New Fic: What You Need: The Seventh One
Jul. 20th, 2008 02:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteTitle: What You Need: The Seventh 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 500 words. Part seven of thirteen.
The seventh one is something Wilson picks up on his way to the ER. It's dark brown and boring, and House rolls his eyes when he sees it -- or one eye, at least. The right one is swollen shut.
"Don't bitch," Wilson says. He leans in to examine the row of five stitches holding together the skin just above House's eyebrow. "It's nearly one a.m. I didn't have a lot of options between my place and here. Of course you always could have just picked up a replacement here."
"Anything they have here is even uglier than the one you bought," House says.
Wilson finally steps back, picks up the pieces of the broken older cane from the end of the bed. "Is this where you tell me about how I should see the other guy?" he asks.
House doesn't answer. Let Wilson come up with his own version of events, one involving a barroom brawl rather than an icy sidewalk outside the bar. One where someone takes a swing at House, not one with the cane sliding out from beneath him. One where the guy gets in a lucky shot that knocks him down, not one where House's head slams against a low brick wall just before he hits the ground. One in which the cane snaps when House uses it to push the guy back, not one when it breaks as House slams it against the wall in anger and frustration.
"I refuse to say anything on the grounds that I might incriminate myself," House finally says.
Wilson puts the broken cane back on the bed, crosses his arms over his chest. "Just tell me you don't need me to provide an alibi," he says.
House shakes his head. He explores the edge of the cut with his fingers. "How's it look?" he asks.
"Impressive," Wilson says. "Whoever did the stitches did a good job. Shouldn't be much of a scar." He pauses, steps closer to House again. "How's your head beyond that? Any dizziness? Nausea?"
"I know the signs of concussion," House says. "I'm fine."
Wilson doesn't look like he's satisfied with the answer, but doesn't argue. He steps aside as a nurse walks up to House. She covers the cut with gauze and tape and gives him more to take home along with his discharge instructions.
House jams them in his pocket and reaches for the new cane. He ignores the twinge in his shoulder when he picks it up, and the ache in his hip when he slides off the bed. He knows they're just bumps and bruises, muscle aches. They're nothing.
He puts Wilson's cane on the floor, feels the way the handle fits into his hand. It may be boring, but at least it feels good -- or at least as good as they ever seem to get.
He takes a step forward. "Time to take this out for a test drive," he says, and nods to Wilson. "Let's get out of here."
The eighth one is something House actually thinks about ...
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 500 words. Part seven of thirteen.
The seventh one is something Wilson picks up on his way to the ER. It's dark brown and boring, and House rolls his eyes when he sees it -- or one eye, at least. The right one is swollen shut.
"Don't bitch," Wilson says. He leans in to examine the row of five stitches holding together the skin just above House's eyebrow. "It's nearly one a.m. I didn't have a lot of options between my place and here. Of course you always could have just picked up a replacement here."
"Anything they have here is even uglier than the one you bought," House says.
Wilson finally steps back, picks up the pieces of the broken older cane from the end of the bed. "Is this where you tell me about how I should see the other guy?" he asks.
House doesn't answer. Let Wilson come up with his own version of events, one involving a barroom brawl rather than an icy sidewalk outside the bar. One where someone takes a swing at House, not one with the cane sliding out from beneath him. One where the guy gets in a lucky shot that knocks him down, not one where House's head slams against a low brick wall just before he hits the ground. One in which the cane snaps when House uses it to push the guy back, not one when it breaks as House slams it against the wall in anger and frustration.
"I refuse to say anything on the grounds that I might incriminate myself," House finally says.
Wilson puts the broken cane back on the bed, crosses his arms over his chest. "Just tell me you don't need me to provide an alibi," he says.
House shakes his head. He explores the edge of the cut with his fingers. "How's it look?" he asks.
"Impressive," Wilson says. "Whoever did the stitches did a good job. Shouldn't be much of a scar." He pauses, steps closer to House again. "How's your head beyond that? Any dizziness? Nausea?"
"I know the signs of concussion," House says. "I'm fine."
Wilson doesn't look like he's satisfied with the answer, but doesn't argue. He steps aside as a nurse walks up to House. She covers the cut with gauze and tape and gives him more to take home along with his discharge instructions.
House jams them in his pocket and reaches for the new cane. He ignores the twinge in his shoulder when he picks it up, and the ache in his hip when he slides off the bed. He knows they're just bumps and bruises, muscle aches. They're nothing.
He puts Wilson's cane on the floor, feels the way the handle fits into his hand. It may be boring, but at least it feels good -- or at least as good as they ever seem to get.
He takes a step forward. "Time to take this out for a test drive," he says, and nods to Wilson. "Let's get out of here."
The eighth one is something House actually thinks about ...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-20 07:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-20 08:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-20 07:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-20 08:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-20 07:36 pm (UTC)The details are so right. I love this series (and there's no reason to assume House has had only 13 canes in a decade or so. You can do lots of them -- please!)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-20 08:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-21 01:51 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-21 02:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-20 09:17 pm (UTC)Thanks, for another really nice true-to-character ficlet. I love them. Looking forward to more.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-21 02:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-21 04:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-21 03:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-21 05:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-21 08:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-21 06:47 pm (UTC)Still very much enjoying these :D
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-21 08:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-24 01:56 am (UTC)Awww, House. In scenes like this, it's always what he doesn't say, not what he says.
Well done.