James Wilson had never wanted anything more than to be a doctor. As such, he was more than content to be the director emeritus of the Oncology Department at Princeton-Plainsborough.
He had never remarried after his last marriage had ended in utter failure back in 2006. As such, he would sometimes spend all day and all night at the hospital, sleeping on his couch, showering in the locker room… he was becoming like House in so many ways, just without the crankiness.
At 8:00 AM this particular Saturday, he was asleep on the couch in his office when a sharp knock roused him from his slumber. Bleary-eyed, he opened the door to find a Secret Service agent standing outside. Taking stock of Dr. Wilson’s appearance, the agent allowed the briefest of smiles to pass over his lips before speaking.
“Sorry to wake you, Dr. Wilson, but I need to check your office briefly.”
“Of course,” he said, confused, stepping back to allow the agent in.
The agent looked around his office quickly but efficiently, stepping to the window to close the blinds. “Wing is clear and secure,” he said. “Panther is clear.”
“Panther?” Dr. Wilson asked. “Whose codename is that?”
The agent turned and looked at him. “President Seaborn.”
xXx
Samuel Norman Seaborn, 46th President of the United States of America, strode confidently through the corridors of Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital. He always liked to lead, something the drove his Secret Service detail up the wall.
He rounded a corner – and ran smack into a white-haired, scruffy, wild-looking man. They both landed on their respective asses. Secret Service immediately surrounded President Seaborn and tried to restrain the wild man, but he brandished his cane at them.
“Get back!”
“Sir, please drop the cane,” one of the Secret Service agents said sternly.
“No, fuck you!” he snapped. “I’m the Chief of Staff of this hospital! No Stasi goon in a black suit gets to tell me what to do here!”
“Sir, drop the cane, stand up, and get agai-“
Sam cut the agent off. “Chief of Staff? You must be Dr. House.”
He rose and extended his hand. “I’m Sam Seaborn.”
House stood and took the offered hand, shooting a piercing glare at the Secret Service agent who had offered to pin him to the wall him. “Greg House. I assume you’re here to see President Bartlet.”
“Indeed I am. He’s really the man I owe my Presidency to, so I figured it would only be right for me to come see him.”
House straightened himself up, and then took a breath. “That’s very considerate of you, Mr. President. However, I don’t mind telling you that your visit has massively inconvenienced this hospital. We’ve had to close an entire wing, move every patient out, not admit some people who really should’ve been admitted, and really had a mess to deal with.”
Sam dropped his head. “I know, and I’m sorry. However, the Secret Service is extremely insistent.”
At that moment, there was yet another commotion at the end of the hall. “Sir, I’m sorry, but you can’t go down there,” an official sounding voice said.
“Like hell! I’m a department head here, and you’re a cop! Get out of my way!”
House grinned. “Hey! You! Crazy Gestapo Agent!”
The Secret Service agent turned and stared at House, clearly displeased to be compared to Hitler’s secret police.
“That’s Dr. James Wilson. He’s my head of oncology. You can let him go.”
The agent just stared at House, not relenting. Then, the head of the detail sighed and nodded almost imperceptibly. The agent let go of Wilson, who strode down the hall.
“House? What the hell is going on here? They came and checked my office, then made me get out, told me President Seaborn – oh my God!”
Wilson’s jaw dropped as Sam turned to face him. “You’re – you’re President Seaborn!” He stuck his hand out and grabbed Sam’s hand, shaking it like an excited ten year old. “It’s such an honor to meet you!”
Sam’s amused grin widened as Wilson shook his hand. “I’ve heard good things about you, Dr. Wilson,” he said. “Heard you’re one of the best oncologists in the country!”
Wilson blushed – he actually blushed, House thought in amusement. “Well, I suppose you could say that,” he said modestly. “I just come to work and do my job every day.”
“Yeah, that’s what I say too,” Sam said, slightly sarcastically. “Sometimes, though, it leads to mayhem and military action.”
“What the hell is going on here?” a voice called from down the hall. Lisa Cuddy approached, having simply blown past the Secret Service agent, who was now shaking his head in despair. “I pay you two to work, not – oh!”
President Seaborn had turned to face her. As he took her in, a puzzled look grew on his face, and he just stood staring at her for a moment.
Cuddy realized that he was staring at her, and she cocked her head to glare at him. “Just like any other man,” she muttered.
House piped up. “Hey, he knows a good thing when he sees it, and you sure like to make sure we see it!”
“No, no,” Sam said. “Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so,” she replied, confused. “Dr. Lisa Cuddy. I’m the dean of medicine here.”
Sam continued to look puzzled. “I just – I feel like we’ve met before, I just don’t know where.”
Cuddy shook her head. “Sorry, no.”
Sam shook his head too. “Oh well. Anyway, I’m Sam Seaborn.”
“Uh, yeah!” Cuddy replied, then realized what she had said. “Oh… sorry…”
“No worries,” he replied.
Then he turned to Dr. House. “So… can I see President Bartlet?”
“Yes,” House replied guardedly, “but I will warn you, he had a heart attack last night. He’s very weak right now, and he may be sleeping.”
Sam sighed as they walked down the hall. “I knew it would come to this eventually, but I tried to tell myself it wouldn’t. Is he in good hands at least?”
As they walked away, Wilson and Cuddy were both amazed at House’s answer. “Oh yes. Dr. Allison Cameron is by far our best doctor. President Bartlet is definitely in good hands.”
