The Campervan Diaries (1/5)
Author: resm
Title: The Campervan Diaries
Pairing: H/W friendship, Cameron/Chase (though unimportant)
Disclaimer: do not own
Summary: House M.D. on tour -- the campervan from S6 photoshoot makes its appearance
Thursday:
Wilson had bailed on their impromptu poker tournament a short time after Cameron finally admitted that they were lost, leaving House tied up in an exceedingly boring game with Cuddy, Taub and Thirteen. Though House wasn’t necessarily complaining because it was too easy to take their money, he definitely preferred Wilson’s company to theirs. At least, he did.
“Hey!” he snapped, glaring freely at the stray arm hanging down from the berth across from the table in their confined living space. “Hey, Wilson!”
“Mm,” Wilson mumbled, though he was dozing lightly and probably wouldn’t remember the half-conversation if House were to shake him awake this instant. Every now and then a soft snore, no louder than a little snuffle, would catch at the back of Wilson’s throat and though he wasn’t bothering anyone else, House was growing increasingly irritated with him - or their dull road trip, but a semi to unconscious Wilson was as good a target as any to take his frustration out on.
“Let him be,” Cuddy batted a hand, “maybe if you’d pay a little more attention to this game instead of Wee Willie Winkie over there,” she said easily and unintentionally betrayed the strong hand she’d been otherwise trying to downplay. Though this was hardly surprising considering the woman periodically averted her eyes when she was bluffing and tapped the fingertips of her left hand across the table when she was sitting on anything higher than two Jacks.
On second thoughts, a sleeping Wilson still trumped them all in House’s books. Despite the heavy breathing, Wilson was decidedly less annoying, well, in comparison to Cuddy anyway. She was still riding the high of being able to shirk her administrative duties onto Cameron after the immunologist stupidly convinced them all to rent a motor home and drive up the evening before the fourth consecutive Diagnostic Error medical conference. A conference they wouldn’t be attending any time soon; all because Cameron had started yipping about the environment and the significance of reducing carbon footprints when really they all knew it was because of the Aussie’s Aviophobia. Unfortunately, it wasn’t something they could afford to miss seeing as Foreman was a keynote speaker and Taub, the new face of PPTH, was also required to be there.
“Anyway, I’ll raise you... five,” Cuddy said smugly, the same time Wilson happened to smack his lips together and mutter something entirely inaudible.
By rights, Cuddy should be freaking out right along with Cameron that they were lost no matter who was to blame, but she was too giddy with the idea that, for once, the responsibility wasn’t falling on her shoulders. Though to be fair, with Foreman already breathing down Cameron’s neck and playing backseat driver while Chase struggled to read the road map, there wasn’t much use for her in the cab area at all. She may as well enjoy the ride. If House and Wilson trusted the team enough to make themselves completely useless, who was she to argue?
“We’re in the middle of nowhere, literally, and you think raising five dollars is throwing caution to the wind? Live a little, stake his clinic hours. It’s not like we’re ever going to make it back to civilisation to cash in anyway.”
House actually had to pinch the bridge of his nose in a very Wilson-esque manner as the words ‘cue Taub’ flashed in his mind like the irritating little LEDs on a Christmas tree. As if Cuddy’s new and unsettling carefree attitude wasn’t hard enough to swallow, it didn’t help his mood that Taub was inserting the odd glib comment here and there about how completely unsatisfying it was to have to share a glorified trailer when they easily could have flown. As if his leg needed reminded of the fact that he would have been otherwise stretched out and blissfully relaxed on first class boarding if not for Cameron and her stupid conscience.
“I see your five,” he grinded his teeth, clutching at his leg beneath the table, “and I raise you ten.”
“Fold,” Thirteen said, slapping her cards down onto their makeshift poker table amid noises of Foreman and Chase’s rising shouts, the stuttering of an engine and Wilson’s audible groan when, in his confusion, he jumped up and, forgetting that he’d been lying flat on his stomach in the restrictive berth, smacked his head clean against the low hanging roof above himself.
He stumbled down onto ground level, clutching at the top of his head, and met House’s ready glare with his own glassy-eyed stare, “Wh-what just happened?” he asked, stifling a yawn - or a wince.
“I think, Sleeping Beauty,” House answered with feigned nonchalance, “we’ve just broken down.”
Wilson followed House’s eye line to Cameron in the driver’s seat, Chase in the passenger’s seat and Foreman hovering behind them and, of course, the billowing smoke now clouding the motor home’s windscreen. He rubbed his knuckles over his eyes, hoping to rub himself awake, and managed a strangled “Ah.”
Cameron swivelled round in time to see House suddenly adjusting the bill of a baseball cap over his forehead with distressed lettering stamped on its front that read: ‘I’m in charge.’ Her eyebrows shot up, silently asking for his input, but when her former boss merely leant back in his seat again and took up his cards, she quickly realised he had no intentions of helping out other than delegating casually in this crisis. Cuddy took lead, not about to throw the game with Thirteen now out of the running, especially when Taub wasn’t much of a contender to begin with.
“The conference doesn’t start until tomorrow morning,” Cuddy said breezily, ignoring the weight of the teams’ glares, “I’m off duty until then.”
As the only remaining senior doctor, Wilson felt all eyes fall on him save his two friends who were quickly embroiled in the poker game again as if nothing had pulled their attentions from it in the first place.
He pursed his lips thoughtfully, his left hand still favouring the top of his head and the nasty bump already beginning to swell at his crown before he said carefully, “I have a feeling we’re going to be stuck here for some time.”
Foreman crossed his arms but kept his face devoid of emotion, allowing the vacant expression to communicate that while he wasn’t grateful for Wilson’s observation, he recognised that he didn’t have the authority to challenge him on it. Besides, he wasn’t entirely sure if the oncologist was being sarcastic or pointedly unhelpful.
“I think they’ve gathered that, Einstein,” House relayed Foreman’s unvoiced opinion.
“Yeah, well, sitting around playing poker all evening is no more productive in this situation than stating the obvious, now is it?” Thirteen retorted, half in support of Wilson whom she considered something of a friend and half in warning to Taub who no longer retained the right to simply while away the hours when they needed all the help they could get.
Wilson gave his bump another gentle rub, tousling his hair as he did so, then stretched up and rooted around his overhead compartment until he found what he was looking for, “Thirteen’s right, House,” he said, fixing a flat cap over his now undefined side-parting.
“Is that your magic thinking cap?” Taub mocked, pulling only the hint of a smirk from Chase while Foreman remained rigidly unimpressed and Cameron was growing increasingly stressed by the second.
“No,” Wilson replied simply, “But we’ve established poker’s not helping matters either. If you guys need me, I’ll be outside checking golf balls.”
TBC
Title: The Campervan Diaries
Pairing: H/W friendship, Cameron/Chase (though unimportant)
Disclaimer: do not own
Summary: House M.D. on tour -- the campervan from S6 photoshoot makes its appearance
Thursday:
Wilson had bailed on their impromptu poker tournament a short time after Cameron finally admitted that they were lost, leaving House tied up in an exceedingly boring game with Cuddy, Taub and Thirteen. Though House wasn’t necessarily complaining because it was too easy to take their money, he definitely preferred Wilson’s company to theirs. At least, he did.
“Hey!” he snapped, glaring freely at the stray arm hanging down from the berth across from the table in their confined living space. “Hey, Wilson!”
“Mm,” Wilson mumbled, though he was dozing lightly and probably wouldn’t remember the half-conversation if House were to shake him awake this instant. Every now and then a soft snore, no louder than a little snuffle, would catch at the back of Wilson’s throat and though he wasn’t bothering anyone else, House was growing increasingly irritated with him - or their dull road trip, but a semi to unconscious Wilson was as good a target as any to take his frustration out on.
“Let him be,” Cuddy batted a hand, “maybe if you’d pay a little more attention to this game instead of Wee Willie Winkie over there,” she said easily and unintentionally betrayed the strong hand she’d been otherwise trying to downplay. Though this was hardly surprising considering the woman periodically averted her eyes when she was bluffing and tapped the fingertips of her left hand across the table when she was sitting on anything higher than two Jacks.
On second thoughts, a sleeping Wilson still trumped them all in House’s books. Despite the heavy breathing, Wilson was decidedly less annoying, well, in comparison to Cuddy anyway. She was still riding the high of being able to shirk her administrative duties onto Cameron after the immunologist stupidly convinced them all to rent a motor home and drive up the evening before the fourth consecutive Diagnostic Error medical conference. A conference they wouldn’t be attending any time soon; all because Cameron had started yipping about the environment and the significance of reducing carbon footprints when really they all knew it was because of the Aussie’s Aviophobia. Unfortunately, it wasn’t something they could afford to miss seeing as Foreman was a keynote speaker and Taub, the new face of PPTH, was also required to be there.
“Anyway, I’ll raise you... five,” Cuddy said smugly, the same time Wilson happened to smack his lips together and mutter something entirely inaudible.
By rights, Cuddy should be freaking out right along with Cameron that they were lost no matter who was to blame, but she was too giddy with the idea that, for once, the responsibility wasn’t falling on her shoulders. Though to be fair, with Foreman already breathing down Cameron’s neck and playing backseat driver while Chase struggled to read the road map, there wasn’t much use for her in the cab area at all. She may as well enjoy the ride. If House and Wilson trusted the team enough to make themselves completely useless, who was she to argue?
“We’re in the middle of nowhere, literally, and you think raising five dollars is throwing caution to the wind? Live a little, stake his clinic hours. It’s not like we’re ever going to make it back to civilisation to cash in anyway.”
House actually had to pinch the bridge of his nose in a very Wilson-esque manner as the words ‘cue Taub’ flashed in his mind like the irritating little LEDs on a Christmas tree. As if Cuddy’s new and unsettling carefree attitude wasn’t hard enough to swallow, it didn’t help his mood that Taub was inserting the odd glib comment here and there about how completely unsatisfying it was to have to share a glorified trailer when they easily could have flown. As if his leg needed reminded of the fact that he would have been otherwise stretched out and blissfully relaxed on first class boarding if not for Cameron and her stupid conscience.
“I see your five,” he grinded his teeth, clutching at his leg beneath the table, “and I raise you ten.”
“Fold,” Thirteen said, slapping her cards down onto their makeshift poker table amid noises of Foreman and Chase’s rising shouts, the stuttering of an engine and Wilson’s audible groan when, in his confusion, he jumped up and, forgetting that he’d been lying flat on his stomach in the restrictive berth, smacked his head clean against the low hanging roof above himself.
He stumbled down onto ground level, clutching at the top of his head, and met House’s ready glare with his own glassy-eyed stare, “Wh-what just happened?” he asked, stifling a yawn - or a wince.
“I think, Sleeping Beauty,” House answered with feigned nonchalance, “we’ve just broken down.”
Wilson followed House’s eye line to Cameron in the driver’s seat, Chase in the passenger’s seat and Foreman hovering behind them and, of course, the billowing smoke now clouding the motor home’s windscreen. He rubbed his knuckles over his eyes, hoping to rub himself awake, and managed a strangled “Ah.”
Cameron swivelled round in time to see House suddenly adjusting the bill of a baseball cap over his forehead with distressed lettering stamped on its front that read: ‘I’m in charge.’ Her eyebrows shot up, silently asking for his input, but when her former boss merely leant back in his seat again and took up his cards, she quickly realised he had no intentions of helping out other than delegating casually in this crisis. Cuddy took lead, not about to throw the game with Thirteen now out of the running, especially when Taub wasn’t much of a contender to begin with.
“The conference doesn’t start until tomorrow morning,” Cuddy said breezily, ignoring the weight of the teams’ glares, “I’m off duty until then.”
As the only remaining senior doctor, Wilson felt all eyes fall on him save his two friends who were quickly embroiled in the poker game again as if nothing had pulled their attentions from it in the first place.
He pursed his lips thoughtfully, his left hand still favouring the top of his head and the nasty bump already beginning to swell at his crown before he said carefully, “I have a feeling we’re going to be stuck here for some time.”
Foreman crossed his arms but kept his face devoid of emotion, allowing the vacant expression to communicate that while he wasn’t grateful for Wilson’s observation, he recognised that he didn’t have the authority to challenge him on it. Besides, he wasn’t entirely sure if the oncologist was being sarcastic or pointedly unhelpful.
“I think they’ve gathered that, Einstein,” House relayed Foreman’s unvoiced opinion.
“Yeah, well, sitting around playing poker all evening is no more productive in this situation than stating the obvious, now is it?” Thirteen retorted, half in support of Wilson whom she considered something of a friend and half in warning to Taub who no longer retained the right to simply while away the hours when they needed all the help they could get.
Wilson gave his bump another gentle rub, tousling his hair as he did so, then stretched up and rooted around his overhead compartment until he found what he was looking for, “Thirteen’s right, House,” he said, fixing a flat cap over his now undefined side-parting.
“Is that your magic thinking cap?” Taub mocked, pulling only the hint of a smirk from Chase while Foreman remained rigidly unimpressed and Cameron was growing increasingly stressed by the second.
“No,” Wilson replied simply, “But we’ve established poker’s not helping matters either. If you guys need me, I’ll be outside checking golf balls.”
TBC