MST: Evanescence fic, Chapter 2

[deelaundry]

readthisshit did such a great job with Chapter 1 of the Evanescence song fic, I had to take a crack at Chapter 2. (It is my first MST; hope it's decent.)


House is trolling through ff.net when Wilson enters his office.

Wilson: The weirdest thing’s been happening lately. Any time I get to about 10 feet away from your office or mine I get a stinging sensation in my limbs.
House: Invisible fence. But we can talk about that later. Zombie fic has a new chapter!

Wilson leaned back in his chair.

That song…

Foreman, Cameron, and Chase enter, followed by Cuddy.

Foreman: We finished the MRI, the ultrasound, and the toxin cultures. Everything negative.
Cameron: Your Halloween candy is fine to eat.
House: Sweet!
Cuddy: House, for the millionth time, it costs us MONEY to do these tests! You can’t just appropriate equipment and personnel whenever you feel like it!
House: I’ll share my candy. I think there’s some Snickers in here. And we have a zombie fic.
Cuddy: Give me the bag and move over.
Wilson: It’s not really a zombie fic.
Cuddy: *around a mouth full of chocolate* Don’t ruin the suspense.

It seemed to follow him everywhere these days. Whenever he walked into a room. Whenever he turned on the radio. He always heard that song… My Immortal… But never did he hear it in the singer’s soprano. No. He always heard it in that baritone that enraptured him that night.

Wilson: Enraptured?
Chase: You know, in The Rapture, the faithful will be taken up bodily into heaven.
Wilson: I’m Jewish. I think that counts me out.
Cameron: Auditory hallucinations are not a good sign.
Foreman: Fragments. So many fragments. And overuse of ellipses.

The chorus started up and Wilson felt his lips parting to sing with the imagined voice of Gregory House. There was so much emotion packed into that chorus…

House: You’re not even going to sing in my real voice?
Wilson: My lips are moving of their own accord.
Cuddy: Don’t they always?

“James, you still here?”

Wilson cracked an eye open and saw House leaning in his doorway.

Copper eyes blinked for a moment and then he turned off the radio that was sitting on his desk. He picked up his briefcase, opening it for a moment to make sure all of his papers were there, and then made his way to the coat rack.

Wilson: Now my eyes are moving of their own accord. At least I think those are my eyes. Could be random eyes just laying around my office.
Cuddy: At least you’re taking some work home with you. Good boy.

“Yeah. I was just thinking.”

“You’re addicted to the song now, aren’t you?” House said, an impish grin pulling at his mouth.

“No, I am not.” Wilson said as he turned the lights out and shut the office door. “The song is stalking me. It won’t leave me alone. Everywhere I go, it is playing.”

Foreman: This fic won’t leave me alone. Everywhere I go, it is sucking.
Cuddy: One of the periods should be a comma, either the one after “not” or the one after “door.” Author’s choice.
House: You’d trust this author’s judgment?

“Hmm. Interesting thing, that.”

Wilson turned around to look House in the eye. Those blue eyes were dancing madly and Wilson didn’t like it. House’s eyes only danced like that when they were up to something completely and disturbingly deviant.

House: Now my eyes are moving of their own accord. And they’re up to something.
Wilson: Something disturbingly deviant.
Chase: My money’s on S&M.
Cameron: Your money’s always on S&M. I say non-con.
Foreman: Bestiality.
Cuddy: Deviant for House? I say actually doing work.

“House, what did you do?”

“What? Moi? I have done nothing.” House replied, trying to hide his grin as he began to limp down the hall.

Chase: Nuzing! I know nuzing!
Cameron: What?
Chase: Hogan’s Heroes reference. You didn’t get that show in the States?
House: Sounds like you didn’t get it in Australia. That’s a worse accent than Wilson’s Turkish.
Wilson: Hey!

“Oh? Then why do you look like the cat that caught the canary? The kid with his hand in the cookie jar? The-”

Foreman: Boy who cried wolf?
Wilson: Girl next door?
House: Man from LaMancha?

“Enough of the proverbial this and that!” House said, turning around swiftly. He looked Wilson in the eye for a moment and then let out a huff, “I just thought that you liked the song, that’s all. Thought that you were reminiscing over our first kiss. One would think that it would be special for you. I thought it was.” He added in a sniff and a hurt child expression for effect, his blue eyes looking wide and watery.

All except House: Ha!
House: What?
Cameron: Your eyes barely watered when you had that migraine.
Chase: No way you’re even faking watery eyes.

Wilson’s eyebrows furrowed slightly before he let out a laugh. “Grow up, House.”

“Aw, now that isn’t any fun. All those taxes and having to abide by the rules.”

“Yeah, right. And when have you done any of that?”

“My point exactly.”

House: Oh, the wit. It kills.

Wilson let out an exasperated sigh. “Can we just go home? I just want to go to bed…”

“Being suggestive now?” House asked, raising an eyebrow and quirking it.

House: Hey, it is a zombie fic. The wit killed me, I came back for more, and it killed me again.
Wilson: Long way to go to get to that joke.
Cuddy: It’s better than the fic.

Wilson knew he was fighting a losing battle. “House. Just… just shut up and take me home.”

The two stared at one another for a few more moments until the older man turned around once again and started for the parking garage.

Cameron: Chase is asleep.
Chase: Zzzzz
Cameron: Let’s shave his eyebrows.
Foreman: We could shave his head.
Cuddy: Bite your tongue.

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two during the drive home. Wilson moved to turn on the car radio, but House slapped his hand away from the knob.

“My car, my rules. And I say that oncologists don’t get to play with the radio.” House said, his usual sarcastic tone laced with mild anger.

House: WHAT THE HELL AM I ANGRY ABOUT?
Wilson: It’s only mild anger.
Cuddy: Slapping, hmm? Maybe Chase was right about the S&M.

Wilson pulled back and resumed watching the so called scenery zoom past the windows. Dirty, black and yellow snow was caked at the ends of the sidewalks, turning to slush. Such a contrast from when it had fallen just that morning. Once pure and white, it was now tainted…

Foreman: OK, it’s cliché, but that’s an actual metaphor! Wow!
Cameron: But it doesn’t seem to fit the story so far. Are you turning emo, Wilson?
Wilson: You got me. It was a beautiful kiss, but now it’s been tainted by, um, the song?
House: The zombie eyes and lips?
Cuddy: This fic?

The car stopped and House got out. Wilson quickly followed suit.

Once he had entered the apartment, Wilson noticed that something was off. Something that didn’t feel right or quite sit well in his stomach…

Wilson: The cafeteria's chili – what was I thinking?

“What’s wrong, Jimmy? Expecting the song to just start up or something?” House asked as he entered the kitchen. He flicked on the lights and began to take things out of the fridge. Wilson’s eyes widened when he realized that it was actual food. Ready and prepared food that had not been made by him and eaten by House.

House: Why are you so surprised? We had take-out together for years before you ever cooked for me.
Wilson: Maybe it’s the emo thing. Pass me the Halloween candy.

“Uh, House, did you fix that? Because, no offense, but I wouldn’t even feed Steve McQueen your cooking.” Wilson said, eyeing the contents of the containers warily.

Wilson: At last something’s realistic in this fic.

“Oh, come now. Do you really think that I would stoop so low as to actually cook for myself? No, dear Jimmy, this is take out!” House said as he shoved a plate with chicken topped with mushrooms, cheese and bacon bits with fries on the side into the microwave and punched in a random time.

House: Come on, people. I do know how to work a microwave.

“That stuff is going to give you a heart attack, you know.” Wilson said, watching from the kitchen doorway, his arms folded across his chest.

“Nope. That’s yours, Jimmy. I have a salad.” House smiled as he showed the oncologist said item. It looked somewhat wilted.

Wilson shook his head. “House, you have really lost it.”

“I think that happened a long time ago…”

“House-”

Foreman: Now Cameron’s asleep too.
Cameron: Zzzzz
House: Let’s pose them together and take pictures. We can put them up on Cameron’s MySpace page.
Wilson: You have her password?
House: Of course. Who do you think’s been writing her blog?

“Do you want to eat at the table or in the living room? I hear that Fox is starting this new show about a team of doctors. Sounds interesting. Shall we scrutinize their pathetic attempts at sounding like real medical personnel?”

MST Author: Meta. Clever. That’s never been done before.
Cuddy: Who are you, and what do you mean by meta?
MST Author: Oh, nothing. Carry on.

“I don’t think so.”

“The kitchen table it is then.” House said, moving towards the microwave as it beeped, signaling that the food inside was ready to be eaten. He took the plate out and then placed it on the table. “Soup’s on.”

Foreman: Is there anyone left on the planet that doesn’t know why a microwave beeps?
Cuddy: *sighs* You’re over-thinking things again. Can you move that light for me? I’m getting shadows on Cameron’s face. Thanks. *click*

Wilson shook his head once again but said nothing as he took his seat next to House.

“Could I have a fry?” House asked about five minutes into the meal, “Or should I say what is left of one?”

Wilson blinked at his plate. He had cut everything that was on his plate into very small pieces, much like how a mother would cut up her child’s steak so that it could fit in the child’s mouth.

House: You are so girly.
Wilson: Shut up.

“Sure, knock yourself out.” Wilson replied, giving the entire plate to House. He just didn’t feel all that hungry.

He got up and wandered into the living room. He turned on the television for a moment before turning it off. The new show’s medical team was dealing with a guy with an infarction. Interesting how ironic life was sometimes… Or simply had really bad taste.

Foreman: That’s not irony; that’s a coincidence! And barely one, given that infarctions happen all the time! It’s definitely not irony!
Wilson: The author’s right about one thing, though. “Life,” at least as presented in this fic, does have bad taste.
House: Well, leaves a bad taste, at least.

Wilson wandered over to the stereo and he turned on the radio. He heard the end of one song, a beat that was a sort of mix between punk, rock and guitar solos.

Wilson: One beat, and I can tell it’s a mix of three things?
Cuddy: You’d kill at Name That Tune.

The DJ then came on and began to introduce the next song. “Now, this song is dedicated to J.W. from G.H. Now, time for My Immortal.”

Cuddy: When?
Foreman: Now.

The song began and Wilson listened for a few moments before the initials sank in.

House: You are so slow in this fic.
Wilson: You’re the one who didn’t know how to use the microwave.

“House?”

He went back into the kitchen and looked at House curiously.

“What?” House asked, digging at the wreck that Wilson had made out of his fries.

“The song, you idiot. They said that it is dedicated to a J.W. from a G.H.?”

“Coincidence.” House said, “Mere coincidence.”

“Uh-huh…” Wilson said and returned to the other room, just in time to hear the song end.

“And now for a commercial break. We’ll be giving you more great music after these quick messages.”

Cuddy: And now Foreman’s asleep.
Foreman: Just resting my eyes.

Wilson sat on the couch for a moment until he heard a quiet humming coming from the kitchen. There was something about that humming that felt so comforting and ethereal. Like it came from an angel that suddenly decided that a lonely man needed consoling. But when Wilson looked into the kitchen, it was no angel. No… It was simply House, humming as he shoveled the fries into a little mountain, then taking leaves of lettuce from his salad and placing them around the fries, as if they were moats.

Wilson: Are you going to make a mountain out of mashed potatoes next?
House: If my behavior in this fic is anything to go by, I do seem to have been abducted by aliens.

“You really are a piece of work…” Wilson muttered as he got up and went back into the kitchen. He leaned forward so that his and House’s noses were only an inch apart. “House.” Wilson said softly.

Wilson: “We’re out of mouthwash.”

The blue-eyed man looked up, his nose brushing with Wilson’s and stared into those copper eyes opposite him. “Yes?”

Wilson leaned forward, closing the gap between them and kissed House’s lips gently, tenderly. He pulled back and then gazed upon House with a look of affection. “Thank you, Greg.”

A smile tugged at House’s lips as he grabbed Wilson by the tie and pulled him down for another kiss.

Wilson: What is it with you and my damn tie? You did that in Part 1 too.
House: We’ve been home for like half an hour, and you haven’t taken it off yet. You’re practically begging for the erotic asphyxiation.

Taken by surprise, Wilson fell forward, his hands landing in the mess of fries and lettuce, but he didn’t care.

House: And you might have a messy food fetish, too. Intriguing.
Wilson: Shut up.
Cuddy: I think 35 photos is enough, don’t you? This one’s my favorite. See what I did with Chase’s hand?

House’s teeth were biting lightly at Wilson’s bottom lip, seeking entrance. Once granted, House’s tongue roamed around, darting over every surface of Wilson’s mouth, memorizing it, mapping it out for future explorations.

House: We’re back to the body parts moving on their own. My tongue appears to be a cartographer.
Wilson: Why do your teeth want to be in my mouth? Is that even possible?

Finally the two pulled away, Wilson laying on the table and House sitting at his place, an amused smirk playing across his lips. “I guess paying off all of the music stations really worked.”

Cuddy: Yes, because driving a person insane by overplaying a song is a great way to get them to kiss you.
Wilson: I got Julie to marry me by making her sick of Wings’ Silly Little Love Songs.
House: You are such a wuss.

Wilson opened his mouth as he was about to say something, but then decided it was better not to. How exactly he paid off the stations, Wilson never really wanted to know.

Wilson: Because it’s an incredibly boring story.
House: Just like this fic.
Cameron: *stretches and yawns* What did I miss? And why is my hair all messed up?

Hell, it was the thought that counts, not the price, right?

Cuddy: What does that mean? It seems to be implying that it would be cheap to pay off multiple radio stations to play the same song over and over again and drive your new boyfriend insane so he’ll kiss you.
Cameron: Well, the last time I did it, it cost about-
All: *stares*
Cameron: What?

Comments

[helen-damnation.livejournal.com]

I woke up this morning with pulled stomach muscles, after reading through your MSTs last night. From this, I have learned two things: one, you are hilarious, and two: apparantly I don't laugh very often. Wow, that's depressing.

[deelaundry.livejournal.com]

Sorry to cause you pain, but I'm so glad you liked the MSTs. They are very, very fun to write.

Here's wishing you more laughter in your life.

[deelaundry.livejournal.com]

Thanks!