Drabbles-by-request meme.
Jan. 20th, 2010 04:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lit_luminaryBorrowing this one from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
phinnia : first ten people to comment get a House drabble by request, to the prompt of their choosing. (My particular strengths are House/Wilson friendship or relationship, House/Chase friendship, father/son or mentorship, general canon characterizations, and wildly AU stuff involving supernatural elements. So if you want dæmons, werewolves, vampires and that sort of thing, I'm able and amenable. Anything outside that list, I'll give my best effort.)
Now, this is going to end up going one of two ways: either fewer than ten people actually follow this journal (which I suspect, as they usually ever just stop by from the comms) and I will get to have a cynical laugh. Or up to ten people will respond, and I'll be pleasantly and extremely surprised.
___________________
First, formisanthropicobs : "Something with House and Wilson set within the dæmonverse AAU, preferably from House's viewpoint."
1. Let it Snow
“House.”
House looks up from his PSP, smirking at the familiar sight of Wilson gearing up to hit Lecture Mode. Right on schedule, Minerva says, stepping out of her nest of crumpled referrals and stretching luxuriantly. How long do you think before he hits the hands-on-hips phase?
Rona’s hackles are raised, and he can see a glint of teeth. Couple that with Wilson’s air of general irritation, and… About three minutes. Less than two if we push the right buttons. “What?”
“Care to guess where I’ve just been?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but… “Apparently not to get a sense of humor,” House says, putting the PSP aside.
“We’ve just been to Foreman’s office,” Rona says, taking over. “Where we found Foreman, practically apoplectic. Because said office is covered in tree flocking.”
“Four thirteen-ounce cans,” Minerva says. “And we got the good stuff: chipping it off is going to take for—”
“House!” Cue the pained look, and—there. Hands on hips, as predicted. “What the hell did you—no, I take that back. I don’t want to know what you thought you were doing.”
We win, he says to Minerva.
“Don’t you dare look smug!” Rona growls. “We just spent half an hour convincing Foreman not to fire your ass. And the overtime he’s paying the janitors to clean up the mess is coming out of your next paycheck.”
“Still worth it,” he says. “Where’s your holiday spirit?”
“With my peace and goodwill toward man,” Wilson says dryly, his expression a clear statement that all three have left the building. He closes the distance between them, Rona on his heels. “House. If Foreman fired you, it would be very difficult for you and your entire large drawer of disciplinary records to get another job.”
“He’s not going to fire me,” House says. “Because I have an extremely impressive cure rate that lets him brag to rich donors.”
Wilson’s hands drop back to his sides. “That’s true. But someday, my quoting that cure rate—”
“Yeah, yeah. Must you be such a buzzkill?” House says. “The look on his face alone—”
“You didn’t get to see it,” Rona points out.
“We will,” Minerva says with relish. “Lisa promised to get us a copy of the security footage.”
Wilson tries to look disapproving, but Rona grins and ruins it: Wilson never is as much of a Good Boy as he wants people to think.
“Good,” she says. Then, silk-over-steel, “But the next practical joke, we will personally make sure that Foreman gets the satisfaction of watching you clean up.”
Minerva nods, and as Wilson and Rona turn to go back next door, House leans back in his chair, reaching with one hand to card fingertips through Minerva’s fur. Not a bad threat, he says to her.
No, she agrees, but that’s okay: we love a challenge.
Second, forbluerosefairy: "Rona and Minerva, making fun of the boys. Because they're awesome."
2. Habits
“Have you ever told Wilson that hands-on-hips thing he does makes him look ridiculous?” Minerva asks Rona. It’s late evening; he’s lounging on the couch beside Wilson with a beer in one hand, and Minerva is lounging on top of Rona, leaving him to enjoy the knowledge that Wilson is actually relaxed for a change. “Kind of endearing,” she adds, “which is totally proof that bonding hormones have infiltrated our brain—but ridiculous.”
Wilson looks mildly affronted. “I do not look ridiculous.”
“You might if I were smaller,” Rona says. “As it is—you remind us of Mom when you do that.” Wilson makes an amusing, embarrassed kind of face, and Rona continues, “It’s no worse than House reminding us of a five-year-old when he plays with his toys in the office.”
“It’s my process,” House says. “It may look like playing with toys, but really—”
“Don’t be pretentious, Greg; we hate that,” Minerva says, and looks back at Rona. “It’s playing with toys. Sort of white noise for our brain so we can zone out.”
“Yes,” Wilson agrees. “To the point where you can ignore every function for which you’re paid to be in the building.”
“I don’t ignore them,” House says. “Chase does the charting and the billing and whatever paperwork.”
“Which conveniently leaves us nothing to do until the next exotic disease walks in,” Minerva says. “And we have it on good authority that Chase does some of the most detailed charting in the hospital. Valuable skill.”
“And definitely not one he learned from you,” Rona says. “Although if you want detailed—James insists on recording seconds in the times he puts into our charts.”
House gives Wilson a look of unholy glee: that little detail will be worth some serious mockery at the right time. “That just hits new depths of anal-retentiveness,” he says. “Chase at least stops at minutes.”
“You could out-detail everyone if you wanted to do your own charting,” Rona says. “We’re talking to the man who once fired a secretary because of some mystical message sent by her shoes.”
“They were too pointy; the woman was obviously a masochist,” Minerva says. “And you can’t talk; Wilson’s shoes are French.” A pause, then, “And yours are completely prissy, unnecessary and ridiculous.”
“I only wear those when it rains or snows,” Rona says. “Forgive me if, unlike some people, I prefer not to track mud everywhere.”
“Since I’m the one who always has to clean it up—” Wilson begins, but Rona breaks in.
“James,” she says warningly.
“What?” Wilson says.
“I think that’s shorthand for ‘the martyr complex isn’t attractive,’” House says.
“Don’t try to do her job, Greg,” Minerva says. “We hate it when she tries to do mine, and we refuse to be a hypocrite.”
The look she gives Rona is a loaded one, practically a conversation; House parses the emotional feedback loop into an eloquent combination of exasperation and affection that affirms his and Wilson’s agreement to live with each other’s respective crazy habits.
Do you have to do that out loud in front of him? he says to Minerva. Sure, Rona had done the same thing with Wilson, but…
She meets his gaze, unmistakably smug. It’s always good to remind them I’m the boss of us, she says. It stops them from thinking they are.
She does, he concedes, have a point.
Third, forphinnia : "Someone’s story of how their dæmon chose final form—House, Wilson or Chase, your choice." (I ended up going with Chase, since that was the story that came to mind first.)
3. Settling
It might have seemed appropriate for Kylie to settle as some sort of bird, but they’re not witch enough to need the sky that way.
They’d always preferred climbing, since that’d been something he could do with her, and there’d been peace in sitting in a treetop, braced against the steady strength of the trunk, listening to the wind. Sometimes she’d be a cat and sit in his lap, or a sugar glider and explore the upper branches, the ones too thin to take his weight.
But that had been before Mum started drinking and magic lessons stopped. Before Rowan walked out and even being rid of him didn’t do any good. Before he had to go through school knowing Mum was home in an alcoholic stupor.
These days, they don’t sit in the tree in the yard. He presses his hands against gnarled bark, feels the slow pulse of its life and the reach of its roots, and asks the Goddess for the strength to keep standing. To be able to take care of Mum when she can’t take care of herself, and to bend without breaking.
So he’s not surprised when Kylie takes the dingo shape more often and stays in it for longer periods. The sugar glider’s first meaning had been playfulness, the cat’s contentment, and they’ve all but forgotten those. Dingo means choosing his battles, fierceness when he needs it, and a stable point to hold on to. (He remembers the terrible urgency of knowing Mum couldn’t stay, couldn’t live like this—remembers shouting at her and then the crash of breaking glass.)
They don’t think about settling—there’s too much else to worry about. Looking after Mum, keeping up his marks in school, and most of all, keeping his emotions under control. It doesn’t matter how much he wants to just scream some days, or cry—something would explode, and no release is worth risking their life for.
They learn to handle the pressure and not complain, because that’s what it means to be grown up. They don’t realize they actually are until he wants the soothing of Kylie’s cat’s purr as they lie in bed one night, and she tries to change and can’t.
He wants to be happy about knowing what he is, but he’s too tired, and tomorrow is Saturday. He’ll have to watch Mum all day, and deal with her hangover in the morning. And he has homework to do and a maths exam to study for.
We can tell her I’ve settled once she’s sober, Kylie says. Didn’t she say that when I did, she’d be able to teach us to control ourself so we couldn’t blow things up? Maybe she might start our lessons again…
He doesn’t really hope. He’s not that naïve anymore.
And while he knows settling is the milestone of adulthood, he doesn’t feel any sense of pride. Their focus has been outside themself for so long that even this self-knowledge is hollow.
Responsibility for Mum, for the minutiae of managing their lives—putting those things first is what’s important.
At least they know they’re strong enough that they can do it.
Fourth, forpasdepixie: "House/Chase mentorship/friendship with subtle kindness by House, set after Cameron's departure." (Let's say after "Ignorance is Bliss." Oh, and I disclaim the phrase "Amber Volakis Memorial Apartment," which I first read in a Television Without Pity recap.)
4. Making Amends
The case is over; the patient’s been sent home with his wife and his stash of idiocy-inducing cough syrup, and the team’s left. House would have gone home already himself, but Wilson has a late meeting with the Board, and he doesn’t feel like hanging out alone in the Amber Volakis Memorial Apartment. He’d rather wait for Wilson in his office.
He doesn’t expect to find Chase at the conference table, writing up Idiot Patient’s discharge summary. “First you hit me, now you’re doing my paperwork?” He sits down across from the younger man. “You said you were sorry; I accepted your apology. You don’t need to suck up.”
“Still. Wanting the others to leave me alone is a bad reason to hit you.”
“Bad reason, maybe, but good general plan. Manipulative and cunning.” He puts on his best ‘sage mentor’ face. “You have learned your lessons well.”
Chase shakes his head. “Perfect: the one time you deign to give me your approval, I don’t actually want it.” He holds House’s gaze. “You do know it’s not okay for people to hit you? I don’t care if I had a good plan or whatever you think I—I shouldn’t’ve done that.”
“Oh, you were so raised Catholic,” House says. “No way did one year in seminary give you this much capacity for needless guilt.” Killing a man, he can see how that would be worth some pangs of conscience, even if the guy in question had Hitler-esque tendencies. But throwing a punch? Now they’re in disproportionate reaction territory.
“It’s not needless. I did something wrong.”
House raises an eyebrow; hides a wince because that kind of hurts. “We’re not still talking about me, are we?”
A long pause. Then, “At least this, I can make up for.”
“You did: the satisfaction of seeing you’d grown a spine was worth it.”
Chase’s look asks which situation he’s talking about, where forgiveness applies. House keeps his expression neutral, and Chase drops his gaze and goes back to the paperwork.
House watches him; takes inventory: dark circles under his eyes, so still not sleeping; no wedding ring on his left hand, so obviously he’s counting the marriage a loss; more tension in his posture than the case would justify, since House had made the junior section put in the weekend.
“You just had a puzzle,” Chase says without looking up. He writes something down that—House squints to read upside-down; at least Chase’s handwriting is more legible than most doctors’—is probably about the patient’s previous suicide attempt. “And I’m fine.”
“You’re never going to make it to the major leagues if you don’t learn to lie better than that,” House says.
“I’d rather not have to.”
He only means the kind of lies that involve literally getting away with murder, though, so that’s okay.
“House?” Wilson opens the conference room door, sticks his head in. “Ready to go home?”
“Yeah.” He levers himself up, starts to follow Wilson out. Pauses in the doorway to look back over his shoulder at Chase. “No more paperwork. Go home. And stop with the guilt.”
He can't stop Chase from torturing himself. But at least he should know he doesn't have to do it on House's behalf.
Fifth, for Nibis: "...House and Wilson join forces to take someone (who clearly deserves it) down a peg or two. Any universe that suits your fancy." (This one ended up being a song rework, set within the canon universe, but it's about as long as any of the prose drabbles. Lucas is the target of House and Wilson's revenge. Incidentally, if anyone is interested in the other songs I've reworked, check here.)
5. Threes: Vengeance
(to the tune of “Threes: Take Three” by Julia Ecklar.)
A weasel called Lucas thought he’d made a clever plan:
Avenge a stolen condo; prove himself the better man.
But this he didn’t count on when he plotted his attack:
Screwing with House and Wilson means you’re bound to be screwed back!
Three things in their favor:
Their enemy's a moron,
Their loyalty’s tempered steel,
And all their scruples are gone.
Dripping and spitting mad, House glares, sporting a savage frown:
“I know the guy who did this, and that bastard’s going down!”
Says Wilson, “Play it subtle, for revenge is best served cold;
We’ll make him pay, and on the way, make sure that Cuddy’s told.”
These three don’t enrage:
The mother with a babe to guard,
The hissing serpent coiled,
And the friends who both strike hard.
They towel dry and then they plan what they will do next:
The wrecked flat-screen TV alone has got them really vexed.
But it isn’t sufficient to stick Lucas with a bill.
(He should count himself lucky neither is the type to kill.)
Three mistakes he made:
First, the opossum in the bath,
The grab bar that he loosened,
And the clues that showed his path.
Meanwhile, Lucas, smirking, goes to bed, convinced he’s won,
And congratulates himself on a job he deems well done.
No way will House or Wilson ever top his latest trick,
And all the home repairs will teach a lesson that will stick.
These three things never assume:
That every man’s your friend,
An enemy’s next action,
And what’s at the story’s end.
Next day at the hospital, Lucas makes his final stand:
He sends House crashing to the floor with no support to hand.
The price of getting cocky: that he’s cooked his own damn goose,
‘Cause security cameras caught that instance of abuse.
Three things Lucas never had before he caused that fall:
A moment’s doubt,
An ounce of sense,
And a lawyer he could call.
House gets to his feet, seething; Wilson shows a shark-like grin:
A confession’s on record and their foe’s guilty as sin.
They’ve got a room of witnesses who heard him make his boast,
And it’s obvious to him that Lucas Douglas is toast.
Three things are worse than prank war:
Legal red tape wound tight,
The day your girlfriend dumps you,
And the charge you cannot fight.
A restraining order is just the first step on the way:
They’re suing for assault as the next order of the day.
Cuddy just shakes her head when Lucas ends up dragged to jail,
And wonders when it was her taste in men began to fail.
These three just rewards:
The punitive damages paid,
That Lucas was bankrupted,
And for months locked up he stayed!
phinnia : first ten people to comment get a House drabble by request, to the prompt of their choosing. (My particular strengths are House/Wilson friendship or relationship, House/Chase friendship, father/son or mentorship, general canon characterizations, and wildly AU stuff involving supernatural elements. So if you want dæmons, werewolves, vampires and that sort of thing, I'm able and amenable. Anything outside that list, I'll give my best effort.)Now, this is going to end up going one of two ways: either fewer than ten people actually follow this journal (which I suspect, as they usually ever just stop by from the comms) and I will get to have a cynical laugh. Or up to ten people will respond, and I'll be pleasantly and extremely surprised.
___________________
First, for
misanthropicobs : "Something with House and Wilson set within the dæmonverse AAU, preferably from House's viewpoint."1. Let it Snow
“House.”
House looks up from his PSP, smirking at the familiar sight of Wilson gearing up to hit Lecture Mode. Right on schedule, Minerva says, stepping out of her nest of crumpled referrals and stretching luxuriantly. How long do you think before he hits the hands-on-hips phase?
Rona’s hackles are raised, and he can see a glint of teeth. Couple that with Wilson’s air of general irritation, and… About three minutes. Less than two if we push the right buttons. “What?”
“Care to guess where I’ve just been?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but… “Apparently not to get a sense of humor,” House says, putting the PSP aside.
“We’ve just been to Foreman’s office,” Rona says, taking over. “Where we found Foreman, practically apoplectic. Because said office is covered in tree flocking.”
“Four thirteen-ounce cans,” Minerva says. “And we got the good stuff: chipping it off is going to take for—”
“House!” Cue the pained look, and—there. Hands on hips, as predicted. “What the hell did you—no, I take that back. I don’t want to know what you thought you were doing.”
We win, he says to Minerva.
“Don’t you dare look smug!” Rona growls. “We just spent half an hour convincing Foreman not to fire your ass. And the overtime he’s paying the janitors to clean up the mess is coming out of your next paycheck.”
“Still worth it,” he says. “Where’s your holiday spirit?”
“With my peace and goodwill toward man,” Wilson says dryly, his expression a clear statement that all three have left the building. He closes the distance between them, Rona on his heels. “House. If Foreman fired you, it would be very difficult for you and your entire large drawer of disciplinary records to get another job.”
“He’s not going to fire me,” House says. “Because I have an extremely impressive cure rate that lets him brag to rich donors.”
Wilson’s hands drop back to his sides. “That’s true. But someday, my quoting that cure rate—”
“Yeah, yeah. Must you be such a buzzkill?” House says. “The look on his face alone—”
“You didn’t get to see it,” Rona points out.
“We will,” Minerva says with relish. “Lisa promised to get us a copy of the security footage.”
Wilson tries to look disapproving, but Rona grins and ruins it: Wilson never is as much of a Good Boy as he wants people to think.
“Good,” she says. Then, silk-over-steel, “But the next practical joke, we will personally make sure that Foreman gets the satisfaction of watching you clean up.”
Minerva nods, and as Wilson and Rona turn to go back next door, House leans back in his chair, reaching with one hand to card fingertips through Minerva’s fur. Not a bad threat, he says to her.
No, she agrees, but that’s okay: we love a challenge.
Second, for
bluerosefairy: "Rona and Minerva, making fun of the boys. Because they're awesome."2. Habits
“Have you ever told Wilson that hands-on-hips thing he does makes him look ridiculous?” Minerva asks Rona. It’s late evening; he’s lounging on the couch beside Wilson with a beer in one hand, and Minerva is lounging on top of Rona, leaving him to enjoy the knowledge that Wilson is actually relaxed for a change. “Kind of endearing,” she adds, “which is totally proof that bonding hormones have infiltrated our brain—but ridiculous.”
Wilson looks mildly affronted. “I do not look ridiculous.”
“You might if I were smaller,” Rona says. “As it is—you remind us of Mom when you do that.” Wilson makes an amusing, embarrassed kind of face, and Rona continues, “It’s no worse than House reminding us of a five-year-old when he plays with his toys in the office.”
“It’s my process,” House says. “It may look like playing with toys, but really—”
“Don’t be pretentious, Greg; we hate that,” Minerva says, and looks back at Rona. “It’s playing with toys. Sort of white noise for our brain so we can zone out.”
“Yes,” Wilson agrees. “To the point where you can ignore every function for which you’re paid to be in the building.”
“I don’t ignore them,” House says. “Chase does the charting and the billing and whatever paperwork.”
“Which conveniently leaves us nothing to do until the next exotic disease walks in,” Minerva says. “And we have it on good authority that Chase does some of the most detailed charting in the hospital. Valuable skill.”
“And definitely not one he learned from you,” Rona says. “Although if you want detailed—James insists on recording seconds in the times he puts into our charts.”
House gives Wilson a look of unholy glee: that little detail will be worth some serious mockery at the right time. “That just hits new depths of anal-retentiveness,” he says. “Chase at least stops at minutes.”
“You could out-detail everyone if you wanted to do your own charting,” Rona says. “We’re talking to the man who once fired a secretary because of some mystical message sent by her shoes.”
“They were too pointy; the woman was obviously a masochist,” Minerva says. “And you can’t talk; Wilson’s shoes are French.” A pause, then, “And yours are completely prissy, unnecessary and ridiculous.”
“I only wear those when it rains or snows,” Rona says. “Forgive me if, unlike some people, I prefer not to track mud everywhere.”
“Since I’m the one who always has to clean it up—” Wilson begins, but Rona breaks in.
“James,” she says warningly.
“What?” Wilson says.
“I think that’s shorthand for ‘the martyr complex isn’t attractive,’” House says.
“Don’t try to do her job, Greg,” Minerva says. “We hate it when she tries to do mine, and we refuse to be a hypocrite.”
The look she gives Rona is a loaded one, practically a conversation; House parses the emotional feedback loop into an eloquent combination of exasperation and affection that affirms his and Wilson’s agreement to live with each other’s respective crazy habits.
Do you have to do that out loud in front of him? he says to Minerva. Sure, Rona had done the same thing with Wilson, but…
She meets his gaze, unmistakably smug. It’s always good to remind them I’m the boss of us, she says. It stops them from thinking they are.
She does, he concedes, have a point.
Third, for
phinnia : "Someone’s story of how their dæmon chose final form—House, Wilson or Chase, your choice." (I ended up going with Chase, since that was the story that came to mind first.)3. Settling
It might have seemed appropriate for Kylie to settle as some sort of bird, but they’re not witch enough to need the sky that way.
They’d always preferred climbing, since that’d been something he could do with her, and there’d been peace in sitting in a treetop, braced against the steady strength of the trunk, listening to the wind. Sometimes she’d be a cat and sit in his lap, or a sugar glider and explore the upper branches, the ones too thin to take his weight.
But that had been before Mum started drinking and magic lessons stopped. Before Rowan walked out and even being rid of him didn’t do any good. Before he had to go through school knowing Mum was home in an alcoholic stupor.
These days, they don’t sit in the tree in the yard. He presses his hands against gnarled bark, feels the slow pulse of its life and the reach of its roots, and asks the Goddess for the strength to keep standing. To be able to take care of Mum when she can’t take care of herself, and to bend without breaking.
So he’s not surprised when Kylie takes the dingo shape more often and stays in it for longer periods. The sugar glider’s first meaning had been playfulness, the cat’s contentment, and they’ve all but forgotten those. Dingo means choosing his battles, fierceness when he needs it, and a stable point to hold on to. (He remembers the terrible urgency of knowing Mum couldn’t stay, couldn’t live like this—remembers shouting at her and then the crash of breaking glass.)
They don’t think about settling—there’s too much else to worry about. Looking after Mum, keeping up his marks in school, and most of all, keeping his emotions under control. It doesn’t matter how much he wants to just scream some days, or cry—something would explode, and no release is worth risking their life for.
They learn to handle the pressure and not complain, because that’s what it means to be grown up. They don’t realize they actually are until he wants the soothing of Kylie’s cat’s purr as they lie in bed one night, and she tries to change and can’t.
He wants to be happy about knowing what he is, but he’s too tired, and tomorrow is Saturday. He’ll have to watch Mum all day, and deal with her hangover in the morning. And he has homework to do and a maths exam to study for.
We can tell her I’ve settled once she’s sober, Kylie says. Didn’t she say that when I did, she’d be able to teach us to control ourself so we couldn’t blow things up? Maybe she might start our lessons again…
He doesn’t really hope. He’s not that naïve anymore.
And while he knows settling is the milestone of adulthood, he doesn’t feel any sense of pride. Their focus has been outside themself for so long that even this self-knowledge is hollow.
Responsibility for Mum, for the minutiae of managing their lives—putting those things first is what’s important.
At least they know they’re strong enough that they can do it.
Fourth, for
pasdepixie: "House/Chase mentorship/friendship with subtle kindness by House, set after Cameron's departure." (Let's say after "Ignorance is Bliss." Oh, and I disclaim the phrase "Amber Volakis Memorial Apartment," which I first read in a Television Without Pity recap.)4. Making Amends
The case is over; the patient’s been sent home with his wife and his stash of idiocy-inducing cough syrup, and the team’s left. House would have gone home already himself, but Wilson has a late meeting with the Board, and he doesn’t feel like hanging out alone in the Amber Volakis Memorial Apartment. He’d rather wait for Wilson in his office.
He doesn’t expect to find Chase at the conference table, writing up Idiot Patient’s discharge summary. “First you hit me, now you’re doing my paperwork?” He sits down across from the younger man. “You said you were sorry; I accepted your apology. You don’t need to suck up.”
“Still. Wanting the others to leave me alone is a bad reason to hit you.”
“Bad reason, maybe, but good general plan. Manipulative and cunning.” He puts on his best ‘sage mentor’ face. “You have learned your lessons well.”
Chase shakes his head. “Perfect: the one time you deign to give me your approval, I don’t actually want it.” He holds House’s gaze. “You do know it’s not okay for people to hit you? I don’t care if I had a good plan or whatever you think I—I shouldn’t’ve done that.”
“Oh, you were so raised Catholic,” House says. “No way did one year in seminary give you this much capacity for needless guilt.” Killing a man, he can see how that would be worth some pangs of conscience, even if the guy in question had Hitler-esque tendencies. But throwing a punch? Now they’re in disproportionate reaction territory.
“It’s not needless. I did something wrong.”
House raises an eyebrow; hides a wince because that kind of hurts. “We’re not still talking about me, are we?”
A long pause. Then, “At least this, I can make up for.”
“You did: the satisfaction of seeing you’d grown a spine was worth it.”
Chase’s look asks which situation he’s talking about, where forgiveness applies. House keeps his expression neutral, and Chase drops his gaze and goes back to the paperwork.
House watches him; takes inventory: dark circles under his eyes, so still not sleeping; no wedding ring on his left hand, so obviously he’s counting the marriage a loss; more tension in his posture than the case would justify, since House had made the junior section put in the weekend.
“You just had a puzzle,” Chase says without looking up. He writes something down that—House squints to read upside-down; at least Chase’s handwriting is more legible than most doctors’—is probably about the patient’s previous suicide attempt. “And I’m fine.”
“You’re never going to make it to the major leagues if you don’t learn to lie better than that,” House says.
“I’d rather not have to.”
He only means the kind of lies that involve literally getting away with murder, though, so that’s okay.
“House?” Wilson opens the conference room door, sticks his head in. “Ready to go home?”
“Yeah.” He levers himself up, starts to follow Wilson out. Pauses in the doorway to look back over his shoulder at Chase. “No more paperwork. Go home. And stop with the guilt.”
He can't stop Chase from torturing himself. But at least he should know he doesn't have to do it on House's behalf.
Fifth, for Nibis: "...House and Wilson join forces to take someone (who clearly deserves it) down a peg or two. Any universe that suits your fancy." (This one ended up being a song rework, set within the canon universe, but it's about as long as any of the prose drabbles. Lucas is the target of House and Wilson's revenge. Incidentally, if anyone is interested in the other songs I've reworked, check here.)
5. Threes: Vengeance
(to the tune of “Threes: Take Three” by Julia Ecklar.)
A weasel called Lucas thought he’d made a clever plan:
Avenge a stolen condo; prove himself the better man.
But this he didn’t count on when he plotted his attack:
Screwing with House and Wilson means you’re bound to be screwed back!
Three things in their favor:
Their enemy's a moron,
Their loyalty’s tempered steel,
And all their scruples are gone.
Dripping and spitting mad, House glares, sporting a savage frown:
“I know the guy who did this, and that bastard’s going down!”
Says Wilson, “Play it subtle, for revenge is best served cold;
We’ll make him pay, and on the way, make sure that Cuddy’s told.”
These three don’t enrage:
The mother with a babe to guard,
The hissing serpent coiled,
And the friends who both strike hard.
They towel dry and then they plan what they will do next:
The wrecked flat-screen TV alone has got them really vexed.
But it isn’t sufficient to stick Lucas with a bill.
(He should count himself lucky neither is the type to kill.)
Three mistakes he made:
First, the opossum in the bath,
The grab bar that he loosened,
And the clues that showed his path.
Meanwhile, Lucas, smirking, goes to bed, convinced he’s won,
And congratulates himself on a job he deems well done.
No way will House or Wilson ever top his latest trick,
And all the home repairs will teach a lesson that will stick.
These three things never assume:
That every man’s your friend,
An enemy’s next action,
And what’s at the story’s end.
Next day at the hospital, Lucas makes his final stand:
He sends House crashing to the floor with no support to hand.
The price of getting cocky: that he’s cooked his own damn goose,
‘Cause security cameras caught that instance of abuse.
Three things Lucas never had before he caused that fall:
A moment’s doubt,
An ounce of sense,
And a lawyer he could call.
House gets to his feet, seething; Wilson shows a shark-like grin:
A confession’s on record and their foe’s guilty as sin.
They’ve got a room of witnesses who heard him make his boast,
And it’s obvious to him that Lucas Douglas is toast.
Three things are worse than prank war:
Legal red tape wound tight,
The day your girlfriend dumps you,
And the charge you cannot fight.
A restraining order is just the first step on the way:
They’re suing for assault as the next order of the day.
Cuddy just shakes her head when Lucas ends up dragged to jail,
And wonders when it was her taste in men began to fail.
These three just rewards:
The punitive damages paid,
That Lucas was bankrupted,
And for months locked up he stayed!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-01-20 01:13 pm (UTC)I'll look forward to hearing what you thought of the drabble.
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Date: 2010-01-20 05:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-20 06:09 pm (UTC)I'll get right on that request, but I'm going to need you to clarify--'cracking on' means what exactly?
no subject
Date: 2010-01-20 06:23 pm (UTC)"Cracking on", in the sense of making fun of. Cracking jokes about.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-20 07:54 pm (UTC)Drabble is done, by the way; I hope you enjoy.
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Date: 2010-01-20 08:10 pm (UTC)Oh, it's lovely and hysterical (Wilson's shoes are French). I love it.
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Date: 2010-01-26 05:50 am (UTC)Hm. Someone's story of how their daemon chose final form - House, Wilson or Chase, your choice. (or all three, should the spirit (hee!) move you)
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Date: 2010-01-26 06:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-15 04:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-15 10:37 am (UTC)One reason I love writing House/Chase interaction is because there's so much opportunity for subtlety and doublespeak; those things they mean but neither will actually say. There's no neat resolution or easy answer, just a simple human moment. (And of course, the mentor/protégé, quasi-father/son dynamic is endlessly fascinating.)
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Date: 2010-02-22 06:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-23 12:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-22 06:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-23 01:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-23 03:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-23 03:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-23 04:50 am (UTC)S
P
O
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...Prankster!Lucas unleashed the opossum in the bathtub, and wondered how that would work in this universe? What do you see Lucas's daemon being? A weasel? That could be fun!
no subject
Date: 2010-02-23 04:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-23 04:27 pm (UTC)If you'd like to read further, the keystone story of the dæmonverse AAU, "Principles of Growth", is linked in comments, and you may also be interested in this entry (http://lit-luminary.livejournal.com/6871.html#cutid1), which details the names, forms and symbolic meanings of everyone's dæmon.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-23 04:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-23 04:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-01 08:15 am (UTC)Thanks for the opportunity to join in the fun,
Nibis
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Date: 2010-03-01 11:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-02 02:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-02 02:20 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2010-03-10 02:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-10 02:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-02 05:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-10 02:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-03 05:24 am (UTC)Thanks again for the drabble!
Best of luck with grad school, I hope it doesn't get too much in the way of your writing,
Nibis
no subject
Date: 2010-03-10 02:19 am (UTC)You're very welcome: I had a lot of fun writing it.
I've decided to change career paths and go for an MFA in creative writing, but I won't be able to start that until next year--so until then, I'll be dividing my time between work in a tutoring center and writing as much as possible.
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Date: 2010-05-23 10:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-23 10:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 09:43 pm (UTC)Let it snow
Of course I first had to google tree flocking. And then I had to figure out 52 ounces. But then it was just funny. I liked the silk-on-steele description of Wilson's threat. So IC. Having the daemons talking must be hard work for the writer but it really gives a very special depth to even the simplest conversation. I guess we should all go and thank Pullmann for inventing them.
Habits
My first thought was a quotation from a favorite author of mine, who even found its way on a tshirt
"Does anal-retentive have a hyphen?" Seconds in the time on the charts! Shoes on the wolf! I was roaring with laughter. And I love how the daemons bond.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 10:04 pm (UTC)In retrospect, perhaps I should have included an explanatory note about the tree flocking, but I loved the idea of House covering Foreman's office in artificial snow. And of course, Wilson in lecture mode is a particular pleasure. (It did take a while to get used to every dialogue being a four-way conversation, yes, but I love what I'm able to do with the dæmons: it lets me bring out parts of the characters we don't usually see.)
Good-natured teasing between the dæmons was fun, too--and yes, Wilson is extremely anal-retentive, but it suits him. (It seemed to fit that when he's so meticulous about his appearance, Rona would hate to get her paws dirty.) I'm glad the humor worked so well.
(Also, if there's a short dæmonverse moment you'd like to see, I still have some open places in this meme.)
no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 10:15 pm (UTC)That was very moving. You know, I realized for the first time what the settling of the daemon os parallel to. It's menarche. The end of infancy. Except it happens a bit later, and better tuned with the actual mental development. But it's just such a watershed moment. Before you're a child, and afterward, you're not.
And to see Chase forced to ignore this, unable to share it, because he already has so many responsibilities... you can so feel the same about the canon Chase, actually, having to care for his mum at an age when she should still be caring for him. And I found the motivation for having a Dingo very powerful - and I'm still fascinated with the choice of an Australian animal.
Making Amends:
I wish canon had more of this mentoring moments. Because I'm sure they do happen. I love how House reads Chase like a case, but then gives him valuable advice and (one can feel it beneath the words) a certain gruffy affection. I love the many universes (this and the werewolves one included) when Chase becomes like a son to House (and, so to speak, a stepson to Wilson). I can't imagine House dealing with a child, but I can see him taking a fatherly interest in a younger person.
As for being raised Catholic and guilt, uh. I'd rather not talk about it. Especially how catholic it is to worry much about minor things and give less importance to major sins.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 10:26 pm (UTC)As far as "Making Amends," these are the moments I love when they're canonical and write when they aren't, because the underlying feeling is there: as you said, House wouldn't do so well with a young child, but he can function well in a paternal role for Chase. (It's one of my favorite parts of writing both the dæmon- and werewolf-verse.)
no subject
Date: 2011-03-09 04:11 pm (UTC)I found it funny, but I really am bothered by the way you have to bend the sentences to feel the rhythm of the song. The problem being, of course, that I can't hear that rhythm. 35 years of trying to learn English, and it still eludes me. Maybe now that audiobooks are ubiquitous I should start listening to English poetry instead or reading it. Or maybe the problem is that in the last 20 years I've devoted more effort to spoken German than to spoken English and the two jostle for room in my brain.
I know it's a language problem because I don't mind the same effect in Italian or in French - in fact, I even love novels in verse (like the Divine Comedy) or plays in verse (Molière, Racine). And, of course, poems. My accent in French is appalling, but apparently I get the rhythm of the language okay.
If there's still room for requests, I would like a House-Wilson scene. In any universe you like, and in prose (!).
no subject
Date: 2011-03-10 12:41 am (UTC)As far as House/Wilson scenes, I'll refer you to two of my episode-related fics: Role Reversal (http://lit-luminary.livejournal.com/13258.html#cutid1/) shows House at Wilson's bedside after Wilson's liver donation, and Mind (and Other) Games (http://lit-luminary.livejournal.com/13663.html#cutid1/) shows House's reaction to Wilson's proposal during the 'who can sleep with the downstairs neighbor first' game. And As I Will (http://community.livejournal.com/house_wilson/2014665.html#cutid1/) is a tie-in I wrote to the werewolf-verse, in which House experiments with voluntary transformation and sees Wilson through the wake of a nightmare.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-10 04:31 pm (UTC)I think that's why I find poetry in French so pleasant. The structure of the sentences is the same as in Italian.
Free verse I like a lot, but I also feel sad because I miss the poetry side of it. For instance, there are some passages in V Woolf's "Between the acts" where she's obviously writing free verse typeset as poetry, and I wouldn't ever have noticed without the footnotes.
I'll look up your suggestion, but one day when ou have time you really should make some comprehensive index of your fics.