Tag thingy
Or is that thingie? Can't find it in my dictionary. I can find Zwinglian, which while a fun sounding word is otherwise useless. Thingy/thingie, however, is infinitely useful, but definitely not in my dictionary.
Anyway, here I go with having to have the last word again. And today the word is "Handcuffs." Which should've been fun, or at least kinky.... Only, House is still uber-jerk and Wilson is pissyness squared, and neither one is getting any tonight.
"Sans Paddle" is a tag to Fools for Love and therefore should be considered spoilerish. No slashier than the ep, which we all know isn't saying much ;-P
Sans Paddle
"Just...shut up."
"Ooh, someone got up on the wrong side of the Wendy," House said, gamely lengthening his stride to keep up with Wilson. He was afraid if he didn't keep up, one of the cops would toss him back in the cell. They all watched him closely as he and Wilson made their way to the front entrance, and House was certain Tritter had told them all sorts of terrible things about him. The fact that he'd insulted the mothers, sisters and small furry pets of each and every officer since his arrival probably had nothing to do with it. Probably.
"I am not seeing Wendy," Wilson said, weary.
"I know. Actually, Foreman is."
"Exactly. I.... Foreman is?" Wilson glanced back with wide-eyed surprise. House shrugged casually, as if he hadn't lost two hundred dollars over it. "Huh. Well. Good for him. She's nice."
"You think everyone's nice," House said. He nudged Wilson aside and grabbed the door handle so he could exit the building first. After all, it wasn't Wilson's ass the cops would be aiming at.
"I think you're an ass."
"One exception does not disprove the rule," House said. He fell several steps behind Wilson now, needing to move more carefully down the granite steps that led from the old police station. When Wilson paused at the bottom of the steps and turned to wait for him, House waved him on with a brusque motion. "Go on, don't let me keep you from your beauty sleep any longer. I've got it from here."
"You really don't get it, do you?" Wilson asked with a disbelieving laugh.
"Get what?" House asked, his expression sobering slightly.
"You were arrested on a narcotics charge," Wilson explained. He spoke slowly, simply, as if explaining to a child. "They impounded the bike. They're ripping your apartment apart. They've frozen your bank accounts." Wilson stared at him, shaking his head as if staggered by the immensity of House's transgressions. "You have nowhere to go, no way to get there, and no money to pay for it even if you did. You are--officially--as of today--up shit creek. And trust me, you do not want to know where they're planning to stow that oar."
"Just because I was speeding...." House began in protest.
"Because you pissed off a cop," Wilson said. "Did you learn nothing from Vogler?"
"I learned that even very large, very rich men are no match for Cuddy," House said. "Besides, Dick Tracy pissed me off first."
"Doubt it." Wilson turned away and began walking down the dark street. "You really are an idiot sometimes."
"Hey!" House said, setting off after Wilson.
"If you're going to insist on these juvenile pissing contests, at least be smart enough to pick an opponent doesn't have the authority to send you to prison."
"It's not...." House let out a sigh. It was late, he was tired, he was nearly as pissed off as Wilson. He looked around and realized it was o-dark-thirty and the streets were nearly empty. "Where are we going?"
"My car. My...place."
"I don't want to stay with you." House stepped to the curb and started searching for a cab. "You'll just nag and whine...."
"Fine." Wilson turned around and threw his hands up in the air. "If you've got another friend you can call at three a.m. who will bail you out of jail and give you a place to stay--please call him. Seriously. I give up."
"Wilson.... Wilson!"
When Wilson looked around again, House gave a vaguely apologetic shrug of his shoulders. Wilson took a few steps closer, shaking his finger at House.
"You come with me and you don't talk about jail or make ridiculous protestations of innocence and definitely no commentary on my living arrangements."
"Fine," House said grudgingly. He managed to remain silent until they reached Wilson's car, parked around the corner from the station. "But if I were to...."
"I will handcuff you to the bumper of my car and leave you in the street with the junkies and the rats...." Wilson paused, thoughtful. "You'd probably feel right at home."
"Yeah, right," House muttered, but he was starting to get the notion that Wilson just might be serious. "Like Mr. Vanilla here actually owns handcuffs."
"I don't," Wilson agreed. He unlocked the car door before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a pair of shiny steel handcuffs. "But oddly enough, one of the cops inside offered to lend me a pair."
"Kinky," House said, stunned. And kind of intrigued.
"Shut up," Wilson said.
"Seriously," House insisted. "I think I like it."
Which was when Wilson began to beat his head on the roof of the car.
Anyway, here I go with having to have the last word again. And today the word is "Handcuffs." Which should've been fun, or at least kinky.... Only, House is still uber-jerk and Wilson is pissyness squared, and neither one is getting any tonight.
"Sans Paddle" is a tag to Fools for Love and therefore should be considered spoilerish. No slashier than the ep, which we all know isn't saying much ;-P
Sans Paddle
"Just...shut up."
"Ooh, someone got up on the wrong side of the Wendy," House said, gamely lengthening his stride to keep up with Wilson. He was afraid if he didn't keep up, one of the cops would toss him back in the cell. They all watched him closely as he and Wilson made their way to the front entrance, and House was certain Tritter had told them all sorts of terrible things about him. The fact that he'd insulted the mothers, sisters and small furry pets of each and every officer since his arrival probably had nothing to do with it. Probably.
"I am not seeing Wendy," Wilson said, weary.
"I know. Actually, Foreman is."
"Exactly. I.... Foreman is?" Wilson glanced back with wide-eyed surprise. House shrugged casually, as if he hadn't lost two hundred dollars over it. "Huh. Well. Good for him. She's nice."
"You think everyone's nice," House said. He nudged Wilson aside and grabbed the door handle so he could exit the building first. After all, it wasn't Wilson's ass the cops would be aiming at.
"I think you're an ass."
"One exception does not disprove the rule," House said. He fell several steps behind Wilson now, needing to move more carefully down the granite steps that led from the old police station. When Wilson paused at the bottom of the steps and turned to wait for him, House waved him on with a brusque motion. "Go on, don't let me keep you from your beauty sleep any longer. I've got it from here."
"You really don't get it, do you?" Wilson asked with a disbelieving laugh.
"Get what?" House asked, his expression sobering slightly.
"You were arrested on a narcotics charge," Wilson explained. He spoke slowly, simply, as if explaining to a child. "They impounded the bike. They're ripping your apartment apart. They've frozen your bank accounts." Wilson stared at him, shaking his head as if staggered by the immensity of House's transgressions. "You have nowhere to go, no way to get there, and no money to pay for it even if you did. You are--officially--as of today--up shit creek. And trust me, you do not want to know where they're planning to stow that oar."
"Just because I was speeding...." House began in protest.
"Because you pissed off a cop," Wilson said. "Did you learn nothing from Vogler?"
"I learned that even very large, very rich men are no match for Cuddy," House said. "Besides, Dick Tracy pissed me off first."
"Doubt it." Wilson turned away and began walking down the dark street. "You really are an idiot sometimes."
"Hey!" House said, setting off after Wilson.
"If you're going to insist on these juvenile pissing contests, at least be smart enough to pick an opponent doesn't have the authority to send you to prison."
"It's not...." House let out a sigh. It was late, he was tired, he was nearly as pissed off as Wilson. He looked around and realized it was o-dark-thirty and the streets were nearly empty. "Where are we going?"
"My car. My...place."
"I don't want to stay with you." House stepped to the curb and started searching for a cab. "You'll just nag and whine...."
"Fine." Wilson turned around and threw his hands up in the air. "If you've got another friend you can call at three a.m. who will bail you out of jail and give you a place to stay--please call him. Seriously. I give up."
"Wilson.... Wilson!"
When Wilson looked around again, House gave a vaguely apologetic shrug of his shoulders. Wilson took a few steps closer, shaking his finger at House.
"You come with me and you don't talk about jail or make ridiculous protestations of innocence and definitely no commentary on my living arrangements."
"Fine," House said grudgingly. He managed to remain silent until they reached Wilson's car, parked around the corner from the station. "But if I were to...."
"I will handcuff you to the bumper of my car and leave you in the street with the junkies and the rats...." Wilson paused, thoughtful. "You'd probably feel right at home."
"Yeah, right," House muttered, but he was starting to get the notion that Wilson just might be serious. "Like Mr. Vanilla here actually owns handcuffs."
"I don't," Wilson agreed. He unlocked the car door before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a pair of shiny steel handcuffs. "But oddly enough, one of the cops inside offered to lend me a pair."
"Kinky," House said, stunned. And kind of intrigued.
"Shut up," Wilson said.
"Seriously," House insisted. "I think I like it."
Which was when Wilson began to beat his head on the roof of the car.