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instant karma's gonna get you (part 3)
Title: instant karma's gonna get you (part 3)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
phinnia
Pairing: House/Thirteen; Wilson/Volakis (ctb); House/Wilson friendship
Spoilers: 4-10 "It's a Wonderful Lie", 4-12 "Don't Ever Change."
Rating: PG still.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Still broke. Don't sue.
Notes: A dubious kidnapping in a boxy car, lame jokes, metaphoric baked goods, and Sam Waterston can wait until later.
"I'd say I should have picked up a paintball gun just to make you more comfortable, but I don't think Amber would ever forgive me."
"Of course." House rolled his eyes and bounced his cane on the floor between his knees, staring out the window at the snowy, black streets. Wilson had refused to let him take the bike, claiming he couldn't be trusted to actually make it to the restaurant. Which was true, of course, but it was annoying that Wilson had figured it out. He'd have to figure out some way to get sneakier, somehow.
"It was a joke."
"A lame one."
"You used to laugh at my lame jokes. What is up with you?"
"I don't know what's up with me. Maybe it's because I'm being kidnapped in a boring, boxy car - an act which my boss has sanctioned, threatening me with time in the tenth circle of hell and supervision by Beelzebub wearing scrubs if I don't comply. My alternate sentence is a dinner with one of my fellows, Benedict Arnold in a bad tie disguised as someone who claims to be my best friend and Machiavelli in heels. And what's worse, Benedict Arnold bought flowers, and probably put them on my credit card, and this undoubtedly means that the fellow in question will expect something. Assuming she shows up. No, my life is just peachy at the moment, I have no idea what's up with me. Maybe it's indigestion. We should get a diagnostician in here just to be sure."
"Actually I put on my credit card."
"Oh, well, that changes everything."
"Never know when it comes to you. You weren't this bitter with Cameron, for god's sake. And she blackmailed you personally. and you had to wear a tie and uncomfortable shoes and she wanted to fix you. Thirteen's just an innocent bystander and I don't think she's naive enough to try and get compassion all over your Nikes." Wilson's eyes caught his across the Volvo's gearshift, laser-sharp. "You're not bitter. You're afraid, because it might mean something - that someone might get close to you that isn't me."
House stared at his cane, the yellow stripes blurring together on the road, the falling snow, the neon lights fuzzy through the water-streaked windows.
"The world ... gets easier the more people you let into it." Wilson's voice was gentler now. "It's not ... like a recipe, you're not substituting something for something else. It's ... about adding things. You can put fruit and nuts and chocolate chips in your muffins and they're still tasty. In fact ... some people might say they taste better. And you don't have to have everything all the time. There's still room for chocolate chip muffins ... or fruit muffins ... there are all kinds of muffins in the world. Just because you don't like, say ... coconut muffins doesn't mean you should write off baked goods entirely."
There was a long pause. The windshield wipers whisked softly, clearing the snow away.
"A baking metaphor?"
"Well, food does tend to get your attention." Wilson smiled. "Especially if I'm eating it for some reason. And here we are."
Amber's car was already parked out front, House noticed. Thirteen's car, on the other hand, was not.
"She's not here."
"She'll be here."
House felt butterflies rising in his throat and sent them back where they belonged with an irritated thought and a Vicodin to show them who was really in charge. "How in the hell am i supposed to be getting home, again?"
"Maybe you'll get lucky."
He snorted. "You of all people should know I don't depend on maybes."
"All right, how about this. If you don't I'll go home with Amber, you drive the Volvo back to your place. I'll take a cab over tomorrow morning and we'll go in to work together."
"What, no champagne breakfast plans with Amber Il Sung?"
"I told you. There's still room in the world for chocolate chip muffins, even though the fruit ones exist." Wilson pulled into a parking spot behind the restaurant and shut off the car.
As House got out (deliberately taking his time about it) he spotted a battered green early-model BMW pull in a few spots over. Thirteen got out, tucked a pair of leather driving gloves in her purse and locked up.
Wilson elbowed him in the ribs. "She looks good tonight."
"Oh, go find Blondie Amin and shut the hell up."
She had spotted them now. A flicker of a smile - amused? knowing? mocking? - crossed her face as she headed their way. Wilson grinned, punched House in the shoulder (earning him a very dirty look) and waved cheerfully at Thirteen before heading inside.
"I thought you said they drive panel vans." Thirteen shoved her hands in her coat pockets.
"Wilson's car only looks like one."
"Ah."
A long pause. House cleared his throat.
"Listen. It's safe to say you were ... kind of dragged into this, because my best friend is an idiot, and I know you're not the biggest fan of Cut-throat Bitch, so if you don't want to -"
"I've heard the aloo chole's pretty good here." she interrupted. "And well, it's either this or Law and Order reruns."
"Don't want to keep you away from Sam Waterston."
"Eh, that's what TiVo's for." Thirteen shrugged.
"Your loss." House ushered her forward with a slight, nervous wave. "Chalo chalo."
She trailed back a little to walk beside him. "What?"
"Hindi." He held the door open with his hip. "When in Mumbai and all that."
(still to be continued, of course.)
Author:
phinniaPairing: House/Thirteen; Wilson/Volakis (ctb); House/Wilson friendship
Spoilers: 4-10 "It's a Wonderful Lie", 4-12 "Don't Ever Change."
Rating: PG still.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Still broke. Don't sue.
Notes: A dubious kidnapping in a boxy car, lame jokes, metaphoric baked goods, and Sam Waterston can wait until later.
"I'd say I should have picked up a paintball gun just to make you more comfortable, but I don't think Amber would ever forgive me."
"Of course." House rolled his eyes and bounced his cane on the floor between his knees, staring out the window at the snowy, black streets. Wilson had refused to let him take the bike, claiming he couldn't be trusted to actually make it to the restaurant. Which was true, of course, but it was annoying that Wilson had figured it out. He'd have to figure out some way to get sneakier, somehow.
"It was a joke."
"A lame one."
"You used to laugh at my lame jokes. What is up with you?"
"I don't know what's up with me. Maybe it's because I'm being kidnapped in a boring, boxy car - an act which my boss has sanctioned, threatening me with time in the tenth circle of hell and supervision by Beelzebub wearing scrubs if I don't comply. My alternate sentence is a dinner with one of my fellows, Benedict Arnold in a bad tie disguised as someone who claims to be my best friend and Machiavelli in heels. And what's worse, Benedict Arnold bought flowers, and probably put them on my credit card, and this undoubtedly means that the fellow in question will expect something. Assuming she shows up. No, my life is just peachy at the moment, I have no idea what's up with me. Maybe it's indigestion. We should get a diagnostician in here just to be sure."
"Actually I put on my credit card."
"Oh, well, that changes everything."
"Never know when it comes to you. You weren't this bitter with Cameron, for god's sake. And she blackmailed you personally. and you had to wear a tie and uncomfortable shoes and she wanted to fix you. Thirteen's just an innocent bystander and I don't think she's naive enough to try and get compassion all over your Nikes." Wilson's eyes caught his across the Volvo's gearshift, laser-sharp. "You're not bitter. You're afraid, because it might mean something - that someone might get close to you that isn't me."
House stared at his cane, the yellow stripes blurring together on the road, the falling snow, the neon lights fuzzy through the water-streaked windows.
"The world ... gets easier the more people you let into it." Wilson's voice was gentler now. "It's not ... like a recipe, you're not substituting something for something else. It's ... about adding things. You can put fruit and nuts and chocolate chips in your muffins and they're still tasty. In fact ... some people might say they taste better. And you don't have to have everything all the time. There's still room for chocolate chip muffins ... or fruit muffins ... there are all kinds of muffins in the world. Just because you don't like, say ... coconut muffins doesn't mean you should write off baked goods entirely."
There was a long pause. The windshield wipers whisked softly, clearing the snow away.
"A baking metaphor?"
"Well, food does tend to get your attention." Wilson smiled. "Especially if I'm eating it for some reason. And here we are."
Amber's car was already parked out front, House noticed. Thirteen's car, on the other hand, was not.
"She's not here."
"She'll be here."
House felt butterflies rising in his throat and sent them back where they belonged with an irritated thought and a Vicodin to show them who was really in charge. "How in the hell am i supposed to be getting home, again?"
"Maybe you'll get lucky."
He snorted. "You of all people should know I don't depend on maybes."
"All right, how about this. If you don't I'll go home with Amber, you drive the Volvo back to your place. I'll take a cab over tomorrow morning and we'll go in to work together."
"What, no champagne breakfast plans with Amber Il Sung?"
"I told you. There's still room in the world for chocolate chip muffins, even though the fruit ones exist." Wilson pulled into a parking spot behind the restaurant and shut off the car.
As House got out (deliberately taking his time about it) he spotted a battered green early-model BMW pull in a few spots over. Thirteen got out, tucked a pair of leather driving gloves in her purse and locked up.
Wilson elbowed him in the ribs. "She looks good tonight."
"Oh, go find Blondie Amin and shut the hell up."
She had spotted them now. A flicker of a smile - amused? knowing? mocking? - crossed her face as she headed their way. Wilson grinned, punched House in the shoulder (earning him a very dirty look) and waved cheerfully at Thirteen before heading inside.
"I thought you said they drive panel vans." Thirteen shoved her hands in her coat pockets.
"Wilson's car only looks like one."
"Ah."
A long pause. House cleared his throat.
"Listen. It's safe to say you were ... kind of dragged into this, because my best friend is an idiot, and I know you're not the biggest fan of Cut-throat Bitch, so if you don't want to -"
"I've heard the aloo chole's pretty good here." she interrupted. "And well, it's either this or Law and Order reruns."
"Don't want to keep you away from Sam Waterston."
"Eh, that's what TiVo's for." Thirteen shrugged.
"Your loss." House ushered her forward with a slight, nervous wave. "Chalo chalo."
She trailed back a little to walk beside him. "What?"
"Hindi." He held the door open with his hip. "When in Mumbai and all that."
(still to be continued, of course.)
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