DISCLAIMER: I don't own House, Massive Attack, Nissan, American Airlines, Apple, or Sprite. There. I said it. However I do own Johnny Depp.
The Car
Wilson slammed the breaks, causing House to nearly topple over in the awkward position he was in: back against the armrest, one sneaker on the dashboard, the other on the floorboard. .
"Jimmy, I'm a cripple, remember?"
"House, really, if you want to make it to the airport in one peice,please, turn down the music."
House reached over, now in a more normal position, and twisted the volume to the right, causing it to increase in sound.
"House!" Wilson called as he narrowly missed hitting a gardrail.
"Oops; silly me." He dug in his pocket for a moment, then paused. "Wilson, why did you have to break my iPod?"
"I didn't. You left it at home, remember?"
House just grunted in response. Wilson rolled his eyes and told House that there were headphones in the glovve compartment.
House plugged them in and began to sing obnoxiously. "Love, love is a verb...Teardrop on the fire... bom-bom-ba-sst" The song had a certian familarity, like he'd listened to it as a kid.
"Wer'e here, " Wilson practically shouted, then muttered, "Finally."
He got House's luggage out of theback of his Xterra. House limped over to the luggage-puly-ma-gig.
Moving
"Cripple, coming through! Move yourself! Hurry up!"
"Excuse me, but Who Do You Think You Are?" A short, fat man asked him.
"The president. And my advice to you is lay off the hot dogs a bit; it'll send you straight into cardiac arrest. Let me see your hand...Yep. "
He hobbled past "Geoffrey" and laughed at the rediclous spelling. (A/N: I don't mean to offend anyone, it just seems like something House would do)
Security
"Come on, do I look like I would have a bomb?"
" DON'T SAY BOMB!" Practically the entire airport shouted.
"Okay. But how come you get to say it all the time?Aren't all men created equal?" Nothing.
"Does it look like I have any explosives?"
The security worker just shuddered, and told him that they would have to put his cane in the x-ray machine. He pouted for a moment but finally aggreed.
Boarding
"This isn't you," the security worker said, handing him Stacy's ID.
"Oops, silly me. That's my grandaughter." He smiled up at her. She wasn't amused.
"Sir, I cannot let you board without a proper identifac--"
"Fine." He handed her his real card.
"Sir, if it is not a valid, up-to-date card..." House spaced out and looked at the card and chuckled to himself. The long hair. The purple glasses. The tie-dye T-Shirt. The peace sign he was flashing. "Sir, Please. In order to keep a scedule...""
"Fine, fine, here."
On the Plane
"Aww, crap, it's Chubsy." So long for a nice nap.
"You. ...Mumble!...Rant!...I need a life!...I inpregnated a girl when I was fourteen...I hate my wife!..." House smiled at this imaganary conversation, but he really wanted his iPod.
The Refreshments
"I'll have a sprite, thank you," said House, finally out of sarcastic steam from fighting off Fatso. Lardy had fallen asleepmid-sentance, leaving House to flip through airline magazines.
However, at the sight of him awekening and ordering just the achahol, not the martini, the enginereved up again.
"Yo, dude what is totally up man?" he said as Greasey Boy downed the entire bottle. House popped a Vicodin.
He "Accidentally" dropped the pills onto the table. In his "Panic" he tipped his Sprite all over Chubsy. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"
The Hotel
I'ts not Cuddy, just a woman in a low-cut blouse. Phew. Glad that was over.
"Reservation for Gregory House. "
"I know. "
He finally looked up from his sticky hands, still covered in Sprite.
No one had ever seen Dr. Gregory House hobble so fast.