FF: Keep Going
Title: Keep Going
Author: Ellie
Rating: PG13
Summary: “The old black phone still had a rotary dial, and he wondered if this antiquity served to prevent trembling, detoxing patients who weren’t supposed to be using it from making calls.”
Set sometime post “Merry Little Christmas,” ignoring the events of “Words and Deeds”
****
“If you are going through hell, keep going.” -Winston Churchill
****
He leaned his temple against the cool glass of the phone booth’s door. He hadn’t been inside one in years, hadn’t been aware they still existed in a world of cell phones and instant messaging and GPS technology. The old black phone still had a rotary dial, and he wondered if this antiquity served to prevent trembling, detoxing patients who weren’t supposed to be using it from making calls.
Dialing on this had been actual dialing, slow and thoughtful, and he watched the final digit whirl back into place as the phone began to ring. He hadn’t talked to anyone for a week, and it felt like a relief to hear her hesitant, confused answer.
“Hello?”
“Hi, honey,” he drawled, in a voice slightly husky from disuse, and aching from pain and a different kind of isolation than he was used to.
“House,” she said, her voice carrying all the warmth of the smile he couldn’t see. “How is it going?” If she’d been there, her hand would have covered his, squeezed gently, one manicured nail brushing his wrist.
Instead, his fingers tangled in the spiraling phone cord, looping and capturing them until he was too wound up to do anything but answer her. “Better than I expected at this point.” He’d expected to be howling in pain to make Ginsberg proud, writhing on coarse sheets and clutching his angry thigh. It still ached, of course, a steady deep pain welling from his femur and flowing through is body, but he was bearing it.
A gentle sigh whispered across the line. “How’re you doing?”
An entirely different question, one he didn’t really have the answer to at the moment. “They tell me to take it one day at a time, so I am.”
“You’re hardly one to follow advice.”
“I don’t have much choice if I want to see the smoggy daylight of Princeton ever again.” He stared out the door of the phone booth, across the wide lounge room to watch one bare tree branch waving at the window.
“The doctors are happy with your progress, then?”
He shrugged, even realizing that she couldn’t see it. “As much as I ever please any of my doctors.” He heard her laugh softly at that, having too much experience of her own. “I’m bored out of my mind and my leg hurts like hell, but other than that, things are going pretty well.”
“Forget to pack your GameBoy?”
It’s his turn to sigh as he watched another patient channel surfing, coming to rest on some cooking show. He missed real cooking, the kind he used to steal from Wilson, the kind she’d make for him when he hadn’t pissed her off too much that week. “Can’t you send some files down for me to consult on or something?”
“I’m sorry, am I speaking to Dr. Gregory House? Who once told me he had Dengue in an attempt to get out of clinic duty?”
“Hey, I had a headache and myalgia. It very well could have been Dengue!”
“Says the man who hasn’t left the eastern seaboard in ten years.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Stacy wanted to go to Paris.”
Flinching, he sat up and rolled his shoulders back, ultimately coming to rest against the cool back wall of the booth. “You’ve never invited me anywhere.” The image of her in a bikini, very tiny and sloppily tied, was making him feel much better.
“It won’t get you off the east coast, but my sister has a place in the Keys.”
“Is that an invitation?” The vision of her in a bikini morphed suddenly to one of her, topless on a secluded beach, holding a coconut with a miniature umbrella in it. That alone would get him through the next two days.
“Tell you what, you get out of there clean and healthy, we’ll go down for a long weekend. Unless you’re still on the No-Fly list for your shenanigans last year in Baltimore.”
Stacy intruded suddenly on the beach, and for a moment he enjoyed the thought of both of them in very little, fighting over him in the sand. He was good for a week with that fantasy.
“House?”
“Uh, no, I think that all got cleared up.”
“Good, I’ll call Jess tonight. Can I do anything else for you?”
What he wanted from her, she couldn’t provide over the phone. “You ever broken into a rehab facility to give a patient a blow job?”
She laughed so loudly he almost pulled the receiver away from his ear. “No, and it’s not happening this month, either. I’ll come visit next week.”
He missed her, he realized. While he’d never been one to need swarms of people around him, those he chose to be around, he liked having at his beck and call. She was one of the few, had become so much a part of his day that it was odd not to hear her screeching at him at some point. “Can you bring me a burrito? From that place on Leigh?”
“The one with the margaritas?”
“I thought you swore off those after last time.”
“I did. Which is why I’m not sure it’s wise for me to show my face there again. But if that’s what you want….”
“It is.” He really liked the memory of her drunk on two too many margaritas, stumbling along side him back to her car, the way her hand had snaked across from the passenger seat as he drove, doing her best to distract him. They’d barely made it to his apartment, and the next morning she woke, swearing she was too old for tequila.
“Fine. Is that all?”
“Burritos and you. That should cover it, unless I can put in an order for a bottle full of Vicodin.”
“You know better,” she said, and he could see her shaking her head, wanting to say more but refraining. “Next Wednesday.”
“Don’t kill too many patients in my absence.”
“I kill anyone, it’s going to be you.”
He heard her laughing as they both hung up their phones.
****
End
****
Author: Ellie
Rating: PG13
Summary: “The old black phone still had a rotary dial, and he wondered if this antiquity served to prevent trembling, detoxing patients who weren’t supposed to be using it from making calls.”
Set sometime post “Merry Little Christmas,” ignoring the events of “Words and Deeds”
****
“If you are going through hell, keep going.” -Winston Churchill
****
He leaned his temple against the cool glass of the phone booth’s door. He hadn’t been inside one in years, hadn’t been aware they still existed in a world of cell phones and instant messaging and GPS technology. The old black phone still had a rotary dial, and he wondered if this antiquity served to prevent trembling, detoxing patients who weren’t supposed to be using it from making calls.
Dialing on this had been actual dialing, slow and thoughtful, and he watched the final digit whirl back into place as the phone began to ring. He hadn’t talked to anyone for a week, and it felt like a relief to hear her hesitant, confused answer.
“Hello?”
“Hi, honey,” he drawled, in a voice slightly husky from disuse, and aching from pain and a different kind of isolation than he was used to.
“House,” she said, her voice carrying all the warmth of the smile he couldn’t see. “How is it going?” If she’d been there, her hand would have covered his, squeezed gently, one manicured nail brushing his wrist.
Instead, his fingers tangled in the spiraling phone cord, looping and capturing them until he was too wound up to do anything but answer her. “Better than I expected at this point.” He’d expected to be howling in pain to make Ginsberg proud, writhing on coarse sheets and clutching his angry thigh. It still ached, of course, a steady deep pain welling from his femur and flowing through is body, but he was bearing it.
A gentle sigh whispered across the line. “How’re you doing?”
An entirely different question, one he didn’t really have the answer to at the moment. “They tell me to take it one day at a time, so I am.”
“You’re hardly one to follow advice.”
“I don’t have much choice if I want to see the smoggy daylight of Princeton ever again.” He stared out the door of the phone booth, across the wide lounge room to watch one bare tree branch waving at the window.
“The doctors are happy with your progress, then?”
He shrugged, even realizing that she couldn’t see it. “As much as I ever please any of my doctors.” He heard her laugh softly at that, having too much experience of her own. “I’m bored out of my mind and my leg hurts like hell, but other than that, things are going pretty well.”
“Forget to pack your GameBoy?”
It’s his turn to sigh as he watched another patient channel surfing, coming to rest on some cooking show. He missed real cooking, the kind he used to steal from Wilson, the kind she’d make for him when he hadn’t pissed her off too much that week. “Can’t you send some files down for me to consult on or something?”
“I’m sorry, am I speaking to Dr. Gregory House? Who once told me he had Dengue in an attempt to get out of clinic duty?”
“Hey, I had a headache and myalgia. It very well could have been Dengue!”
“Says the man who hasn’t left the eastern seaboard in ten years.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Stacy wanted to go to Paris.”
Flinching, he sat up and rolled his shoulders back, ultimately coming to rest against the cool back wall of the booth. “You’ve never invited me anywhere.” The image of her in a bikini, very tiny and sloppily tied, was making him feel much better.
“It won’t get you off the east coast, but my sister has a place in the Keys.”
“Is that an invitation?” The vision of her in a bikini morphed suddenly to one of her, topless on a secluded beach, holding a coconut with a miniature umbrella in it. That alone would get him through the next two days.
“Tell you what, you get out of there clean and healthy, we’ll go down for a long weekend. Unless you’re still on the No-Fly list for your shenanigans last year in Baltimore.”
Stacy intruded suddenly on the beach, and for a moment he enjoyed the thought of both of them in very little, fighting over him in the sand. He was good for a week with that fantasy.
“House?”
“Uh, no, I think that all got cleared up.”
“Good, I’ll call Jess tonight. Can I do anything else for you?”
What he wanted from her, she couldn’t provide over the phone. “You ever broken into a rehab facility to give a patient a blow job?”
She laughed so loudly he almost pulled the receiver away from his ear. “No, and it’s not happening this month, either. I’ll come visit next week.”
He missed her, he realized. While he’d never been one to need swarms of people around him, those he chose to be around, he liked having at his beck and call. She was one of the few, had become so much a part of his day that it was odd not to hear her screeching at him at some point. “Can you bring me a burrito? From that place on Leigh?”
“The one with the margaritas?”
“I thought you swore off those after last time.”
“I did. Which is why I’m not sure it’s wise for me to show my face there again. But if that’s what you want….”
“It is.” He really liked the memory of her drunk on two too many margaritas, stumbling along side him back to her car, the way her hand had snaked across from the passenger seat as he drove, doing her best to distract him. They’d barely made it to his apartment, and the next morning she woke, swearing she was too old for tequila.
“Fine. Is that all?”
“Burritos and you. That should cover it, unless I can put in an order for a bottle full of Vicodin.”
“You know better,” she said, and he could see her shaking her head, wanting to say more but refraining. “Next Wednesday.”
“Don’t kill too many patients in my absence.”
“I kill anyone, it’s going to be you.”
He heard her laughing as they both hung up their phones.
****
End
****