Chapter Text
"Or, rein-car-nated."
Wilson had his hands on his hips passively, looking at the flashy Corvette. While Wilson didn't know much of cars, he did know much of House. It was those particular vintage models that House tended to favor.
"A gift from the Arnello brothers," Wilson read out with a raised eyebrow. Far past the initial bemusement, the oncologist was now rather suspicious.
House made his way to Wilson's side, leaning in close to read the pink slip for himself. It wasn't a formal note, just a generic post-it, but the words were cursive and neat all the same.
The diagnostician's lips twitched upwards, and Wilson let the slip fall to his side as he directed his questioning glance at House.
House's lips formed a genuine smile, an entertained and amused one. "You know, they're gangsters, sure, but they're thoughtful too."
"You can't keep it." Wilson reiterated slowly, for House's benefit. He'd almost wanted House to say the Arnello brothers were actual patients —however, unrealistic that thought was. "It's graft."
But House had already waltzed his way to the opposite side of the car. The driver's side. He paused to look up at Wilson, unrepentant. "Nuh-uh."
House slid open the Corvette's unlocked doors with a flourish. "Graft is if I tell them I'll only make him better if he slips me a couple bucks. A payoff for something I'm not supposed to do. If I'd ask for payoff.. which I didn't, I would have done the bad thing anyway."
The diagnostician's cane was tossed thoughtlessly by the shut door and House had his hands experimentally on the wheel and gears.
"So, there's nothing wrong with this."
Wilson didn’t quite get on, but did get closer to the vehicle (he'd claim it was because House was in the vehicle). The oncologist's voice was dry as he responded, "Right."
"What do you think a guy like Joey would do if someone turned down a gift? That's kind of an insult, isn't it?"
Wilson slipped his hands into the pockets, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "He might hurt you. It's.. definitely possible."
House made a 'vola' gesture, eyes widened with exaggerated dread. "I'm screwed. Gotta take the car."
House sprawled his weight over the passenger's seat, sliding open the Corvette's door for Wilson. House had his upper body on the seat, straining to open the door; even as Wilson was sure he could've done it himself.
The gesture was almost touching.
Then, the moment passed and the diagnostician glanced up at Wilson's furrowed brows and smirked with mirth. "Dinner's on me tonight. Get on, loser."
//
"You should let Vogler tell the feds."
House looked briefly at Wilson before looking back at the road ahead. Even so, the silence wasn't particularly uncomfortable or tense.
"Because it matters to him." Wilson continued, auburn eyes on House's neutral expression. The oncologist wasn't half as good at reading people like House was but he could tell House was listening. "Because you humiliated him the first time Joey was released."
House's deft fingers led another turn. A shortcut to the Chinese restaurant they'd been frequenting lately, mostly for how late it ran and the distinct lack of customers.
"And because your job depends on the kind of mood Vogler's in at the end of the marathon with Cuddy."
Wilson sighed before finally adding, "Just.. think it through."
//
House had his doctor's coat the very next day. It was ironed (Wilson's efforts), and his ID was clipped neatly on the left (again, Wilson's efforts).
The Corvette swerved into the hospital's parking spot with exaggerated, almost melodramatic smoothness. It looked distinctly out of place amongst the other numerous neutral-colored cars as House parked it in handicap.
The diagnostician stumbled out the vehicle, leaned against his cane, as he watched Wilson exit the other car door.
The two shared a look. House looking distinctly disgruntled and Wilson looked glaringly pleased. With that, Wilson walked on ahead; leaving House to follow.
"I hope you know you're enabling the chafing of a cripple's skin." House huffed, rolling up the sleeves irritatably. His cerulean orbs glared daggers at Wilson, presumably condemning the man for every perceived wrongdoing.
Wilson met House's gaze easily, unapologetic. The oncologist led House's hands off his sleeves. "Don't do that. It'll crease."
House huffed even louder in response but hadn't said or done anything further as Wilson rolled the diagnostician's sleeves back down.
The automatic doors to the hospital slid open, cool air rushing at them with a familiar scent of antiseptic and bleach. The lobby wasn't as busy as it usually was. It was far too early; far earlier than when House would even usually consider getting up.
The diagnostician hadn't spared a glance at the elevator, hightailing it to Cuddy's office. Wilson followed easily, knowing House would've wanted it done earlier. If not just for the faster removal of the doctor's coat.
"It is my medical opinion that the patient is healthy, and can be released."
Wilson hovered by House's side, leaning against the office door. He watched the gazes of Vogler and Cuddy shift to House's sudden intrusion. The papers in their hands, in particular, Wilson watched.
"Thanks for letting us know." Vogler replied, not particularly pleased at the obvious act of obedience but baited nonetheless by something to repent for the previous humiliation. The man picked up the office phone and started dialing.
Cuddy spared a significant look at Wilson but only fleetingly. She folded her arms before getting up from the desk and next to House. "I see you've found out what we're meeting about."
House gave a wide-eyed look. It was too sincere to be true surprise, by all accounts. "You're having a meeting? I thought Wilson just wanted me dressed for the party."
"Well," Cuddy murmured, "Whatever the reason, the coat's good."
She took the charts from House's grasp and skimmed it through before incredulously exclaiming, "Chat Hu lozenges cause this kind of liver failure? No way."
Wilson spoke up, getting up from his leaned position against the door. "It's the interaction with Interferon."
"What.. Interferon?" Cuddy inquired, before realizing Wilson looked just as surprised as she did. Her gaze laid firmly at House after reviewing the charts again.
"For the Hep-C," House responded after a beat. The dialing of the phone between Vogler's fingers spanning just a few heartbeats.
Cuddy frowned at the charts. "What Hep-C?"
Wilson hissed, his arms gestured with no little amount of incredibility. "House, you didn't record it in your charts?!"
"Oops." House placed his fingers passively on his chin, in an almost otherwise indignant expression. Though, his dry delivery said another thing. "I mean, why else would our gang buddies fund that Corvette, really."
"What are you-" Cuddy started before cutting herself off with a pinch of the bridge of her nose. She exhaled loudly before focusing on the more important of the two. "Is hiding a mobster's Hep-C that important?"
"Is letting the feds know everything that important?"
Wilson exhaled too, staring at House with a decidedly done expression. In any case, Wilson had something else to do.
Vogler, done with the call, caught House's eye. "You know, you haven't had any records of expenses."
It was delivered neutrally. Still, it had Cuddy tensing, rising in a defensive type of protest. Wilson tensed ever so slightly too but he knew better to hold his tongue.
It seemed, House was the only one with any semblance of nonchalance. Ironic, given the attack being directed on him. The diagnostician gave a brief nod to Wilson.
Wilson, plastering an intentional calm, placed the documents he had on Vogler's desk flatly. It was an almost uneventful act, in regards of just how much significance it had.
"Expenses for the past years." It wasn't Wilson would explained it, but rather House. The diagnostician pulled up his sleeves, head tilted. "Profits averaging a near 50% return."
Vogler scrambled for the documents, eyes widened as he flipped through the ridiculous numbers. For every few patients House spent outrageous resources for, there was just that one high-profile patient with obscene donations that made up for the losses and more.
It was outrageous, surreal, and absolutely perfect. It wasn't sane. Any accountant would go into shock upon sight and yet..
Vogler's jaw clenched with teeth clacking. Cuddy looked beside herself in shock and relief as she looked the pages and pages of documents.
The profits were undeniable. That went without mentioning the reliable reputation it gave Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.
"Right. Like I said, learn to coexist." House gave a exaggerated wide-eyed look at Vogler's incredulous shock. Then, he pushed past the office door and held it for Wilson.
They left together, walking past rushing nurses and residents with a distinct ease.
House was out of his doctor's coat before the office door was even shut. Wilson had his head tilted towards House, hands in his pocket.
They didn't turn back even as Vogler started laughing between cursing their names. "Those crazy bastards!"