The Incredible Journey
He'd had that vague, something's going on...somewhere, feeling all day. When he acknowledged it, the hair at the back of his neck stood on end, his arms felt weak, and a shiver creeped up his spine. Not the best circumstances for filling out last minute paperworl for work, because his usually sharp mind was undeniably distracted.
Lunch went, more or less, uneaten on the plate. His coffee went cold in the mug.
He couldn't even settle in front of the television. He finally put a Johnny Cash CD on the stereo and went to the back porch, overlooking MacArthur park. He was there, sitting on a wrought iron chair, when he felt somethng change. There was no flash of light, no clap of thunder. Just understanding, realisation that the something had finally happened.
A dog barking. Barking as it ran. Coming closer. Not just any dog. No. He knew that bark. He got to his feet, cane forgotten where it hung off the iron outdoor table. He scaled the wooden porch railing, right leg up and over first, and last to come down. Awkward, yes, but he'd perfected the moved back at the hospital in Princeton, when a brick divider separated his office balcony from Wilson's.
Bad leg and all, he dropped to his knees. Pain shot through his thigh, but he didn't care. Didn't acknowledge it. All at once, he had a lap full of dog, his face showered with kisses. He laughed, and rubbed Cash furiously.
Blue eyes darted up, scanning for Geoff. He imagined the poet wearing jeans and his leather motorcycle jacket. He'd have a knapscack, and not much else. "Where is he, boy? Where's Uncle Geoff?" A young couple strolled past, on the footpath in the park. Children laughed, a group of adults played what looked like touch football in the distance. No Geoff.
House pushed the dog off him. Cash sat on his haunches, wriggling, looking like he was about to pounce. House picked up a front paw. Matted. Pads split and cracked, dried blood, bubblegum, grass and dirt. "He's...He's gone, isn't he, boy? He went home. Just like he said." His voice trembled with the raw emotion. Cash pulled his foot back and shifted, his warm tongue rolling up his daddy's chin.
One last hopeful scan of the area, and House hauled himself up to his feet. His right leg throbbed, and if he hadn't been close enough to the porch to grab the railing, he probably would have gone down on it. Now, the fun part of getting back inside. He'd have quite a hike, either way he decided to go to the end of the row of townhouses. Cash made the decision for him, squeezing through the railing slats. House eased himself back over the railing, carefully, keeping his right leg tucked up and away from the impact of hitting the other side.
[OOC: Right then. Realistically, it would take Cash quite a while to get to House on his own. But, you know. Magic time, elastic time, or whatever. The pup has been on an epic journey, since Geoff let him go. earlier today. For him, it's been...well, longer than the handful of hours. But, really, the dog has to get ehre before Geoff does! So bear with me]
Lunch went, more or less, uneaten on the plate. His coffee went cold in the mug.
He couldn't even settle in front of the television. He finally put a Johnny Cash CD on the stereo and went to the back porch, overlooking MacArthur park. He was there, sitting on a wrought iron chair, when he felt somethng change. There was no flash of light, no clap of thunder. Just understanding, realisation that the something had finally happened.
A dog barking. Barking as it ran. Coming closer. Not just any dog. No. He knew that bark. He got to his feet, cane forgotten where it hung off the iron outdoor table. He scaled the wooden porch railing, right leg up and over first, and last to come down. Awkward, yes, but he'd perfected the moved back at the hospital in Princeton, when a brick divider separated his office balcony from Wilson's.
Bad leg and all, he dropped to his knees. Pain shot through his thigh, but he didn't care. Didn't acknowledge it. All at once, he had a lap full of dog, his face showered with kisses. He laughed, and rubbed Cash furiously.
Blue eyes darted up, scanning for Geoff. He imagined the poet wearing jeans and his leather motorcycle jacket. He'd have a knapscack, and not much else. "Where is he, boy? Where's Uncle Geoff?" A young couple strolled past, on the footpath in the park. Children laughed, a group of adults played what looked like touch football in the distance. No Geoff.
House pushed the dog off him. Cash sat on his haunches, wriggling, looking like he was about to pounce. House picked up a front paw. Matted. Pads split and cracked, dried blood, bubblegum, grass and dirt. "He's...He's gone, isn't he, boy? He went home. Just like he said." His voice trembled with the raw emotion. Cash pulled his foot back and shifted, his warm tongue rolling up his daddy's chin.
One last hopeful scan of the area, and House hauled himself up to his feet. His right leg throbbed, and if he hadn't been close enough to the porch to grab the railing, he probably would have gone down on it. Now, the fun part of getting back inside. He'd have quite a hike, either way he decided to go to the end of the row of townhouses. Cash made the decision for him, squeezing through the railing slats. House eased himself back over the railing, carefully, keeping his right leg tucked up and away from the impact of hitting the other side.
[OOC: Right then. Realistically, it would take Cash quite a while to get to House on his own. But, you know. Magic time, elastic time, or whatever. The pup has been on an epic journey, since Geoff let him go. earlier today. For him, it's been...well, longer than the handful of hours. But, really, the dog has to get ehre before Geoff does! So bear with me]