“Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
”Let me guess. You found those pesky WMDs. The boys in Washington will be so pleased...not that I care about that although I do get the urge to do research on Bush sometimes.”
”What? No, of course not, but I do have a live one for you.”
“Livelier than an ex-cokehead fetal alcohol survivor with his finger on the button? I think somebody’s fibbing. I also think I could do things to his brain that could make him give up figureheading the great US of A to go in search of the perfect hot dog, but might as well save one story for the memoirs.”
”Fine, Dr. Mengele,” Wilson downshifted into his Patient Voice. House hated it. “how does a twenty-four-year old woman who thinks a cow creamer talks to her sound?”
”Like a candidate for the Haldol express,”
“Oh,” Wilson replied. “she’s not crazy. Although it’s possible my standards have gotten rather...elastic on that over the years.”
“Sucking up won’t make me see her.”
“Ok, well, I guess you’re too busy waiting for the soaps to come on to see a beautiful, bitter young woman through her ‘sode...”
“What’s a ‘sode? Kind of like a henway, I suppose?”
”What’s a henway?”
“About two pounds. C’mon, Wilson, you’re supposed to be top of your class...How beautiful?”
”Very. But in that amazing way where she doesn’t notice. I love that. Of course, she swears my tie talked to her, too.”
”Which one?”
“The one with the fish.”
“She is obviously very troubled. I’ll see her.”
“What’s wrong with that tie?”
”O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown! Or if you’d prefer something that reminds you of home ‘if you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.’
“I asked you to stop imitating Julie, House. Really.”
“Only one problem with that request, Wilson...”
”Yeah?”
”You’re not the boss of me.”
Thank you...never thought being a bitter crip could be a creative asset, but I guess I've been waiting for that show my whole life.
Hee, erika, you've found your calling. I'ma keep you chained to your computer writing House fic for me for the rest of my life.
“Greg House...Jaye Tyler. I would stay around, but apparently I’m not the boss of him. And there’s a nodule somewhere with my name on it.”
God, that was awful. Why couldn’t he ever sound smart talking to somebody attractive?
He sometimes envied House his verbal facility if not the way he sharpened his tongue to a deadly weapon. Apologizing for his friend took up a surprisingly large portion of his non-cancer-related time.
“Hello, Ms. Tyler.” House said and opened the door again. “and Harvey.”
“Excuse me, did you just *make fun* of me? Because I’m fairly sure that’s not what my mother crammed me into the old station wagon for, you know...unless she thought it was therapeutic or would put hair on my chest or something...in which case all bets are off.”
“Mothers so suck.” House agreed. Wilson couldn’t tell if he was teasing or bonding.
Thankfully, he got a page before he had to wonder if squirming was appropriate. Almost. “Your ass,” Tyler told him, fiendish gleam in her eye.
“Excuse me?”
”It’s beeping.”
”Yes. Right.” It had been a long time since he had blushed this hard.
But he didn’t even get close to the door before Mrs. Tyler, wearing heels despite her destination burst in “Greg!” she sang out, and kissed the air around both of the diagnostician’s cheeks. House looked like a cat caught in a rainstorm.
“Karen...an unique pleasure, as always.” It must have been a tough job pretending to be suave to Karen, navigating his cane and flashing his best friend a “Mock me and you’re dead later,” glare but House managed. Maybe some special ability had kicked in when he was injured.
“It wouldn’t have to be if you attended one of my benefits.”
”Of course, Casino night. Well, this is New Jersey...maybe I would come if you found a real mobster. Maybe he could whack the cheapskates in the parking lot.” Or maybe not.
“Oh, Greg. So clever. I do hope I’m not interrupting.”
”That’s okay, Mom.” Jaye said. “Most of your friends know that by the end of the visit, I’m gonna end up with something in my mouth. We’re just starting early.”
“What...a tongue depressor...is all I meant.”
“Of course, dear.”
Hehehe.
Something in my mouth...tongue depressor!
t twelve.
And that will never close!
dying of laughter
The House vs. Mrs. Taylor bit was pitch-perfect for both characters.
House looked like a cat caught in a rainstorm.
Wonderful
I picture her as being really in everyone's faces a lot...the sort of person you might dislike but feel bad for it, because what are you going to say? She was too enthusiastic? Took too much of an interest? And I'm not as hermity as House.
And I know I've got a way with a dick joke.
I
t heart
erika. That is all.
Thank you...and you say that without looking at my funbags.(That was, incidentally, a new one on me and I thought I knew all the breast lexicon.)
