Never write fanfic when bored.
House stormed into the Diagnostic’s conference room like a lopsided whirlwind, bag over one shoulder, helmet dangling from his free hand and his normal scowl dialed up to “incinerate”. He made a show of locking the door before limping to the whiteboard and dumping his things on the table. Everyone stopped what they were doing as House glared at each person gathered in turn. Taub glanced nervously from side to side while Kutner looked vaguely guilty then strove not to. Foreman and Cameron showed signs of polite interest but Chase’s ears had gone red at the tips. When House’s stern gaze traveled over Wilson, the oncologist raised one thick brow in question, and, receiving an answering grimace, looked impressed by the seriousness of the response. “I’m going to make this quick,” House snapped. “Someone killed Thirteen.”
“What?” Six shocked faces demanded.
“Killed. Snuffed. Taken her life. D-e-a-d,” House repeated slowly, “and we are not leaving until we know how.”
“Accident?” Taub guessed.
“Suicide?” Kutner asked hopefully.
“She had weird eyes,” Foreman murmured, “Maybe it was subdural pressure that did her in.”
“That could account for her odd behavior,” Chase concurred.
“And bad fashion sense,” Cameron added. People did their best not to look directly at her vest but Cameron must have sensed their incredulous looks. “What? There’s nothing wrong with vests?” She insisted, tugging at the pinstriped one she wore. “None of you ever mock Chase for his,” she pointed out. Chase and Wilson shared and appalled and slightly worried look at that.
“Could we get back to the cause?” Foreman asked.
“Why? Bickering and back-biting are always entertaining,” House said but he took up a marker and wrote UNLUCKY 13 and beneath that: Dead, weird eyes, fashion victim (not literally). “Okay, what have we got?”
“Uh.” The two new living minions looked to the three old, also living minions but no one offered a symptom.
Wilson cleared his throat. “Well, she talked a lot,” he said with a shrug, “And killed a patient.”
“And his dog,” Cameron added, quickly.
“And his dog. So,” Wilson shrugged again, “Inattentive or careless?”
House considered then bent to the whiteboard and added: Inattentive, Talkative. “What else?”
“I heard she and Brennan spent a lot of time together talking about his work with Doctors Without Borders,” Chase said.
House rolled his eyes but added gullible and after a second manipulative. “Kutner, give me something? I’ve seen you leering at her. You get any? Or did she have standards?”
Kutner froze, his dark skin flushing darker. “We, uh, I never -“
“How ‘bout you Taub?” House taunted. “She like midgets?”
Taub sputtered but before he could work up an indignant retort House wrote frigid. “I don’t know about that,” Wilson said in a tone that made House eye him thoughtfully. “She seemed to find you intriguing.”
“Jealous, Jimmy?” House made a show of running his fingers through his thinning hair. “All women love me,” he confided, “it’s my bad-boy persona.”
“Thought it was the obvious overcompensation,” Wilson said, gesturing to House’s cane.
“Hardy-har-har.”
“Well she didn’t care if anyone else liked her,” Cameron pointed out rather tartly.
“Hmm, did anyone like her?” Everyone but Wilson raised their hands.
“It’s a proximity thing,” Wilson said. House couldn’t hide his smirk; he knew it was Thirteen’s proximity to him that made Wilson not like her.
“Foreman liked her because she toed the line,” House mused. “Kutner and Taub, obvious. Chase? Mmmmm.” His keen gaze dissected the Australian, “Your balls are in someone else’s pocket so that can’t be the reason.” Chase blanched and shot Cameron a frightened look. “Which leaves only your better half and my own devoted albatross.” Everyone turned to stare at Wilson and Cameron. “So which of you was it?”
House studied them both for a long moment. “Wilson has never resorted to violence. He uses his feminine wiles very judiciously and the competition never knows it is his competition. They go running to him for advice and what do you know, it turns out not to help.” Wilson’s dimples deepened and his dark eyes glinted with humor and a helping of mischief. “Which leaves Cameron.” He over the things he had written on the whiteboard then moved closer, leaning over her so that Cameron had to shrink back in her seat.
“D-don’t flatter yourself, House,” Cameron said. “Chase is all I want.”
“Is he?” House glanced sideways at Chase. “He is prettier than me and he’s grown a bit of a spine in these last few months. But,” he tapped Cameron on the nose, “I’m the Alpha Male around here.” Wilson coughed, quieting only when House glared at him. “You want me. You always have and another sexy, young doctor -“
“Female,” Wilson added.
“-female doctor poaching what you consider your territory sent you into a murderous rage.”
“We don’t even know what killed her!” Chase shouted.
House grinned, a wolfish and evil grin. “Freon, injected into her carotid artery via this.” He held up a tiny dart. “And all the evidence points to you.”
Cameron crossed her arms. “No, it doesn’t.”
“You have a smudge on the toe of your left shoe,” he said. Everyone peered down at Cameron’s expensive heels and indeed, there was a smudge of something black on the shiny red toe. “You used a large bore syringe to siphon Freon out of your Lumina and coated the darts you bought off PygmiesRus.com with this credit card.” He held up a photocopied receipt. “I found a straw in your locker and I know from gossip that your suction skills have improved vastly in the last few months.”
“I did it for love!” Cameron shrieked and hurled herself so forcefully into House’s arms he was knocked off his feet. Wilson was first to react, he lunged for her and tried tugging her away but Cameron held on. Taube, Kutner and Chase all swarmed over the kicking and swearing pile and were soon lost to sight.
“What the hell is going on?” A voice demanded from the doorway.
Everyone froze, seven pairs of eyes turning to stare in shock at Thirteen standing beside Foreman. “You’re not dead?” Cameron asked, pushing people out of her way and climbing to her feet. Wilson stood up and pulled House with him, dusting him off and handing him his cane.
“Uh, no,” Thirteen confirmed. “I slipped on some blood down in the CCU and sprained my wrist.” She held up a bandaged wrist. “But I’m not dead.”
“My bad,” House admitted. “Oh, well. Maybe next time. Lunch, Wilson?” With that he walked out. Wilson shrugged and followed.
* Or not.