Glue: Chapter 5

[verbal_kint]

Chapter 5: Taking Out the Trash

 

Wilson stretches his legs out and shifts his weight onto his palms. To his left, a stomach growls, but nobody laughs. Nobody even blinks. Nobody does anything, except listen.

He clears his throat anxiously, even considers faking a coughing fit to stall a little. But nobody would excuse him, and nobody would mind waiting 30 seconds, because everyone loves the kind of story that makes them feel those 15 minutes of superiority. Wilson loosens his tie and opens his mouth.

“Eddie and I were picking up our younger brother, Matthew, from school. I sat with Matt in the back; Eddie drove. We were almost home when this car ran a red light in front of us. Eddie tried to stop, but it was too late, so we uh, side-swiped the other car.”

Wilson squints and scratches his head, as if he can’t quite recall what happened next (or doesn’t want to). “We—we were all fine. I mean, some bruises here or there, but nothing too bad. The other driver, though…he was killed on impact.” He swallows. The words strangle his tongue like little hostile aliens, and yet he can’t easily let them go. “Eddie, h-he couldn’t seem to get past the fact that someone was dead because of him. I mean, I think he knew it wasn’t ‘his fault,’ but there was some sort of complex he had going, where if he hadn’t been there, the guy would be alive. And we told him it was stupid, that the guy was probably drunk or just some idiot who had death coming to him, but it only made things worse. He kept telling me, ‘Jim, you would’ve stopped. You know when to stop.’ He didn’t want to be in a place where he couldn’t control things like that. And he didn’t want to be in a place where all he could do was ask ‘what if.’ One night, late that summer, he went to go spend the night at his buddy’s house, and he never came back. He started living on the streets, like just another bum. I used to go out looking for him late at night.” Wilson laughs bitterly. “God, it’s a wonder I wasn’t mugged.”

Chase looks down before asking, “Did you ever find him?”

“Yeah, just once. At first I didn’t recognize him,” says Wilson. “but he was the one who spoke first. He, uh, told me he loved me. Mom, Dad, and Matt, too. Then I asked him when he’d be coming back, and he said, ‘When I stop hating myself.’ I guess he never did.”

Wilson lets go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He runs a hand through his hair before continuing. “By the time Christmas came around, we stopped caring about what would’ve happened that day had he not been there, because he wasn’t there. I wish I could say it was like he’d never been there, but that Christmas was the worst because he was…everywhere. His stupid ornaments he made in Preschool, the Christmas card picture we’d taken at the Grand Canyon that spring, his goddamn stocking…he was like that piece of dog fur that always sticks to your dress shirts, and as hard as we tried to shake it off, we couldn’t, because we missed him too damn much.”

The roof of Wilson’s mouth feels like tar against his tongue, and for a minute he thinks he might cry. He looks at the ceiling while his eyes burn, and he can’t decide whether to blink repeatedly or not blink at all. He looks at the trashcan. A trashcan—evidence of what this place really is. It’s certainly not some high-security confessional, though he’s been treating it like one. It’s a fucking janitor’s closet. Where mice go to die and bacteria go to thrive, and everything else goes to be completely and utterly bored.

Suddenly the prickle at the corners of Wilson’s eyes becomes a dull fizz, like forgotten soda in his tear ducts as he continues. “But I think the worst thing,” he says, “was that Matt and I each got one more present. We each ate a little more at dinner. We each got to light the same amount of candles on the menorah. And we liked it. We liked not having to share. And I think it was because our whole family hated him a little that year. Not enough to mention it, probably not enough to know what was happening, but thinking back…” He puffs out his cheeks to think and for a second he looks like House. “Now we hate that we hated him. Hell, we hate each other for hating him. And I hate families because part of me hates them all for sitting there, for letting him go.” Wilson’s voice cracks. It’s nothing too suspicious, but it’s nothing that won’t get by House, either. “I got excited when I started to hate myself,” says Wilson. “I figured maybe I’d get to go be with Eddie.”

When Wilson is finally able to look into the eyes of his listeners, he finds himself immediately mortified of the story he’d vocally chucked into the supply closet walls. Nobody knows what exactly to say or do or think, so everyone (even House) sits and stares like the failed experiments of Stepford. At James Wilson, of course.

“Shit,” he says hastily, “I’m sorry guys. I-I didn’t know it was gonna be, uh…” He looks desperately to House for an out, but House doesn’t budge. “Don’t, don’t think that just because I went—“

“Since when do Jews get Christmas cards and menorahs?”

Rarely has Wilson been this excited to hear that gravelly voice.

House continues, “So do you guys get birth months, too? Two bar mitzvahs, get a bat mitzvah free?”

It’s not his best work, not by far, but it gets the job done, and for Wilson, that’s all that matters.

Wilson smiles, gladly answering, “We were young. We felt left out, so Mom and Dad let us celebrate Christmas too.”

“You were old enough to drive a car, I think you were old enough to choose tradition over commercialism.”

“Since when do you care about religion?”

“Since they invented one that’s also an ethnicity. That’s just cool.”

“Shalom, House.”

“Cocka moon, Wilson.” House smiles politely. “I means, ‘I shit on top of you.’”

“Well, I appreciate the fact that I have slightly more Christmas spirit than you do,”

House pauses, looking a little flustered. “Don’t mention it,” he says hazily.

Wilson narrows his eyes and scoots closer to House. “You okay?”

“Drowsy,” he says, probably intending to include and ‘I’m’ in there somewhere.

Wilson’s concerned eyebrows get pretty close to connecting at the middle as he says, “So take a nap. The janitor won’t mind.”

“Said I was drowsy, I didn’t say I was tired.”

Foreman and Chase shoot Wilson a look. Wilson shrugs. House blinks a few times, sifting through levels of focus like a gratuitously complex camera. He stares at nothing in particular on the ground, not quite exiting slow motion.

“House,” says Wilson, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m…I don’t know, but I’m okay. Keep going.”

Wilson frowns. “Keep going with what? The story’s over, House.”

House nods quickly and continues staring perplexedly at the floor.

Chase straightens out his pants and looks to Wilson. “Can I ask you a question?”

Wilson says “sure” before he has time to stress over why Chase would ask that.

Chase says, “Why didn’t you go back and look for him again?”

“Because Wilson didn’t really want him to come home.”

Wilson doesn’t quite see House’s lips move as he speaks, yet the problem with ‘growling’ your words is that one’s voice is rather distinct. Wilson would’ve known who spoke in the dark. Somewhat unfortunately, it’s no longer dark.

‘What? Why would you say that?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” House thickly coats his words with bitterness, for reasons Wilson’s rather unsure of, and yet his eyes still watch the floor. “You found him once, you could’ve found him again, but you didn’t, because you were done with him by then.”

“That’s not even close to being true, House.” Wilson smiles uncomfortably, “surprised” not even approaching how taken aback he is.

“People…see people for a limited amount of reasons. With you, there’s only one reason you would’ve gone looking for him just once. You gave him money. And you didn’t know what he did with it and you didn’t care because you could say you did your best. Your caring is unlimited so long as you don’t have to stick around to see the aftermath.”

It scares Wilson that House doesn’t look up, that his words stream on, apparently without thought or consideration or effort. But House’s words do take thought, and they do take knowledge, and they do take a sort of maliciousness that Wilson’s never seen unprovoked by probing or stupidity. His words also take a sort of vulnerability that Wilson never expected to see in the presence of others.

“The aftermath is messy,” House says. “The great James Wilson doesn’t do messy.”

“Look who I’m best friends with!”

“Because you still feel guilty. Not about me but about your brother, because when the world went to Hell, you were every bit the coward he was. You gave him the money and ran while he sat there dying.”

“He’s not dead.”

“Well, you wouldn’t know, would you?” House says loosely. He looks odd, like a drunk who’s only minutes away from completely sobering up.

“What the Hell is wrong with you?”

“You’re a better man than I am. Act like it.”

Chase and Foreman feel like little kids, watching their parents fight and pinpoint every fault in the other, and still, this fight was more impassioned. These two people cared more about what the other had to say than the average married couple. These two were more honest, less weary. There’s an aspect of excitement within the confines of the janitor’s closet.

“This is your idea of fun? Unloading mass amounts of superiority on me while you tell me I’m a better man than you are?”

“And you are. I’m just not as quick to treat everyone as if they’d die without me.”

“That’s because you’ve never lost anyone, House!”

House mumbles something slackly to the floor. Wilson scoots closer. “What?”

House doesn’t answer.

“What, House?”

House looks up, suddenly alert, his eyes glazed over for one reason or another. “Yes, I have.”

House eyes Chase and Foreman suspiciously before coming to some internal reassurance that they weren’t Cameron. That they wouldn’t care…that much. At least, that’s what it looks like as he nods truth into his words. Wilson is left staring at the top of House’s head as he looks to the floor once again.

House’s voice comes out tenser than before. Soon, he’ll agonize over why he decided to do this. As for now, he has no idea.

“I had this uncle. His first name was Soble, which he hated, so everyone called him ‘Elbos’ because it was Soble spelled backwards. He was…everything my dad wasn’t. He was loud, he was funny, he was smart. He rode a Harley Panhead, which at age 14 I thought was the coolest thing ever.” House keeps his head down. His words come easier now, and Chase can see his shoulders starting to slouch down a bit. “We only lived about an hour away from him when Dad was stationed in Fredericksburg, so I hung out with him all the time. We watched movies, talked about girls, you know…”

House frowns at the tiles below, considering anything he’s left out before continuing. “When I was 15 we got transferred to Albany, Georgia. I kept on trying to get back to visit him, but my father didn’t want me around such an obviously negative influence. I only saw him during Christmas,” he says spitefully. “So I saved up some money. A lot of money. And one summer, I flew back to see him without my parents knowing a thing. It was great…until he found out I didn’t have my father’s permission to be there. He said he was going to send me back first thing the next day.”

House swallows uneasily. “We got in a fight. Or, I guess just I did. I, uh, yelled at him. Said I hated him for sending me back. I said…he was just like John. Which, of course, probably wasn’t an insult to him. He knew he and his brother were from different planets. But he sent me back anyways, and that’s when we stopped talking. A few months passed, I grew up. Slightly,” he adds, as if sensing Foreman’s critical eyes. “We didn’t talk at all, but it was Christmas, and I knew that pretty soon, that ’65 Harley Panhead would be in the driveway. He’d be tired from the long trip, but he’d still sit down and talk, and I could tell him exactly how different he was from Dad. Then I could tell him I didn’t hate him.”

House looks up, locking eyes so briefly with Wilson that neither of them really had time to analyze the other. “About 2AM we got a call from my grandmother. Someone hadn’t seen him on the road, changed lanes into him. He bled to death on the road 20 miles from our house.”

Wilson isn’t sure why he was expecting House to cry, or tear up, or…something, but he isn’t the only one who’s disturbed by the matter-of-factness of House’s delivery. Yet, in some backward way, the oddness of House’s tale seems to fit the man. It probably suites Uncle Elbos just fine.

“You can’t do nothing and expect things to change, Wilson. You’ll only wish you did.”

Chase and Foreman suspect that one day Cuddy, Cameron, or perhaps the odd clinic patient will know that Uncle Elbos existed, that he was a good man, that he changed at least one life…but they sure as Hell won’t be the ones to tell them.

And neither will Wilson, who watches House not watch him and realizes that his problem is the only one that can be fixed. Words can’t bring back the dead, and memories can’t make bad dates good, and lives can’t really be changed on the floor of a janitor’s closet. Yet it’s amazing how far one dab of glue goes.

Wilson’s ready to go now.

House sits up rather abruptly and leans over to Wilson. “Got any more Motrin?”

“No,” says Wilson before House can truly finish his question.

“Empty your pockets.”

“Why? What’s the matter?”

“My leg doesn’t hurt.”

Wilson stutters, trying his best to smile. “T-that’s good. I mean, I imagine your story distracted you—“

“Yeah, stories are like that, aren’t they? I mean, I always feel like I’m on a more potent narcotic when I tell ‘Little Red Riding Hood.’ Empty your pockets or tell me what you gave me.”

Wilson freezes, not daring to stick his hands in his pockets.

House gets closer, his smile gaining confidence and approaching smugness. “There’s not that many I could’ve mistaken for Motrin, even if you covered the name. Tylox or Darvocet?”

Wilson shakes his head wearily, reaching into his breast pocket and revealing two small orange pills. House takes them, smile overtaking the lower part of his face. “Darvocet, 100mg. I’m impressed. Am I funnier when I’m high?”

On waves his hands around frantically. “I didn’t know you’ve never had it! I assumed nothing short of heroine could get you buzzed.”

“Hey man, I appreciate it. Maybe I’ll switch over, chase the dragon, dude.”

Wilson raises an eyebrow.

Meanwhile, a suspicious pair of heels slap against the ground in the hallway. Nobody takes notice under the current circumstances.

“Of course,” says House, “now you need to tell me why you had them. Or better yet, why you thought it necessary to lock us all in the janitor’s closet.”

Chase stands up. “You did this on purpose?”

“That’s why he didn’t think knocking would be ‘useful,’” says House.

And Wilson stands up, glancing apologetically at Foreman and Chase. “I-I didn’t know you two would be in here. I thought it’d just be House, and I only had the pills as a precaution, just in case House lost his Vicodin or—“

“Just in case you wanted to get stoned with me?” asks House, who also stands up.

Foreman remains on the ground, back resting as always on the door. “Somebody, preferably you,” he says, pointing to Wilson, “please explain this from the beginni—“

Foreman spills backwards into the hallway as the door opens. To him, Lisa Cuddy is upside down.

She smiles genuinely and says, “Happy Birthday, House!”

She opens the door a little wider, allowing Foreman to roll out of the way. There, by the heels of her impractical shoes, is a white rat in an absurdly elaborate plastic cage.

“The cage?” says House.

“Call him Nicolas Cage,” says Wilson, whose tone become accusing as his eyes meet Cuddy’s. “What took you so long?”

Cuddy’s voice seems equally frazzled. “I couldn’t find an albino male. I don’t even know why you told me to get one. Their eyes give me the creeps.” She looks at Nicolas Cage and shudders. “I must’ve called you ten times, Wilson.”

“And how do you think House would’ve reacted once he found out I had my cell phone?”

“A text then?”

Wilson sighs. “Why didn’t you just get a girl albino then?”

Cuddy motions towards House. “You know he’s going to put this one in the same cage as his sewer rat.”

“Steve McQueen,” object House and Wilson simultaneously, both somewhat hurt to hear Steve referred to in such a manner.

Cuddy shrugs and continues, “I didn’t want them to…you know.”

“Rodent porn,” whispers House, “kinky.”

Chase holds back a laugh.

Foreman joins the others in standing. “What is this all about?”

Wilson and Cuddy glance at each other, mentally assuming different roles in this story.

Wilson starts.

“We know that House takes more of a fancy to Steve than he’d like to admit,” he says, glaring at House. “But Steve spends most of his time alone, doesn’t get much attention with House being gone or passed out on the couch most of the time…”

“So we thought we’d get him a play mate,” Cuddy finishes. “And we knew House’d never turn down the chance of owning two of the same disgusting animal.”

Chase straightens his shirt, still failing to look like he hadn’t just spent an hour in a janitor’s closet. “But what does that have to do with—“

“We could never get away with this under normal circumstances,” says Wilson, “so we figured we’d send House on a…different path.”

Slowly, a smile forms on House’s face.

Wilson gestures towards the trashcan. “Cuddy found out the janitor was pulling this stunt even before House did, because regardless of their need to gamble, the other janitors did not keep their mouths shut. So I wrote her a series of letters to hide the plan from House. But then I realized that I could use the letters, too. I threw one away when I was sure he was looking, and I left the rest up to House being House.”

Cuddy steps in to take credit for her part. “House’s patient was stable, and I didn’t fire the janitor. All we had to do was wait. The plan was to lock him in the janitor’s closet, just so he couldn’t pull anything or find us out while I was out getting the rat. We didn’t mean for Wilson to actually get locked in. Or you two, obviously.”

Foreman and Chase stare at Wilson and Cuddy for slightly longer than is typically acceptable, before Chase says, “It’s okay, Dr. Cuddy.” He’s not lying.

Wilson and Cuddy exchange a somewhat subtle handshake before Cuddy steps back, allowing the closet patrons freedom. She eyes a mysterious hole in the back of Wilson’s pants, the kind that allows the world a preview of his Daffy Duck boxers. “Wilson,” she starts, but is quieted by House, who puts a finger to his mouth and holds a pair of scissors with his other hand. “…thank you for your help. Enjoy the rat, House,” she says with a wink, and leaves. In the free air of the hallway, her shoes are atrociously loud. To the four doctors, it sounds beautiful.

Chase, Foreman, Wilson, and House file into the hallway. House leans on his cane while Wilson picks up Nicolas Cage. They walk back towards House’s office.

“You know what’s funny?” says Wilson, examining Nicolas’ ‘creepy’ red eyes.

House stops. “Uh-oh.”

“I think you had it figured out the moment you felt drowsy. I mean, no way a man with such experience as yours in the consumption of narcotics can take that long to ‘suddenly’ realize he’s not on Motrin.” He puts Nicolas’ cage on the floor so he can move his hands to his hips. “You wanted to tell that story, House.”

“Maybe I just wanted to hear yours.”

Wilson gives House a wise smile, and picks up the cage. Chase and Foreman are a few steps in front of them. Chase grabs the handle of House’s conference room just as House tells them to wait.

“You guys haven’t eaten lunch,” is all he says.

He looks at Wilson, like a five year-old who’s suddenly mute around strangers. Wilson says, “There’s a Marie Calendar’s down the street. I’ll drive.”

They leave Nicolas Cage in exam room one with a nametag that says Dr. Cage. They pass the janitor’s closet on the way out, but nobody looks at it.

Wilson gets several confused stares in the lobby concerning the exposure of his Daffy Duck boxers. He’s yet to notice, but that’s okay.

There’s some glue in the janitor’s closet.

The End

Comments

[octoberspirit.livejournal.com]

Aw. ^_^ This story was all over the place. It was funny, and angsty, and also adorable. I applaud you. Plus, Steve got a new friend, so it's all good. You are pretty much awesome. I shall never look at a janitors' closet the same way.

[enigmatic-raven.livejournal.com]

Aww...poor Wilson...and House! Nice plan on Cuddy and Wilson's parts, though. Very clever, just a shame Foreman and Chase got stuck. Though....they did learn something new about their boss and his best friend. And Steve gets a buddy! Very nice story, great ending!

[menolly-au.livejournal.com]

Wow, he's a sneaky bastard that Wilson isn't he :) Though typical Wilson to get caught in his own plan (though I did wonder if he decided to get stuck in there so he could spend some bonding time with House and the fellows). I like how he expresses affection for House by bringing him a rat and pills :) Great story, thoroughly enjoyed it.

[verbal-kint10.livejournal.com]

Thanks a lot for reading it. In my head Wilson definitely got himself locked in there on purpose, but I didn't want to throw in too much fluff there at the end, lol. Thanks again!

[feanix.livejournal.com]

Thanks for writing this :) It was a really great read...But I couldn't stop thinking two things:

1) "How big does this janitor's closet have to be to fit four grow men in it?"

2) "How is there a story about four grown men locked in a closet that doesn't have slash in it?"

Seriously, though, loved it. Brilliantly funny, wonderfully angsty and I can't wait for the next thing you write.

[verbal-kint10.livejournal.com]

You're welcome, but thank you for reading it. :)
And to answer your question:

1. This story is based loosely on something that four of my friends and I used to do at school last year. I dunno about grown men, but five teenagers fit just fine into a janitors closet (which is a great place to ditch Geography).

2. Well, let's just say I'm not ruling out the possibility of a "deleted scene" sometime in the future. ;)

Thanks again, and I'm really glad you liked it.

[mich8283.livejournal.com]

But I don't want it to end! :(

Nice job! I've probably said this in another review but I was incredibly skeptical of this whole plot (Wilson, Chase, Foreman and House in a closet?!) but you really pulled it off nicely.

Favorite line?

“Yeah, stories are like that, aren’t they? I mean, I always feel like I’m on a more potent narcotic when I tell ‘Little Red Riding Hood.’ Empty your pockets or tell me what you gave me.”

Love it. Very House!

What's next? ;) (Yes, I'm a very greedy little fic reader!)

[verbal-kint10.livejournal.com]

Well, you weren't the only one who was skeptical *points to self* Actually, I'm still a little iffy on it, but it's finished so phew I guess, lol.

What's next? I'll have the first chapter of a new story up in a week, and I'm actually pretty excited about it.

Thanks so much for your support!

[srsly-yes.livejournal.com]

I gasped with joy to see that chapter 5 was posted, but felt a little regret knowing this lovely story was about to come to an end.

Great twists and turns, and I was pleased to see House challenge Wilson's double holiday. I was wondering too.

Two points that delighted me: House's use of Yiddish. It always amazes me how much House knows, and Wilson never utters a word. Also watching manipulative Wilson in action - always a pleasure.

btw - loved the Daffy Duck boxers - long may they wave.

This fic contained just the right mix of humor, affection and angst. |

[verbal-kint10.livejournal.com]

Gosh, thanks! My friend celebrates both Christmas and Hanukkah--I'll never stop giving her crap about being some sort of religious poser.

But thanks so much for reading and for your very sweet comments. They really mean a lot coming from a writer of your caliber. In fact, I'm currently putting off my Chemistry homework to go catch up on your fics. Yay!

Thanks again!

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

okay, that was simply amazing, hon :) beautifully done, and you encompassed the whole range of emotions... alternatingly funny and tear-jerking -- sometimes both at the same time -- with a twist at the end that no one would have suspected... very well done, love :) *Hugs*

[verbal-kint10.livejournal.com]

Wow thanks so much. :) Haha, I think the reason nobody suspected the twist was because I didn't either until chapter 2, lol.

As I just wrote to srsly_yes, I need to go catch up on your fics as well. I'm, needless to say, expecting sheer awesomeness. thanks again. :D

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

awwww *blushes* i'm looking forward to your reactions to them :P hehe...

and it's funny how a plot can sneak up on you like that ;) i didn't know i was gonna do what i did in the latest "used" update until just 5 or 6 chapters ago :P hehe

anyways, i'm looking forward to whatever you come up with next :)

i have a friend i'm trying to turn onto the house fandom, and your fics are the ones i'm trying to get her to read... i think it's the perfect balance of wonderful humor to hook her when she's not so attached to the characters yet, and enough angst and emotion to make her *start* to feel for them :P hehehehe

[verbal-kint10.livejournal.com]

Oh my, you might want to start her off with a writer a little higher up on the food chain. I don't want her to read them and be like, "are all House writers this self-indulgent and weird?"

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

no, seriously, she'll enjoy your sense of humor very much, i know, and the serious stuff... like, with the major angst and all that i usually read/write is a little extreme for her... she's not exactly ready to read house characters going through the kind of torture i put them through :P lol... or she'd start with *mine* lol... another dangerous place for a newbie fan to start ;) lol...

and you really sell yourself short, hon ;) you're awesome *hugs*

[cardenrow.livejournal.com]

Ok, I gotta say, this was just awesome! So much more than I thought would happen in a janitor's closet. And, once again, I laughed out loud (hard, actually) at the Daffy Duck boxers, but even more that House cut a hole in Wilson's pants!

And, I for one, got a huge unexpected (shock/surprise/laugh) at the Albany, Georgia MCLB reference. I live 15 minutes from the base, in that city we affectionately call "Agony, Georgia". A "House" reference so close to home was fantastic!

Well done, as always! I'm pleased to see you didn't let "the restaraunt" close! ;D

[verbal-kint10.livejournal.com]

Oh gosh, a closed restaurant sounds like a sequel that should never see the light of day, lol. Even I'm not that cruel.

I'm a Navy brat myself, so I do like to keep my military references as accurate as possible, and I'm glad you appreciated it, haha.

Thanks so much for reading and taking the time to comment. I really appreciate it!

[bukabe16.livejournal.com]

this made me think of the quote 'Lou the janitor' ^^ Really nice story!

[cindy-lou-who8.livejournal.com]

That was a great ending! :)

[poeia.livejournal.com]

I was wondering about Wilson celebrating Christmas, but it all made sense. I'm glad House had a positive male role model growing up. And I'd love to see Wilson's Daffy Duck boxers.

I assumed nothing short of heroine could get you buzzed. I'm sure a heroic woman would make House feel good, but when it comes to the pain in his leg, heroin would probably do the job better. ;-D

[verbal-kint10.livejournal.com]

I wouldn't mind seeing Wilson's Daffy Duck boxers myself...

[lhoma320.livejournal.com]

You are such a wizzard when it comes to these stories. It's a story in a story in a story. :D This statement was so true "...that Christmas was the worst because he was…everywhere. His stupid ornaments he made in Preschool."

The whole surprise birthday was the best idea! I loved how Cuddy showed up with Nicolas Cage in a cage. Here I was trying to figure out why House was so loopy from a motrin tablet.

The boxers was the best. However, I do suspect once Wilson stepped outside he'd feel a cold draft on his butt. LOL Great story! Hope you have another one in the works real fast. :D

[verbal-kint10.livejournal.com]

Wow thanks, I'm really glad you liked it. Lol, and I'll have another story up before the end of the week if that's fast enough. ;)

[lhoma320.livejournal.com]

Also, I had a lot of Jewish friends living up in NYC and they celebrated the santa part of Christmas. They had trees and gave gifts as well.

[aiatalay.livejournal.com]

HAHAHAHA!!! LOL WILSON HAS DAFFY DUCK BOXERS!!!!!

and... That story was quite good.

Very very good. :))))

[angelcat2865.livejournal.com]

Thatleft me smiling. Great job!

[verbal-kint10.livejournal.com]

Thanks for reading!