Earthworms and Buttercream Roses (PG-13)
Apr. 20th, 2009 05:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deelaundryPosted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
house_wilson and housefic
Title: Earthworms and Buttercream Roses
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House-Wilson friendship
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1311
Summary: It’s amazing what you can learn from television.
Notes: Set in mid-Season Five, but no spoilers past Season Four. Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
daisylily for the beta and other Early Readers for support.
“Ugh,” Wilson sighed as he dropped onto the oncology lounge couch next to House. “A full day of work and then five hours of surgery. I’m getting too old for this.”
House grunted noncommittally, his eyes still trained on the TV screen.
“What are you still doing here at –” Wilson raised his wrist and blinked until he could bring the numbers on his watch into focus. “Eleven p.m.”
“Patient,” House explained, and Wilson nodded. God, he was exhausted.
He sat quietly for a moment until the jaunty music from the TV caught his attention. “What are you watching?”
“DVD I stole from Cuddy’s purse this afternoon. It was marked ‘Max and Ruby’ so I assumed it was co-ed stripper auditions.”
“Why did you assume –” Wilson stopped himself in the middle of his very stupid question. “And when you realized it was about cartoon bunnies instead, you kept watching because?”
“Eh.” House shrugged, and all Wilson had the energy to do was close his eyes and slump more comfortably into the couch cushions.
He focused on the feeling of his chest expanding and contracting with each breath, and his mind began to drift as the noise from the television wafted through him. All was peaceful until some undetermined time later, when something from the show caught his attention.
“Wait a minute,” he said, eyes blinking open, and House looked at him for the first time. “The girl bunny is the boy bunny’s sister?”
“Yes,” House said, with an implied duh. “They’re not actually fucking like –”
“I just meant,” Wilson interrupted loudly, because the thought of mixing juvenile cartoons and sexual behavior needed to be eliminated from his mind immediately, “that I thought the girl bunny was his mother.”
House said, “Ruby.”
He was way too tired for non sequiturs. “What?”
“The way you say ‘girl bunny’ is creepy. Her name is Ruby.”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “Ruby, fine. What’s the other one called?”
“Max.”
“Stripper name, right. I thought the girl – Ruby – was Max’s mother, but she’s really his sister?”
“Yep. She’s seven years old.”
“And Max is?”
“They haven’t said. But judging by his sly cunning, I’d say he’s a four-year-old. Who’s speech-delayed.”
“Assuming rabbits have the same patterns of speech development as humans.”
“Of course.”
They watched together for a few minutes, Wilson blearily and House with what seemed like rapt attention. Either House had suffered a concussion at some point in the past few hours, or he was trying to fill up his head in order to push the patient’s problems to the back of his mind where his subconscious could work on it.
If that made any sense. As tired as Wilson was, he wasn’t sure. Anyway, he might as well do his part to preoccupy House. “Where are the bunny parents?”
“Absentee. The grandmother comes over every once in a while, but doesn’t seemed too concerned.”
“Maybe she’s senile.”
“Maybe. But she’s also kind of cool. I mean, was your grandmother into earthworm cakes with Red-Hot Marshmallow Squirters?”
“Grandma bunny liked the angel cake with sugar hearts and buttercream roses, too.”
House’s face of scorn was a thing of beauty. “She was just being polite,” he spat out, as if polite was the worst possible thing to be.
Wilson considered the source for a moment, and then went back to the conversation. “No, I really think she liked them both. People can, you know. Like both.”
“Thirteen sure does,” House said, head turning back toward the TV screen.
Wilson closed his eyes again and went back to drifting. He knew he had to get up soon, go home, do the dishes he hadn’t had time for that morning, pay a few bills online, and get to bed. But the couch was comfortable – worth every penny he’d authorized for its purchase – and even the obnoxious, ear-splitting sounds of the toys the boy bunny was playing with on the TV weren’t enough to force Wilson up. They did pull his attention to the screen, though.
“What?” Wilson asked as the girl bunny pushed the boy bunny up the stairs. “He’s allowed to brush her doll’s hair as a treat? What kind of treat is that?”
“A lameass one. Pretty much all the treats she offers him are lameass. Especially given all the lecturing that precedes them.”
Wilson snorted. “She is kind of a bitch, isn’t she?”
House turned toward Wilson, eyes slightly wider than normal. “James Wilson, secret misogynist.”
“I’m not a misogynist!” Wilson protested.
“You called a seven-year-old girl a bitch.”
“I called a cartoon character a bitch, and anyway,” Wilson retorted, not quite believing House was leveling this accusation at him, “you call me a bitch all the time.”
Nose lifting in the air, House sniffed. “I’m subverting stereotype.”
Oh, for Pete’s sake. “And you call me a seven-year-old girl.”
“Thirteen-year-old girl,” House insisted. “Totally different.”
Wilson’s eyes rolled without even his conscious direction. “Whatever, you’re right; I shouldn’t have said that word. What I was trying to say is that girl bunny, I mean, Ruby is...” He paused to gather his thoughts, which were slowing down in the muffled haze of tiredness. “Um, very bossy of Max given that she’s not his mother. She does seem to be more mature than him and works hard to take care of him, but that’s no excuse for being so condescending and dismissive of his interests.”
House was now staring blatantly at him; Wilson had no clue why. “Huh,” House said.
“What?”
“Have you seen this show before?”
Wilson sighed; he was too exhausted to deal with House being cryptic, or analytical, or whatever the hell he was about to be. “No.”
“So you picked that up about Ruby from just the little bit you’ve paid attention to now?”
“Yes,” Wilson snapped in exasperation.
House nodded and then dropped his gaze down to the head of his cane, which he was rolling back and forth in his hands. “And you didn’t realize how similar she is to a certain bitch I know in real life?”
Confused, blinking, Wilson opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Cuddy?” he finally ventured.
House rolled his eyes and pushed up off the couch. “You’re an idiot,” was his final shot as he walked out of the lounge.
When it took Wilson until he was brushing his teeth in his pajamas to realize what House meant, he blamed it on the tiredness.
***
Three days later, House walked into his office at the end of an annoyingly slow day to find a white box sitting on his desk. Inside were a box of Cohibas, a ticket to an upcoming Ultimate Fighting Championship event, and a photocopy of the ticket for the next seat over.
He picked up his phone and dialed.
“James Wilson.”
“Thought you didn’t approve of bare-knuckle.”
“In Ultimate Fighting they use partial gloves. Fingertips are bare but knuckles are covered. No problem.”
“The Cohibas are Dominican, not Cuban.”
“The box they’re in is Dominican.”
House cracked the box open and took a whiff. They did smell good. “To what do I owe this largesse? Did you sleep with my wife again?”
Wilson’s smile was audible through the phone. “You did a consult for my newest attending without insulting him once; I haven’t had to cover clinic hours for you in over a month; and you did a remarkable job on your latest case.”
“And?” House asked, because making Wilson confess was the cherry on top of this sundae.
A slight pause, and then: “And while I don’t want to be entirely Max, I can at least be Cool Grandma.”
House turned toward the rear of his office so no one would see his grin. “You haven’t laid full claim to that yet, Ruby,” he said as he dug out a cigar, “but this is a pretty good step.”
house_wilson and houseficTitle: Earthworms and Buttercream Roses
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House-Wilson friendship
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1311
Summary: It’s amazing what you can learn from television.
Notes: Set in mid-Season Five, but no spoilers past Season Four. Thank you to
daisylily for the beta and other Early Readers for support.“Ugh,” Wilson sighed as he dropped onto the oncology lounge couch next to House. “A full day of work and then five hours of surgery. I’m getting too old for this.”
House grunted noncommittally, his eyes still trained on the TV screen.
“What are you still doing here at –” Wilson raised his wrist and blinked until he could bring the numbers on his watch into focus. “Eleven p.m.”
“Patient,” House explained, and Wilson nodded. God, he was exhausted.
He sat quietly for a moment until the jaunty music from the TV caught his attention. “What are you watching?”
“DVD I stole from Cuddy’s purse this afternoon. It was marked ‘Max and Ruby’ so I assumed it was co-ed stripper auditions.”
“Why did you assume –” Wilson stopped himself in the middle of his very stupid question. “And when you realized it was about cartoon bunnies instead, you kept watching because?”
“Eh.” House shrugged, and all Wilson had the energy to do was close his eyes and slump more comfortably into the couch cushions.
He focused on the feeling of his chest expanding and contracting with each breath, and his mind began to drift as the noise from the television wafted through him. All was peaceful until some undetermined time later, when something from the show caught his attention.
“Wait a minute,” he said, eyes blinking open, and House looked at him for the first time. “The girl bunny is the boy bunny’s sister?”
“Yes,” House said, with an implied duh. “They’re not actually fucking like –”
“I just meant,” Wilson interrupted loudly, because the thought of mixing juvenile cartoons and sexual behavior needed to be eliminated from his mind immediately, “that I thought the girl bunny was his mother.”
House said, “Ruby.”
He was way too tired for non sequiturs. “What?”
“The way you say ‘girl bunny’ is creepy. Her name is Ruby.”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “Ruby, fine. What’s the other one called?”
“Max.”
“Stripper name, right. I thought the girl – Ruby – was Max’s mother, but she’s really his sister?”
“Yep. She’s seven years old.”
“And Max is?”
“They haven’t said. But judging by his sly cunning, I’d say he’s a four-year-old. Who’s speech-delayed.”
“Assuming rabbits have the same patterns of speech development as humans.”
“Of course.”
They watched together for a few minutes, Wilson blearily and House with what seemed like rapt attention. Either House had suffered a concussion at some point in the past few hours, or he was trying to fill up his head in order to push the patient’s problems to the back of his mind where his subconscious could work on it.
If that made any sense. As tired as Wilson was, he wasn’t sure. Anyway, he might as well do his part to preoccupy House. “Where are the bunny parents?”
“Absentee. The grandmother comes over every once in a while, but doesn’t seemed too concerned.”
“Maybe she’s senile.”
“Maybe. But she’s also kind of cool. I mean, was your grandmother into earthworm cakes with Red-Hot Marshmallow Squirters?”
“Grandma bunny liked the angel cake with sugar hearts and buttercream roses, too.”
House’s face of scorn was a thing of beauty. “She was just being polite,” he spat out, as if polite was the worst possible thing to be.
Wilson considered the source for a moment, and then went back to the conversation. “No, I really think she liked them both. People can, you know. Like both.”
“Thirteen sure does,” House said, head turning back toward the TV screen.
Wilson closed his eyes again and went back to drifting. He knew he had to get up soon, go home, do the dishes he hadn’t had time for that morning, pay a few bills online, and get to bed. But the couch was comfortable – worth every penny he’d authorized for its purchase – and even the obnoxious, ear-splitting sounds of the toys the boy bunny was playing with on the TV weren’t enough to force Wilson up. They did pull his attention to the screen, though.
“What?” Wilson asked as the girl bunny pushed the boy bunny up the stairs. “He’s allowed to brush her doll’s hair as a treat? What kind of treat is that?”
“A lameass one. Pretty much all the treats she offers him are lameass. Especially given all the lecturing that precedes them.”
Wilson snorted. “She is kind of a bitch, isn’t she?”
House turned toward Wilson, eyes slightly wider than normal. “James Wilson, secret misogynist.”
“I’m not a misogynist!” Wilson protested.
“You called a seven-year-old girl a bitch.”
“I called a cartoon character a bitch, and anyway,” Wilson retorted, not quite believing House was leveling this accusation at him, “you call me a bitch all the time.”
Nose lifting in the air, House sniffed. “I’m subverting stereotype.”
Oh, for Pete’s sake. “And you call me a seven-year-old girl.”
“Thirteen-year-old girl,” House insisted. “Totally different.”
Wilson’s eyes rolled without even his conscious direction. “Whatever, you’re right; I shouldn’t have said that word. What I was trying to say is that girl bunny, I mean, Ruby is...” He paused to gather his thoughts, which were slowing down in the muffled haze of tiredness. “Um, very bossy of Max given that she’s not his mother. She does seem to be more mature than him and works hard to take care of him, but that’s no excuse for being so condescending and dismissive of his interests.”
House was now staring blatantly at him; Wilson had no clue why. “Huh,” House said.
“What?”
“Have you seen this show before?”
Wilson sighed; he was too exhausted to deal with House being cryptic, or analytical, or whatever the hell he was about to be. “No.”
“So you picked that up about Ruby from just the little bit you’ve paid attention to now?”
“Yes,” Wilson snapped in exasperation.
House nodded and then dropped his gaze down to the head of his cane, which he was rolling back and forth in his hands. “And you didn’t realize how similar she is to a certain bitch I know in real life?”
Confused, blinking, Wilson opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Cuddy?” he finally ventured.
House rolled his eyes and pushed up off the couch. “You’re an idiot,” was his final shot as he walked out of the lounge.
When it took Wilson until he was brushing his teeth in his pajamas to realize what House meant, he blamed it on the tiredness.
***
Three days later, House walked into his office at the end of an annoyingly slow day to find a white box sitting on his desk. Inside were a box of Cohibas, a ticket to an upcoming Ultimate Fighting Championship event, and a photocopy of the ticket for the next seat over.
He picked up his phone and dialed.
“James Wilson.”
“Thought you didn’t approve of bare-knuckle.”
“In Ultimate Fighting they use partial gloves. Fingertips are bare but knuckles are covered. No problem.”
“The Cohibas are Dominican, not Cuban.”
“The box they’re in is Dominican.”
House cracked the box open and took a whiff. They did smell good. “To what do I owe this largesse? Did you sleep with my wife again?”
Wilson’s smile was audible through the phone. “You did a consult for my newest attending without insulting him once; I haven’t had to cover clinic hours for you in over a month; and you did a remarkable job on your latest case.”
“And?” House asked, because making Wilson confess was the cherry on top of this sundae.
A slight pause, and then: “And while I don’t want to be entirely Max, I can at least be Cool Grandma.”
House turned toward the rear of his office so no one would see his grin. “You haven’t laid full claim to that yet, Ruby,” he said as he dug out a cigar, “but this is a pretty good step.”
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Date: 2009-04-20 11:26 pm (UTC)