New Fic: What You Need: The Twelfth One
Jul. 25th, 2008 03:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteTitle: What You Need: The Twelfth 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 twelve of thirteen. (To start at the beginning, go here.)
The twelfth one is perfect. No, House corrects himself, not perfect. Nothing is perfect --especially not a cane -- but this is the closest thing he's seen. He rolls it between his fingers: index finger, middle finger, ring finger. The flames pass before his eyes with each rotation, moving in lazy circles through the air.
He wonders who owned it before it ended up in this shop, jumbled in with tobacco and rolling paper and doorknobs and mismatched china sets and old winter coats and dusty books. The store is a cross between a pawn shop, head shop and junk shop. Everything here has a story, some history that's been forgotten. It reminds him of everything he had to leave behind when he was a kid, of toys and books and music scattered all around the around the world.
"You ready?" Wilson asks. He's standing by the door, already reaching for the handle.
"What's your hurry?" House turns away from the entrance, walks further into the shop.
"I've got a patient," Wilson says. "So do you."
"Your kid's not going to get any better without new bone marrow, and my kid's not going to be able to give it to him until we see if he improves by taking him off his meds. What difference does it make whether we wait there or here until we have an answer?" House expects to hear Wilson walk out the door, but after a few seconds, he sees Wilson's shadow on the bookshelf beside him.
Wilson grabs one of the books, opens it. House looks over his shoulder, watches the Ansel Adams landscapes flip past on each page before Wilson stops at one of the Yosemite photos: a pine tree growing on the edge of a mountain top, shaped by harsh winds until its shade falls onto a lonely set of rocks.
House heads down another aisle, finds hockey skates next to pots and pans. The shop is confusing, a riddle. Every time he thinks he knows what he'll find, something surprises him. It keeps him guessing. He knows Wilson would say that's why he comes here, because the place is its own puzzle, but that's not it.
It's because it's messy. Unorganized. Because nothing is ever the same. Because if you don't grab something you want when you first see it, there's no guarantee you'll get another chance.
It's because things get lost, and get left behind -- and because sometimes, things can be found.
He picks up the cane again, studies how the flames twirl around the base, changing color from red to orange to yellow as they climb up the staff. He hears Wilson's footsteps behind him, knows without looking that Wilson's checking his watch. Knows that they have to leave.
House drops the cane back to the ground, leans against it and feels the way it tucks neatly against his body as he walks toward the door. It's perfect -- or as close to perfect as he's ever seen.
The thirteenth 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 twelve of thirteen. (To start at the beginning, go here.)
The twelfth one is perfect. No, House corrects himself, not perfect. Nothing is perfect --especially not a cane -- but this is the closest thing he's seen. He rolls it between his fingers: index finger, middle finger, ring finger. The flames pass before his eyes with each rotation, moving in lazy circles through the air.
He wonders who owned it before it ended up in this shop, jumbled in with tobacco and rolling paper and doorknobs and mismatched china sets and old winter coats and dusty books. The store is a cross between a pawn shop, head shop and junk shop. Everything here has a story, some history that's been forgotten. It reminds him of everything he had to leave behind when he was a kid, of toys and books and music scattered all around the around the world.
"You ready?" Wilson asks. He's standing by the door, already reaching for the handle.
"What's your hurry?" House turns away from the entrance, walks further into the shop.
"I've got a patient," Wilson says. "So do you."
"Your kid's not going to get any better without new bone marrow, and my kid's not going to be able to give it to him until we see if he improves by taking him off his meds. What difference does it make whether we wait there or here until we have an answer?" House expects to hear Wilson walk out the door, but after a few seconds, he sees Wilson's shadow on the bookshelf beside him.
Wilson grabs one of the books, opens it. House looks over his shoulder, watches the Ansel Adams landscapes flip past on each page before Wilson stops at one of the Yosemite photos: a pine tree growing on the edge of a mountain top, shaped by harsh winds until its shade falls onto a lonely set of rocks.
House heads down another aisle, finds hockey skates next to pots and pans. The shop is confusing, a riddle. Every time he thinks he knows what he'll find, something surprises him. It keeps him guessing. He knows Wilson would say that's why he comes here, because the place is its own puzzle, but that's not it.
It's because it's messy. Unorganized. Because nothing is ever the same. Because if you don't grab something you want when you first see it, there's no guarantee you'll get another chance.
It's because things get lost, and get left behind -- and because sometimes, things can be found.
He picks up the cane again, studies how the flames twirl around the base, changing color from red to orange to yellow as they climb up the staff. He hears Wilson's footsteps behind him, knows without looking that Wilson's checking his watch. Knows that they have to leave.
House drops the cane back to the ground, leans against it and feels the way it tucks neatly against his body as he walks toward the door. It's perfect -- or as close to perfect as he's ever seen.
The thirteenth one ...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-25 07:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-25 09:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-25 08:02 pm (UTC)It was indeed perfect.
Thank you.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-25 09:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-25 09:47 pm (UTC)(Even though I think they cheated. I didn't see any flames on the cane that went flying. Maybe flame cane was clever enough to take a hike before the fatal bus crash and is now out there somewhere...)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-25 08:40 pm (UTC)Mmm, now I'm really curious about the twelfth cane...
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-25 09:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-25 09:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-25 09:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-25 09:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-25 10:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-26 01:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-26 12:42 am (UTC)Just that look in his eye when he saw it for the first time told us how much he adored that cane. Bitchin!
Flame cane, you will be missed...
:)
Awesome job as usual.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-26 01:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-26 04:49 am (UTC)I so wish that the show would give us more of these kinds of poignant H-W moments. I do realize that probably most of the casual fans would get sick of this kind of thing, but I do believe that most of us obsessive fans would embrace it and love it.
(Well, I guess that's what fan-fic is for. To fill in the missing pieces behind the canon stories. Or to fix what we think goes "wrong.") :-)
Thank you for writing these. They're wonderful. I look forward to the next one, even though it's the last.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-26 08:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-26 09:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-26 08:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-26 07:48 pm (UTC)Another good one - and the way you wove it in with canon worked really well.
*mourns the flame cane*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-26 08:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-09-01 01:00 am (UTC)*Missing the flame cane too.*