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Skinning the Cat
by Taima Hiroshima
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Once again, I have to thank you for all your reviews! I'm so glad everyone seems to like this story. Birdie is based off my cat Santiago. Have you ever given a cat peanut butter? It's really funny...
Birdie was quickly growing from a kitten into a cat. She stalked her catnip mice, socks left out of the hamper, and James's hand when he left it over the side of the couch. She was still rather small for a cat, could almost fit in House's palm.
She had also developed a taste for music. She would sit on top of the piano as House played, watching his fingers fly across the keys. Usually she would drift off to sleep, looking perfectly happy with her own personal musician.
She acted like a queen. James and House were her court.
"House," James said one day while Birdie was looking out the window at the birds sitting on the telephone wire outside.
"Yeah?" House didn't bother to put down his medical journal.
"I think it's about time we took that cat in to go and get uh. You know."
"No, I don't know. Skinned? Stuffed? Cooked? What? You have to use real words here, James. I'm not really in the mood to play charades."
"Fixed." James whispered. House smirked inwardly. This was a chance to have some fun.
"Licked? Wilson, what's wrong with you? Getting our little Birdie licked..."
"Fixed," James said a little louder.
"Nixed? We are not having our baby killed! What is wrong with you today? I swear, being a doctor has jaded you. You haven't been hanging out with Kevorkian again, have you?"
"Fixed! Fixed, fixed, fixed! Spayed!" James finally shouted, exasperated.
"Well, why didn't you say so?" House asked lazily. James groaned and put his head in his hands. Birdie abandoned the swallows outside and jumped in his lap, demanding some attention. Too long had passed without her getting petted.
"It's healthier for the cat. And besides, if we did that, she'd be able to go outside."
"I'm not sure I want her going outside anyway."
"Oh, come on House. She's almost a full-grown cat. What's going to happen to her?" James looked at House, who only shrugged and didn't look up from his medical journal.
"Fine, get her spayed. The last thing we need is another thing around here going through a cycle." He grumbled.
"Well, who else does?" James blinked, confused. House looked at him and smirked. James glowered and threw a pillow in his best friends face.
They took her to the vet the next weekend. She sat in House's lap, not liking the carrier and vocalizing this. James reached over ever now and then to stroke her head, or scratch her behind the ears like she liked. His shoulder brushed with House's when he did this, and occasionally so did the tips of their fingers. Neither made any sort of move to fix this.
"Birdie House-Wilson?" the nurse poked her head out. Wilson raised an eyebrow at House, who had registered her.
"Well, that's the way all the hip young parents are doing it!" he said.
"Whoever said you were hip and young lied to you, House." Wilson rolled his eyes and carried Birdie away. She looked pitifully at House with her big green eyes. He sighed and played with his cane until James came out.
"I don't like it here." He announced. His diagnosing blue eyes cast around for a reason. "Look at that dog! He looks like he's got a cold."
"This is a vet's office, House. There's bound to be at least one sick animal running around." James sighed as he jingled his keys. "Look, I know that you're going to miss her. I know that it's hard for you to--,"
"Whoever said I was going to miss that fur ball? I never wanted her to begin with." House snapped as he hauled himself up from one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs.
"Let's go. I think there's a football game on TV."
But it was rather lonely that night. There was no one to share the peanut butter with, and House's sandwich seemed to get caught in his throat. It seemed like no one was going to watch him play piano, but just as his fingers hit the keys, Wilson plopped down on the bench next to him.
"Something wrong?" he asked, coaxing a sad tune from the keys. Wilson shook his head.
"Not really,"
House continued to play and James continued to watch, neither saying much of anything at all. House looked over at him a time or two, and once he caught Wilson touching a certain spot on his cheek. A certain spot his lips were more than familiar with.
"I'm going to bed." James announced suddenly.
"Goodnight, James." House said, as he played the last chord. He got up and limped to his bed.
They each lay in their respective rooms for a minute. It would have been House's night with Birdie, and he found he just couldn't fall asleep without the warm ball against his cheek. He sighed and rolled over onto his side, staring blankly at the wall. Maybe he could bore himself to sleep by thinking over clinic records.
Just as he had begun that tactic, the door opened. There, in boxer's and a t-shirt, stood James Wilson.
"I know you can't sleep."
"What are you going to do about it?" House asked. James shrugged and carefully walked over to his bed. Eyes locked with House, he lay down, pulling the blankets up to his shoulder.
"I know that you kissed me that one night."
"What one night?" House had decided to play dumb.
"The night that I left and came back."
"Why did you come back, anyway?" House asked. James smiled.
"I wanted you to kiss me."
"All you ever had to do was ask." House wasn't sure if the younger man was kidding or dead serious. He hoped, no, prayed the man was serious.
"Oh," there was a moment of silence, and James scooted closer to House. He put his face in the crook of House's neck. One of House's hands came up to hold the back of his head.
"House?"
"Yeah?"
"Will you kiss me?"
"Yeah," House smiled and the put his forehead against James's. The man tipped his head back, and House captured his lips.
The kiss was warm and sweet, loving and gentle. House knew that someday, their kisses would turn fierce, but not right now. Right now, they had only begun to skin the cat.
"All you ever had to do was ask." He said again when they parted. James smiled and buried his face in House's neck again. Maybe now they could both get to sleep.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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