Chapter N°9
" So, want to tell me what happened in there?"
"No, not really"
He sighs in an annoyed tone, and you wish you never sent Daniel and Wilson to the cafeteria. You aren't hungry, not yet anyway, and the idea that House would like an explanation should have been predictable, really. Still, it has come as a surprise the way his eyes linger everywhere but your bobs. Amazing, to be sure, since he seemed quite unable to look at anything else just a few minutes prior your 'chaperones' departure.
" You know, it isn't proper for you to propose to Wilson…don't you think that should be the man's job? God only knows he has been practicing all these years"
He ought to try harder, if not for your unfortunate situation, you might have spared a few minutes taking care he's not fallen hill, cause it seems hardly probable the hesitant way he has been behaving around you lately.
" Oh? And weren't you doing the same? Sorry, my mistake…I just keep imagining the most absurd things, you know? In fact, I could have sworn you were checking me out only three minutes ago"
" And that's why you're flat on your back on a cot and I'm not. You're ill and clearly delusional"
" Oh, please, like this could be enough to distract me. You so were ogling me."
" I was not"
" Yes you were!!!"
" Not"
" Oh! For the love of…what are you? Three?"
And just to prove you wrong he sticks out his tongue. And you're starting to think you really are delusional…if you're ready to put with a grumpy old man with the mind of a mischievous child with no hope to have one of your own…well let's just say your mind must have take a smashing holiday in 'Idiotic Ville'…sigh.
Daniel is finally here, but Wilson is nowhere to be seen…you just hope your big brother hasn't kicked his hypocrital ass all over the hospital: there's too much drama right now, and dealing with the police for assault wouldn't make your day a better one
" Cameron? Cameron? Cameron? Cameron?"
Or maybe yes. House's been poking your bellybutton singsonging your name in a high pitched annoying voice that not even your younger nephew has been capable of producing for quite some time. And just as you play with the idea of punching his nose (that, just for the record, is just inches from your shoulder) two pagers go off in the same time.
House looks ready to bolt for the door and you have trouble breathing.
Your father is crashing.