Another One Bites The Dust . . .

Yeah, I figure I should write an update.  Well, on Wednesday, my dad brought Powder to the vet and on Thursday, she was diagnosed with having a liver filled with fat.  But he sounded like he could get her better with treatment and force feeding, because she had no appetite.

Well . . .

I got home on Thursday, and found out that Powder died at the vet’s office just before my parents got there.

We buried her on Friday, near Rusty and Scratchy and the rest of them out there.  Yeah, our backyard is something of a pet cemetery.  Thank God none of them are rising . . .

Anyway.  I’ve actually begun writing a House fanfic.  I have it posted on fanfiction.net, but I’ll also put it in here.  I call it House’s Downfall.

*  *  *  *  *

These are my thoughts on what will happen this season in House.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters, places, etc., unless mentioned up here as an original character.

House: What the Hell makes you think you’re competent enough to write about me?

Me: Well, I do have all three seasons, and–

House: Ooo! Whoo-pee! You have all three seasons! And I suppose you’ve watched the commentaries, and bloopers, and know that I actually have a British accent?

Me: … Bloody asshole…

House: Now there’s something I’d find interesting to diagnose.

Me: Yeah, I know. It was the first symptom of the kid in the second episode of season three.

House: … I’ll try you. Take a number.

Me: ::Groans::

I’m starting with my take on episode 2. And hopefully House’ll leave my story alone.

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House’s alarm clock rang, startling him out of his reverie. Sleep seemed to be the only place he could get any peace anymore. Not that he’d admit it, of course. It wasn’t as if he missed his former colleagues. No. He didn’t need them. He’d proven that days ago, with his last case.

He rolled over and finally slammed his fist down on the alarm clock, silencing it. Of course, if he was just fine on his own, Cuddy wouldn’t be forcing him to pick a new team from the sixty-odd resumes he had waiting on his desk from summertime. And Wilson wouldn’t have stolen his baby. That guitar was worth a damn lot of money and the idea that Wilson would disregard that simply to try to get his way on something annoyed House to no end. Though, he’d never just say he was pissed off. No, far better to get even then to get mad.

Stretching, still not ready to get out of bed and deal with the inevitable pain his leg would bring him, he wondered what kind of torture– er, trials he could put his new charges through. After all, he promised them the longest, hardest job interview of their lives and he intended to make good with that threat– er, promise. Gregory House would not make the same mistake again. He fixed it with that kid who’d had the same disease as the elderly lady he couldn’t save, he’d fix it this time and hire a team who wouldn’t suddenly grow spines and leave him.

Finally, he could find no more reasons to dawdle and got out of bed, reaching for his cane at the same time. He caned down the hallway and got a towel out his linen closet, came back to his room and grabbed a Rolling Stones T-shirt, a dark blue blazer, and a pair of jeans with worn knees, and went to the bathroom for a shower.

As the water rolled down his face and splashed over his back and shoulders, and idea came to him. He’d called all sixty-odd potential applicants into a room at the hospital to describe what getting a job under him might entail. (House: Ooo, under me, how naughty! Me: House… ::Holds up fanfiction.net brand frying pan. House: ::Scoots away as fast as his cane will let him::)

Anyway, the idea was so simple. All the potential job hogs would wear a number. House could get three twenty-sided die, each a different color, and number the people from one to twenty in a designated color. Then, he’d pit number one from all three groups against one another to see who could do the best job at whatever he asked. Whether that be bringing him the result of an MRI, performing a CT scan, or just making his morning coffee. Then, there would be the more fun things to observe them trying. Like watching them sweat under Cuddy’s glare, sensual as it was.

House had to say, he enjoyed the game of sexual tension he and Cuddy played. As much as he joked about ‘getting a piece of that ass,’ he was relieved it never went beyond a game. Relationships meant work. They meant sacrifice. They meant commitment. They meant far too many things that House had no patience for or just plain did not want in his life. Besides, relationships, any relationship, meant that eventually, the other person would leave. And he didn’t want to deal with that again.

After all, replacing employees was hard enough. Replacing a sex partner? Damn near impossible.

* * * * *

“House!” Cuddy called as soon as she saw him get off the elevator. “There’s case for you.”

“Not interested. Remember, you made me go through those resumes, so now I have to narrow down the crops from sixty-odd to three. Can’t expect me to do that and solve a case, can you?”

“I can and I do. Now here, take a look at this.” She handed him the file and pointed. “Fourteen year old girl, complaining of knuckle pains and a sprained ankle that doesn’t seem to want to heal.”

“And this is a mystery how? She’s a teenager. Probably rubbing up with some guy on the weekend and she chafed her knuckles on something cuz that’s not what she was paying attention to.”

“And the ankle?”

“She play any sports?”

“It says tennis, but come on. Do you really think she’d play on a sore ankle?”

House pretended to honestly give this thought. Then, “Um, yeah! She’s a teenager. Even if her parents said she shouldn’t play and should let herself heal, you think she’s gonna listen? She’s fourteen! They think they know everything at that age.”

“I’m assuming you’re speaking from personal experience,” Cuddy muttered, purposely loud enough for House to hear.

House glanced at her, a cheeky smile on his face. He waggled a finger at her. “Oh, I’m not falling for that, Miss Lisa Cuddy. You’re gonna have to try baiting me some other way.”

Cuddy stopped walking and just shook her head. “Take the case, House. If it’s boring, you can get out of here quick and do some clinic duty. You still owe me hours.”

House looked back at her and put his hand up to his ear. “What? Couldn’t quite hear you there. Looks like this case is interesting after all. May be all day on it. Maybe all night. Looks like you’re sleeping alone again, honey!”

Cuddy sighed and shook her head again. Oh, well. At least he’d taken the red herring. Now, he would put his ene

rgy into this case, if for no other reason than to avoid clinic duty.