Stick it to the Metal
By Andrea Churchill
I am not a House fan in particular, but I watched an episode for the first time some time ago and I came up with a good idea for a House/Kim Possible crossover. The characters are based off of the Kim Possible Roleplay, not the show. Also, I am not writing it in the style of the show House. I have seen a few episodes of the show and the story will focus more on the patient and disease rather than the lives of the characters of House. This is Kim Possible placed in the House hospital.
A man sat at his dark wooden desk in his dim lighted office. The room was in a word, gloomy. The walls were an almost black wood. The furniture was similarly a dark wood despite a few decorative touches, like a few pieces of green velvet found here and there, in the tiniest places. There was no light in the room except for the lamp that shined on the man's face and his work. The man was writing something, perhaps a document of some sort. The man was bald, with an auburn beard. He was a bit heavy and he wore a black sweater. He had slightly darkened circles under his big, black, tired eyes. He had a small piggy nose and a tight mouth. His expression was tern, cold, and serious, yet one could see pain if they looked deep enough.
The man coughed, and then continued writing. A few moments later he coughed again. A few moments after that, he coughed a few more times. He paused, sighed, and then continued writing.
In the kitchen, in a narrow yet lighter room complete with light wood cabinets and counters, a young woman was washing dishes in the chrome sink. She hummed lightly. She wore a lavender buttoned cardigan, and had medium, straight, silky black hair, perfect pale skin with a light sprinkle of freckles, and glossy pouted lips. She was very pretty, and had a completely opposite aura than the man. She looked innocent, kind and gentle.
Then, a yell was heard. "BESS!" it cried. The young woman gasped and looked up. She dropped a plate she was washing and it fell and smashed to the first. She ran out of the kitchen, through a dark, yet highly decorated and pristine parlor (which can now give us the notion that the family had money), through a short hallway and burst through doors into a dark office. She could not see clearly in the dark room, so she groped for the light switch and turned it on.
"Dad?" she cried, searching.
She came across the side of the desk, where her father was on the floor. He was twitching as if he was having a seizure. He looked as if he was in the worst pain imaginable. His eyes were yellowing, and his forehead was bleeding. His knuckles looked red with a slight grey discoloration. The young woman cried and fell to her knees and held him.
"Bess…..t-take meh….upstairs.." he said in his Scottish accent, trembling. She shook her head violently.
"No! You can't keep treating this yourself! You need to see a doctor! I'll take you to the hospital!"
He winced. He looked as if he wanted to be angry but was in too much pain to do so. "NO…te disease cannot be treated…tey won' know whut it is…tey won' know how te treat eh!"
"But the disease is getting worse!" a tear fell down her cheek. "I know a place…they will help you."
The man cried out in pain and in rebellion and she tried lifting him up.