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New Fic: Through The Woods
Title: Through The Woods
Author: Namaste
Summary: All sorts of families gather for Thanksgiving. Spoilers for “You Don’t Want to Know.” House and Wilson friendship with appearances by the newbies and others. About 2,500 words.
“Canned yams don’t taste as good,” Wilson said.
“They do when you use marshmallows.”
“You forgot the marshmallows.”
“No I didn’t.” Wilson pushed the spice jars to the back of the counter and reached for a knife.
“It’s not sweet potatoes without marshmallows,” House said. He stood next to the refrigerator, watching as Wilson began peeling a yam. “My mother always uses marshmallows.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not your mother.”
“Thank God.”
Wilson glanced over at him, then went back to peeling the yams.
“They make those in cans, you know,” House said. “No peeling required.”
“Canned yams don’t taste as good,” Wilson said.
“They do when you use marshmallows.”
Wilson put down the knife. “Want me to book you a flight? I’ll pay. Your Mom will be overjoyed to see you.”
“But then who would you cook for? You’ve been talking about wanting to make a big dinner for weeks, and I wouldn’t want you to be lonely.” House stepped away from the refrigerator.
Wilson picked up his knife again. “I’d survive,” he said.
House walked over to the stove and opened it. He looked inside. “Kind of a small turkey, don’t you think?”
Wilson pushed the door closed again. “It’s nearly twelve pounds,” he said. “And if you want it to finish cooking sometime today, you’ll keep this shut.”
-----------
“I wish Phillip and Liz could have come. It seems strange without them here.”
Taub nodded and finished setting the table. Just four place settings this year: himself, his wife and her best friend and husband. She was right. It was strange without Phillip there for Thanksgiving, but Phillip had been the one he confided in after the affair with the nurse, the one who turned him in to the other partners.
“It’s for your own good,” Phillip had said. “You have to stop doing this. Think about what this would do to Naomi if she found out.”
But Naomi hadn’t found out. She wouldn’t.
Taub didn’t feel guilty about lying to her when he said he’d decided he needed a change, when he said he’d always wanted to work with House. That wasn’t even a total lie. He’d heard about House enough times, had been astounded with nearly every story he’d heard about the stunts House had pulled. Now he was part of the stories, and was surprised to find how much he enjoyed being there.
He’d been tempted to think that it was fate that he heard about the opening on House’s staff just thirty minutes before Phillip called him in to meet with the other partners, but Taub never believed in fate. No child was fated to live with the damage from a cleft palate. No one should have to live with scars, or hate the face that looked back at her in the mirror. So he told himself that it was just coincidence that House went looking for a new team at the same time Taub’s team dumped him by the side of the road.
“Do you want to open the wine?” Naomi asked, and Taub shook away the thoughts of that day, of Phillip’s betrayal -- even if he couldn’t forget his own betrayal.
“Sure,” he said.
He stepped into the kitchen and stooped down to open the wine chiller beneath the counter. “Chardonnay or sauvignon blanc?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Chardonnay.” Naomi always liked chardonnay. Taub preferred the sauvignon, but opened the chardonnay because it was what she liked. And he wanted her to be happy.
He poured her a glass and placed it on the counter next to the potatoes. She reached for it and took a sip. “Maybe next year, you can invite one of the doctors from Princeton,” she said. “I’d like to meet Dr. House.”
Taub took a breath. Maybe House wouldn’t say anything. He let the breath out and shook his head. But he probably would spill it all out, just to see her reaction. “Maybe,” he said, “we’ll see.”
---------
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” Wilson asked.
“Why?” House put his bare feet up on the coffee table. “It’s not as if I’m expecting company.”
Wilson put his hands on his hips.
“You don’t count,” House said.
House stretched his arms over his head and Wilson saw a fading bruise in the crook of his left arm where someone had done a clumsy needle poke. Probably Kutner, he thought.
“I arranged for pie delivery in a couple of hours,” Wilson said. “I wouldn’t want you to scare anyone off.”
“Who delivers pies on Thanksgiving?”
“You’re complaining about pies?”
“No, I’m curious about where the pies are coming from.”
Wilson shrugged. “I know people,” he said.
------------
Cole took the turkey breast out of the oven. He turned to put it on the counter, and nearly tripped over Jacob.
“When is Uncle Larry going to get here?” Jacob asked.
Cole sighed and put down the pan, then closed the oven door. “He can’t come,” he said. “Plans changed.”
“But why?”
“He just ...” Cole shook his head. “He just couldn’t come.”
“I like him,” Jacob said. “He said he’s going to take me to the zoo.”
Cole leaned against the counter. “I like him too,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. He had liked Kutner. Kutner was a little bit crazy, maybe, but he’d made Jacob laugh, and that meant a lot. But maybe it hadn’t meant enough. He’d agreed to Cuddy’s demands too easily, telling himself that House would cut Amber instead, convincing himself that Kutner was never really at risk.
Then he’d tried to tell himself that it was better for Jacob if they stayed -- that it was the best thing for his son, and Kutner would understand. It wasn’t good for a kid to move around this much. But it had all been for nothing. They’d have to move anyway.
He stared down at the turkey, its skin roasted to a light brown and its juices still bubbling in the bottom of the pan. He shook his head.
He turned to look at Jacob, who was getting so tall now, so fast. He’d need new clothes soon, and winter boots. He wondered if he should explain to him what was going on, that Uncle Larry wouldn’t be back, that they’d have to move. But Jacob was too young. He’d never understand. It was hard enough for Cole.
“Maybe Daddy will take you to the zoo instead,” Cole told him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Jacob nodded. “Daddy and Uncle Larry,” he said.
“No,” Cole said. “Just Daddy.” He turned and looked at his son. “Go wash your hands,” he said. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
---------------
“Seriously, aren’t you going to get dressed?”
“Seriously, no. It’s a holiday.”
Wilson sat on the couch, a towel flipped over his shoulder. The turkey was roasting, the yams were parboiled, he’d peeled the potatoes and tossed the salad. Nothing to do now but wait for the turkey to finish roasting.
The pre game show was going over Favre’s accomplishments for the season. “How about you get dressed if the Packers win the coin toss?”
“What’s your obsession about whether I dress?” House slid his feet off the coffee table and turned toward Wilson. “You didn’t invite anyone, did you?”
“I’m not asking for a suit and tie, just a pair of jeans.”
“Forget it.” House turned back to the TV.
“If the Lions win the coin toss, I won’t say another word about it.”
House looked at Wilson. “You realize that there’s a 50 percent chance you’ll actually have to shut up, right?”
Wilson nodded. “I’ll take my chances.”
------------
Kutner watched the lights inside Cole’s apartment. He saw a shadow pass between the lamp and the living room window, and ducked down in his car, but no one looked outside. No one noticed him.
He was an idiot for sitting here. He should go in, tell Cole that he understood why he did what he did, sit down and have some dinner. But he didn’t. He didn’t understand. So instead he sat there, watching, while the car grew colder by the minute.
Kutner shook his head. He should just go. He had already called over to the Wok Inn for a carry out order, and it was hardly the first time he’d spent a holiday alone. It wouldn’t be the last, either.
At least he still had a job. He was surprised to find he felt sorry for Cole about that, but then it was Cole’s fault anyway.
He sighed and watched the lights a little longer, then started the car and drove away.
------------
“I can’t believe you tested my blood.”
“I didn’t,” House said. “I guessed. But I can’t believe that idea would surprise you.”
He walked into the living room, his hair still damp and wearing a dark t-shirt and faded jeans.
“You tested it,” Wilson said. “I’m just trying to figure out when and how.”
“You ever talk to your therapist about this paranoia of yours?”
“It’s not paranoia if it’s true.”
------------
Amber set aside her notes and called up the new patient’s file on her computer. Another referral. She was glad she hadn’t given up her old practice yet. She’d still have a job to go back to if House didn’t pick her.
She clicked on an attachment to her email, compared the radiology reports and took note of a small shadow on one picture. She heard the microwave beeping, but ignored it. The food would still be there when she finished reading the studies.
She knew she was good. That’s why she was still getting referrals after two months away from her office. It was why she was still here. It was why Cole wanted to get rid of her.
And Cuddy, she thought, then shook her head.
Cuddy didn’t matter. Not now. Neither did Cole. She wasn’t here to make friends. House didn’t keep her because she played nice, and no one mattered except House. He thought she was good -- he knew she was good -- and he still wanted her here. That’s what mattered.
She saved the file and closed her laptop. She stood and stretched, then cleared space at the table. Twenty minutes to eat, she told herself, and then she’d get back to work -- back to what was important.
------------
Wilson lifted the lid and poked a fork into the boiling potatoes. Almost ready, he thought, and put the lid back down.
The turkey was sitting on the butcher block, cooling down, his carving knife sharpened and ready to use.
“Ow,” House said, and hissed. Wilson looked back to see House standing next to the turkey, sucking on his fingers.
“I told you it was hot.”
“I’m hungry.”
“So have some salad.”
“Not that hungry.”
“Then give me another fifteen minutes.”
--------------
Hadley let herself in the back door and watched silently for a few minutes. Her father’s back was to her, and he was singing to himself as he opened the oven door and took out the turkey.
“Tell me why you cried,” he sang, “and why you lied to me.”
She smiled. She could just hear him over the sound of the TV in the other room, and her brother cheering a touchdown.
“Another miracle,” her father said, and turned to her. “It’s not burned.”
“It’s never burned,” she said, and walked in to give him a hug. “I didn’t think you’d seen me.”
“I didn’t,” Dad said, “but you let the cold air in when you opened the door. Welcome home.”
Hadley took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “It smells good,” she said.
“That’s because of your mother’s stuffing recipe,” Dad said. “It’s always good.”
She remembered her mother’s last Thanksgiving, watching her write down the recipes, directing Dad’s every move. He always said his food wasn’t as good as Mom’s. Hadley didn’t want to tell him that she couldn’t remember Mom’s cooking anymore, so she just nodded.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Dad said, and took off the oven mitts. He was wearing the apron that he always wore every Thanksgiving, the one Mom had given him. “Kiss The Cook,” it read, and Hadley did, stretching up to kiss his cheek.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said.
-------------
Wilson was carving the turkey when he heard the knock at the door. “About time,” he mumbled, then nodded at House. “You want to get that?”
House stared at him, and didn’t move. “Who’d you invite?”
“It’s the pies.”
Wilson heard the knock again. House hadn’t moved. “Just get the door,” he said, and House finally turned and walked out.
He heard the door open.
“Take this,” he heard Cuddy say.
“You invited Cuddy?” House yelled from across the room, his hand still on the door knob. Wilson wondered if he’d slam it in Cuddy’s face, but Cuddy stepped inside and walked past House, a pie in each hand. “It’s my house,” House said.
“But it’s my dinner,” Wilson countered. “We’ve got enough food.”
“You’ve got enough food for eight,” Cuddy said, and put the pies on the counter next to the sink. She turned and smiled at Wilson. “It smells great.”
House slammed the door and walked across the room. “You made me get dressed for Cuddy? She’s seen me naked.”
“Please, half the nursing staff has seen you naked,” Cuddy said. She grabbed a chunk of the turkey and popped it into her mouth. “If you don’t want the nurses to compare notes, maybe you should stop putting knives in sockets.”
House leaned against the doorway. “Forget about dinner,” he said, “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Right,” Wilson said, and scooped the dressing into a bowl. He could smell the sausage and sage and cornbread as the aromas filled the room and mingled with the rich scent of the turkey. He poured gravy into a bowl -- he didn’t bother searching for a gravy boat in House’s kitchen.
House took a step inside the kitchen. “Maybe a bite or two,” he said, “just to make you happy.”
“The dishes are in there.” Wilson nodded toward the cupboard and Cuddy reached inside and pulled out three plates. She placed them alongside the platters on the table. She pulled out two drawers until she found the silverware, then took out knives and spoons and forks.
“Almost forgot,” Wilson said, and reached into the oven. He took the lid off of the casserole dish, and the smell of the sweet potatoes joined the other scents mixing in the warm air of the kitchen.
“It looks great,” Cuddy said. She leaned forward and then looked up at Wilson. “Wait,” she said, “you forgot the marshmallows.”
House stabbed a piece of turkey and put it on a plate. “Told you.”
Author: Namaste
Summary: All sorts of families gather for Thanksgiving. Spoilers for “You Don’t Want to Know.” House and Wilson friendship with appearances by the newbies and others. About 2,500 words.
“Canned yams don’t taste as good,” Wilson said.
“They do when you use marshmallows.”
“You forgot the marshmallows.”
“No I didn’t.” Wilson pushed the spice jars to the back of the counter and reached for a knife.
“It’s not sweet potatoes without marshmallows,” House said. He stood next to the refrigerator, watching as Wilson began peeling a yam. “My mother always uses marshmallows.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not your mother.”
“Thank God.”
Wilson glanced over at him, then went back to peeling the yams.
“They make those in cans, you know,” House said. “No peeling required.”
“Canned yams don’t taste as good,” Wilson said.
“They do when you use marshmallows.”
Wilson put down the knife. “Want me to book you a flight? I’ll pay. Your Mom will be overjoyed to see you.”
“But then who would you cook for? You’ve been talking about wanting to make a big dinner for weeks, and I wouldn’t want you to be lonely.” House stepped away from the refrigerator.
Wilson picked up his knife again. “I’d survive,” he said.
House walked over to the stove and opened it. He looked inside. “Kind of a small turkey, don’t you think?”
Wilson pushed the door closed again. “It’s nearly twelve pounds,” he said. “And if you want it to finish cooking sometime today, you’ll keep this shut.”
-----------
“I wish Phillip and Liz could have come. It seems strange without them here.”
Taub nodded and finished setting the table. Just four place settings this year: himself, his wife and her best friend and husband. She was right. It was strange without Phillip there for Thanksgiving, but Phillip had been the one he confided in after the affair with the nurse, the one who turned him in to the other partners.
“It’s for your own good,” Phillip had said. “You have to stop doing this. Think about what this would do to Naomi if she found out.”
But Naomi hadn’t found out. She wouldn’t.
Taub didn’t feel guilty about lying to her when he said he’d decided he needed a change, when he said he’d always wanted to work with House. That wasn’t even a total lie. He’d heard about House enough times, had been astounded with nearly every story he’d heard about the stunts House had pulled. Now he was part of the stories, and was surprised to find how much he enjoyed being there.
He’d been tempted to think that it was fate that he heard about the opening on House’s staff just thirty minutes before Phillip called him in to meet with the other partners, but Taub never believed in fate. No child was fated to live with the damage from a cleft palate. No one should have to live with scars, or hate the face that looked back at her in the mirror. So he told himself that it was just coincidence that House went looking for a new team at the same time Taub’s team dumped him by the side of the road.
“Do you want to open the wine?” Naomi asked, and Taub shook away the thoughts of that day, of Phillip’s betrayal -- even if he couldn’t forget his own betrayal.
“Sure,” he said.
He stepped into the kitchen and stooped down to open the wine chiller beneath the counter. “Chardonnay or sauvignon blanc?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Chardonnay.” Naomi always liked chardonnay. Taub preferred the sauvignon, but opened the chardonnay because it was what she liked. And he wanted her to be happy.
He poured her a glass and placed it on the counter next to the potatoes. She reached for it and took a sip. “Maybe next year, you can invite one of the doctors from Princeton,” she said. “I’d like to meet Dr. House.”
Taub took a breath. Maybe House wouldn’t say anything. He let the breath out and shook his head. But he probably would spill it all out, just to see her reaction. “Maybe,” he said, “we’ll see.”
---------
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” Wilson asked.
“Why?” House put his bare feet up on the coffee table. “It’s not as if I’m expecting company.”
Wilson put his hands on his hips.
“You don’t count,” House said.
House stretched his arms over his head and Wilson saw a fading bruise in the crook of his left arm where someone had done a clumsy needle poke. Probably Kutner, he thought.
“I arranged for pie delivery in a couple of hours,” Wilson said. “I wouldn’t want you to scare anyone off.”
“Who delivers pies on Thanksgiving?”
“You’re complaining about pies?”
“No, I’m curious about where the pies are coming from.”
Wilson shrugged. “I know people,” he said.
------------
Cole took the turkey breast out of the oven. He turned to put it on the counter, and nearly tripped over Jacob.
“When is Uncle Larry going to get here?” Jacob asked.
Cole sighed and put down the pan, then closed the oven door. “He can’t come,” he said. “Plans changed.”
“But why?”
“He just ...” Cole shook his head. “He just couldn’t come.”
“I like him,” Jacob said. “He said he’s going to take me to the zoo.”
Cole leaned against the counter. “I like him too,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. He had liked Kutner. Kutner was a little bit crazy, maybe, but he’d made Jacob laugh, and that meant a lot. But maybe it hadn’t meant enough. He’d agreed to Cuddy’s demands too easily, telling himself that House would cut Amber instead, convincing himself that Kutner was never really at risk.
Then he’d tried to tell himself that it was better for Jacob if they stayed -- that it was the best thing for his son, and Kutner would understand. It wasn’t good for a kid to move around this much. But it had all been for nothing. They’d have to move anyway.
He stared down at the turkey, its skin roasted to a light brown and its juices still bubbling in the bottom of the pan. He shook his head.
He turned to look at Jacob, who was getting so tall now, so fast. He’d need new clothes soon, and winter boots. He wondered if he should explain to him what was going on, that Uncle Larry wouldn’t be back, that they’d have to move. But Jacob was too young. He’d never understand. It was hard enough for Cole.
“Maybe Daddy will take you to the zoo instead,” Cole told him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Jacob nodded. “Daddy and Uncle Larry,” he said.
“No,” Cole said. “Just Daddy.” He turned and looked at his son. “Go wash your hands,” he said. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
---------------
“Seriously, aren’t you going to get dressed?”
“Seriously, no. It’s a holiday.”
Wilson sat on the couch, a towel flipped over his shoulder. The turkey was roasting, the yams were parboiled, he’d peeled the potatoes and tossed the salad. Nothing to do now but wait for the turkey to finish roasting.
The pre game show was going over Favre’s accomplishments for the season. “How about you get dressed if the Packers win the coin toss?”
“What’s your obsession about whether I dress?” House slid his feet off the coffee table and turned toward Wilson. “You didn’t invite anyone, did you?”
“I’m not asking for a suit and tie, just a pair of jeans.”
“Forget it.” House turned back to the TV.
“If the Lions win the coin toss, I won’t say another word about it.”
House looked at Wilson. “You realize that there’s a 50 percent chance you’ll actually have to shut up, right?”
Wilson nodded. “I’ll take my chances.”
------------
Kutner watched the lights inside Cole’s apartment. He saw a shadow pass between the lamp and the living room window, and ducked down in his car, but no one looked outside. No one noticed him.
He was an idiot for sitting here. He should go in, tell Cole that he understood why he did what he did, sit down and have some dinner. But he didn’t. He didn’t understand. So instead he sat there, watching, while the car grew colder by the minute.
Kutner shook his head. He should just go. He had already called over to the Wok Inn for a carry out order, and it was hardly the first time he’d spent a holiday alone. It wouldn’t be the last, either.
At least he still had a job. He was surprised to find he felt sorry for Cole about that, but then it was Cole’s fault anyway.
He sighed and watched the lights a little longer, then started the car and drove away.
------------
“I can’t believe you tested my blood.”
“I didn’t,” House said. “I guessed. But I can’t believe that idea would surprise you.”
He walked into the living room, his hair still damp and wearing a dark t-shirt and faded jeans.
“You tested it,” Wilson said. “I’m just trying to figure out when and how.”
“You ever talk to your therapist about this paranoia of yours?”
“It’s not paranoia if it’s true.”
------------
Amber set aside her notes and called up the new patient’s file on her computer. Another referral. She was glad she hadn’t given up her old practice yet. She’d still have a job to go back to if House didn’t pick her.
She clicked on an attachment to her email, compared the radiology reports and took note of a small shadow on one picture. She heard the microwave beeping, but ignored it. The food would still be there when she finished reading the studies.
She knew she was good. That’s why she was still getting referrals after two months away from her office. It was why she was still here. It was why Cole wanted to get rid of her.
And Cuddy, she thought, then shook her head.
Cuddy didn’t matter. Not now. Neither did Cole. She wasn’t here to make friends. House didn’t keep her because she played nice, and no one mattered except House. He thought she was good -- he knew she was good -- and he still wanted her here. That’s what mattered.
She saved the file and closed her laptop. She stood and stretched, then cleared space at the table. Twenty minutes to eat, she told herself, and then she’d get back to work -- back to what was important.
------------
Wilson lifted the lid and poked a fork into the boiling potatoes. Almost ready, he thought, and put the lid back down.
The turkey was sitting on the butcher block, cooling down, his carving knife sharpened and ready to use.
“Ow,” House said, and hissed. Wilson looked back to see House standing next to the turkey, sucking on his fingers.
“I told you it was hot.”
“I’m hungry.”
“So have some salad.”
“Not that hungry.”
“Then give me another fifteen minutes.”
--------------
Hadley let herself in the back door and watched silently for a few minutes. Her father’s back was to her, and he was singing to himself as he opened the oven door and took out the turkey.
“Tell me why you cried,” he sang, “and why you lied to me.”
She smiled. She could just hear him over the sound of the TV in the other room, and her brother cheering a touchdown.
“Another miracle,” her father said, and turned to her. “It’s not burned.”
“It’s never burned,” she said, and walked in to give him a hug. “I didn’t think you’d seen me.”
“I didn’t,” Dad said, “but you let the cold air in when you opened the door. Welcome home.”
Hadley took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “It smells good,” she said.
“That’s because of your mother’s stuffing recipe,” Dad said. “It’s always good.”
She remembered her mother’s last Thanksgiving, watching her write down the recipes, directing Dad’s every move. He always said his food wasn’t as good as Mom’s. Hadley didn’t want to tell him that she couldn’t remember Mom’s cooking anymore, so she just nodded.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Dad said, and took off the oven mitts. He was wearing the apron that he always wore every Thanksgiving, the one Mom had given him. “Kiss The Cook,” it read, and Hadley did, stretching up to kiss his cheek.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said.
-------------
Wilson was carving the turkey when he heard the knock at the door. “About time,” he mumbled, then nodded at House. “You want to get that?”
House stared at him, and didn’t move. “Who’d you invite?”
“It’s the pies.”
Wilson heard the knock again. House hadn’t moved. “Just get the door,” he said, and House finally turned and walked out.
He heard the door open.
“Take this,” he heard Cuddy say.
“You invited Cuddy?” House yelled from across the room, his hand still on the door knob. Wilson wondered if he’d slam it in Cuddy’s face, but Cuddy stepped inside and walked past House, a pie in each hand. “It’s my house,” House said.
“But it’s my dinner,” Wilson countered. “We’ve got enough food.”
“You’ve got enough food for eight,” Cuddy said, and put the pies on the counter next to the sink. She turned and smiled at Wilson. “It smells great.”
House slammed the door and walked across the room. “You made me get dressed for Cuddy? She’s seen me naked.”
“Please, half the nursing staff has seen you naked,” Cuddy said. She grabbed a chunk of the turkey and popped it into her mouth. “If you don’t want the nurses to compare notes, maybe you should stop putting knives in sockets.”
House leaned against the doorway. “Forget about dinner,” he said, “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Right,” Wilson said, and scooped the dressing into a bowl. He could smell the sausage and sage and cornbread as the aromas filled the room and mingled with the rich scent of the turkey. He poured gravy into a bowl -- he didn’t bother searching for a gravy boat in House’s kitchen.
House took a step inside the kitchen. “Maybe a bite or two,” he said, “just to make you happy.”
“The dishes are in there.” Wilson nodded toward the cupboard and Cuddy reached inside and pulled out three plates. She placed them alongside the platters on the table. She pulled out two drawers until she found the silverware, then took out knives and spoons and forks.
“Almost forgot,” Wilson said, and reached into the oven. He took the lid off of the casserole dish, and the smell of the sweet potatoes joined the other scents mixing in the warm air of the kitchen.
“It looks great,” Cuddy said. She leaned forward and then looked up at Wilson. “Wait,” she said, “you forgot the marshmallows.”
House stabbed a piece of turkey and put it on a plate. “Told you.”
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