Housefic for simple__man
For simple__man again, because he was a darling and wrote me Angelfic, and demanded requested Housefic. Mind you , he could've had my firstborn, because did I mention he wrote Snape/Neville? *PIMPS*
Warnings: PG13, or R if you're a paranoid and censor-neurotic bastard. Also unbeta'd, because I am all alonesome in my House-craving social circle. Oh, need I even mention the House/Wilson? Well, there it is.
The challenge was to write a fic based on a five-word prompt, and since I was a dirty scheming wicked Jewish demon mean and gave him a House-esque prompt for an Angel fic, he returned the favor and gave me five Angel words for a House fic. And they are:
prophecy ; Captain Forehead ; demon ; apocalypse ; brood
The Unbelievable (or, Why People In Glass Offices Should Take Better Care Of Their Blinds)
Written by miarr
Dedicated to simple__man
It was another great day at the House Institute for Medical Training and Asshattery. The sun was shining, the air was chill, and it was the traffic officers' day off, which meant no parking tickets. More importantly, though, someone was dying.
"What could it be?" House talked around the pen in his mouth as he wheeled out the whiteboard. Foreman leaned against the counter impassively while Cameron took a seat, and Chase closed the office door behind him. All were silent. "Come on, guys! We're doctors, we can't not know something. That would defeat the God Complex."
"Might be saprophytic allergy," Cameron began, but House rolled his eyes and she faltered.
"It might be vasculitis, but it's not." he deadpanned, before rounding on Foreman warningly. "No. It's not. Don't even think about it."
"I was about to offer blastomycosis," Foreman said, holding up his hands pacifyingly. "The guy has mushrooms growing on the insides of his mouth; it's not likely the problem's in his blood."
"Or it could be periodontitis," Chase piped up from where he perched on the desk, blond hair haloed around his face like some sort of medically retarded angel. At least, that's what House called him before turning to write the symptoms on the board. Chase flushed, and, while Cameron looked mildly sympathetic, was mostly ignored.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Wilson walked in, looking slightly harassed. "Greg, I need to talk to y--oh, sorry. Is it the fungus guy?"
"Oh, Wilson, you know you'll always be the one for me." House simpered at him then abruptly turned again, stomping his way across the room in a spectacular display of volatile mood swings. He always liked to pace dramatically while brainstorming, though the leg cramped his style considerably. "Not periodontitis, and nothing from his lymph nodes," he muttered, "blastomycosis doesn't cover the perspiration, but an offshoot of the native disease..."
"He could have been out of the country," Chase said, in what was obviously an attempt to cover his earlier humiliation. "Somewhere primitive, a third-world country like Chile--"
"Or Australia," House shot back, grabbing the black pen again, though probably only Wilson saw the earlier twitch towards the Vicodin pocket. It figures House would mock Australia when he was feeling down; tonight was going to be a one big Brood Session, Wilson could already tell. He made a mental note to pick up The Great Dictator on his way home tonight, as House was an enormous sucker for Chaplin. Oh, what thirteen years could teach.
"We should start him on mentagrophytes." Cameron was saying, "as well as an antibacterial. It'd reduce the growths while we figure out what's wrong with him."
"Give the guy suffering from a bacterial infection some antibacterial!" House bellowed, throwing up his hands in either exasperation or to distract himself from his leg. "Well, gee, I just don't know what to say. Do you turn into Captain Obvious every night? Beating up villains then diagnosing their bruises. Only you wouldn't hit them, you're much too caring. You'd probably be their superhero therapist." He sneered at her, then smirked. "Chase would be your ambiguous sidekick. Or no, wait, a superhero in his own right. Isn't that right, Captain Crikey?" He turned to Foreman, and inspected him critically. "You'd be... uh, Captain Forehead. Since Captain Bling is already taken."
"Could we get back to the case?" Foreman countered, rolling his eyes. "Unless you like having charges pressed against you, fungus guy is still alive and kicking. Let's keep him that way."
"You're no fun." House pouted at him, but acquiesced. If 'acquiesced' had meant 'started bullying someone else'. "Before Red Elektra starts poisoning our patient with random antidotes, we need more clues for the case. Get a DNA sample, and I want a lumbar puncture just in case the disease has spread without us seeing. Go forth, Captains." He gestured at the door gravely, and the superheroes duly filed out.
The door closed soundlessly, and House turned to address Wilson. "Now what did you want to talk about, Ji--" was as far as he got before Wilson leaned up and kissed him on the mouth.
A few seconds passed.
"Ahm. Auhk. Gnuh." House was obviously trying to say something, and Wilson disentangled their tongues, somewhat reluctantly. "I asked, what was that for?"
"It's a promise," Wilson informed him, looking incorrigibly devilish. "Tonight, you're going to enjoy yourself. No brooding. I brought Charlie Chaplin." he added, before House could say anything untactful.
The latter appeared to consider this new development, frowning thoughtfully. "The Great Dictator?" he finally inquired, after a wary pause.
Wilson's knowing smirk supplied the answer.
For once, House smiled back. "You're a demon," he promised Wilson, "a dirty, scheming, wicked Jewish demon, bent on stealing my eternal soul. You tempt me with things like sex and 40's movies, but in the end, you just want to drag me down to Hell."
"Is that so bad?" Wilson started to ask teasingly, but then House silenced him with another kiss and, yes, that was a good answer.
* * *
"The apocalypse is upon us." Chase whispered.
Neither of the two other trainees even looked at him. All eyes were riveted to the small gap in the binds, those supposedly screening the walls of House's office. Those supposedly present to stop people from looking in and seeing two department heads making out.
"I don't even want to know," Foreman murmured, while Cameron looked alternately turned on and mortified at being turned on.
"No, seriously," Chase mumbled, as if he hadn't heard. "There ought to be some sort of prophecy somewhere. "And the seas shall be blood and fish rain from the sky, and thy three-legged diagnostician and thrice-divorced oncologist snog each other like horny teenagers". The Day of Judgment is nigh."
"We should give them their privacy." Cameron insisted weakly, and made no move to budge from her spot. The others were likewise rooted, and a few more moments passed in dumbfound silence.
Then Foreman said, "This cannot possibly get any more bizarre."
Which went to show that perhaps the Day of Judgment was nigh after all, because suddenly Cuddy's voice piped up behind them,
"Oh, what's Greg up to now?"
Warnings: PG13, or R if you're a paranoid and censor-neurotic bastard. Also unbeta'd, because I am all alonesome in my House-craving social circle. Oh, need I even mention the House/Wilson? Well, there it is.
The challenge was to write a fic based on a five-word prompt, and since I was a dirty scheming wicked Jewish demon mean and gave him a House-esque prompt for an Angel fic, he returned the favor and gave me five Angel words for a House fic. And they are:
prophecy ; Captain Forehead ; demon ; apocalypse ; brood
The Unbelievable (or, Why People In Glass Offices Should Take Better Care Of Their Blinds)
Written by miarr
Dedicated to simple__man
It was another great day at the House Institute for Medical Training and Asshattery. The sun was shining, the air was chill, and it was the traffic officers' day off, which meant no parking tickets. More importantly, though, someone was dying.
"What could it be?" House talked around the pen in his mouth as he wheeled out the whiteboard. Foreman leaned against the counter impassively while Cameron took a seat, and Chase closed the office door behind him. All were silent. "Come on, guys! We're doctors, we can't not know something. That would defeat the God Complex."
"Might be saprophytic allergy," Cameron began, but House rolled his eyes and she faltered.
"It might be vasculitis, but it's not." he deadpanned, before rounding on Foreman warningly. "No. It's not. Don't even think about it."
"I was about to offer blastomycosis," Foreman said, holding up his hands pacifyingly. "The guy has mushrooms growing on the insides of his mouth; it's not likely the problem's in his blood."
"Or it could be periodontitis," Chase piped up from where he perched on the desk, blond hair haloed around his face like some sort of medically retarded angel. At least, that's what House called him before turning to write the symptoms on the board. Chase flushed, and, while Cameron looked mildly sympathetic, was mostly ignored.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Wilson walked in, looking slightly harassed. "Greg, I need to talk to y--oh, sorry. Is it the fungus guy?"
"Oh, Wilson, you know you'll always be the one for me." House simpered at him then abruptly turned again, stomping his way across the room in a spectacular display of volatile mood swings. He always liked to pace dramatically while brainstorming, though the leg cramped his style considerably. "Not periodontitis, and nothing from his lymph nodes," he muttered, "blastomycosis doesn't cover the perspiration, but an offshoot of the native disease..."
"He could have been out of the country," Chase said, in what was obviously an attempt to cover his earlier humiliation. "Somewhere primitive, a third-world country like Chile--"
"Or Australia," House shot back, grabbing the black pen again, though probably only Wilson saw the earlier twitch towards the Vicodin pocket. It figures House would mock Australia when he was feeling down; tonight was going to be a one big Brood Session, Wilson could already tell. He made a mental note to pick up The Great Dictator on his way home tonight, as House was an enormous sucker for Chaplin. Oh, what thirteen years could teach.
"We should start him on mentagrophytes." Cameron was saying, "as well as an antibacterial. It'd reduce the growths while we figure out what's wrong with him."
"Give the guy suffering from a bacterial infection some antibacterial!" House bellowed, throwing up his hands in either exasperation or to distract himself from his leg. "Well, gee, I just don't know what to say. Do you turn into Captain Obvious every night? Beating up villains then diagnosing their bruises. Only you wouldn't hit them, you're much too caring. You'd probably be their superhero therapist." He sneered at her, then smirked. "Chase would be your ambiguous sidekick. Or no, wait, a superhero in his own right. Isn't that right, Captain Crikey?" He turned to Foreman, and inspected him critically. "You'd be... uh, Captain Forehead. Since Captain Bling is already taken."
"Could we get back to the case?" Foreman countered, rolling his eyes. "Unless you like having charges pressed against you, fungus guy is still alive and kicking. Let's keep him that way."
"You're no fun." House pouted at him, but acquiesced. If 'acquiesced' had meant 'started bullying someone else'. "Before Red Elektra starts poisoning our patient with random antidotes, we need more clues for the case. Get a DNA sample, and I want a lumbar puncture just in case the disease has spread without us seeing. Go forth, Captains." He gestured at the door gravely, and the superheroes duly filed out.
The door closed soundlessly, and House turned to address Wilson. "Now what did you want to talk about, Ji--" was as far as he got before Wilson leaned up and kissed him on the mouth.
A few seconds passed.
"Ahm. Auhk. Gnuh." House was obviously trying to say something, and Wilson disentangled their tongues, somewhat reluctantly. "I asked, what was that for?"
"It's a promise," Wilson informed him, looking incorrigibly devilish. "Tonight, you're going to enjoy yourself. No brooding. I brought Charlie Chaplin." he added, before House could say anything untactful.
The latter appeared to consider this new development, frowning thoughtfully. "The Great Dictator?" he finally inquired, after a wary pause.
Wilson's knowing smirk supplied the answer.
For once, House smiled back. "You're a demon," he promised Wilson, "a dirty, scheming, wicked Jewish demon, bent on stealing my eternal soul. You tempt me with things like sex and 40's movies, but in the end, you just want to drag me down to Hell."
"Is that so bad?" Wilson started to ask teasingly, but then House silenced him with another kiss and, yes, that was a good answer.
* * *
"The apocalypse is upon us." Chase whispered.
Neither of the two other trainees even looked at him. All eyes were riveted to the small gap in the binds, those supposedly screening the walls of House's office. Those supposedly present to stop people from looking in and seeing two department heads making out.
"I don't even want to know," Foreman murmured, while Cameron looked alternately turned on and mortified at being turned on.
"No, seriously," Chase mumbled, as if he hadn't heard. "There ought to be some sort of prophecy somewhere. "And the seas shall be blood and fish rain from the sky, and thy three-legged diagnostician and thrice-divorced oncologist snog each other like horny teenagers". The Day of Judgment is nigh."
"We should give them their privacy." Cameron insisted weakly, and made no move to budge from her spot. The others were likewise rooted, and a few more moments passed in dumbfound silence.
Then Foreman said, "This cannot possibly get any more bizarre."
Which went to show that perhaps the Day of Judgment was nigh after all, because suddenly Cuddy's voice piped up behind them,
"Oh, what's Greg up to now?"