| |
You Could Meet Him On the Bus: Breakfast With Tiffany
by Taima Hiroshima
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't know when I'll continue And Baby Makes... but rest assured I will. I'm just taking a break.
For the next week, the bus was abnormally crowded. She always ended up sitting next to him. She always seemed to be running late, just barely making it to the stop, always chewing on a doughnut and tried to comb her hair.
House saw the number of pages she had left in Oliver Twist get smaller and smaller. They were pretty quiet as they sat together. Every now and then, House's eyes slid over to see where she was in the book. Part of him wanted to jump right in and ask her questions.
But then, she'd probably think he was a perverted old man with a cane. And that made him extra dangerous. She looked like the kind of girl who would carry pepper spray in her purse.
The second week, things seemed to settle down. She was waiting at the bus stop with a box of treats under her arm, her books in the backpack she carried, covered in duct tape and safety pins. Her hair was combed and neatly hung down.
House wasn't sitting in the handicapped seat. There were plenty of places to choose from, and he'd plopped in something near the back door. The girl put in her coins and scoped the place. When she spotted him, she went and sat in the seat behind him.
"You're not in your seat,"
"You're not holding your comb." He didn't look at her. She shrugged and sat back. He heard her rustling around.
"Want one?" she held out the box to him. House eyed them and the girl suspiciously. She didn't seem the type to poison them. And anyway, she was munching on a chocolate covered affair. He selected one covered in frosting and rainbow sprinkles.
"No coffee?"
"Well, I can't carry everything." She rolled her eyes and looked out the window. "My name's Tiffany."
"Isn't that a stripper name?"
"Aren't you a little too lucid to be riding the bus? What's your story? Are you a druggie?" she snapped. House nodded.
"Yup," he said with dead seriousness. She laughed uneasily.
"I'm House,"
"Isn't---,"
"Shut up or you wear those doughnuts." He cut her off. She sat back and reached into her bag. House saw her pull out a new book. He squinted and saw it was The Bell Jar.
"Sylvia Plath, huh? Did you finish Oliver Twist?"
"Yeah," she settled back into her story. House said nothing more until he got off the bus.
"I want a chocolate doughnut tomorrow." He said as he limped off.
Please post a comment on this story.
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.
|