Irritant. House/Lost crossover.
Title: Irritant.
Fandom: House/Lost crossover.
Characters: Charlie, House, Wilson, Chase.
Rating: PG.
Summary: Everyone lies, especially junkies.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never Will.
Warning: Crack!fic.
Note #1: A HUGE amount of thanks to soultoad and kmousie for their beta skills and hand holding. Thank you so much, ladies! fanfic100 prompt #77 - What?
Note #2: Written for philomel, for her birthday. Sorry about the rating, hon - I tried really hard to make it porny but the muse she is a fickle beast. Hope you like it. ¡♥! p.s. more birthday treats to come later in the day!
Happy birthday, Beth!
There was always a certain element of risk involved in House’s daily search for a quiet spot to watch his soap. He had given up on watching it in his own office long ago - Cameron’s need to work out what made him tick meant that particular option no longer existed, and, every so often, Wilson came down with a bad case of ethics and insisted that he be left to work in peace. Thus House was forced to run the gauntlet of people who wanted to waste his time with such petty annoyances as hospital regulations and patient care, and House was loath to miss a minute of his show because of some idiot’s sprained wrist or one of Cuddy’s lectures on his responsibilities. And so here he was again, playing hooky from clinic duty and searching for a free room to settle down and get some quality time with his hand-held TV. If anyone wanted Dr. House for the next hour or so, then they could ask the other "Dr. House", the blond, British - no, wait, Australian - one who was taking his place today.
Speaking of which…
House could see Chase standing by the pharmacy, talking in a far-too-animated fashion and, yes, smiling. That wasn’t right at all; if Chase was enjoying his turn at clinic duty, then something was almost certainly rotten in the state of Denmark - or indeed, in the state of New Jersey. House checked his watch; he still had 20 minutes to spare before General Hospital started, more than enough time to burst Chase’s bubble and still find somewhere to hide out. House waited until Chase started to walk back to the examination room he was currently using and then stepped in his way.
"You appear to be humming to yourself and, if I’m not mistaken, you’re carrying a large bottle of Vicodin in your hand. Can I deduce from this that you have joined the pill-popping crowd?"
Chase stopped dead in his tracks and did the blinking thing that House found incredibly irritating.
"They’re for a patient, not me. He has a foot injury and is in pain."
Chase was attempting annoyance; House would have laughed at him if he’d had the energy to do so.
"And you’re giving him Vicodin instead of Tylenol because..."
House waited; Chase just stared.
"Because... this is where you say something. I know you’ve mastered speaking, Chase. You do it often enough."
House waited some more; Chase frowned.
"The patient is allergic to all painkillers except Vicodin."
House sighed. Chase really was an idiot sometimes.
"And you know this because... no wait, let me guess, he told you, am I right? Has there been a memo saying it’s OK to believe patients now? I don’t think I got that one. I must speak to Cuddy about the appalling state of the inter-office mail. Or, alternatively, you could use the brain that you were allegedly born with and accept that the man is lying. Repeat after me: everybody lies."
Chase’s frown was now moving away from mildly confused to slightly pissed off. House couldn’t wait to hear what Chase would say next.
"This guy is a rock star; his band was huge in Australia. He’s not some common junkie just here to score a fix."
House worked through a series of facial expressions at high speed, each one of them based around disbelief. There was so much wrong with Chase’s thinking that House wasn’t sure where to start.
"The wearing of hats with corks strung from the brim and the name "Merv" are both huge in Australia - excuse me if I don’t see that as a measure of good taste. And are you really trying to suggest that a rock star wouldn’t be interested in drugs? What planet are you from? Planet naive idiot?"
Chase pouted and then did something that House hoped to never have to deal with again - he began to sing. It was horribly high-pitched and, whatever it was, had some of the worst lyrics that House had ever heard. House quickly raised both hands to protect his ears.
"Stop! For the love of God, stop. There are dogs 10 blocks away that are being driven crazy."
Chase stopped singing and went back to pouting.
"That was their biggest hit. You must have heard it."
"Why must I? I haven’t been held captive by any sadistic torturers recently."
House checked his watch. 15 minutes till show time. He needed to speed things up.
"As you’re clearly too star-struck to make a sensible diagnosis, I guess I’ll have to take your place. Take me to your prisoner."
House waved his cane in a get-a-move-on kind of a way and, after a moment of serious frowning, Chase complied.
***
The patient was a scruffy-looking man with patchily bleached hair and badly chipped nail polish. He was short and slightly scrawny but attractive in an intriguing sort of a way. But what House noticed most about him was that his hand tapped against his knee almost continuously and his eyes darted nervously about the room.
"So, Mr...." House checked the name on the chart that Chase had given him, "Pace, what seems to be the problem?"
House gave Charlie his best "I care" look, which he knew full well translated into "Why are you alive and when will you stop bothering me?" but House didn’t really care. Bedside manners were for pussies.
"My foot hurts. I dropped an amp on it the other day, and now it…hurts. I just need some pain killers to take away the, er, pain. I’m in a band, see, Drive Shaft. You’ve probably heard of us."
House considered calling in a psych consult; this Charlie Pace seemed both a little dim and, if the song Chase had been singing was anything to go by, deluded as well. House was about to speak when Charlie decided to take a moment to refresh House’s memory. He started singing the same painfully high-pitched dirge that Chase had sung earlier. House winced.
"Thankfully, I have managed to remain blissfully unaware of your existence until today."
Charlie pouted. House looked over at Chase and found that he was pouting too. Disturbing. He quickly checked his watch again. 10 minutes left. Time to put an end to this fiasco.
House reached into his pocket and made a big show of pulling out his own bottle of Vicodin - Charlie’s eyes had been fixed on the one Chase held in his hand ever since they had entered the room - he popped the cap, shook a pill out and then held it up to the light for a moment before dropping it into his mouth and swallowing it with a satisfied "mmmmm". Charlie followed every movement House made, his eyes gleaming with something akin to desire. If House wasn’t mistaken, Charlie licked his lips at the sight of the pill.
"OK, Mr. Pace, if you could just stand up for me and drop your pants."
There was a chorus of "huh"s from Charlie and Chase.
"If you’re confused by what I mean, just imagine you’re backstage at one of your gigs and Chase here is a groupie. You rock stars understand that kind of thing."
House peered at Charlie over the top of the chart. Charlie wasn’t moving; he was just sitting and staring in open-mouthed surprise. House sighed heavily, mainly for effect.
"Blondes not your thing? I would offer, but I have a little problem getting down on my knees. Bum leg, you see." House tapped his leg with his cane.
Charlie followed the movement with his eyes, but he still didn’t move.
"Dr. Chase, could you go and fetch Dr. Wilson for me? Perhaps he’s more Mr. Pace’s type."
Chase gave him a look that screamed “are you insane?”. House narrowed his eyes and waved at the door. Time was running out fast, and he didn’t want to miss a moment of his show.
"Tell Wilson I need a consult. Go!"
As soon as Chase was safely out of the room, House turned to Charlie again. He raised his eyebrows as high as they would go and pointed his cane towards the zipper on Charlie’s jeans. Charlie continued to stare at him in confusion.
"I just dropped a sodding amp on my foot! Why do I need to take off my jeans?"
House smiled his best "you’re an idiot" smile.
"Because I am the doctor and you are the patient. Indulge me."
Charlie raised a rather shaky hand and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and his thumb. House was about to offer to get a nurse to help Charlie with the complicated task of unzipping his jeans when Wilson walked in.
"You want me?"
House looked Wilson up and down.
"I’ve told you not to say things like that in front of the patients! People might talk."
Wilson raised an eyebrow.
"People are already talking. Chase said something about your getting ready to molest a patient."
House checked his watch and tried to suppress a grin. He handed Charlie’s chart over in a rather grand manner. Charlie watched the two of them suspiciously.
"As you can see, the patient is complaining of pain in his foot due to an amp-related injury. And yet, according to Dr. Chase, there’s no swelling, bruising or marks of any kind. I’m simply trying to perform some basic tests to check that it isn’t something more serious, but Mr. Pace here is a little shy and refuses to get undressed. I offered him full use of Chase’s body as an incentive, but he didn’t go for it. I thought he might ‘fancy’ you more."
Wilson gave the chart a quick once-over and then looked up, confused. House turned his wrist so that Wilson could see his watch, and tapped it in a none-too-subtle manner. Wilson’s eyes widened in understanding.
"Ah, yes I see. I agree, we clearly need to run a full battery of tests on Mr. Pace. Blood panel, mylogram, rectal exam, the whole works."
Wilson turned to Charlie. "Horribly invasive, I’m afraid, but we wouldn’t want to miss anything."
Charlie paled visibly and looked between them. House and Wilson did their best not to smile.
"Look, er, I’m feeling much better, thanks. Pain’s all gone. I feel sodding marvellous."
Charlie hopped down from the examination table and made quickly for the door.
"I’ll let myself out. Sorry to have taken up your time."
House could have sworn he heard Charlie mutter "weirdos" under his breath as he left.
"Damn junkies."
Wilson raised an eyebrow again.
"And we all know what terrible people junkies are."
House settled himself down on the now-vacant exam table and pulled out his miniature TV.
"Shh, it’s about to start. Did you bring snacks?"
Wilson sighed and then reached into his pocket, producing a bag of potato chips. House smiled and made himself a bit more comfortable.
"Excellent."
Fandom: House/Lost crossover.
Characters: Charlie, House, Wilson, Chase.
Rating: PG.
Summary: Everyone lies, especially junkies.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never Will.
Warning: Crack!fic.
Note #1: A HUGE amount of thanks to soultoad and kmousie for their beta skills and hand holding. Thank you so much, ladies! fanfic100 prompt #77 - What?
Note #2: Written for philomel, for her birthday. Sorry about the rating, hon - I tried really hard to make it porny but the muse she is a fickle beast. Hope you like it. ¡♥! p.s. more birthday treats to come later in the day!
Happy birthday, Beth!
There was always a certain element of risk involved in House’s daily search for a quiet spot to watch his soap. He had given up on watching it in his own office long ago - Cameron’s need to work out what made him tick meant that particular option no longer existed, and, every so often, Wilson came down with a bad case of ethics and insisted that he be left to work in peace. Thus House was forced to run the gauntlet of people who wanted to waste his time with such petty annoyances as hospital regulations and patient care, and House was loath to miss a minute of his show because of some idiot’s sprained wrist or one of Cuddy’s lectures on his responsibilities. And so here he was again, playing hooky from clinic duty and searching for a free room to settle down and get some quality time with his hand-held TV. If anyone wanted Dr. House for the next hour or so, then they could ask the other "Dr. House", the blond, British - no, wait, Australian - one who was taking his place today.
Speaking of which…
House could see Chase standing by the pharmacy, talking in a far-too-animated fashion and, yes, smiling. That wasn’t right at all; if Chase was enjoying his turn at clinic duty, then something was almost certainly rotten in the state of Denmark - or indeed, in the state of New Jersey. House checked his watch; he still had 20 minutes to spare before General Hospital started, more than enough time to burst Chase’s bubble and still find somewhere to hide out. House waited until Chase started to walk back to the examination room he was currently using and then stepped in his way.
"You appear to be humming to yourself and, if I’m not mistaken, you’re carrying a large bottle of Vicodin in your hand. Can I deduce from this that you have joined the pill-popping crowd?"
Chase stopped dead in his tracks and did the blinking thing that House found incredibly irritating.
"They’re for a patient, not me. He has a foot injury and is in pain."
Chase was attempting annoyance; House would have laughed at him if he’d had the energy to do so.
"And you’re giving him Vicodin instead of Tylenol because..."
House waited; Chase just stared.
"Because... this is where you say something. I know you’ve mastered speaking, Chase. You do it often enough."
House waited some more; Chase frowned.
"The patient is allergic to all painkillers except Vicodin."
House sighed. Chase really was an idiot sometimes.
"And you know this because... no wait, let me guess, he told you, am I right? Has there been a memo saying it’s OK to believe patients now? I don’t think I got that one. I must speak to Cuddy about the appalling state of the inter-office mail. Or, alternatively, you could use the brain that you were allegedly born with and accept that the man is lying. Repeat after me: everybody lies."
Chase’s frown was now moving away from mildly confused to slightly pissed off. House couldn’t wait to hear what Chase would say next.
"This guy is a rock star; his band was huge in Australia. He’s not some common junkie just here to score a fix."
House worked through a series of facial expressions at high speed, each one of them based around disbelief. There was so much wrong with Chase’s thinking that House wasn’t sure where to start.
"The wearing of hats with corks strung from the brim and the name "Merv" are both huge in Australia - excuse me if I don’t see that as a measure of good taste. And are you really trying to suggest that a rock star wouldn’t be interested in drugs? What planet are you from? Planet naive idiot?"
Chase pouted and then did something that House hoped to never have to deal with again - he began to sing. It was horribly high-pitched and, whatever it was, had some of the worst lyrics that House had ever heard. House quickly raised both hands to protect his ears.
"Stop! For the love of God, stop. There are dogs 10 blocks away that are being driven crazy."
Chase stopped singing and went back to pouting.
"That was their biggest hit. You must have heard it."
"Why must I? I haven’t been held captive by any sadistic torturers recently."
House checked his watch. 15 minutes till show time. He needed to speed things up.
"As you’re clearly too star-struck to make a sensible diagnosis, I guess I’ll have to take your place. Take me to your prisoner."
House waved his cane in a get-a-move-on kind of a way and, after a moment of serious frowning, Chase complied.
***
The patient was a scruffy-looking man with patchily bleached hair and badly chipped nail polish. He was short and slightly scrawny but attractive in an intriguing sort of a way. But what House noticed most about him was that his hand tapped against his knee almost continuously and his eyes darted nervously about the room.
"So, Mr...." House checked the name on the chart that Chase had given him, "Pace, what seems to be the problem?"
House gave Charlie his best "I care" look, which he knew full well translated into "Why are you alive and when will you stop bothering me?" but House didn’t really care. Bedside manners were for pussies.
"My foot hurts. I dropped an amp on it the other day, and now it…hurts. I just need some pain killers to take away the, er, pain. I’m in a band, see, Drive Shaft. You’ve probably heard of us."
House considered calling in a psych consult; this Charlie Pace seemed both a little dim and, if the song Chase had been singing was anything to go by, deluded as well. House was about to speak when Charlie decided to take a moment to refresh House’s memory. He started singing the same painfully high-pitched dirge that Chase had sung earlier. House winced.
"Thankfully, I have managed to remain blissfully unaware of your existence until today."
Charlie pouted. House looked over at Chase and found that he was pouting too. Disturbing. He quickly checked his watch again. 10 minutes left. Time to put an end to this fiasco.
House reached into his pocket and made a big show of pulling out his own bottle of Vicodin - Charlie’s eyes had been fixed on the one Chase held in his hand ever since they had entered the room - he popped the cap, shook a pill out and then held it up to the light for a moment before dropping it into his mouth and swallowing it with a satisfied "mmmmm". Charlie followed every movement House made, his eyes gleaming with something akin to desire. If House wasn’t mistaken, Charlie licked his lips at the sight of the pill.
"OK, Mr. Pace, if you could just stand up for me and drop your pants."
There was a chorus of "huh"s from Charlie and Chase.
"If you’re confused by what I mean, just imagine you’re backstage at one of your gigs and Chase here is a groupie. You rock stars understand that kind of thing."
House peered at Charlie over the top of the chart. Charlie wasn’t moving; he was just sitting and staring in open-mouthed surprise. House sighed heavily, mainly for effect.
"Blondes not your thing? I would offer, but I have a little problem getting down on my knees. Bum leg, you see." House tapped his leg with his cane.
Charlie followed the movement with his eyes, but he still didn’t move.
"Dr. Chase, could you go and fetch Dr. Wilson for me? Perhaps he’s more Mr. Pace’s type."
Chase gave him a look that screamed “are you insane?”. House narrowed his eyes and waved at the door. Time was running out fast, and he didn’t want to miss a moment of his show.
"Tell Wilson I need a consult. Go!"
As soon as Chase was safely out of the room, House turned to Charlie again. He raised his eyebrows as high as they would go and pointed his cane towards the zipper on Charlie’s jeans. Charlie continued to stare at him in confusion.
"I just dropped a sodding amp on my foot! Why do I need to take off my jeans?"
House smiled his best "you’re an idiot" smile.
"Because I am the doctor and you are the patient. Indulge me."
Charlie raised a rather shaky hand and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and his thumb. House was about to offer to get a nurse to help Charlie with the complicated task of unzipping his jeans when Wilson walked in.
"You want me?"
House looked Wilson up and down.
"I’ve told you not to say things like that in front of the patients! People might talk."
Wilson raised an eyebrow.
"People are already talking. Chase said something about your getting ready to molest a patient."
House checked his watch and tried to suppress a grin. He handed Charlie’s chart over in a rather grand manner. Charlie watched the two of them suspiciously.
"As you can see, the patient is complaining of pain in his foot due to an amp-related injury. And yet, according to Dr. Chase, there’s no swelling, bruising or marks of any kind. I’m simply trying to perform some basic tests to check that it isn’t something more serious, but Mr. Pace here is a little shy and refuses to get undressed. I offered him full use of Chase’s body as an incentive, but he didn’t go for it. I thought he might ‘fancy’ you more."
Wilson gave the chart a quick once-over and then looked up, confused. House turned his wrist so that Wilson could see his watch, and tapped it in a none-too-subtle manner. Wilson’s eyes widened in understanding.
"Ah, yes I see. I agree, we clearly need to run a full battery of tests on Mr. Pace. Blood panel, mylogram, rectal exam, the whole works."
Wilson turned to Charlie. "Horribly invasive, I’m afraid, but we wouldn’t want to miss anything."
Charlie paled visibly and looked between them. House and Wilson did their best not to smile.
"Look, er, I’m feeling much better, thanks. Pain’s all gone. I feel sodding marvellous."
Charlie hopped down from the examination table and made quickly for the door.
"I’ll let myself out. Sorry to have taken up your time."
House could have sworn he heard Charlie mutter "weirdos" under his breath as he left.
"Damn junkies."
Wilson raised an eyebrow again.
"And we all know what terrible people junkies are."
House settled himself down on the now-vacant exam table and pulled out his miniature TV.
"Shh, it’s about to start. Did you bring snacks?"
Wilson sighed and then reached into his pocket, producing a bag of potato chips. House smiled and made himself a bit more comfortable.
"Excellent."