Five People Who Received Flowers on Mother’s Day 2011, and Three Who Didn’t
Title: Five People Who Received Flowers on Mother’s Day 2011, and Three Who Didn’t
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing (Fandom): Gen (House)
Rating: PG
Words: 694
Notes: Thank you to hannahrorlove and nightdog_barks for beta.
Blythe smiled at the delivery boy as she let him in her front door. “Can you put them on the table, please?” she asked. She had cleared the table first thing this morning, and pulled two dollars from her wallet so as to have the tip ready. Every year, without fail, no matter what was going on in Greg’s life, a huge bouquet would appear at her door at some point on Mother’s Day.
The card this year said simply, “Thank you for everything. Love, Greg.” Blythe pressed the card to her chest and smiled.
James was such a thoughtful man.
Flowers. I sue her -- threaten to sue her, same thing -- con her friend into making her give me thirty grand, write her out of my will (Rachel’s the one who needs a trust fund, anyway; lovely child, my granddaughter is, but not exactly tops in the brain department), force an evacuation of her precious hospital… and still she sends me flowers.
She’s a sap.
A sap who’s married to her job, and what kind of husband is that? A job can’t hug you, or kiss you, or leave his underwear all over the floor for you to get exercise picking up -- oh, yes, Franklin, don’t think I don’t know why you used to do that.
I just don’t want her to be alone.
It sucks.
Flowers. He makes five times what his brother does, and the FTD Precious Heart Bouquet is the best that he can do for Mother’s Day. Not a spa certificate, or jewelry. Geraldine got a cruise for Mother’s Day.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. He’s always been ungrateful. Toys galore, classes, clubs, the best schools we could afford, and all we asked in return was for him to watch his brothers. Couldn’t even be bothered to do that properly; he let them get into trouble all the time.
He let my Danny run away and be lost.
Ungrateful little shit.
“Mrs. Taub,” the doorman, Jason, called. “Flowers for you!”
Esther smiled, until she saw the roses. “Those aren’t for me,” she said. “Every year my son sends lilies, my favorite.”
“The card has your name,” Jason replied, as he handed her the small white envelope. “Do you want me to call the florist?”
The card, indeed addressed to her, read: “You’re the best, Mom! Chris.” Oh.
“No,” she said. “It’s fine.”
A bit disappointing that Chris had never noticed which flowers his wife bought for his mother, but still. This year, that he had sent any at all was enough.
At three, Wilson knocked on Cuddy’s open office door. “Did you really think I’d think this was from House?”
“What?”
“‘You didn’t squeeze me out of your pelvis, but if not for you, I’d be dead. So, whatever. House,’” Wilson quoted.
Cuddy shrugged. “Sounds like him.”
Wilson raised an eyebrow.
Smiling, Cuddy kicked back in her chair. “He sent you flowers from me; I send you flowers from him. It has a good symmetry.”
“Symmetry. Huh.” Wilson’s face fell.
“Except,” Cuddy clarified, “I honestly do think that’s what House would, or at least, should say to you.”
Wilson smiled. “Thanks.”
“So why,” asked Chase as the waitress loaded their table with another round of onion rings, “are we drinking boilermakers at eleven in the morning, again?”
“Because,” Thirteen replied, reaching past Foreman for the ketchup, “we have work tomorrow and if we waited until tonight to get loaded, we’d be hung-over in House’s presence. Which is never, ever fun.”
“How would you know?” Foreman demanded.
“I do listen when you talk.” Thirteen clinked her shot glass against Foreman’s. “Up and at ’em, buddy.”
The glass was almost to Foreman’s lips when he paused. “Didn’t you recently get out of rehab?”
Hadley rolled her eyes. “Since when do you believe what House tells you?”
Chase laughed and clapped a hand on Foreman’s shoulder. “She has a point. Let’s drink.”
Three shot glasses raised in the air in silent salute. Three slugs of whisky went down not quite as smoothly as might’ve been wished. Three people coughed, and laughed, and sipped beer to ease their throats before the next round.
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing (Fandom): Gen (House)
Rating: PG
Words: 694
Notes: Thank you to hannahrorlove and nightdog_barks for beta.
Blythe smiled at the delivery boy as she let him in her front door. “Can you put them on the table, please?” she asked. She had cleared the table first thing this morning, and pulled two dollars from her wallet so as to have the tip ready. Every year, without fail, no matter what was going on in Greg’s life, a huge bouquet would appear at her door at some point on Mother’s Day.
The card this year said simply, “Thank you for everything. Love, Greg.” Blythe pressed the card to her chest and smiled.
James was such a thoughtful man.
Flowers. I sue her -- threaten to sue her, same thing -- con her friend into making her give me thirty grand, write her out of my will (Rachel’s the one who needs a trust fund, anyway; lovely child, my granddaughter is, but not exactly tops in the brain department), force an evacuation of her precious hospital… and still she sends me flowers.
She’s a sap.
A sap who’s married to her job, and what kind of husband is that? A job can’t hug you, or kiss you, or leave his underwear all over the floor for you to get exercise picking up -- oh, yes, Franklin, don’t think I don’t know why you used to do that.
I just don’t want her to be alone.
It sucks.
Flowers. He makes five times what his brother does, and the FTD Precious Heart Bouquet is the best that he can do for Mother’s Day. Not a spa certificate, or jewelry. Geraldine got a cruise for Mother’s Day.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. He’s always been ungrateful. Toys galore, classes, clubs, the best schools we could afford, and all we asked in return was for him to watch his brothers. Couldn’t even be bothered to do that properly; he let them get into trouble all the time.
He let my Danny run away and be lost.
Ungrateful little shit.
“Mrs. Taub,” the doorman, Jason, called. “Flowers for you!”
Esther smiled, until she saw the roses. “Those aren’t for me,” she said. “Every year my son sends lilies, my favorite.”
“The card has your name,” Jason replied, as he handed her the small white envelope. “Do you want me to call the florist?”
The card, indeed addressed to her, read: “You’re the best, Mom! Chris.” Oh.
“No,” she said. “It’s fine.”
A bit disappointing that Chris had never noticed which flowers his wife bought for his mother, but still. This year, that he had sent any at all was enough.
At three, Wilson knocked on Cuddy’s open office door. “Did you really think I’d think this was from House?”
“What?”
“‘You didn’t squeeze me out of your pelvis, but if not for you, I’d be dead. So, whatever. House,’” Wilson quoted.
Cuddy shrugged. “Sounds like him.”
Wilson raised an eyebrow.
Smiling, Cuddy kicked back in her chair. “He sent you flowers from me; I send you flowers from him. It has a good symmetry.”
“Symmetry. Huh.” Wilson’s face fell.
“Except,” Cuddy clarified, “I honestly do think that’s what House would, or at least, should say to you.”
Wilson smiled. “Thanks.”
“So why,” asked Chase as the waitress loaded their table with another round of onion rings, “are we drinking boilermakers at eleven in the morning, again?”
“Because,” Thirteen replied, reaching past Foreman for the ketchup, “we have work tomorrow and if we waited until tonight to get loaded, we’d be hung-over in House’s presence. Which is never, ever fun.”
“How would you know?” Foreman demanded.
“I do listen when you talk.” Thirteen clinked her shot glass against Foreman’s. “Up and at ’em, buddy.”
The glass was almost to Foreman’s lips when he paused. “Didn’t you recently get out of rehab?”
Hadley rolled her eyes. “Since when do you believe what House tells you?”
Chase laughed and clapped a hand on Foreman’s shoulder. “She has a point. Let’s drink.”
Three shot glasses raised in the air in silent salute. Three slugs of whisky went down not quite as smoothly as might’ve been wished. Three people coughed, and laughed, and sipped beer to ease their throats before the next round.