(no subject)
Title: For Every Closed Door (6/?)
Fandom: House MD/Dead Like Me crossover
Author: Starling
Rating: R overall
Characters/pairings: House, original characters, eventual House/Wilson.
Warnings: Afterlife!Fic. Thus, by necessity, also a death!fic, but not depressing. Also, a minor OC dies this chapter.
Summary: Now we wait. For pizza or death, whichever comes first.
Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own, write for, or produce either of these fabulous shows. I'm just a geek with too much time on her hands.
A/N: Here follows House's first reap. There is, unfortunately, no H/W interaction in this, because it's already long and kind of hairy, with two new characters introduced and some plot development. Next chapter, however, will be chock full of the two good doctors. Cross my heart.
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.
Concrit feedback gives me warm fuzzies.
x-posted to housefic and house_wilson.
Previous Chapters
People say the Lord works in mysterious ways. As if that makes all the crummy things in life any sweeter. Death is equally mysterious, but there's no sugar-coating that turd.
From Dead Like Me, episode 1x2 "Dead Girl Walking"
"What the hell are we doing back here?" House asked Kay as they slid into a corner booth at Hennry's. Kay had forced him off the couch he'd been sleeping on to come back to the crap diner with the misspelled name at the ungodly hour of 9:30.
"Can I get a coffee, Selma?" Kay, ignoring him, said to a waitress as she walked by.
House stared at her blearily. "Do you know all the waitresses here by name?"
"Their names, marriage status, medical conditions, dreams, aspirations, and anything else they feel like talking to me about. You will too, eventually. From this day onward, you'll be meeting me and the rest of the crew here for your assignment."
House blinked, and tried to get his brain working at its normal speed. "Every day?"
"Yes. Or else," she added with a glare.
Selma came back with the coffee, and set it down on the table. "Ready to order?"
"I'll have the ranchero eggs, side of homefries and bacon."
"And you?" she said to House.
House blinked, his brain still not quite up to speed. Kay came to his rescue.
"Just some coffee."
"With a shot of whiskey," House added, with his head sinking down into his hands. Kay sighed.
"We don't serve hard liquor." Selma was glaring at him. House wondered if they taught that glare to all the waitresses in training, or if there was just something about him that inspired it.
"He was joking, Selma. Just the coffee, please," Kay said with a charming smile. Selma seemed to waver for a moment, torn between Kay's sincerity and House's unapologetic frown. Finally she flipped her notepad decisively closed, and stalked back to the counter.
"Is it possible for you not to be an asshole to all the wait staff here?" Kay asked him. "I'll kill you again if you get us kicked out of here."
"Is it possible for you to not speak in such a screeching, grating voice?" House had a headache. He'd slept badly on Kay's couch, an old, dusty, squeaking relic from the eighties.
He'd refused to get off the couch the first two times Kay shook him awake. She'd finally set her cat on him, dropping tuna treats into the space between the couch and his pillow. There was nothing like waking up to a fat orange tabby sniffing enthusiastically at your ear to start your morning.
But worse than that, thoughts of Wilson had been plaguing on him all night; stupid Wilson, with his stupid grief and stupid tears and stupid way of making House feel like his guts had been through a blender. Kay was still warning him away from trying to make contact with the other doctor, but House had decided that Wilson needed to know almost as much as House needed to tell him, and probably as soon as possible. He needed his damn sleep.
"Morning Kay. Morning new guy." House looked up to find a young kid, didn't look any older than eighteen, with curly brown hair that added another two inches to an already tall and skinny frame. He wore a polo shirt, jeans, wire-rimmed glasses, and sneakers. Geek chic.
"I've got your new identity. Welcome to the world Mister-" Geek boy looked at a card in his hand, made a face, then said, "Mika Thaddeus Tesla. Sorry about that. Here's your driver's license, passport, birth certificate, credit report, social security card, bus pass, and library card." The kid flipped each down onto the table in front of House's coffee cup as he spoke, then looked up expectantly.
House turned to Kay. "Who's this guy?"
"Greg House, meet Colby Silverstein; reaper, drug dealer, and forgery expert. A good guy to know," she added, smiling at the kid. "By the way Colby, I got some stuff for you to sell."
House tuned them out as they began to haggle over a price for the painkillers from his apartment, choosing instead to examine the pieces of his new identity. What the hell kind of name was Mika Thaddeus Tesla? He was, as far as he could tell, named for a good smell, a saint, and a mad genius who'd tried to build a death ray.
Huh. Actually, that wasn't so bad, as far as assumed identities went.
Kay and Colby's conversation about the price of morphine on the streets was interrupted by the arrival of another woman, with dark brown skin and dreadlocks down to her waist. The woman, who looked about House's age, cast a glance at House, who was still huddled over his passport - apparently Mika Thaddeus Tesla had gone to France eight months ago - then sat down and looked intently at Kay.
"Why the hell do we still have to meet here? There's gotta be somewhere better. New Jersey's known for its diners, so why the hell can't we find somewhere better? The coffee is the worst on the eastern seaboard," the woman said, taking a sip from Kay's cup. It was the first time since she'd sat down at the table that she'd stopped to take a breath. "And last week, I think I saw Mabel flick a booger onto somebody's waffles," she added after she put the cup back down.
"You definitely have to watch your ass around Mabel; she's been here longer than I have, and dementia's definitely started to set in," Kay said.
"I think the stuff they use to wash the floor eats holes into your brain over long periods of time. By the way, nice to meet you, I'm Ada. You're the guy that got decapitated by the James Taylor CD, right?" Ada said, turning to House with a smile on her face.
House did not return the smile. Fucking James Taylor. If he'd had to die, why couldn't it at least have been a Black Sabbath CD? Or Gwar? There would have at least been a certain poetry in getting beheaded by death metal.
"That sucks. Least it was quick, right? Oh, and Kay, I'm real sorry about Delia. That's a damn shame. How you holding up?"
Ada's train of thought seemed to jump its tracks at every junction.
"I'm fine, Ada," Kay responded. "Thanks for asking." Her tone suggested that Ada please not ask her again, and Kay pulled out a leather bound diary, and started copying information from that onto a yellow pad of Post-It notes.
"House, Colby is going to baby sit you today. Colby, see if you can find the man an apartment, otherwise he's sleeping at your place. I want my privacy back. Not that it hasn't been fun, House," she added, raising a sardonic eyebrow. She handed out the canary yellow notes around the table.
House glanced at the paper square.
S. Manning
1894 Fisher Ave
1:38 pm
All the mysterious powers of life and death, and they couldn't even provide him with a first name. How lame was that?
***
"So how did you die?" House and Colby were driving to the address of House's first reap. As far as he could tell, the cars of choice among the discerning undead were Volkswagens from the mid nineties.
"Drowning. 1982." Colby kept his eyes on the road as he talked.
House waited. "And?"
"And what?"
"You're the first reaper I've met that doesn't want to regale me with a tale of how they horrifically met their end. So tell me, is it worse than getting beheaded by a CD of a wussy folk singer's greatest hits?"
Colby didn't answer.
"It is? Wow. You must be talented."
"You might not want to insult the guy who's selling your drugs and finding you an apartment."
"Oh, no. I insult everybody. It wouldn't be fair otherwise. That's also an ugly shirt."
Despite himself, Colby smiled. "Says the guy wearing a shirt with... what is that? An octopus wearing a police hat?"
"Holding the instruments of war and industry, and eating babies. It was a friend's band. Didn't have time to pack all my Armani suits when I was robbing my former apartment. And you're changing the subject. How did you die?"
Colby was silent, driving.
"Fine." House looked over the skinny forty-something year old in a gawky teenager's body, the diagnostic's wheels in his head turning.
"So drowning. We're not by the shore, and you didn't specify that it was a boating accident. And, no offense, you seem a little light in the loafers for the rugged outdoorsy type. So it probably wasn't the ocean, a lake, or a river. No, you strike me as a nice, suburban kid. But you're also a drug dealer and forgerer; not something too many upper-middle-class kids take to. So lower-class suburbs. Not the kind with pools, so that's out. So that means, you either drowned in your bath tub or-"
"It was a kiddie pool, all right?" Colby said. "My sister's one foot deep plastic kiddie pool. The last things I saw were the cartoon frogs on the bottom."
House smiled. "Probably hit your head on something in the pool. One of your sister's toys? And you were drunk."
"Of course I was drunk!"
"Off of something you probably found in your mother's kitchen cabinet. Sherry?"
"Creme de menthe. And it was a plastic boat. That's really frickin' creepy, by the way." Colby looked thoroughly unsettled.
House grinned and mentally gave himself a high five as they turned onto Fisher Ave.
"What's the address?"
House pointed it out; it was a pizza parlor called Dirty Dave's. This wasn't too far from his apartment; he and Wilson had ordered Dirty Dave's pizza countless times. House's stomach gave another unpleasant lurch as thoughts of Wilson flooded his brain in a weird slideshow; the way his hands moved when he talked, the rare and surprising sound of his laughter, and DEAR GOD. This needed to stop.
Colby parked the car, and they both got out. House shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked inside, Colby at his heels.
Waves of bad punk music from the early nineties and the yeasty smell of pizza dough washed over him as he pushed the door open. He took a look around. It was the beginning of the lunch rush, and there were scores of teenagers and twenty-somethings crowding the booths. What the hell was he supposed to do? Shout "S. Manning?" at the crowd and hope only one person looked up?
"Now what?" he asked Colby. The other Reaper checked his watch.
"We've got ten minutes. Let's get a slice," Colby answered, and got in line. House shrugged and stood with him.
Finally, they got to the counter. The waitress taking orders was about nineteen, was dotted with flour, and looked sweaty and stressed looking. Her curly hair was dyed an unlikely shade of green, the kind that never occurred in nature and should never occur in hair color. She pushed her stringy bangs out of her face, and said, "Know what you want?"
"Can I get two slices of Hawaiian pizza, and a... Susan? Susan Manning?"
House had been perusing the toppings list, but looked up sharply at Colby's words. The girl taking their order had a nametag with "SUE" printed on it.
Colby, meanwhile, was staring at the waitress with a disarmingly goofy grin plastered across his face. The waitress looked up from her pad at the two of them.
"Uh, yeah?" she said, guardedly.
"Wow, how are you doing? It's been ages. I'm Will Archer, remember me? We had a couple classes together junior year. I sat behind you in English class?" He looked so hopeful and sincere, House had to hand it to him.
Susan Manning looked at him, confused but trying to hide it.
"You don't remember me?" Colby sounded like a kicked puppy. House was impressed.
"No, no! I remember you! Fourth period, right?"
"Yeah, Mrs..." Colby trailed off, snapping his fingers as if the name were on the tip of his tongue.
"Mrs. Rotterdam! Yeah. Wow! This is so weird. How are you?" Susan had recovered well, though her bewilderment was still evident.
"I'm great, I'm just here with my uncle Mika. He's new to town." Colby turned to House. "Uncle Mika, this is Susan. We went to high school together."
House stared at him a moment, wondering what he was supposed to do now, then turned back to the girl. House put his hand out,old instincts taking over.
"So I gathered," he said. "I'm pleased to meet you."
Susan brushed her hand against her thigh, leaving a small handprint of flour on her jeans, then took his hand.
As she did, House felt something intangible, like a cool push of wind, pass from the young girl to him through the touch. Her soul, House thought. That was her soul I just extracted. Did she feel it? Did I feel it at that gas station?
Susan gently extracted her hand from his grip, and he was suddenly aware the handshake had gone on too long. He dropped his hand, and walked away without saying anything else. He fell into a booth, and watched Colby say "Goodbye for now," to the girl.
"Now what?" he asked as Colby slid into the seat across from him.
"Now we wait." He glanced at his watch again. "For pizza or death, whichever comes first."
The way it turned out, it was death. Hardly a minute later, Colby nudged House and nodded toward the kitchen. House turned and saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. And beneath the smell of other people and grease and pizza dough, he caught a whiff of something darker, the scent of ashes and smoke. And suddenly, there was a smear of red sauce on the floor near the counter where there hadn't been a moment before.
"Graveling?"
Colby nodded. House turned back toward the part of the kitchen that was visible. He watched Susan Manning turn, note pad still in hand, scribbling another order down. Three steps, then her foot slid in the sauce. She dropped the pad, arms windmilling for balance, teetered, then fell. House shut his eyes, but still heard the resounding crack as her head connected with the counter. It wasn't easy to break a person's neck, but with the right pressure in the right place, it was entirely possible. Then there was a dull thud that must have been her head landing on the floor. House diagnosed a fractured skull in some distant, clinical corner of his brain.
When House opened his eyes, there was a flurry of activity around the fallen girl. He turned back to Colby, and jumped when he saw Susan sitting next to him. She was glaring at Colby, arms crossed in front of her, an angry look on her face.
"Mrs. Rotterdam's class, huh? You dick."
Colby shrugged apologetically. "Had to know for sure it was you. You'd rather still be in there?"
"I'd rather still be alive, if it's all the same to you. Figures I'd fucking die at this shit job." She looked over at her coworkers, trying to shake her lifeless body back to consciousness. "Oh, gross. Tom is totally touching my boob! You couldn't have killed him instead?"
"Oh look. Our order's up." Colby walked over, grabbed the two slices, and gestured to the door. "You guys ready to go?"
House nodded, and slid out of the booth, Susan following him.
"Now what?" Susan asked the two of them, as the door shut behind them. It seemed to be the question for the day.
"Wait for it," Colby said around a mouthful of pizza.
"For what?" House asked. Just then, it seemed that the bright afternoon sun dimmed. House's jaw dropped open as across the street, another world unfolded.
Graceful buildings arched up from a street paved with white river stones, often with rooms open to the air. Golden sunlight threw dappled shadows on the ground, and autumn leaves fell in spirals from trees growing in and amongst the buidings. In the distance, House could see a forest and a river, and there was the sound of a distant waterfall. The place seemed familiar, but it wasn't until Susan started walking towards it that it clicked.
"Is that... Rivendell? From the Lord of the Rings?"
Colby nodded, and swallowed a bite of pizza. "Looks like it."
They watched Susan step onto the road, wonder and happiness enveloping her features. She looked up into the trees, smiling as a leaf fell toward her outstretched hand. House watched the scene fade away, taking the young girl with it, to be replaced with the less peaceful view of a dry cleaner's.
Colby bit off a piece of crust and said, "Everyone's allowed their own interpretation."
Fandom: House MD/Dead Like Me crossover
Author: Starling
Rating: R overall
Characters/pairings: House, original characters, eventual House/Wilson.
Warnings: Afterlife!Fic. Thus, by necessity, also a death!fic, but not depressing. Also, a minor OC dies this chapter.
Summary: Now we wait. For pizza or death, whichever comes first.
Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own, write for, or produce either of these fabulous shows. I'm just a geek with too much time on her hands.
A/N: Here follows House's first reap. There is, unfortunately, no H/W interaction in this, because it's already long and kind of hairy, with two new characters introduced and some plot development. Next chapter, however, will be chock full of the two good doctors. Cross my heart.
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.
Concrit feedback gives me warm fuzzies.
x-posted to housefic and house_wilson.
Previous Chapters
People say the Lord works in mysterious ways. As if that makes all the crummy things in life any sweeter. Death is equally mysterious, but there's no sugar-coating that turd.
From Dead Like Me, episode 1x2 "Dead Girl Walking"
"What the hell are we doing back here?" House asked Kay as they slid into a corner booth at Hennry's. Kay had forced him off the couch he'd been sleeping on to come back to the crap diner with the misspelled name at the ungodly hour of 9:30.
"Can I get a coffee, Selma?" Kay, ignoring him, said to a waitress as she walked by.
House stared at her blearily. "Do you know all the waitresses here by name?"
"Their names, marriage status, medical conditions, dreams, aspirations, and anything else they feel like talking to me about. You will too, eventually. From this day onward, you'll be meeting me and the rest of the crew here for your assignment."
House blinked, and tried to get his brain working at its normal speed. "Every day?"
"Yes. Or else," she added with a glare.
Selma came back with the coffee, and set it down on the table. "Ready to order?"
"I'll have the ranchero eggs, side of homefries and bacon."
"And you?" she said to House.
House blinked, his brain still not quite up to speed. Kay came to his rescue.
"Just some coffee."
"With a shot of whiskey," House added, with his head sinking down into his hands. Kay sighed.
"We don't serve hard liquor." Selma was glaring at him. House wondered if they taught that glare to all the waitresses in training, or if there was just something about him that inspired it.
"He was joking, Selma. Just the coffee, please," Kay said with a charming smile. Selma seemed to waver for a moment, torn between Kay's sincerity and House's unapologetic frown. Finally she flipped her notepad decisively closed, and stalked back to the counter.
"Is it possible for you not to be an asshole to all the wait staff here?" Kay asked him. "I'll kill you again if you get us kicked out of here."
"Is it possible for you to not speak in such a screeching, grating voice?" House had a headache. He'd slept badly on Kay's couch, an old, dusty, squeaking relic from the eighties.
He'd refused to get off the couch the first two times Kay shook him awake. She'd finally set her cat on him, dropping tuna treats into the space between the couch and his pillow. There was nothing like waking up to a fat orange tabby sniffing enthusiastically at your ear to start your morning.
But worse than that, thoughts of Wilson had been plaguing on him all night; stupid Wilson, with his stupid grief and stupid tears and stupid way of making House feel like his guts had been through a blender. Kay was still warning him away from trying to make contact with the other doctor, but House had decided that Wilson needed to know almost as much as House needed to tell him, and probably as soon as possible. He needed his damn sleep.
"Morning Kay. Morning new guy." House looked up to find a young kid, didn't look any older than eighteen, with curly brown hair that added another two inches to an already tall and skinny frame. He wore a polo shirt, jeans, wire-rimmed glasses, and sneakers. Geek chic.
"I've got your new identity. Welcome to the world Mister-" Geek boy looked at a card in his hand, made a face, then said, "Mika Thaddeus Tesla. Sorry about that. Here's your driver's license, passport, birth certificate, credit report, social security card, bus pass, and library card." The kid flipped each down onto the table in front of House's coffee cup as he spoke, then looked up expectantly.
House turned to Kay. "Who's this guy?"
"Greg House, meet Colby Silverstein; reaper, drug dealer, and forgery expert. A good guy to know," she added, smiling at the kid. "By the way Colby, I got some stuff for you to sell."
House tuned them out as they began to haggle over a price for the painkillers from his apartment, choosing instead to examine the pieces of his new identity. What the hell kind of name was Mika Thaddeus Tesla? He was, as far as he could tell, named for a good smell, a saint, and a mad genius who'd tried to build a death ray.
Huh. Actually, that wasn't so bad, as far as assumed identities went.
Kay and Colby's conversation about the price of morphine on the streets was interrupted by the arrival of another woman, with dark brown skin and dreadlocks down to her waist. The woman, who looked about House's age, cast a glance at House, who was still huddled over his passport - apparently Mika Thaddeus Tesla had gone to France eight months ago - then sat down and looked intently at Kay.
"Why the hell do we still have to meet here? There's gotta be somewhere better. New Jersey's known for its diners, so why the hell can't we find somewhere better? The coffee is the worst on the eastern seaboard," the woman said, taking a sip from Kay's cup. It was the first time since she'd sat down at the table that she'd stopped to take a breath. "And last week, I think I saw Mabel flick a booger onto somebody's waffles," she added after she put the cup back down.
"You definitely have to watch your ass around Mabel; she's been here longer than I have, and dementia's definitely started to set in," Kay said.
"I think the stuff they use to wash the floor eats holes into your brain over long periods of time. By the way, nice to meet you, I'm Ada. You're the guy that got decapitated by the James Taylor CD, right?" Ada said, turning to House with a smile on her face.
House did not return the smile. Fucking James Taylor. If he'd had to die, why couldn't it at least have been a Black Sabbath CD? Or Gwar? There would have at least been a certain poetry in getting beheaded by death metal.
"That sucks. Least it was quick, right? Oh, and Kay, I'm real sorry about Delia. That's a damn shame. How you holding up?"
Ada's train of thought seemed to jump its tracks at every junction.
"I'm fine, Ada," Kay responded. "Thanks for asking." Her tone suggested that Ada please not ask her again, and Kay pulled out a leather bound diary, and started copying information from that onto a yellow pad of Post-It notes.
"House, Colby is going to baby sit you today. Colby, see if you can find the man an apartment, otherwise he's sleeping at your place. I want my privacy back. Not that it hasn't been fun, House," she added, raising a sardonic eyebrow. She handed out the canary yellow notes around the table.
House glanced at the paper square.
S. Manning
1894 Fisher Ave
1:38 pm
All the mysterious powers of life and death, and they couldn't even provide him with a first name. How lame was that?
***
"So how did you die?" House and Colby were driving to the address of House's first reap. As far as he could tell, the cars of choice among the discerning undead were Volkswagens from the mid nineties.
"Drowning. 1982." Colby kept his eyes on the road as he talked.
House waited. "And?"
"And what?"
"You're the first reaper I've met that doesn't want to regale me with a tale of how they horrifically met their end. So tell me, is it worse than getting beheaded by a CD of a wussy folk singer's greatest hits?"
Colby didn't answer.
"It is? Wow. You must be talented."
"You might not want to insult the guy who's selling your drugs and finding you an apartment."
"Oh, no. I insult everybody. It wouldn't be fair otherwise. That's also an ugly shirt."
Despite himself, Colby smiled. "Says the guy wearing a shirt with... what is that? An octopus wearing a police hat?"
"Holding the instruments of war and industry, and eating babies. It was a friend's band. Didn't have time to pack all my Armani suits when I was robbing my former apartment. And you're changing the subject. How did you die?"
Colby was silent, driving.
"Fine." House looked over the skinny forty-something year old in a gawky teenager's body, the diagnostic's wheels in his head turning.
"So drowning. We're not by the shore, and you didn't specify that it was a boating accident. And, no offense, you seem a little light in the loafers for the rugged outdoorsy type. So it probably wasn't the ocean, a lake, or a river. No, you strike me as a nice, suburban kid. But you're also a drug dealer and forgerer; not something too many upper-middle-class kids take to. So lower-class suburbs. Not the kind with pools, so that's out. So that means, you either drowned in your bath tub or-"
"It was a kiddie pool, all right?" Colby said. "My sister's one foot deep plastic kiddie pool. The last things I saw were the cartoon frogs on the bottom."
House smiled. "Probably hit your head on something in the pool. One of your sister's toys? And you were drunk."
"Of course I was drunk!"
"Off of something you probably found in your mother's kitchen cabinet. Sherry?"
"Creme de menthe. And it was a plastic boat. That's really frickin' creepy, by the way." Colby looked thoroughly unsettled.
House grinned and mentally gave himself a high five as they turned onto Fisher Ave.
"What's the address?"
House pointed it out; it was a pizza parlor called Dirty Dave's. This wasn't too far from his apartment; he and Wilson had ordered Dirty Dave's pizza countless times. House's stomach gave another unpleasant lurch as thoughts of Wilson flooded his brain in a weird slideshow; the way his hands moved when he talked, the rare and surprising sound of his laughter, and DEAR GOD. This needed to stop.
Colby parked the car, and they both got out. House shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked inside, Colby at his heels.
Waves of bad punk music from the early nineties and the yeasty smell of pizza dough washed over him as he pushed the door open. He took a look around. It was the beginning of the lunch rush, and there were scores of teenagers and twenty-somethings crowding the booths. What the hell was he supposed to do? Shout "S. Manning?" at the crowd and hope only one person looked up?
"Now what?" he asked Colby. The other Reaper checked his watch.
"We've got ten minutes. Let's get a slice," Colby answered, and got in line. House shrugged and stood with him.
Finally, they got to the counter. The waitress taking orders was about nineteen, was dotted with flour, and looked sweaty and stressed looking. Her curly hair was dyed an unlikely shade of green, the kind that never occurred in nature and should never occur in hair color. She pushed her stringy bangs out of her face, and said, "Know what you want?"
"Can I get two slices of Hawaiian pizza, and a... Susan? Susan Manning?"
House had been perusing the toppings list, but looked up sharply at Colby's words. The girl taking their order had a nametag with "SUE" printed on it.
Colby, meanwhile, was staring at the waitress with a disarmingly goofy grin plastered across his face. The waitress looked up from her pad at the two of them.
"Uh, yeah?" she said, guardedly.
"Wow, how are you doing? It's been ages. I'm Will Archer, remember me? We had a couple classes together junior year. I sat behind you in English class?" He looked so hopeful and sincere, House had to hand it to him.
Susan Manning looked at him, confused but trying to hide it.
"You don't remember me?" Colby sounded like a kicked puppy. House was impressed.
"No, no! I remember you! Fourth period, right?"
"Yeah, Mrs..." Colby trailed off, snapping his fingers as if the name were on the tip of his tongue.
"Mrs. Rotterdam! Yeah. Wow! This is so weird. How are you?" Susan had recovered well, though her bewilderment was still evident.
"I'm great, I'm just here with my uncle Mika. He's new to town." Colby turned to House. "Uncle Mika, this is Susan. We went to high school together."
House stared at him a moment, wondering what he was supposed to do now, then turned back to the girl. House put his hand out,old instincts taking over.
"So I gathered," he said. "I'm pleased to meet you."
Susan brushed her hand against her thigh, leaving a small handprint of flour on her jeans, then took his hand.
As she did, House felt something intangible, like a cool push of wind, pass from the young girl to him through the touch. Her soul, House thought. That was her soul I just extracted. Did she feel it? Did I feel it at that gas station?
Susan gently extracted her hand from his grip, and he was suddenly aware the handshake had gone on too long. He dropped his hand, and walked away without saying anything else. He fell into a booth, and watched Colby say "Goodbye for now," to the girl.
"Now what?" he asked as Colby slid into the seat across from him.
"Now we wait." He glanced at his watch again. "For pizza or death, whichever comes first."
The way it turned out, it was death. Hardly a minute later, Colby nudged House and nodded toward the kitchen. House turned and saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. And beneath the smell of other people and grease and pizza dough, he caught a whiff of something darker, the scent of ashes and smoke. And suddenly, there was a smear of red sauce on the floor near the counter where there hadn't been a moment before.
"Graveling?"
Colby nodded. House turned back toward the part of the kitchen that was visible. He watched Susan Manning turn, note pad still in hand, scribbling another order down. Three steps, then her foot slid in the sauce. She dropped the pad, arms windmilling for balance, teetered, then fell. House shut his eyes, but still heard the resounding crack as her head connected with the counter. It wasn't easy to break a person's neck, but with the right pressure in the right place, it was entirely possible. Then there was a dull thud that must have been her head landing on the floor. House diagnosed a fractured skull in some distant, clinical corner of his brain.
When House opened his eyes, there was a flurry of activity around the fallen girl. He turned back to Colby, and jumped when he saw Susan sitting next to him. She was glaring at Colby, arms crossed in front of her, an angry look on her face.
"Mrs. Rotterdam's class, huh? You dick."
Colby shrugged apologetically. "Had to know for sure it was you. You'd rather still be in there?"
"I'd rather still be alive, if it's all the same to you. Figures I'd fucking die at this shit job." She looked over at her coworkers, trying to shake her lifeless body back to consciousness. "Oh, gross. Tom is totally touching my boob! You couldn't have killed him instead?"
"Oh look. Our order's up." Colby walked over, grabbed the two slices, and gestured to the door. "You guys ready to go?"
House nodded, and slid out of the booth, Susan following him.
"Now what?" Susan asked the two of them, as the door shut behind them. It seemed to be the question for the day.
"Wait for it," Colby said around a mouthful of pizza.
"For what?" House asked. Just then, it seemed that the bright afternoon sun dimmed. House's jaw dropped open as across the street, another world unfolded.
Graceful buildings arched up from a street paved with white river stones, often with rooms open to the air. Golden sunlight threw dappled shadows on the ground, and autumn leaves fell in spirals from trees growing in and amongst the buidings. In the distance, House could see a forest and a river, and there was the sound of a distant waterfall. The place seemed familiar, but it wasn't until Susan started walking towards it that it clicked.
"Is that... Rivendell? From the Lord of the Rings?"
Colby nodded, and swallowed a bite of pizza. "Looks like it."
They watched Susan step onto the road, wonder and happiness enveloping her features. She looked up into the trees, smiling as a leaf fell toward her outstretched hand. House watched the scene fade away, taking the young girl with it, to be replaced with the less peaceful view of a dry cleaner's.
Colby bit off a piece of crust and said, "Everyone's allowed their own interpretation."