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sick_wilson2008-05-20 10:00 am
srsly-yes.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2008-05-20 10:00 am
Entry tags:
Lasso His Heart 4/8
Summary: Saturday – ‘House-keeping’ according to Wilson. A 1960's style bromantic comedy.
Rating: R for a word or two. Fluff.
Disclaimer: So not mine, and never will be *sigh*
A/N: Please note italicized phrases are House talking to himself. I apologize for the story written in present tense. It went through several permutations and my head was too scrambled to change it back to past tense. The story is completely written, and chapters will be released every few days. Please read and review.
I want to thank the reviewers of my other stories. It encouraged me to try a long story this time. My betas, [Unknown site tag]![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
triedunture and bookfan85 deserve a round of applause for their many wonderful suggestions. They are the best, and I don’t deserve them. *Clapping* I’m responsible for all remaining errors.
Chapter 4: Another Man’s Treasure
Rating: R for a word or two. Fluff.
Disclaimer: So not mine, and never will be *sigh*
A/N: Please note italicized phrases are House talking to himself. I apologize for the story written in present tense. It went through several permutations and my head was too scrambled to change it back to past tense. The story is completely written, and chapters will be released every few days. Please read and review.
I want to thank the reviewers of my other stories. It encouraged me to try a long story this time. My betas, [Unknown site tag]
triedunture and bookfan85 deserve a round of applause for their many wonderful suggestions. They are the best, and I don’t deserve them. *Clapping* I’m responsible for all remaining errors.Chapter 4: Another Man’s Treasure
On Saturday House is the first to wake up. He rattles around the kitchen, starting the brewing cycle on the coffee maker until a mellow and sleepy Wilson shuffles in and joins him. Seeing a bowl of flour, milk and macadamia nuts on the counter, Wilson switches to autopilot and manages to prepare the petite pancakes with one hand metaphorically tied behind his back.
After they both finish the ‘little slices of heaven’ in the living room, Wilson picks up both plates and heads to the kitchen. As House buries himself in the newspaper, he makes out the faint rattle of china and silverware settling into the sink. He writes on the imaginary whiteboard in his mind to ask Wilson to pick up a few packs of paper plates and plastic utensils the next time the guy offers to go shopping.
Passing from kitchen to hall, the dark haired doctor hints to the raised newspaper, “Um, I’m going to get washed up now. The dirty dishes are waiting in the sink for you.” The dark hair recedes down the hall.
Silence.
The thunder and spurt of the shower fades into white noise.
The soft crinkle of a page turns.
Assorted clicks and clanks of plastic bottles, and the tangy scent of shaving cream fills the apartment.
Another page folds back on itself.
Making a mind bet with himself, House decides Wilson ought to be launching his diatribe just about n- . . . “House! Hooouse!! My blow dryer is missing!”
Bare feet pounding on hardwood thump back towards the living room.
Wrapped only in a towel, “What have you done with my dryer?!”
“Why do you think I’m responsible for your blow dryer? Maybe it got lonely for its mother and went to appliance hell.”
“You have no right! I liked that blow dryer! It belonged to Julie.”
“Julie? And, your point is? . . .
. . . Of course I have a right! The continuing noise pollution will cause me to lose my hearing and my lease. It's a dinosaur Wilson. The Ford Pinto of home appliances. You’ll be happy to know I received a postcard, and it’s much happier now that it’s living amongst Godzilla microwaves and portable brick telephones.”
Out came the index finger, “First of all you don’t have a lease, you own . . . “
“Give it up, Wilson. Chalk it up to another failed relationship. You should really thank me, it’s so old the thermostat is probably shot and it’s burning those prized hair follicles right off the top of your head. Time to go out and buy a new, improved, QUIETER one.”
Wilson heads back to the bathroom, but not without muttering loud enough for House to overhear, “Yeah, and where do I go to trade you in for a new, improved, quieter model of a friend.”
House replaces the headline news with the entertainment section. He is halfway through, when grumpy and groomed Wilson returns. House looks up over the safety of his newspaper. He could swear Wilson’s hair looks the same as yesterday, except, oh yeah, not puffy.
“I’m going out.” Turning his head, brown eyes squint towards the sink, peering into the darkness of the kitchen. A monument of porcelain, Teflon and stainless steel rises from the basin. The voice is pitched soft but high, “You haven’t the slightest intention of cleaning up after I cook do you? Even though I am not supposed to get my hand wet” the last coming out in a hiss.
House can see the superhero pose through his newspaper.
Stiffening his back, the oncologist turns toward the kitchen, “Fine, fine. Hell just called, it appears my blow dryer is still lonely.” Sounds of china and metal colliding together and the soft thunder of an abused paper bag rumble from the vicinity of the kitchen. Wilson returns to the living room with a bloated supermarket bag under one arm, and without as much as a second look, calls out, “Kitchen. Clean. Now.” And, heads out the door slamming it behind him.
Even through the closed door, House can hear porcelain, glass and pot metal clang down the gullet of the garbage chute, punctuated by another forceful crash of the heavy iron door. House shrugs in approval and returns his attention to “Garfield."
Well, that went off without a hitch.
Timing is still in his favor when the express package arrives from “Another Man’s Treasure.” Tearing open the box, he finds the contents to be in perfect order as the store manager claimed.
Turning toward his desk, he removes the instructions he printed off the Internet. He then limps to his closet and searches through the flotsam, discovering an old worn jigsaw puzzle box probably from the Stacy years, and dumps the contents.
Then, as if medical habits are too hard to break, he stumps to the bathroom to thoroughly wash his hands before touching the delicate inventory that just arrived. Returning, he scrutinizes the instructions and performs a stylized variation of a surgical knot on the first item. When it meets his approval he continues with the others, and when all are contorted into identical poses, he gently nestles them into the container that once boasted 5000 pieces. Now it possesses only seven. Closing the lid, he considers gift-wrap for a nanosecond, but discards the thought in half the time. Wilson will have to settle for his birthday present just as it is. He hides the colorful box on the top closet shelf in plain sight.
The diagnostician raises his hands over his head in a gesture of Olympic victory. For all my efforts today, I proclaim that tonight I am the king of the remote!
Wilson returns with a bag of groceries, and a glossy box under his arm with the words 'New! Improved! Quiet! Model V8800 with Ionizer!' emblazoned across every side. He huffs and shakes his head in amazement. House is still entrenched on the couch reading the newspaper. The sports section. Determined not to let the grouch have the last say, he smiles, raises his bandaged hand, aims another folded note into the beer mug on the coffee table, and heads to the bathroom, “Dropped by the hospital while I was out and got a fresh dressing.”
wha – waa – awaaaaaaaa . . .
Blue eyes crinkle at the muted sounds drifting from the bathroom as Wilson takes his new best friend for a test drive. The eyes then dart to the nearly overflowing mug. His hands reach and unfold the latest addition to Wilson’s growing collection of phone numbers.
The name, Celia and two phone numbers are written in flowery script. One phone number is marked ‘cell.'
Holy crap! It’s the tranny nurse.
TBC
A/N: Thanks for reading. Stay tuned for the next chapter. It’s Wilson’s special day! Find out what House bought for Wilson.
Links to previous chapters:
1. Love Potion #9
2. North by Northwest
3. One Man's Trash
After they both finish the ‘little slices of heaven’ in the living room, Wilson picks up both plates and heads to the kitchen. As House buries himself in the newspaper, he makes out the faint rattle of china and silverware settling into the sink. He writes on the imaginary whiteboard in his mind to ask Wilson to pick up a few packs of paper plates and plastic utensils the next time the guy offers to go shopping.
Passing from kitchen to hall, the dark haired doctor hints to the raised newspaper, “Um, I’m going to get washed up now. The dirty dishes are waiting in the sink for you.” The dark hair recedes down the hall.
Silence.
The thunder and spurt of the shower fades into white noise.
The soft crinkle of a page turns.
Assorted clicks and clanks of plastic bottles, and the tangy scent of shaving cream fills the apartment.
Another page folds back on itself.
Making a mind bet with himself, House decides Wilson ought to be launching his diatribe just about n- . . . “House! Hooouse!! My blow dryer is missing!”
Bare feet pounding on hardwood thump back towards the living room.
Wrapped only in a towel, “What have you done with my dryer?!”
“Why do you think I’m responsible for your blow dryer? Maybe it got lonely for its mother and went to appliance hell.”
“You have no right! I liked that blow dryer! It belonged to Julie.”
“Julie? And, your point is? . . .
. . . Of course I have a right! The continuing noise pollution will cause me to lose my hearing and my lease. It's a dinosaur Wilson. The Ford Pinto of home appliances. You’ll be happy to know I received a postcard, and it’s much happier now that it’s living amongst Godzilla microwaves and portable brick telephones.”
Out came the index finger, “First of all you don’t have a lease, you own . . . “
“Give it up, Wilson. Chalk it up to another failed relationship. You should really thank me, it’s so old the thermostat is probably shot and it’s burning those prized hair follicles right off the top of your head. Time to go out and buy a new, improved, QUIETER one.”
Wilson heads back to the bathroom, but not without muttering loud enough for House to overhear, “Yeah, and where do I go to trade you in for a new, improved, quieter model of a friend.”
House replaces the headline news with the entertainment section. He is halfway through, when grumpy and groomed Wilson returns. House looks up over the safety of his newspaper. He could swear Wilson’s hair looks the same as yesterday, except, oh yeah, not puffy.
“I’m going out.” Turning his head, brown eyes squint towards the sink, peering into the darkness of the kitchen. A monument of porcelain, Teflon and stainless steel rises from the basin. The voice is pitched soft but high, “You haven’t the slightest intention of cleaning up after I cook do you? Even though I am not supposed to get my hand wet” the last coming out in a hiss.
House can see the superhero pose through his newspaper.
Stiffening his back, the oncologist turns toward the kitchen, “Fine, fine. Hell just called, it appears my blow dryer is still lonely.” Sounds of china and metal colliding together and the soft thunder of an abused paper bag rumble from the vicinity of the kitchen. Wilson returns to the living room with a bloated supermarket bag under one arm, and without as much as a second look, calls out, “Kitchen. Clean. Now.” And, heads out the door slamming it behind him.
Even through the closed door, House can hear porcelain, glass and pot metal clang down the gullet of the garbage chute, punctuated by another forceful crash of the heavy iron door. House shrugs in approval and returns his attention to “Garfield."
Well, that went off without a hitch.
HWHWHWHWH
Timing is still in his favor when the express package arrives from “Another Man’s Treasure.” Tearing open the box, he finds the contents to be in perfect order as the store manager claimed.
Turning toward his desk, he removes the instructions he printed off the Internet. He then limps to his closet and searches through the flotsam, discovering an old worn jigsaw puzzle box probably from the Stacy years, and dumps the contents.
Then, as if medical habits are too hard to break, he stumps to the bathroom to thoroughly wash his hands before touching the delicate inventory that just arrived. Returning, he scrutinizes the instructions and performs a stylized variation of a surgical knot on the first item. When it meets his approval he continues with the others, and when all are contorted into identical poses, he gently nestles them into the container that once boasted 5000 pieces. Now it possesses only seven. Closing the lid, he considers gift-wrap for a nanosecond, but discards the thought in half the time. Wilson will have to settle for his birthday present just as it is. He hides the colorful box on the top closet shelf in plain sight.
The diagnostician raises his hands over his head in a gesture of Olympic victory. For all my efforts today, I proclaim that tonight I am the king of the remote!
HWHWHWHWH
Wilson returns with a bag of groceries, and a glossy box under his arm with the words 'New! Improved! Quiet! Model V8800 with Ionizer!' emblazoned across every side. He huffs and shakes his head in amazement. House is still entrenched on the couch reading the newspaper. The sports section. Determined not to let the grouch have the last say, he smiles, raises his bandaged hand, aims another folded note into the beer mug on the coffee table, and heads to the bathroom, “Dropped by the hospital while I was out and got a fresh dressing.”
wha – waa – awaaaaaaaa . . .
Blue eyes crinkle at the muted sounds drifting from the bathroom as Wilson takes his new best friend for a test drive. The eyes then dart to the nearly overflowing mug. His hands reach and unfold the latest addition to Wilson’s growing collection of phone numbers.
The name, Celia and two phone numbers are written in flowery script. One phone number is marked ‘cell.'
Holy crap! It’s the tranny nurse.
TBC
A/N: Thanks for reading. Stay tuned for the next chapter. It’s Wilson’s special day! Find out what House bought for Wilson.
Links to previous chapters:
1. Love Potion #9
2. North by Northwest
3. One Man's Trash
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And score one victory for House because of the quiet hair dryer. I know a few people who should buy that model.
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no subject