New Fic: What You Need: The Third One
Jul. 16th, 2008 09:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteTitle: What You Need: The Third One
Author: Namaste
Summary: "So where do you buy these things? Do they have cane stores?" -- John Henry Giles, "DNR" Stories of how House came by his canes over the years, told through a series of short fics. PG. This one is about 450 words. Part three of thirteen.
The third one is nearly in his grasp. House sits next to the old man in the chairs at gimp central -- which the hospital directory insists on calling the rehab center's lobby -- and leans his cane against the wall next to the old man's cane. They're nearly identical, both made of dark wood and with a rounded handle, both thirty-six inches long.
There are two differences: a brass ring just below the handle of the old man's cane, and the fact that his didn't come from Stacy. Stacy took her clothes and her books and her CDs when she left. But everything else she touched stayed behind. Each time House takes a step, he still relies on the cane she bought, as if her ghost remains at his side.
It's time, he's decided, for an exorcism.
So he's made a plan. He spent the weekend watching spy movies, seeing the way secret agents would make a simple switch, one identical briefcase for another, in a park or an outdoor cafe or -- he looks around the room again -- some busy hotel lobby. A simple trade: money for secrets.
He's not James Bond, this isn't a hotel, he's not looking for blueprints of a nuclear bomb, and the canes aren't briefcases, but they'll do.
He sits back, studies the man while he waits for his chance to move. The man must be new here. He's on edge, twitchy, looking around at the room, checking his watch, fidgeting each time a nurse walks into the lobby and leads a patient out through the wooden doors hiding the entrance to the treatment rooms. The man has a magazine in his hand, but he's idly flipping pages rather than concentrating on an article.
House sighs. What he needs is a distraction.
He grins, pulls out his cell phone. He hasn't put in regular hours since the infarction, but he still knows how to work the system. He dials the ER extension, then the rehab's unit's extension. Then adds three final numbers: 9-1-1.
When the ER attending and nurse rocket through the lobby doors with a gurney in tow, the old man cranes his neck to the left to see what's going on, and House makes his move. He grabs the man's cane, walks off to the right, then slides out the door before anyone realizes it's a false alarm.
When Wilson gives him a ride home that afternoon, he stares at the cane in House's hand before he pulls away from the curb.
"Is that new?"
"Yep." House holds it up for Wilson to see, the sun reflecting off the brass ring. "It's a little something I picked up after physical therapy today. You like it?"
The fourth one is leaning against the filing cabinet ...
Author: Namaste
Summary: "So where do you buy these things? Do they have cane stores?" -- John Henry Giles, "DNR" Stories of how House came by his canes over the years, told through a series of short fics. PG. This one is about 450 words. Part three of thirteen.
The third one is nearly in his grasp. House sits next to the old man in the chairs at gimp central -- which the hospital directory insists on calling the rehab center's lobby -- and leans his cane against the wall next to the old man's cane. They're nearly identical, both made of dark wood and with a rounded handle, both thirty-six inches long.
There are two differences: a brass ring just below the handle of the old man's cane, and the fact that his didn't come from Stacy. Stacy took her clothes and her books and her CDs when she left. But everything else she touched stayed behind. Each time House takes a step, he still relies on the cane she bought, as if her ghost remains at his side.
It's time, he's decided, for an exorcism.
So he's made a plan. He spent the weekend watching spy movies, seeing the way secret agents would make a simple switch, one identical briefcase for another, in a park or an outdoor cafe or -- he looks around the room again -- some busy hotel lobby. A simple trade: money for secrets.
He's not James Bond, this isn't a hotel, he's not looking for blueprints of a nuclear bomb, and the canes aren't briefcases, but they'll do.
He sits back, studies the man while he waits for his chance to move. The man must be new here. He's on edge, twitchy, looking around at the room, checking his watch, fidgeting each time a nurse walks into the lobby and leads a patient out through the wooden doors hiding the entrance to the treatment rooms. The man has a magazine in his hand, but he's idly flipping pages rather than concentrating on an article.
House sighs. What he needs is a distraction.
He grins, pulls out his cell phone. He hasn't put in regular hours since the infarction, but he still knows how to work the system. He dials the ER extension, then the rehab's unit's extension. Then adds three final numbers: 9-1-1.
When the ER attending and nurse rocket through the lobby doors with a gurney in tow, the old man cranes his neck to the left to see what's going on, and House makes his move. He grabs the man's cane, walks off to the right, then slides out the door before anyone realizes it's a false alarm.
When Wilson gives him a ride home that afternoon, he stares at the cane in House's hand before he pulls away from the curb.
"Is that new?"
"Yep." House holds it up for Wilson to see, the sun reflecting off the brass ring. "It's a little something I picked up after physical therapy today. You like it?"
The fourth one is leaning against the filing cabinet ...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 02:12 pm (UTC)You have a tiny typo in this line: "What is needs is a distraction."
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 02:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 02:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 02:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2008-07-16 05:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 06:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 07:06 pm (UTC)So very House to freak everyone out by causing a false alarm just so that he can steal an old man's cane, instead of just buying himself a new one or even asking.
And I liked the description of an "exorcism," getting rid of everything she'd touched and especially the cane.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 08:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 07:11 pm (UTC)Ah, yes. House doesn't seem capable of actually buying his own cane.
Very ingenious on his part though. Easier to use his brain than to use his wallet.
Awesome.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 08:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 09:05 pm (UTC)Yes, I'm enjoying reading about House's ingenious tactics for acquiring new canes.
Looking forward to the next one.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 08:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 08:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 10:56 pm (UTC)I'm really enjoying these little windows. I got that line, but it took a bit of frowning. It gave me a very strange mental picture of the hospital directory.
Did you do cane number 1?
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-17 02:55 am (UTC)The first one was here (http://namasteyoga.livejournal.com/38467.html#cutid1) by the way.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-17 02:29 am (UTC)This is an excellent line: "It's a little something I picked it up after physical therapy today. (I'm wondering if you need the "it" in there, though.)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-17 02:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-17 09:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2008-07-21 03:23 pm (UTC)