just_muse_me: Shout at Someone
The first sign that something was not quite right was the rat sitting in a cage on top of the piano. There was a rodent, in their apartment, and it looked like he had been invited in.
"Dad?" Dropping her bag by the couch, Bree made her way towards the kitchen. "Dad? Why is there a rat?"
"He's not 'a rat'." House met her halfway, a beer in one hand and his cane in the other. "He's Steve McQueen."
"He has a name?" Bree was now fairly certain her father had cracked. The rat had a name.
"He does."
"And where did Steve McQueen come from?"
"If you don't know by now, I'm afraid I can't help you." House gave her a look.
"Funny. Really. But seriously, why is there a rat?"
"Because I'm treating him."
"Ahhhh..." Bree nodded as if that made perfect sense. Because somehow, in their life, it did. "What does he have?"
"A tumor." House headed over, taking a seat on the piano bench and setting his beer down next to Steve's cage. "A urine analysis shows it's caused by over exposure to cigarette smoke."
Now see, while the rat made perfect sense -- that theory didn't. She'd have just assumed it was a lab rat he rescued except for the fact that Princeton-Plainsboro didn't have animal labs. And, you know, her father didn't care that much.
"Cigarette smoke. Okay...and where did you say he came from again?"
"Does it matter?"
"Only in the fact that I'm curious. And therefore am going to keep asking you until you tell me."
House sighed. Unfortunately, he knew his daughter well enough to know that was true. The more he avoided the subject, the more interested Bree would become and the more she would ask. "Stacy."
"What?"
"Don't..." Though Bree had tried to keep her tone neutral, House could tell it wasn't. There was something just below the surface. Or more correctly, several things -- anger, pain, confusion. Which was exactly why he hadn't wanted to tell her. At least not yet.
"Don't what? Stacy tells you there's a rat in her house and instead of suggesting a good exterminator like most people would do, you run over to save her? That's bullshit!"
"I was just helping out a friend."
"Oh please. You're never 'just helping out a friend'. Wilson has to bribe you to get you to help him. You just...why, Dad? Why?"
He wasn't going to have this conversation with her. He couldn't. And it was his right as a parent to refuse to. Standing up, he headed towards his bedroom.
Unfortunately, Bree was right behind him. "No no no no no. You do not get to walk away from this. If you're doing something as STUPID as seeing her again, I get to ask you why! Not only is she MARRIED. But she's...she's responsible for EVERYTHING!"
"Bree!" Reaching his bedroom, House stood in the doorway, facing her, his eyes narrowed. The tone in his voice was clear. This conversation was over.
Only it wasn't. "Don't 'Bree' me! Not about this! This isn't some little..." She was cut off as House's bedroom door slammed shut.
With a huff meant to signify her frustration at the fact he wouldn't listen to reason, Bree headed back into the main room, flopping down on the piano bench. Shaking her head at Steve McQueen, she started playing.
He'd come around eventually. Right?
"Dad?" Dropping her bag by the couch, Bree made her way towards the kitchen. "Dad? Why is there a rat?"
"He's not 'a rat'." House met her halfway, a beer in one hand and his cane in the other. "He's Steve McQueen."
"He has a name?" Bree was now fairly certain her father had cracked. The rat had a name.
"He does."
"And where did Steve McQueen come from?"
"If you don't know by now, I'm afraid I can't help you." House gave her a look.
"Funny. Really. But seriously, why is there a rat?"
"Because I'm treating him."
"Ahhhh..." Bree nodded as if that made perfect sense. Because somehow, in their life, it did. "What does he have?"
"A tumor." House headed over, taking a seat on the piano bench and setting his beer down next to Steve's cage. "A urine analysis shows it's caused by over exposure to cigarette smoke."
Now see, while the rat made perfect sense -- that theory didn't. She'd have just assumed it was a lab rat he rescued except for the fact that Princeton-Plainsboro didn't have animal labs. And, you know, her father didn't care that much.
"Cigarette smoke. Okay...and where did you say he came from again?"
"Does it matter?"
"Only in the fact that I'm curious. And therefore am going to keep asking you until you tell me."
House sighed. Unfortunately, he knew his daughter well enough to know that was true. The more he avoided the subject, the more interested Bree would become and the more she would ask. "Stacy."
"What?"
"Don't..." Though Bree had tried to keep her tone neutral, House could tell it wasn't. There was something just below the surface. Or more correctly, several things -- anger, pain, confusion. Which was exactly why he hadn't wanted to tell her. At least not yet.
"Don't what? Stacy tells you there's a rat in her house and instead of suggesting a good exterminator like most people would do, you run over to save her? That's bullshit!"
"I was just helping out a friend."
"Oh please. You're never 'just helping out a friend'. Wilson has to bribe you to get you to help him. You just...why, Dad? Why?"
He wasn't going to have this conversation with her. He couldn't. And it was his right as a parent to refuse to. Standing up, he headed towards his bedroom.
Unfortunately, Bree was right behind him. "No no no no no. You do not get to walk away from this. If you're doing something as STUPID as seeing her again, I get to ask you why! Not only is she MARRIED. But she's...she's responsible for EVERYTHING!"
"Bree!" Reaching his bedroom, House stood in the doorway, facing her, his eyes narrowed. The tone in his voice was clear. This conversation was over.
Only it wasn't. "Don't 'Bree' me! Not about this! This isn't some little..." She was cut off as House's bedroom door slammed shut.
With a huff meant to signify her frustration at the fact he wouldn't listen to reason, Bree headed back into the main room, flopping down on the piano bench. Shaking her head at Steve McQueen, she started playing.
He'd come around eventually. Right?