3a---the second visitor
Steve McQueen was dozing fitfully under a pile of wood shavings. His cage was still in the living room where House left him about an hour or so ago. It was not littered with empty Chinese take-out cartons or fallen bottles of liquor—it was just as he left it when he locked up for the night: dark, undecorated, partially littered with books and medical journals, and his jacket draped on the couch where Steve's cage is situated.
Satisfied, House shuffled back to his bedroom. It was just a dream.
12:35 AM
The mouthwatering scent of steak assailed House's nostrils. Following this tantalizing aroma was a lip smacking bouquet of assorted appetizers and main courses.
House opened his eyes and cracked a wide smile.
"Cameron wearing only an apron, Cameron wearing only an apron," he muttered over and over again as he carefully rolled off his bed and stuck his feet into brown slippers. He tentatively stood up, bracing himself on the corner of the bed for support. Satisfied that the pain didn't manifest itself as usual, he strode happily to the door, continuing muttering his mantra, "Cameron wearing only an apron, Cameron wearing only an apron…"
He opened the door—and stared.
"Definitely dreaming here," he said.
The wall opposite his bedroom door was bedecked with Christmas wreaths spaced evenly apart. The hallway from his bathroom to his living room was bathed in a warm golden glow; the light and scent of food seemed to be coming from his living room.
Padding softly on the wooden floor, House went to his living room, stopped—and wondered if he could just keep on sleeping for the rest of his life.
Taking the place of his grand piano near the windows was one of the biggest flat-screen, wide-screen television sets he had ever seen. The thing seemed to be suspended from the ceiling—House didn't care if the thing was floating, it was in his place! Next to the giant TV was an equally imposing white Christmas tree, decorated with giant, multi-colored Christmas balls and silver tinsel. Looking around, he realized that his furniture and bookcases were gone. Taking its place was a giant rectangular table smack in the middle of the room, laden with the dishes that he was able to smell from his bedroom: steak, roasted turkey, apple pie and—Heavens to Betsy!—a towering pile of James Wilson's famous Macadamia nut pancakes. Before the table—near the entryway where House was presently ogling—was a brand new giant sofa made of some sinfully soft black leather. Steve McQueen was perched on the back of this sofa, nibbling on a piece of pancake.
House closed his mouth shut and stepped forward. Something made him look down—the floor was now covered in claret-colored shag carpeting.
A deep, familiar voice cut through House's floor inspection, "Nice, eh?"
House looked up; he traced the source of the deep voice beyond the over-laden table to his fireplace. He hadn't seen the stranger during his jaw-dropping first look at his newly redecorated living room—but this was no stranger to him. Only thing strange about this visitor was the lack of gray in his black hair and the shiny, dark red robe he was wearing over a tuxedo.
Gabe raised his arms and turned around before walking towards the table. "Whaddaya think, Dr. House? Do I look snazzy or what?!"
House recovered; he walked slowly towards the table and picked up a treat speared on a toothpick: it was a chicken liver wrapped in a bacon strip, coated with melted sugar. He popped this into his mouth before saying, "You did it for me or for you?"
Gabe dropped his arms and gave House a calculating look. House raised up his hands in capitulation, the toothpick set at an angle in his mouth.
Gabe just picked up two empty plates from nowhere and handed one of them to House. "Dig in," he said simply.
After filling his plate, House walked over to Gabe, who was now seated on the sofa, his plate placed safely on his lap and a can of cold beer on a built-in cup holder on the armrest next to him. It also turned out that the sofa had built-in footrests; Gabe aimed a gray remote control in House's direction that activated both the footrest and the cup holder before giving Steve a piece of baguette.
Steve squeaked in approval.
"You're spoiling my rat," House said bluntly.
Gabe looked at Steve speculatively before transferring his gaze at his human. "He looked hungry," he said matter-of-factly.
House looked at Steve. "You'll ruin your figure; I'll have to find you a maze where you can shed the excess Christmas poundage. Chase will never appreciate a fat rat."
Steve didn't look like he cared; after devouring the baguette, he looked expectantly at Gabe, twitching his whiskers for emphasis. Gabe relented by giving the rodent a sliver of apple pie.
"All right," Gabe muttered through a mouthful of steak and mashed potatoes; he reached behind him and extracted another remote control. This one was long, silver, and shiny; Gabe looked down appreciatively at the thing before aiming it at the gigantic television.
The screen flickered to life, showing the occupants of the room nothing but static.
House looked at Gabe, who looked like he had never seen a television that big before. But, then again—
"I forgot to turn off the lights, ok?" Gabe grumbled, clapping his hands sharply. The room immediately darkened before Gabe pointed the silver remote control at the television again.
A feeling of dread settled inside House. "Please tell me we're going to watch porn."
"Next time, Dr. House," Gabe said, "Right now, I have some real-time reels to show you. Good stuff—better than The Bachelor crap I watched while Andie showed you around."
House froze in mid-bite; the slice of apple pie he was about to shoot into his mouth dropped back onto his plate with a loud plop!
"Spoil my after-dinner dinner, why don't you?" House growled. He set his plate on the middle of the sofa and prepared to leave…but he couldn't.
And the pain returned to his leg.
"GARRRGH!!!"
Gabe looked smug as he quietly tipped his can of beer to his lips.
"Still think this is a dream, Dr. House?" he asked calmly. "If you were in that much pain, wouldn't you have woken up right about now—or long before, when you tried to fool Andie with that fib about Reindeer steaks?"
House leaned on the backrest of the couch, holding onto his bad thigh. No, no, no, no, no…
"Yes," Gabe said quietly, wiping his mouth with a napkin before looking at House. "I still have the power to annoy you, Dr. House. Added to that, I now have the power to keep your ass in your seat and watch this with me."
Gabe leaned over his armrest and produced a bag of popcorn; the bag was roughly the size of a medium-sized bucket. Looking thoughtfully at the food-laden table before them, Gabe whipped out the silver remote and aimed it at the table. He pressed a button several times; the table began to disappear before them until it vanished completely.
Gabe looked at the remote with a quizzical expression on his face. "It's going to take a while to master that feature," he said before turning his attention to his grouchy seatmate. "You ready, tough guy?"
House didn't answer immediately. His head leaned back, he stared at the pristine, cream-colored ceiling before him as he said, "I'm still hallucinating—that's right—I'm hallucinating. Only explanation…"
Gabe sighed as he whipped out the silver remote control again.
House's side of the sofa suddenly lurched a few degrees until House was sitting up painfully straight. Since he couldn't get up, he was effectively trapped to his seat. He scowled at Gabe, who hefted the giant bag of popcorn under his nose.
"You leave me no choice, Dr. House," Gabe said gruffly. He now pointed the remote control to the giant television set and pressed a button. The screen immediately flashed to a familiar hallway. From a distance, a familiar clicking could be heard.
"I'm a businessman, Dr. House," Gabe said as he peered down his nose at the remote control. "I don't have time for slackers or wimps—"
Something snapped in House—Who's he calling a wimp?
"—or drunks." Gabe's eyes pored over the gadget until he found what he was looking for. "I didn't take up this assignment to waste my afterlife. I've been informed that you might try to bolt, so I've been given additional annoying powers. You've been warned."
Gabe pressed a button on the remote. The sofa began to move towards the TV screen at the speed of a scooter at medium speed.
"What the hell—we're going to crash into the TV!" House yelled. "It's a fucking, 6-foot wide, flat-screen TV! Are you insane?!"
"Nope," Gabe said calmly, placing the remote control on his armrest, his hand on top keeping it in place, gazing calmly outward as the sofa advanced to the TV screen.
As the bright light faded away, House carefully opened his eyes—and patted himself to make sure that he didn't have any bits of television on his person.
"Did you enjoy the ride, Dr. House?" Gabe asked beside him. House turned his head and saw Gabe looking at him with a look of smugness; he had Steve McQueen in the palm of his hand, belly side up, the free hand scratching him on the stomach.
House was about to say something when he noticed two things: one, the sofa was still moving forward. Two, heading in their direction was a man pushing a wheelchair with a pregnant woman on it.
"Look out!" he yelled, but it was too late. He braced himself for impact and a lawsuit—but nothing happened.
Gabe chuckled heartily as House unraveled and peered over the sofa at the relatively unharmed man pushing the wheelchair with the pregnant woman on it.
"Have you learned nothing? They can't see, hear, or feel us, Dr. House!" Gabe roared. They were reaching a sort of intersection now; on Gabe's side was a nun walking towards them.
"HEY SISTER!" Gabe yelled at the top of his lungs, making Steve jump from his hand and scoot towards House's stomach and onto his shoulder. "SISTER! YOUR HOSE IS SLIPPING! YOUR UNMENTIONABLES ARE COMING UP NEXT!"
The nun was blessedly oblivious to Gabe's raucous ranting, walking serenely on her way to the other direction. Gabe settled back on the couch and grinned at House. "I feel so alive!"
House stared noiselessly at Gabe for a moment before looking around him and spotting Nurse Brenda approaching them. Timing the moment carefully, House reached out and sharply pinched Brenda's butt just as she was about to turn right. The austere nurse let out a sharp yelp and a flurry of paperwork went flying out of her hands.
House pumped his fist into the air as Brenda started swearing a blue streak, looking around for the culprit.
"So, where are you taking me, Devious Gabe?" House asked after he winded down. Steve's whiskers were tickling his neck.
Gabe pointed in front of them. House followed the direction of his gaze and spotted a familiar, curvaceous figure leaning on a wall. "Cuddy? You cooked up a feast, a jumbotron, and the fantastic moving sofa to see Cuddy?" House said in distress.
Gabe raised an eyebrow at his appalled seatmate. "You don't like her?"
House made a wild gesture in the air as he replied, "Well, her assets are something to behold, but overall I want to avoid her. She keeps giving me clinic duties and making me treat sick people."
Gabe snorted, "Well, that is your job, Doctor House."
The sofa went past Cuddy, turned a 45-degree angle and stopped. Gabe cocked his head and said softly, "She looks sad."
House looked—Cuddy did look woeful. She was woeful and fixated at a scene before her. Turning to look, House realized that she was staring inside a patient's room: a family consisting of two sets of grandparents, the father, and an identical set of toddlers, and a mother cradling the newest arrival to the little family. Before he could comment, Cuddy's cell phone rang.
Cuddy retrieved it from her coat. "Cuddy—uh, hi Ruthie. Happy Hanukah to you too—yeah, I really couldn't make it this year, sorry." Cuddy paused and grimaced for a minute before continuing, "Yeah, busy time at the hospital—yes, I'm sorry I didn't get to meet that guy you wanted to set me up with, just like the last time you tried to—ugh, no, I did not do anything to make the last guy gay!" Cuddy paused again, raising a hand to rub her forehead. Then she raised her head up and looked around, looking desperate for something. "Uh, look, Ruthie, I'm sorry—gotta check up on—a—patient! Yes!—doctor stuff, job never done, you know the drill!"
She paused again—this time, she looked up at the ceiling and rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks for pointing that out—goodbye!"
Cuddy slammed her phone shut. She walked to her right, past the room with the happy reunion—the sofa began to move, following Cuddy.
Gabe was rubbing his chin. "Between you giving her a miserable time and her nagging sister, I'm surprised Dr. Cuddy hadn't thrown in the towel yet."
House shrugged. "I've trained her well, Abe—she'd never make to where she is now if it wasn't for me! She's Tyson and I'm Don King!"
Gabe looked at House's hair—"Minus the hair, and then some."
"Bite me."
The sofa followed Cuddy into the ladies' room, stopping just in front of the row of stalls. The men could hear someone sobbing in one of them.
"Stop it, Lisa!" Cuddy snarled from behind one of the stall doors. "Stop it! House was right—I don't need to be a mother. I'm okay where I'm at—I don't need anything else!"
Gabe gave House a look. House pointedly ignored him.
Then they heard a low moan. "But it hurts," Cuddy whispered. "It hurts…"
"Wow," Gabe said as they heard someone blowing their nose. "Nice piece of advice there, Dr. Phil. Way to go. Whoopee."
House remained impassive in his seat. "She's the Dean of Medicine," he muttered, staring as Cuddy left the stall and washed her face in one of the sinks. "She's given her time and attention to this hospital—where's she going to get the attention and strength to raise a kid?"
Gabe shrugged. "Feeling guilty, Dr. House?"
"Concerned," House admitted. "I've gotten used to her—do you have any idea how long it took me to charm the pants off her?"
Gabe shook his head, raising the remote control; the sofa turned around and took them out of there.
Instead of taking them to the familiar hallways of PPTH, the sofa had taken them to an ancient building in a dangerous-looking area in the city. A couple of homeless men, holding each other up and huddling together under a long coat from the cold, stumbled towards the stained, rotting door and knocked loudly on it.
To House's surprise, the door was opened by Wilson.
"Hurry up, gentlemen!" Wilson said cheerfully, ushering the raggedy men inside. Wilson poked his head out and looked around him before getting back inside, closing the door behind him.
"What the hell is Wilson doing there?" House said in shock.
"Wanna take a look-see?" Gabe asked. House nodded vigorously.
The sofa moved forward, taking House and Gabe inside the building. After adjusting from the unsettling experience of going through a brick wall, House blinked and looked around him.
It was soup kitchen. Around fifty homeless people were packed inside a cafeteria-like set-up. Tables and benches took up most of the space, and each one was taken up by seven or eight people, huddled over their hot meals as they tried to absorb the heat and the food at the same time. Beyond this area was a very long line of dispossessed people. At the end of the line was Dr. James Wilson, who herded the newcomers to the end of the line with a couple of blankets and a tray for each man.
He left them briefly and returned promptly, holding two steaming mugs for each man.
"Here you go, fellas," Wilson said cheerfully, handing a mug to each man. The men murmured their thanks and drank the hot tea dutifully. "This ought to hold you until you reach the food."
"Thanks doc," the shorter of the two said, raising his mug to Wilson before taking a careful swig from it.
Wilson looked expectantly at the taller of the two men. The tall man looked down at the handsome doctor and shook his head sadly.
"Sorry Jim," he said in a waspish voice. "Honest to God, I looked ev'rywheres. Haven't seen him since Black Friday, when we were hanging down at the park sharing homemade smokes and stuff."
"Did you tell him—tell him I was looking for him?" Wilson asked, but the tall guy shook his head.
"I did. Then I told him how to get to this place and when you'd be here. He promised me and Bob here that he'll come tonight," the tall guy said; his companion nodded behind his mug. Tall guy took a quick look around the place before continuing mournfully, "Guess he got lost."
Wilson forced a smile. "Thanks, Hank."
"I tried, Jim—I'm sorry."
Wilson brushed it off.
From the comfort of the sofa that trapped his ass, House shook his head. "He's still looking for his brother; the one who went homeless."
He looked up, tracing Wilson's path from the end of the line to the end of the food chain. "He hasn't lost hope."
"Good for him," Gabe said admiringly. "And?"
"And what?" House challenged. Gabe gave him a look.
House pressed his lips tightly together for all of fifteen seconds.
"He couldn't give up on me, either."
Any thoughts? I need constructive input, or the Muses pulls the plug!