Warnings: None

Fixing Foxes

Chapter 06:

"Dissuade His Interest"

Wilson's phone rang twice before he managed to put down his sandwich and answer. He resented the call on some level, but did his best to keep his voice pleasant when he said his name and department around a mouthful of turkey breast on rye.

With pickles.

Lunchtime had recently become rather sacred for Wilson. It was the first time in years he hadn't felt the need to pack extra, to make up for whatever House would inevitably steal. It was also the first time in years he'd avoided putting pickles on his sandwiches.

Wilson loved pickles. House hated them. The misanthrope had drugged Wilson's lunch with amphetamines the last time he'd dared include a pickle on a sandwich. Lunches these days Wilson packed with no one but himself in mind. It was a nice change.

He knew he couldn't afford to get used to it. House would only be gone a month, after all.

"You got a minute?" Cuddy asked as Wilson cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder.

"Depends," Wilson said after he swallowed. "Is something on fire?"

"Not sure, but knowing the subject, probably," Cuddy said.

"This is about House, isn't it."

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Oh, that wasn't a question."

"Of course not. My mistake," Cuddy said. She sounded tired, but not exhausted, and markedly more awake than she'd sounded a week prior. House's absence had worked wonders on her mood. "I've got a call on the other line—the son of one of his patients in Japan."

Wilson sighed. "Surname Minamino, perchance?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"House told me about the case. Wasting illness. Cause unknown. Basically the whole of the Japanese medical world is stumped."

"Sounds like House's favorite kind of case: the kind where he can prove everyone wrong and shove people's faces in his superiority." He could practically hear Cuddy rolling her eyes through the phone. "Anyway, the kid said he needs advice and I just don't have the energy to deal with House right now, even indirectly. Do you think you—"

"Do you think I could handle it," Wilson said. Cuddy started to speak but he kept talking. "And no, that wasn't a question, either."

Privately, Wilson wished he could just tell Cuddy 'no,' but they were remodeling the oncology ward and he knew the hospital director was under immense stress. He didn't have the heart to heap more on her plate (especially if "more" concerned House).

"What does Minamino want?" Wilson asked. "If it's blackmail material, tell him House has no shame whatsoever and is therefore immune to any and all forms of extortion. Trust me. I've tried."

"So have I," Cuddy admitted. "Anyway. Said he wants to know how to get House to 'connect' with him, though why he'd want to connect with a narcissistic sociopath, I really can't say." She laughed without humor. "People should want to connect with House the way they want to connect with a runaway freight train."

"Hope the kid's got thick skin." If this was the kid House was so obsessed with, the boy might actually prefer the speeding train. "I'll talk to him."

"Thanks, Wilson." The relief in her voice was palpable, pungent like the pickles on Wilson's sandwich. "I'll patch him through."

Wilson hung up and took another bite of sandwich. The phone began to ring, however, so he choked it down without tasting the illicit pickles—oh, crap. Mayonnaise had dripped onto his tie. He grabbed a napkin and blotted at the stain, putting the phone on speaker so he could talk and dab in unison. "Dr. Wilson of oncology speaking, how may I help you?"

"Dr. Wilson," said a smooth, musical voice. "My name is Shuichi Minamino. I apologize for calling unexpectedly like this. Do you have a moment to speak with me? I understand you are a busy man, and I would be happy to schedule for a time more convenient for you."

Wilson's hands froze around his tie. He stared at the phone cradle with jaw slack. He'd been expecting…actually, he didn't know what he'd been expecting. House had said Shuichi's English was flawless, so there was no reason for Wilson to think Shuuichi would speak poor English, but Wilson had at least been anticipating an accent. Shuichi's voice was pleasant, silky, soft, and full of mature self-assurance. No trace of a Japanese accent at all.

How old was he supposed to be, again?

"Doctor Wilson?" Shuichi repeated. "Are you there?"

"Oh, sorry—no, now is fine, it's no trouble," Wilson said. He ignored his tie and sat down, shoving the sandwich to the edge of his desk. "What can I help you with?"

"I understand you are acquainted with Dr. Gregory House," Shuichi said. "I'd like to know more about him."

"Why?" Wilson asked.

Shuichi paused. Wilson rubbed his temple with a finger. That probably wasn't a polite question, from the Japanese Shuichi's perspective. That culture was pretty polite, or so Wilson had heard. Looks like he wasn't quite the ignorant hick House assumed he was…

Shuichi took the impropriety in stride, luckily. After a minute's silence he said: "Dr. House has taken an interest in my family. I would like to know more about him in order to deduce a way to…dissuade his interest."

Dissuade his interest.

That phrase struck Wilson as odd, somehow. But Shuichi wasn't done, so he filed it away for future reference.

"I researched Dr. House via the internet, of course, but I'm afraid I could find precious little information aside from his medical accomplishments," Shuichi said. "Information about his past, his personal life, or personality is in short supply—or perhaps he has taken pains to conceal it. The latter I find plausible given his misanthropic tendencies, but I digress." Wilson heard something shift in the background, maybe a sheaf of papers or a notepad. "I found some references to his crass nature on doctor rating forums, but those tidbits did little more than bolster my own opinions regarding Dr. House's behavior. Thus, I thought it prudent to call colleagues with whom he works." Wilson heard the papers shuffle again. "Dr. Cuddy told me you and Dr. House have been friends for some years. Do you think you could provide me an insight into his perspective? I understand if you find this question invasive, or too personal to be answered. Please let me know if I have crossed any personal or professional boundaries you wish to honor."

Shuichi stopped talking. Wilson sat back in his seat and stared at the phone some more.

Dissuade his interest.

Shuichi spoke efficiently, measuredly, and with little emotion. Like he was some sort of information-seeking robot who had prepared a speech ahead of time, or something. And maybe he had. Maybe he was reading off that paper Wilson kept hearing in the background. His speech was so perfect, so eloquent—

This kid was a teenager?

Dissuade his interest.

Wilson looked longingly at his sandwich. Thought about taking a bite. Didn't.

"So," Wilson said. He tossed the kid's words around in his head, sorting and resorting them into different patterns in search of what the kid actually wanted. "So, you want to know about House…as a person?"

"In a sense, yes," Shuichi said. "I would like to better connect with him."

Better connect with him. That was the same line the kid fed Cuddy, Wilson remembered.

They fell into silence. Wilson frowned at the framed records on the wall opposite his desk. Something told him the kid wasn't telling the whole truth. He'd heard House lie enough times to know an untruth when he heard one, even if he couldn't identify which part of Shuichi's story wasn't adding up. And connecting better with House wouldn't solve Shuichi's problems. Not really. House didn't connect with anyone. Fool's errand, and given the kid had literally just called House a misanthrope, Wilson doubted Shuichi was oblivious to House's lack of empathy for humankind in general. Kid was too smart to not see that.

So what did the kid actually want?

Wilson leaned forward.

He opened his mouth to speak.

Closed it.

Dissuade his interest.

"Is House mistreating his patient?" Wilson blurted. "Your mother, right?"

"My mother, yes, but no, Dr. House has not mistreated her," Shuichi said. Wilson heard the fond smile in the kid's voice, warm and clear. Looks like he wasn't a robot, after all. "During her short time in his care, my mother has felt better than she has in months."

"I'm confused, in that case," Wilson said. "If you're satisfied with her care, why does it sound like there's a problem? Because that's what it sounds like." Realizing that was another too-direct question, he backpedaled. "Not that that's a problem. I just want to know what—"

"House has never mistreated my mother," Shuichi cut in, "but he has taken an almost illogical interest in my genetics." His smooth voice roughened with annoyance. "He's insisting I take a DNA test to prove I'm related to my own mother, for instance."

Wilson recalled the conversation he'd had with House a few days prior, regarding Shuichi's odd coloring and features, and winced. House had called the night before, too, to regale Wilson with the tale of calling Shuichi's mother a whore. The kid hadn't cracked under the strain of the conversation, somehow. House was both annoyed and impressed by that. When Wilson had yelled at House, berating him for insulting a patient so severely, House had merely shrugged the condemnation off.

"I said it in English, which she doesn't speak a word of. Stop playing Polite Police," he'd kvetched. "She's delicate. I know better than to stress her out. It's like you've forgotten I'm a doctor." Wilson heard the relish in House's tone and almost booked a flight to Japan so he could scream at House in person. "Her son, though—he's not sick. Ipso facto, fair game for stress."

No wonder Shuichi was calling Wilson. House was a rabid dog with a Shuichi-flavored bone.

"House can be a bit…neurotic," Wilson said. "But why not just take the DNA test and put the whole thing to bed? That seems like the simplest solution." He smirked. "Simplest is best. Occam's Razor, as House might say."

Shuichi concealed an iron will with his silky tone, but Wilson heard the stony dedication below the satin. "If my mother heard we were running such tests, I'm afraid the stress would negatively affect her condition."

"You're probably right about that," Wilson said. Even House had admitted Shiori couldn't handle much stress.

"I'm glad you agree," Shuichi said, tone dry. "My mother has no reason to think I'm not related to her. She carried me to term, and is my mother in full. I'd rather not worry her needlessly, just to curb the interest of an overly-enthusiastic, puzzle-obsessed doctor." His tone lightened. "Perhaps others might find the attentions of a medical genius flattering, but I'm afraid that despite my youth, I am not one for games."

Games. That word stuck in Wilson's head, too. He rubbed his temples again, headache brewing sharp and hot. He wanted his sandwich more than anything in the world, just then.

"So, you won't take the DNA test," he said. "But why do you think connecting with House will help throw him off the scent?"

"I'm flattered that you'd overestimate me, but I currently have no concrete plans or expectations when it comes to handling House," Shuichi said. Despite this admission, he sounded optimistic. Determined. "Forging a better connection with House might provide me with an insight that could lead to a plan, is my hope." His voice dropped, roughening again. "The last time House and I spoke, he threatened to tell my mother about the DNA test. I called it as a bluff, but I fear—"

"You were right: it was a bluff," Wilson said. He infused his voice with as much gentle, firm authority as he could—the tone he routinely used to soothe his more skittish patients. "I spoke to House personally a few days ago, and, well, let's just say he knows not to stress your mother."

He almost admitted House had been calling him to vent about the case outright. Wilson wasn't sure what the disclosure laws in Japan were like, but he didn't want to get House in trouble. Not without Cuddy and the $100,000 she set aside every year to deal with House's legal problems nearby to patch things up. "Leaky Roof Money," she called it in her files. Didn't want House knowing he had a price tag…

"Anyway," Wilson said. "House won't tell your mother about this. As soon as she gets involved, he loses you as his personal, private project." Wilson rolled his eyes and wished he could smack House upside the head. "He knows you won't tell her anything, because you don't want to stress her out. That means he knows he can stretch out tormenting you for as long as he likes. He won't ruin that. The minute your mother knows, game's over. He'd have to start answering to both her and whoever's in charge over there, and he'd hate that. Trust me on that one."

It was easy to sound sincere when Wilson believed every word he was saying. He was pretty good at reading House after so many years of…'friendship' wasn't the right word, but there wasn't another that fit better.

Wilson finished with: "And he won't want to overly endanger your mom since she's his Case of the Week, so basically, no, he won't tell her anything. He's got two puzzles on his hands and he wants both to stay."

Shuichi said nothing.

Then: "He called you to talk about her?"

Wilson winced; the kid had picked up on that, it seems. "Yeah. But he didn't tell me much. He just wanted to complain about not getting anywhere, and being bored."

"Would you tell me if he said he was planning anything?" Shuichi asked.

Wilson hated that he hesitated. He hated that his instinct was to protest House, even when House was being an ass to underserving people.

And yet…that's how he felt.

Ugh.

"If I heard he was going to do something illegal," Wilson finally said, "yes. I'd let you know." That was a good enough compromise, he thought. He waved a hand through the air in dismissal, belatedly remembering Shuichi couldn't see the gesture. "Anyway. You don't have a plan, but you think…" He searched his memory for Shuichi's phrasing. "You think connecting with House could give you one?"

"Yes," Shuichi said. That air of steel had returned to his young voice. "It might give me an insight into what would make me less interesting, or what other puzzles I could redirect him toward." Judging by his tone, Shuichi's next statement was intended as a helpless joke. "Or, perhaps, a better connection would cause him to see me in an empathetic light. That could inspire him to…how do I put it? Cut me some slack?"

"Yeah, where House and empathy are concerned, don't place any bets," Wilson said. He hated saying it, but it was true. "House doesn't do empathy. He does puzzles. And he doesn't even do connection, to be honest. I might be his only friend in the world, but even I don't know half of what he's thinking. Half the time I can only humor him, and hope it's enough to keep him placated."

"I refuse to humor him."

The hairs on Wilson's neck stood on end. A chill crept down his arms. Suddenly the sandwich on his desk didn't look so appetizing. The acrid smell of the pickles made Wilson's stomach buckle. Shuichi had stopped sounding like a kid, all of a sudden.

"I refuse to humor him," Shuichi repeated. "Not with my mother's health at stake. If he wants to play games with me, I have no choice but to fight back."

Ah.

The fearful feeling vanished. Wilson settled back in his chair again, chuckling.

Dissuade his interest.

Games.

Fight back.

That was the final piece of the puzzle.

"You…" He couldn't help but laugh. "You want to mess with House, don't you?"

Shuichi sounded genuinely confused. "'Mess with' House?" he asked.

Wilson almost accused the kid of playing dumb before remembering—maybe the kid didn't know that particular American colloquialism. Uh oh. Culture gap. Guess he was an ignorant hick, after all.

"Yeah," Wilson said. "You know. Mess with. Play games. Fight back. That's why you want to know about him. You want to know his weaknesses, get under his skin, play him the way he's playing you." He put a hand over his eyes, laughing. "You don't want to connect with him—you want to take him down!"

Shuichi didn't say anything for a long time.

Then, voice devoid of denial (or even guilt), the young man asked: "You are correct. I want to mess with House."

"Will you help me, Dr. Wilson?"

NOTES:

I didn't expect to bring Wilson POV into this, but…SURPRISE. Inspiration struck. Next chapter expands on Kurama's potential collaboration with Wilson.

I keep coming up with ideas for this fic, which in turn extends the supposed chapter count…eek. Eager to put this thing to bed, to be honest, but enjoying exploring characters. I really need to finish a fic, and want to keep this succinct…but I enjoy exploring this super weird combination of shows!

Anyway. MANY THANKS to last chapter's reviewers! Stoked this odd mashup of fandoms appeals—I wasn't expecting a response like this, and am always floored when I hear from readers. Shout-out to matchynishi, Pawn'sVictory, GoldenRat, HevenSerntHellBRoken, Unita, Yuki F. Karasu, GeEKy-nERd, SilverLunaMoon, RandomCitizen, rya-fire1, jcampbellohten, phoenixfirekitsune, and Chaoshift!