The Closer (CL) - (PG)
Oct. 19th, 2007 09:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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house_wilson
Title: The Closer (CL)
Author: Dee Laundry
Characters: House, Wilson, OC
Rating: PG
Words: 1237
Summary: “That guy's a flake,” House said. “He and Chris broke up, I think.”
Notes: Sequel to Swing for the Fences, by request of a few people. Other than in the title, no metaphors were harmed in the writing of this fic. Silly, fluffy, unbeta'ed. Concrit welcome.
House was halfway through The Boys Are Back in Town when an old, vaguely familiar face appeared in his office doorway.
“You know,” the man said as he walked into the office – and House’s mind flipped through possibilities as to who this gray-haired, portly, polo-shirted, insurance-salesman-looking person could be – “when you said last time I saw you that you were still playing some music, I figured you meant piano or guitar. I didn’t really picture you as a ukulele man.”
Still strumming, but a bit quieter now, House responded, “Ah, Don, but my team likes the guitar. The ukulele, on the other hand, drives them far, far away from me.”
Don nodded and sat in the guest chair. “Wish I’d thought of that two bosses back. What an annoying ass he was; I would’ve loved to drive him crazy with my horrible musical non-talent. Oh well, he ended up going to jail for nonpayment of child support, so he got his, anyway.”
House watched Don without speaking; the man seemed content to just sit and listen to House play. When the song ended, though, House’s curiosity got the best of him.
“Any particular reason you’re here? Decided to bring the alumni reunion to my office? Kind of a low turnout for that large class we were in.”
“No,” Don said, his face twisting in confusion. “Didn’t you get my letter?”
House waved toward the heaping mound of envelopes in the back corner of his office, and Don smiled, his face smoothing out. “Ah,” he said, “guess not. Postal service, you can never trust them. I’m in town for the weekend for Chris’s graduation and came to see if you wanted to grab lunch.”
At House’s upraised eyebrow, Don wisely elaborated. “Chris, my son, is graduating from Princeton tomorrow. You met him the last time I saw you, when we all found out he was dating that doctor who also works here.”
House smirked, remembering how fun that day been. “Oh, yeah. That guy’s a flake. He and Chris broke up, I think.”
“A while back,” Don confirmed. “Chris has been dating a very nice kid his own age, Ben, for about eight months now. It’s getting serious – Chris has accepted a permanent position in DC, and Ben’s considering moving down with him.”
“Young love,” House sighed, in a “wistful” tone that fooled no one. “Did you say something about lunch?”
Don nodded. “Yep.”
“Are you buying?”
“Why do I get the feeling you ask that of everyone?”
“Because you’re not as dull-witted as your attire leads people to believe. Lunch’d be good.”
Don was just leaning forward to stand from his chair when the office door opened and a whirlwind of white lab coat entered.
“I have ninety seconds before rounds and five things to tell you,” Wilson said, striding forcefully up to the side of the desk, his gaze locked on House, “so be quiet and listen.”
House over-exaggeratedly clamped his lips shut, earning a slight glare, but Wilson was apparently too busy for the full hands-on-hips Superman expression of disapproval.
“Item number one: quit wasting my time with patients you know don’t have cancer.” Wilson dropped the patient file on House’s desk, where it landed with an impressive thwop.
“Number two, Cuddy says I can’t proxy vote for you at department head meetings any more, so if you care about equipment funding – and you do – you have to haul your butt in there tomorrow.”
Pulling a card from inside his pocket protector, Wilson continued, “Three, because you insist on driving that dilapidated piece of junk, I added you to my Triple-A account. Staple this to your forehead, and when you break down, call them, not me.” The card was forcefully shoved into the pocket of House’s shirt.
“Four, I’m making brisket for dinner, so don’t eat beef for lunch today. Actually, that should probably be a general rule for every day, not to eat beef from the cafeteria. Evans in Gerontology is a nutrition specialist and doesn’t think the beef is truly beef. Some variety of horse is his guess.” Wilson’s face drew comically tight and House echoed it.
Wilson was apparently too busy to laugh, however, for he launched into his final spiel. “And your mother called this morning and wants us to go to your Aunt Sarah’s for a night the weekend of Sarah’s birthday.” House immediately balked, and Wilson threw up a placating hand.
“I told her no,” he reassured, “but I think you should reconsider. It’s been a long time since you spent time with your mother, and she really wants to see you. I’ll distract your dad with sports talk, and if he gets bored with that, I’ll make up a story about quilting or something, and the resulting lecture on how sissy I am should take us the rest of the way until it’s time to go home.”
“And what will I have to pay in return for this spate of generosity?” House asked.
“Consider it a present to your mother. God knows she deserves it.” Shaking his head, Wilson smiled. “OK, off to rounds. See you tonight.”
“You going to say hi to Don before you go?”
Wilson’s eyes widened, and he pivoted abruptly. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had someone – Mr. Thompson. Hello, sir, how are you?”
Don was kicked back in his chair, grinning. “Just fine, and yourself?”
“Good, good.” Wilson’s head bobbed a few times obsequiously until he caught himself. “How’s Chris? Did he decide between those two job offers?”
“He went with the consulting company rather than the association. A lot more travel, but hey, he’s young, he can handle it.”
“Young, yes,” Wilson replied with a slight wince, and House couldn’t help smirking. Watching Wilson revisit embarrassing moments was almost as much fun as watching Wilson live those moments.
With a start, Wilson brought himself back to the present and checked his watch. “I’m going to be late for rounds. It was nice to see you again, Mr. Thompson.”
“Don,” Don exhorted. He was trying to hide his smirk behind a friendly smile, but House could see it. With his son out of the picture, apparently Don enjoyed a flustered Wilson as much as anyone.
“Don,” Wilson said uncomfortably, and then turned to leave. “See you tonight, House.”
As Wilson made it to the door, House caught him with a light, “Hey.” Wilson turned back, but his mind was clearly already on his work.
House gave the ukulele a strum to add a cheery note. “The brisket’s already in the slow-cooker, so not much needs to be done tonight, right?”
“Right,” Wilson replied questioningly, his posture conveying his impatience.
“So we can have an early dinner and get to bed early?”
Wilson smirked. “Early dinner and early bedtime? You are getting old.”
A last resounding chord, then House put the ukulele on his desk. He locked eyes with Wilson, enjoying the amusement there and not even minding it was at his expense. “I didn’t say we’d be going to sleep early.”
“House,” Wilson replied warningly, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “I’ll be home by six,” he called over his shoulder and then was gone.
Don was shaking his head when House looked at him. “That guy’s a total flake,” House repeated. “Chris is much better off without him.”
“I can tell,” replied Don. “How about we get that lunch now?”
house_wilsonTitle: The Closer (CL)
Author: Dee Laundry
Characters: House, Wilson, OC
Rating: PG
Words: 1237
Summary: “That guy's a flake,” House said. “He and Chris broke up, I think.”
Notes: Sequel to Swing for the Fences, by request of a few people. Other than in the title, no metaphors were harmed in the writing of this fic. Silly, fluffy, unbeta'ed. Concrit welcome.
House was halfway through The Boys Are Back in Town when an old, vaguely familiar face appeared in his office doorway.
“You know,” the man said as he walked into the office – and House’s mind flipped through possibilities as to who this gray-haired, portly, polo-shirted, insurance-salesman-looking person could be – “when you said last time I saw you that you were still playing some music, I figured you meant piano or guitar. I didn’t really picture you as a ukulele man.”
Still strumming, but a bit quieter now, House responded, “Ah, Don, but my team likes the guitar. The ukulele, on the other hand, drives them far, far away from me.”
Don nodded and sat in the guest chair. “Wish I’d thought of that two bosses back. What an annoying ass he was; I would’ve loved to drive him crazy with my horrible musical non-talent. Oh well, he ended up going to jail for nonpayment of child support, so he got his, anyway.”
House watched Don without speaking; the man seemed content to just sit and listen to House play. When the song ended, though, House’s curiosity got the best of him.
“Any particular reason you’re here? Decided to bring the alumni reunion to my office? Kind of a low turnout for that large class we were in.”
“No,” Don said, his face twisting in confusion. “Didn’t you get my letter?”
House waved toward the heaping mound of envelopes in the back corner of his office, and Don smiled, his face smoothing out. “Ah,” he said, “guess not. Postal service, you can never trust them. I’m in town for the weekend for Chris’s graduation and came to see if you wanted to grab lunch.”
At House’s upraised eyebrow, Don wisely elaborated. “Chris, my son, is graduating from Princeton tomorrow. You met him the last time I saw you, when we all found out he was dating that doctor who also works here.”
House smirked, remembering how fun that day been. “Oh, yeah. That guy’s a flake. He and Chris broke up, I think.”
“A while back,” Don confirmed. “Chris has been dating a very nice kid his own age, Ben, for about eight months now. It’s getting serious – Chris has accepted a permanent position in DC, and Ben’s considering moving down with him.”
“Young love,” House sighed, in a “wistful” tone that fooled no one. “Did you say something about lunch?”
Don nodded. “Yep.”
“Are you buying?”
“Why do I get the feeling you ask that of everyone?”
“Because you’re not as dull-witted as your attire leads people to believe. Lunch’d be good.”
Don was just leaning forward to stand from his chair when the office door opened and a whirlwind of white lab coat entered.
“I have ninety seconds before rounds and five things to tell you,” Wilson said, striding forcefully up to the side of the desk, his gaze locked on House, “so be quiet and listen.”
House over-exaggeratedly clamped his lips shut, earning a slight glare, but Wilson was apparently too busy for the full hands-on-hips Superman expression of disapproval.
“Item number one: quit wasting my time with patients you know don’t have cancer.” Wilson dropped the patient file on House’s desk, where it landed with an impressive thwop.
“Number two, Cuddy says I can’t proxy vote for you at department head meetings any more, so if you care about equipment funding – and you do – you have to haul your butt in there tomorrow.”
Pulling a card from inside his pocket protector, Wilson continued, “Three, because you insist on driving that dilapidated piece of junk, I added you to my Triple-A account. Staple this to your forehead, and when you break down, call them, not me.” The card was forcefully shoved into the pocket of House’s shirt.
“Four, I’m making brisket for dinner, so don’t eat beef for lunch today. Actually, that should probably be a general rule for every day, not to eat beef from the cafeteria. Evans in Gerontology is a nutrition specialist and doesn’t think the beef is truly beef. Some variety of horse is his guess.” Wilson’s face drew comically tight and House echoed it.
Wilson was apparently too busy to laugh, however, for he launched into his final spiel. “And your mother called this morning and wants us to go to your Aunt Sarah’s for a night the weekend of Sarah’s birthday.” House immediately balked, and Wilson threw up a placating hand.
“I told her no,” he reassured, “but I think you should reconsider. It’s been a long time since you spent time with your mother, and she really wants to see you. I’ll distract your dad with sports talk, and if he gets bored with that, I’ll make up a story about quilting or something, and the resulting lecture on how sissy I am should take us the rest of the way until it’s time to go home.”
“And what will I have to pay in return for this spate of generosity?” House asked.
“Consider it a present to your mother. God knows she deserves it.” Shaking his head, Wilson smiled. “OK, off to rounds. See you tonight.”
“You going to say hi to Don before you go?”
Wilson’s eyes widened, and he pivoted abruptly. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had someone – Mr. Thompson. Hello, sir, how are you?”
Don was kicked back in his chair, grinning. “Just fine, and yourself?”
“Good, good.” Wilson’s head bobbed a few times obsequiously until he caught himself. “How’s Chris? Did he decide between those two job offers?”
“He went with the consulting company rather than the association. A lot more travel, but hey, he’s young, he can handle it.”
“Young, yes,” Wilson replied with a slight wince, and House couldn’t help smirking. Watching Wilson revisit embarrassing moments was almost as much fun as watching Wilson live those moments.
With a start, Wilson brought himself back to the present and checked his watch. “I’m going to be late for rounds. It was nice to see you again, Mr. Thompson.”
“Don,” Don exhorted. He was trying to hide his smirk behind a friendly smile, but House could see it. With his son out of the picture, apparently Don enjoyed a flustered Wilson as much as anyone.
“Don,” Wilson said uncomfortably, and then turned to leave. “See you tonight, House.”
As Wilson made it to the door, House caught him with a light, “Hey.” Wilson turned back, but his mind was clearly already on his work.
House gave the ukulele a strum to add a cheery note. “The brisket’s already in the slow-cooker, so not much needs to be done tonight, right?”
“Right,” Wilson replied questioningly, his posture conveying his impatience.
“So we can have an early dinner and get to bed early?”
Wilson smirked. “Early dinner and early bedtime? You are getting old.”
A last resounding chord, then House put the ukulele on his desk. He locked eyes with Wilson, enjoying the amusement there and not even minding it was at his expense. “I didn’t say we’d be going to sleep early.”
“House,” Wilson replied warningly, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “I’ll be home by six,” he called over his shoulder and then was gone.
Don was shaking his head when House looked at him. “That guy’s a total flake,” House repeated. “Chris is much better off without him.”
“I can tell,” replied Don. “How about we get that lunch now?”
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Date: 2007-10-21 02:38 pm (UTC)wifeman, you've got to keep yourself organized. Heh.Wilson makes the same slow-cooker brisket as my husband, and it truly is awesome. : )
Thanks!