I hadn't known you hadn't seen it, Fay. But that makes sense, of course. Damn Fontana(Tom Fontana, the Frankensteinish creator/destroyer of all things H:LOTS) for making it hard for you by being a pain in the butt about DVDs or something... we fans have a troubling relation with him anyway. Because he has written some of the best episodes(Three Men and Adena) while simultaneously being a giant berk.(Hiring a former beauty queen in the last season while crowing "Finally! A female detective you actually want to fuck!...you know...still not over that. May be the "Heck of a job, Brownie," fandom pisser of all times. When I rule the world, not only Melissa Leo and Callie Thorne will get an apology for that, but every woman in America will, too. To reject Kay Howard is to reject American womanhood, damn it. He's gay, if memory serves, how much does he know about m/f?) All Exec Producers don't love us like Joss, that's for sure.

When they got to 221...it looked like 221, only without the thick layer of dust encrusting all stationary surfaces but the piano, computer monitor, and television screen, Wilson even thought he smelled lemons. Lemons? And the wood surfaces shone.Wilson wasn’t sure what he would do if House kept him and Jaye waiting since he couldn’t write his initials in the dust-coat anymore...which was kind of an appalling habit for a doctor to have, considering how much of house dust(not just House dust) was discarded skin flakes. Yes, James. You’ve been married for a while, haven’t you? Sitting in a room alone with a beautiful 24-year-old thinking about skin flakes. God. He smiled at Jaye, who smiled back. Suddenly, Wilson heard music. Was that Otis Redding? He hadn’t pulled out Otis Redding since... that bastard.

James didn’t need a differential to guess what his friend had planned tonight...Jesus, House, hang a tie on the door, why don’t you? Some mood lighting, perhaps. How had James wound up *feeling* like the chaperone instead of needing one? Wilson sat heavily on the couch, for once disappointed that no brown apple cores or old New England Journals slithered out of the cushions. He had *cleaned*. Actually cleaned, not just shoved shit out of the way like a college boy whose mother was coming to visit. Wilson was torn between pleasure and disappointment that it wasn’t his hoching that brought about this transformation...he also knew he wasn’t going to blame any future squalor on the infarction again. House loped over to greet them...”I’m sorry,” he told Jaye, “if I’ve kept you waiting.”

”Who are you, and what have you done with my friend?” Wilson demanded. “About your height...no social graces. Lives in a flophouse by choice.”

Jaye, surprised by Wilson’s passion, looked on, amused. “Jeez, Wilson. Chill.”

House smirked. “Yeah, Wilson, chill.”

”This isn’t the real Greg House,” Wilson replied. “This is a pod person.”

“He’s a sweet guy,” House mock-explained. “They get emotional like that.” And then, he bent next to Jaye and said something that made her laugh and made her cheeks get pink. His vicious humor always was kind of...an ace in the hole and generally attracted a completely different type of woman than his own Boyish Oncologist pose...it wasn’t always a pose.

“May I see you in the kitchen for a moment? You’ll know it...it’s the big room with the cold box in it.”

“Help yourself,” House told Jaye, “until my poker victims get here.”

Wilson waited until cane struck tile and closed the door.”What the hell are you doing?” he hissed. “She’s young and incredibly vulnerable.”

”I’m taking an interest. Like you always want me to.”

“This is not taking an interest, Greg. You are practically doing a mating dance in front of that girl, and...”

“If you knew what I was doing why did you ask?” House asked as if it were the most natural thing in the world.”Another thing I learned boffing a lawyer...never ask a question you don’t know the answer to. Except with Chase because it’s funny when he pouts and his complexion gets blotchy.”

Wilson shifted into what House thought of as his “God, Give Me Strength” pose and seemed to ask the ceiling of 221 for guidance. “Unbelievable,” he told it.” I don’t suppose any ethical considerations have impeded this ‘Manchild’ impression of yours.”

To cover his inevitable discomfort when Wilson withheld eye contact, House said “Cable upgrade. Cool.”

“Well, yeah...not a lot of...talking going on at Chez Wilson these days...how do you always end up asking the questions?”

“Cheer up, Wilson. Maybe a stuffed bunny already told her to watch out for older men with big...canes. Now let’s get back out there before she thinks we decided to make out with each other. Although, if what I’ve seen on the internet is typical, she might like to watch.”

“Don’t be crass.”

“Jaye likes it when I’m crass. She thinks it’s sexy. But I have one more thought for you, Wilson. ‘Charm’ is a (continued...)

( continues...) verb, okay?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

The doorbell rang. “Think about it. Company’s here.” Wilson intended to do just that, so much so that he couldn’t keep his focus on the game at all, between monitoring how closely Jaye and House sat together and thinking through the diagnostician’s little quote about charm, and was quickly in the hole for $50. Another thing of a hundred to keep from Julie...was it even possible that he ever hoped for the bedside light to be on when he came back from poker night? Dimly, he remember that it had been so.

Greg’s cards were hot tonight, or more to the point, he had turned “Everybody lies” into a into a system to challenge people’s confidence about their hands. Jaye watched eagerly as he won three hands, just through pure psyching-out.” Good game so far,” Jaye told him. “What’s your secret?”

House shuffled. “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

Jaye chuckled. “Good one.”

“Who’s kidding?”

”Need I remind you that Ms. Tyler has been through quite enough...he really is kidding, Jaye. Even if it’s in poor taste.”

“Oh, okay, Wilson. Make her feel better. Like Grace.”

”Never you mind about Grace.I never hated to lose so much I gave myself a headache, you know.”

House took a sip from his huge travel cup that had an eagle on it. Jaye looked at it and thought the post-9-11 flag-waving fad had gone on long enough.

”Wilson’s wrong,” House told her. “I hate to lose enough that I gave myself a migraine. If you’re going to gossip get it right...which reminds me, how many times did you bring Grace back from the dead after all?”

Wilson groaned. And just when Jaye thought the evening couldn’t be any stranger, the eagle said “Sit in. He’s got nothing.”

“No!” she told it, and to cover, although she didn’t know why, since giving yourself a migraine seemed pretty damn crazy to her, she asked “Who’s Grace?”

The eagle said “get in the game!” just as House said “ A patient in which Jimmy here took a very special interest...he’s a very crusading oncologist, Jimmy Olson, uh, I mean Wilson. “

“Shut up.”,

”Ooh, the boys at Mc Gill are gonna be wicked impressed with how your insults have progressed, eh?”

“You could own this whole place,” the eagle whispered conspiritorally. “He likes you enough to clean for you.”

Hi. Back during Buffy Season 7, TWoP had a thread called "Fifty-word Fic" which was pretty much what it sounded like. A lot of them were mean and/or character bashing, but there were some good ones too. Here's one of mine, retyped from memory.

"Aw, but Buffy!"

"I said no, Dawn."

"But I just want to watch this bit on the LA cult-"

"TV off. Homework now. "

"Fine, fine, you don't have to get all Cave-Slayer about it...."

Moments later, Buffy walked into the empty room, wondering who'd said, "No you don't, bitch."

Any chance I could get a beta on a Housefic? I'd like someone else to look at it before I put it out there, and it needs to get out there before Tuesday.

Does anyone know someone who could be bribed or begged, or otherwise convinced to make a Faith video to Cherry Bomb, by the runaways? [link]

I'd take a look, Debet. Profile addy good.

Insent. Thank you muchly.

Backflung, medical pudding! yum yum.