out-liars and hyppocrates (a fun fact about apples): a house md time loop fic

[lesyeuxdudragon]

here's an extract from chapter 2 of my time loop house md fic! i'll probably start posting it on Ao3 after i finished writing a good part of the third—and last—chapter. this fic started as a joke between my friend (who isn't a house fan, but a in stars and time and detective beebo fan, so she has a thing for time loop stories) and myself, and now i wrote more in two weeks than i wrote in two months. creative drive! yipee.

if a bit appears in a different color, it's because i mean to rewrite it (or delete it) later in the future.

fandom: house md
pairing: gregory house/james wilson
genre: semi existential crisis and playful banter

Loop 19.
 

“You’ve been acting… different. And not just usual-House different. More like ‘existential crisis with a side of fatalism’ different,” claims Wilson the second House closes the door of the oncologist’s office.
 

“What?” says House, because this isn’t certainly in Wilson’s script. It’s 8:15 AM. Wilson is supposed to ask him about his goddamn carpet right now. 
 

During the last six loops, House had given himself two objectives: find out the meaning of the notes he found, and understand why the loop reset when he spoke with Cameron during the fifth loop. Additionally, he now has other clues: the patient with the ouroboros tattoo has been inside the hospital the whole time—because they’re in a coma. Since it seemed like there wasn’t anything interesting about this particular patient, House has kept a close eye on every coma patient in the hospital, in case their condition was subject to change within the time loop itself. Perhaps the coma itself is a clue, rather than the individual trapped inside it.
 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks again, as Wilson doesn’t seem too eager to move the conversation forwards. When House looks up, his friend is livid.
 

“Okay,” he says, because he knows Wilson, “Calm down. I already told you nothing happened.”
 

“Don’t lie to me, you didn’t tell me shit.”
 

“Alright, maybe I didn’t…"
 

From the other side of his desk, Wilson stands up. His brow is frown, revealing the hurricane behind his irises. Something’s been bothering him—it’s obvious—but—
 

“Something is happening to you. I know it.”
 

“Yes. I have chronic pain. And I’m disabled. You caught me.”
 

“This isn’t funny, House.”
 

Something tugs at his stomach. Is he scared? Is Wilson scared?

“True, you’re usually funnier.” House makes a move to sit down, but Wilson moves around the desk to stand in front of him, his hands at his stomach as if in a semi-desperate gesture, so House holds back and leans on his cane instead.
 

“Ha-ha,” Wilson rolls his eyes, “Seriously. I feel like you’ve been really weird for the past few days.”
 

“Everyone is used to my weirdness."
 

“And I know when you’re keeping things away from me. So don’t lie! I’ll know!” and then he shakes his index in that way that makes him look both feminine and silly.
 

What a fascinating idiot, House tells himself, before thinking, that hasn’t changed either. In any case, this is weird. Wilson shouldn’t be able to tell if he changed or not.