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Jun. 16th, 2008 06:46 pmIf Looks Could Kill (Part 1)
House fanfic, sort of an extension to "Impunity"
It started four years ago. I had just been visiting my friend Steve in the hospital when I noticed some sort of staff Christmas party in the lobby and, not being in a huge hurry to step out into the New Jersey snow falling, attached myself to the periphery.
I heard someone playing the piano pretty badly and for some reason he wasn't playing any Christmas songs.
"Strangers in the night," he sang.
I immediately sang, "exchanging fluids". The guy playing piano, a large black guy, didn't hear me at all but there was a snarkish, throaty, masculine laugh to my immediate left.
I turned and saw a tall thin angular man with very penetrating pale blue eyes, high cheekbones and a devilish grin through about a week's worth of stubble. I thought he was gorgeous. "Well, hi!"
"Hi. You're a smartass, you have a dirty mind and a not-too-shabby contralto singing voice, and I've never seen you here before."
"I don't work here." My instincts told me this guy would not snitch on me for being a party crasher. "I just came here to visit a bud, saw the party and thought I'd take the opportunity to snag some free food and drinks. I've gotten into some pretty interesting places by acting like I belonged there. Boy, this guy is a lousy piano player."
"I've seen him operate, he's not a very good doctor either."
"They should just put on Vince Guaraldi for Christmas, everybody likes him."
"OK, you get points for knowing Vince Guaraldi's name and not just calling it 'Charlie Brown music'. I play a lot better, but I don't play parties, I'm too damn anti-social, and anyway, I put myself through Johns Hopkins playing so damn many parties and bars I'm thoroughly sick of it. I just play for myself now."
"You must be good if you could put yourself through Hopkins doing it. Anyway, I love jazz. Good jazz like Monk and Miles Davis, not that Kenny G crap. My taste in music goes all over the damn map, though, I like everybody from Mozart to the Ramones."
He arched an eyebrow. "Who's your favorite Beatle?"
"I'm a John woman down to the ground." He grinned in response to this. "What's your name?"
"Greg House."
And in this way the strangest friendship I've ever had began.
There's one small problem.
I've fallen in love with him.
I know perfectly well he's not going to respond at all well to that for two reasons.
He doesn't even like very many people. He likes me, but if I told him I was in love with him he'd emotionally rip me a new one.
The other reason is this.
I look like crap.
I've been down this road so many times before that I live on it. My way of dealing with it is to crack a lot of suggestive jokes so if the guy I'm attracted to freaks out I can play the "oh come on I'm only kidding" card.
House fanfic, sort of an extension to "Impunity"
It started four years ago. I had just been visiting my friend Steve in the hospital when I noticed some sort of staff Christmas party in the lobby and, not being in a huge hurry to step out into the New Jersey snow falling, attached myself to the periphery.
I heard someone playing the piano pretty badly and for some reason he wasn't playing any Christmas songs.
"Strangers in the night," he sang.
I immediately sang, "exchanging fluids". The guy playing piano, a large black guy, didn't hear me at all but there was a snarkish, throaty, masculine laugh to my immediate left.
I turned and saw a tall thin angular man with very penetrating pale blue eyes, high cheekbones and a devilish grin through about a week's worth of stubble. I thought he was gorgeous. "Well, hi!"
"Hi. You're a smartass, you have a dirty mind and a not-too-shabby contralto singing voice, and I've never seen you here before."
"I don't work here." My instincts told me this guy would not snitch on me for being a party crasher. "I just came here to visit a bud, saw the party and thought I'd take the opportunity to snag some free food and drinks. I've gotten into some pretty interesting places by acting like I belonged there. Boy, this guy is a lousy piano player."
"I've seen him operate, he's not a very good doctor either."
"They should just put on Vince Guaraldi for Christmas, everybody likes him."
"OK, you get points for knowing Vince Guaraldi's name and not just calling it 'Charlie Brown music'. I play a lot better, but I don't play parties, I'm too damn anti-social, and anyway, I put myself through Johns Hopkins playing so damn many parties and bars I'm thoroughly sick of it. I just play for myself now."
"You must be good if you could put yourself through Hopkins doing it. Anyway, I love jazz. Good jazz like Monk and Miles Davis, not that Kenny G crap. My taste in music goes all over the damn map, though, I like everybody from Mozart to the Ramones."
He arched an eyebrow. "Who's your favorite Beatle?"
"I'm a John woman down to the ground." He grinned in response to this. "What's your name?"
"Greg House."
And in this way the strangest friendship I've ever had began.
There's one small problem.
I've fallen in love with him.
I know perfectly well he's not going to respond at all well to that for two reasons.
He doesn't even like very many people. He likes me, but if I told him I was in love with him he'd emotionally rip me a new one.
The other reason is this.
I look like crap.
I've been down this road so many times before that I live on it. My way of dealing with it is to crack a lot of suggestive jokes so if the guy I'm attracted to freaks out I can play the "oh come on I'm only kidding" card.
