When Gregory House woke up that morning he had to pause, shaking his head against the sudden feeling of... but it was gone. His usually obsessive mind didn't even give the feeling a second thought as he limped into the kitchen, cane swung over his shoulder as he settled himself against a counter
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"I'm a growing boy." He said, fake innocence in his tone. He jabbed on the coffee machine and poured an unholy amount of coffee beans in before turning to search for his vicodin amongst the counter.
"Make blueberry." He called to Sylar.
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Giselle of course, would say nothing of the bottle of pills hiding in her apron pocket. Instead she started humming once again as she retrieved the carton of orange juice from the refrigerator. She poured a glass for Sylar and herself and then set the rest of the table.
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"Lose something, Greg old buddy?" Sylar knew what Giselle had done-- she'd done it enough times before. He knew it was in House's best interest, too. She just cared. That was what was so nice about her, actually. She was such a caring person. But he couldn't just let it go. If he couldn't feed his hunger, someone in the damn house should get to.
"Last I checked, it was..." He casually strolled over to Giselle and reached into her apron pocket before she had a chance to react. "Right here." He shook the bottle in his hand, listening to the noise the pills made. "Not that I'm enabling you or anything."
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"Ta da." he said dryly, placing the bottle back in his pocket and finding himself a free chair to settle in. "I'm in pain Giselle." No, he wasn't above guilting the girl. He leaned back in the chair, lulling his head in Sylar's direction. "My hero." he said with an exagerated batting of the eyes.
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"There are better ways to deal with pain," she said stubbornly as she went back to placing the silverware on the table.
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