Relative Motion Pt. 3
Title: Relative Motion Pt. 3
Author:toolazytowork
Character/Pairing(s): House, Wilson, Foreman
Word Count: ~2500
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: House is mine! All mine! Aaaaaahh!! No! I don't want to go in the cart!
Summary: Wilson's moved and left no forwarding address
Author's Notes original prompt from the we_take_five challenge
Prompt: #42 velocity
Concrit and other such things appreciated.
Part 1 Part 2
Coffee. Bagel. A loaded gun to use on that damn bird that was doing a Yoko Ono impression outside of his window.
He hadn't made any move to extricate himself from the couch, but he had a lot of ideas about what he would do when (if) he did. Things that would have to start with a trip to the toilet if he was going to avoid pissing on the couch.
"I wouldn't sit there if I were you."
"Ungh." He pressed his hand against his temple and tried to will away the headache. If the images that registered through his squinted eyes were to be believed, and he wasn't sure they were, Wilson had stopped by and dropped his laundry off the night before. Dropped, as in on the floor.
"Shit." His head throbbed. He pushed himself up until he was sitting on the edge of the sofa. "Shit." He couldn't say for sure if he had thought or spoken the words. It didn't matter. Fucking Wilson had done this to him. Not directly, he didn't force alcohol down House's throat and refuse him food. That was beside the point. This was definitely Wilson's fault. Selfish jerk. Wilson--Wilson was the selfish jerk. House was the unwitting pawn in his cunning plan.
He thought he might vomit. It seemed like a very good idea. He flopped his body over the side of the couch and retched. The gagging escalated. The violent reaction to the memory and actions of the previous night continued until he was in too much pain to react to the shocks emanating through his body.
"Fuck." If there was a way to express how he was feeling without swearing, he didn't want to hear about it. This was bad. Not the hangover. Which was awful. Not the mess. That was just annoying. But the other thing. The Wilson thing. The missing one and the one that once was lost, but now was found. That was bad. So, so very bad.
He had to get off the couch. Push himself up and drag himself around the apartment and somehow get his mind clear enough that he would be able to do what he knew he had to do. He had to go through Wilson's accounts. Figure out if he had withdrawn any large sums of cash or purchased any plane tickets to Hawaii recently. There was bound to be some information in there. Something that would lead him to Wilson's secluded vacation cottage and an end to this whole mess.
Two hours, a pot of coffee and three Pop-Tarts later he deposited himself in front of his computer. The hard drive hummed to life, the screen lit up and he tapped the touch pad impatiently.
When Wilson moved out last spring he'd taken as much with him everything he'd been able to find. House had stashed a few things for safe-keeping. Stuff Wilson wouldn't need. If he had needed it, he knew where it was. Probably. Other things had just not fallen through the cracks. Things that House was currently very happy he hadn't bothered to throw away.
House typed the bank address into the navigation bar.
Please enter your username and password.
Sometime in the last few months Wilson would have changed one or both of those things. He changed his passwords three times a year. He was that anal.
Forgot your username or password?
"Why yes, yes, I have."
Please enter your account number.
House scanned the bank statement and entered the number.
Please enter your Social Security Number.
"Just the sort of thing a good friend would know." House typed in the nine digit number.
What was the name of your childhood pet?
"What did he say that stupid dog was called? Barley? Chomsky? Charlie..." It was a fortuitous that Wilson hadn't chosen the obvious question regarding his mother's maiden name for his security question. House couldn't remember that little tidbit of Wilsonian trivia.
Welcome, James Wilson.
"Atta boy. And we're off."
Five hundred dollars had been withdrawn on Wednesday. He couldn't get very far on that. Five hundred dollars was hardly enough to pay for a last minute plane ticket to Pittsburgh. That was Greyhound and Motel Six money. Not getting away from it all money. A thousand dollars had been withdrawn a week ago Monday. Another thousand dollars had been withdrawn during the previous week. That still wouldn't last long. Unless Wilson actually was traveling by bus. He could've been taking out small amounts for weeks. Dribs and drabs of cash over an extended period of time. He'd probably changed the money into Traveler's Checks or pre-paid Visa cards. Some safe, insured methods of financial transmission. That had Wilson written all over it. Couldn't just keep his money wadded up in a sock on the bottom of his suitcase. That would be reckless and almost interesting. Two adjectives House hadn't used to describe Wilson in recent months.
Whatever this was, it didn't look like it was impulsive. Unless Wilson's impulse wick was set to a very slow burn.
***********
"Yes, Doctor James Wilson. I already told you. I lost my wallet and I'm trying to find out if anyone's used any of my cards in the last 48 hours."
"Why did you wait so long to call?"
"I was drunk."
"When you lost your wallet?"
"No. For the last two days. Three, actually. Well, four," he stumbled over the words. Call it an ad-lib or a lie, it was all semantics. "I've been drunk for awhile. I think I might have a problem. But I'll take that up with my sponsor when I get one. Do they usually give you one at your first meeting or does it take awhile?"
"I don't know, sir."
"That's beside the point. I'm so sorry to bother you, but has anyone used my card since I started my most recent bender?" This pitiful whining was enough to cause another bout of dry heaves.
"I'm very sorry sir, but I can't give you that information."
"I just admitted to you that I have a serious drinking problem. So far, the only thing I've lost is my wallet. Tomorrow it could be my loved ones or my job. What kind of business are you running here?"
"I am not at liberty to divulge that information."
"Why?" he yelled.
"Because that specific account has been closed for several months. Sir, I don't know what you're problem is and I don't particularly care. I'm hanging up now."
House opened his mouth, ready to point out that alcoholism had a negative impact on memory, when the line went dead. "Shit." The word was losing its power as an invective. It was more of a mantra at this point. He repeated it several more times for good measure.
All of the accounts House had statements for had been closed or reported lost and (presumably) replaced around the time Wilson had had his accounts frozen.
There was a lot he had missed over the last few months. That hadn't been a good time for either of them. How much damage that incident had caused remained to be seen. They hadn't bothered to discuss what it all had meant. For his part House had pretended it didn't mean anything. Wilson had taken the cues and kept quiet.
Wilson had wasted his silver-tongue on the needy and the dying. He'd missed his calling. He should have gone into the theatre. The bastard was a much better actor than even House had suspected. He had assumed that part of what had hastened the demise of Wilson's marriages was the way his eyes always told the truth that his words tried to conceal. Faced with the growing list of things Wilson had concealed from him over the past year House began to wonder if any of the facets of Wilson's personality that he had taken for granted were real at all.
If he was going to find anything that might be helpful, he would have to get a look on Wilson's work computer. As good times to break into someone's office and peruse personal files went, seven on a Sunday night was better than most. Not that House would have been deterred any other time.
The events of the last twenty four hours had not included a return to the hotel to pick up his bike. That would have to be something he did soon. He didn't want to have to keep driving the Volvo and the "Check Engine" light had been on in his car since late February.
He drove Wilson's car the few miles to the hospital and cursed himself for forgetting to grab his handicapped permit. Now he'd have to park illegally and soil Wilson's perfect record with a parking ticket. Pity.
The floor was almost empty. House saw a light on in the conference room but didn't investigate. It could be Cameron. She'd want to know why he was here. He didn't need a lecture or a shoulder to cry on.
He didn't turn on any lights, that would draw unwelcome attention. Wilson had been messy. He hadn't erased his browser history or cleared his cache before leaving. House had begun to gain access to some interesting details.
"What are you doing here?" Foreman stood in the doorway.
"Internet's down at home. If I don't get my daily dose of YouTube videos I'm hell to live with."
Foreman walked the rest of the way into the office. "You're always hell to live with. That's why no one lives with you."
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm on call. Thought I'd catch up on some paperwork." He craned his neck in an attempt to read the computer screen. House turned off the monitor. Too late. "Was that Doctor Wilson's bank statement?"
If any of his underlings would be able to keep this to himself, it was Foreman. "Have you noticed anything strange about Wilson lately?"
"Other than his continued masochistic association with you?"
"We can talk about Wilson's twisted sexual proclivities later. Has he mentioned taking any time off or being on the verge of losing his last tenuous grasp of reality?"
"No, we don't exactly have casual conversations. Why? Has something happened?"
"It would appear our dear Doctor Wilson has decided to take an impromptu vacation." House laid out the details of the situation.
"He'd never mentioned that his brother had turned back up?"
"It took him close to a decade to mention that he had more than one brother," House said.
Foreman leaned forward in his chair and thought for a moment. "Kind of a big coincidence, don't you think?"
"Is this what affirmative action leads to? Did you get into med school without passing elementary school science?"
Foreman rolled his eyes.
"Every reaction is cause by an equal and opposite action," House explained. "One Wilson brother turns up, another has to go missing. Simple reciprocity. Keeps the cosmic scales balanced."
"That's not what I'm talking about. What if Wilson left his phone not because he didn't want you getting ahold of him, but because he wanted his brother to get ahold of you?"
"Why would he do that?"
"I'm not saying he did. I'm just throwing out ideas. That's what you want me for, right? The last few months haven't been easy on anyone around here, House. Wilson got the worst of it. For some reason, he likes you. He's been able to put up with a lot, but he's bound to have a breaking point."
"I seem to remember you saying you liked me too."
"Yeah, trust me, the next time I'll say anything that nice about you will be over your dead body. And then only after I participated in the autopsy. I want to make sure you didn't fake your death just to find out what sort of nice things people are able to force themselves to say about you."
"You don't trust me. Duly noted. I haven't been at my most charming lately."
"That's putting it mildly," Foreman mumbled.
"This isn't about me. This is about Wilson, who hasn't done anything that would justify you refusing to help me find him."
"From what you've told me, he doesn't want to be found."
House stood up. "Of course he doesn't want to be found! This isn't about what he wants!"
"Wow, I can't imagine why he didn't run his plans by you first." The contempt was evident in his voice. "He's an intelligent adult with no history of irrational behavior--"
"Are you still talking about Wilson?" House interrupted. "Do you want me to list the stupid things he's done in the last year? If you do, we should order a pizza because we're going to be here awhile."
"And how many of those things were in direct reaction to stupid things you did? I believe that corresponds with Newton's Third Law of Motion..."
House dropped back into the chair, tipped backward and stared at the ceiling. "What he thinks he wants isn't what's best for him."
"Right," said Foreman. "And you know what's best for everyone. You've shown that repeatedly with how well you run your own life."
"You don't have to help me, but keep your mouth shut, or you're fired."
"You won't fire me."
"Is that a dare?" House asked.
Foreman gave him the once over. His eyes were bloodshot. He had more the usual growth of beard. His clothes looked slept in. A stain on his jeans explained the reek of stale alcohol that permeated the room. Since they'd been talking he hadn't swallowed any pills. Not that that meant anything.
"I'll help you. Not because I think you're right. But Wilson's a good doctor and he shouldn't have to throw away his entire career in order to get out of whatever kind of strangle-hold you have him in. I'm doing this for him. Not you."
"Whatever gets you through the night. Just keep your mouth shut. I don't know what I'm going to have to do, but it might require a lot of creative lying on your part to keep this from getting out."
"Just another boring day at the office."
Part 4
Author:toolazytowork
Character/Pairing(s): House, Wilson, Foreman
Word Count: ~2500
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: House is mine! All mine! Aaaaaahh!! No! I don't want to go in the cart!
Summary: Wilson's moved and left no forwarding address
Author's Notes original prompt from the we_take_five challenge
Prompt: #42 velocity
Concrit and other such things appreciated.
Part 1 Part 2
Coffee. Bagel. A loaded gun to use on that damn bird that was doing a Yoko Ono impression outside of his window.
He hadn't made any move to extricate himself from the couch, but he had a lot of ideas about what he would do when (if) he did. Things that would have to start with a trip to the toilet if he was going to avoid pissing on the couch.
"I wouldn't sit there if I were you."
"Ungh." He pressed his hand against his temple and tried to will away the headache. If the images that registered through his squinted eyes were to be believed, and he wasn't sure they were, Wilson had stopped by and dropped his laundry off the night before. Dropped, as in on the floor.
"Shit." His head throbbed. He pushed himself up until he was sitting on the edge of the sofa. "Shit." He couldn't say for sure if he had thought or spoken the words. It didn't matter. Fucking Wilson had done this to him. Not directly, he didn't force alcohol down House's throat and refuse him food. That was beside the point. This was definitely Wilson's fault. Selfish jerk. Wilson--Wilson was the selfish jerk. House was the unwitting pawn in his cunning plan.
He thought he might vomit. It seemed like a very good idea. He flopped his body over the side of the couch and retched. The gagging escalated. The violent reaction to the memory and actions of the previous night continued until he was in too much pain to react to the shocks emanating through his body.
"Fuck." If there was a way to express how he was feeling without swearing, he didn't want to hear about it. This was bad. Not the hangover. Which was awful. Not the mess. That was just annoying. But the other thing. The Wilson thing. The missing one and the one that once was lost, but now was found. That was bad. So, so very bad.
He had to get off the couch. Push himself up and drag himself around the apartment and somehow get his mind clear enough that he would be able to do what he knew he had to do. He had to go through Wilson's accounts. Figure out if he had withdrawn any large sums of cash or purchased any plane tickets to Hawaii recently. There was bound to be some information in there. Something that would lead him to Wilson's secluded vacation cottage and an end to this whole mess.
Two hours, a pot of coffee and three Pop-Tarts later he deposited himself in front of his computer. The hard drive hummed to life, the screen lit up and he tapped the touch pad impatiently.
When Wilson moved out last spring he'd taken as much with him everything he'd been able to find. House had stashed a few things for safe-keeping. Stuff Wilson wouldn't need. If he had needed it, he knew where it was. Probably. Other things had just not fallen through the cracks. Things that House was currently very happy he hadn't bothered to throw away.
House typed the bank address into the navigation bar.
Please enter your username and password.
Sometime in the last few months Wilson would have changed one or both of those things. He changed his passwords three times a year. He was that anal.
Forgot your username or password?
"Why yes, yes, I have."
Please enter your account number.
House scanned the bank statement and entered the number.
Please enter your Social Security Number.
"Just the sort of thing a good friend would know." House typed in the nine digit number.
What was the name of your childhood pet?
"What did he say that stupid dog was called? Barley? Chomsky? Charlie..." It was a fortuitous that Wilson hadn't chosen the obvious question regarding his mother's maiden name for his security question. House couldn't remember that little tidbit of Wilsonian trivia.
Welcome, James Wilson.
"Atta boy. And we're off."
Five hundred dollars had been withdrawn on Wednesday. He couldn't get very far on that. Five hundred dollars was hardly enough to pay for a last minute plane ticket to Pittsburgh. That was Greyhound and Motel Six money. Not getting away from it all money. A thousand dollars had been withdrawn a week ago Monday. Another thousand dollars had been withdrawn during the previous week. That still wouldn't last long. Unless Wilson actually was traveling by bus. He could've been taking out small amounts for weeks. Dribs and drabs of cash over an extended period of time. He'd probably changed the money into Traveler's Checks or pre-paid Visa cards. Some safe, insured methods of financial transmission. That had Wilson written all over it. Couldn't just keep his money wadded up in a sock on the bottom of his suitcase. That would be reckless and almost interesting. Two adjectives House hadn't used to describe Wilson in recent months.
Whatever this was, it didn't look like it was impulsive. Unless Wilson's impulse wick was set to a very slow burn.
***********
"Yes, Doctor James Wilson. I already told you. I lost my wallet and I'm trying to find out if anyone's used any of my cards in the last 48 hours."
"Why did you wait so long to call?"
"I was drunk."
"When you lost your wallet?"
"No. For the last two days. Three, actually. Well, four," he stumbled over the words. Call it an ad-lib or a lie, it was all semantics. "I've been drunk for awhile. I think I might have a problem. But I'll take that up with my sponsor when I get one. Do they usually give you one at your first meeting or does it take awhile?"
"I don't know, sir."
"That's beside the point. I'm so sorry to bother you, but has anyone used my card since I started my most recent bender?" This pitiful whining was enough to cause another bout of dry heaves.
"I'm very sorry sir, but I can't give you that information."
"I just admitted to you that I have a serious drinking problem. So far, the only thing I've lost is my wallet. Tomorrow it could be my loved ones or my job. What kind of business are you running here?"
"I am not at liberty to divulge that information."
"Why?" he yelled.
"Because that specific account has been closed for several months. Sir, I don't know what you're problem is and I don't particularly care. I'm hanging up now."
House opened his mouth, ready to point out that alcoholism had a negative impact on memory, when the line went dead. "Shit." The word was losing its power as an invective. It was more of a mantra at this point. He repeated it several more times for good measure.
All of the accounts House had statements for had been closed or reported lost and (presumably) replaced around the time Wilson had had his accounts frozen.
There was a lot he had missed over the last few months. That hadn't been a good time for either of them. How much damage that incident had caused remained to be seen. They hadn't bothered to discuss what it all had meant. For his part House had pretended it didn't mean anything. Wilson had taken the cues and kept quiet.
Wilson had wasted his silver-tongue on the needy and the dying. He'd missed his calling. He should have gone into the theatre. The bastard was a much better actor than even House had suspected. He had assumed that part of what had hastened the demise of Wilson's marriages was the way his eyes always told the truth that his words tried to conceal. Faced with the growing list of things Wilson had concealed from him over the past year House began to wonder if any of the facets of Wilson's personality that he had taken for granted were real at all.
If he was going to find anything that might be helpful, he would have to get a look on Wilson's work computer. As good times to break into someone's office and peruse personal files went, seven on a Sunday night was better than most. Not that House would have been deterred any other time.
The events of the last twenty four hours had not included a return to the hotel to pick up his bike. That would have to be something he did soon. He didn't want to have to keep driving the Volvo and the "Check Engine" light had been on in his car since late February.
He drove Wilson's car the few miles to the hospital and cursed himself for forgetting to grab his handicapped permit. Now he'd have to park illegally and soil Wilson's perfect record with a parking ticket. Pity.
The floor was almost empty. House saw a light on in the conference room but didn't investigate. It could be Cameron. She'd want to know why he was here. He didn't need a lecture or a shoulder to cry on.
He didn't turn on any lights, that would draw unwelcome attention. Wilson had been messy. He hadn't erased his browser history or cleared his cache before leaving. House had begun to gain access to some interesting details.
"What are you doing here?" Foreman stood in the doorway.
"Internet's down at home. If I don't get my daily dose of YouTube videos I'm hell to live with."
Foreman walked the rest of the way into the office. "You're always hell to live with. That's why no one lives with you."
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm on call. Thought I'd catch up on some paperwork." He craned his neck in an attempt to read the computer screen. House turned off the monitor. Too late. "Was that Doctor Wilson's bank statement?"
If any of his underlings would be able to keep this to himself, it was Foreman. "Have you noticed anything strange about Wilson lately?"
"Other than his continued masochistic association with you?"
"We can talk about Wilson's twisted sexual proclivities later. Has he mentioned taking any time off or being on the verge of losing his last tenuous grasp of reality?"
"No, we don't exactly have casual conversations. Why? Has something happened?"
"It would appear our dear Doctor Wilson has decided to take an impromptu vacation." House laid out the details of the situation.
"He'd never mentioned that his brother had turned back up?"
"It took him close to a decade to mention that he had more than one brother," House said.
Foreman leaned forward in his chair and thought for a moment. "Kind of a big coincidence, don't you think?"
"Is this what affirmative action leads to? Did you get into med school without passing elementary school science?"
Foreman rolled his eyes.
"Every reaction is cause by an equal and opposite action," House explained. "One Wilson brother turns up, another has to go missing. Simple reciprocity. Keeps the cosmic scales balanced."
"That's not what I'm talking about. What if Wilson left his phone not because he didn't want you getting ahold of him, but because he wanted his brother to get ahold of you?"
"Why would he do that?"
"I'm not saying he did. I'm just throwing out ideas. That's what you want me for, right? The last few months haven't been easy on anyone around here, House. Wilson got the worst of it. For some reason, he likes you. He's been able to put up with a lot, but he's bound to have a breaking point."
"I seem to remember you saying you liked me too."
"Yeah, trust me, the next time I'll say anything that nice about you will be over your dead body. And then only after I participated in the autopsy. I want to make sure you didn't fake your death just to find out what sort of nice things people are able to force themselves to say about you."
"You don't trust me. Duly noted. I haven't been at my most charming lately."
"That's putting it mildly," Foreman mumbled.
"This isn't about me. This is about Wilson, who hasn't done anything that would justify you refusing to help me find him."
"From what you've told me, he doesn't want to be found."
House stood up. "Of course he doesn't want to be found! This isn't about what he wants!"
"Wow, I can't imagine why he didn't run his plans by you first." The contempt was evident in his voice. "He's an intelligent adult with no history of irrational behavior--"
"Are you still talking about Wilson?" House interrupted. "Do you want me to list the stupid things he's done in the last year? If you do, we should order a pizza because we're going to be here awhile."
"And how many of those things were in direct reaction to stupid things you did? I believe that corresponds with Newton's Third Law of Motion..."
House dropped back into the chair, tipped backward and stared at the ceiling. "What he thinks he wants isn't what's best for him."
"Right," said Foreman. "And you know what's best for everyone. You've shown that repeatedly with how well you run your own life."
"You don't have to help me, but keep your mouth shut, or you're fired."
"You won't fire me."
"Is that a dare?" House asked.
Foreman gave him the once over. His eyes were bloodshot. He had more the usual growth of beard. His clothes looked slept in. A stain on his jeans explained the reek of stale alcohol that permeated the room. Since they'd been talking he hadn't swallowed any pills. Not that that meant anything.
"I'll help you. Not because I think you're right. But Wilson's a good doctor and he shouldn't have to throw away his entire career in order to get out of whatever kind of strangle-hold you have him in. I'm doing this for him. Not you."
"Whatever gets you through the night. Just keep your mouth shut. I don't know what I'm going to have to do, but it might require a lot of creative lying on your part to keep this from getting out."
"Just another boring day at the office."
Part 4