|Elegy to a Cane
Author: Henrika PM
In which House eulogizes after the death of his friend.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor - G. House & J. Wilson - Words: 662 - Reviews: 18 - Favs: 13 - Published: 05-10-06 - Status: Complete - id: 2933814
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Elegy to a Cane
Henrika- Because I saw the "Safe" episode and was inspired when House's cane broke. I also like that he quickly shifted back to a wooden one. Enjoy and Review!
"What are you doing?"
"Why, I thought a clever doctor like you should be able to figure that out." House said patronizingly, not quite able to hide his smirk. "I, Jimmy, am paying tribute to a loyal companion."
"Ahhh, how obvious. Because the lack of anyone dying kind of threw me off."
"Why Jimmy, how could you forget the death of my most loyal friend?"
"I thought I was your most loyal friend. You know, being as I'm the only one who can put up with you."
"Ouch. You're third on the list you know. Steve McQueen is second. Well, first now." House stood up from the piano, tapping out a few bars to the funeral march before he stood. Wilson noted the steel hospital issued cane he used to support himself, the same one he had been forced to present House with after he had realized his friend would probably never be able to walk without it.
Better than a wheelchair. Wilson rationalized. Or a casket. And it was with that thought that he noticed the cardboard box on the piano, looking much like a miniature casket. He peeked inside and saw the occupant.
"We gather here today to remember my best friend, who was murdered by my third-best friend." House began eulogizing. "He was a good friend, always supporting me when I needed him."
"You're not going to guilt trip me on this one."
House ignored him and continued right on. "He carried me through thick and thin, becoming a leg for me to stand on."
"House, you deserved this. You made me wet the couch."
"And even though he was murdered most tragically…"
"Greg, for God's sake, stop saying that I murdered your cane."
"His death will be avenged." House picked up the "casket" with as much over-bearing dignity as he could manage and brushed past Wilson.
"You live in an apartment House. What are you going to do, bury it under the hot-water heater?" In response, House gently lowered the container into the garbage can.
"Rest in pieces dear friend."
"Very funny. You think I feel guilty about all this?"
"No. I think it's eating you up inside."
"It isn't? Damn. Well it was worth a shot. I was figuring I could at least coerce you into making a funeral dinner."
"House, I always make dinner. Your cooking sucks."
"It hasn't killed me yet." House said in his defense.
"Yet being the operative word."
"Fine, fine. But you needed to face reality. Pranks seemed like the easiest way to do it."
"And you've needed to grow up for twenty-five years. We're even. Now what do you want for dinner?"
"I want a new cane. Wood is so much lively than this hunk of steel." And Wilson thought he was reading a bit more into that if House was commenting on the personality of his cane. Then again, he had just eulogized the over-glorified stick. "It keeps warmth better, absorbs the shock better, is kinder on my leg…." He trailed off, seeming to realize that he had let some of the real Greg House, what had been left of him after the infarction, slip through the cynicism. "I want a new cane. I'm always afraid of knocking the kids and puppies unconscious when I hit them with this one."
"Fine. We'll look for a new cane. Dinner?"
"Pot roast. Don't they usually serve that at funerals?" House said slyly.
"Can it Greg."