yours and get it cut down.”
“I’ll just go with one of these,” he’d said, quickly selecting a bright blue metal forearm crutch.
“Nice choice, Tiny Tim.”
“I don’t have a ukulele.”
“I meant the other one.”
“I know.”
Wilson showers quickly, practicing. Once House is regressed, Wilson isn’t going to want to leave him unattended any longer than necessary. Even with adult House, he sometimes emerges from the shower to discover that the kitchen has been trashed, or his belongings have been tampered with, or obscene amounts of candy and pornography have been ordered on his credit card.
House has made coffee, and watches Wilson intently as he pours a cup. Wilson stops, the cup halfway to his mouth. “What did you to do this?”
“Nothing,” House says innocently.
Maybe he didn’t. Maybe it’s the one where House makes him think he’s done something, but he hasn’t. House likes that one. Wilson sips. The coffee tastes a little odd, but not altogether unpleasant. “There’s something in this,” he says suspiciously.
“Cinnamon,” House admits. “It’s supposed to make your come taste better.”
“House, you’re going to be six in two days. It’s not going to matter how my come tastes.” If House thinks he’s going to be sucking dick in that state, he’s going to be in for a major disappointment.
“It’s only supposed to take a day to work.”
“I don’t think it works at all,” Wilson says. “I think it’s an urban legend.”
“We’ll see.” House fixes himself a bowl of cereal and settles down in front of the TV. Now that Wilson’s up, he seems ready to be patient about going to the toy store.
Or possibly Wilson up and keeping him company was all he really wanted to begin with.
#
“I’m hungry,” House announces.
Cameron gives him a sympathetic smile; Foreman doesn’t even look up from his paperwork. Nwebuze scheduled his P.L.O.T. for noon, instead of first thing in the morning, for some reason. He’s been in the office for an hour, and has mentioned how hungry he is at least six times.
“It’s only another hour,” Chase says.
“If I live that long.”
“No one ever died from skipping breakfast.”
“I could if I throw myself off the roof to end the agony.”
Chase tries to change the subject. “Do you have anything fun planned?”
“I’m going to eat my body weight in ice cream.”
Foreman jumps into the conversation, proving he hasn’t been quite as focused on his work as he’s been pretending to be. “You’ll be throwing up for days.”
“Not all at once,” House clarifies. “If I pace myself, I should be fine.”
“Sounds great,” Chase says dubiously. He hopes he gets a chance to see House in his regressed state-it seems only fair. House has shown surprising restraint in the two weeks since he’s returned to adult form-he’s hardly mocked him at all. So far. And they’d had him over for pizza and movies the week after-probably just to make sure he was fully returned to normal, but it had been fun, anyway.
“Do you want to come over and play dinosaurs?” House asks. Chase is pretty sure it’s a genuine question, not an invitation.
“Maybe,” he answers. “Do you still have them?”
“Sure,” House says.
“I’ll tell Wilson he can call me if you need a sitter.”
#
A few minutes before noon, Wilson meets House coming out of his office. “Ready?” Wilson asks him.
“Uh-huh. I don’t need a minder, you know. Yet.”
“I know,” Wilson says agreeably, falling into step beside him. “I’ll go with you anyway.”
House is quiet, until they’re a few steps from Nwebuze’s department. “This isn’t going to be fun,” he says abruptly.
“It was fun with Chase,” Wilson points out. There had been a few rough spots, sure, but it had been okay.
“I’m going to be in pain.”
“I know.” Chronic, intractable pain is demoralizing for children, in some ways even worse than for adults. When their medication’s working well, they can often put their illness out of their minds and enjoy themselves-but that can mean they’re blindsided by the return of symptoms. “I’ll take care of you.”
House ducks his head and glances over at him, more-or-less agreeing, and they go inside.
Within a few minutes, Nwebuze’s team have whisked House away from him. No one outside the team is allowed to witness the P.L.O.T. process-apparently it’s distressing to watch. Wilson barely has time to hand over the backpack with House’s change of clothes before they’re pushing him out the door.
He sits on the closest bench he can find and waits. After a few minutes, he has one of the departmental administrative assistants bring him some charts for review. He really ought to go back to his office-there’s no reason for him to be here, and House will make fun of him if he finds out-but Wilson wants to be close. Just in case.
It’s close to an hour later when Dr. Dupler, one of Nwebuze’s research fellows, comes out. “He’s done,” she says. “We still need to do a baseline MRI of his leg. Maybe you can help us get him into the machine.”
Wilson puts the files aside and gets up. “He won’t go in the MRI? Why not?”
She makes a “who knows?” sort of gesture. Questions about House get that reaction a lot.
House is in a room set up to look like a regular patient room. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his bare feet dangling above the floor. Wilson stops in his tracks to look at him. Wilson knows he’s sufficiently smitten with House that he’d probably think he was cute even if he looked like a baby warthog, but he was somehow still unprepared for the effect of his best friend in mini-form. The eyes are, of course, sharp and devastating, and his hair is lighter and curlier than the adult version’s. His build, skinny and tall for his apparent age, gives him a sort of coltish charm.
It only takes Wilson a second to realize why he hasn’t gotten off the bed-his crutch is standing against the opposite wall.
Wilson hands it to him, and he hops down, smoothing the patient gown over his leg. “I’m hungry,” he says. The crutch is a little bit too short; he adjusts it. “And where’s my clothes?”
“They need to MRI your leg before you get changed.”
“I need lunch first. I haven’t even had breakfast,” House reminds him.
“The MRI won’t take long.”
“I’m hungry,” House repeats. Wilson knows from long experience that he’s not going to budge. House can be stubborn at the best of times, and now, particularly, he probably wants to establish that he can’t be pushed around just because he’s small.
“How about a snack, then the MRI, and then we’ll go home and have lunch?”
House thinks it over. “Okay. I want Oreos.”
That was almost too easy.
On to Chapter Two!
Wilson, still half asleep, pries open one eye. House is looming over him, his face inches from Wilson’s. “What time is it?”
“Time to go buy toys.”
“Go back to sleep.” Wilson pulls the pillow over his head.
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Then go watch TV.”
“I don’t wanna watch TV. I wanna go to the toy store.”
“Then go by yourself.”
“But then I can’t make you buy me things!”
“Exactly.”
Unfortunately, Wilson’s awake now. He sits up and yawns. “Won’t it be more fun to go to the toy store after you’ve been through the P.L.O.T.?”
“We can go more than once.”
“True.” He scratches his chest. “I’m gonna take a shower. Put some coffee on.”
House will be going through the P.L.O.T. device in a few days. Wilson feels like he ought to be in a frenzy of preparation, but there really isn’t that much to do. They have plenty of clothes and toys left from Chase’s transformation, and Cuddy is sufficiently afraid of having a six-year-old House running around the hospital that she’s doing everything possible to make it easy for them to take the week off. She doesn’t want, she says, Wilson coming in to deal with an emergency and not being able to find a baby-sitter.
“Don’t we have daycare here?” House had asked, an evil grin spreading across his face.
“No!” Cuddy and Wilson had yelled, in unison.
The only difficult errand had been going to Pediatrics to get a mobility aid for mini-House. He’d been dismayed to discover that they didn’t make classic wooden canes for six-year-olds. He’d only given up complaining about it when Wilson suggested, “You could pick one of yours and get it cut down.”
“I’ll just go with one of these,” he’d said, quickly selecting a bright blue metal forearm crutch.
“Nice choice, Tiny Tim.”
“I don’t have a ukulele.”
“I meant the other one.”
“I know.”
Wilson showers quickly, practicing. Once House is regressed, Wilson isn’t going to want to leave him unattended any longer than necessary. Even with adult House, he sometimes emerges from the shower to discover that the kitchen has been trashed, or his belongings have been tampered with, or obscene amounts of candy and pornography have been ordered on his credit card.
House has made coffee, and watches Wilson intently as he pours a cup. Wilson stops, the cup halfway to his mouth. “What did you to do this?”
“Nothing,” House says innocently.
Maybe he didn’t. Maybe it’s the one where House makes him think he’s done something, but he hasn’t. House likes that one. Wilson sips. The coffee tastes a little odd, but not altogether unpleasant. “There’s something in this,” he says suspiciously.
“Cinnamon,” House admits. “It’s supposed to make your come taste better.”
“House, you’re going to be six in two days. It’s not going to matter how my come tastes.” If House thinks he’s going to be sucking dick in that state, he’s going to be in for a major disappointment.
“It’s only supposed to take a day to work.”
“I don’t think it works at all,” Wilson says. “I think it’s an urban legend.”
“We’ll see.” House fixes himself a bowl of cereal and settles down in front of the TV. Now that Wilson’s up, he seems ready to be patient about going to the toy store.
Or possibly Wilson up and keeping him company was all he really wanted to begin with.
#
“I’m hungry,” House announces.
Cameron gives him a sympathetic smile; Foreman doesn’t even look up from his paperwork. Nwebuze scheduled his P.L.O.T. for noon, instead of first thing in the morning, for some reason. He’s been in the office for an hour, and has mentioned how hungry he is at least six times.
“It’s only another hour,” Chase says.
“If I live that long.”
“No one ever died from skipping breakfast.”
“I could if I throw myself off the roof to end the agony.”
Chase tries to change the subject. “Do you have anything fun planned?”
“I’m going to eat my body weight in ice cream.”
Foreman jumps into the conversation, proving he hasn’t been quite as focused on his work as he’s been pretending to be. “You’ll be throwing up for days.”
“Not all at once,” House clarifies. “If I pace myself, I should be fine.”
“Sounds great,” Chase says dubiously. He hopes he gets a chance to see House in his regressed state-it seems only fair. House has shown surprising restraint in the two weeks since he’s returned to adult form-he’s hardly mocked him at all. So far. And they’d had him over for pizza and movies the week after-probably just to make sure he was fully returned to normal, but it had been fun, anyway.
“Do you want to come over and play dinosaurs?” House asks. Chase is pretty sure it’s a genuine question, not an invitation.
“Maybe,” he answers. “Do you still have them?”
“Sure,” House says.
“I’ll tell Wilson he can call me if you need a sitter.”
#
A few minutes before noon, Wilson meets House coming out of his office. “Ready?” Wilson asks him.
“Uh-huh. I don’t need a minder, you know. Yet.”
“I know,” Wilson says agreeably, falling into step beside him. “I’ll go with you anyway.”
House is quiet, until they’re a few steps from Nwebuze’s department. “This isn’t going to be fun,” he says abruptly.
“It was fun with Chase,” Wilson points out. There had been a few rough spots, sure, but it had been okay.
“I’m going to be in pain.”
“I know.” Chronic, intractable pain is demoralizing for children, in some ways even worse than for adults. When their medication’s working well, they can often put their illness out of their minds and enjoy themselves-but that can mean they’re blindsided by the return of symptoms. “I’ll take care of you.”
House ducks his head and glances over at him, more-or-less agreeing, and they go inside.
Within a few minutes, Nwebuze’s team have whisked House away from him. No one outside the team is allowed to witness the P.L.O.T. process-apparently it’s distressing to watch. Wilson barely has time to hand over the backpack with House’s change of clothes before they’re pushing him out the door.
He sits on the closest bench he can find and waits. After a few minutes, he has one of the departmental administrative assistants bring him some charts for review. He really ought to go back to his office-there’s no reason for him to be here, and House will make fun of him if he finds out-but Wilson wants to be close. Just in case.
It’s close to an hour later when Dr. Dupler, one of Nwebuze’s research fellows, comes out. “He’s done,” she says. “We still need to do a baseline MRI of his leg. Maybe you can help us get him into the machine.”
Wilson puts the files aside and gets up. “He won’t go in the MRI? Why not?”
She makes a “who knows?” sort of gesture. Questions about House get that reaction a lot.
House is in a room set up to look like a regular patient room. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his bare feet dangling above the floor. Wilson stops in his tracks to look at him. Wilson knows he’s sufficiently smitten with House that he’d probably think he was cute even if he looked like a baby warthog, but he was somehow still unprepared for the effect of his best friend in mini-form. The eyes are, of course, sharp and devastating, and his hair is lighter and curlier than the adult version’s. His build, skinny and tall for his apparent age, gives him a sort of coltish charm.
It only takes Wilson a second to realize why he hasn’t gotten off the bed-his crutch is standing against the opposite wall.
Wilson hands it to him, and he hops down, smoothing the patient gown over his leg. “I’m hungry,” he says. The crutch is a little bit too short; he adjusts it. “And where’s my clothes?”
“They need to MRI your leg before you get changed.”
“I need lunch first. I haven’t even had breakfast,” House reminds him.
“The MRI won’t take long.”
“I’m hungry,” House repeats. Wilson knows from long experience that he’s not going to budge. House can be stubborn at the best of times, and now, particularly, he probably wants to establish that he can’t be pushed around just because he’s small.
“How about a snack, then the MRI, and then we’ll go home and have lunch?”
House thinks it over. “Okay. I want Oreos.”
That was almost too easy.
On to Chapter Two!