You're in luck, because I already had this written and sitting on my HD, as the opening to the possible sequel to "Galatea". Which I know is cheating, since this is supposed to help me with writing NEW stuff, but... oh well.
***
"This is a joke, right?" said Wilson. "Ha-ha, that sort of thing. Except... not especially funny, and more along the lines of bizarre and slightly disturbing?"
House eased a hip over the divider between their two balconies, stretching out his bad leg and leaning back against the sun-warmed brick of the wall. Below, the grounds of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital basked in the afternoon sunlight, and a faint smell of tarmac and grass clippings wafted toward them on the breeze. "Nope," he said. "Scout's honor. She's taking me out to dinner Friday night."
"Cameron. Is taking you. To dinner." Wilson's voice was flat with disbelief. "You mean it was her idea?"
"No," said House, "it was my idea, and she fell for it. Clever, huh?"
Wilson shut his eyes and put his fingertips against his forehead, in the manner of a man performing some complicated feat of mental logic. "Let me get this straight," he said. "A couple of days ago you told me you weren't interested in anyone, Cameron very much included. And last I checked, she was still mad at you for spying on her. Now all of a sudden the two of you are dating? What did I miss?"
"It's not dating," House corrected him, "it's a date. Dating implies repeated activity and possibly even some degree of commitment. I'm not signing up for anything, I'm just scoping out the territory."
"Uh-huh," said Wilson. "The last time you scoped out anyone's territory, you ended up living with her for five years, and it took you another six years to get over it."
"Well, aren't you just a little ray of bipolar sunshine. You're telling me not to go out with Cameron? A couple of days ago you were practically drawing up the wedding invitations."
"I'm not telling you anything. I'm just --" Wilson made a vague, helpless gesture. "Confused. That's all."
"Aw, don't worry," said House. "We'll make sure to take things nice and slow so you can catch up."
"You seem awfully... relaxed about this."
"That's just my patented devil-may-care façade. Inside I'm all a-quiver. See?" House held out a theatrically trembling hand. "I mean, you never know what may happen on a date with Allison Cameron. She may launch herself across the table and ravish me right in the middle of Earl's Seafood Shack."
"Maybe a little too relaxed," said Wilson.
House let his hand drop. "Oh, come on. I've known Cameron for four years. The element of surprise is not exactly a factor. And if the evening sucks, so what? Been there, done that, bought the puttanesca."
"True," mused Wilson. "And if she hasn't snapped and beaten you to death with your own cane by now, she probably never will."
"Wow, you're good," said House. "Have you ever thought of going into sales?"
no subject
***
"This is a joke, right?" said Wilson. "Ha-ha, that sort of thing. Except... not especially funny, and more along the lines of bizarre and slightly disturbing?"
House eased a hip over the divider between their two balconies, stretching out his bad leg and leaning back against the sun-warmed brick of the wall. Below, the grounds of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital basked in the afternoon sunlight, and a faint smell of tarmac and grass clippings wafted toward them on the breeze. "Nope," he said. "Scout's honor. She's taking me out to dinner Friday night."
"Cameron. Is taking you. To dinner." Wilson's voice was flat with disbelief. "You mean it was her idea?"
"No," said House, "it was my idea, and she fell for it. Clever, huh?"
Wilson shut his eyes and put his fingertips against his forehead, in the manner of a man performing some complicated feat of mental logic. "Let me get this straight," he said. "A couple of days ago you told me you weren't interested in anyone, Cameron very much included. And last I checked, she was still mad at you for spying on her. Now all of a sudden the two of you are dating? What did I miss?"
"It's not dating," House corrected him, "it's a date. Dating implies repeated activity and possibly even some degree of commitment. I'm not signing up for anything, I'm just scoping out the territory."
"Uh-huh," said Wilson. "The last time you scoped out anyone's territory, you ended up living with her for five years, and it took you another six years to get over it."
"Well, aren't you just a little ray of bipolar sunshine. You're telling me not to go out with Cameron? A couple of days ago you were practically drawing up the wedding invitations."
"I'm not telling you anything. I'm just --" Wilson made a vague, helpless gesture. "Confused. That's all."
"Aw, don't worry," said House. "We'll make sure to take things nice and slow so you can catch up."
"You seem awfully... relaxed about this."
"That's just my patented devil-may-care façade. Inside I'm all a-quiver. See?" House held out a theatrically trembling hand. "I mean, you never know what may happen on a date with Allison Cameron. She may launch herself across the table and ravish me right in the middle of Earl's Seafood Shack."
"Maybe a little too relaxed," said Wilson.
House let his hand drop. "Oh, come on. I've known Cameron for four years. The element of surprise is not exactly a factor. And if the evening sucks, so what? Been there, done that, bought the puttanesca."
"True," mused Wilson. "And if she hasn't snapped and beaten you to death with your own cane by now, she probably never will."
"Wow, you're good," said House. "Have you ever thought of going into sales?"
***