"He lies," House said of Wilson's claim that he was but a mere fool. "Wilson's a modern-day Feste. Plays the fool but is more than capable of exacting revenge on those he's not on good terms with."
"Actually, that sounds more like you," Wilson replied. "You make tormenting the likes of modern-day Malvolios an art form."
"Two of a kind," said House as he wiped his nose again. He sniffed, then pointed to Wilson. "The only difference is, you're in perpetual stealth mode."
"Better a witty fool than a foolish wit. At least I usually know when to keep my mouth shut, unlike you," Wilson said.
House rolled his eyes at Wilson just as Cuddy upturned her hand in his and he turned to her while pushing the tissue back into his pocket. He'd wondered what Cuddy had told his team. He had a feeling she would have given a smokescreen kind of answer, though his team were pretty cluey and smokescreen answers only worked as a bluff. "Except they're going to work out the true meaning of 'follow-up treatment' if I'm gone for several months."
He'd sobered somewhat when Cuddy had mentioned the shooting. The last couple of therapy sessions, his doctor had been trying to coax him into talking about the shooting, which he'd tried to hardest to dodge talking about. He just wasn't ready to face that yet. Hell, he wasn't really ready to face anything. But the anxiety talking about the shooting provoked especially made him want to dodge the topic. He couldn't handle addressing the issue and usually tried everything in his power to avoid it altogether. That had been part of the reason why he was prescribed prazosin - his doctor had told him his nightmares could possibly be even more prevalent while dealing with the issue of the shooting through therapy.
He shrugged. He almost couldn't bring himself to care right now what his team would think of his absence. He had much bigger things to worry about, though if Cuddy was keeping them and their curiosity at bay with smokescreen excuses, then all the better. "So long as none of them find out where I am. If they start getting too suspicious, just tell them you killed me in a pregnancy-hormone frenzy and buried me under the floorboards."
"Sorry to interrupt," a nurse said. "But you've got five more minutes before visiting hours are over."
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"Actually, that sounds more like you," Wilson replied. "You make tormenting the likes of modern-day Malvolios an art form."
"Two of a kind," said House as he wiped his nose again. He sniffed, then pointed to Wilson. "The only difference is, you're in perpetual stealth mode."
"Better a witty fool than a foolish wit. At least I usually know when to keep my mouth shut, unlike you," Wilson said.
House rolled his eyes at Wilson just as Cuddy upturned her hand in his and he turned to her while pushing the tissue back into his pocket. He'd wondered what Cuddy had told his team. He had a feeling she would have given a smokescreen kind of answer, though his team were pretty cluey and smokescreen answers only worked as a bluff. "Except they're going to work out the true meaning of 'follow-up treatment' if I'm gone for several months."
He'd sobered somewhat when Cuddy had mentioned the shooting. The last couple of therapy sessions, his doctor had been trying to coax him into talking about the shooting, which he'd tried to hardest to dodge talking about. He just wasn't ready to face that yet. Hell, he wasn't really ready to face anything. But the anxiety talking about the shooting provoked especially made him want to dodge the topic. He couldn't handle addressing the issue and usually tried everything in his power to avoid it altogether. That had been part of the reason why he was prescribed prazosin - his doctor had told him his nightmares could possibly be even more prevalent while dealing with the issue of the shooting through therapy.
He shrugged. He almost couldn't bring himself to care right now what his team would think of his absence. He had much bigger things to worry about, though if Cuddy was keeping them and their curiosity at bay with smokescreen excuses, then all the better. "So long as none of them find out where I am. If they start getting too suspicious, just tell them you killed me in a pregnancy-hormone frenzy and buried me under the floorboards."
"Sorry to interrupt," a nurse said. "But you've got five more minutes before visiting hours are over."