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Observer Effect
by Mer
"Lend me $50?"
"Why? You got a hot tip in the fourth?" But Wilson was already reaching for his wallet. He pulled out two twenties and a ten and handed them to House.
House folded the bills and shoved them in his back pocket, watching Wilson closely. "That's it? You're just going to give me the money?"
"Either you need the money and you'll just lie about the reason, or you don't and you're messing with my mind. You can see how it's not really in my best interests to question you further."
House pouted. "You're no fun."
"True enough. But I am sane, and I'd like to preserve that state as long as possible." Wilson leaned back in his chair, smiling slightly, and picked up the journal he'd been reading when House had burst into his office.
"Aren't you even slightly curious?"
"Over fifty bucks? How much trouble can you get into with that? You wouldn't even be able to score a gram of cocaine."
"Maybe I should be curious. You know the street price of cocaine? I mean, pot, sure. You've probably got connections all over the Eastern Seaboard, but cocaine is just so '80s."
Wilson shrugged. "Having a drug addict for a best friend makes you an expert in all kinds of things."
House suspected Wilson's knowledge had come from an altogether different source. "Is that what your brother was into? Coke? Did he start with pot and work his way into hard drugs? Was your childhood just one long After School Special?"
"I can lend you the DVD if you'd like," Wilson replied evenly, not missing a beat. "The commentary track alone is worth watching."
Years of friendship with House had taught Wilson how to avoid reacting to even the sharpest jabs, but House didn't need to see a reaction to know he'd hit a nerve. What had started out as a friendly game of "Testing Wilson" had stopped being fun. It didn't look like it to the casual observer, but House didn't actually enjoy hurting his friend. It was just one of the more common symptoms of prolonged exposure to House.
"I changed my mind," he said casually. "I don't think $50 is going to do it. How about $500?"
Wilson didn't even blink. "I don't have that much on me. Take a cheque?"
"As long as it's not going to bounce." He watched Wilson open his desk drawer and pull out his chequebook. "Why not make it an even grand while you're at it."
"Why stop there?" Wilson continued writing and then ripped the cheque out of the book. He handed it to House, who looked at the figure and raised his eyebrows. "Go buy yourself another death machine," Wilson said, looking altogether too pleased with himself.
The cheque joined the bills in House's pocket. "You really are no fun."
"Hey, I'm just fast forwarding through the part of the game we already played. You never did find out where I'd draw the line."
"Well, I can hardly continue the experiment now. You know what I'm doing. It will skew the results."
"Right. Observer effect." Wilson didn't seem at all contrite about derailing House's game. "I guess you'll never know then."
House calculated the number of times Wilson had answered his pages and summons without question, subtracted every lie and manipulation, factored in the deliberate risks to career or marriage, and multiplied by each night Wilson had listened to him rave in pain and anger and despair. He came up with an answer that would stand up to any corroborating test.
"I guess I'll never know," he agreed.
A large pizza, a six-pack of Grolsch, two DVDs from the only rental store that hadn't blacklisted him, and a tub of Cherry Garcia ice cream. He'd have change left from the $50 and a cheque for five grand that would keep Wilson wondering for the next six months. "My work here is done," he announced. "Be at my place by seven or you won't get your turn with the remote."
"You're letting me touch the remote?" Wilson replied, his eyes wide with mock wonder. "Whatever did I do to deserve that?"
"Nothing," House replied. "I'm just naturally generous."
He ignored the snort of derision and left Wilson to finish his work. If he hurried, he could get to the OTB in time for the fourth race at Santa Anita.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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