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Halloweens of House
by bell
Tenth
His father slapped his knee and roared with laughter. "Dear!" his mother chided, but she couldn't hide a smile.
"What?" Gregory knew that he was the butt of yet another joke, and worse still, he didn't even know why. "It's Halloween and I want to go trick-or-treating."
"Have you forgotten, boy? You're in a Muslim country now. They don't do things the same. Forget Halloween, forget Thanksgiving, forget Christmas. They don't mean anything out here."
"But the American compound will probably have a party for the children," his mother suggested, trying to cheer up a sullen Gregory. "You can still wear a costume and eat candy."
"It's not the same at all." Gregory hated parties almost as much as he hated the compound kids. If he couldn't do Halloween the normal way, then he wouldn't do it at all.
Oh well, he might as well take advantage of the situation. "Can I get a chemistry set instead?"
Twenty-third
Unlike most of his peers, House's proudest accomplishment at twenty-three was not getting into Michigan's med program: it was owning his own place. After two decades of relying on his father, he was finally financially independent. Of course, he was independent in that he was receiving several scholarships and even more loans; but for all intents and purposes, he was free, provided he kept on following this medical path. Since it was exactly where he wanted to be, it all worked out.
The end of October found House swamped with work and lacking a day or two's worth of sleep. Everyone had been avoiding him, and with good reason, since on a good day he was charismatic and snappish by turn. On a bad one, he was strictly vitriolic. On the last Thursday of the month he set himself up for another all-nighter of reading and memorization, and was not at all pleased to hear his doorbell ring.
He trudged to the door and opened it, and whatever he expected, it wasn't a troop of badly costumed (including one nurse wiping a runny nose on her hat) kids. "What?" He asked, before it dawned on him what day it was. He felt immediately stupid for having forgotten.
The kids glanced at each other, a bit worried, but not excessively so; this, of all the nights in the year, was theirs. And they knew it. "Trick or treat!" They chimed in almost harmonious unison.
Pretending to take a moment to think, House answered, "Trick it is, then. But if you do anything, trust me, you'll regret it."
The kids ran away, not one of them daring to take on the grumpy man's challenge. Wimps. House closed the door, turned off all the lights with the exception of his desk lamp, and spent the rest of the night studying.
Thirty-sixth
"That's crazy!" Wilson protested, but he was laughing so hard he had to put down his glass of beer. (House disapproved. Outside of the can, beer lost that vital metallic tang. Moreover, how wussy could you get?)
House shrugged. "I'd be collecting knowledge, and therefore be contributing to humankind. Everyone wins! Except for the neighborhood and surrounding areas, I suppose."
Stacy didn't pretend to be shocked; her job required staying in a politically correct box all day, and she enjoyed being let out of it when she went back home to House. "The neighborhood wouldn't bother to sue you, they'd just grab the first rope available and lynch you."
"You underestimate human greediness--they'd lynch me only after suing my pants off."
"Since when have I let you keep your pants?"
"Not!" Wilson interrupted, covering his ears, "in front of the guest. Please."
"And who used to make us witness you and Kristin sticking your tongues down each other's throats?"
Kristin was a sensitive subject, and House wasn't one bit fooled when Wilson hastily brought the conversation back to its original place by asking, "So, what, you want to be behind the 90's incarnation of the Tuskegee experiment?"
House let it slide. Anything was a more interesting subject than the ugly end of relationships. "I'm not saying I actually want to expose candy bars to nuclear waste and then distribute them on Halloween. I was making a point. That's all it takes-- one crazy loon."
The three of them sat in thoughtful silence until the doorbell rang again.
Forty-second
Doped up on Vicodin and booze, House slept through the evening. Stacy distributed the candy alone.
Forty-fourth
Wilson was between wives, making this the first time in their many years of acquaintanceship that neither one of them had some female attachment, and, to be honest, it wasn't all that bad. There was no one to complain that the best friend was draped over the couch, eating all the candy and making faces at the kids that came in. Some of them made faces back at him while others got scared and huddled towards their parents. Wilson just shook his head and laughed.
Once the doorbell stopped ringing, Wilson sat down next to House on the couch, where they ate leftover candy corn as they watched 60's sitcom reruns on Nick at Night. House ended up falling asleep there, and when he woke up the next morning, he could swear that his teeth were going to all fall off from the unwashed sugar residue.
Forty-sixth
His office represented a sanctuary during the last three months of the year. If nowhere else, here he could be assured freedom from the never-ending nightmare of community-oriented celebrations and holidays. So when he walked in to discover his office sporting a color theme, he deeply regretted having hired Cameron. A vase would have caused less trouble.
"Good morning!" Cameron greeted, the end of an orange streamer in one hand and a stapler in the other.
"What have you done?"
A bit taken back, she looked at the mess around her uncertainly before looking back at her boss. "Decorated? I thought it might be nice."
"I didn't hire you to think nice."
She blushed. Annoying. He really would have to break her in. "What did you hire me for, then? I've been coming in for a week and haven't done anything yet."
"Are you bitching about being bored?"
"Bitching? "
"Chase doesn't mind that he does nothing all day, do you, Chase?"
The person in question looked up from the article he was reading. "No, sir," he answered dutifully.
"See? Learn to be like him and you'll lead a happier life. Now take this crap down."
Forty-seventh
The girl stared out the window forlornly. At least, House guessed so; he was watching her from outside the room, and all he could see was the back of her head. Whatever. He opened the door, and she turned to look at him. Bright red splotches covered her face, just like on the rest of her body.
"Mom made me a costume and everything," she said. "It's the best thing ever, it had four arms and everything."
A thousand things to say ran through House's head, including `On the other hand, your current monster costume is all natural and free of charge.' "That's very sad," House deadpanned. "I came here to ask some questions. Got any pets?" She shook her head, no. "How about your classroom, any gerbil projects, any hamsters hanging about?"
"We have a snake, a really, really big snake."
"Ever feed this really, really big snake?"
"No, after Chris put it in Katie's desk we're not allowed to open the cage."
"She probably deserved it. How about your friends, they have any animals at home?"
"My best friend Amanda has a cat, but she's always hiding beneath the bed and stuff."
"And one more thing--" he made as if he were looking for something around her ears, and ended up pulling out a lollipop. "You oughta clean the back of your ears better."
Her face lit up, then quickly switched to disappointment. She waved her bandage-covered hand. They'd wrapped them to keep her from scratching herself. House made a sound of exasperation, but unwrapped the lollipop for her anyway and stuck it in her mouth. "Don't tell your mom- she'd kill me and sue the hospital if she found out, and then Cuddy would have to bring me back from the dead to kill me herself."
Using both her hands to pull the lollipop out of her mouth, she asked, "Will I get more if I keep quiet?"
What a flippant, opportunistic kid. House approved. "You can count on not getting any more if you don't keep your trap shut."
"Thank you," she chirped politely.
Nodding a little awkwardly, he left the room. Hopefully no one--
He bumped into Wilson. A Wilson who looked like he had just eaten the cat, canary, and all the other animals around. "Not. One. Word." House warned him.
"How about me?" He asked, "Where's my lollipop? Or maybe you got me a Reese's peanut butter cup, you know how much I like those."
"You're sick." House insisted before hobbling away, a little futilely, since Wilson could more than keep up with him.
"I wouldn't say no to a Snickers bar from the vending machine. How about a beer?" Wilson continued gleefully in this vein until his pager summoned him back to work.
House spent the night in his office pouring over books and articles on health complications related to domestic cats and snakes.
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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 NBC/Universal, 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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