The Ideas Who Got Lucky

Never Knew: Chapter Two

2009-01-25T18:57:43Z

Story: Never Knew
Chapter: Two "Rest Comes Easy"
Genre: "Repo: The Genetic Opera"
Rating: Mature for later chapters...
Disclaimer: I own nothing and have nothing to do with this movie.
Author's Notes: Posted to various communities and websites by request of readers

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” said the man sitting in the corner. “Or, at least to the land of the nearly, but not quite, dead.”

Her room was lit in soft shades of pink, the edges of light smudged by the dark gray of approaching dawn. The moonlight had disappeared to make way for the sun, that twilight hour of the morning when everything seems to fade and ebb before the chaotic day begins. Shilo groggily tried to brush a piece of hair out of her eyes and found that both her arms were practically unresponsive. Every attempted movement was shot through with pain and panic as the girl woke up from her deep unconsciousness.

“Who- who are you?”

“Come on, kid, you can't be serious.”

Shilo lifted her head from the pillow, realizing she was in her bed only when she felt the fabric of sheets slide from her neck to her chest. The bed wasn't warm, just softer than the floor. She remembered the floor rushing up to her as she had fallen... Shilo could hardly see the figure of a man resting with his back against the wall, sitting upon her vanity seat he had pulled over by the door. If she hadn't recognized the jacket, she would have remembered the face. She had seen it in her dreams the past few nights, confused and frustrated about why he had made his appearance among the bloodshed and horror Shilo experienced every time she closed her eyes. He had been one of the better dreams in these past few weeks of misery.

“Graverobber...”

“Yeah?” he drawled, raising an eyebrow, never smiling, just looking at Shilo as she pitifully tried to sit up again and failed. Her little whimpers of pain as she tried to put pressure on her wrists bit into him and he considered standing to help her, but just considered it and nothing else.

“I don't reward failures,” the dealer stated bluntly as he saw Shilo's pleading eyes try to latch onto his. Graverobber purposefully didn't make eye contact; it was best to stay as disconnected from this girl as possible. How could he have thought she would be the one to help him? If she was trying to kill herself, he might as well go and find a different way to begin his plan. Not that he wanted to leave her here alone and in misery, but the entire world had to find their way and he didn't even know where to begin if he tried to help Shilo. He didn't even like to think about his own life because of the uncertainty and nervousness that greeted him like those scalpel sluts on the street, eager and all too willing to pounce him when he least wanted company.

Whimpering still, Shilo couldn't repress the panic as she rested back on the pillow and swallowed bitter tears. She was tired, so tired, and couldn't remember how she got into bed. Although Graverobber had never hurt her, why was he here? Why did she ache so much, all her bones and muscles and joints protesting the very thought of movement? Shilo turned her head, neck cracking and causing her to cry out as she tried to face Graverobber. He was still sitting on that chair, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and knees spread. The look on his face wasn't encouraging. A few hot tears escaped her eyes and slipped across the bridge of her nose and the corners of her face to be absorbed by her wig and pillow.

“What happened? Graverobber? Why- what happened?”

Graverobber stood casually, the fluidity of his movements, the purposeful stride making Shilo suddenly wish he was still sitting down across the room instead of walking toward her bed. Every word he said matched the careful step he took until he was standing right next to the bed.

“You tell me, kid. You did it to yourself.”

Without warning, he grabbed the edge of the sheet that had fallen onto the shelf of Shilo's chest and whipped it down toward her knees, snatching up the closest arm and shoving her wrist in front of her face. Shilo saw, in the pale purple that was gathering in the East and streaming in through her window, that there were black threads holding her skin together where the hand had separated from the rest of the arm, a clean cut from one wrist bone to the other. There was still dried blood on her arms, flaking onto the sheets, and Shilo gasped before starting to panic.

“I- I wouldn't have done this! No! What happened? Graverobber, what happened to me?”

In her rush to move, to do anything but lay there helplessly, Shilo sat up and broke part of the scab starting to form over her other wrist. Too much pressure caused too much pain for Shilo to do anything but scrunch her eyes and cry in agony as the blood started to pour.

“Knock it off,” Graverobber said, his tone gentle despite the harsh words. He didn't take pleasure in Shilo's pain, or the pain of other beings that didn't deserve it; the expression on the girl's face was too authentic to be a trick and Graverobber set the arm he was holding down upon Shilo's stomach.

“How could I have done this? Why? I don't think I did this!”

Graverobber's face was oddly lit by the lamplight, the pink of the lampshades and orange of the rising sun bringing out the strange highlights in the hair that probably hadn't been washed in weeks. His jacket was scruffy, his neck ringed with dirt, and the many pockets of his clothing jingling with Zydrate vials in every movement he made. He stood there, looking at Shilo, looking everywhere but her eyes. Her clothes were in even worse shape than they seemed and she wasn't much cleaner than he was; the girl had completely neglected herself.

“Why don't you think you did this? What makes you think that someone would care enough to just waltz right in here and cut your wrists for you? You have knives, right? Your father's tools? You could have done this so many ways. You didn't even slice the right veins to do the job,” Graverobber said, still avoiding eye contact as he took her hand, more gently this time, and turned it palm up.

He had done as good of a job as he could with the stitching. The wounds had looked bad, and they were, but Shilo wasn't at danger of dying now that she had some blood in her from the tiny medical refrigerator where there were actual pocket bags of of the stuff. There wouldn't even be a need for stitches if Graverobber was assured that Shilo wouldn't forget her own limits and end up doing more damage to herself. God, even tape would have done the trick, but let her have those threads through that thin skin, let the pain linger for a few more days. He knew it would heal, although she would always have the scars. Good, he thought. Let it be a reminder how he saved her pathetic ass from death's doorstep because she was having a hard time dealing with reality. Let her think of him whenever she saw those scars. Maybe it would remind her that there weren't people like him who would save her from herself just anywhere.

“I wouldn't have-” Shilo started before breaking into sobs, hiccuping. She looked pathetic, half falling out of the bed, twisted in pain. Finally taking pity on her, Graverobber carefully took Shilo's shoulders in his hands (how frail her bones seemed) and pulled her up to rest against the headboard, ignoring her weak flails of protest. Gathering his jacket to one side, he sat on the edge of Shilo's bed, watching as the girl cried. Salty tears fell down her cheeks, dripped off her chin, and she needed a tissue, but Graverobber didn't do anything but watch her cry until, minutes later, she settled down enough to take a deep breath, then another.

The sun was almost done with it's ascension into the sky, the orange and yellow blaze turning to the monotonous butter yellow hue that lit the city with all day long. The lamps weren't necessary, rather ridiculous actually, but Graverobber didn't turn them off. How many times had he been in the dark and wanted a light to sit by? How many times had he wanted a room of his own, somewhere he could come back to more than once and know he would have someplace comfortable to rest? The bed was so soft, the fabric of the sheets smooth and unfamiliar underneath Graverobber's fingertips as he unconsciously slid his hands along the edge of the mattress. He looked at the floor, the hardwood floor stained with blood, the rugs dirty from his boots, footprints leading to-

“Kid, how long has that window been open? Did you try to jump out or anything?”

Shilo shook her head, sniffling, wiping her face with her hands gingerly.

“Why are there bloody footprints?”

“I- I was try- trying to tell you! I didn't-”

As Shilo broke out into more tears, Graverobber stood up and walked to where there were two footprints set into the wood by blood, both of them hardly recognizable as footprints if not for the fact that there was a definite heel to one and toe on the other. Someone had stepped in Shilo's blood on their way out of the room, but Graverobber couldn't see any damage to the window or anything else that could explain a break-in. The shoe prints seemed too big to be from anything Shilo would wear, nearly his size, and he wondered if maybe he even had gone to the window after finding the girl. No, he hadn't, and the window was definitely open when he had walked in. He was tempted to ask her if he was being set up, but Graverobber could tell, anyone could tell, that Shilo wasn't acting.

Carefully, he asked, still wanting to doubt the evidence that supported Shilo's story, “Do you remember anything?”

“No! I fell down on the floor and I don't remember anything else!” she yelled, becoming more and more frustrated as she couldn't stop her tears. Shilo started gasping, wrapping her arms around herself despite the pain, rocking back and forth. She was having a panic attack, something she had never really experienced before, and Graverobber could tell it scared the hell out of her. Hurrying to her side, he wondered what to do.

He did the only thing he could think of.

Loading one of his smaller vials into the Zydrate gun, he unwrapped one of Shilo's arms from around her ribs and stuck her in the crook of the elbow, a sharp and quick stab he wondered if she could even feel through the panic that didn't ease until, after what seemed like minutes instead of moments, Shilo relaxed and took a shuddering breath. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the headboard and slid down into the mattress, taking her first Zydrate dose and falling into the stupor that comes with being drugged with such a strong chemical. It was quite innocent, actually, the way she nearly smiled in her relief of the pain easing away, and the way her hands relaxed and her shoulders drooped. Her breathing became regular, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Graverobber brushed away some of the hair that fell over her face and sat back down on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on knees as he turned his head to watch Shilo fall asleep. Her hands, wrists in all their bloody disarray, rested on the bed and Graverobber took one in his own hand. He wasn't much good at this doctor stuff. Nor was he a sleuth. Why would someone attack a young woman and stage it as a suicide?

As Graverobber ran over names and faces, plots and places, he started to droop. The lamplight was comforting, the plush bed inviting, and, against his better judgment, he slipped off his boots and pulled his jacket tighter around his thin frame. Closing the drapes was easy, right after shutting and locking the window and door, and he turned off the lamps. Feeling slightly ridiculous in his stocking feet and taking care not to step in the blood that was nearly dry in puddles on the floor, the dealer stashed his jacket and bags of tools and Zydrate under the bed. The floor would have been just fine but, even on the streets, he tried not to sleep next to anything as questionable as blood. He was never much for sleeping sitting up, either, and the dealer wondered if he should just sneak around the house and find a guest room, or even a good patch of carpet. He hadn't slept in what must have been going on two days, though, and he knew anything was better than nothing.

Graverobber was unusually kind in the way he covered Shilo in the sheet he had so rudely ripped off her. Pulling the blankets around her before tugging up the comforter and sheets from where they were so perfectly tucked in at the end of the bed, he climbed in. It was ridiculous, he thought to himself, rolling his eyes. Here he was, one of the best Zydrate dealers in the city, sleeping at the foot of the bed in a little girl's room. And most of everything was pink. He hoped he never would remember he had slept like a faithful pet in the pink bed owned by an orphaned girl. But, Graverobber thought to himself, at least he was one of the few from the streets who had a bed to sleep in, especially when it was particularly large, soft, and he wasn't alone inside it.

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O

Shilo woke up wondering why she had such unusual socks on. She never wore socks to bed, not unless she was sick, and she didn't remember owning a pair of socks that didn't flex when her feet did. They must have had holes in them, too, because only the arches and toes were warm, the heels buried in a different sort of fabric. Stretching, then realizing why she hadn't stretched in the first place, Shilo whimpered as her muscles hardly moved how she wanted them to, resisting her commands. Wincing, she tried making a fist with both hands and decided against forcing the issue as her fingers only bent halfway down before the discomfort became too much to continue. Why was there stitching in her skin? Why did she feel so good when she should be in so much pain?

The previous night came flooding back to her and Shilo flopped down into the mattress from where she had been trying to sit up, trying to beat back the waves of confusion and despair. It hadn't all been a nightmare, a vision she created in the darkest realms of sleep. It was real: the floor, the blood, anger, pain, the awful pain that crippled her... Accusations, realizations, and a figure sitting in the corner of her room... Glancing to the corner, Shilo held her breath to realize that the only thing from her memories that wasn't there as she remembered it to be was the man who saved her, the Zydrate dealer that took a needle and thread to the slashes across her wrists. The thread was thin and partly buried in scabs forming over the wounds; she bet it would be a bitch to try to take out later, though.

The socks on her feet moved and Shilo jumped, realizing they weren't socks at all as she saw a rather large lump at the end of the bed shift, buried under the blankets. They had been hands, wrapped around her toes, and Shilo realized Graverobber was just waking up.

Blushing unsuccessfully, not enough blood to flame her cheeks, Shilo didn't say anything as the strange man she had met in the graveyard just weeks ago was sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his face, partly covered by her lacy pink blankets. It was a large enough bed that the dealer had been able to sleep comfortably, although Shilo's feet were practically in his ribs. The image was so startling and so unusual that Shilo didn't know how to feel and wondered why he was still here when he had any place in the world he could sleep.

“Good morning?” she said tentatively, more of a question than a statement. Graverobber, visible in the dim light coming through the curtains that shut the light of day out of the room, realized where he was.

“What the- What the fuck am I doing here?”

The question was followed by a flurry of movement as Graverobber practically tore the bedding off the mattress as he got up and dragged his boots, bags, and jacket to the chair in the corner, getting dressed to leave. Shilo was still completely startled, jaw dropping when Graverobber looked up from his rush to get out and glared at her.

“Why are you upset? You can stay here, I don't mind. Stay.”

The girl was so damned innocent, he thought, sneering. Even in this moment, when she is probably so confused and shy as to not know herself from one of those stupid stuffed animals resting on the floor beside the bed, she can't stop to think what she is offering. How could he have slept so long, so unaware? Normally he didn't sleep more than a handful of hours at a time, always on guard. What was so fucking special about this place that he had slept more than half the day away?

“Really, I don't mind sharing,” Shilo added as Graverobber hurried his actions.

“What would you know about sleeping in someone else's bed, kid?”

“Well, we weren't, well... You were just so comfortable down there and I really don't mind you, I mean-- I...”

Shilo's voice faded away as she realized she lacked the words to convince him to stay, that she was only making him more and more aggravated when she tried again and he cut her staggering off mid-sentence.

“Listen, kid. I stayed here last night because I wasn't thinking right, okay? If anyone even asks you about me, you and I never even met, got it? Not last night, not last week, not ever. And take better care of yourself; not everyone actually gives a damn.”

“But you slept here. You-”

“I've slept other places, too, with actual women, and I wasn't at the end of the bed like one of those fucking stuffed animals of yours. If I had actually seen a bed these past few months, I wouldn't have stayed here last night, believe me. Don't pretend you're anything special. Or is that what you want to think, huh? Think you're like those girls on the street that can pay me without cash for a shot or two of the drug? If you even knew anything--”

“Don't,” Shilo muttered, turning her head away from Graverobber's mocking stare. She wished she never would have brought it up, the fact he had slept in her room last night, at the end of her very bed. She knew this was something along the lines of a punishment for ever mentioning that Graverobber himself had tolerated pink and lace and had even suffered to have stuffed animals in the same room as him.

“--about sex,” he finished smugly, watching her face turn pink from behind a thin veil of hair. “You wouldn't have brought it up. You don't know anything about touching and sharing beds. You know nothing of anything. Don't pretend you do and don't pretend you will.”

Graverobber slung his bag over his shoulder and stood, glancing at the fading light leaking in through gaps in the curtains. It was nearly nightfall and there was plenty of work to be done; his plans were out the window, much like the mysterious attacker Shilo had carried on about. Was he really as tired as to believe her last night? What a waste of time, Graverobber thought as he recalled what he was going to ask Shilo. There wasn't any need for her in any of these plans after all.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” he said coldly, walking past Shilo and out out of the bedroom. “I don't need to be here and I don't need to come back.”

“But you came here! You found me! You saved me!” Shilo yelled after Graverobber as he walked down the hallway and started descending the stairs. “Don't leave me!”

The dealer paused, head bowed, foot hovering over the next step in the staircase that would take him down and out of the Wallace's house for what might actually be the only visit. The anger inside him faded and all Graverobber felt was stupidity. Stupidity for what he did, for what he was going to say, and for what he was going to do in the future. Turning to look at Shilo, who stood so weak in the doorway that she leaned against the hallway wall, eyebrows raised and lips parted in desperation. She was all alone, in this house, and he doubted if there was going to be anyone to even come check up on the kid besides himself. Although his frustration at being caught sleeping and staying in Shilo's room, next to the stuffed animals, was still burning inside him, Graverobber put his head in his hands and sighed.

“Do you really, really mean that?”

“Yes.”

“With everything you are?”

“Yes!”

“And you're sure about wanting me to come back?”

“Yes! Why won't you just say you will?”

“Because I don't think you know exactly who or what you're dealing with.”

“But what if the person, or whatever it was, that attacked me comes back?”

Shilo's face started to crumple and she carefully wiped her cheek with the back of her hand as she started to accept the answer Graverobber hadn't yet given. Feeling uncomfortable, rolling his eyes, he sighed again.

“Kid, I'll come back. I don't know when, but I'll come back, okay?”

He didn't pause to wait for her expression to change or to allow her to say anything else to him, just turning and continuing his way down the stairs. Only mysterious forces knew what else he was going to be convinced of doing for this girl. And maybe he would have enough time between now and when he came back to think over the plans nearly abandoned. There was just one request:

“I'm going to need my own bed next time.”

Never Knew: Chapter One

2009-01-25T18:50:27Z

Story: Never Knew
Chapter: One "Prelude"
Genre: "Repo: The Genetic Rock Opera"
Rating: Mature for later chapters
Disclaimer: anything to do with "Repo: The Genetic Opera" has nothing to do with me in any way, shape, or form.
Author's Notes: posted to various communities and websites by request.

It didn't seem right.

Somehow, being in Nathan's house, the dwelling of the most famous Repo Man that GeneCo had ever hired, set Graverobber on the tips of his nerves. His coat hem, frayed and filthy, dragged across the sleek floor as his footsteps echoed off the hardwood and into the darkness. There wasn't much light, seeing as the maids had all ran off after hearing of Nathan's death. No point in waiting around for a new job when your previous employer can't recommend you. Jobs were hard to come by and it wasn't getting any easier to hold one; anyone would think that, with all the death related to GeneCo and organ failure, there would be a demand for living bodies, but that wasn't the case.

“Kid?”

Graverobber's voice rang through the hallways he couldn't see, slipping around corners and up the staircase. Resting his hand on the cool wood of the banister, the dealer glanced upward, able to see a slice of hallway and a room with a partly closed door. No lights, just shadow from the moonlight streaming in through the windows that sat so close to the ceiling that Graverobber had first wondered if there was a crack in the roof. He wasn't used to ceilings, or much shelter of any sort. Already, the dusted furniture and polished flooring were reminding Graverobber he didn't belong here. A man like himself would never be allowed in this mansion if the world hadn't just been turned upside down.

No one had heard from Shilo in nearly a week. It had only been that long since the fall of the most influential corporation of the world and the death of it's best employee. Her father had more influence with the Largos than he would ever know, than Shilo could ever harness herself. To offer a little girl an entire company, to even dream of handing the lives of millions over to a teenager who had never left her house until the plans had been set in action to snag her away from her father... Ridiculous. GeneCo needed to be taken care of by someone who cared, someone like himself. Not so much about people, but about money. Caring about people was a waste of time and time was just as important as money. They both made the world go 'round. And you couldn't forget Zydrate.

No, some people wanted Zydrate more than they wanted money or more time. That was why he was in this business: Zydrate wouldn't go away, not as long as surgery was needed, and there was always a demand for new organs. Graverobber knew he would never be put out of business as long as he harvested what he needed to get by. The problem was that it just wasn't what he wanted to do anymore. Management was more interesting than harvesting Zydrate and dealing with the living was more interesting than the dead. If there was a chance he could do something else, to put his life on a different path, he would take it: Graverobber always had a plan. Here was GeneCo, within his grasp...

“Kid!”

There was a slight rustling at the top of the stairs and Graverobber set one booted foot upon the first polished stair. Should he go upstairs? It was bad enough to have broken the lock on the back gate, to trample through the rosebushes and come in through the front door. The girl had left it unlocked. Who knew what could have happened to her by now if she had left the door unlocked for nearly a week? It was no secret that Nathan Wallace had died and that he had left behind a vulnerable, misguided girl. Graverobber knew too many bastards out there who would love to take advantage of the situation; he had met and taken care of a few too many out there in the dark world. A body is a body, after all. But wasn't he taking advantage of the situation, as well? Wasn't there a question, a plot, on the tongue that clicked against his teeth as Graverobber waited for a sign Shilo was still in the house?

The rustling faded and Graverobber took his foot off the stair, feeling ridiculous. As much as he didn't want to admit to himself he wasn't just here to see how the kid was doing, it was the only excuse he had. Nathan's presence, and the presence of his wife especially, was strong in the house. He didn't rob houses, just graves. There wasn't a way Graverobber could convince himself yet that the fact Nathan was in his grave gave him a right to rob the mausoleum this house had become. The girl probably wasn't even here, anyway. The death of her last parent had given her the freedom to do whatever she wanted to; Shilo was probably out learning about the world in all its jaded glory.

Let her, he thought. The girl deserves more than what she had before. It wasn't right to be in cage all one's life, even if it was a large one with silver candelabras and bug collections.

A moan, nearly faded by the time it reached Graverobber's ears, flitted down the staircase from the open door upstairs. Not the slightest bit hesitant, he ran up the stairs, glowing vials clattering in his pockets. Something hadn't seemed right before and it definitely wasn't any better when Graverobber reached the door to what was a bedroom.

The first thing he noticed was the bed in the center of the room. A lacy canopy drifted in lazy folds down to the floor, stuffed animals on the bed, a small glass case with bugs inside resting on the bed stand, and a lamp with a pink shade standing guard over the dead insects inside their clear prison. Graverobber felt like that lamp as he stood over Shilo, the young woman flat on her back on the floor. She was the second thing he saw when opened the door on it's gliding hinges. It didn't seem proper for her to be sleeping on the floor but, even in the moonlight that lit the night like the glow illuminated the inside of Graverobber's pockets, the man could tell there was something wrong with the way Shilo rested.

Kneeling beside her, Graverobber noticed the window was open from the cool breeze that ran across his face, just like his hand swept the stray strands of dark hair from Shilo's cheek. She was cold, too cold to be comfortable in any way, and she was dressed in the same clothes she had worn when Nathan had died. The dealer didn't bother to notice the bloodstains that remained on the fabric, just the chill liquid that was seeping through the fabric of his pants and staining his skin. He had knelt in blood.

“Kid? Shilo?”

She had promised Nathan she would change the world for him, but what was there to do when her entire world was her father? Graverobber cradled the hand that dripped with the crimson liquid he had never been squeamish about until that moment: there was too much blood for one little girl, too much. This girl, who had been offered everything, had tried to kill herself. Feeling for a pulse, fingers flicking against the willowy neck that was so still at his touch, Graverobber swore. She was still alive.

Shilo had never really succeeded at most anything she did, anyway, and Graverobber hoped this held true tonight as he reached into his jacket for a needle and thread. He wasn't about to let his last chance to live a better life slip away, not when it's heart still beat.

Stupid Question Poem "What Did You Do?" (rough draft #1)

2008-08-28T21:53:41Z

"What Did You Do?"

(as asked by owners to their pets)

Let's see... I napped, slept, snoozed, and
otherwise wasn't aware the next door neighboor
came in and viciously attacked your favorite houseplant.

I didn't get into the paper towels,
really I didn't.
They got into a heated dispute and tore one another up while the breeze
from the open window blew their remains around
your freshly swept kitchen.

I was having a terrible dream while napping
on your bed and unconsciously released my panic
with my teeth upon your feather pillow.

Since you didn't clean the litter box I was forced to releve myself
on your new leather couch.
The question isn't what did I do but rather why do you own pets?

Isn't it obvious? I chewed up the rug.

You left a sandwich laying out all by itself, so I thought I
would do you a favor by getting rid of it for you.
After all, you wouldn't have left a perfectly good sandwich just sitting here, right?

First, I ripped apart all the stuffing from my new bed and then had
a great time making sure you would still find stuffing for years to come,
to remind you of me.

The question isn't what did I do, it's what didn't I do.

"The Hunter"

2008-01-04T04:40:13Z

Title: The Hunter

Fiction/Non-fiction: Original Fiction

Length: short

Rating: PG-13...

Notes: A short story I came across on looseleaf and decided to type up. I actually wrote this a very, very long time ago. I might work on it a bit and submit it somewhere. And I had never even heard of Anne Rice before I wrote this story, so for everyone who thinks it is inspired by her work, it's not (and I'm actually pretty disgusted with Anne Rice's work...)

“Most of them died that night.”

“Most?”

“Yes, most.”

“But not all?”

“No, not all.”

Oh, the sadness that most of my evenings started with a conversation such as this.

The tavern was full with stormy clouds of tobacco smoke hanging in the air, murky bubbling as mugs were emptied and filled for a small price, and crude laughter too loud and language too rough for my liking. We had been sitting there for quite a while, I must admit, before I found the courage to speak with him, the man who staggered over to the empty space beside me and gave me a greeting broken by his call for a barmaid. His features were hard to discern through all the smoke, but I could see that he was a very drunken man, his face only half as round as the rest of him, torso balanced like some planet on the verge of tipping off the edge of the universe. His body swayed and through my repulsion I was mildly surprised his stool could hold him without splintering.

He called for more ale and was rewarded for his course bellowing with a foaming mug, brought to our section of the dirty oaken bar by a rather voluptuous serving girl. I couldn't hold back a grimace as she bent over to collect the coin he tossed to her. Like the man's stool, this woman's corset was due to snap at any time. I was offered an ale and declined, pulling my cloak tighter around my small frame as I tried to make the best use of the shadows in the poor lamplight and hazy atmosphere. The barmaid gave up her feeble attempt to transform me into everyone else in the wretched place, answering the call of another customer. Turning back to my drunken aquantence, I was reminded of how much did not miss drinking the beverages I had once been able to, but noticed the foam on the man's lips before he lazily wiped his mouth with the back of his greasy hand with my thirst for memories.

“Wasn't this a long time ago? How could you know?

“I have my ways of knowing.”

The man patted me roughly on the shoulder, completely unaware were were talking about something with no subject whatsoever. I grimmaced once more and shifted in my own barstool, almost out of arm's reach of the wretch who was now admiring the serving maid from across the room, what he could see of her through the smoke. They always thought they knew what I was talking about. I was thankful the man did not press our half formed topic of conversation, for I did not even know what we were talking about. I was often too loathe to think ahead of time how to set the trap, forced to find the drunkest man I could to have even the slightest chance of succeeding in my task. I simply said something to start the dreaded sequence of events and, like all the others, he had taken the bait. I never knew what they thought I was talking about; I tried not to ponder this. The process made me sick.

“How did it happen?”

“As you said, it was so long ago. I can hardly remember.”

The man gave a belch. Once again, I did not regret the fact I could not smell what was swirling around in the tavern. I could imagine them, though, poisonous fumes searching for a victim, looking down upon every person with invisible greedy eyes before moving along. Hunting. I gave a sigh and tried to forget how much the fumes and I had in common.

“Take off your cloak. It's too hot in here for that.”

He reached for the hood of my cloak, meaning to pull it off, almost toppling off his chair in the attempt. I grasped his pudgy wrist in my hand, horrified, and the drunkard gave an uncharacteristic gasp of surprise at my reaction before beginning to laugh foolishly. As he took another gulp of his ale, I rearranged the folds of my cloak and hood with meticulous care.

“If my hands were that cold, I would leave my cloak on, too.”

The man had failed to notice how white my hand was. I was pathetically thankful as I hid my hand away and hunched over, sick to my stomach with the very thought of what I had to do. It was always easier to choose one who was hardly aware of his surroundings, brain drowning in liqour,

comfortable in a seedy tavern, instead of snatching one off the streets.

To live, I would have to play my hand well and this fool was showing me his cards.

“Another ale!”

The curvy barmaid came back, giving the man another eyeful as she collected the coin. The man was swaying where he sat, gulping the amber liquid down, forgetting I was even there.

Now was the time.

It was a blur from that moment on. I could never remember how I did it, how it all happened. I just knew that it was instinct that drove me to do what I did. It was always instinct, what kept me alive when I wanted to do the exact opposite. I was never thankful for the gift of renewed life but I was grateful I was spared the details of my crimes.

I looked at the man, laying pale and lifeless at my feet. Would his family, if he had any, know he died a drunken fool, following a cloaked stranger out of a tavern and into an alley covered with shadows? They would never know his last vision, a horrifying creature of darkness he might have considered a friend in his drunken state. The alcohol in the man's blood, bubbling in my own veins, did nothing for me, did not raise me above my woes, did not bring me lower in despair. I was the same as before, except the remorse that came in tenfold as I turned to abandon the remains of the drunkard.

As I prepared to leave, to hide from the light that would be coming in a few short hours, the hunger came again. The blood of the man had not been enough. I had put off my hunts far too long out of the discomfort it caused me to take a life and I knew I needed more to compensate for the my lingering human sensitivity.

With a heavy heart, I went back to the tavern in search of the barmaid.

No Matter

2007-10-15T06:30:22Z

1:12 am

Lights are on where
they are not supposed to be. In fact,
the guards were supposed to come and turn
them off nearly fifteen minutes ago.
No matter.
They light the bit of darkness
lamplight cannot touch,
entire classrooms spilling their contents onto
the growing grass and chewed up leaves.

Homework was supposed to be
done a while ago.
Supposed to be meaning it
never happened.
No matter.
A professor sent an email, cancelling
class for tomorrow, cutting my load back.
I can finish the paper then,
making word after word sound intellegent in a hope to pass.

I'm thinking again,
thoughts of those I shouldn't be thinking of.
New friends, old friends, a possible boyfriend,
and those people I thought were friends but weren't.
No matter.
New friends become old, old friends become older, boyfriends
give my stomach odd sensations
and I am pleased with myself in a guilty but satisfied
fashion that I am where backstabbers cannot be.

The desk is a mess. I must clean at least
once a week. It just doesn't stay clean.
Empty soda bottles, socks that need fixing, homework strewn
about, nearly touching the bottle holding rotting juice.
No matter.
It'll have to stay a mess, at least until tomorrow,
at least until I find time, make time, or waste time cleaning up.
Bottles get recycled downstairs, socks put in a drawer, homework stuffed
back into the canvas cave, my back pack, it's home.

There are movies on my shelves, of all different genres,
some that don't even belong to me. Those go by the TV, though,
to hopefully be reunited with their owners in a timely matter.
I don't have enough time for movies lately.
No matter.
Sometimes, most times, actually, I'll get a call and an
invitation to come sit on a futon made of tough fabric and wood
between my love interest and roommate
as the two other girls sit on their bed and giggle at the situation.

1:25

Lights are off
where they are supposed to be off, the guard flipping them off
and I wonder if he even bothered to lock the classroom door;
sometimes they leave them open.
No matter.
I have a paper to worry about, a shower to take,
sleep to attempt
as the darkness claims
the growing grass and chewed up leaves.

"Pale Words" (10/12) & (11/12) & (12/12)

2007-08-23T04:38:38Z

Title: Pale Words (10/12) "Cuddy's First Visit" & (11/12) "Page One" & (12/12) "The Task"

Original/FF: House M.D.

Rating: PG-13

Length: Short/Short/Short

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the fandom (thank goodness; have you seen the fandom?)

Notes: This actually isn't officially complete, but I am not working on it any more. I always feel so bad when I "abandon" a story and there always is a little bit of me that wants to go back and finish stories like this, but I wouldn't put much of an attempt into it and that would be worse. So, here it is! (And who knows? If it REALLY drives me crazy that it isn't finished, I can always come back to it...)

Cameron, I hope you know what you've done.

I know it wasn't your fault, getting shot in the first place, but why must you torture us with these damn letters? Why would you give me a letter that concerned Chase and not give it to him yourself? I know you wanted to apologize to me for lying about that bruise and for betraying our friendship, but if you wanted to tell Chase something, you should have let him know personally. Why drag me into this mess you've made?

I got a call from Wilson this morning at an ungodly hour, saying he couldn't get a hold of House. He even went to House's apartment and forced his way in, only to find broken glass, puddles of water, and a few roses laying on the floor. House's bike was gone and we called the rest of the team together to find him. Foreman found House at your grave, resting against your headstone, freezing. He had his letter in his hands, clinging to it like a blanket. Even when we got the ambulance here to take him to the hospital, he wouldn't let it go.

It's just like him to put himself through hell. He knows the dangers of hypothermia; he could have destroyed himself out here. Already, he's tearing himself apart inside. At least he had enough sense to throw on a jacket. I can't stand him. I find myself wishing now that I wouldn't have taken it all back at the director's meeting the other day, about firing him. He's brilliant, but he already killed two people.

I count you as one of the people he's killed.

The trial of Mr. Deleyney's son, Matt, is going to start in a few days. They bumped the trial date to an earlier time because Stacy advised the hospital board it would be better to find out our losses as soon as possible. She pulled a few strings downtown and I thank her for it. We are still going to be lucky if we don't lose the hospital.

Wilson is riding House's bike back and I'm riding with him. We're going to go through House's apartment and see if there are any drugs he's taking in place of his usual painkiller. It would be pathetic if the man went through detox and triumphed as a result of all of this. Just because he decided to go off his medication... How selfish of House, as usual. I'll check up on House later on today; it doesn't sound like he's in any danger, but he is going to be admitted for a few days, at least, for frostbite and the like.

You're killing him, Cameron. He killed you with his selfishness and insensitivity and you're killing him with your love. He can't live with it. He can't stand the fact that there is someone who really cares for him and he lost the chance to hold on. He's mad that he couldn't foresee this. He's furious with himself that he's human enough to love something he can't have.

If it were not for the fact you apologized to me, I wouldn't be here talking to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, you decided to say a few words to Cameron?” Wilson asked, leaning against House's bike, arms crossed, as Cuddy walked toward him. It was hard to read her face and Wilson couldn't begin to imagine what was wrong with her. Perhaps it was the fact that she was woken too early in the morning with so much excitement around her, or maybe the fact that her best diagnostician was found passed out in a cemetery. Whatever it was, it made Cuddy look tired and weak, not the normal look on the woman's face.

“It was the first time I've visited her,” Cuddy said, climbing on the bike behind Wilson. “I didn't want to visit her under these circumstances. I didn't really want to visit her at all.”

“I felt that way, too, the first time I came here,” Wilson said, trying to find the key for the ignition in his jacket pocket. Before House was carted away, Wilson dug through his jacket for the keys, earning a cold look from one of the doctors on hand. How else were they supposed to get House's motorcycle home? Knowing House, he would moan and complain and be worse than usual if his bike was stolen. But what was usual for House nowadays?

“How did you deal with it?”

“I didn't. That's it.”

Wilson started the engine and they made their way slowly out of the cemetery, driving under the large, barren trees, their branches drooping toward the earth as though they were burdened with sorrow instead of with snow.

End Chapter...

House lay in the hospital room, exhausted, still cold no matter what the doctors had done to bring his temperature up. He was not at risk of hypothermia anymore, and House was slowly recovering after his midnight stint in the graveyard. Had it only been a handful of hours ago since he was at Cameron's headstone? Time had blurred and House hardly remembered the emergency workers carting him away in the ambulance. Cuddy and Wilson had stayed behind as Foreman and Chase came along, trying to assist the emergency crew in any way possible.

The lights were so bright in the room that House didn't want to open his eyes any wider than a squint, his white blankets reflecting the harsh light into his face. He buzzed for a nurse and snapped at her to dim the room, the nurse obeying and hurrying out of the room. It was the talk of the hospital that Dr. House had been admitted for hypothermia after spending all night outside in the snow. No one knew where he had been, and doctors Foreman and Chase were not speaking to anyone about the matter.

No one had come to visit him besides the nurse in a long time, House thought, wondering if any of the doctors were going to come and check on him. Besides the frostbite, he was considered medically 'out of harm's way' and no one wanted to risk him snapping at them, House supposed. He was too tired to do anything and all the doctor wanted to do was sleep. As he tried to make himself comfortable, falling into the rhythm of his own heartbeat, House looked over at the bed table where he had placed the letter Cameron had given him, only able to read the first page of it from where he lay. He had read it all once, while at the graveyard, but once was all he needed. He tried to forget and remember her words at the same time as he shut his eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep.

Dear Greg,

I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused the past few weeks. I know what I've done was wrong and I don't know what I could say to fix it; I have a feeling my words are only going to make it worse at this point, but I can't live with it all at the moment. I need to let you know.

House, I went home with Chase one night after work. I'm sure you didn't notice. I needed someone to hold me, to tell me they loved me, to say and do everything you wouldn't. I hurt Chase because he thought I loved him when, in truth, I loved you. You just couldn't see that and I couldn't tell you. I was too weak.

Love doesn't know what to do with itself until it's too late, I suppose. Even now, I think I'm going to lose you, no matter what I say or do. I just hope that, after you read this letter, you think better of me and tell me how you feel. I know this is almost too much to ask for, but I pray you have the decency to confront the matter instead of hoping it will go away on it's own.

Love knows no limits, Greg. I'm afraid that nothing you do will stop me from caring about you. You can hurt me all you want, but nothing is going to change. I will love you. I just hope you can see that in time. I hope Chase will see that, too. I cared for him, I really did, but you were the one I wanted to be with. You, of all people.

I can see the future; it's beautiful.

I see Chase, sitting at his desk, talking to his wife over the phone, happily married to someone who will love him as much as he said he loved me. I see Foreman, promoted higher than he ever believed possible, making millions because of what he does, richer than Mr. Deleyney himself. I see Wilson, by your side like the faithful friend he is, and I see Cuddy, smiling always how she smiled at me when she found me in your office after I fell. And I see you. I see you holding my hand, your smiles falling like drops of rain upon me, your voice music I've always heard but never listened to before now.

I wanted you to know I love everything about you, even the pain and angst you always carry with you, hidden behind that cynical mask you wear. I don't feel the same way any other time besides when I look at you. I can't breathe when you look at me. I know this is something you'll probably just tear up and throw away, passed off as the writings of a love sick girl, but I hope that if you only remember a bit of what I've said, it will be the words “I love you.”

But, sometimes, I wish I could forget all about you, because I keep thinking my ideas will never reach your hard heart. I want you to find someone you love, even if it's not me; if you think you'll be happier with Stacy, by all means, say something. You'll never know unless you speak up. I want you to get to a place I can't reach, so I know I can just give up and watch you be happy. As long as you're happy. Love means standing back and letting your feelings keep you company sometimes. But love means never forgetting.

Please, be happy. If my love can do that, I've won, you've won, we've all won.

End Chapter...

“Wilson, you need to do me a favor.”

The winter sunlight streamed in through the large glass windows in the hospital room, aggravating House. It was too bright for the mood he was in, laying in the hospital bed, shivering. Wilson, who had been glancing through a magazine across the room, looked up.

“Why?”

“Do I really need to tell you? Just do it for me.”

Wilson sighed and closed the magazine, dropping it on the desk beside his chair.

“If you hadn't spent all night in a graveyard, you might be well enough to do this task yourself. And if you won't even tell me what it is, why should I do it?”

“Because you're a friend.”

House muttered these words as if they were his last chance in the world to get anyone to do anything for him ever again. Wilson knew it was just a ploy to get him to bend to House's will.

“I can't give you any more medication. Cuddy has a-”

“It's not medication. It's this.”

House reached under the mattress of his hospital bed and fumbled for a few seconds before showing the item to Wilson. It was a letter, in a plain white envelope, no markings whatsoever marring the smooth paper surface. It was a rather thin envelope, so whatever was in it wasn't much.

“Why is this so important?”

“None of your business, like I said before,” House said, making sure the envelope was sealed shut before waving it at Wilson. “I just need you to deliver this for me.”

“You could get a nurse to drop this off in the post box right here in the hospital,” Wilson commented, taking the envelope and flipping it over in his hands. “Why send me to do this? I'm supposed to be here, watching you.”

“Watching me for what?” House snarled. “You think I'm going to escape my confines here in the hospital and run off, causing chaos?”

“No, Cuddy thinks that. Why can't you get one of your team members to do this?”

“Chase and Foreman are on clinic duty. I know because I scheduled them for it. This is something I trust you to do.”

“Wow, trust. We're talking about something serious here, aren't we?” Wilson mocked. “I thought it wasn't in your nature to trust people.”

“There are a lot of things that aren't in my nature, but I do them anyway, most often when people aren't looking. Are you going to go now or deliver the letter while standing here?”

“This doesn't have a stamp on it.”

“It doesn't need a stamp because you're going to deliver it personally.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wilson killed the engine on the motorbike, taking off the helmet and balancing it on the handlebars. Making sure the letter was in the pocket of his long woolen jacket, Wilson walked down the all too familiar path to Cameron's grave. Fresh tracks from the ambulance and footsteps he and Cuddy had made just hours ago were still crisp in the snow. He was going to stop and bring flowers, but figured that was too much. Cameron had been getting so many flowers lately.

Standing above the headstone, Wilson looked at the spot where House had fallen, a large mark of slightly melted snow forming a thin sheet of ice, some of the ice trapping petals of the flowers that rested at the grave. Wilson read the engravings on the headstone and sighed. He was here. He could place this letter on the stone, cover it with a bit of snow to keep it from flying away too soon, and leave. But his curiosity overwhelmed him. He had to know what House had written.

Guilt ridden, Wilson ripped one edge of the envelope open and pulled out the simple sheet of paper, reading the words scrawled across the white background.

“I always knew, Cameron, except that it would end like this.”

Wilson bit his lip as he returned the paper back to the envelope and buried the envelope into the stems of the wilting flowers. He had read something very personal, very private. He didn't know what it meant, but had a few guesses. Wilson wasn't going to ask House what he meant by writing “I always knew, except that it would end like this” because then House would know he had broken the trust House had bestowed upon him. Walking back to the bike House had told Wilson he could borrow until he was discharged from the hospital, Wilson ran all possibilities over in his head.

None of them fit.

He would have to keep guessing.

"Pale Words" (7/12) & (8/12) & (9/12)

2007-08-23T04:31:43Z

Title: Pale Words (7/12) "Forget Me Nots" & (8/12) "Daisies" & (9/12) "The Letter And The Rose"

Original/FF: House M.D.

Rating: PG-13

Length: Short/Short/Short

Disclaimer: I own nothing from this fandom, as it should be.

Notes: Wow, I was really silly to write this stuff. Well, all good writers have to start somewhere and I just can't bring myself to delete it all, no matter how "bad" it is. I actually don't give my work enough credit, too; I mean, this could be another person's pride in their writing collection while I'm kicking it around and making fun of it. (But is really is super angsty, dramatic, and chock full of out-of-character"ness"...)

Cuddy told me everything you wrote, Cameron.

I never knew.

Allison, I don't know whether to get on my knees and cry or curse you. If you would have told me, we could have worked everything out. If I would have known how scared you were that night, when I took you home... I wouldn't have done it. I wouldn't have pressured you into being with me that night, to stay with me. I should have known better. But you should have spoken up.

I didn't really realize I was ignoring you. Honestly; we had just admited Mr. Deleyney and I was so busy... I assumed we were alright the morning after, you know... I had no clue that you really loved House, that I was his replacement or something. I know that you wanted someone to love, someone to love you.

I'm just sorry that you wanted House instead of me.

Allison, if you had said no to coming home with me, no before doing all the things we did, telling me no before we said the things we said, none of this pain I'm feeling would be here now. I know you are gone and, since you've passed on, all your pain is gone, too. But I think you've heaped all of this on me. I can't go on without knowing for sure, Cameron, if you really meant all you said in that letter to Cuddy.

I feel so used and old. I feel like something someone just picked up as a passing fancy instead of an actual person. I guess this is how women feel after men just have their way with them and leave, never to see them again. I guess this is sort of what happened; I just had my way with you and you left. And now I can never see you again.

I really loved you, Cam. I know I told that to you, and I won't forget how beautiful you looked, from the day I met you to the day you died. I loved you. I never acted on it for a serious relationship, though, because I took you for granted. I thought you would always be there, or at least be there long enough until I worked up the courage to actually take everything to the next level. I won't forget the way you felt in my arms that night or the way I held you in the hallway before you rushed out of the hospital.

If I wouldn't have ignored you, maybe I could have seen what you had for House, that egotistical bastard who never loved you. He took all he could from you except the one thing I took. And he gave you everything I didn't.

End Chapter...

I figured I would find Chase here, but he must have left already. I can see his footprints in the snow and there are a few forget me nots here. Must have been him. If you could only tell me what he said.

Yesterday, after Cuddy pulled him back after her hearing in front of the hospital board, he has looked like hell. I saw him look like this a few weeks ago during your funeral, and now that haunted look has come over him again. His face is all pale, his hair uncombed, his eyes dull with dark circles under them. I talked with Cuddy after he came out of the room, nearly sobbing. Cuddy was crying, too. She tucked the letter you gave her back in her purse. We all know about it. We just don't know what is in it.

House looks like hell, too. He has his same dark demeanor, but his sarcasm isn't as good as it once was and he stays quiet when the House we all knew before would say whatever was on the tip of his tongue. He still has his temper, but it's like the fire had died down or something. We don't ask him what is in his letter.

Chase told me a few weeks ago, right before this whole thing started with Mr. Deleyney, that he had taken you home with him one night after work and you two, well, I don't think I have to say it; you were there, huh? He told me this today, after the hospital board nearly suspended House right there and then because he showed up late. I'm not going to tell you how that went, I'm just going to let him tell you himself. That's none of my business what he wants you to know. Chase was sitting in his chair the entire time, head bowed. He said he was going to visit you after the hearing and I stayed behind with Cuddy and Wilson. We were going to get drinks and I went to invite Chase, but he had left right after the hearing. We decided to let him go by himself and I was to check up on him.

I'm not doing a very good job of checking on him, though, huh? Instead, I'm here talking to you. I can do this some other time, Cameron, okay? I know that Chase is taking this harder than I am because he loved you so much. You were my friend, but you meant something more to Chase.

Whenever I see a daisy, or even a picture of one, I think of you. Don't worry, every time I walk past your old office, too, I think of you. I won't forget about you. I can't come as often as I'd like; it seems like I'm in the same boat Cuddy and Wilson are in: keeping a close watch on Chase and House, to make sure they don't do anything stupid.

Talk to you later, Cam.

End Chapter...

House was anxious. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but there was no mistaking that tone in his voice as he muttered to himself, the way his fingers tapped on the arm of the chair he leaned against, the sharp, quick movements he made. He was restless, wanting to get out of the house and do something, but what was there to do at three in the morning?

There was snow falling softly, the moonlight so bright it hurt to look at the snowflakes that made their way tumbling down from the sky. The bare trees held as much snow as they could, little clumps of it falling occasionally to the ground to mar the otherwise smooth surface the snow had made. There were shadows on the ground, but only the shadows of trees and the embittered man himself until he turned off the lights and continued to stare out the window, his own silhouette disappearing.

A sign. There must have been a sign, somewhere, that he missed. Cameron must have told him before now that it was time to read her letter. There must have been a mistake on his part, and House was willing to admit that if it would only let him read Cameron's thoughts, the thoughts she had written down before she died the next day. House set his resolve to find a sign, anything that would tell him Cameron was there.

His house was quiet, the room cold in the light of the snowy night. The furniture cast dull shadows on the floor, the edges blurred, the moonlight paying no attention to detail. That job was left to House, who peered out the window, nearly holding his breath. Tonight had to be the night. It would kill him to wait another day. He had waited for weeks already. Besides, he needed his sleep; his whole body ached with exhaustion. His hearing had not gone well.

The board members had told him that, since he was late, that was not going to help them make their decision on what to do with the doctor. House had been so patient, he had tried to be the best person he could be. He sat there like a fool, like an absolute idiot, as the pompous jerks laid out a sentence for him. Since the hospital director herself had tried to retract the order to fire Dr. House, the board members were going to keep Dr. House because of his medical genius, but since his actions had been related in the death of a patient, he was going to be suspended and his pay decreased. Not to mention the fact House had to answer to anybody. He had limited freedom in the hospital and couldn't even have his own security card to use the lab rooms or retrieve files. Everything had to be done for him. They were keeping him for his mind and his mind alone.

House snarled. It was his mind that had also come up with the poor idea of giving the patient the medicine that had killed him, apparently.

The vase of roses that House had set on the piano were beautiful in the moonlight, House had to admit to himself, laying next to the letter. He had bought them later on in the day, before he came home for the night, planning on bringing them to Cameron's grave, one at a time. As it was, he had only bought three or four, but House didn't know if he wanted to bring her the roses one at a time and stretch his visits, or give her the bunch at once and get it over with. He hated being a hopeless romantic, but he couldn't really help himself at the moment. The lack of energy, sleep, and food, along with the remaining effects of detox, had battered him and beaten him, leaving House with no outer defenses. He knew this was temporary, that he could rebuild the ice walls around himself, to keep out anyone who might think there was an actual person inside the shell of Dr. House, but he wasn't going to help himself until he had that sign.

Surely, if Cameron was able to see him, her heart would break from pity.

She would give him a sign.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

House rubbed his eyes. It was almost morning. He could see the faint rays of golden lights peak over the horizon, the brilliant purple and turquoise of the sky swirling together to disappear until the next morning. The moon was fading away, the sun chasing it to spread it's own rays over the earth and try to undo what the snow had done to the world, to melt some of the ice away from the earth. He still had no sign. Sighing, House turned away from the window, reaching for his cane.

His cane fell away from his clumsy fingers and House, who was already putting his weight on the wood before it fell, started to collapse. Trying to catch himself, House knocked over everything that was on top of the piano. He landed with a dull thump on the piano bench before rolling off of it and under the piano. House wheezed slightly and winced as he felt his bad thigh twitch with pain. He was laying in a puddle of water from the vase, which had broken into large shards of glass. House tried to get up, but put his hand directly over a piece of sharp glass, cutting his fingers.

Swearing, House lay still, trying to wash his fingers in the puddle of water, sighing. He noticed Cameron's letter laying dangerously close to the water and reached out to grab it, to save it from getting wet. House tried to prop himself up, half laying, half sitting under the large instrument, wiping the droplets of water that had not yet penetrated the envelope to get to the precious paper it contained. He was angry with himself for letting himself bleed on the envelope, the blood from his slashed fingers mingling with the water to spread across the envelope, making diluted swirls of blood, patterns forming. House paid no attention to this, trying to gather the roses from the floor and putting them in his lap to keep them from getting crunched. He noticed one pattern, however, the little symbol catching his eye.

There was a faint rose, stem and leaves attached, in the swirl of blood and water. House looked to the rose he held in his hand and could have cried, he was so relieved.

Putting the rose down and wiping away the excess water around the envelope, making sure he did not mar the mark on the paper, House opened his letter from Cameron.

"Pale Words" (4/12) & (5/12) & (6/12)

2007-08-23T04:20:10Z

Title: Pale Words (4/12) "Wilson's First Visit" & (5/12) "Cuddy's Hearing" & (6/12) "House's Fear"

Original/FF: House M.D.

Rating: PG-13

Length: Short/Short/Short

Disclaimer: Again, I don't own the fandom nor have plans to do so.

Notes: So, now that you are all caught up in the angst, you have more to read.... If you can stand it.

Chase and Foreman were talking last night, after Chase's hearing in front of the board, and I thought I would come and pay you a visit. We never really talked as much as you talked with Chase or House, but I still want to tell you some things...

Today, my hearing went well. I was busted for ignoring the case, and leaving paperwork where it wasn't supposed to be, but that was it. I was asked again what role I had to play in your death and I found it a little difficult to think about you. I didn't want to tell them a single word about how you died and how I saw you fall to the ground, dying, but I told them the best I could. Chase didn't have to leave the room this time.

Yesterday was embarrassing for him, we all could see it. He was here, I can tell, because I see forget-me-nots next to the daisies Foreman left. I wonder what he told you. I wish you were here to tell us what is going on with that man. What was going on with you, though, is what I'm curious about. Now that I have my own hearing out of the way, I can worry about something else. I still have the financial matter of the lawsuit the Deleyney family is pressing upon us, but that won't be taken care of until after the trial.

The trial is to be in another few weeks, about a month from now. Because the Deleyney's have so much power in the business world, apparently they have influence over the law, because they got their trial pushed up above other trials, those that actually have more importance than a few doctors and a patient who might have died anyway, no matter what we did for him. The trial is to cover two parts: the actual failure of the case along with the financial matters, and your murder. The Deleyney son is in jail at the moment, no bail available, otherwise he probably would have been busted out by now with the family money. What makes me so mad is that the Deleyney's already have so much money and they want to squeeze the hospital dry and ruin our lives. But, I suppose we ruined their life by mistreating the case and causing the death of their husband and father. To be fair, it was House that injected Mr. Deleyney with the tainted medicine.

I once told myself that I would hate House forever if he lost me my job and my money; if my life was turned upside down, I wouldn't speak with him ever again. I now realize that was stupid of me. I couldn't ever hate him forever. I can't hate him for more than a day or two before we talk like old friends, playing paper football or hangman on the white board. We act like little kids when we're together and I don't think I would ever want to lose that, no matter what he would cost me because of his mistakes. There are always other jobs out there and it wouldn't kill me to leave the hospital, considering all the problems we are having right now.

I just don't know what has gotten into him lately. I didn't mention the envelope you gave him, the one Cuddy picked up in the parking lot after he brought House back to the hospital. The director wanted to ask about it, I could tell, but I wasn't going to tell him anyway. That is strictly between you and House; although I can't help but wonder what you wrote. I notice Cuddy had an envelope, too, an orange one, and she kept reaching into her purse. Her hearing is tomorrow and I think she has the most to lose of all of us, except House, of course. She could lose her job and be demoted to one of us, just a simple doctor. I think she would hate that. I think she would even quit and seek a job at another hospital.

I think all of us are contemplating leaving the hospital, some of us even picking a different career path. Foreman said something about being a high school history teacher. Honestly, he did. I think he was trying to make a joke, but his eyes didn't look like he was joking. After all the money we probably will have to pay, I don't think he'll be able to afford college classes to get his degree as an educator. Plus, it's learning something else, picking the second thing over the first choice. He's a great doctor, we all are great doctors... We just made a few mistakes.

Cuddy told me today that she felt a little jealous that you got out of it so easily. She's still mad that you betrayed her trust, I think, but Cuddy really has her heart in the right place. I guess she feels that you escaped all these problems by your death and you've left everything for us to clean up. Cameron, I think she is right. The more I think about it, the more jealous I get, too. You get to rest and watch over us as we struggle just to keep our dignity. I understand that you probably wouldn't have wanted to get hit with that bullet, that would wouldn't have wanted to leave us, but I can't help but wonder what I would have done. I just don't like this, any of this. Second guessing myself is the worst thing I could do and that's what I'm doing right now.

I've gotta run, Cameron. I brought just one flower. I thought that you would have liked it if you could see it. It's a poppy. It's a fake poppy, mind you, one of those cheap cloth ones, but I couldn't get to the flower shop on time; they closed a few minutes before I arrived. I'll find you a real one someday and bring it to you. Just tell me that you are watching out for us. If you just left and didn't even look back, I don't think any of us would get through the rest of the hearings and the trial.

Watch out for us, Allison. We're doing our best to protect your memory here, but you have to keep an eye out for us for now. Please, Cameron. Please.

End Chapter...

“Ms. Cuddy, I-”

“Dr. Cuddy, if you don't mind,” the hospital director cut in, much to Stacy's displeasure. The board member raised his eyebrows and made eye contact with Cuddy and, after several seconds, Cuddy never blinking, the director went back to the chart in front of him.

“Dr. Cuddy, you were the director at the time of this accident, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You confronted Dr. House and his team before or after Mr. Deleyney's death?”

“Before. I called each of them after his death.”

“What happened when you confronted Dr. House?”

“It should be in the record. I don't see the need to repeat it.”

Once more, the board member and the director made eye contact and the board member sighed.

“It would help if you would cooperate, Dr. Cuddy.”

“It would help if you would stop asking stupid questions.”

Everyone in the room looked at House, who had directed his comment to the board member with Cuddy's file. House bit his lip and shrugged as Cuddy whipped around and glared at him, Stacy ready to shoot fire from her eyes.

“Okay, never mind that last statement,” House muttered. Stacy, after giving him one final look of distaste, turned around and apologized for both of her clients. Cuddy was grateful for House's intervention, though, and didn't flame him. If he hadn't said it, there was no guarantee that she would have been able to keep her own mouth shut.

“Continuing, Dr. Cuddy; After Dr. Cameron's accident, what happened?”

“Dr. Cameron was rushed into the emergency wing of the hospital and everything was done to keep her in stable condition while we found the bullet. The bullet had penetrated several vital organs, including her lungs and her liver; the bullet had fragmented and there was no possible way to extract every piece before her condition worsened. We kept her alive for nearly seven minutes after the shooting, but we knew that she would not survive. Everything that was available was done to save Dr. Cameron, but her condition was-”

“Who else was in the room with Dr. Cameron?”

“How does this-”

“Just answer the question, Dr. Cuddy.”

Cuddy wished House would open his big mouth again and save her from this one, but no such luck. She cleared her throat as Stacy flipped through papers, trying to find something that would keep the board member from asking any more uncomfortable questions. As frustrating as it was, what he was asking was legal, but not essential to the case. It was almost as if it was one big mystery to solve, revolving around Cameron's death, when everything was actually very simple.

“Dr. Chase, Dr. Wilson, Dr. Foreman, Dr. House, and Mrs. Warner,” answered Cuddy. It was odd to talk about every one of the team members with a title.

“Including yourself?”

“Yes, I was there, too.”

“When did everyone arrive in the room? After Dr. Cameron's death? Before?”

Stacy broke in, saving Cuddy from answering.

“Sir, this pertains to the upcoming trial of the Deleyney son, not to Dr. Cuddy and her vulnerable position as hospital director. May we stick to the topic at hand: Dr. Cuddy and any legal reasons why she should be penalized?”

Cuddy sighed. She wrote herself a mental note to buy Stacy lunch. Or dinner.

That day was so difficult to get through; it was one of the only times she had seen House tear up. When the doctors realized there was nothing they could do for Cameron, who was unconscious the entire time from the shooting to her death, Cuddy had allowed the team to enter the room. Foreman had come in first, with Chase, to say their goodbyes. Foreman had said kind words and left, pulling Cuddy out of the room so Chase could say a few private words. He came out a minute later, wiping his eyes on his lab coat. Stacy and Cuddy and Wilson had went in next, Wilson's eyes gleaming, Cuddy and Stacy huddled together like women do when there is tragedy. When it was apparent Cameron had only another minute to live, they had left and tried to convince House to see her before she left.

House had been sitting on a cushioned bench outside her hospital room, his hands still covered in her blood, his head bowed. He was not going to go in and see her. He would do it, no matter what Foreman said, no matter how much Wilson consoled him, no matter how much Cuddy told him he would regret it if he didn't go in there. Finally, Cameron's time was up and the monitors went off, alerting the doctors the patient's heart had failed and the lack of oxygen to the brain due to her collapsed lungs was shutting the rest of her body down. Chase had collapsed against Foreman, a complete mess, as Cuddy and Wilson went back into the room to turn off the monitors. The calm Cuddy had felt as she walked toward the room, the instinct to run and attempt to save whoever was attached to the monitors failing; Cuddy felt the world stop turning as she turned off the power and the silence the alarms left in their wake was painful.

She had looked out of the room, though the glass, to see House still sitting there, looking back at her before he looked at Cameron, laying there peacefully, the look on her face one of comfort despite all the blood loss and injury she had sustained. As Foreman took Chase to his office, Cuddy stayed with Cameron as Wilson went to get House away before Cameron's body was transferred.

The tears shinning in House's eyes, never falling, made Cuddy's heart ache.

He had the heart of a fool.

“Dr. Cuddy, are you going to be alright? Do you need to leave the room?”

The board member looked at the hospital director curiously, not genuinely concerned, and Cuddy nodded her head.

“Yes, I'm fine. I just needed to stop and think for a few moments.”

“Good. Then we can carry on?”

“My client said yes,” Stacy answered for Cuddy, her voice abrupt. The board member cleared his throat.

“Then an agreement has been reached by the members of this board,” he announced, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Dr. Cuddy will keep her position of hospital director, but only under the legal and ethical advice of her lawyer, Ms. Stacy Warner.”

Stacy's jaw dropped as Cuddy sat there quietly, absorbing the news. Stacy would be her adviser for everything Cuddy had to do. It had to be cleared with her before Cuddy could order equipment, medication, or even accept new patients. Anything she had power over as a director was now in Stacy's hands.

“Dr. Cuddy will not be allowed to practice medicine for the duration of two months and will be put on probation as long as her term of director is held. That will be all. The financial matters will be settled, as the board has said before, in one group after the trial, one month from now. Tomorrow, Dr. House will be brought before the board. That will be all for today.”

Stacy squeezed Cuddy's arm as the board members walked out of the room, House exchanging the usual smarmy glances with each and every one of them. Wilson and Foreman left, House following them.

“Chase, stay behind, please,” said Cuddy, her voice strong, but failing with every word. Chase walked up to Cuddy and stood at her shoulder, waiting for an order to sit or perform a task.

“Would you like a moment alone?” Stacy asked, gathering her papers and briefcase.

“Yes, please. Thank you, Stacy. I'll be talking with you soon.”

Stacy nodded and left the room, the door slowly swinging shut behind her.

“Sit down, Chase,” Cuddy ordered, the blond doctor taking a seat next to her, his eyes dim and sad. “We have something that we need to discuss. Cameron wrote me a letter, and there are some things in there I think you should know about.”

End Chapter...

I shouldn't be here right now.

I should be at the hospital, sitting next to Stacy at my hearing in front of the hospital directors, but I'm not. I'm about ten minutes late right now, none of them knowing where I am. If they call my house, they'll just get the answering machine. My pager is off. Unless Wilson blabbed, no one knows I'm here with you right now. I only told him because he wrung it out of me and he knows how much this really means to me, keeping my job. But if I really wanted to keep my job, why would I be here, standing in the snow, my leg throbbing, talking to you when you're below the ground, unable to hear me?

It's so quiet right now. There is not even a wind. The sky is so bright, the snow glittering under the cold sunlight. There is no warmth here. I've been off my painkiller for about two weeks, now. Two weeks ago, you were still alive, standing in my office, trying to make me take my fury out on you so the others wouldn't have to bear it. You were really stupid in doing that, being so noble and brave when you knew I could snap you like a twig. What makes a person do something like that, sacrifice themselves for others, even if the 'others' don't like them?

I still don't know if you jumped in front of that bullet or if it just happened to hit you instead of me. Last night I had a dream, I saw that bullet rushing toward my heart and I felt you cringe away from the man with the gun, clinging to me for protection. I pushed you away and, as I felt the bullet hit my chest, I woke up, cold sweat pouring down my face. I hate dreaming. Dreaming only shows you things you don't want to see, things you wish would have happened only to push you back into reality. You don't want to see those things in your dreams because you're afraid you can't handle it when you wake up. I know that's how I feel.

It shows me that I am human, just a weak minded person, one of the numerous jerks that wander around, expecting life to get better because, at the moment, it couldn't get much worse. I hate feeling like this, so helpless. You know better than I do, perhaps, how egotistical I can be, how I hate to be proved wrong. Right now, I'm standing here, helpless, knowing I should be at that meeting, knowing that, if the rest of the team can't cover for me and keep the directors at bay, I'm going to lose all hopes of getting my job back. At the moment, I don't even know if I'm still fired or about to be fired or what.

I still haven't opened the letter. I don't want to, but I do at the same time. I held it in my hands last night, after the dream, and I ripped one corner of the envelope, starting to pull the paper apart, and then I stopped, seeing the bloodstain on the opposite end. I knew that it wasn't time to know everything, not yet. I have so many people who keep bringing the letter up, eager to know what was in it. They all want to know what the beautiful Cameron had to say to the beastly House before she was murdered. It's the talk of the hospital. I hate the way they stare at me.

Cameron, I need a sign. I hate to be so stupid as to ask you for one, but I need it. This is not original, the heartbroken man standing at the grave of the dead woman, asking for her help, but I understand how this can happen. When I open the envelope, I need it to be at the right moment. It's driving me crazy, every time I see it, I just want to rip it up, but then I would never know what you said. Cuddy pulled Chase back in the boardroom yesterday, telling him about what you said in the letter you gave her. Damn Cuddy; she opened her letter and I can't open mine. Don't ask me why I'm being so stupid. I know I am being stupid, but I just can't help but be a fool.

I hear a car, the tires crunching against the snow. I think it's Wilson. Yep, it's him, running toward me, probably to bring me to the hospital... I could really use a pill right now. I've been clean for longer than I remember and it hurts. It hurts to try to be something else, to pull myself out of the hole I willingly climbed into. This isn't me. Without the pills, I'm not who you used to know.

Before Wilson gets here, I might as well say it; after all, that's why I came here.

I'm afraid that I won't be the person you remember by the time I get to see you again. In a handful of years, it won't be an 'if,' it'll be a 'when.' I'm getting older and my health is not what it used to be; I'm a doctor, I know the effects of painkiller on the body after the amount of time I've been taking them. I know that my liver will fail and I won't be able to go on much longer without that. But, that's not going to happen anytime soon; I'm just trying to cover myself before I can't do anything else to prevent death. I can't help but think ahead. That would just fix everything for me, to die, but leave more mess behind for the others to clean up, just like you did. I know how angry Wilson is. I know how bitter Cuddy feels. You left us. You left me.

I couldn't help but notice the flowers here. I'll see what I can do next time I come here. I just babbled like an idiot this entire time and I'm probably going to be in such trouble by the time I get to the hospital. Cuddy will probably kill me if Stacy doesn't get to me first.

Remember, Cameron. Remember that you have to tell me when to open that damn letter. If you want to torture me, fine, you have the right to do that, after all that I did to you. I just want to say quickly that I should have helped you up when your shoe broke and you fell on my office floor. I just walked away. You have all the right to punish me for that.

"Pale Words" (1/12) & (2/12) & (3/12)

2007-08-23T04:13:31Z

Title: Pale Words (1/12) "House's First Visit" & (2/12) "Foreman's First Visit" & (3/12) "Chase's First Visit"

Original/FF: House M.D.

Rating: PG-13

Length: Short/Short/Short

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own the fandom. I wouldn't want to.

Notes: This is a sequel to "The Heart Of A Fool." I was insane. I'm not offended if you laugh.

Hey, Cameron. I don't really know why I'm here, to tell the truth. I just want to get home and get some sleep. Today was a tough day. Stacy got on my back about everything and I did my best not to lose my temper in front of Cuddy and everyone else who could breath fire in my face. I'm going to get an ulcer or something if I have to try and be that nice under pressure again. But, starting tomorrow, the rest of the team is going to be brought in front of the Board of Directors to see who gets their ass handed to them and who escapes with little more than a scratch. I think it's Foreman first; we're going one every day, I heard. Those directors probably only want to deal with one of us a day. I don't blame them; every time we are all together, someone dies, it seems.

I haven't opened that envelope you dropped in the parking lot. Cuddy gave it to me at the funeral last week, but I just threw it on my dresser. I don't think I want to open it. I know you wrote a lot, the envelope was so thick, but I don't want to deal with any more stress at the moment. I just have to save my team from getting fired. I promise I'll open it sometime, but just not right now.

Cuddy hinted I could get my job back. I don't know how, considering I was the main cause in Mr. Deleyney's death. You know, it's not like the Graves Disease did anything to kill him... You should see Cuddy now, Cameron. She is so subdued. Maybe because she is going to lose her hospital if she doesn't move fast on the paperwork and do some smooth talking. Who knows? Who cares? If we're all fired, then we won't care about it all anyway. Cuddy spits fire when it comes to me opening my mouth, no matter what I say, and I thought Chase was going to wet his pants when she screamed at Wilson, but after that, the dragon-lady was quiet.

I don't sound like myself. I still mope around, I am still as sarcastic as ever, but this past week has been weird. There is one empty spot at the discussion table, more slots that have to be filled for clinic duty, and less people to keep track of. I've had to be at the hospital almost every single day for legal work. I'm not getting paid for any of this, which reminds me I have to go job hunting if Cuddy was just pulling my leg about getting my job back. Heh, bad joke.

I'm exhausted and I now realize how stupid talking to a tombstone is. It's dark outside right now, the sun just went over the trees. I'm freezing, too. Winter is here and I have to be a numb skull to be standing in the snow, talking to myself. I don't even know if you can hear me.

Goodnight, Cameron.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

House sat on his couch, freezing. His heat was on, but he didn't know for how long. Depending on how fast he could get a job and how much he still had after the legal matters were taken care of, House didn't know if he could pay his bills. He pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders as he stood up and turned off the TV. He switched the lights off and grumbled. Electricity. Another thing he would lose. Well, that didn't matter if he had no house.

He wandered to the bedroom, rubbing his eyes. His leg throbbed. He had tossed his painkillers out; they had been too much of a temptation to him. After the funeral, for a brief moment, he had considered just putting them all into his mouth and swallowing. He was losing everything, what did a life matter? But, House had ground them all up, taking a twisted pleasure in destroying them, the end of the coffee cup grinding the pills into a bitter powder, which he then flushed down the toilet. Let them all end up in the sewer, in the water supply, where ever things like painkiller went. They were not going to haunt him anymore. As long as he was losing everything to his choice to detox, the world be damned if he was going to take the pills again. He had slipped back too many times before, with less on the line.

“You can't be who you were. You just have to be who you are!”

Wilson's voice echoed in his mind, one of the last things said before Mr. Deleyney's son had brandished the gun and let loose the bullet that killed Cameron. He had lost a co-worker because of his stupidity to not shove her out of the way. How could he have known, though? House shook his head and collapsed into bed. He had to be at the hospital early the next morning, for Foreman's hearing in front of the board. It was announced that everyone involved in the accident would be present for the verdict of every doctor who was a part of the murder of Mr. Deleyney's and Dr. Cameron.

Before he shut his eyes, House spotted the light purple envelope on his dresser and groaned. Why had he went to see her today? Why? What in the hell was he hoping to accomplish by that? He hoped he never was that stupid again to stand out in the snow and talk to a dead person. He bet she didn't even know he had visited her grave.

End Chapter...

I don't know who has all come to visit you yet, Cameron, but I thought that it would be appropriate for me to drop off a flower or two before the hearing. I have to go in front of the entire Board of Directors in another hour; Stacy is probably pacing her office right now, wondering where I am. But, she's just going to have to wait a few more minutes.

I'm terrified, girl... I know what to say because Stacy drilled me on it yesterday; I think we spent a few hours, at least, working on ass-kissing. I know I can keep my cool in there, but I don't think House can. Everyone is going to be there: the whole team, Cuddy, Stacy, as well as a few other doctors who were not involved in this mess, just so they can witness what happens to a doctor who messes up, no matter what his rank or who he works with. House was furious that they are allowed to sit in on the hearing. I think it's mostly because he doesn't want them to know how badly I messed up, because that reflects on him, but I know that your death is going to come up at that meeting; there is still an investigation going on, you know?

Mr. Deleyney's funeral was the other day, too, across town. The guy who pulled the gun wasn't allowed to go, not even with a police escort, and he tried to kill House because of his father's death. Ironic, huh, that, in killing another person, you are not justified for the death of one you love? That's what bothers me. Yeah, we all helped kill Mr. Deleyney in a way; we couldn't find the cause of the illness, although it was right under our noses, and we only made matters worse by treating him for the wrong things, taking a stab in the dark based on things we thought we knew. But, his own son couldn't attend his funeral. I'm not sticking up for him, though. I mean, if he hadn't pulled the trigger, I wouldn't be standing here in the snow with a flower in my hand, but there are just some things that should be pushed aside, you know?

You probably don't know. I'm just standing here, babbling to you. I brought a daisy. The guy at the flower shop looked at me like I was a little nuts, asking for a single daisy when winter has started, but I only had pocket change on me and there was an out of season sale. What am I saying? I really need to go.

But, Cam, can you watch out for me today, please? Right about now, I need someone up there looking out for me? We all do. Especially House. Thanks...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dr. Foreman, you lost a hazardous sample belonging to Mr. Deleyney, is that correct?” asked the director, reviewing the file in front of him. Foreman shook his head and then, catching the look Stacy gave him from the corner of his eye, said, “Yes, sir. That is correct.”

“Dr. House found this sample, leading him to the action of combining medicine with this sample and injecting it back into Mr. Deleyney's system?”

“I don't see what this has to do with Dr. Foreman,” Stacy said, as diplomatic as ever, sitting next to Foreman in front of all the directors, voice calm. “Yes, Dr. House used the sample, but Dr. House is not the one sitting in front of the board at the moment. Can be please continue?”

House shifted in the back, sighing. In the back of the large board room, behind Foreman, House sat on one of the uncomfortable office chairs that sat in a row against the wall. Chase, who was sitting next to him, shook his head at House, Cuddy warning both of them to be silent. It felt odd to not have Cameron's presence there next to them. Cuddy reached into her purse to touch the corner of the envelope that held the letter Cameron had left behind. She kept it with her, now, after finding it on Cameron's desk while her family came to collect their daughter's things.

“Dr. Foreman was also at the scene of the crime when Dr. Allison Cameron was shot and murdered by the patient's son?”

“Yes, I was, sir.”

“What did you witness?”

“Um, I was in the parking lot, and it was snowing. I remember Cameron-”

“Dr. Cameron,” hissed Stacy, glaring.

“Dr. Cameron,” Foreman corrected, wincing. “I recall Dr. Cameron running to Dr. House and holding a purple envelope. Then, Mr. Deleyney's son walked out of the hospital, standing under the overhead by the entrance, holding a gun. There was a moment of silence and then the gunshot. Camer- Dr. Cameron fell to the ground as Mr. Deleyney's son ran behind the building to the east end parking lot and drove off. Doctors and nurses ran from the hospital after hearing the gunshots and took Dr. Cameron with them inside as the police were alerted. The team and I walked back inside and waited for the police.”

“Is this all what happened, to the best of your ability to recall the situation?”

“Yes, it is, sir.”

“What was in the purple envelope Dr. Cameron-”

“That's none of your business,” House sat, standing up to face the director he had just interrupted. “That is private material and none of it relates to Dr. Foreman.”

The director narrowed his eyes as House.

“We will talk about this at your own hearing, then, Dr. House. You may sit down, now.”

House half heartedly muttered an apology and resumed his seat, Cuddy looking as if she was about to attack House right there on the spot, regardless of where they were.

“Now, Dr. Foreman, I believe the directors have reached a decision regarding your license to practice and any penalties that are in hand. The financial matters will not be decided at this meeting, however, a separate meeting required at a later date concerning the matters the family of Mr. Deleyney have charged against you.”

Foreman felt his throat closing, his vision becoming blurry, and he clasped his hands in his lap, staring straight ahead at the director talking.

“You will be suspended from legally practicing medicine for the duration of one month, then put on probation for three years. If you violate any terms of probation, your license will be revoked by this hospital and affiliated hospitals. You are not to dispense any medicine without clearing it with the hospital supervisor, Dr. Cuddy. Do you agree with these terms?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“A record will be made of this on your permanent file. You may leave now, Dr. Foreman.”

The director waved his hand, dismissing Foreman from the table. Stacy heaved a sigh and gathered her things.

“You were let off pretty easy for what I thought he was going to do to you,” she muttered to Foreman, the doctor nodding in agreement. He thought he was going to lose his job for sure. But, the matter was not over yet; there was still the meeting dealing with the financial part of his “punishment” in another week.

“Tomorrow afternoon, we will review Dr. Chase. That will be all.”

The directors stood and left the room in a single file, nearly all of them glaring down their noses at House. House gave them sappy smiles until they left, resisting the urge to beat every one of them with his cane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I did it, Cameron! I'm still a doctor. House managed to keep his mouth shut and Stacy's advice was just what I needed to pass by. I'm on probation for a few years, and I basically have to go to Cuddy every time I have to wipe my nose, but I still have a job. I still don't know about the money I owe from the demands of Mr. Deleyney's family. I just don't know how I am going to pay that off, but for now, I at least have a job. Chase is tomorrow. The poor guy looked like he was going to vomit already when we left the boardroom. I wish you were here to comfort him. A hug from me doesn't mean the same as a hug from you. Thanks, Cameron. I just meant to stop by after the hearing; I still need to get home, but I picked up another one of those flowers for you. Just one didn't look right.

Bye, Cameron.

End Chapter...

“Dr. Chase, you worked with the patient during the duration of the case, correct?” asked a member of the hospital board, never glancing at the doctor in question.

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“You deny you did anything directly to cause Mr. Deleyney's death, correct?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

House rolled his eyes from where he sat in the back of the room, like he had for Foreman's hearing the previous day. The formality was going to kill him; that and the quiet between questions and answers. Stacy was sitting at the table next to Chase, who was pale and sweating, his hands clenching and twisting in his lap. Foreman, who was sitting next to House, shook his head. They had been doing this for about a half an hour, questioning Chase about the simple details over and over again, waiting for a slip. The moment he even hesitated to answer a question, the directors would pounce on him.

“You are in possession of a handgun, correct?”

“No sir. I was in possession of a handgun once, but it was taken away after the shooting as, um, evidence.”

Chase bowed his head, feeling the tears well in his eyes. He promised himself he was not going to lose control, that he was going to keep everything buried. He had tried not to think of Cameron since the funeral and it had almost worked until that moment. The hospital director in charge of torturing the young man looked over the thin rim of his glasses, raising an eyebrow, eyes cold.

“Dr. Chase, if you could regain control of your emotions, we could continue?”

Stacy poked Chase in the ribs and Chase looked up, sniffling a bit.

“Yes, sir, we can continue.”

“Now, you were incarcerated for a brief period of time for assaulting another doctor; bail was paid in a time period of one hour by a Stacy Warner, correct?”

“Yes, sir, that is correct.”

House shifted in his chair. The director was really getting on his nerves; always ending a sentence with 'correct' was annoying. House didn't like to be annoyed. Or played with, for that matter, when it came to matters such as this, and he was furious that the director was toying with one of his team members like a cat with string. Chase deserved better than this; looking down the row of chairs to where Cuddy sat, arms crossed, House raised an eyebrow. Cuddy shook her head and sighed softly; she didn't like this, either.

“You brought the handgun in question to the hospital the next day, storing it in your personal office space-”

“A desk,” muttered House, scrunching his face and shaking his head. “A desk, not 'personal office space...'”

“-and you then left your office to do what, Dr. Chase?”

“I went to comfort a co-worker, sir.”

“To confront a co-worker? Did I hear correctly?” asked the director, tilting his head while jotting something down in a file.

“No, sir, to comfort a team member, a friend of mine. You heard incorrectly.”

Chase's voice choked with emotion at the end of the sentence and Stacy made to elbow him in the ribs once more, but thought better of it. There was obviously something Chase needed to get off his chest. The director crossed out the scribble in the file and laid his pen on the table, the room silent.

“Then, after you 'comforted' this person, you followed them?”

“Yes, I did, sir. I followed her to the parking lot, trying to convince her to think before what she was going to do.”

“What was this person going to do?”

House felt his rage bubbling. Cameron was not to be called 'this person.' Cameron was Dr. Allison Cameron and Chase was not just an ant to burn under a magnifying glass. This director was a jerk, House decided, and woe be to them both if he was the one doing the questioning when House was put in front of the board.

“She was going to give Dr. House a letter, sir.”

“What did this letter say?”

“How many times do I need to say this?” said House loudly, not even bothering to stand up. “That letter is none of your business. It's no one's business but my own and how about we stop playing the game 'Let's Drag Dr. House Into Everything'?”

House's voice was booming and Cuddy reached across Foreman and took his hand, gripping it tightly. House felt Cuddy's nails dig into his skin and knew that, if he said one more word, besides an apology, the nails would draw blood.

“I apologize. No one is playing that game; I forgot.”

House sucked his teeth and tried to rub the marks out of his hand as Cuddy took her nails from his skin, giving him a warning glance.

“Continue with the events as they happened, Dr. Chase,” continued the director, his voice strained.

“As I said, I followed her out into the parking lot, where Dr. Foreman and Dr. Wilson were helping Dr. House load boxes-”

“To the point, Dr. Chase.”

“Sorry, sir. I realized the man had the gun by the time I saw Dr. Foreman duck and saw the man's shadow behind me. I jumped to the side and heard the gun fire. The man dropped the gun and ran off. It was only then I realized Allison was dying-”

Chase lost his emotions completely, sobs shaking his shoulders, the doctor hiding his head in his hands. The directors grumbled among themselves.

“Take him out of here, someone,” ordered the director who had been questioning Chase. Wilson stood and escorted Chase from the room, followed by Cuddy. That left Stacy, Foreman, and House to hear the verdict. They sat there, seemingly forgotten, until one of the directors ordered them out as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Allison, hi. How are you doing?

That was stupid, sorry. I don't know how to start everything off. I really suck at this sort of thing, talking to other people. I sound like House right about now, don't you think? I just wanted to come and get some things off my mind before I go home. Foreman told me he brought flowers yesterday and I thought that was a good idea. I found some forget-me-nots. I thought you might like them... I'm just going to get to the point: my hearing was today and I lost it. I ended up having to leave the room.

Cameron, I just can't stop thinking about you, now. All day today, I cried. I cried like an idiot, in front of everyone, just thinking about you again. I couldn't even hear my own verdict. They came out and told me later, as I sat in the waiting room, trying to control myself. It turns out I have to attend anger management classes because of my accident with House that day and I'm not allowed to possess a firearm for years and years to come. That won't be a problem for me, though; I never want to hold another gun in my hands, seeing what mine did to you. I'm also on suspension for a month and I have a probationary period for one year. They made it clear that they were being lenient on me.

I bet it was because they pitied me.

I'm freezing and I need to get home; Foreman was going to stay the night at my place, on the sleeper sofa, to make sure I'm alright and, if he gets there before I do, there'll be hell to pay. I just didn't want to go home and toss and turn, knowing I didn't give you any flowers or talk to you at all, considering how close we were before. You remember all the good times we had together. You were more than just a friend, Cameron. You knew who I really was and you let me tell you my deepest secrets. I miss you; I miss seeing you, holding you, taking you to dinner or out to lunch.

I love you, Cameron, and I'll come back sometime. Just wait for me, okay?

Just wait...

"Kender In The Closet" (11/20) & (12/20)

2007-08-20T04:22:09Z

Title: Kender In The Closet (11/20) "The Penalty For Falling Out Of Step" & (12/20) "A Sugar and Caffene Night"

Original/FF: Dragonlance

Rating: PG-13 (innuendo)

Length: Medium/Medium

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the world of Dragonlance.

Notes: I was probably a little harsh before about that community. *shrug* Almost 9 months later, I have my petty revenge. Very petty. Yet satisfactory. Oh, how human I am... Anyway, I think the story goes downhill from this chapter. That's just my opinion though and, as you can tell, I have a low opinion about my stories. (But, really, this really does get stupid...)

“Hehe...”

“What are you laughing about, Alicia?” I asked, sighing. The giggling had woke me up. I had been so peaceful, laying there in the sun, my sunglasses on, my tank and shorts sticking to me, making my skin sore.

Wait. Making my skin sore? Why would my skin be sore?

“Ahah!” Jessica joined in, laughing with Alicia. I took off my glasses and glared at them both.

“You guys, I- Wow, what happened to you, Alicia?”

“What do you mean? I just woke up.”

“Yeah, and you just woke me up. What happened to your skin?”

Alicia was as red as a tomato, freckles standing out, her red hair clashing horribly with the burn. Alicia took a look at her hands and started to laugh harder.

“Ha! I'm sunburned! Hehe!”

“You're happy about that, 'Lisha?” Jess asked dubiously.

“Yea! I don't mind! That means aloe and I love aloe!”

Jessica and I made eye contact until I realized the color of her skin. She the bright pink skin you would see on a cartoon pig, the very color nearly making me laugh. Jess moved to grab her color guard pole, which lay by her side, but winced.

“Don't tell me I'm burnt, too?”

“You're burnt, Keira,” I answered, stating the obvious.

“Ouch, my poor skin,” she moaned, giving up on the color guard pole and laying back down. “But, I'm not as bad as you, I suppose.”

I looked at the tops of my hands and hoped that wasn't the same color my face was. I jumped up, ignoring the pulling of dry skin, and ran inside, finding the nearest mirror. I was light red, my nose, cheekbones, brow ridge, and tops of my ears all bright red.

The scream of horror Alicia and Keira heard almost made them believe Raist had gotten me again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thanks, Tika,” Alicia said as Tika rubbed lotion on her, the barmaid clucking to herself.

“To fall asleep in that sun,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Hey, you're not the palest ever. From riding Chelsea's horses nearly all day, you have a little burn yourself,” Jess said sarcastically, no one offering to rub lotion on her.

“Keira,” I warned, frowning. “Just don't say anything! I-”

“Lady Chelsea, do you acquire assistance?” Sturm asked thoughtfully, holding out the bottle of aloe lotion. Jess burst into laughter before frowning again.

“Hey, I don't have knight to rub lotion on me,” she said with a snort. “I can say whatever I want to say.”

“He's not rubbing lotion on me and you can say whatever you want to as long as no one else hears you. It's not the talking part that bothers me, it's the listening.”

“Chelsea, don't be such a-”

Keira was cut off as the door opened to reveal Dalamar and Kimmie, back from their walk. Jess began to laugh and I felt my mouth drop. Alicia turned to look and caused Tika to smear aloe on her eyebrow.

Kim was burnt worse than all of us, her skin the deepest red I had ever seen on another person. Kim shot Jessica the same look I had given her earlier and told her to to exactly what I was thinking, causing Jessica to frown and grab her color guard pole threateningly.

“So, Kim, you're pretty burnt, huh?”

Alicia was now in the role of Captain Obvious and Tika made her turn her head to wipe of the glob of lotion off her eyebrow. Kim sighed and Dalamar walked up behind her, the hood on his robe covering his face. This was weird, considering it was so hot outside, and Jess stood up, tilting her head curiously at the dark elf, who turned his head toward her, causing Keira to step back.

“Um, what's up with the elf?” she asked Kibbie, who shook her head.

“Don't ask, okay? He doesn't want anyone else to know.”

“Know what?” I asked, my own curiosity growing. Kim took Dalamar's hand and led him out of the room, grabbing Alicia's bottle of aloe lotion on her way out.

“Please and thank you,” Kimmie called over her shoulder. Alicia, startled, turned away from Tika, who was wiping her hands on her apron, and tried to grab at Kim. She overshot and grabbed Dalamar's robes instead, his hood falling from his head.

We all gasped when we saw Dalamar was a bright blue, made even scarier by the look he was currently giving Alicia, who looked like she was about to wet herself or laugh hysterically, or do the first thing while doing the second. I personally was worried about Kim, who looked like she was going to attack Jess, who had fell to the floor in her fit of laughter.

“I think we all have sunstroke or something, because you two are laughing at something that isn't funny,” she said, actually stomping her foot. Dalamar placed his hood back over his head and muttered something, the key word there being “Raistlin.”

All laughter stopped.

“Look, guys. He doesn't turn red when he burns, okay? He turns blue because he's an elf. Well, there is to it than just being an elf, but I would personally be blue instead of red.”

“Like you are now?”asked Alicia, ever innocent in times of danger. Kimmie sighed.

“Yes, like I am now. Now, if you don't mind, I'm am borrowing your lotion and Dalamar and I are going to coat ourselves in a nice layer of it.”

“Wait, together?” I asked, frowning.

“Yes,” Kim answered, confused.

“I don't want you two doing that in my parent's room,” I decided. “Go somewhere else, okay?”

“Like where?” Kim asked, smirking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Officially kicked out of my room for the afternoon, I sat at the kitchen table, where Sturm usually slept. Everyone was still pretty much enjoying themselves outside. The ladies of Krynn were sunbathing much like we had, only they swore they were not going to fall asleep, all of them dressed in our clothes, looking like regular women in street clothes except Laurana, because of her pointy ears. The guys, all except Raistlin and Dalamar (the archmage in my sister's room with the door locked and Dalamar downstairs with Kim and the lotion), were still outside, enjoying the summer sun. I figured the gas tank would be fairly low by now on the all terrain vehicle and I hoped I wouldn't be out in the woods in the middle of the night with my car, trying to pull the thing out of a large puddle of mud.

“What are you doing?” asked Alicia, walking up and sitting across from me at the table, leaving Jess where she was sleeping, nearly snoring, her color guard pole in her hand in case of kender attacks.

“I'm eating gummy bears,” I said, concentrating on setting each bear up straight in their proper formation.

“No, you're not.”

“Yes I am, see?”

I popped a yellow one into my mouth and chomped on it. Alicia reached out to grab one of the bears I had carefully set up and I smacked her hand away, horrified.

“No, Alicia! You can't have one of those,” I said, “You can have one of the bears out of the bag; I think I have all the ones I need out.”

“But, why are the ones I can't touch green?”

“Well, if I can't blare my drum corps music, I can at least pretend I'm watching it.”

“What?”

“I'm marching my gummy bears.”

I grabbed what was supposed to be the lead soprano gummy bear and placed him in the middle of the formation, in between the brass line and the snare line. Alicia laughed.

“There you have the ever popular formation that first made it's debut in the World Championship Corps contest of-”

“Chelsea?”

“Yeah?”

“You are the strangest person I've ever met.”

I moved the gummy bears around a few times, ignoring it when one of my percussion bears or brass bears went missing due to Alicia's insatiable hunger for gummies. After a while, I picked up the lead soprano bear and started to chew on him, Alicia watching with a horrified look on her face as I ate him.

“What did he ever do?” Alicia asked on the bear's behalf, looking at the rest with a fearful eye. “I thought he was your favorite!”

“It wasn't so much as what he did as what he didn't do,” I said, eying the brass line for more victims.

“What did he do?”

“Got out of step.”

End Chapter...

“Oh, man,” groaned Jessica, laying out on the bed in my room. “Did we really get everyone to go to sleep?”

“I think so. As far as I know, they were all snoring, even the elven princess,” I said, sighing and stretching out on the floor. “I think the sun really got to them.”

Jess and I looked at one another before laughing, our sunburns being the worst of the bunch, besides the burns Tika, Laurana, and Goldmoon had gotten. They had fallen asleep while sunbathing, even after all the clucking Tika had done about the rest of us sleeping in the sun. Needless to say, she wasn't happy with anyone after she woke up burnt and she had only let Caramon comfort her. Goldmoon had laughed and tried to convince Riverwind to get a burn, too, but the plainsman was so covered in mud that we all doubted he would ever get enough skin to show to burn ever again, the mud caked on his whole body. Tanis wasn't any better off. I had nearly cried when I found out what condition the all terrain vehicle was in.

“Bed check was okay,” Alicia said, coming into the room and flopping down on the floor.

“Status?” I asked, wanting to leave no doubt in my mind of what condition the house was going to be in if I were to sleep with an unsupervised kender.

“Tanis and Laurana are on the couch upstairs, Tanis mud free, Laurana slathered in aloe. Riverwind and Goldmoon are on the couch down here, Riverwind still covered in mud, Goldmoon covered in aloe. Caramon and Tika are sleeping on the floor upstairs, Tika covered in aloe, Caramon sucking his thumb.”

“You're starting to learn everyone's names!” I exclaimed, happy for her. Alicia shrugged, blushing a little.

“I've been reading the books,” she explained.

“Hey, where are my books?”

“In your sister's room.”

I jumped off the floor, eyes wide.

“Raist is reading the books? Why?”

“I don't know, but you better not go in there. Your dog is in there and he is really protective of that guy. I don't know...”

I flopped down like Alicia had and smiled meekly.

“Well, at least Raist has some company. What else is going on upstairs?”

“The dwarf and kender are on the living room floor, the kender snoring louder than the dwarf. Sturm is on the table and looks really comfortable, actually. Dalamar is, um-”

“Yes, Alicia?” Jess asked, waiting for the inevitable.

“Ididn'tcheckontheelf.”

“What did you say, Alicia?” Jess continued, turning her head to look at the red headed girl, who seemed nervous as I raised my chin and eyebrows.

“I didn't check on the elf,” Alicia repeated.

“Well, where Anna is, Dalamar is,” I said. “Let's go looking for them.”

“No need, we're here!”

Kimmie flounced into the room, dragging Dalamar behind her, looking like an angry, blue elf. Maybe that's because he was an angry, blue elf, but I had to laugh in spite of myself.

“Hey, girl? What's going on?” Alicia asked, patting the floor next to her. Kim shook her head and made a pointed look for Jessica to get off the bed. Jess shook her head back at Kim and raised her eyebrows, smirking.

“Jess, get off the bed so Kim and Dalamar can sit down,” I asked. “Please?”

Jessica shook her head again, enjoying this game.

Dalamar muttered a word and waved his hand, sending Jess rolling off the bed and onto Alicia, Alicia waving her arms and trying to crawl out from under Jessica, who was shaking in fear; her color guard pole was on bed. Dalamar, seeing his, muttered another word and picked the pole up, melting it into a mass of twisted plastic and scratched metal, tossing it on the floor before sitting on the bed, Kim nearly climbing into his lap. I 'ah-um'ed at her and Kim sat on the bed normally, bowing her head.

The five of us sat there for several seconds, Keira getting off Alicia, who didn't think getting squished was all that fun.

“What time is it?” I asked, an idea brewing.

“It's a quarter to ten,” Kim answered, checking the clock on my nightstand.

“We need to do something with just us,” Alicia said, catching my eye and smiling.

“Like what?” Jess asked, mourning over her color guard pole.

“Alicia, let's go uptown and get some sugar and caffeine,” I said, getting my keys from my dresser and standing up. “It's time for a sleepover party.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A half an hour later, Alicia and I were back from the local grocery store, the clerk groaning as we walked in just as he was about to close. We had bags of little paper tubes full of powdered sugar and cases of soda that had the most caffeine in it we could find. I flashed the lights as we came into the driveway, Jessica and Kim sneaking out of the house without waking anyone up.

It was time for our crazy games.

We all sat in the car and each cracked a can of soda open, clicking the aluminum cans together before gulping the caffeine down, grabbing a tube of sugar. We played our usual games, refreshing them for Alicia as we went along.

“For this one, you see, we take a full sugar tube and a whole can of soda,” Jessica explained, “And you race to get your soda down first. As soon as you have your soda gone, you need to get all the sugar from the tube to your mouth. Once you're eaten the sugar, you call out some random word. The first person to call out the random word wins.”

“What do they win?” Alicia asked, excited.

“They don't have to do it again,” I said, grabbing a can, Kimmie getting a tube of sugar. “We go until everyone has won at least once.”

“Here we go,” Kim said, mischief on her face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Needless to say, we were all feeling hyper and slightly ill as the game ended, the four rounds complete, seeing as there were four of us. Alicia finished first, which was sad because she had the ability to go until the end without throwing up or dying of sugar-shock. We all congratulated her and I won the next round, which was surprising because I was usually the last to win, thus downing the most caffeine and sugar, resulting in sickness. Keira won third and poor Kim finished last, having to drink four cans of soda and four tubes of sugar in a row; the loser always had to have the soda and sugar at the end, even though they were not competing against anyone.

“Are we ready for a new game?”

“Yeah!”

“No...” said Kimmie, who looked like she was going to be sick, but got over it.

“This time,” Alicia explained, “You have to put the sugar in the soda can first before racing with the other people to drink it all. After ten seconds, the one who has the least gone in their can has to take a dare. They have ten seconds in which to complete the dare, or they risk having to-”

“Let's just leave it at the ten second dare, 'Lisha,” Keira said, her speech slightly slurred. “Let's go! Drink up!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Kim, you still have to the dare!” Alicia said, facing Kim, who shook her head no.

“But, it's not going to take more than ten seconds to do!”

“I think the word you were looking for was 'it's going to take more than ten seconds to do,'” I stammered, nearly dropping my soda can.

“That's more than one word, Chels.”

“Shut up, Jessica; I meant it as one word.”

“We should call Dalamar before you do this,” said Alicia, rolling down the windows of the car and sticking her head out before yelling for the dark elf, Kimmie pulling her back inside, Alicia about to topple out of the car and out onto the dewy grass.

“Shh,” I giggled, “You're going to wake no one up.”

“Who's no one?” asked Jessica, spilling soda on my car floor.

“The one who is going to get you if you spill any more sugar on my car,” I said, “The mants are going to get in here and crawl on me when I'm driving!”

“The mants!” cried Alicia, excited. “Where? I want to play!”

“No, Alicia,” Kim said, “You don't get to play with the mants.”

“I think I meant ants.”

“No, Chels, I think you meant mants. Who ever heard of ants?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We left Alicia and Keira in the car, the two girls falling asleep in my backseat. It was almost three in the morning by the time Kim and I got out of the car, locking the other two in, and crossed the driveway back to the house, giggling all the way. We got to the door before I stopped her, Kim still giggling.

“Now, Kibbie, we need to be qu- quie- quiet,” I said, Kim's face turning serious, hanging on my every word. “We can't wake them up, got it? We have to be silent!”

Kim burst into hysterical giggles, snorting, and I leaned against her and tried not to laugh. We got into the garage and turned on the lights, but they were too bright for our eyes, which had gotten accustomed to the darkness after so many hours of sitting in my car. I flicked them back off as Kim hissed to me.

“No lights. Bad lights.”

“Okay, Kibbie, up the steps.”

“But, I can't.”

“Uh?”

“I can't get up the steps. My feet, they-”

Kim shuffled her feet to the edge of the concrete steps in my garage and then got to her knees, crawling up the stairs, snorting in laugher the entire time. I guided her as she went up the stairs, pausing occasionally to wipe the pebbles off her hands; I nearly tripped over her a few times, causing me to laugh harder.

We finally got into the house and Kim shut the door carefully behind her, shushing me as I sat down on a chair and started to take off my flip flops, carefully trying to unlace them before I realized what they were and gave up, slipping them off.

“Let's go down to bed,” Kim whispered, pointing to the stairs.

“Agreed,” I said, standing up, turning around, and walking right into the chair I had just gotten out of, crashing to the floor on top of the chair, laughing hysterically after I realized I had fallen. Tanis stirred slightly in his sleep, but the characters kept sleeping, and that was what counted. I crawled to the steps and lay on my stomach with my feet pointing down the steps before letting go of the edge, sliding down the carpeted stairs with ease. Kim did the same and we staggered to our room, Dalamar having fallen asleep on the floor, leaving the bed open for me and Kim.

We crawled into bed, feeling sick. Staying up for so long, having laughed way too hard, having had too much sugar and caffeine, we both had headaches and Kim felt nauseated. After a few minutes of just laying in bed, Kim muttered to me.

“Oh, the frikin' bed is spinning... Oh, it's spinning.”

“Put your foot down. It'll anchor you,” I whispered, serious.

I never stayed awake long enough to hear the crunch of Dalamar's arm as Kim stepped on him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, that was lovely,” Keira said sarcastically, helping Kim braid her hair as Dalamar magicked away the mess his 'girlfriend' had made on the floor the next morning.

“Sorry,” muttered Kimmie meekly. “I'm never playing those games again.”

“Me neither,” Alicia said, watching Chelsea sleep.

“Is there any assistance I could provide?”

Sturm walked into the room, tweaking his mustaches.

Alicia and Jess looked at one another, a smile on their face despite their sickly appearance.

“Sturm, climb into bed.”

“What?”

“You asked to help and this is helping. Just do it,” Jessica ordered, Dalamar carrying Kimmie out of the room, Kim smiling.

Sturm did what he was told, Chelsea never waking up.

“Now, just wait until she wakes up and smile at her. Okay? Just do that and nothing but that, got it?”

“I understand,” Sturm said, puzzled, but willing to obey the strange orders.

As Alicia and Jessica crept out of the room, Jessica whispered to Alicia.

“Chelsea is never going to want to play these games again, either, I bet, after this!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My screams of horror awoke the whole house.

"Kender In The Closet" (9/20) & (10/20)

2007-08-20T04:07:48Z

Title: Kender In The Closet (9/20) "Breakfast Chaos" & (10/20) "The Sunburn Chapter"

Original/FF: Dragonlance

Rating: PG-13

Length: Medium/Medium

Disclaimer: I don't own the world of Dragonlance or anything in it.

Notes: I really like Chapter 8, the beginning of it, specifically. Oh, and the community that blasted not only this story, but nearly every other Dragonlance fic out there is dragonlancesues; I find it very silly that this person puts so much time and effort into casting rude ratings and making uneducated comments on what he labels "Dragonlance Sues." It's not a successful group and I can't see why... *sarcasm* Bitter much? Not so much as amused. Stop on over there and check it out; I suppose the guy does get a little credit for his unabashed rudeness. (And if you happen to see the comments he gave "Kender In The Closet," I suppose he didn't rank it too bad on the scale of terrible stories, but I would just like to point out in his comments that: no, a colorguard pole is not a baton. A baton is a baton. There.)

The next morning, everyone was basically tired of being inside.

Especially the kender.

And everyone knows that a bored kender is the worst sort of kender imaginable. It's the worst thing imaginable, to most people, but to us, the girls who have had to live with the characters of Dragonlance for nearly three days, it wasn't as bad as we imagined. It was worse.

“Tasslehoff,” I said, trying to cook breakfast with Alicia, Tika, and Goldmoon, “Why don't you go and sit down? We'll feed you in a minute.”

“But I'm hungry now! I don't think my poor stomach will wait another minute,” Tasslehoff groaned, sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. Alicia nearly tripped over him and saved herself by crashing into the fridge, nearly yanking the door handle off. Goldmoon picked Tasslehoff off the floor as Tika helped Alicia up. The two spirited red heads had become good companions the last day and a half, after Tika started to warm up to the idea of visiting a new place. Tika and Alicia went back to the eggs as I buttered yet another piece of toast. I was getting so sick of toast.

“Tasslehoff, would you like a piece of bread?” Goldmoon asked kindly.

“No, I want to help.”

“Then, Chelsea, could Tasslehoff work the machine?” She pointed to the toaster and Tasslehoff's eyes grew wide.

“That looks like a gnomish contraption. Did you ever visit Mt. Nevermind? It is such an amazing place and all the gnomes showed me their invention of the first-”

“Sounds thrilling, Tas,” I said, about to fall asleep. We were cooking breakfast before the others woke up so chaos would not erupt like the other morning. The snores of the dwarf in the other room was nearly enough to wake everyone else up, and the sight of a knight sleeping on my kitchen table in near full armor was a little disturbing, but it was so much easier to cook in peace. Except Tasslehoff was not a bringer of peace.

“Can he?” Goldmoon asked, eying the toaster curiously as Tasslehoff reached out to grab the steaming hot toast that had just popped out. I shrugged and took out the toast, Goldmoon placing Tas on the counter, where he proceeded to try and stick his little kender hand in the hot toaster slots.

“Tas, first rule of making toast: You Do NOT Stick Your Hand In The Toaster,” I said, heaving a sigh. “Please take two pieces of bread from the bag.”

Tasslehoff managed that, asking me how they cut the bread first and how they put the bread in a bag and how they sold the bread and how they baked the bread... I tried to block out the questions as best I could as I placed the now buttered toast on the growing stack.

“Now, you put the toast in with the round end up, okay?”

Tasslehoff did as he was told.

That in itself was a miracle.

“Now pull the lever down. No, not the lever with the numbers on it, or you'll burn the toast, but this lever right here. Good, Tas!”

I left the kender watching the toast and the other women in the kitchen heaping eggs on plates as I went to wake Jess and Kim.

I just hoped the kitchen wouldn't be on fire when I got back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Jess,” I muttered, walking into my bedroom and switching on the lights. Jessica moaned and whined, telling me to turn them off. I pulled the covers off and put my hands on my hips.

“Time to get up, okay? We need your help in the kitchen.”

“I can't cook.”

“I know, that's why you're going to help serve and clean later.”

“Did I mention I don't clean?”

“Now you do. Come on, get out of bed. I don't care if you come in pajamas.”

“Good, because if I have to get up, I'm coming in pajamas.”

I started to leave the room and then turned around.

“Hey, Keira, are you still mad at me?”

“Naw.”

“Good.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Kim, up! Now!”

Dalamar, using his magic, threw me out of the room and shut the door in my face, much like he had with Alicia the night of the soup accident. I stood and tried to pound down the door, furious.

“I don't care if you're an evil wizard, I don't care what you'll do to me, I just care that you come to breakfast!”

“Chelsea, chill out,” Kim said from the other side. “I'm coming!”

“It's not you I'm yelling at! Although I'm close! Tell your boyfriend that use of magic against the hostess is against the rules!”

There were mumbles outside the door. I tapped my foot, breathing through my teeth. Finally, the door swung open to reveal Kim, with Dalamar at her side. Dalamar swept forward, grabbing my hand and kissing it. I had the urge to hit him, but I think Kim's urge was stronger as she glared at him.

“I am sorry, my lady. Shall not happen again. On my word...”

“I didn't need you to be that polite,” Kim hissed. We smiled at one another, but I couldn't help but be disturbed as Dalamar wrapped his arm around Kim's waist and escort her down the hallway.

“Anna, I swear,” I muttered. “I'm going to lock you in my room and kick him out.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I knocked on my sister's door where Caramon and Raistlin were staying. Caramon opened the door for me before going back to petting the bunny, who was out of his cage and hopping around the floor. They had put all their things on my sister's bed and had rolled blankets and sleeping packs out upon the floor, Raistlin still sleeping.

“Breakfast, Caramon,” I whispered, not wanting to disturb the sleeping mage. I did a double take, however, as Caramon was putting the bunny back in it's cage gently. I had wondered where my dog had gone that morning. As Alicia took Oz and Riley out, I had tried to find Brody, but I assumed he had just found a particularly good hiding place in which to sleep. He would come out when he was ready. I saw a patch of white and brown fur next to the red robes Raistlin wore and, as I looked closer, stepping farther into the room, I realized Brody was sleeping next to Raist, keeping watch over him, his eyes half shut. The little sheltie was keeping guard over the mage, panting and smiling as I walked up to him and crouched down.

“Hey, Brody,” I whispered, scratching the dog's head. “What do you say about having some breakfast?”

I saw the hourglass eyes open and, within seconds, Raistlin had me pinned against the side of the bed, his hands burning as they shoved my shoulders into the fabric of the mattress they had ripped the bedding off of.

“Brother, there is an intruder-”

“I'm not an intruder,” I yelled, “This is my house! Let me go!”

“Raist,” Caramon said, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder. “Let her go. She just came to wake us up, not to hurt us. She's a nice girl.”

I sighed as Caramon said those words; it was good he was trying to save me from the deranged mage, but I didn't like being called a 'nice girl.' Raist hissed at me.

“You are a witch! You only want my magic!”

“I'm. Not. A. Witch.” I said softly, hissing back. I was furious and hungry, to be honest. The dog, not knowing who to protect, trotted off, his doggy tail wagging as he smelled breakfast.

“Come on, Raist, food.”

“You are always thinking with your stomach, brother,” snapped Raist, shoving me against the bed one last time before whipping away from me and standing up, shaking the hem of his robes out before following the dog out the door. Caramon helped me up.

“Sorry about Raist. He hasn't slept well and he's been trying so hard to find a way home. He doesn't mean what he says.”

“Well, if that ever happens again, I'll get Alicia to kick him in the-”

“Chelsea,” called Jessica from the living room. “Come on!”

“Let's go to breakfast,” Caramon said, trying not to sound too eager.

I followed after I heard a crash that only could have been Sturm falling off the table.

End Chapter....

“Well, this much is clear,” I said sarcastically, scrubbing the walls of the kitchen to remove the soot and fire extinguisher powder, “We need to get them out of the house!”

“But what are we going to do? We couldn't very well take them to the movies or out to eat or out shopping or anything,” Alicia said, rinsing her rag in the sink.

“Obviously. But they just can't be cooped up inside. They have to go out and do something besides destroy my house!”

Tasslehoff muttered an apology from where he sat on the table, Tanis holding him by the shoulder to keep him from 'helping' clean up the mess. I half heartedly smiled as I kept myself from losing control and strangling him as Alicia snorted.

“Sorry doesn't bring the curtains back, does it?” Alicia asked, pointing to the scorched fabric that lay in a wet heap in the sink.

“No, but, it does help when-”

“No, Tasslehoff,” Tanis said, seeing the look on our faces as Alicia and I continued scrubbing the counter and walls. He had been there for the accident with the toaster and flaming topknot and had seen it all happen. I had not, which was probably a good thing, because, after putting out the fire, I would have wrung his little kender neck. There was just no way to contain that creature.

According to Alicia, Tasslehoff had been working the toaster just as I had showed him, leaning over to see the toast turn golden brown before it popped up and he could butter it. As he was leaning over, his topknot had flipped over his nose and landed in a bread slot. As the bread toasted, so did Tasslehoff's hair. Eventually, it caught fire and the kender ran around the kitchen, Tika and Goldmoon throwing him in the sink as Alicia sprayed him down with the fire extinguisher.

The kender, cold and still covered in white stuff, the end of his topknot scorched black, was wrapped in a towel, Tanis keeping an eye on him.

I had asked for my kitchen not to be on fire when I came back.

Not happening, said fate.

Maybe I was a witch, maybe Raistlin was right. I surely didn't call the characters there, but maybe there was a way I could help them get back to Krynn. I knew for sure it wasn't happening by simply wishing them there, because Tas would have been gone by then, but there must-

My thoughts were interrupted by Jessica, who was calling from the living room, “Is it safe to bring the dishes in yet?”

“No, put them on a stack and leave them somewhere they won't fall over. Let the dogs lick whatever is left. At this point, I can't afford dog food: I need new curtains.”

“Good deal,” Keira answered, and I soon heard the jingle of collars as the dogs were licking up food Caramon couldn't get to on time.

I wiped my hands on the dish towel and placed in on the now clean counter.

“Alicia, I'm going to go and find Kim and see what we could do outside that wouldn't destroy anything, okay?”

“No problem; I think we're done here,” Alicia said, throwing her towel over her shoulder and stepping back to admire the kitchen. “Well, everything but the curtains. But, I can make new curtains.”

“You don't have to, 'Lisha; I'll just go and find some new ones.”

“But I want to. Have a sewing machine and some fabric?”

“Yes and yes, but I'm not sure if the fabric would be like the old curtains.”

“Leave that to me.”

“Agreed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I shuffled off to the bedrooms, stopping at the door of where Dalamar was staying, Kimmie probably by his side, watching cartoons or something weird like that. I didn't want to burst in on anything, so I listened closely.

“I don't think it would work, shalafi...”

“You wouldn't question that which would bring you home, would you, apprentice?”

“No, shalafi, no, but the Tower Of-”

“I do not wish to hear your moaning, Dalamar. It's for the weak!”

“The silver trees of my elven forest is my true home and I wish for Anna to see it.”

“The wench is not coming with us!”

“Anna is not a wench, shalafi.”

“She is in here with you nearly every time I pass by. Do you have a harem in the works? Would you prefer to add the witch, or the red head? Or perhaps the girl that carries the stick around with her everywhere she goes?”

“Anna is not a harem girl, she is-”

“I'm not going to listen to this, Dalamar! When love leaves you blind, you'll come crawling to me and I'm not going to help you!”

I could have walked away any time before that, but I didn't, showing my actual stupidity. I was thrilled for Kibbie, she actually had something of a boyfriend, someone who loved her, but I wasn't thrilled for myself when Raist whipped the door open and crashed into me. My nose hit his sharp shoulder and started to bleed. The burning warmth surrounded me and I couldn't move, my face hurt. I blinked through my tears of pain and saw the hourglass eyes looking at me, cold and glassy.

“Sorry,” I muttered, pinching my nose. “I dibit no you were in dere.”

“Save your apologies for someone who might care,” Raistlin snarled, whispering a magical word. I felt the flow of blood stop and I could breath again; thankful for this act of strange kindness on behalf of someone who thought I was a witch, I looked up-

To find him gone.

The strange warmth was gone, leaving me cold, and the blood still left on my face and hands was starting to become sticky. Finding the bathroom occupied, I stumbled to the kitchen and washed myself in the sink, wiping away the blood. I never knew I had an audience until I was drying my face with a spare kitchen towel, blinking several times. Tanis, Tasslehoff, Keira, and Alicia were watching me. I smiled half heartedly, raising my eyebrows.

“Was it that scary wizard?” asked Jessica, nearly dropping the glasses she was carrying.

I nodded quickly, trying to talk, but realized I couldn't. I was moving my mouth, but no words would come out. I tried again, but, finding myself as scared and horrified as the others were, I pounded my fist on the counter, forgetting until the last moment that it was made of granite. I took that opportunity to say every swear word I knew about, and a few I didn't know about, no one able to hear what I was saying. Jess, placing the glasses on the table, covered Alicia's ears, Alicia watching me open mouthed, then deciding that covering her eyes might be the better course of action. Alicia, who had taught me most of the words, started to laugh. Then she put on her warrior face.

“Raistlin does not mean to be-” Tanis began, but Alicia was ignoring him.

“I'm going to go and beat him into the ground. First he hit you and then he took your voice? That. Is. It!”

Alicia snatched Jessica's color guard pole from her and stormed off for my sister's bedroom, ready to do battle. Jessica and I ran after her, Tanis leaving Tasslehoff sitting on the table by himself as he followed us.

“I don't think this is the best-”

“Quiet, guy-I-don't-know,” Alicia snapped.

“I want my color guard pole back!”

“Stop whining, Keira!” Alicia snarled.

I tried to speak but, of course nothing came out. Alicia, stopping in front of the door, looked at me, her mouth open to reprimand me for disagreeing with her, but tilted her head before realizing I still couldn't talk and that was the whole point of confronting the mage. I put my hands on my hips and tapped my foot, waiting, face set.

“Um, Chelsea, stop it, whatever you were going to say... or trying to say right now...” Alicia said, grabbing the door handle and whipping the door open.

“Okay, you creep, give Chelsea her voice back!” Alicia shouted, getting in Raistlin's face. The golden skin mage curled his lips in a sneer.

“Only after the witch promises not to divulge what she heard.”

“I heard nothing,” I tried to say, but no sound came out and I just blushed, furious and embarrassed at the same time.

“Chelsea, were you eavesdropping?” asked Jessica, mouth widening in a surprised smile. I shook my head no and then slowly shook my head yes.

“I didn't mean to,” I tried to say. “I was going to find Kim and then he opened the door and my nose hit his shoulder.”

Of course, I received the same look and I closed my mouth, sighing.

“I will give the witch-”

“Stop calling her that!” said Tanis, Alicia, and Jessica together.

“I will give the lady her voice back only if she promises to help us get back to Krynn,” Raistlin said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, duh,” Jessica said. “We only have about ten more days to get rid of you guys before her parents come home and we have to leave. You'll be gone in ten days, she swears.”

I glared at Jessica for putting words in my mouth but, at that point, it was a good thing to have someone speak for me.

“Fine, fine,” the mage said, waving his hand and murmuring a spell. I smiled as Alicia sighed.

“Good, now that we have that taken care of, I can stop Alicia from killing you for the bloody nose.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We all went back the kitchen, coffee in mind. It was halfway through the morning and we were already exhausted. Alicia and Jess gasped as I let out the cry equivalent to a wounded dog.

“My kitchen,” I moaned, “My kitchen...”

“The coffee, the coffee,” Alicia followed, getting on her knees.

“Awhahahhh,” lamented Kim.

We all turned to look at Kim, who asked, “What are we groaning about?”

Tasslehoff sat on the table, covered in coffee grounds in addition to fire extinguisher powder and water, enjoying a hot cup of coffee, a grin on his face and a maniacal grin in his eye.

“Our sanity, our sanity,” started Jessica, collapsing to the floor alongside the rest of us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of that day, we were all outside. Laurana, Tika, and Goldmoon enjoyed horseback riding, taking the three horses we had in the pasture around the yard. Tanis and Caramon took the all terrain vehicle out for a spin around the property, and Flint and Riverwind went to the pond at the edge of the yard to catch fish, even though I told them over and over again they wouldn't catch anything, the coy fish simply swimming around, bored with the whole experience of being teased with corn on a dull hook. Kim went for a long walk with Dalamar, who still wore his long black robes, the two of them walking in the sunlight until they were out of sight around a clump of trees. Sturm was keeping Tasslehoff busy by watching him play an animated game of “Bop It,” the kender so hyped up on caffeine that he had already surpassed my sister's original score of 279.

Alicia, Keira, and I lay on my deck on towels and blankets, relaxing as best we could. Jess had already dropped off to sleep in a tank and pajama pants and Alicia was sewing new curtains, her eyes closing occasionally. I let the summer sunlight warm my skin as I, too, fell asleep, happy for a few moments to myself.

Little did we know that sunblock would have been a good idea.

"The Heart Of A Fool" (21/22) & (22/22)

2007-08-17T19:32:16Z

Title: The Heart Of A Fool (21/22) "Falling Snow" & (22/22) "The Funeral And A Promise"

Original/FF: House M.D.

Rating: PG-13

Length: Medium/

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from House M.D, but the story is mine.

Notes: All I can say is it is a bad thing when you want to cheer that a story is finally finished being posted. I really admonish myself for such poor writing and the age at which I wrote it is no excuse. Anyway, if you made it this far through the story, I applaud you. Oh, yeah, and the character death happens in these two chapters, too.

House's back hurt as he bent over to put the box in the trunk of the car. He stiffened and straightened inch by inch until he heard a snap; pain flooded his nerves and then there was a release. House sighed. He still had four more boxes of stuff waiting for him in his office. Cuddy was a monster for not letting anyone assist him in moving out of the hospital, knowing the cripple would have a hard time. Well, thought House bitterly, what if this cripple were to slip and fall and hurt himself and sue her?

The doctor realized the foolishness he was telling himself and turned from the car to start another climb to his office and many more corridors to navigate with one hand on a box. It was freezing outside. The snow was coming down in little more than wisps of frost; autumn had officially ended. This was not the first snowfall but it was the first one House had been in for the year. He made a mental note to find a spare jacket in the boxes; he knew he had packed one away.

“House, get a coat on, you're going to freeze.”

House was startled to find Foreman and Wilson coming up to him, each holding a box. Neither of them were smiling, but they moved past House and placed the boxes in the rest of the space in the trunk.

“What are you doing?” he asked, frowning, displeasure in his voice. “Cuddy is going to hang you with your own neckties if she finds you helping me. Now go away.”

“We're not leaving you out here in the cold to battle with-”

“What does it matter?” House cried, frustrated. Why couldn't these idiots see that he just wanted to be left alone, to leave without having to battle his own emotions in front of others. Wilson, who knew House better than most, saw this look and grimaced.

“You know, House, you got yourself fired and all of us in trouble-” Wilson started, but House cut him off.

“What? You don't have a part to play in this, or Foreman, or Chase?”

“House, listen for once. Instead of talking, listen.”

Wilson took control of the situation. He wasn't going to let House walk away from this, like he had walked away from everything he didn't want to deal with.

“We know that you haven't been taking your painkiller and that can make bad problems worse. You've reached the point where you can't function properly without those damn pills and you chose now, in the middle of all this mess, to detox?”

“Not in the middle, at the beginning of all this mess. Get it right, Wilson, or don't talk at all.”

“You can't be who you were. You just have to be who you are!” Wilson's voice was raised so that it traveled the length of the parking lot, voice choked with emotion. House didn't roll his eyes, or make a smart comeback. He just stared at Wilson, and Wilson stared right back.

“What do you think is going on inside, Wilson,” House muttered, uncertainty creeping into his voice, breathing ragged. “How do you think it feels to lose your job, to never see your staff again, for your team to disband? How do you think it feels to live with unbearable pain every day, but still be willing to toss the pills for the sake of those I work with? How do you think it feels to be so wrong it's deadly?”

The snow fell around the three doctors, not even a wind to stir the rest of the world into action after those words.

“House!”

A voice called to him across the parking lot and House looked over Wilson's shoulder, the other two doctors turning around to see who the voice belonged to.

Cameron came running through the snow, her hair flying behind her, lab coat casting a billowing cloud of white around her legs. She held an envelope in her hands, a lavender envelope, and there were tears running down her face. Chase was right behind her, calling after her.

“House,” she said, crying, stopping at his side and clinging to his sleeve. “You can't go yet. I have to tell you something! You just can't go yet!”

“What do you think you are doing?” asked Foreman, looking to Chase for an explanation. Chase shrugged his shoulders.

“Cameron, what is going on?” House asked calmly, looking at her closely. She was in an obvious state of distress, circles under her eyes, skin almost as pale as the snow.

“There you are,” said a man's voice.

Everything seemed to stop as the doctors turned and saw Mr. Deleyney's eldest son raise the gun he had taken from Chase's desk and point it straight at House.

Foreman and Wilson ducked, on their elbows in the snow; Chase backed up against a car; Cameron and House stood where they were, unable to move for the shock of it all.

The gun went off, the crack splitting the air, disturbing the silent fall of snow. House felt something hit him and, reaching to where the pressure had been in his abdomen, he felt blood. The man with the gun ran, throwing the gun to the ground. Foreman stood and ran to the fallen weapon, picking it up and shooting after the man. None of the bullets hit their target and the man disappeared behind the hospital and there was the faint sound of a car starting and wheels screeching.

There was no sound after that, everyone staring in shock at House. Foreman, seeing House, dropped the gun before looking at his own hands. Wilson gasped, unable to get off the ground, afraid that, once he moved, he would realize this wasn't a dream. Chase could only stare in horror, tears welling in his eyes.

House felt a limp form falling and he caught it, unaware of what it was until he looked down. Cameron's face was turned up, her eyes shut, her body powerless. It was not his own blood, House realized, but Cameron's. What force he had felt was her hitting him as the bullet went into her body.

Doctor's rushed out of the hospital, a stretcher rolled out the doors. Nurses and doctor's alike ran to House, who still held the limp form of Cameron in his arms, blood covering his hands. A group of doctors took her from him and placed her on the stretcher, running back into the hospital, other doctors asking if they were all alright. They nodded, still in shock, and the nurses and doctors left with Cameron, leaving Foreman, Chase, Wilson, and House alone. Cuddy ran outside, past Cameron, standing by Chase. Stacy followed, stopping in the doorway of the hospital, looking at the pitiful scene.

House stared down at the droplets of blood that had fallen on the snow and marveled at how much they resembled rose petals, wet rose petals. He sank to his knees, astonished at his own weakness, his leg throbbing unbearably hard, but he ignored it. Cameron was shot. She had taken the bullet that had his name on it. Why?

Cuddy walked to House, extending her hand, and House took it, his own hand covered in Cameron's blood. Wilson grasped Chase's shoulder, who had started to sob, while Stacy beckoned to Foreman from the doorway. In pairs, the doctors went back into the hospital, to find where they had taken Cameron, and if anything could be done for her.

The sound of sirens in the distance followed them, the snow still falling.

End Chapter.....

The day of the funeral was as cold as ever, thick snowflakes coating the world in a frosty blanket. The cemetery was as ghastly beautiful as a cemetery could be, granite tombstones bearing their weight in snow that rested on top of them, artificial flowers ragged with the harsh conditions. Statues of angels struggled to emerge from the snow, robes twisted in an unearthly breeze, faces turned to the sky, arms outstretched. Trees, their branches twisted and gnarled and coated in snow, lined the path through the cemetery, the large trees catching snowflakes before they hit the ground or came to rest on the mourners. The ground was not quite frozen, allowing Allison Cameron to be buried before winter truly began.

The hearse led the procession, the ebony coffin following the car. Mrs. Cameron followed her daughter, weeping. Cameron's brother and father carried the front of the coffin, Foreman and Chase following with the end. Cuddy and Stacy walked together, muttering in low voices, Cuddy wiping away a tear that had escaped and ran down her face before she thought anyone saw. Family followed directly after Mrs. Cameron, a small group of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Finally, at the end of the procession was Wilson and House.

They reached the grave and the proper procedure was taken care of, a prayer for Cameron echoing through the graveyard. As the black casket was lowered into the ground, Mrs. Cameron had to be led away by Mr. Cameron, who shot House a look of disgust as they passed by the doctor. House hung his head, unable to meet his eyes. Had he known his daughter had seen the gun the same time he did? That she didn't jump out the way, but instead clung harder to him, never moving as the bullet whistled through the air?

It was still unknown if she had jumped in front of House or if she had simply been in the path of the bullet, the gunman a poor excuse for a gunman. He had been caught, Mr. Deleyney's son, and was now in prison, awaiting a sentence. House supposed he would have to go and testify or something, depending on what charges were being brought up. He didn't know a thing about court dealings and didn't want to pretend.

The rest of the family started to leave, eager to escape the cold. House kept his head bowed as they passed by, glancing up only once. He came face to face with a slender old man, a cane in his own hand.

“Are you Allison's boss?”

House nodded, never making eye contact. He wasn't surprised at the slap he received, his cheek stinging as the old man, with tears in his eyes, hobbled off, a family member taking the old man's arm and helping him down the path to where their cars waited. He had deserved that. He deserved that a thousand times over.

“House, are you-”

He just nodded, cutting Foreman's words short. Chase sniffled behind Foreman, taking one more glance at Cameron's grave before following his co-worker down the path as well. Cuddy and Stacy walked by, Cuddy pushing something into House's hand. It was that envelope, the purple envelope Cameron had run out of the hospital with.

“My own was an apology, House,” she said softly, anger in her voice, but tinged with sadness. “She was having some trouble and we never even knew. Love makes people do stupid things. Don't worry, I didn't read it.”

House flipped the envelope over in his hands, his name written across the top, faint watermarks where snow had melted, and a dab of deep maroon on the bottom corner; it was blood. Her blood. House nodded slowly and, for a brief second, he thought he was going to lose control, to let the dam burst and- No, he wouldn't be that weak. House took in a deep breath and blinked rapidly, pushing his lips together. No. He wouldn't show Cuddy. Cuddy understood and patted his arm, none too gently, and walked off with Stacy.

“House, it's time to go, you're going to catch your death of cold.”

Wilson realized how improper his words had been when he saw fire flash in House's eyes. Wilson muttered an apology.

“I'll catch up with you in a little bit if you could wait in the car.”

“How long?”

“Just long enough to say good bye.”

Wilson nodded and started the walk to the car, casting one final glance at Cameron's grave. House hobbled to the headstone and brushed off the snow.

“Allison Cameron. Beloved Daughter, Faithful Wife. We will never forget you,” House read out loud from the etched granite. That's right, she had once been married, her husband dying just months after marriage, an illness that brought death. She must have been strong to have dealt with that, losing the one she loved. But, what was he talking about? Now, the hospital staff would have to be strong, to deal with the loss of a great woman. Now, he would have to be strong.

House took a rose from the bouquet by the graveside, the envelope in his other hand. He shook his head and looked around quickly, making sure he truly was the last one there. Then, he whispered, “I'll come back, Cameron. I'll come back.”

He walked away, his cane leaving small indentations in the snow, his footsteps following in the others who had also loved Allison Cameron.

"The Heart Of A Fool" (19/22) & (20/22)

2007-08-17T19:21:31Z

Title: The Heart Of A Fool (19/22) "House's Confessions" & (20/22) "Falling Apart"

Original/FF: House M.D.

Rating: PG-13

Length: Short/Short

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the world of House M.D.

Notes: I detest this story. Very much. So sappy... *shrug* There was something else I was going to say, too, but it slipped my mind.

He sat in the dark at the piano, his bottle of painkiller resting on the top of the piano. It had been so many days since he had taken his medication. He almost couldn't taste the bitterness of the pills on his tongue, that bitterness that took away the pain as much as it promised to make it worse. He hadn't taken his pain medication for a week and his leg throbbed unmercifully. House didn't know why he had decided that the time to withdraw from the medication was right at the beginning of Mr. Deleyney's case.

The painkillers were the scabs that covered a thousand wounds, most of them self inflicted. It was his fault things were going wrong. All his fault... He should have helped Cameron up when she tripped and fell in his office, but he just walked away. He had been so frustrated with the world and Cameron had crossed his path. He should have held his temper in check when he was getting more and more frustrated at his motives being questioned and not grabbed Cameron's wrist. He had known he had not put enough pressure on her wrist to cause a major bruise, but he had not known that Cameron would paint the wrist in eye makeup and that Chase couldn't keep his mouth shut when it came to the benefit of dear Cameron.

He should have done something than marvel at the flowers in Mr. Deleyney's room when the patient had the cardiac episode; instead he had stood there like an idiot. If he would have gotten involved, Foreman wouldn't have lost the blood sample. If Foreman wouldn't have lost the blood sample, House wouldn't have found it, stuck behind the bedside table in Mr. Deleyney's room. He had known that the blood might not be safe to use, but had figured that the medicine he had put with the blood in the lab room would have killed off anything that was growing, contaminating the blood.

What had he been thinking, combining the medication with the blood? He would have been better off just taking a new blood sample and risk being caught. After all, if he had to give Mr. Deleyney the shot later, what was the point of risking-

House shook his head as his thoughts wandered as he looked at the bottle. His fingers tried to pick out a tune on the keyboard, but the chords sounded wrong, the notes harsh and too loud. His leg hurt even more as his concentration on the piano was doing nothing to help the situation at hand and House pounded his fist on the keys, the dull thump of the keys producing screams of anguish, the notes combining to make one hideous sound. House swore under his breath. If he couldn't scream in agony, why could the music? But, as he took his hands away from the piano to fold them in his lap, House realized that his actions had caused that consequence: just like his actions had caused the consequences at the hospital.

He was now fired. He had no job. He was going in tomorrow- No, he thought, looking at the clock, in a few hours, to go and clean out his office. He wouldn't ever see Chase or Foreman again, he wouldn't see Cuddy or Stacy. He would still talk with Wilson but knew that they would eventually grow apart. And Cameron. He wouldn't ever see her again. He almost preferred that he never see her again. She had a crush on him, he knew. Crush wasn't the right word, obsession was more like it. He recognized the weakness that came about her when he walked into the room, the self sacrifice she performed every time he was in trouble. The fact she had faked the large bruise was unusually out of character for Cameron, but House knew she was going to guilt him into apologizing; what had she expected, though? That once he saw the bruise, he would love her instantly, like it was some sort of spell she cast? That he would grab her and take her home that instant, to be his as long as he wanted? House sneered. He wouldn't love her. He could never love her. She was a wimp. She was weak. She wasn't the woman House wanted. He wouldn't ever want another woman after the failed marriage with Stacy. He loved neither of them.

He had wanted to live a life without painkillers, to live a life where he wasn't searching for the pill bottle every other hour, to grab a handful of medication and swallow the bunch all at once. House thought he could break the control his leg had over him. How foolish he had been. Because he couldn't stand the withdrawal symptoms, because of his own poor timing, he had acted irrational and cost himself his job. How foolish he was to think he could take control of his life. He was always in control at the hospital, over his team, his brilliance putting him one step above all others. But now, he didn't have that. Not any more.

He gave up the struggle with his own conscience and snatched the pill bottle from the piano top, grabbing a handful of the medication and swallowing it. House shook his head and shut his eyes, letting the bitterness the pills brought wash over him, feeling the bitterness the pills destroyed wash away. He was exchanging one thing for the other. In life, House knew, you couldn't have all you wanted that was good for you, but you could always have excess of the things that killed you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mr. Deleyney died later that night, his last breath taken while Cuddy was in the room. The wife cried, the younger children cried, but the eldest son remained calm and cold. There was now some unfinished business between him and the doctor that had caused all of this, the doctor who had killed his father.

End Chapter...

Foreman sat in his office with his head in his hands. He had gotten the message that morning about Mr. Deleyney's death, Cuddy calling him up at four in the morning to let him know. Her voice had been oddly calm on the phone as she told him the family had decided to sue the hospital and the doctors for as much as they could get. When she told him the sum, Foreman had gasped. He had figured out how much his house was worth, his possessions, anything that could be of value after he had gotten off the phone with Cuddy, and he was nowhere near the amount he was being sued for.

Foreman could hardly believe it. He was being sued. He was going to lose his house, his dignity, maybe even his job. Foreman picked his head up and watched House limp down the hallway, balancing a box in one hand. Cuddy had forbidden anyone to help him; any doctor assisting Dr. House would be brought before the hospital director herself. House was heading to the parking lot, one of many, many boxes he had to bring home with him going into the trunk of a borrowed car.

He sighed and decided that looking out the window was his best option. The mere sight of House made his gut twist and his head hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cameron sat in the cafeteria, her purse in her lap as she sipped the small coffee she had bought. No one sat with her at the small table, passing staff members either ignoring her or giving her looks that mingled pity and disgust at the same time. The two letters peeked out at her from her purse, the letter to Cuddy in an orange envelope, the letter to House in a light purple envelope. She figured that she should go and deliver them. Cuddy had called her that morning, letting her know the patient had died and she was being sued. None of the doctors were allowed to treat any patient or have clinic duty. They were to show up at the hospital and sit there, waiting for anything that might come about as a result of the death.

Sick of the noise in the cafeteria and wanting to put the purse in her office before she lost all courage and ripped the letters up, Cameron got up and threw away the rest of her coffee. It hadn't helped wake her from her dream state one bit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chase, with a shaking hand, put the gun into the desk drawer in his own office. He had smuggled it in as planned and felt so awful inside that he couldn't think properly. There was nothing for him to do but wait. Cuddy had called him that morning, giving him the news. He had cried, he was man enough to admit, the sobs shaking him, his fingers twitching so hard he had to put the gun down at risk of shooting himself.

He saw Cameron pass by and ran to the door, whipping it open and grabbing Cameron's arm. Cameron, startled until she realized it was Chase, tried to pull away, but Chase wouldn't let go. She had caused some of this, yes, and because he had cared too much about her to keep his mouth shut, he had told Cuddy about the bruise he had glimpsed in passing and now they were all in trouble.

He took her in his arms, the purse she held falling to the floor with a thump as she started to sob on his shoulder, the tears wetting the lab jacket Chase wore. He could feel her shuddering breaths and felt his own eyes well up in tears. What had they done? What were they going to do? He thought of that gun in his drawer, his mind whirling, his vision blurry. Never mind the people who now stood gawking at them in the corridor. They had to understand that the two doctors were about to lose everything- No, they had lost everything already.

The eldest son of the patient who had died was one of the crowd. He had been watching Dr. Chase for the longest time, following the young man to his office. He had seen Chase put the gun in the desk drawer.

"The Heart Of A Fool" (17/22) & (18/22)

2007-08-17T19:02:54Z

Title: The Heart Of A Fool (17/22) "Wilson's Confessions" & (18/22) "Cuddy's Confessions"

Original/FF: House. M.D.

Rating: PG-13

Length: Short/Short

Disclaimer: Don't own anything from House M.D. and never will...

Notes: Meh. I'm starting to think this entire story is really "Tales of the Crypt"-y.... I can't put my finger on it why I think that, though.

He sat alone in his house, a drink in hand. There was no way he was going back to work tomorrow without being a tad hungover. It made life bearable, besides the pounding headache one usually experienced. Nothing a little painkiller wouldn't take care of, though, Wilson told himself calmly, downing the rest of the drink and staring at the wall. He was starting to sound like House, he thought, and wondered if he even had painkiller in the house. Probably not...

He had the radio on, just background noise, a droning sound just soft enough that Wilson couldn't make out what the singer was crooning about. He didn't like to sit in silence. He could hear Cuddy's voice in his mind, saying all those things again and again and again. Wilson wished he would have turned the radio louder, but didn't want to get up. He also wished he had another drink, but not badly enough to stand up from his armchair.

He was in so much trouble. He was in charge of the three doctors that had formerly worked under House's direction; no matter what they did, it would reflect on him and he would have to shoulder the blame. Cameron lied. It was his fault. Chase fought. It was his fault. Foreman lost hazardous material House used against the patient. It was his fault. Wilson didn't know if it was exactly his fault for what House did directly, without the help of the team, but he did know that he left the files on House's desk, right where the man could pick them up and read them. That was Wilson's fault.

Patient information was supposed to be confidential, between the patient and the doctors who worked directly on the case. House had been kicked off the case and Wilson had left the files there anyway. What was he thinking? Apparently, he hadn't been thinking at all. Since he was assigned the case, Wilson felt he was slipping more and more, making mistakes he wouldn't normally make.

He had been House's friend for a long time, now, and had never been more furious with him than how he felt now. House had taken the trust Wilson and the others gave him and shot it, killing it dead. House truly didn't care about anyone else but himself, Wilson was starting to believe. Now, Wilson was in the same boat the other doctors were, holding onto a wish that the patient wouldn't die because of House's mistake. House always had to be right. He didn't care who he hurt, Wilson thought bitterly, lifting his glass to his mouth before remembering there was nothing left. House had wanted to be right and he took a risk. That risk was not in their favor and now...

Wilson sighed as he got up to pour himself another drink. He hated House right now and, if he really was sued along with the hospital and the rest of the team, he would hate him forever.

End Chapter...

She sat at her desk, not knowing what else to do. She knew Stacy was in the building before, but that must have been hours ago, and Cuddy yawned, exhausted. Yet, she knew that, if she went home, she wouldn't get any sleep and might miss something at the hospital. Between the legal work and paper work and phone calls, Cuddy wondered how long she was going to be trapped in her office until everything was done. There would be no more phone calls; if she called anywhere at this hour, she wouldn't get an answer or would be laughed at.

Cuddy had told the doctors to leave and not come back until the normal shift the next day. If something happened to Mr. Deleyney, either she or another doctor would deal with whatever came up. There was no way Cameron, Chase, Foreman, House, or Wilson would touch that man ever again. Cuddy could barely look the family in the eye as she checked up on the patient regularly, once every hour. The eldest son shot daggers into her every time she walked into the room, and the wife could do nothing but weep silently, holding her husband's hand. The two daughters and the younger boy, both older teenagers, sat in the corners of the room, sleeping, waiting for something to happen.

This family was just like any other family, Cuddy thought as she checked the clock and realized there were five more minutes to the hour and she would have to go back there again. She hated going into that room. But, she was responsible for Mr. Deleyney's wellbeing from this point on and it was her duty to look them in the eye and tell them the truth: Mr. Deleyney was not getting any better. The medicine House had combined with the blood sample he had found was the wrong medicine, obviously, but the blood itself was tainted. Cuddy wondered how long the time frame had been between when Foreman had lost the sample and when House had found it. House either didn't think about the bacteria that formed in blood when it was stagnant and lukewarm or ignored it. Cuddy had started Mr. Deleyney on everything she could think of, to treat possible sepsis to fungal infection, everything administrated in small doses, tests to see how the medicine reacted. Nothing had worked and Cuddy was running out of ideas.

Cuddy felt physically sick as she stood and grabbed her lab jacket from a nearby chair. She was so exhausted she could barely drag herself out the door. Going from the darkened office to the brightly lit hallway brought tears to her eyes and Cuddy wiped them away, ignoring the looks of concern from the rest of the staff. She got on the elevator with a nurse heading to the same floor and the nurse looked very uncomfortable being with Cuddy. Everyone had heard about the scene in Dr. House's office that afternoon; rumors were flying everywhere. As Cuddy wiped her eyes and sighed, the nurse laid a hand on her shoulder and smiled reassuringly. The hospital director, to her surprise, felt more tears come and fall down her cheeks. She was crying.

If only there was a way to turn back time, Cuddy thought, clenching her fists over the cuffs of her lab jacket. She would never have let House on the Deleyney case. She would never have trusted Cameron. She never would have given Wilson the case. She would have sent Chase and Foreman to another medical team. Cuddy would have split the entire group up, the smartest group of doctors she had seen in all her years of being in the medical field.

The smartest group of doctors was costing her everything. She had not expected this from them, not at all. They were so bright they were all blinded by their brilliance and walking around blind was sure to cause a fall. They had all fallen from grace in Cuddy's eyes as she smiled grimly at the nurse and got off the elevator. She walked into the patient's room again, facing the those who were afraid of losing their loved one.

The sight was almost more than Cuddy could bear.

"The Heart Of A Fool" (15/22) & (16/22)

2007-08-17T18:46:27Z

Title: The Heart Of A Fool (15/22) "Chase's Confessions" & (16/22) "Stacy's Confessions"

Original/FF: House M.D.

Rating: PG-13

Length: Short/Short

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters.

Notes: Chase gets really angsty here... Still meh...

He sat on the floor of his darkened bedroom, leaning against the bed, the gun in his hands. He had bought it for protection after one of his friends had been robbed while he was still in college and kept it through the years, the gun never having been loaded until now. Chase thought he must be going crazy. This wasn't like him, not at all. He had never raised his hand in violence before, but punched House so hard in the face that his knuckles were bruised. These were real bruises, not the fake bruise Cameron had put on to fool House. He had heard about it from Cuddy as she stormed past, muttering under her breath when he had come back to the hospital. The guards had taken him from the hospital and Stacy had to come down to the jail later on to free him. She paid for his bail and swore at him the entire ride from the jail to the hospital, making him wish he was almost back in his holding cell. He had only been there for an hour after the incident, Cuddy sending Stacy to get him after she found out that the guards had not just held him at the hospital but had called the police to cart him away.

House told the main office to let anyone who needed to know that he wasn't pressing charges against Chase and that he would be back tomorrow to pick up his things.

Chase turned the gun over in his hands, the little handgun gleaming ominously from the light coming from the the other room. He wasn't going to hurt himself. He was going to take it with him tomorrow to work and keep it in his office all day. He doubted House would attempt revenge for the accident that day, but House was starting to lose his mind, it seemed. Anything was possible.

He was so disappointed: with Cameron, for lying and causing this mess; with Foreman, for never confronting the problems that were not medical related; with Wilson, for being so ignorant; with Cuddy, for putting Wilson on the case; with House, for being such an awful excuse for a human being. And with himself, he was disappointed with himself. This wasn't the way life was supposed to be. He was still young, he still had a future ahead of him. Now, he was going to have to live his entire life with the fact he had taken a gun to work to protect himself from his boss. House had always treated him awful, making rude jokes at his expense. That wasn't right. He couldn't keep doing that.

Chase leaned his head back against the bed, the gun falling to the floor beside him as his hand slipped off his lap. He was so tired, so tired... he just wanted sleep. Damn Cameron, he thought, damn her to hell. She had lied about the bruise and he, trying to be a good person, had reported it to Cuddy, expecting nothing to come of it than a reprimand for House. He had only wanted to protect her and her stupid feelings for House. The girl was infatuated with him, but he would have nothing to do with her. It was her problems that caused this: it had been a chain effect. No matter what Foreman and he himself had told her, no matter how many times they asked her to stay away from him when he was in a bad mood, she ignored them and got herself hurt.

Now, everything was chaotic. Today had been the last step to the end of everything they knew. Tomorrow would be the peak of everything. Tomorrow was when things would come together for good or bad and nothing would stay the same. Chase felt the cold of the gun under his hand.

He hoped he would never have to use it.

End Chapter...

She sat in her office, well after she was allowed to leave for the night, going through paperwork. She estimated that, according to how much Mr. Deleyney was worth in terms of his businesses and personal wealth, the family was going to sue for millions and millions, money the hospital couldn't afford. The hospital would be sued, said Mr. Deleyney's eldest son when he had stormed into Stacy's office, if his father died and, even if he didn't die, there was still a chance the family would sue anyway. So, as Stacy saw it, they would either pay for the death, or they would hang on the edge of a knife, waiting for the family to come to a decision on how much they wanted to squeeze out of the doctors for malpractice.

Damn it, Stacy thought. House just had to go and run his little experiment on one of the richest business men that had ever been treated at the hospital. House had to pick the perfect family to sue the hospital and the doctors that had worked on the case. He had to risk the lives of everyone around him. House didn't even care, Stacy bet, tugging at her hair.

Her eyes hurt from reading the paperwork. Her mind hurt from trying to reason everything out. Her body hurt from stress. Stacy turned off the desk lamp and grabbed her purse, trying to forget the eight digit number that glared at her from the top paper on the stack of folders. She almost walked out the door and ignored it, but turned around and, picking up the paper, slammed it on the desk as hard as she could.

She felt a nail crack and her hand started to sting. Stacy was almost satisfied with her action, but really wished she could just crumple up the paper and burn it, or throw it in a bowl of water, or make House eat it. But, she knew that if she ruined the paperwork and the family found out, that would make things worse. For now, she had to play along and be the lawyer that saved the day. Hopefully.

After bailing Chase out of jail, Stacy wanted to tell him to punch House again, just to kick the lion while he was down, but instead she swore at him the entire ride back so he could get his car from the parking lot. Of course, there was going to be a probationary period for the doctor, but luckily nothing Chase did would cost them money at the moment.

That was all Stacy wanted to care about at the moment: the true cost of money and, if the patient would die, how much money would compensate for the loss to make the family happy. She had the rough estimate, but how much would it really be? How much money would it take until Cuddy finally gave Stacy permission to attack House like Chase had done? She already knew House was fired and that he was coming back the next day to get his things.

Stacy closed her office door behind her, turning her back on the paperwork that basically said they would lose the hospital.

"The Heart Of A Fool" (13/22) & (14/22)

2007-08-17T18:36:04Z

Title: The Heart Of A Fool (13/22) "Foreman's Confessions" & (14/22) "Cameron's Confessions"

Original/FF: House M.D.

Rating: PG-13

Length: Short/Short

Disclaimer: Don't own anything but the story itself; characters and anything else from the world of House belongs to FOX and other people I don't know...

Notes: Meh.

That night was the longest in all of their lives. Any sleep they caught was minimal and did nothing but make the doctors ache for more sleep. The same thoughts were buzzing through their heads, generally, all of them living with the guilt of their own secrets.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Foreman sat at his own kitchen table, the smooth glass reminding him of the table in House's office where everyone would gather to discuss the cases that came in, the table in the hospital where everything came together to find a cure for mysterious illnesses. They all had to work together at that point, to save a life. House's brilliance, Chase's perseverence, Cameron's patience, and his own sense of duty to the people who needed him. Now, there was a man dying because of the combination of mistakes they had all caused. There were secrets they all held, Foreman knew, but his own was the one that plauged him the most. He didn't care about House or Chase or Cameron; he cared about his own wellbeing. How was he going to afford to pay if the family sued and every single one of them had their money taken away?

If something were to happen, Foreman knew he wouldn't be able to stay at the hospital. If Mr. Deleyney died and he was sued, how could he show his face to the rest of the staff? How could he treat his patients without remembering his mistake every single time he made a diagnosis? He wouldn't be able to practice medicne with a clear councious. House was already fired, Cuddy had made that clear enough that afternoon, and he wouldn't willingly be under Cuddy's direct supervison for the rest of his life.

Because he had lost the blood sample. He didn't even know what he had done with it when Mr. Deleyney was in cardiac arrest. Foreman couldn't even recall placing the syringe on a table or handing it to someone else. He rememberd taking the blood and then panicing as the alarms went off, then sat in House's office, not even recalling the blood sample until House asked where it was. There was a biohazard loose in the hospital and it was his fault. It was all his fault. The evidence against House was that he gave the medication to Mr. Deleyney through an injection found on the patient's right arm. Perhaps House had found the blood sample where Foreman put it down and forgot about it and mingled the blood and the medicine, the blood coming from the sample. House couldn't very well get his hands on another sample; he was kicked off the case and taking a sample would violate the terms of his agreement with Cuddy.

Because of Foreman, House had the blood to run the tests that showed him what he had wanted to see, not what was really there. Because he had the sample, he was able to determine what was wrong and fix it. But House had been wrong and Foreman was responsible for the lost sample.

End Chapter...

Cameron sat at home, laying in her bed, the lamps on, trying to drive away the darkness. It was winter in the world much as it was winter in her heart, her mind spinning. She couldn't stand herself. How could she have been so foolish? That bruise was fake. She had applied it in the woman's bathroom, using eyeshadow she found in her purse, makeup she never wore except on her wrist. She had meant to scare House, she had wanted to show him what he did to her. He had hurt her, yes, but the small bruise he had caused lasted no more than a day or two. She had made it larger with makeup because she could stand physically hurting herself to cause the bruise; she had tried, but the pain she was putting herself through was too much and Cameron had taken the wimp way out.

All she was going to do was show House how much he had hurt her and back up what she had told him after he had left her go. He was out of control and hurting her was the last straw. But, Cameron hurt emotionally rather than physically. Love makes people do crazy things. She loved House, almost as much as she had loved her former husband. House's pain was something she wanted to banish. She didn't want him to suffer any longer and the agony he showed to the world in the form of sarcasm and raised tones was what Cameron wanted to take away. She would show him that she could withstand the pain he gave her and that he would eventually come to love her for it, for being the only person there for him during his worst times.

Chase had seen the bruise, however, and told Cuddy for her. The talk she had with Cuddy during lunch, wearing the borrowed shoes, had been nice. Cameron had enjoyed the company, as nervous as she was. Cuddy had thought then that House was hurting her when that wasn't true. Once Chase blabbed to Cuddy that she had a bruise on her wrist from House, conclusions had been made and lines had been drawn. Cameron remembered her embarrassment at being called into the director's office, trying to smear as much of the makeup off as she could before Cuddy asked to see it. That had just made it worse, however, and Cameron, too weak to tell the truth and lose the respect of Cuddy, had lied.

If she would have known then what she knew now, Cameron told herself, she would have told the truth. She wouldn't have tried to lay the pity trap for House, to make him love her because of what he had done to her; she wouldn't have acted like such a high school girl. Chase really had the best intention to tell Cuddy, but she wished he didn't care so much. If he hated her as much as House, none of this would have happened. The fear and pain she had felt when Cuddy saw Cameron had forgotten to put the bruise on her wrist was almost too much for Cameron to bear and she felt tears come to her eyes again. But there had been a release, a sigh of relief that someone knew besides her.

Grabbing a pen and paper from the nightstand drawer, she started to compose two letters: one to House, one to Cuddy. She wrote them both with meticulous care, placing them in two envelopes with the names of their respective doctors on the front. Placing them in her purse, Cameron switched off the lights and tried to find sleep.

None came; the guilt was too strong.

"The Funeral"

2007-08-15T06:08:06Z

Title: The Funeral

Original/FF: House M.D.

Rating: PG-13

Length: Long

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the world of House M.D

Notes: Be warned: major character death. Along with angst. Pretty sad story. I actually was in a pretty good mood when I wrote this, so I don't know where this idea even came from. I admit it started with the crickets that live around my house that I must do battle with everyday, yet never can bring myself to kill. From there... *shrug* I'm fairly proud of it, however, although I didn't beta it throughly. I just typed it out and submitted it a few places. Enjoy. (Oh, undertones of House/Cameron, also).

The heels of Cameron's black dress shoes clicked forcefully again and again on the warm concrete, black crickets and brown bugs hopping and scuttling out of the way. She was the sort of person to avoid stepping on the insects, no matter how much they bothered her with their high leaps at nothing and infernal noise at night, but Cameron wasn't paying any attention to them right now. In fact it was only after she stepped on one cricket that had not moved out of the way fast enough, the crunch of exoskeleton under rubber heel, that Cameron was brought back to reality and started to dig her car keys out of her purse.

Her mind had been racing the past few days, ever since the funeral was a certianty. It was almost a welcome change, much better than the numbness that had come over her mind when she had taken the now buried man as a patient...

"You can't take this case, Cameron," Foreman said, "You know you can't."

"But, I have to," she replied, her voice betraying her emotions. Although she looked cold and professional, dressed in her white, tailored lab jacket over black dress pants and a new grey sweater, her voice was heated and passionate, colored with all the feelings she tried to keep back.

"No, you don't."

"Foreman, you wouldn't understand."

"You would understand better than the rest of us."

Chase spoke the truth and they all knew it. Wilson, from his chair, turned to give Chase a look of warning, but the blond doctor was leaning against the counter, pouring a cup of stale coffee. Foreman, taking his arm off the white board stand and shaking his head, walked over and reached for Cameron's arm, which she snatched away. Whether from distaste or surprise no one knew, but with a firm hand, Cameron took the open file from where it had been laying on the table, snapped it shut, and walked out the door.

She could hear the mutterings of those who had gone to look over the rest of the headstones in the massive graveyard, behind one of the biggest churches she had ever seen. Cameron did not often attend church, so sitting through the service had been difficult. The preacher's voice was raspy and dry; Cameron wondered if he might not have a throat problem and had, in the middle of his speech of life and death, made a mental note to talk with the preacher about making an appointment with the clinic. She had drifted off into other thoughts, old memories concerning the man in the casket on the alter, and was not brought back into the moment until Wilson's hand let go of her own to go up and make the speech.

"There was nothing to describe-"

"-such a man as himself," Cameron said, interuppting Wilson. "I know. But I still want to be there."

"I didn't actually want to talk about that," Wilson answered, taking a seat beside Cameron on one of the plush faux leather squares that were supposed to be seats, leaning against the wall. "I wanted to talk about what Chase said, back in House's office."

"It doesn't bother me."

"Yes, it does."

Cameron looked at him, fixing her eyes onto his own and giving him her best glare of seriousness. She knew it was helpless, though, and Wilson's eyes just kept their lock on Cameron's, waiting until she was through trying to intimidate him to continue. Finally that moment came and Wilson resumed his thought.

"I know it bothers you because you are always stuck with the dying patient. It doesn't matter if that person means anything to you the moment you meet them because, in the end, when you are there with them while they pass on, it doesn't matter if you've known them all of their life or just a weeks. Most of the time, though, in your case, you've known them for a long time, been a part of their life, been-"

"Wilson, it doesn't bother me," Cameron interjected once more, cutting him off. "Like you've said, I've always been stuck with the dying patient. It's normal for me, now. It doesn't matter."

"How can death be normal?"

"I don't know, you tell me. You let your patients know how long they have and how much they should hope to get better. You work with death every day."

"Cameron, just because I give people 'the bad news' doesn't mean I understand death or how it can be normal. You've become accustomed to it, that's all. You should be, you're a doctor."

"Is this going anywhere, James?"

"I don't know, Allison, tell me."

The two doctors sat side by side for several more moments before Wilson got up, arranging his lab jacket so it fell in steady folds around his legs, putting his hands in the pockets. Cameron remained sitting, her hands clasped together a little too tightly to be comfortable, elbows resting on knees, nose pointed toward the ground at an invisible fixed spot in the blue tiles.

"Cameron, when you want to talk about it, let me know. I'm going to be here through the entire process, too. I just thought I would try to get what Chase said out of your head."

Wilson made to walk away, but turned back and looked over his shoulder, brown hair falling over his eyes. Cameron looked over at him, head still bowed over her folded hands.

"And I don't let patients measure the amount of hope they have to live, nor do I measure it for them. They just hope. That's sometimes enough."

As he walked away, Cameron muttered to herself, "But hope can't bring back the dead."

Cameron had been slightly annoyed at the rain that was falling that afternoon, pounding on the church roof, dripping from the shingles, pooling in the dips of imperfect concrete slabs on the sidewalk and pot holes in the parking lot. How dreary. The raindrops, Cuddy said to her quietly as they rose after Wilson's speech to leave the church, seemed to match the piano music note for note, tone for tone. Cameron resisted the urge to glare at her boss and instead gave a sharp nod she hoped would appease the distraught woman. Cuddy had been crying nearly the entire service and Cameron wondered brutally how she even dared wear mascara that wasn't water proof when she must have known she would be weeping for several hours on end. But wondering about Cuddy's mascara and choices for dress that morning (the black silk jacket and skirt set with thin grey lace and clear beads was much too dressy for a funeral, Cameron had thought upon seeing the Dean of Medicine get out of her car before the service) was the least of Cameron's troubles. Now she would have to go out in the rain herself, risking a cold.

"Cameron, what I said back there," Chase said as he got into the elevator with her and Foreman, all on their way down to the patient's room, "I didn't mean to say it."

"Yes you did."

"Foreman, stay out of it."

Cameron closed her eyes and tried to block out the two men bickering behind her. She didn't need any of that right now. Damn, how could she have convinced herself to go through with this? After all the hell she had given the rest of the team to be put on the case, after they had done so, she couldn't just back out. Sometimes she tried to be too brave and forgot about that little part of her that wanted to hide and forget anything was wrong with anyone. Forgetting about that part had gotten her into medical school, into the teaching hospital, onto the team. It had almost always done her good. But now she wanted to push the glowing elevator buttons on the side of the door that would take the lift right back upstairs and to her office.

"Did you hear him?"

"What? Excuse me, I didn't hear you," Cameron said, snapping out of her daze. Foreman's undescribable look made Cameron push that annoying, scared part out of her mind, hoping he didn't see what she had been thinking about doing the past minute.

"I apologized."

"Oh. You didn't have to, Chase."

"You know I had to."

"Yeah."

Cameron turned away. Ever since they had broken up, she really had nothing to say to him. When she looked at him, she felt nothing, thought nothing, and he could have been nonexistant for all she cared. An insult and apology didn't mean anything to her coming from him. Before Chase could open his mouth again, the doors to the elevator slid open and Cameron walked briskly down the hall, the feelings of doubt and fear creeping up on her again with every step she took toward her patient's room.

The rain had dimmed to a drizzle by the time everyone made it to the gravesite. A five minute walk to the plot of dirt and carved stone that was to be the patient's only physical mark to the outside world that he had ever existed. The now fairly wet funeral attendees stood around the grave, his very elderly parents sitting in folding chairs the church had so gracefully provided. Of course, they were crying, along with Wilson and Cuddy, the latter of which resembled a well dressed raccoon. Cameron had no tears to shed. Chase went to put his arm around her shoulders, but she shuffled to the other side of Foreman. She knew he didn't want to be there, either, and that made her feel a bit better. At least she wasn't the only one not currently mourning the loss of this man hidden away in the ebony box being lowered into the ground.

"There goes a good man," someone muttered.

"No," Cameron whispered to herself, Foreman catching what she said, "He wasn't a good man. He was a terrible man. He just did great things."

"Even the great things might not make up for the bad things he did," Foreman added.

Since the patient had rejected the liver transplant, there was no other option but to let him die. It had been a waste of time to get on the case, Cameron thought, standing outside the door to the room. There really were no other options. Without the liver, without the medication, without everything else the bitter man hooked up to all the machines rejected, there was nothing left to do but sit back and let him die.

"Did you just see him?" Wilson asked, approaching her. He had a plastic mug of coffee, complete with lid, in one hand, the crumbs of a sandwich he was wiping off on his lab jacket in the other hand. It was rare Wilson was not with the patient now, now that he had been given an even shorter time period in which to live. Wilson was almost always there.

Cameron nodded, feeling her throat close. Oh, no. She was going to cry. No, she couldn't, she wasn't going to, she wasn't going to show how much it all meant to her. Not after all the things she had denied, after all the lies she told. Wilson, watching Cameron's lined face smooth and crumple several times, put his coffee on the ground without a word and opened his arms. Enfolding Cameron, he held her close for several moments as she wept soundlessly into his chest before taking her to his office, leaving the fresh coffee behind to wait for a janitor to come across and toss out.

After the preacher said several more words about life and death, pretty much restating the philosophical nonsense the dead man would have laughed at in life, the small gathering dispursed and the rain stopped. Foreman, after a meaningful glance, squeezed her hand and left. She knew just where to find him if she needed to drink away any remaining pain she might have missed after crying her eyes out at the hospital, at home, and in her car. She might just see him later tonight. Wilson patted Cameron on the arm and she patted his hand back. He had gotten the invitation to go drinking and drown away the sorrow (or perhaps usher in a new era of the hospital without the shadowy madman lurking down every hallway) and Cameron dimly wondered if he would take Foreman up on the offer. Wilson took Cuddy's elbow, the doctors lapsing into silence, and the two left for the parking lot. Chase was among those searching for family and friends in the graveyard, reading off the names of those deceased he might have known to himself before passing onto the next granite or marble marker.

"Here lies-"

"Gregory House," Cameron said, holding his hand as the man she respected, hated, loathed and loved, started his descent into unconsciousness. He would never open his eyes again once he closed them for any longer than it took to blink, the eyes yellow from jaundice. His skin matched the eyes, making those blue eyes grey and weary with suffering. The Vicodin had shot his liver and, without a new one, trying to survive with what he had and refusing any treatment, he was going to die within hours, lapse into a coma within half that time, passing out in minutes. That's all Cameron had: minutes.

"What do you want?" House asked, trying to sound gruff but failing as badly as Cameron was at trying to hold the tears back.

"I want to tell you everything."

"What is there left to tell? If it's that you love me, I already know."

"It's not that."

"If it's that you hate me, I already know that, too."

Cameron smiled despite her current condition because he did, too. His hand twitched in hers.

"If I say my leg hurts more than the rest of me, will you give me more painkiller?"

"No, House," Cuddy said, who was standing behind Cameron's chair. "No more painkiller. That's what is causing this in the first place."

"Yeah, I could have died of a heart attack or brain injury instead of a destroyed liver. Bummer, huh?"

"You could have lived a little longer," Wilson said, sitting across from Cameron in the chair he had nearly become a part of the past few days.

"Who wants to live a long life in pain?" House asked, a feeble smile coming over his face again, "A short life pain free is the way to go, especially surrounded by doctors."

"Friends, Greg," Wilson corrected. "Some aren't as lucky."

"I agree," House said, causing Cuddy to choke back a sob. It was clear House was fading fast and it was a matter of moments before he would be unable to respond to anything they said, falling into a sleep from which matters would be out of their hands. Cuddy had consulted the rest of the team on, once House was 'out of it,' transplanting a new liver into the arrogant doctor, but Wilson had been strongly opposed. If House's wishes were disrespected, they would have James Wilson to go through, a truly loyal friend to the end.

As House took one more glance around the room, he made direct eye contact with Cameron and squeezed her hand uncharacteristically. Cameron leaned in and, as the alarms went off and Cuddy turned the monitors and their noise down, kissed House's hand as his eyes fixed on the ceiling before drifting off.

Chase and Foreman, who were in the shadows of the doorway, bowed their heads and left the room along with Cuddy, who was now crying steadily into a paper napkin that had been resting beside the pitcher of nearly melted ice chips. Cameron, looking at Wilson and getting the message his watery eyes were sending, stood up, releasing House's hand. Walking around the bed, she hugged Wilson's shoulders, pressing her cheek into his neck, sighing deeply as the tears ran down her face. She then left House and his best friend alone, Wilson waiting for the moment House passed on, and not before, to leave the room. Cameron made it all the way to her office and then to her car before she started to sob again.

With a sigh, Cameron reread the words on House's headstone before walking out of the graveyard. She knew she would be back with Wilson sometime, probably with flowers, probably in the snow, but for now she could leave and be assured she wasn't going to have to come back for at least a month. That was how long she bet it would take anyone from the team to return to House's grave, whether out of anger or guilt she did not know. For now, though, the rain had stopped and the concrete of the sidewalk was warm from the late September sun beating down upon the scene below it. The small crickets talked amongst one another, aware for a brief moment one of their own had just left them, before hopping away into the grass.

"Happy Birthday"

2007-08-15T05:55:52Z

Title: Happy Birthday

Original/FF: Doctor Who

Rating: PG-13

Length: Short

Disclaimer: Don't own Ten, Rose, or the Tardis. BBC does. *grr*

Notes: Written for a writing community challenge; there might be more to this story, who knows?

His bed was spinning. He was sure of it. The Doctor felt the covers swirl and tug in the waves of nausea he was experiencing. Oh, he felt so sick. Hammers pounding- no, entire worlds pounding down upon his head, worms crawling in his insides, and a horrible bitter taste that was the prelude to vomiting every time.

As he tried to raise his hand to his head carefully, slowly as not to make the spinning bed realize he was awake, a hand grasped his own and pulled it back down to his side. That hand swept the numerous strands of hair plastered to his head with his own sweat away from his eyes and the gentle fingers touched his cheek.

"Do that again..."

"What? I didn't quite catch that, sorry."

"What you just did," the Doctor repeated, hoping there was some sort of telepathy he could communicate with so he wouldn't have to open his mouth again. Every time he did so, he risked disgracing himself. "With your hand."

"This?"

The fingers trailed against his cheek again, so beautifully cool and comforting. He sighed in relief and let himself take a few deeper sips of air, wishing the infernal nausea would cease. It had to stop soon, it just had to. There was no possible way this could go on and leave him the same person he was before this nightmare started.

"How did I- How did?"

"How did what happen, Doctor?"

He cracked his eyes open to see Rose's face, her brilliant eyes looking back at him with concern. Her hands had never felt colder, and for that he was glad, because she pressed her palm to his forehead, his pain subsiding a bit. The look he gave her must have said it all, because her mouth formed a small 'o' of understanding and she repositioned herself on the chair she was sitting on beside the bed.

"You had a bit too much to drink last night, Doctor. I don't know if you remember anything-"
The Doctor tried to shake his head but, in doing so, he made himself feel even worse. What was in his head? Rocks?

"Well, it was just the two of us and I mentioned to you it was my birthday a few weeks ago."
"I remember that."

"Okay, then you'll remember the birthday cake?"

Rose's birthday cake. Yes, he remembered; it was a pretty little sugar cake with white frosting he had seen in the bakery last time they had visited her hometown. He had put the small pink and purple roses on it himself and even found a few plain candles to light should she want them.

"We had brought out a bottle of champange and you surprised me with my cake. I blew out the candles, you poured us both a glass, and then we sat back and talked."

"About what?"

"Not important right now," Rose muttered, and the Doctor could swear she was burning up. "What matters is that, after we finished the champange, you brought out the harder stuff."

"Then why aren't you nearly dying alongside me right now if we had that much to drink?"

"Believe me, I'm not feeling well, either, but you had more than I did. Much, much more."

"Agh."

"Yes, indeed."

Rose watched the Doctor squirm in his covers for several moments before he stopped and looked positively green. She gave him the empty bowl, but it didn't stay empty for long. His insides throughly purged, he sat back in the bed, clutching his head. He was feeling a bit better, but only a bit.

"I guess that's the last birthday of mine we are celebrating here on the Tardis, huh?"

"No, Rose, you'll have many more birthdays here," the Doctor mumbled, settling back into the covers and heaving as big of a sigh as he dared. "There just won't be as much alcohol. Whatever pursuaded me to do such a thing? I didn't say anything too embarrassing, right?"

Rose didn't answer, but stood up and, with a final stroke on the Doctor's cheek, announced she was leaving.

"Where are you going?"

"Remember, I'm not feeling well, either."

As she started to leave, the Doctor opened his eyes again and stopped her.

"How do I get the bed to stop spinning?"

After a moment of careful thought, Rose answered, "Put your foot down. It'll anchor you."

"Kender In The Closet" (7/20) & (8/20)

2007-08-13T06:48:43Z

Title: Kender In The Closet (7/20) "Boyfriends, Corn Dogs, and Tinfoil" & (8/20) "A Fight"

Original/FF: Dragonlance

Rating: PG (although the title of Chapter 7 is a little induendo-y)...

Length: Long/Medium

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or grocery list.

Notes: Hehe. I forgot how much fun this was to write. Really. I enjoyed it, even though it's fanfiction and not anything tangible, really... Plus, if you're confused with the names, I don't blame you. See what I said about nicknames? ^_^

“It won't hurt you,” I called out of the car window on the passenger side as Sturm and Caramon both jumped when I started the car. They had just left the house and were eying the automobile with a wary eye when I started the car; I smacked myself in the forehead, a little too hard, I think, because it left a big red mark Tasslehoff commented on later. The kender ran up to the car, a little European sports car I had gotten for my birthday. It was old and falling apart, practically, the model too old to even find replacement parts for without traveling to a large city, but I loved my car, and couldn't believe I was allowing a kender in it.

Tasslehoff figured out how to open the door within seconds and climbed into the passenger seat, bouncing up and down on the cushioned seat, topknot swinging in glee.

“This is fun! This is fun! Come on, Sturm! Come on, Caramon! Let's go!”

Caramon cautiously walked up to the car and opened the door, fumbling with the latch, Strum following suit on the other side.

“How am I supposed to get in here?” Caramon asked, the bulky man trying to get into the car and hitting his head on the top of the door. Sturm slid in and slammed the door after him, making himself even more nervous.

“Buckle up,” I said, putting my own seat belt on. Tasslehoff, watching me, put his own seatbelt on, mimicking me as I made sure the belt wasn't twisted. Caramon couldn't latch his and Strum was muttering under his breath the whole time he tried to buckle himself in, unable to do it himself. Climbing out of his seatbelt, Tasslehoff crept to the back seat and buckled Caramon and Sturm in, climbing back into his seat and wriggling back into the seatbelt. I felt my jaw drop and Tasslehoff, looking at me, just smiled and squirmed happily. I blinked rapidly and, after considering throwing them all out of the car and facing the wrath of my friends, I just put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I drove us to the grocery store. Not the one ten minutes away, I decided after checking how much money I really had to buy food for over fifteen people, but the one a half an hour away, where you could find nearly everything there in bulk for cheap. The ride was pretty much uneventful, besides Sturm muttering in Solamnic under his breath and Caramon whistling.

“You know the really great thing about whistling,” I said under my breath, “Is that you can stop.”

“You know the really great thing about whistling,” I heard Tasslehoff repeat loudly, “Is that you can stop.”

Caramon, hurt, stopped whistling and blushed. I felt so bad and couldn't really yell at the kender for being a kender, so I turned on the radio, causing Sturm to jump for the tenth time that car ride.

Over the radio, I told Tasslehoff to get my pen and notebook from my purse and hand them to Sturm, to give him something to do instead of jump and mumble.

“Sturm, can you make a list of things as I say them, please?” I asked as Tasslehoff tore out a page for himself and grabbed an extra pen before giving the notebook and pen to Sturm.

“Yes, my lady,” the knight said, trying to be chivalrous. “What is it you would like me to write down?”

“Um, soup, for the first item. Eggs. Bread. Canned vegetables. Rice. Potatoes. Coffee.”

“Coffee?”

“Yes, Tasslehoff, coffee. Why?”

“Is that like Tarbean tea?”

I thought back to everything I could remember about the Dragonlance series.

“Um, yes, it is, come to think of it.”

Tasslehoff beamed and continued to scribble on his paper, accidentally ripping through the paper and leaving a big pen mark on my dashboard. I bit my lip to keep myself from saying anything.

“How about corn dogs, Sturm? Can you put them on the list?”

“Corn.. dogs? My lady, did I hear you correctly?”

“Yes.”

Caramon's face grew long.

“You really eat dog? I thought only draconians would eat cur?”

“It's not actual dog, Caramon...”

I decided to keep my mouth shut the rest of the way there and just turned the radio louder, dimming out the noise of Tasslehoff digging though my purse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time we got to the parking lot, Caramon had resumed whistling, Sturm had a whole list of supplies written down, and Tasslehoff had eaten all my breath mints and tried on my lipstick. I parked the car and got out, Tasslehoff following me, demanding he carry my purse. Sturm fell out, literally, and picked himself up, bright red. Caramon forgot about his seat belt and got tangled up, taking the kender and myself to free him from the door.

Upon entering the store, I grabbed a cart and took my purse back from Tasslehoff.

“Sturm, can you hand me that list, please?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Um, you don't have to be that polite to me in public, okay?”

“But why, my lady?”

“Because people in this world don't talk like that.”

“I will try... my lady.”

He had tried, I could see, so I let it go. Let people stare. At least I had a guy who treated me like royalty while all of the other women in the store were complaining about their husband sitting at home and never helping them shop. I took a look at the list and groaned.

“Sturm, what language is this written in?”

“Old Solamnic, my lady.”

“Caramon, can you translate this into something else?” I asked, handing the list to the warrior, who was attracting looks from all the housewives that walked into the store after us.

“What would you like it in?”

“Anything that resembles English.”

“Common, then?”

“Sure, just so I can read it. I have a poor memory for lists and I can't remember what I all told Sturm to write down.”

“Sounds like my old Uncle Trapspringer!” piped in Tasslehoff, who was trying to climb into the cart and failing. “He couldn't remember a spell that would turn a mammoth into-”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I waited there in the doorway of the grocery store, Caramon painstakingly coping the list onto the back of the paper, Sturm standing protectively beside me. I just had to roll my eyes. It didn't even surprise me when Tasslehoff, on the edge of succeeding and climbing into the cart, fell and caused several housewives so say, “Oh, poor thing!” Tasslehoff, enjoying the attention, tried to climb back into the cart, but didn't try as hard as the last time, falling again.

“Where is your mother?” one lady asked Tasslehoff, concerned. Tasslehoff just looked at her with a blank stare.

“Oh, a gifted child!” crooned the old lady, pity and care mingling into that tone I like to call 'the grandma voice.'

“He's my brother,” I said, biting my lip. “He's my little brother.”

“And what is this poor child's name?”

“Tasslehoff, ma'am! Tasslehoff Burrfoot!” replied Tasslehoff for himself.

“That must be, um, German,” the old lady said, doubt passing over her face. “And who would that young man be?” she asked, her eyes falling on Sturm, who, dressed in normal clothes, didn't look that bad.

“I am Sturm-”

“He's my, um, boyfriend,” I blurted out, blushing. I didn't even know where that came from and hoped Sturm didn't know what a boyfriend was.

“Oh, such a long and serious face for such a young man! And what a mustache!”

Sturm, hearing the old lady's compliment on his long mustache, smiled proudly and tweaked the end of it.

“Here you go, one list of supplies,” Caramon announced, handing me the paper and the pen. I tucked the pen behind my ears and said a farewell to the old lady, who was eying Caramon with a look no one likes to see an old lady give to a young man.

CaRaMons liSt of SUPPlieS:

breaded cur

bread

potetatoes

riCe

stew

eggs

veGgetaBles

Tarbean Tea

I rolled my eyes and thanked Caramon for the literal translations. I was grateful, yes, that Common was the same as English, but I had to keep this list as a memory of buying “breaded cur” with Sturm, Caramon, and Tasslehoff, the later of which had succeeded in climbing into the cart, only to want back out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where did that kender go?”

“I'll find him, Lady Chelsea,” Caramon offered. He had found shopping to be extremely boring and I was sure his brother would not appreciate the lack of detail Caramon was picking up. I was glad that he wanted to go and find Tasslehoff, though, because I was already having a hard time shopping with Sturm.

He had taken an extreme interest in food and was surprisingly good at finding deals and specials. We had found packages of Ramen for an insane discount and nearly half the cart was full of Ramen, Sturm looking rather pleased with himself. Tasslehoff had been annoying the knight to the point that the knight was about to make a scene in reprimanding the kender, so it was better Caramon was off looking for him. I almost had threatened the kender with having to sit in the car until we were done, but I thought before I spoke. The kender would probably have destroyed the car by the time I got back and escaped from the vehicle anyway, causing a commotion in the parking lot.

“Hey, Sturm, I found the corn dogs.”

Sturm wrinkled his nose. I explained to him that they were not actual dogs, but I knew that he wouldn't touch them after knowing what they were called. I left the cart with him and walked to the freezer, leaning over to grab a box of them.

“Hey, baby,” muttered a store worker, a pimply faced boy who couldn't have been more than my age. He smirked at me and winked. “What do you say you and-”

He never got to finish the sentence, for Sturm picked him up by the back of his blue smock and held him about a half a foot off the ground. Reaching for his sword and finding it missing, Strum grabbed a long loaf of stiff, uncut bread and brandished it in the boy's face.

“Apologize to the lady at once, gully dwarf!”

“What did he just call me?” squeaked the boy, frightened.

“Sturm, put him down!”

“But, Lady Chelsea, he insulted your honor!”

“Sturm! Please, just do it!”

The knight put the boy on the ground and muttered, “Not a word to your superior, scum! I can-”

“I believe you, I'm sorry!”

The boy nearly groveled at Sturm's feet before turning to me.

“Your boyfriend is strong! I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything!”

The kid ran off and I was left with Sturm and the cart, my face red. I realized I still held the box of corn dogs and I tossed them in the cart, disgusted. I wasn't sure if I was going to eat any corn dogs, either.

“Lady Chelsea, you must explain to me what a boyfriend is. I have heard that term today enough times that my curiosity has gotten the best of me.”

“I'll explain it later, Sturm.”

“Be this the bread you seek?”

“Sure, put it in the cart.”

Caramon walked up to us, carrying Tasslehoff, who had covered himself in tinfoil.

“Um, I think we need to go,” I said, hoping to escape the store before I found out what else Tasslehoff had done.

That was enough grocery shopping for one day.

Next Chapter...

“Hey, you're back!” Jessica cried, hugging me as I came in through the door with bags of groceries. “Hey, everyone, Chelsea's back!”

“Yah!” called Alicia unenthusiastically from the kitchen, where she was cleaning with Tika and Goldmoon. “What did you all bring?”

“What did they all do?” asked Jessica, eager for details. I rolled my eyes as I set my bags of groceries on the counter and leaned against it, sighing.

“Well, for one, you should see the pen mark on my dash. Second of all, there was an old lady who thought Tasslehoff was a gifted child, and third of all, everyone apparently thought Sturm was my boyfriend or something.”

Jessica laughed, her eyes wide, her body doubled over, smacking the end of the color guard pole on the floor.

“Him!” she cried, “Really? Him? Mr. Lady Chelsea?”

“Shut up!”

“Or what?”

“I'll make you help me bring in groceries.”

Jessica glowered at me and I sneered back her. Alicia, who walked by to open up the door for the warriors coming up the steps, told us to knock it off or she'd smack us both with a dish towel.

Sturm strode into the house, carrying almost all the bags, Caramon following with the rest. Alicia let the door slam behind Caramon and found Jessica and I still squaring off.

“Knock it off!” Alicia demanded, brandishing the dishtowel afore mentioned and whacked me in the face with it, causing Jessica to laugh. Sturm, practically dropping the bags on the floor (I winced as I thought I heard glass breaking or eggs cracking), jumped to my rescue, shielding me from Alicia and Jessica.

“Do not touch her. I am her- What is that term I heard today?”

“No, don't say it!” I cried, trying to cover Sturm's mouth, but I was too late.

“Her boyfriend!” Sturm finished proudly. Alicia keeled over laughing, giggling so hard that she was crying. Jessica didn't think it was that funny, however, because she and I were still fighting. She took a step toward me and Sturm looked down his nose at her, causing Jess to take a step back.

“Watch it, Keira,” I said softly. “I've had a tough day and it's hardly noon. I am not going to fight with you because of something stupid. Now you can either get over it or leave me alone.”

Keira was slightly taken aback. For me to use her real name was exceptionally rare.

“Fine, I'll get over it,” she said smugly, “But you have to realize that you can't always be so serious all the time. You have to relax and understand that you need to take a joke!”

“Take a joke?” I answered, amazed. “I can't very well take a joke when I almost had to pay as much in groceries as what the kender broke in the store itself. Thank goodness we were able to keep the dry things he broke the packaging on! I don't know what to do with a ten pound box of pancake batter, but if you do, then let me know! You didn't have to deal with this one being over protective or that one running around and knocking things over while trying to catch the kender. You didn't have to try to explain why your 'little brother' was wrapping himself in tinfoil!”

Almost on cue, Tasslehoff burst through the door, still dressed in his suit of foil, carrying my purse with one hand, trying to scrape gum from his other hand on his pant leg.

“Chelsea,” he whined, “Can you help me? I seem to be stuck.”

It would have been funny if we had not been fighting.

“Chelsea,” Keira said, unwilling to back down, “I am just sick of it! Okay, you are stuck up and a snob! You can't stand to laugh, not once!”

“Keira,” I replied, “I'm not going to go as far as to call you names. That's just too low, considering I'm a snob, apparently!”

“That cheerleading attitude! That marching band attitude!”

“That color guard attitude!”

With that, Sturm picked Keira up and carried her down the hall, all of her, Keira screeching all the while, whacking the knight with her color guard pole as he opened the door the the bathroom and put her down, shutting the door behind her. The dogs escaped from the bathroom, where Alicia had obviously put them, the three dogs running around the house.

“Chelsea,” asked Tika as she and Goldmoon were putting away the groceries, “What is a cheerleader?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay, Chels, time to turn off the music,” Alicia said as she walked into my room, hand reaching for the stereo controls.

“No!” I cried, letting the desperation to hear the final movement of the drum corps get a hold of me before I realized it. Alicia raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, down then.”

Alicia turned the volume down and I leaned back against the bed with a sigh as she joined me.

“To be honest,” I said, “I don't really want to see you.”

“To be honest,” she replied, “I don't really want to see you, either, but we have guests and we all need to get along. We still have about twelve more days of this and I'm not spending twelve days listening to you and Keira complain.”

“Yeah, I suppose. But she had no right to start teasing me and acting obnoxious.”

“I agree. But you had more power than to snap back and let it get under your skin. You're so sensitive. That's not a bad thing, in some cases, but it's not a good thing in others.”

“And this all comes to:” I let the sentence hang in the air.

“This all comes to Jess acting normal and putting the color guard pole away and you loosening up a bit. I know how hard that must have been today to shop, especially since you're not used to it, and it doesn't help that the people you were shopping with were from another world...”

Alicia and I had to laugh.

“What are the dogs doing?”

“Good question. I know that Flint and Oz had kicked it off, and Riley and Tanis seem to be good companions, but I don't know where Brody is. Or that fat cat of yours.”

“I know the fat cat is under the bed. That's where she always is if she isn't sleeping on me. Where is Keira? Hopefully not planning to poison me along with Raistlin, huh?”

“She's outside right now,” Alicia answered. “Doing drop spins and all that other good stuff. It's nice that she can go out there and twirl and spin and whack a few things.”

“Whack what things?” I asked, panicking slightly.

“Oh, the bushes will be fine. You can't really tell Jess went after them.”

“And Kim? Where is Anna?”

“About that,” Alicia said, biting her lip.

“What?” I asked slowly, trying to pry it out of Alicia.

“Dalamar swept her off her feet, basically. They are as happy as ever together. Last time I checked, they were watching TV together, just sitting there together, peaceful.”

“As long as they just watch TV, I guess it's okay.”

Alicia and I both shuddered slightly before laughing.

“Let's go make dinner.”

“I'll call Jess in.”

“I'll get Kim!”

"Kender In The Closet" (5/20) & (6/20)

2007-08-13T06:36:45Z

Title: Kender In The Closet (5/20) "Dinner Time Arguments" & (6/20) "Shopping and Other Bad Ideas"

Original/FF: Dragonlance

Rating: PG, mostly...

Length: Medium/Medium

Disclaimer: As you can tell, I don't own the characters. They just visited this story for a bit...

Notes: Um... I realize now how much fun I had writing all this, but how insane I really am. Thank goodness this was written awhile ago, though...

“Alicia, why didn't you-”

“I didn't know!”

“Yes, you did!”

“Well, yeah, I did, but I forgot!”

Kim and Alicia stood in the hallway, a shouting match well underway. Kim was upset that Alicia had not attempted to clear the rumors on how long Kim had gone missing earlier that day and Alicia was mad that Kim was mad at her.

“Hey, you two, knock it off, we have guests!”

Jessica brandished her color guard pole and Kim jumped, Alicia blinking rapidly.

“Oh, for the love of Allegro! Give me that!”

I grabbed the pole and started a tug of war with Jessica, attempting to take away the color guard weapon for good. After a few moments of realizing how stupid this was, I let go and threw my hands up, Jessica landing on her rear. Furious, Jess unleashed a torrent of swearwords, causing Sturm to peek out of the kitchen.

“Now, ladies who have any-”

“Shut it, tin can!”

Sturm looked indignant and confused at the same time as he shook his head and went back to the kitchen, resuming the job of pulling out all the pots and pans and organizing the silverware into piles, depending on their pattern. I walked into the kitchen, stooping and picking up the pole before Jessica could, Kim helping Jessica to her feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Preparing for a meal.”

“How?”

“I find it difficult, considering the advancements of meal preparation in-”

“Just, don't do anything, okay? I promise, I'll make dinner in a half an hour,” I promised the knight, who nodded and started to put the silverware back where it belonged. “Alicia, can you look in the fridge for me and see what we have? Maybe you can help me cook for eleven or twelve people?”

“Not including us?”

“Okay, fourteen or fifteen people?”

“We could order in?” suggested Jessica from the living room.

“Do you know how much that costs? I don't have that sort of money for just one meal! Plus, we live in the country, not in town, so it would be even more for delivery. And-”

“Okay, I get it, my idea's suck. Just paste a big L on my head and get it over with.”

“Jessica, don't act like that!”

“Can and will!”

I sighed as Alicia shook her head, backing out of the fridge and shutting the door.

“What's the status, Alish?”

“Not enough of any one thing in here for dinner. I see two cartons of eggs and a loaf of bread, but that is for breakfast, I think. How about in the cupboard?”

I rummaged through the boxes and cans and bags before emerging with a very small package. The we looked at one another in triumph.

“How many packages of Ramen do you have?”

“Um, about twelve... I guess there was some sort of special...”

“Okay, well, one package makes about two servings, so that makes-”

“Twenty four servings,” called out Kim from the hallway.

“Hey, Kibbie, where are you going? Get back here!” shouted Alicia. A snort was the only answer and Alicia shook her head.

“I didn't remember that she had gone to your parent's bedroom, looking for more blankets. She told me where she was, but I forgot,” explained Alicia, blushing. “She was upset that you all thought she had been in there for hours with that dark guy-”

“Dalamar,” I supplied.

“Yeah, him... Anyway, she doesn't like that and she must have only been in there for a little while. I-”

“Alicia, if you feel so bad about it, why don't you go and apologize to Kim? I know she wasn't in there very long and you know Jess; Jessica will tease, but she really doesn't mean any harm. You should tell Kim you're sorry.”

Alicia nodded and started to leave the kitchen.

“Wait,” I called after her. “You can go apologize after you help me make Ramen for everyone. Can you find enough bowls?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Delicious!” cried Caramon, sitting on the floor, empty bowl in hand. “There, uh, wouldn't happen to be anymore?”

“Of course not, you oaf!” snapped Raistlin, glaring at his brother, who shrunk under the golden gaze. “Between all of us and all of them, there is going to be no food left! None of them look like they know how to hunt, anyway. We will all be living on weeds from the garden in the back by the time we figure out how to get home!”

“I don't think it'll be that bad,” Alicia said, collecting the empty bowls from around the room. “Besides, there is no garden in the back; it's just a patch of weeds.”

“And it's true, we don't hunt,” I added, “But, we don't have to hunt. We get meat from stores that are already for us to cook.”

“A butcher?” asked Sturm, clicking his spoon against his armored knee. Alicia snatched the spoon away as she took his bowl.

“That's really annoying!”

“My apologies.”

Alicia blushed a little at being treated so formal and considered giving the spoon back, but Jessica took it from Alicia's hand and tossed in her bowl before handing it to Alicia, shaking her head.

“Well, sort of. It's called a grocery store.”

“So, you can't hunt?” Tanis asked, frowning.

“Not legally this time of the year. In the fall, then my father usually goes hunting, but the DNR will catch you if you shoot something illegally,” I explained, wishing Flint would stop shaking his head as he gazed at the deer head that hung over the banister on the living room wall. I already didn't like the dead fish, but the deer head was worse.

“D-N-R?” asked Tanis, trying to understand.

“The people who come for you with the big butterfly nets and catch you!” supplied Jessica proudly.

“No, that's not them, Jess. They're probably going to come for you in a second, though,” Kim said sarcastically, carrying a bowl of soup down the hallway.

“No!” I cried, jumping up. “No, Dalamar has to eat out here if he eats at all. No food in the bedrooms!”

“But, he-”

“No, tell him he either eats out here or he doesn't eat at all!”

Kim disappeared for a moment and then came back, placing the soup on the ledge where the plants sat.

“He demands to talk to his shalafi, whatever that is.”

Raistlin shook his head vehemently, starting to wheeze.

“Wench, tell him I shall not attend to his trivial problems with following the rules of the witch when there are bigger problems to waste energy on.”

“You know, that wasn't very polite,” Alicia called from the kitchen, where Tika was helping her wash dishes. “Kibbie isn't a wench and Chelsea isn't a witch. You are just not very nice.”

“It is not in his nature to be polite,” explained Riverwind bitterly, the first words he had spoken.

Kim shook her head and took the soup again, walking into the room. There was a few moments of silence and then a dull thump and a splash of liquid, followed by a slap in the face. The door slammed and Kim came down the hallway, furious.

“He smacked the bowl from my hands and I slapped him!” explained Kim, covered in broth and noodles. Tasslehoff began to laugh at the sight, until he choked on a noodle and had to be slapped on the back by his dwarven friend, spilling Tasslehoff's soup on the floor as well. I groaned at the thought of soup stains on the carpets, but stood and picked a noodle from Kim's hair.

“Go take a shower, okay? You don't have to do anything else tonight,” Jessica said softly.

“Good, because that's all I was planning on doing!” she screeched, flouncing down the stairs, spraying bits of Ramen in her wake. I rolled my eyes. Poor Kim, but there was so much mess from just one meal.

“Hey, he did what to Kim?” snapped Alicia, wiping her hands on the dishtowel before tossing it on her shoulder, putting her hands on her hips.

“He, um, splashed soup on her.”

“That's it,” Alicia yelled, throwing the towel on the floor by her feet before marching off down the hallway. “I'm going to pull him out here by his pointy ears and make him apologize!”

“Alicia, don't!”

There was the sound of a door opening and the rattling of picture frames as Alicia was blasted backwards, landing on the floor on her rear. Jess and I ran to the hallway, finding Alicia like that before she stood up, dusted herself off, and entered the room again. There were raised voices and, after a minute, Alicia shut the door behind her, smiling.

“What did you do?” Jessica and I asked at the same time.

“Gave him a bit of my mind,” said Alicia smugly. “Now, who is going to help me put away the dishes?”

Next Chapter...

That first night was uneventful, thank goodness. That night, everyone slept where they were supposed to and, although I could hear Raistlin upstairs in my sister's room, chanting out of a spell book half the night, everything was quiet. Jessica and Alicia, who had claimed my bed, were fighting for covers in their sleep, tugging and pulling until I thought they might rip the blankets in half. Kim, who still smelled like soup, despite having taken a shower, slept in her own nest she had made in the corner, the pets around her. Jess had brought her dog, Riley, Alicia had brought her dog, Ozwald, and I had my own dog, Brody.

The pets had not met the new visitors and we were not going to let them meet the characters, as best as we could help it. The dogs were usually running around the house, but now they were confined to various rooms, taken out a few times a day and fed together twice a day. That was the plan, at least, I contemplated in the night, furrowing my eyebrows. Sooner or later, one of them was going to let the dogs out (probably Alicia, I thought with a smile) and the dogs would either accept the visitors or not. Oz was the only one who had ever met characters from another world, becoming friends with the dwarf, Gimli, when elves had appeared in Alicia's shower.

The cat came and curled up on my stomach and I pushed her off; she was overweight and had claws. She came up to me and bit my elbow before waddling away. I sighed and rolled over. I needed to get some sleep. And now that I didn't have to worry about Kim sneaking off, I could sleep without worry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We need to go shopping,” Alicia whispered to me as we stood in the kitchen, washing dishes after breakfast. Breakfast had consisted of the eggs and bread Alicia had found in the fridge the previous day and were long gone hardly five minutes after the four girls had cooked breakfast.

“I know, but why are we whispering?”

“Because sometimes it's fun to whisper.”

“Oh,” I said, a little baffled. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

“It's your house and your money-”

“Oh, no! You are going shopping, Alish. I'm not good at it! I can't find the right things to make a meal, much less a meal for fifteen people!”

“Hey, I went shopping when the elves came and it was my house. Now, there are things here-”

“Kender, Alicia,” I said, exasperated.

“Kender are here,” she continued, “And it's your house. I think you do the shopping.”

“Jess, Kim, can you come here a minute?” I called into the living room, where Jessica and Kibbie sat with the characters, trying to explain the concept of a radio. They came into the kitchen and stood expectantly, color guard pole in Jess's hand, like usual.

“We need to go grocery shopping and-”

“Not me!”

Jess shook her head as Kim threw her hands up.

“Not me!” said Alicia, a few moments late, blinking a few times. I sighed.

“So, I'm going grocery shopping later?” I asked.

“Sooner than later, because lunch is coming up and there is no more soup,” said Alicia, Kim's face turning bright red at the mention of soup.

“Fine, but don't let the dogs out,” I said, grabbing my purse and keys from the table. “Keep an eye on all of them, and I'll be back with...”

“You're taking at least one of them!” exclaimed Kim, her voice shrill. “Take the dark elf! Take him! Take him away and leave him there!”

We all looked at her for a moment before Kimmie regained her dignity and the silence was broken.

“Okay, so I have to take one of them? Which one?” I asked, looking around the living room. The characters, at Kimmie's screeching, had looked up at us, and I felt myself squirming under all the pairs of eyes looking back.

“No, not just one, but two. How about two, since there are more of them than last time?”

I gave Alicia a Look and Alicia blinked.

“It only makes sense,” she said, shrugging.

“Two of them. Who can come, is the question?” I said. “I can't bring the dwarf, I can't bring the kender, I-”

“Yes you can,” said Jess, Alicia, and Kim at the same time, nodding their head.

“He's the worst! Can you imagine how a kender would act at a grocery store?”

“But, you can handle him! Pretend he's like a little brother!”

“He has no regular clothes!”

“Tell anyone who asks that he was just in a play or that he is dressing up or something. He could pass for a kindergarten student!”

I gave Kim a Look and Kimmie smiled. I gave up.

“Okay, the kender comes... I've gotta be crazy to allow this. Who else?”

“I believe I could be of some assistance,” said the knight, standing up with a clink of armor. “If my lady needs my help, I shall escort her to wherever she needs be.”

“You're going!” said Kim, making the decision for me.

“My lady?” asked Jessica, sniggering. “Haha, Chelsea, you're his lady!”

I gave Jessica a Look and Jess gave me a Look back.

“Okay, fine, get dressed in some old clothes, then. You're not going in armor. Kim, can you show him to my parent's room so he can get some clothes?”

Kim shook her head and turned red with anger. Remembering the soup fiasco, I agreed that it wasn't the best choice.

“Then take him to the laundry room. I think there are some of my father's clothes in there.”

Kim and Sturm went down the steps, his armor clinking all the way.

“That's it!” I exclaimed. “No one else is going! That is way too many people as it is and I only have two of them coming with me!”

“Lady Chelsea,” said Caramon, Raistlin whispering in his ear. “My brother is interested in learning more about this world and he was wondering ifhe could come with you.”

“You were wondering if you could go, not me, you oaf!” snapped Raistlin.

“Oh, yeah, I was wondering if I could go, not Raist.”

I sighed. Between the obnoxious kender and the jumpy knight, having Caramon along might not be the worst idea.

“Follow Sturm and get some clothes,” I said, sighing. “I'll be in the car, waiting, and no one else is coming!”

“We'll take good care of everything,” said Alicia, a smile on her face.

“The house had better be in one piece when I get back,” I answered. “That includes no scorch marks! Don't touch anything and don't let anyone else touch anything! I'll have my cellphone on! If someone even sneezes, let me know!”

I walked out the door and to the car, wondering how stupid I was to be doing this: leaving my three friends in charge of the house. I wasn't even worried about the kender and the two warriors anymore. I was leaving everything in their hands.

I shook my head and sighed. I was really losing my mind.

"Kender In The Closet" (3/20) & (4/20)

2007-08-13T06:28:03Z

Title: Kender In The Closet (3/20) "Taking Inventory" & (4/20) "Sleeping Arrangements"

Original/FF: Dragonlance

Rating: Pretty much PG

Length: Short/Medium

Disclaimer: As you can tell, everything is mine but the characters.

Notes: This story is actually dedicated to liquidwind, the "true Kibby." I started this story with her in mind and she took to it like white on rice, I think, so I wanted to officially announce that. *hugs* I find it fun that she doesn't mind what I do with her character; I don't know what I would think if our positions were reversed.

“So, let me get this straight,” Alicia said as we all gathered in the living room, everyone finally rounded up. Jessica and Kim sat together in a chair, Kim glancing at the dark elf whenever she thought I wasn't looking, Jessica clenching her color guard pole so hard her knuckles were turning white, terrified. Alicia was lounging on the floor beside the chair and I paced the length of the living room, thinking about what to do with our new visitors. “There was an elf in the shower:”

“Lauranalanthalasa,” I said, everyone in the room looking at me. “Laurana for short,” I added, resuming my pacing. “Who else?”

“Two plainsmen in the bathroom,” continued Alicia, ticking each one off on her fingers.

“Goldmoon and Riverwind,” I said, glancing at the rest of the living room. Laurana and Goldmoon and Riverwind all sat on the couch, looking concerned.

“A half elf and a warrior woman in my bedroom,” I commented, Alicia counting on her fingers still. “Tanis and Tika.”

“A dark elf in the bedroom,” said Kimmie dreamily, a smile floating across her face. Alicia grabbed the end of the color guard pole and cleverly whacked Kim in the head, Kim giving Alicia a dirty look and nudging her with her toe.

“Dalamar, at your service, my lady,” he sweetly replied, the elf standing in a shadowed corner. Kimmie nearly swooned with delight and this time even Jessica wanted to hit her with the pole.

“Don't forget the knight in the pantry,” I mentioned, gesturing over to Sturm, who tried to keep as much dignity as possible while covered in wood splinters. In a fit of fear, Jessica had given him a good whap with the pole and he had listened to Tanis when the half elf told him not to hit back. “I am sure there will be no more accidents with Sturm.”

“A wizard and a warrior in the other bedroom,” I said, looking to Kimmie for confirmation. There was no response from Kim, however, for she and Dalamar were exchanging looks that could rot teeth, they were so sweet and sappy. I snapped my fingers under her nose. “Earth to Kim! Right?”

“Oh, yeah, sure... whatever you say...” she replied, never looking at me. I shrugged and went back to pacing.

“They would happen to be Raistlin and Caramon, twin brothers,” I said, looking at where Raistlin sat on the floor, his brother standing protectively over him.

“You witch,” the mage hissed. “How have you come to know our names? How did you transport us here? We are supposed to be in a battle, girl, not sitting in a cramped room on a floor!”

“She isn't a witch,” Alicia said, defending me. I smiled but was a little concerned when Jessica, who had regained use of her muscles after being petrified in fear, looked at Alicia in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me? She is too a witch. She can tell when the telephone rings and-”

“Tela... pone?” asked Caramon. “What might I ask-”

“It's... too much to explain right now,” I said, giving him an apologetic look. “I wouldn't like to be called a witch though, Jess.”

“You are.”

“Well, I'll call you a slob until you stop calling me a witch...”

Alicia rolled her eyes. Jessica and I were notorious for fighting at least a handful of times a week and she usually was the one to break it up.

“I'm going to call you both something that rhymes with witch in a second if you don't shut up,” Alicia warned. I slapped my hand to my face, covering my eyes. This was a great way to behave in front of guests, half of them who were armed, all of them confused.

“Anyway,” I continued, sighing, “We found the dwarf in the garage and the kender in the closet. Flint and Tasslehoff.”

Tasslehoff took a bow, his long topknot flipping over to smack his nose. Flint just grunted and refused eye contact with me. Great, I thought, the title of witch has stuck. We had indeed found Flint in the garage, hearing the dwarf's battle cries as he attacked the all terrain vehicle my father kept in the garage, his pride and joy of all the motor vehicles he owned. There was a large dent in the side of it and I made a metal note to make up a story about how it came about. If I told my dad a disgruntled and confused dwarf hit it with the blunt end of his battle ax, I would probably be grounded for lipping off.

“But, Tas, you said that Kitiara was here?”

Laurana bristled at the sound of the name and Tanis blushed, looking very uncomfortable at the moment.

“I didn't know. She must not have made the trip,” answered the kender, shrugging.

“How did you guys get here?” Alicia asked, frowning.

“If only we knew,” grunted Caramon, becoming more and more at ease as he realized, unlike his brother and the dwarf, that he wasn't dealing with a witch and her three friends.

“It was the spoon-” began Tasslehoff until Goldmoon cut him off gently.

“Tasslehoff, I don't think that it was the Kender Spoon of-”

“But it was, it was!” continued the kender, convinced.

Alicia gave me a look and I responded by raising my eyebrows. Whatever. All that mattered was that they had arrived in my house with my three friends and I had a problem: Jessica was too scared to let go of her color guard pole and was probably going to sleep with the thing in her hand, Kimmie was madly in love with a dark elf and he seemed to be getting along with her very well already, and there were characters from the Dragonlance series sitting in the middle of my living room and I had no clue how to send them back.

Exactly how every girl wants to spend her vacation.

Next Chapter...

“Tanis, you and the dwarf and the kender are going to sleep in the living room, along with Laurana, who gets the couch, and Tika, who gets the recliner.”

Alicia threw a handful of blankets and Tanis caught them, dispersing them to the other characters who I had just told were sleeping in the living room. We had at least gotten through to Tanis that we were not witches and didn't voluntarily bring them here. Tanis had realized, partly though his own unhindered common sense, that we were not going to hurt them.

“Sturm, you will have to sleep in the kitchen. Sorry.”

“And where be a bed?”

I looked at Alicia, worried. After a moment, Alicia went to the table, cleared the centerpiece, and pointed.

“Here,” she said.

“But that be a table.”

“Aye,” she responded, more of a pirate accent than anything else. “That be a table. But, now it be your, um, bed, so get comfy.”

I smiled as Sturm nodded, walking to the table and inspecting it.

“Caramon and Raistlin, you are going to sleep in my sister's room, I suppose, since that's where you ended up and you seem to like the company.”

“Bunny?” asked Caramon as I tossed him a blanket.

“Yes, a bunny,” I replied, nodding my head. Raistlin shot me another venomous glance before following his brother. Alicia glared and meant to go after the mage and his brother, but Jessica put out her color guard pole, blocking her path, shaking her head.

“Alicia,” she hissed. “Do you know what they can do to you? The big one can slice you in half while the other one-”

“Both of you, quiet,” I said, sick of it. Alicia had to know that stalking off after an cranky wizard and his behemoth brother was just not a good idea and Jessica had to know that her color guard pole was going to be stolen sooner or later, either by one of 'us,' as we had all taken to calling ourselves, or one of 'them.'

“Goldmoon and Riverwind, you two get the sleeper sofa downstairs. Here are some blankets. You'll find the pillows downstairs already.”

The plainsman glared as the plainswoman smiled and took the blankets from me, muttering what I guessed was a thank you. It was in her native tongue and Alicia's eyes grew wide. Great, I thought. If Kimmie were here, she and Alicia would go and beg all the characters to teach them each language and, knowing Kim, she would become proficient in every single language before I could even- Wait, where was Kim?

“Hey, Jess, seen Kim anywhere?” I asked, looking around the room as if I expected her to jump out of a corner and glomp me.

“Um, no... But where is that guy with the long hair and the robes. I want to find out where he is,” Jessica said, lowering the color guard pole, the look in her eyes that we had seen all too often when it came to boys.

“Oh, boy...” I muttered. “Um, who do we have left? Just that elf? Alicia, can you check downstairs? Jess, go and search anywhere else. I'm going to check my parent's room to see if we have anymore blankets. I've already given them mine.”

I walked down the hallway, hearing whispered voices coming from my sister's room, no doubt Raist planning to take control of the situation and-

My thoughts were cut short as I opened the door. I found Kimmie and Dalamar at the same time, getting to know one another rather well.

“Kim!” I shouted, disgusted. Kim struggled to turn and look at me, Dalamar disappearing into thin air. “No making out with elves on my parent's bed!”

“Sorry, won't happen again,” giggled Kim, unable to control herself.

“He's still here, isn't he?”

“Yes.”

“You get to come with me, after telling him that he can stay in here as long as he doesn't break anything. I'm coming back to get the jewelry.”

Kim nodded and I grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the room, her tousled hair flying out behind her as the door swung shut on the elf.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, our Kibbie is a little-”

“A little what?” Kim challenged, half serious, half amused. Alicia doubted whether she could finish that sentence and risk getting hit. Deciding against it, Alicia just smiled as Jessica finished the sentence. Kim smacked her lovingly in the head and Jess clonked Kibbie in the shoulder. The knight just looked over at them with a bemused look.

“Ye are not but young ladies and yet ye fight with all the strength you have,” Strum commented, digging through the pots and pans in the cupboard. The three girls just looked at one another with a smile.

“You should see Chelsea and Jessica go at it!” exclaimed Alicia, enthusiastic. “I play with swords! My father collects them!”

“Swords are not to be played with like a children's contraption,” said Tanis gently, reprimanding Alicia. “If your sire collects swords, surely he is a great swordsman?”

“Nope.”

Tanis's face fell a little.

“Oh, then ye yourself must be proficient in the art?”

“Nope.”

Sturm's face followed in the same direction Tanis's face had gone and the two looked at one another, the glance exchanged a glance of confusion and anxiety.

Alicia just smiled that sunny smile she always wore when she was a bit confused herself.

“Kim is the peacemaker. All the time, she is breaking up fights between me and Chelsea. Alicia carries out the threats Kibbie doles out, so we know that we have to kiss and make up.”

“Who has to kiss?” asked Tasslehoff, slightly interested. Tika smacked him gently on the back of the head and pulled his topknot. Tasslehoff pretended to lose interest in the conversation.

“Chelsea is the drama queen, though,” Jessica continued, rolling her eyes. “All the time, she is-”

“Jess, you forget that your best friends know you better than you know yourself sometimes. There is only one drama queen at this table and I'm looking at her.”

Alicia crossed her arms, defiant, the smile wiped off her face. Jessica rolled her eyes again.

“Fine, she isn't that bad, but she is very melodramatic. Where is Chelsea, anyway?”

“I think she said something about going to our room for a little while,” Kibbie said, shrugging. Realizing her chance to sneak off to the 'forbidden bedroom' and visit the only person who wasn't sitting in the living room or at the kitchen table/Sturm's bed, Kim stood and crept out of the room. Jessica saw this and hit her leg with the color guard pole.

“No, naughty Kimmie. Come sit back down.”

Kim obeyed, slumping.

“I'm going to go find Chelsea,” Alicia said, getting up from the table and tripping over the kender, crashing into the staircase railing. She toppled a few steps before catching herself.

“Alish? Are you okay?” cried Jessica, jumping to Alicia's side. Kimmie, assured Alicia wasn't hurt, crept off again, earning a raised eyebrow from the dwarf.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soprano trumpets rang out, snares clashing, a whole brass and percussion group blasting from the speakers of the stereo inmy room. I sighed in happiness. Professional drum and bugle bands always made me happy.

“Chelsea, are you somewhere in that noise?” asked Alicia as she walked into the room, finding me sitting back on my bed, my back against the wall, eyes shut in bliss.

“Yeah, I'm here.”

“Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, I just want to chill for a little while. I don't know, we've done this how many times, Alicia?”

“This will be our third time playing host to characters, Chels.”

“You are one of the only ones who can get away with calling me Chels.”

“I know.”

Alicia sat down next to me and, opening my eyes a bit, I saw Alicia smile the happy smile I loved. I smiled, too.

“Well, judging by all the people in the house, we need to do a few things. Hide the technology and, if it can't be moved, take away anything that controls it. If it has no remote, make up an awful story about it's dangerousness. No, don't. The knight will probably bash the television in if you told him it harbored a dragon or something. I need to go grocery shopping with some of the money my parents left, something that everyone will eat, but that doesn't cost much. Then-”

“Chelsea, don't freak out, okay?”

“How can't I not freak, Alicia?” I asked, the smile widening. “Kimmie has placed herself in the infatuation of an evil elf, Jessica has taken to wielding the color guard pole at her own shadow and you, well, I heard you fall down the stairs and it's just day one for us. I think I need a good freak out, but I might as well freak out and do something useful.”

“To be fair, I tripped over the, whatever it's name is, the first thing we found.”

“The kender?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Okay.”

“Are you going to be alright, though?”

“As long as I have my music, I'll be great!”

The trumpets almost, but not quite, blocked out the sound of crashing pots and pans.

“Sounds like Sturm is in the kitchen.”

"Kender In The Closet" (1/20) & (2/20)

2007-08-13T06:19:42Z

Title: Kender In The Closet (1/20) "Kender Attack!" & (2/20) "Finding Who Decided To Visit"

Original/FF: Dragonlance

Rating: PG, pretty much...

Length: Short/Short

Disclaimer: I own nothing from the world of Dragonlance.

Notes: Okay, this demands some attention here... Very long ago, my friends and I thought this sort of thing was funny. After I wrote "Elves In The Shower" in '04, the four of us (you'll meet "us" in this story) decided we were going to each pick a genre of story and add to the collection. Well, one of them let the plot bunnies attack her brain and she never really wrote anything but a few ideas (understandable), one of them showed no interest or available time (very understandable), and the other one actually wrote a story "Pirates In The Pantry" and was going to start work on "Bohemians In The Basement," but things sort of 'happened.' Now, since things have 'happened' and all the girls in this story are either working hard to get degrees in various fields or living life to the fullest (or both), I am pulling claims on the collection (except the completed "Pirates In The Pantry").

I should mention all names have been changed to protect the actual people in this story. There is no identifying information (in the exception of certian nicknames certian "characters" use online. That is their own issue to deal with should such issue arise). This story first debuted online in Early 2006.

I should also mention that, although this story was a big success in the genre, there is a community here on LiveJournal that has taken it upon itself to tear apart Dragonlance Fanfiction. Once I find the community, I'll let you know so you can go there, laugh, and then come back and read some more.

Enjoy!

We thought it was going to be a normal weekend. Honestly, all we wanted was some sleep, some food, and some fun. We had two weeks to ourself, the four of us lounging at my house. Our parents were either out of town on business, vacation, or a wedding (as in my case), and we were allowed to all stay at my house. None of us wanted to be alone for two whole weeks and thus, bags were packed, suitcases were dropped down steps, pets were boarded or brought to my house, and my three best friends ended up as my house mates. What more could we want? It was the summer between our junior and senior years of high school, our last summer before we graduated. Marching season was well underway and all four of us were as happy as could be.

As happy as we could be until it happened. Again.

For the past few years, we had had the unfortunate luck to be visited by characters from our favorite books and movies. We didn't know what it was or what caused it or what we could do to stop it, but so far, the four of us had been visited by Jack Sparrow, Frodo, Will Turner, Legolas, Elizabeth Swann, Elrond, and a handful of others who had touched our lives. No one believed us, and so we stopped telling them, keeping our little secret to ourselves. What made us think that this summer would be different?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jessica groaned as Alicia sat up in the bed and nearly fell out, rubbing her eyes. Taking a pillow, she hit me in the shoulder, mumbling something under her breath. Checking the alarm clock, I realized it was five in the morning. I had to get up to feed the animals in another hour and, angry at being woken up, I grabbed the pillow from Alicia and smacked her with it.

“What'd ya want?”

“I heard something.”

“No you didn't,” Jessica muttered, a snore coming from Kim on the opposite end of the room. “Alicia, just go back to bed, please?”

“I heard something. Chelsea, remember that-”

Instantly, I sat up. No, it couldn't be happening. Not again. We had already been through elves, hobbits, pirates, and more. We didn't need anyone else to surprise us with a visit, not when the first night of our two week vacation had gone so well.

“Chelsea, can you check with me?”

“Alicia, really, this is insane! Just go back to sleep. You probably heard one of the dogs upstairs. Brody and Ozwald are probably growling.”

“No, this isn't a growl.”

“Then what was it?”

“A giggle.”

Jessica struggled to sit up in the bed, rubbing her eyes.

“A giggle?”

“Yes, a giggle,” Alicia answered, grabbing her stuffed moose from her suitcase near the bed and getting out from under the covers. Her orange monkey pajamas were almost glow in the dark, the faint light of the sun coming up over the trees coming in through the window to shine dimly on Alicia's pants. As Alicia managed to trip over her own suitcase, I got up and caught her arm, rolling my eyes as I untangled myself from my own blankets on the floor. Jess and Alicia had gotten the bed, Kim had gotten the couch, I had gotten the floor, being the hostess.

“You actually brought that thing?”

“Yes. You never know-”

“-when you are going to need a stuffed moose to battle the imaginary giggle in the hallway closet?” finished Jessica, groaning at being woken up so early. “Alicia, there-”

That time, we all heard the giggle, the faint laugh of some small person in the hallway closet, the closet where we kept the spare blankets and candles and game boards. Any fog that clouded my head was gone as I jumped to my feet, Jessica's eyes growing wide with fear and surprise. Kim continued her light snoring from the corner, oblivious to the danger.

“There's something in the house!” I screeched softly, looking around for the nearest weapon. If it was a robber, or a- I shook my head. It was happening again. A robber would not come into the house just to lock himself in a closet and then giggle at how pleased he was with himself. This was something worse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The three of us, armed with Jessica's color guard pole, my heaviest book, and Alicia's moose, walked out of my room, creeping to the closet. We were ready to call the cops, and no one wanted to open the door.

“Well, I found elves in my shower, Jess has found pirates in her pantry, and now we're at your house. Your turn to find out who it is.”

Agreeing with Alicia's rationality this early in the morning, I grasped the knob the the closet and, all of us bracing ourselves for what was inside, I flung the door open. All three of us were screaming without even knowing why we were screaming, probably to scare whatever was in the closet, I think, now that I look back on it, but we were all surprised when a fourth voice was added to our screams. Opening our scrunched eyes, we all saw what had been giggling.

Tasslehoff Burrfoot sat in the bottom of the closet, his topknot swinging back and forth, his many pouches laying open on the floor around him. He stopped screaming and smiled at us.

“Hello, how do you do? I'm Tasslehoff Burrfoot and I really don't know how I ended up here? Who are you? Where am I? What smells in here?”

“Um..., Um...” said Jessica, terrified, about to whack Tasslehoff with the pole until I grabbed it and held it steady. Alicia, with eyes as big as saucers, kept staring at the little creature and he kept staring back at her, a smile brighting his face. Neither of them blinked and it would have been a cute sight, had we not been so scared.

Finally, I whispered, “It's a kender!”

“Not just any kender! Tasslehoff Burrfoot at your service! I think I already told you my name, though, right? Say, thanks for letting me out of here. I wasn't tall enough to reach the handle and I was starting to get bored. That wasn't very funny of Flint to lock me in here.”

“Flint is here? Who else is in my house?” I screamed, practically grabbing Tasslehoff by the shoulders and shaking him. Jess and Alicia just exchanged glances, unsure of what to do.

“Oh, Raist and Caramon and Tika and Laurana. Oh, and Kitiara, although I really didn't think she would come with us. And-”

“Enough, enough. We'll find them for ourselves!” My head hurt and I wasn't about to listen to the high pitched voice of a kender rattling off a list this early in the morning.

There was a scream from the bathroom. Kimmie was awake.

Next Chapter...

“Kimmie, don't move, we're coming!” Alicia yelled, dashing down the hallway back toward my room where we are all sleeping hardly five minutes before. Instead of finding Kim, Alicia started to yell for me. “Chelsea! There are... things in our room!”

“Don't move,” I told Jessica, who only whimpered and grabbed my arm.

“I don't want to be alone with that!” she said, her voice a harsh whisper, pointing to Tasslehoff. Tasslehoff, hearing her, frowned and tilted his head.

“I know I don't look like you, but I don't think I deserve to be called a 'that.' Don't you agree that it's just rude?”

The kender looked at me expectantly and, although I was touched, I also couldn't bear the sound of my two friends yelling in fright. I undid Jessica's grasp on my arm and she followed me into the bedroom, color guard pole knocking against her knees.

I was greeted by the sight of a half elf and a red-haired woman, both drawing swords at my appearance. Alicia, who had stopped yelling, stood petrified, a look of confusion on her face. The man walked up to me and, sheathing his sword, asked, “Who might you be and what strange land have we arrived in?”

“Um, America,” answered Alicia for me, the words falling from her mouth much like she herself would fall down the stairs. “My name is Alicia. Who the hell are you?” Alicia's voice was calm and smooth, considering she had just been yelling at the top of her lungs a few moments ago. The two newcomers looked at one another before the red-haired woman opened her mouth to speak. I just waved my hand, Kim's screams too much to bear. Sooner or later, she would burst into the room and startle the two warriors, obviously experienced with the sword, by the look of it. Besides, I already knew who they were.

“Jess, take them to the living room, please, and don't talk to them.”

Jessica, happy to do something that didn't involve finding anyone else and thrilled she didn't have to speak to them, just nodded, dumbstruck. I smiled as politely as I could as the two followed Jess out of the room, muttering about being taken prisoner. I reassured them that they were not prisoners and that everything just needed to be explained later.

I grabbed Alicia's arm and, after a quick scan of the room, I called after Jessica: “Take the kender with you and make sure he doesn't move!” Alicia, who had gotten over the initial shock of finding strange people in the house, started to smile, enjoying the fact we had visitors. This was just like old times. Kimmie ran into the room, her hair flying out behind her, stammering. Her pale face, dotted with freckles, was inches away from mine as she leaped into Alicia, grabbing her hands and turning to me.

“In the bathroom! The bathroom! Oh, Chelsea, in the bathroom! Who are they?”

Kim seemed to be climbing to the same place Alicia had reached: the stage where the situation seems more like a dream than anything else and, when you are in that dream stage, everything is much different than real life. I still needed to find the first step to reach that happy place. I was strangely calm as the chaos erupted around me, dropping my book I had used as a weapon right on my own toe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We made our way to the bathroom, Alicia and I apprehensive about who was there. Kim, who already knew, peaked over Alicia's shoulder, eager to see if she had just imagined the whole thing.

Inside, we found an elf with long blond hair in the shower, confused at how to get out and a plainsman couple, both of them tugging the wrong way on the wrong side of the door.

“I told you,” Kim said quietly, pointing.

“Ha! Look, Chelsea, an elf in the shower! Just like old times!” Alicia burst into hysterical laughter, slapping her knee, sounding not so much happy as about to cry or wet herself.

“Jess, we've found more!” I called, hoping that the plainsman wouldn't cut me down my the time I explained to him that there were others here as well and that they were not prisoner, but needed to follow the girl with the pole to the living room. Whatever they assumed a living room was, I didn't know as the elf with the golden hair pushed the shower door open in shock, amazed she escaped.

Kim and I reached the kitchen by ourselves, Alicia following Jessica and trying to convince the strangers that they were in no harm. Kim had no weapon after I took the spatula away from her in the kitchen. I wasn't about to have anyone slice anyone else with a sword because a spatula was brandished at them by an insane Kimmie.

She heard a scuffle in the pantry closet and, whipping the door open with all the majesty she could muster, Kim saw the knight before I did. She slammed the door with all her strength and leaned against it, a sigh coming from her as she blew the hair out of her eyes. Then, as the sword went through the wood of the door, inches away from Kim's head, she screamed and ducked, the wood splintering as the sword disappeared into the cupboard once more.

“My parents are going to kill me for that,” I groaned, my shoulders slumping as Kim backed away from the door cautiously, calling over her shoulder, “There is a knight in the kitchen. Someone come and get him!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We reached the spare bedrooms, the bedrooms of my parents and my sister. My sister had left with my parents for the out of town wedding and her room was a montage of pink, flowery things. I had always felt sorry for the pet rabbit, Benjamin, that was my sister's fat, cranky pet. But, deciding that my parent's room would be the worst thing to be destroyed (beside the cupboard door), Kim and I opened the door and walked in. To the naked eye, everything seemed to be clean, the room empty. I sighed in relief and heard Kim sigh, too. Then, before our eyes, a figure appeared, dressed in dark robes.

“Greetings, beautiful ones...”

I gasped as Kim smiled. There was a dark elf in the middle of the room, leaning against the bed, a handsome face looking at us with interest in his eyes. Kim took a step forward as I took a step back and grabbed her arm.

“No, Kim, down girl. Don't mess with him.”

I calmly pulled Kim out of the room, her eyes never leaving the elf, and shut the door. Great. A dark elf in my parent's room. This was becoming weirder and weirder by the moment.

“I get this one, right, Chels?”

“The what?”

“You know what I mean.” Kim smiled and I groaned.

“No, Kim, the elf is not mine to give to you. Let's just find out where everyone else is first. Go and get Jess and tell her there is a dark elf in the bedroom and you are not allowed to touch him until everyone is in the living room.”

“After that, can I?”

“Touch him?”

“Yes.”

“NO!”

Kim, resigning herself to that fact and the fact that she needed to wash her mind out with a large bar of soap, opened the door to my sister's room. We looked upon the fasion pink setting in disgust, and it was no surprise to us when we saw two figures standing there, just waiting for us. One had his back turned toward us, the man bending over and sticking his finger a hole of the rabbit cage.

“Look, Raist, a bunny!”

The figure he addressed, in red robes, rolled his eyes and glanced over to the door, seeing us standing there, our mouths wide open. He hissed a spell and, thanks to Kimmie's quick reflexes, the door bore the brunt of the spell. We cowered on the other side, shaking with fear, but near laughter as we looked at one another, eyes wide.

“Well, the knight in the closet was just a practice, then. Good thing-”

“Let's not talk. It makes me want to vomit, I'm so nervous. Every time I open my mouth, I'm afraid-”

“Then let's not talk about it, then.” I sighed. “Jess, there is a dark elf, a warrior, and a wizard in the bedrooms over here!”

“So, we have our hands full at the moment! Bring them yourselves!”

"The Heart Of A Fool" (11/22) & (12/22)

2007-08-13T06:02:41Z

Title: The Heart Of A Fool (11/22) "Illness" & (12/22) "Breaking Point"

Original/FF: House M.D.

Rating: PG-13

Length: Short/Short

Disclaimer: I don't own House M.D, just this story.

Notes: Yeah, I should have warned you before about a character death. Sorry 'bout that. Actually, a lot of people cheered after Chapter 12, and I don't really understand why. *shrug* Personally, I would have cheered after Chapter 22, the last chapter, because it's the last chapter. We're not quite there yet, though.

House sat on the couch, Wilson across from him in an armchair. He hadn't wanted visitors, really, but appreciated Wilson's company in an odd way. The silence was unnerving, of course, and he wished he could just snap Wilson's fingers off for how many times he tapped them on his knee, but having another person in the house was nice. Except when that person wanted to talk about work.

“House, I really think that Cameron-”

“What did I say?”

“About what?”

“About talking about her.”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, well, I'm saying it now. Don't talk about her.”

“How about Foreman?”

“No.”

“How about Chase?”

“Cuddy?”

“Definite not, unless you wanted to tell horror stories. I could turn off the lights and make popcorn while you found the flashlight.”

Wilson rolled his eyes.

“Look, people were asking about you today. It's not like you to take off sick.”

“What, I'm not human like anyone else?”

“You don't act like a normal human being. You act like a deity for the hospital and love to make others miserable. If you are in a bad mood or not feeling well, it's naturally assumed that you want to spread as much of that unhappiness and disease as possible before you are back to your normal level of crankiness.”

“Fine, I'll just go around the hospital, spreading whatever illness you tell me I have. It's a hospital, so I don't know how miserable people would be, getting treatment right there because that is what a hospital is for, but it's worth a shot. What sort of illness did you tell them I had?”

“After you called Cuddy and didn't leave an exact illness, I told everyone you had the common cold. No one believed me, I think, but it was worth a try.”

“Damn, here I thought you would give me the best sort of venereal disease and tell the whole hospital I had-”

“Don't be vulgar. I had to cover for your clinic shift today, but tomorrow you are going back to work. And you'll do your job. If I have to take over the case, you'll have to pull some of your own weight. How bad would that look if I had to do your work and, while I was covering for you and your fake illnesses, my patient died from neglect?”

“Get the ducklings to take care of him. Do we really need a head of the case? Foreman can do it. Or Chase, get Chase to... never mind, that would be instant death for the patient.”

Wilson shifted in his chair. There was no getting through to this man. He didn't know why he was there, exactly. He had just wanted to swing by and see if House really was ill, but now he sat here, listening to the bitterness House was spewing in every sentence.

“Chase is a smart young man. You don't give him enough credit.”

House laughed shortly, a laugh with no mirth.

“Foreman is clever and knows what needs to be done without it being told to him. He is one of the most capable doctors in the hospital.”

House laughed again, the laugh still sarcastic and doubtful.

“Cameron puts her heart into things. She is smart and beautiful-”

“Don't talk about her.”

House didn't laugh this time, and Wilson was startled at the flash of anger in House's eyes. Wilson ducked his head and sighed. House, fed up with the conversation, stood and hobbled out of the room, never looking behind him.

“Leave now.”

Wilson, almost glad for the command to exit, gathered his jacket and threw it on as he watched House walk away.

“Will you be at the hospital tomorrow?”

“Yes,” came the abrupt answer, and then House stopped, his voice a little less gruff. “Thanks for coming over, Wilson. Not everyone would do that.”

“No problem. Feel better soon.”

Wilson shut the door behind him. He had gotten used to the mood swings House went through and it didn't exactly bother him that House basically kicked him out of his home. He knew what the 'illness' was that House was suffering from. He couldn't stand to be around the ducklings or his boss. Cameron was the problem, mainly, but how to fix that problem, Wilson didn't know.

Next Chapter...

The medical team sat at the table in House's office, no one talking. Foreman had his arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. Chase rubbed his chin with his thumb, dark circles under his eyes; he had not slept in days. Cameron was bent over the table, her face hidden in her hands, hair falling over her shoulders to rest on the tabletop. They were waiting for Wilson to come back.

The patient's condition was getting worse and there was nothing else to do. The three doctors had no permission to even start the patient on painkiller, much less any medication to stop the man from dying. The past week had been hell; House had broken the rules and worked on the case behind Cuddy's back, convinced he was right on what Mr. Deleyney had. Unfortunately for all of them, House had been wrong, for once in his life he had been wrong, and the patient was dying. Mr. Deleyney had a stroke because of the medication and had numerous blood clots throughout his body, any one of them ready to break free and reach his heart, lungs, or brain.

Cuddy, once she had found out about the accident, had burst into House's office, demanding to know where the man was, livid with fury. The three doctors had been confused, all of them wondering what had happened. When it was explained that House had been in the hospital before his regular shift and had slipped the patient the drugs that had harmed Mr. Deleyney so badly, they were shocked. Not at House's behavior, but at the fact House had been wrong. Cuddy had ordered Wilson to come with her and it didn't look good for the head of the case; his patient was dying and it wasn't his fault.

They couldn't find House.

“I told him only what he wanted to know,” shouted Wilson, walking into the office, Cuddy on his heels, brandishing the file at her. “I knew it was Graves Disease, but he wouldn't listen. The tests all pointed to-”

“Who told you that you had permission to talk with House about the case? As it is, I took him off the case for recklessness!”

“I thought you took him off the case to get him away from Cameron!”

Wilson and Cuddy, in the middle of their screaming match, noticed the movement from the table as Foreman stood, and they stopped yelling.

“All of you, leave,” Wilson ordered, unusually serious and intense. “Right now!”

“No, stay,” snapped Cuddy as Chase rose from his chair to stand beside Foreman. “I think they have a right to know why they are all being sued!”

“We're being sued?” asked Chase, surprised, as Foreman dropped his jaw.

“Well, duh, if a rich, racist patient dies, his family is naturally going to sue every doctor who walked into the room.”

House appeared in the doorway. Wilson and Cuddy, standing in the middle of the room, both of them holding files belonging to the case, set their jaw and narrowed their eyes.

“House, how dare you! I told you about the case because I trusted you!” shouted Wilson, frantic. “How could you have done that, giving the patient drugs without even consulting me?”

“You?” shouted Cuddy, “He should have reported to me! I made a mistake when I put you in charge of this case! House might be an evil bastard, but at least he told one of his zombies what he was planning and they would come running to me!”

Foreman and Chase jumped into the fray, Chase's voice deadly quiet as he spoke to Cuddy.

“We are not zombies,” he said, “We are doctors and right now, we can't even do our job. Every second we are here, arguing like high school students, we can't treat Mr. Deleyney for his illness, and every second he is not getting what he needs to survive, he slips closer and closer to death!”

“Oh, bravo, Chase,” snapped House, snapping his fingers. “I'm amazed how long that took for a mind like his!”

“I've had enough of that, House!” Chase warned, taking a step toward his boss.

“Had enough of what? What are you going to do, hit me?”

Chase, with one more step, punched House in the face. There was a crack as House went reeling backward into the wall, his nose streaming blood. He slid down the wall as Wilson and Foreman grabbed Chase by his elbows, holding him back. That was not needed because Chase, his hand covered in House's blood, stood still, holding his breath. What did he just do?

“Call security,” Cuddy snapped, “Get Chase out of here.” Foreman nodded as he held Chase's arm as Wilson picked up the phone and paged the guards, who arrived within a minute. The two guards took Chase out of the room and, seeing what he had done to House, zip-tied his hands together in front of him. There was no fight left in Chase, however, and it wasn't needed; he went quietly with the guards, head held low.

“You,” Cuddy yelled at Wilson, “What does Mr. Deleyney have?”

“Graves Disease,” snapped Wilson, grabbing his file from the desk. “He has a case of hyperthyroidism and has blood clots because of it. There is an excess of thyroxine-”

“Don't rattle off whatever you wrote in the file! Just start the patient on radioactive iodine.”

Wilson, casting a glance of hatred at both House and Cuddy, stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Foreman was kneeling by House, who was trying to stop the bleeding from his nose with his shirt. House was shaking his head no, mumbling something about Wilson being incorrect. They couldn't hear what he was saying, though, for the shirt covered his mouth and was already dripping with blood. House's nose could have been broken, that was the severity of the punch, but House was trying to stand up, finding it difficult to stand without his cane and his sleeve over his nose. Cuddy walked up to him and Foreman stood, getting out of the way, retreating back to the table, leaving the two doctors alone on the other side of the room. Cuddy's gaze was fire and when she spoke, it was so soft everyone in the room had to strain to make out what she had said. She towered over House, who was still on the floor against the wall, abandoning the idea of trying to stand.

“If the patient dies, your license will be revoked to practice medicine. Even if the patient doesn't die, you are fired from this hospital and I will let every hospital you apply to know what you did. Because of your arrogance, you are killing a man whose family could cost me the hospital. I don't know how Stacy is going to save your ass from ending up in the poor house, but that is only if I decide to let her give you legal advice if the family sues. If they sue, I want you to tell Chase, Wilson, Foreman, and Cameron why they owe money, more than any one of them can afford, for the negligence of Mr. Deleyney's illness.”

House tried to speak, but Cuddy's voice grew louder so there was no doubt to what it was she said.

“I don't care what you thought he had. I don't care what you think we should do. If Wilson says he has Graves Disease, then Mr. Deleyney has Graves Disease. If there is extra thyroxine in his blood, nothing you say will change that fact. I hope you enjoy your last day in the hospital, House. Now go and clean up before you bleed all over the floor.”

Cuddy threw the other two doctors a glance of anger before leaving. She stopped in the door and looked at Cameron, who had never moved during this entire ordeal. Her hair still fell over the table and her face was hidden, her wrists stark white under the lights of the room. Stark white, both of them, and Cuddy frowned. A bruise wouldn't go away within a matter of a week, not the sort of bruise Cameron had showed to her in the office just a few days ago. But, there was no bruise, not a trace of one.

“Cameron,” Cuddy said, voice strained. “Why is there no bruise?”

Cameron didn't look up and her shoulders started to shake with silent sobs. Cuddy, disgusted with Cameron almost as much as she had been with House, snarled and walked out the door, leaving blood, anger, and tears in her wake.

"The Heart Of A Fool" (9/22) & (10/22)

2007-08-13T05:55:51Z

Title: The Heart Of A Fool (9/22) "Walking" & (10/22) "Silence"

Original/FF: House M.D.

Rating: PG-13

Length: Short/Short

Disclaimer. FOX owns the House, I own the M.D. (*bad joke* *joking*)

Notes: ....Wilson appears in this chapter.... Yay Wilson. He is the hero of stories like these...

“So, she really put you on clinic duty?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, clinic duty isn't that bad. I don't-”

“Stop it, Wilson. You suck at sympathy.”

The two doctors were casually walking the hospital corridors, Wilson finishing with his shift, House another hour away from his own shift ending. House needed someone to complain to and Wilson was the only one at the moment who would listen to him. He had kicked the ducklings out of his office, telling them to take the white board with them. If he wasn't on the Deleyney case, there was nothing that would arise in clinic duty that would need the help of the board. Clinic duty was a waste of time, like doing a one hundred piece puzzle, knowing it's too easy for you, but being made to finish the puzzle anyway.

“Well, clinic duty will give you more free time. We all know how you hate to work.”

“I don't hate work, Wilson. I hate working and having Cuddy breathing down my neck, having Foreman and Chase questioning everything I do, having Stacy right in the same building. I don't hate work. I hate the people I work with.”

“I guess that excludes Cameron and myself.”

“Even saying her name would get me reprimanded by Cuddy, I bet. If I whisper that name, I bet someone would turn me in. Cuddy told the other doctors to keep on eye on me, I bet. Plus, it's not like she can really hide that bruise; people have got to know by now.”

Wilson stopped walking and faced House, confused.

“Cuddy has a bruise?”

“No, the other female we were talking about. You know, Wilson, thinking of the same woman in other areas of your life would do you a lot of good. Keep thinking.”

“Cameron? How did she get it?”

When there was no answer, Wilson saw the guilty face House couldn't hide and dropped his jaw.

“You gave her that bruise? Gre-”

“I wasn't thinking, okay? I didn't think I grabbed her arm all that hard, but apparently she goes running to big sister Cuddy every time something goes wrong. God forbid she loses her teddy bear...”

“So, you're on clinic duty because Cuddy wants you to stay away from Cameron, who is working on the Deleyney case.”

“Don't forget-”

“And to punish you.”

The two men resumed their walk, the thump of House's cane on the hospital floor echoing dimly. They walked in silence for a little while, neither of them looking at one another.

“You know, Cameron isn't a little girl. She is a grown woman and she-”

“Don't start with me, Wilson... To be honest, I don't want to talk about her.”

“Are you actually being honest? You have never been one to tell the truth, remember?”

“Well, I'm telling the truth now. Just don't say her name. I don't want to think about her, or Chase, or Foreman, or-”

“I get the point, I get the point. So, what do you want to talk about then?”

“Covering my clinic shift tomorrow.”

Next Chapter...

“So, House is kicked off the case and Wilson is supervising? Interesting choice.”

“What, you would prefer Cuddy put you in charge?”

“No, I'm just saying that we don't work with Wilson enough to know where he is coming from in a medical, professional point of view.”

“And the personal view of Wilson?”

“I hardly know the guy.”

Foreman and Chase were lounging in House's office, waiting for the other two members of the team to arrive. House was on clinic duty and the office was strangely quiet. It was an odd, uncomfortable silence and both men wished the other would start talking again. They had been discussing the fact that Foreman didn't fully agree with the choice to put Wilson on the case as their leader. Wilson had no clue what the case was about until House gave him the lowdown. Foreman didn't agree that someone new should enter the case at such a critical time. They were waiting for Cameron to arrive with the results from all the scans the patient had gone through earlier that morning. So far, Wilson hadn't bothered to show up.

“Well, House should be getting off clinic duty soon and maybe he'll drop by. It's just Cameron that he has to stay away from, right?” Chase looked at his watch and then at the door. “Actually, House should be getting off duty right now.”

“No, Cuddy said that House had to stay away from all of us, including the patient, for the duration of the case. It's not just Cameron the head of the hospital is trying to protect.”

“I have a hard time believing that he actually hurt her. I mean, Cam is-”

“Do you really have such a hard time believing that House wouldn't grab her by the wrist and give her a good shaking? He's flying off the handle lately and that was obviously the breaking point. Cameron stayed behind and tried to get House to take the wrath out on her instead of us. But, I still don't know why she would allow House to do all of this and then turn him into Cuddy. I mean, that just doesn't sound like her, if you ask me.”

“So, one of our team is a potential nut case-”

“House was already a nut case.”

“Okay, one of our team is a nut case who is now forbidden from contact with us, and the other member is setting a trap for House? Why could Cameron-”

Foreman was cut off by a figure bursting in through the door. It was Wilson, jogging in and sitting down by Chase at the glass table, dropping numerous papers on the floor. Seeing the questioning looks Foreman and Chase were giving him, Wilson shrugged.

“Sorry I'm late, guys, but I just got off clinic duty.”

“But House has clinic duty.”

Foreman glanced over at Chase with raised eyebrows and Chase, realizing, muttered, “Oh, I see.”

“Why do you do that for him, man? Why would you let him skip out on clinic duty and take over for him? He's supposed to be punished and this is his punishment: clinic duty.”

“I know, Foreman, I know, but he wasn't looking very well today and I told him I would take over his shift.”

Wilson shifted uneasily in his seat as he tried to arrange his files. Chase and Foreman sighed at the same time. It would have been funny if it wasn't for the seriousness of the situation. Wilson was lying, he was obviously covering for House. House hadn't looked well last time they had seen him, yes, but House never looked well.

“What is the matter with him?”

“Oh, um,” Wilson stuttered and didn't meet Foreman's eyes. “I'm not really sure. He's not in the hospital today, though. He's at home.”

“Cameron always could tell what was going on. If-”

Chase was cut off by Cameron herself, who came through the door with Mr. Deleyney's scan results. She looked exhausted and her hair hung limp around her face, twined around her neck. All three doctors could see the dark purple and green of the bruise on Cameron's wrist and Cameron, sensing their gaze, pulled her lab jacket farther down, until she could touch the cuff with her fingers. Wilson stood and pulled out a chair for Cameron, pushing the chair in after she had sat down. Cameron, confused, but unwilling to argue with anyone at the moment on unneeded chivalry, opened the file and read out loud.

“Mr. Deleyney has cardiac arrhythmia-”

“Atrial fibrillation?”

“Yes. He also has a mild case of exophthalmos, like House said he would. The protuberance of the eyes is not bad, but we need to find out why this is happening and how we should stop it without inter- What?”

Everyone had winced at the sound of her voice saying the word “House.” She looked around the table; Chase was holding his chin in his hands, face tilted downward. Foreman was biting his lip. Wilson sighed. Cameron wanted to roll her eyes and tell the men to get a grip.

“Honestly, I'm not afraid of him and you three are acting like-”

“We just didn't think you would want to talk about him.”

“But, I don't want to talk about him. He was the former head of this case and, as tough as it might be for you three to deal with it, he still needs-”

“It's okay, Cameron, excuse us.”

Wilson shifted his shoulders and gestured for her to continue. Cameron, giving a look to every other doctor in the room, resumed reading.

“The patient is at high risk for stasis, though, and we still are waiting on the results for the blood clots. House had suggested that the medication-”

Again, the mood in the room shifted and Cameron closed the file and crossed her arms on her chest.

“Obviously, we have something to talk about. What is there you all need to say? Do I need to leave the room? Do you have something embarrassing you don't want me to hear? What is it? We need to carry on with this case and we can't keep a patient waiting because you three have issues!”

“Cameron, Cameron, we just-”

“Don't talk to me like that, Wilson! I'm not a child!”

“It's just that... after you were hurt by him, why did you go to Cuddy? I mean, the guy is in a bad mood and you go to his office. An hour later, the staff mutters about why your shoe is broken and how House won't look at you in the eye. Then, after we pass that off as you being in the wrong place at the wrong time, he sends us off for a task and you stay behind. We come back to find you bruised and House kicked off the case.”

“What point are you trying to make, Foreman?”

“I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but why do you keep putting yourself in these situations? If you know he is in a bad mood and he ends up hurting you, instead of staying away next time and taking yourself away from the risk, you just go right back and confront him. Cameron, you are going to get House fired if this keeps up. Cuddy doesn't want to lose him, so he just takes him away from the team!”

The room was back to that eerie silence after Foreman's outburst. Wilson was frowning and Chase's eyebrows almost met in the middle of his forehead, face crunched in disbelief. Foreman and Cameron locked eyes and neither of them looked away. They stared at one another for what felt like minutes on end, for what was actually a handful of seconds. The doctor ducked his head in embarrassment as Cameron, against her will, felt tears welling in her eyes. Her eyes glistened and shone with a fury only a woman can contain. Chase was wondering at how to escape from this situation and Foreman was wondering how to escape the room before she breathed the fire that would come from her mouth the moment he moved.

“I'm going to go and check if that scan has come in yet.”

“So am I.”

Foreman and Chase left the room in record time, practically running for the door, the panic on Chase's face apparent as his sweaty fingers slipped on the door handle before the two doctors left the office. Cameron sat there at the table, shaking in anger and indignation. How dare they? Wilson, who was sitting next to her, gently put an arm around her shoulder, uncertain of what to say. His hand, patting her shoulder comfortingly, said that words he couldn't find and Cameron, unable to keep it in, let the tears roll down her cheeks.

"The Heart Of A Fool" (7/22) & (8/22)

2007-08-13T05:49:21Z

Title: The Heart Of A Fool (7/22) "Questions" & (8/22) "Rules"

Original/FF: House M.D.

Rating: PG-13

Length: Medium/Short

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from House M.D. FOX does.

Notes: *sigh* Why I wrote this, I'm not sure anymore... ^_^

“What we've found is that Mr. Deleyney is still exhausted, he's eating but losing weight, and he's sweating profusely.”

Chase handed the file to House, who had been standing at his white board, twirling his cane around his long fingers, lost in thought. Foreman followed Chase into the office, shaking his head.

“How long has the patient been irritable?”

Foreman stopped in the middle of the room, frowning.

“How did you know?” he asked. House rolled his eyes.

“Either you always look that pissed off or I just never noticed before now. What did he say?”

“What does it matter?” Foreman said, taking a seat at the glass table.

“Oh, did I hurt Foreman's feelings?” asked House, cooing to the doctor. “Chase, why don't you give him a hug and a lollipop while I page for Cameron?” Chase raised an eyebrow and looked at Foreman questioningly, the insulted doctor shaking his head, arms up to ward off a potential hug.

“Anyway, what did he say?” House continued, hobbling over to his desk and picking up the hospital directory, flipping through the numerous pages in slight confusion.

“He was just... Mr. Deleyney has always been the type of man to get what he wants and likes to throw his weight around. Reminds me of you, a little,” Foreman said, shooting venom at House.

“Ouch, that hurt. Continue.”

“Well, he is just being rude and told me that he wasn't going to have a black doctor do anything else for him because it's apparently my fault he had the cardiac episode while I was taking blood. After that, I made Chase take over.”

“That racist bastard. If I were you, I'd go give him a good rattling, you know, the good ol' southern way-”

“You don't need to say anything. Just mark irritability on the list of symptoms.”

Chase took the marker from the table and wrote the new symptom on the growing list. House called over his shoulder, “Be sure to mark racism.” Chase, confused once more, started to write, but Foreman shook his head again, Chase hastily putting down the marker and erasing the few letters he had written with the sleeve of his coat.

“Paging Allison Cameron, right now. Cameron, get-”

The door swung open and Cameron entered, furious. House, looking up from his phone call, continued. “Never mind, she just burst into my office, about to attack me. Continue with your meager lives, go on-”

“House, you-”

“How nice for you to be late.”

“You sent-”

“Take a seat.”

“But you-”

“Really, sit down before I have to make you sit down.”

House grinned as Cameron, flustered and angry, unable to finish a sentence, sat down across from him, next to Chase, who was trying to get the marker off his jacket with a bit of spit, Foreman looking disgusted.

“Now, what else has been going on with Mr. Racist?”

“We just looked for the things you told us to. We found the sweating, the irritability, the weight loss, the diarrhea. What else did you want us to look for?”

“Chase, how long have you been a doctor?”

“I don't see how that is related to the case, House.”

“Well, I'll take that answer as not very long. Always check for more! If the patient is having heart problems and has weight loss and is sweating, are you going to figure out what is causing the sweating or the heart problem first? Give me information on the heart!”

Chase threw his head back and looked at his fellow doctors. Foreman was resting his chin in his hand, brows furrowed, Cameron was still furious, arms crossed over her chest, and House was waiting for answers.

“We could do a scan for blood clots and take another blood sample.”

“What happened to the first blood sample?”

Foreman cleared his throat, telling House what he didn't want to hear.

“When the patient was-”

“You lost the blood sample?”

Foreman nodded, swallowing hard. House sighed and stood up, Foreman and Chase both flinching as House picked up his cane.

“Great. Just great. Pretty boy is back to elementary school and big guy has lost a blood sample. Ms. Fury over there is the only one I'm not mad at. Yet.”

“I'll get on the sample.”

“I'll schedule that scan.”

Chase and Foreman stood from the table and left the room. House, taking a careful look at the board called after them.

“Check for exophthalmos, while you're at it. If this guy has cardiac arrhythmia, get back to me immediately.”

“Why would we want to check for exophthalmos?”

“Chase, go play doctor and stop asking questions! Just do it!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

House sighed again, watching the two doctors leave his office and walk down the hallway before he turned his attention to Cameron.

“Oh, come on. You were the one who was late. Technically, I am the one who should be sulking.”

“House, you had no right to send me on a goose chase. You-”

“I didn't send you to find geese, I sent you to find a folder. You never think about how stupid things sound until they leave your mouth.”

“You knew the folder was in the office all along and you sent me all the way around the hospital, scaring me that the file was gone. I go back and check with Foreman on the last place he saw it, and he was holding the damn thing! House, that isn't right. That's crossing the line.”

“No, crossing the line is if I were to do this.”

House limped over to Cameron and grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of her chair. She tried to pull away, but his grasp was too strong and Cameron felt his fingers dig into her wrist, her skin crying out in pain as Cameron bit her lip.

“Just don't question me. I'm tired of people questioning me, asking about everything I do and don't do. If I say something should be done, it will be done without question in the future. It doesn't matter what I do because I am the best doctor this hospital has. Sure, a few people have sued, but that doesn't mean anything in the big picture. You and Chase and Foreman are all so lucky to be on my team and none of you realize it! Instead, you insult me by-”

“Let go of me.”

“Don't-”

“I said let go!”

House let Cameron go, Cameron rubbing her wrist, refusing to meet House's eyes. House stared at her expectantly, waiting for the tears to start.

“I know every day how lucky I am to work at your side. I go home and I think about everything that has happened during the day and, if I wasn't on your team, I wouldn't be as happy as I am now. But, I don't like this, House. You can't keep doing this, abusing us. Foreman and Chase tolerate it, but I am always the one who ends up getting hurt. You never realize it until it's too late. Right now, you are looking at my wrist you just twisted and you see just that. You don't see how much that hurts. I stick up for my fellow doctors, but you don't need to rub salt in the wounds you cause. Inflicting them is punishment enough.”

The two stood in silence for a few moments until House broke the quiet.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about this!”

Cameron held up her wrist for House to see, red and obviously painful. House stared at it until Cameron pulled it back to her, holding it in her other hand.

“I don't mean to hurt you-”

“But you do. You are a great doctor, but that doesn't give you the right to be like this. Anyone else would call you up on physical abuse for what you just did, but not me. You know that and that is why you do this. Never again.”

“Never again what?”

“Never again will you touch me in anger!”

Cameron walked past House, storming out of the office, leaving nothing but the scent of lavender in her wake.

Next Chapter...

“House!”

“I'm right here, you don't need to yell. You had my attention at the low cut blouse, anyway. Do you-”

“We are not talking about my clothes, we are talking about you abusing your workers! I would thank you to keep your eyes on my face.”

“But that's not as fun. See, it's like the creature of mythology when, if you look at her face straight on, you die. Or at least get burned to a horrible crisp.”

Cuddy glared her hardest at House until he finished. Satisfied he had throughly annoyed her in record time, House crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, waiting. Cuddy sighed sharply and sat down across from him, the sunlight from the windows falling across her desk. The silence was almost as bad as the taunts and Cuddy almost wished he would say something so she could leap at him like a beast and tear his throat out. It really was getting to be enough.

“Allison came in here, holding her wrist. She said-”

“Great, Cameron blabbed to you about our little misunderstanding?”

“That little misunderstanding caused a bruise, House. That is assault. I could fire you for that! I would, too, except she pleaded with me to not kick your ass out of the hospital!”

“Oh, you swore. I'm telling. How about I go and rat you out to Cameron?”

“House, this is serious! You could lose your job here if you keep this up. I won't lie: you are the one of the best doctors we have in this hospital or any other hospital. You can do almost anything if you put your mind to it, and here you are, abusing your staff. A female, no less. I could tell the Board of Directors about this and bring you for a hearing. If you hit Chase in the face, I could maybe get you off for rampant testosterone, but hurting Cameron? She would cost you everything.”

“If I hit Chase? Are you kidding me? He's more of a woman than Cameron is!”

Cuddy narrowed her eyes and House threw his hands up, warding off her stare, relenting.

“Okay, so that wasn't the best joke, but you would never bring me to the Board of Directors.”

“I have once already! In case you forgot-”

“Never mind, you wouldn't bring me to the Board of Directors again, is what I meant to say. Again. But, if you lost me, this hospital would fall apart.”

“How so? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't send you down to Stacy and hand you over. Just one good reason...”

The silence took over once more as Cuddy and House stared at one another. The threat of Stacy was helpful, Cuddy thought. She should use that one more often. House seemed a little more subdued, although the fire had only grown stronger in his ice grey eyes. It was the look of a maniac and Cuddy caught herself holding her breath. This man in front of her was not sane. He wasn't normal. But, that was what made him a great doctor. His brilliance shadowed all of the doctors in the hospital, including her own, which made her even more nervous. Finally, she came to a decision.

“From now on, you are not to have contact with Allison Cameron. If I hear you even looked at her the wrong way, you are put on probation and privileges are going to be taken away.”

“Oh, I suppose you are going to take away play time and ice cream, too, huh?”

“House, it wouldn't help you to act like a jerk right now. At least hold it in until you leave my office. In addition, your team is going to be supervised by Wilson.”

“Where does that leave me, if I can't work with Cameron?”

“Clinic duty.”

A smile broke over Cuddy's face as she saw House's jaw drop.

“Just through the end of this case,” Cuddy added, not wanting to be responsible for a shock induced heart attack on House's part. “When Mr. Deleyney is out of the hospital and the team has him in top health, then you can come back and work with everyone else. For now, thought, I think it's best if you are separated from the group and think things over. The nurse will have your clinic files ready for tomorrow.”

House stood and hobbled to the door, muttering under his breath, cursing. Cuddy just smiled wider and hoped he would follow the rules she had just set down. Her smile faded slightly as she recalled all the other rules House had broken before. Cuddy shook her head. Rules were the best she could do right now.