Knitting for _vicodin
Bellsie wrote "Knitting" for Ibilic, now _vicodin.
Three things she wanted to see in her story
1. House/Wilson snark
2. Smut is optional
3. House dealing with a strange/funny clinic patient
Three things she didn't want anywhere near her story
1. Wimpy Cameron
2. Wimpy House
3. First-person fic
Rating: PG-13-R...heavy groping
Author's Note: *Sighs*. I got caught up in writing "So This is Your Scrap of Dignity" and ended up applying my sarcasm (not well) to this fic...I know there isn't much House/Cameron action, and I'm sorry. I don't own "House." Marti did a great job beta-ing this, catching my mistakes.
“You can’t keep skipping hospital duty,” Wilson reminds him.
“Oh, yes I can. Last time I checked, we weren’t in high school.”
“But Cuddy can make your life more miserable than the schoolyard bully ever could.”
“Ya think?”
Wilson sighs.
“Just go.”
“Could I pay you to break my arm?” House asks as they walk into the elevator (Wilson hits the button for the clinic. House, absorbed in the sudden appearance of white fuzz on his black shirt does not notice.)
“No. You could take a sick leave if you decided to admit you’re addicted to those pills that are like Tic-Tacs for you. Cuddy would be more than happy to grant you the time.”
“She’d be more than happy to grant me the time to get me out of her hair. You don’t think I get a kick out of torturing her?”
“You get a kick out of torturing everyone. Especially poor Dr. Cameron. She really likes you, you know.”
“Who are you? Matchmaker? No one died and made you Chuck Woolery.”
“Wasn’t it Bob Eubanks?”
“No, Dr. Wilson. Brush up on your game show history. Eubanks did “The Newlywed Game.” Woolery did one of those blind-date shows in the ‘80s. I don’t remember the name. You wouldn’t happen to remember, George, would you?”
“I’m going to punch you.”
“References to ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf’ too close to home for you, eh?”
“No, simply the fact that I didn’t major in literary works in college. And neither did you.”
“Well, at least I’m putting my medical degree to use.”
The elevator opens and lets the off at the clinic. House hits Wilson in the shin with his cane. He tries to catch the elevator before the doors close, but the other members of the compartment do not what him back on it.
“Damn it.”
“Just do it. For me?” Wilson pouts a little.
House rolls his eyes and picks up the first folder on the stack. Pain in hands.
“More like a pain-in-the-ass.”
He walks into Exam Room Three and finds a middle-aged woman sitting on the exam table and knitting furiously. She looks up as he enters. He takes a seat on the stool and opens her folder on the table. The redhead smiles.
“Oh, thank God! My hands hurt horribly and I’m not sure I’m going to be able to get this done,” she holds up the pink and orange atrocity.
“Dr. House. Pleased to meet you. What’s wrong?”
“Well, Dr. House, my hands are really starting to bother me. Like, my fingers go numb and it really hurts. A lot. Can you fix it? I really am looking forward to entering my blanket in the local-”
“Don’t care. How long has this been going on for?”
“About two weeks. Please-” She jumps off the table and grabs his arm that is idly playing with a pen, “-Please help me.”
Her big doe eyes look into his. He can’t decide whether or not to shove the pen down her throat or his.
“Do not touch the animals. Thank you,” he says as she backs away slowly.
“Now, what do you do for fun other than crochet? Annoy hospital doctors?”
“I knit! I don’t crochet!” She sounds mildly offended.
“You…knit?”
“Yes, you see it’s not like crocheting or anything. In crocheting-”
“I don’t care about the difference between crocheting and knitting. There is no difference. I have to call someone for a consult. Hold your stitches,” House snaps at her and presses a few buttons on his pager.
He leaves the room as quickly as he can (discourses on the finer points of knitting? He has better things to do.)
“Ah, Dr. Wilson, just the man I was looking for!”
Wilson squints at him, knows he’s up to something, and decides to escape before there is a chance he’ll actually have to do anything.
“Not so fast. You may have a good leg, but Cuddy likes me better.”
Wilson doesn’t turn around and instead lobs his retort over his shoulder.
“I have to go do something…important. Something that involves ignoring you.”
House grimaces.
“That hurt, James Wilson. That hit my bad leg. And hard.”
Wilson doesn’t stop walking, so House grabs a patient’s unfinished lunch off a nurse’s passing cart. He limps as fast as he can with the cane in one hand and the plate in the other. Wilson reaches the elevator and realizes he has to wait for one. He taps his leg impatiently. House approaches undetected, holds the plate precariously in the hand also holding his cane, and grabs some of the mush off of it.
“I need a consult. You cannot run away. From a cripple. That’s illegal. That’s bad friend behavior. It’s inexcusable,” House goes on for a few seconds before launching the mush at Wilson’s back. Wilson turns around slowly. Patients and staff stop their movements.
“You did not just ruin my perfectly good lab coat!”
“I believe I did. But my patient in exam room one will probably be more than willing to knit you a new coat.”
Wilson narrows his eyes.
“You might get away with not wearing yours, but I’ve had this since med school.”
“Thus the perfect reason to go shopping. Maybe you can even pick up a hot sales associate,” he raises an eyebrow.
They both turn their heads as Cuddy comes down the hall.
“Everyone, this is not a freak show, even though it looks like one. This is Dr. House and Dr. Wilson’s attempt to get fired. Now, back to work,” she glowers and faces the two doctors in front of her.
“You two,” she seethes.
“Yes, I do believe there are only two of us,” House snarks.
“Do you two ever work? You-” she points at House, “-have a clinic patient. And Dr. Wilson I need you in my office. Now.”
“Aw, Cuddy and Wilson sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-”
“Proceed with that song, and I’ll have Stacy castrate you.”
“You wouldn’t do it yourself? Stacy already butchered my one leg. I think she’s had enough of the ‘tear Greg limb-from-limb game.’”
Before Cuddy can say anything someone taps House on the shoulder. He sighs and turns around to find the Knitting Lady standing behind him.
“So, like I was saying before, the difference between knitting and crocheting-”
“Well, Ms.-” he pauses because he realizes that he’s forgotten the lady’s real name, “-this is Dr. Cuddy. She’s the doctor I was just consulting on your case.”
Cuddy shoots a glare at him that, if aimed lower, would do a very nice job of castrating him, and shakes the woman’s hand. She then turns to Dr. House.
“I think you have this under control. If you need me, I’ll be doing my job, something that you wouldn’t understand,” she hisses and stalks away. House looks at the Knitting Lady.
“So, tell me what’s wrong again.”
The woman looks around at the passing staff, patients, and people with nothing to do. She leans in to make sure House hears her whisper.
“Aren’t I supposed to have doctor/patient confidentiality?”
House mimics the whisper.
“And if this was a perfect world, there would be. Oh, and also, if it were a perfect world, I wouldn’t be dealing with you right now. So, no, as of right now, you chased after me, so you’re now asking to be treated in the middle of the hallway. By the way, take a break from the knitting if you want your carpal-tunnel syndrome to get any worse.”
“Car-what?”
“Carpal-tunnel syndrome. You knit some much that the repeated movement irritates the median nerve. This causes the tingling sensation and the numbness in your fingers. So take a break from knitting, ice your fingers every once and a while and you should be good to go. ‘Kay? Questions?”
The woman frowns, and then brightens, before grabbing House’s hand.
“I’ll find a way to repay you,” she smiles and leaves quickly. House sighs.
“Dr. House!”
“Shit,” he murmurs under his breath. The only thing he doesn’t need right now is Cameron coming to him with another case right now.
“What Dr. Cameron?”
“I just wanted to show you the latest test results on-”
He squeezes her shoulder endearingly and smiles.
“You can explain that to me more when you give me a back massage.”
Cameron sighs and turns around.
“You know, I really do enjoy the view of your ass much better than your front!”
Cuddy would have killed him, but Cameron just sighs and keeps walking away.
“Damn you,” he mutters and retreats to an empty exam room. Beaten.
;’;
The next few days go by rather swiftly. House hides from Cuddy, Cuddy enlists hit men to kill House. House bothers Wilson, Wilson counsels House. House thinks of ways to get meaningless sex from Cameron, Cameron thinks of ways to get meaningless sex from House. Chase and Foreman do something constructive.
House walks by the elevator banks. He smiles and touches the pill bottle in his pocket with an affection he has not shown any human being since his ill-fated affair with Stacy (and not even then was he as tender as he is now towards the pills.)
He’s on a mission. Mission Impossible 455: Escape from Cuddy. She’s currently somewhere on the second floor; he figures he can make a pit stop at his office to refuel on Vicodin and then keep moving around the hospital until he finds a room that is suitable for his purpose of spending an afternoon getting paid to do nothing. What a life.
As he rounds the corner to his office, he almost crashes into one of the pillars that are in the hallway to make cripples’ lives remarkably miserable.
“Oh shit,” House mutters under his breath as he sees a red head approaching quickly. (He calculates the odds of the earth blowing up right around….now.)
“Dr. House?” Inquires another voice from his right. It’s familiar and belongs to a pretty face-Cameron!
“You, come here,” he grabs Cameron’s arm and drags her down a hallway.
“Dr. House!” Shouts the voice (not Cameron’s.)
“Where are you taking me?” Cameron hisses.
“A broom closet.”
“Why?” She asks.
House ignores her and glances over his shoulder. The knitting lady is hot on his tail. He takes a quick left, hoping to throw her off and discovers a well-placed broom closet (score-in more ways than one.)
“Get in here. We can discuss…well, we can discuss lots of things.”
He sweeps her into the room and grabs the string hanging from the lone light bulb to turn it on (there’s a switch somewhere, but he’s short on time and he’s been in here before…hiding from Cuddy involves making use of skills he once utilized in Hide and Seek.)
He grabs a chair and barricades the door. Cameron stares at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Barricading the door. Didn’t you ever read “Nancy Drew” when you were growing up?”
“Nancy Drew?”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.
“I’m kidding!” She laughs at her joke. It’s his turn to stare.
“Sorry,” she says and moves her eyes to the ground.
“That’s plumb alright.”
“Plumb alright?”
“Yes. Now, let’s cut to the chase. Well, not to Chase, literally. Like, you know, cut to the chase as in the saying-”
There are few ways to make Gregory House stop talking. One of those ways, as Cameron discovers, is kissing him.
She pushes him back against the door and lets her fingers grab his free hand and she brings their entwined hands up, over his head. Her other hand grasps his on his cane and slowly massages it.
He kisses her back and after a few minutes of fevered kissing, they break apart.
“Have you ever done it in the broom closet?” Cameron asks.
“Sex you mean? Can you please say the word?”
“Have you ever fucked in the broom closet before?” She smiles politely.
“Rogue,” he says and cups her head to kiss her again. This time he lets his cane fall and hopes the wall will support him.
“Once,” she mutters as he kisses her.
His free hand moves up under her shirt and starts to cup her breast. She pauses for a moment and he regains his breath.
“Once?”
“College. He was in a band.” She removes her shirt to expose her bra.
“Band?”
“The marching band.”
House snickers and grasps the doorknob as he feels his leg start to give way.
“What instrument?”
“Don’t remember,” she says and unclasps her bra. House bends his head to kiss between her two breasts.
“What a shame,” he murmurs as he concentrates on her nipples.
“Oh! But…no-Jesus!-piano players…shit…have the best hands,” she groans as he slips a hand in her pants.
“Great to know you think that. Let’s test that opinion shall we?”
;’;
Ten minutes later, Dr. Wilson walks by the broom closet to find a dejected woman slumped against the door. She’s clinging to a hot pink piece of material.
“Can I help you?”
She sniffles a minute before wiping her nose on the hot pink object. She looks up at Wilson.
“I made this pretty lab coat as a thank-you gift to Dr. House. But he ran away! And now, he’s in the closet with some pretty girl.”
Wilson pauses for a moment and listens to the noises being emitted from the broom closet. After hearing the three groans and what is presumably a broom falling down, he offers the woman a hand.
“Let’s go to lunch and then after lunch I’m sure Dr. House would be more than happy to see you,” he smiles.
“Okay.”
“What’s that you have there?” Wilson asks as they start to walk down the hallway.
“It’s just a lab coat I knitted for Dr. House. You have to understand that I knitted it, not crocheted it. There is a fine difference between knitting and crocheting. Knitting is a much more nuanced activity while crocheting does not take as much skill…”
End
Three things she wanted to see in her story
1. House/Wilson snark
2. Smut is optional
3. House dealing with a strange/funny clinic patient
Three things she didn't want anywhere near her story
1. Wimpy Cameron
2. Wimpy House
3. First-person fic
Rating: PG-13-R...heavy groping
Author's Note: *Sighs*. I got caught up in writing "So This is Your Scrap of Dignity" and ended up applying my sarcasm (not well) to this fic...I know there isn't much House/Cameron action, and I'm sorry. I don't own "House." Marti did a great job beta-ing this, catching my mistakes.
“You can’t keep skipping hospital duty,” Wilson reminds him.
“Oh, yes I can. Last time I checked, we weren’t in high school.”
“But Cuddy can make your life more miserable than the schoolyard bully ever could.”
“Ya think?”
Wilson sighs.
“Just go.”
“Could I pay you to break my arm?” House asks as they walk into the elevator (Wilson hits the button for the clinic. House, absorbed in the sudden appearance of white fuzz on his black shirt does not notice.)
“No. You could take a sick leave if you decided to admit you’re addicted to those pills that are like Tic-Tacs for you. Cuddy would be more than happy to grant you the time.”
“She’d be more than happy to grant me the time to get me out of her hair. You don’t think I get a kick out of torturing her?”
“You get a kick out of torturing everyone. Especially poor Dr. Cameron. She really likes you, you know.”
“Who are you? Matchmaker? No one died and made you Chuck Woolery.”
“Wasn’t it Bob Eubanks?”
“No, Dr. Wilson. Brush up on your game show history. Eubanks did “The Newlywed Game.” Woolery did one of those blind-date shows in the ‘80s. I don’t remember the name. You wouldn’t happen to remember, George, would you?”
“I’m going to punch you.”
“References to ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf’ too close to home for you, eh?”
“No, simply the fact that I didn’t major in literary works in college. And neither did you.”
“Well, at least I’m putting my medical degree to use.”
The elevator opens and lets the off at the clinic. House hits Wilson in the shin with his cane. He tries to catch the elevator before the doors close, but the other members of the compartment do not what him back on it.
“Damn it.”
“Just do it. For me?” Wilson pouts a little.
House rolls his eyes and picks up the first folder on the stack. Pain in hands.
“More like a pain-in-the-ass.”
He walks into Exam Room Three and finds a middle-aged woman sitting on the exam table and knitting furiously. She looks up as he enters. He takes a seat on the stool and opens her folder on the table. The redhead smiles.
“Oh, thank God! My hands hurt horribly and I’m not sure I’m going to be able to get this done,” she holds up the pink and orange atrocity.
“Dr. House. Pleased to meet you. What’s wrong?”
“Well, Dr. House, my hands are really starting to bother me. Like, my fingers go numb and it really hurts. A lot. Can you fix it? I really am looking forward to entering my blanket in the local-”
“Don’t care. How long has this been going on for?”
“About two weeks. Please-” She jumps off the table and grabs his arm that is idly playing with a pen, “-Please help me.”
Her big doe eyes look into his. He can’t decide whether or not to shove the pen down her throat or his.
“Do not touch the animals. Thank you,” he says as she backs away slowly.
“Now, what do you do for fun other than crochet? Annoy hospital doctors?”
“I knit! I don’t crochet!” She sounds mildly offended.
“You…knit?”
“Yes, you see it’s not like crocheting or anything. In crocheting-”
“I don’t care about the difference between crocheting and knitting. There is no difference. I have to call someone for a consult. Hold your stitches,” House snaps at her and presses a few buttons on his pager.
He leaves the room as quickly as he can (discourses on the finer points of knitting? He has better things to do.)
“Ah, Dr. Wilson, just the man I was looking for!”
Wilson squints at him, knows he’s up to something, and decides to escape before there is a chance he’ll actually have to do anything.
“Not so fast. You may have a good leg, but Cuddy likes me better.”
Wilson doesn’t turn around and instead lobs his retort over his shoulder.
“I have to go do something…important. Something that involves ignoring you.”
House grimaces.
“That hurt, James Wilson. That hit my bad leg. And hard.”
Wilson doesn’t stop walking, so House grabs a patient’s unfinished lunch off a nurse’s passing cart. He limps as fast as he can with the cane in one hand and the plate in the other. Wilson reaches the elevator and realizes he has to wait for one. He taps his leg impatiently. House approaches undetected, holds the plate precariously in the hand also holding his cane, and grabs some of the mush off of it.
“I need a consult. You cannot run away. From a cripple. That’s illegal. That’s bad friend behavior. It’s inexcusable,” House goes on for a few seconds before launching the mush at Wilson’s back. Wilson turns around slowly. Patients and staff stop their movements.
“You did not just ruin my perfectly good lab coat!”
“I believe I did. But my patient in exam room one will probably be more than willing to knit you a new coat.”
Wilson narrows his eyes.
“You might get away with not wearing yours, but I’ve had this since med school.”
“Thus the perfect reason to go shopping. Maybe you can even pick up a hot sales associate,” he raises an eyebrow.
They both turn their heads as Cuddy comes down the hall.
“Everyone, this is not a freak show, even though it looks like one. This is Dr. House and Dr. Wilson’s attempt to get fired. Now, back to work,” she glowers and faces the two doctors in front of her.
“You two,” she seethes.
“Yes, I do believe there are only two of us,” House snarks.
“Do you two ever work? You-” she points at House, “-have a clinic patient. And Dr. Wilson I need you in my office. Now.”
“Aw, Cuddy and Wilson sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-”
“Proceed with that song, and I’ll have Stacy castrate you.”
“You wouldn’t do it yourself? Stacy already butchered my one leg. I think she’s had enough of the ‘tear Greg limb-from-limb game.’”
Before Cuddy can say anything someone taps House on the shoulder. He sighs and turns around to find the Knitting Lady standing behind him.
“So, like I was saying before, the difference between knitting and crocheting-”
“Well, Ms.-” he pauses because he realizes that he’s forgotten the lady’s real name, “-this is Dr. Cuddy. She’s the doctor I was just consulting on your case.”
Cuddy shoots a glare at him that, if aimed lower, would do a very nice job of castrating him, and shakes the woman’s hand. She then turns to Dr. House.
“I think you have this under control. If you need me, I’ll be doing my job, something that you wouldn’t understand,” she hisses and stalks away. House looks at the Knitting Lady.
“So, tell me what’s wrong again.”
The woman looks around at the passing staff, patients, and people with nothing to do. She leans in to make sure House hears her whisper.
“Aren’t I supposed to have doctor/patient confidentiality?”
House mimics the whisper.
“And if this was a perfect world, there would be. Oh, and also, if it were a perfect world, I wouldn’t be dealing with you right now. So, no, as of right now, you chased after me, so you’re now asking to be treated in the middle of the hallway. By the way, take a break from the knitting if you want your carpal-tunnel syndrome to get any worse.”
“Car-what?”
“Carpal-tunnel syndrome. You knit some much that the repeated movement irritates the median nerve. This causes the tingling sensation and the numbness in your fingers. So take a break from knitting, ice your fingers every once and a while and you should be good to go. ‘Kay? Questions?”
The woman frowns, and then brightens, before grabbing House’s hand.
“I’ll find a way to repay you,” she smiles and leaves quickly. House sighs.
“Dr. House!”
“Shit,” he murmurs under his breath. The only thing he doesn’t need right now is Cameron coming to him with another case right now.
“What Dr. Cameron?”
“I just wanted to show you the latest test results on-”
He squeezes her shoulder endearingly and smiles.
“You can explain that to me more when you give me a back massage.”
Cameron sighs and turns around.
“You know, I really do enjoy the view of your ass much better than your front!”
Cuddy would have killed him, but Cameron just sighs and keeps walking away.
“Damn you,” he mutters and retreats to an empty exam room. Beaten.
;’;
The next few days go by rather swiftly. House hides from Cuddy, Cuddy enlists hit men to kill House. House bothers Wilson, Wilson counsels House. House thinks of ways to get meaningless sex from Cameron, Cameron thinks of ways to get meaningless sex from House. Chase and Foreman do something constructive.
House walks by the elevator banks. He smiles and touches the pill bottle in his pocket with an affection he has not shown any human being since his ill-fated affair with Stacy (and not even then was he as tender as he is now towards the pills.)
He’s on a mission. Mission Impossible 455: Escape from Cuddy. She’s currently somewhere on the second floor; he figures he can make a pit stop at his office to refuel on Vicodin and then keep moving around the hospital until he finds a room that is suitable for his purpose of spending an afternoon getting paid to do nothing. What a life.
As he rounds the corner to his office, he almost crashes into one of the pillars that are in the hallway to make cripples’ lives remarkably miserable.
“Oh shit,” House mutters under his breath as he sees a red head approaching quickly. (He calculates the odds of the earth blowing up right around….now.)
“Dr. House?” Inquires another voice from his right. It’s familiar and belongs to a pretty face-Cameron!
“You, come here,” he grabs Cameron’s arm and drags her down a hallway.
“Dr. House!” Shouts the voice (not Cameron’s.)
“Where are you taking me?” Cameron hisses.
“A broom closet.”
“Why?” She asks.
House ignores her and glances over his shoulder. The knitting lady is hot on his tail. He takes a quick left, hoping to throw her off and discovers a well-placed broom closet (score-in more ways than one.)
“Get in here. We can discuss…well, we can discuss lots of things.”
He sweeps her into the room and grabs the string hanging from the lone light bulb to turn it on (there’s a switch somewhere, but he’s short on time and he’s been in here before…hiding from Cuddy involves making use of skills he once utilized in Hide and Seek.)
He grabs a chair and barricades the door. Cameron stares at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Barricading the door. Didn’t you ever read “Nancy Drew” when you were growing up?”
“Nancy Drew?”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.
“I’m kidding!” She laughs at her joke. It’s his turn to stare.
“Sorry,” she says and moves her eyes to the ground.
“That’s plumb alright.”
“Plumb alright?”
“Yes. Now, let’s cut to the chase. Well, not to Chase, literally. Like, you know, cut to the chase as in the saying-”
There are few ways to make Gregory House stop talking. One of those ways, as Cameron discovers, is kissing him.
She pushes him back against the door and lets her fingers grab his free hand and she brings their entwined hands up, over his head. Her other hand grasps his on his cane and slowly massages it.
He kisses her back and after a few minutes of fevered kissing, they break apart.
“Have you ever done it in the broom closet?” Cameron asks.
“Sex you mean? Can you please say the word?”
“Have you ever fucked in the broom closet before?” She smiles politely.
“Rogue,” he says and cups her head to kiss her again. This time he lets his cane fall and hopes the wall will support him.
“Once,” she mutters as he kisses her.
His free hand moves up under her shirt and starts to cup her breast. She pauses for a moment and he regains his breath.
“Once?”
“College. He was in a band.” She removes her shirt to expose her bra.
“Band?”
“The marching band.”
House snickers and grasps the doorknob as he feels his leg start to give way.
“What instrument?”
“Don’t remember,” she says and unclasps her bra. House bends his head to kiss between her two breasts.
“What a shame,” he murmurs as he concentrates on her nipples.
“Oh! But…no-Jesus!-piano players…shit…have the best hands,” she groans as he slips a hand in her pants.
“Great to know you think that. Let’s test that opinion shall we?”
;’;
Ten minutes later, Dr. Wilson walks by the broom closet to find a dejected woman slumped against the door. She’s clinging to a hot pink piece of material.
“Can I help you?”
She sniffles a minute before wiping her nose on the hot pink object. She looks up at Wilson.
“I made this pretty lab coat as a thank-you gift to Dr. House. But he ran away! And now, he’s in the closet with some pretty girl.”
Wilson pauses for a moment and listens to the noises being emitted from the broom closet. After hearing the three groans and what is presumably a broom falling down, he offers the woman a hand.
“Let’s go to lunch and then after lunch I’m sure Dr. House would be more than happy to see you,” he smiles.
“Okay.”
“What’s that you have there?” Wilson asks as they start to walk down the hallway.
“It’s just a lab coat I knitted for Dr. House. You have to understand that I knitted it, not crocheted it. There is a fine difference between knitting and crocheting. Knitting is a much more nuanced activity while crocheting does not take as much skill…”
End