(Untitled)

[misanthrope_md]

House had been in pretty good spirits, generally. After all, he got to diagnose malaria and treat it with wormwood, how cool is that? Of course, all that was before he woke up this morning with some distinct discomfort. The sort of discomfort that had caused him to wince and pull down the sheets and snap up the waistband of his boxers to have a

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[9mmshotglass]

"Cabinet, bag..." Dani Reese wandered into the clinic intent upon finding her purse (and clothes) which she knew were in some cabinet somewhere because she'd seen them and there was a bottle a really fucking good wh-- She came in just as House pulled his boxers up. "Whoa, way too early in the morning for that. I haven't even had my coffee yet."

She eyed House for a long moment.

Whiskey. Purse. Clothes. Cabinet. Reese shook her head and started moving again, rummaging about in various cabinets before she found what she was looking for. Purse!

Actually, whiskey. And clothes.

Great. Some guy with his pants on the floor. That was all she needed this morning.

"I hope that's not habitual," she muttered.

[misanthrope_md]

House rolled his eyes as he yanked up his jeans. But it was hard for him to be too cross when the itching had finally stopped. "Can I help you?"

[9mmshotglass]

"Found what I was after," Reese said, studying him for a moment. "Unless you want to take a look at a healing gunshot wound or prod my stitches, I'm pretty sure coffee's my next stop. You want a cup, Mr. Sarcastic? Might help keep your jeans up."

[misanthrope_md]

"Only if you're sure you don't want to poke around my clinic supplies uninvited anymore," House said dryly.

[echolls_cursed]

The only thing Logan could figure was that he'd done something really wrong recently, and this was all part of some massive karmic payback. Covering his eyes with one hand, he turned away as he waited for House to pull his damn pants back up.

"Do you ever wear clothes?" he asked, "This is like the second time I've seen you like this. Either you're trying to tell me something, or the catholic church is right and God really is punishing me for sleeping with men."

All he'd wanted was for someone to look at his damn leg, it seemed unfair that it had ended with an old-man peep show.

[misanthrope_md]

"Oh, fuck off," said House, though there was almost an edge of cheerfulness to it. After all, the itching was gone for the time being.

[echolls_cursed]

Logan frowned slightly, peeking through his fingers to see if the other man was dressed yet. "You finished, or should I just come back later when you're done having a little 'you' time?" he asked, leaning heavily on his crutch.

[misanthrope_md]

"I don't need me time, I'm already into two-man sports," House pointed out, zipping his pants. "Now what do you want?"

[theunascended]

Jack had told him to stay, but he'd never said stay in the room the entire time and Daniel was bored, very bored, so he headed across the hallway and managed to convince the bookshelf to cough up some book on ancient Egyptian burial rituals. He didn't stay long, though, because there wasn't any kind of a chance that he was missing Jack show up.

He still wasn't entirely sure where they stood and he wasn't going to risk screwing it up again.

What he didn't expect to see when he walked back into the clinic was Greg hitching up his boxers. He cleared his throat.

"Morning."

[misanthrope_md]

House had purposely not taken much notice of Daniel in the days he'd been in the clinic. Jack might have made it a point to mention that they were cool now, and House might have promised that he wouldn't punch Daniel in the face the next time he saw him, but that didn't mean that he wanted to be faced with the temptation. It was like throwing a wounded hyena in front of a lion. Well, a lion with a bum leg. It at least evened the playing field a little.

"Yes," he said, reaching down to pull up his jeans, "it is."

[theunascended]

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "A morning where you're pantsless. In the clinic."

He wasn't sure whether or not Jack had mentioned anything to Greg. He wasn't even sure whether there was something to mention. He had no idea whether or not he and Jack would be able to get over the whole 'afraid of' part of the conversation that had cropped up.

But Greg wasn't punching him, which was a start, at least.

[misanthrope_md]

"Well I usually spend most of the morning fucking Jack, but he decided to sleep in," said House.

[fights4britain]

In Trevor opinion there was something to be said for having made the lifestyle choice to be a professional run away and hooligan. Primarily, if you got sick, you learnt to suck it up and deal with it rather than running snivelling back home to mum and dad and all the other wankers waiting there. But, while chest colds could be an annoyance, it was nothing that some stolen losanges and cough syrup couldn't handle. Maybe even a night or two of crashing at somebody's flat instead of in a nicked car.

Thus why He was at the moment heavily concerned with actually walking into the clinic. He'd told himself for a week or two now that it wasn't necasarry, and he still wasn't sure that it was, but what he figured was just a case of pink eye had not gone away, and in face, it'd spread to his other eye leaving him with some complications. Namely, seeing through perpetually seeping eye crap made it hard to see.

Saddly, it didn't save him from what he half saw when he finally did walk in the clinic.

"The fuck," he groaned, squeezing his eyes

[misanthrope_md]

"Yeah, right next to the one that told you to shut the fuck up," said House as he yanked up his jeans.

[fights4britain]

"Fuck you," he spat, peeking an eye open at the rustle of denim and then opening them fully, or as fully as he could manage, when he saw that the trousers were back in place. It was almost an epidemic, but at least this wanker wasn't running about complete stark naked like Luce had been trying. Or wanking. It was...well, it was in general a better set of circumstances.

"You a doctor?" He asked, hoping it was a negative, though he had a feeling he was going to be dissappointed. It was his luck, after all.

[misanthrope_md]

"Unfortunately," said House.

[abaisse_chef]

Enjolras had refused to remain in the clinic, despite Combeferre's protests, but he had reluctantly agreed to check in with him once a day (All right, he'd been ordered to by his doctor, but it was difficult for him to accept an order from 'ferre, so he chose to think of it as a favour to his friend instead) to reassure Combeferre that the strange condition he'd suffered nearly a week ago hadn't returned. Though it had, a few times since then. He just made sure to drink a lot of water and take a cold shower whenever he felt the dizziness and headache recurring. It had seemed to work thus far.

He walked into the clinic and rolled his eyes with an unimpressed snort. He glanced away from the man with his trousers around his ankles and then back, asking in impatient french, "Where is Combeferre? Is he here?" He had yet to find many people in this place worth his time and it seemed the trend was likely to continue.

[misanthrope_md]

"Does it look like he's here?" House answered in nearly flawless French, an edge of irritation to his voice as he yanked up his jeans.

[abaisse_chef]

The response in his Mother's tongue made Enjolras pause and very nearly smile. He surveyed the room quickly before replying, "No, it does not." That the man had pulled his trousers up helped Enjolras relax a bit further, tilting his head a little as he eyed him. "Are you a doctor here? Do you know him?"

[misanthrope_md]

"Yes," said House, "and no, I just know that he's a doctor." And then he added in English, "And it's really fucking presumptuous of you to assume that anyone around here speaks French."