Oh, I just love your House stories. They say so much without saying it too obviously. I just adore the subtle dynamics of their relationship that you've drawn here, something you capture perfectly and with great skill - it read like a forgotten scene. And if a story can somehow wipe out my memory of season four, then it deserves high praise. I sometimes find it difficult to go back to Season 1, but this? I was there instantly and I didn't want to leave.
Some favourite bits:
She replaced it on the shelf, also grabbing a red mug. Teabag. Water. Confusion. It was some kind of inane, irritating joke.
House walked in, slapping a file down on the table. "Liver failure, anyone?"
She looked back down at the bench, at his fingers sticking up above the bandage. Insanely, without thinking, or distance, or caution, she covered the back of his hand with hers, her fingers moving slowly over the soft bandage to reach his fingertips. She stopped, feeling the warmth of his skin.
He froze. It occurred to her that he probably didn’t want to hurt his hand more by moving it away. She stole a glance at his face.
He was staring at her hand, a puzzled frown over bright blue eyes, his lips apart. He seemed paralyzed, and she couldn't discern him breathing. He didn't move, but finally said, "…or Brave'".
He looked at her then, and the distance she'd been cultivating seemed to collapse into the size of half a park bench. Nothing felt right, everything was alien; but the bruised feeling was gone.
and one more, a fantastic line: She struggled to quell the lurch in her stomach – an incredulous, regret/stupidity combination with an annoyingly persistent side of whybringacorsage?
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Some favourite bits:
She replaced it on the shelf, also grabbing a red mug. Teabag. Water. Confusion. It was some kind of inane, irritating joke.
House walked in, slapping a file down on the table. "Liver failure, anyone?"
She looked back down at the bench, at his fingers sticking up above the bandage. Insanely, without thinking, or distance, or caution, she covered the back of his hand with hers, her fingers moving slowly over the soft bandage to reach his fingertips. She stopped, feeling the warmth of his skin.
He froze. It occurred to her that he probably didn’t want to hurt his hand more by moving it away. She stole a glance at his face.
He was staring at her hand, a puzzled frown over bright blue eyes, his lips apart. He seemed paralyzed, and she couldn't discern him breathing. He didn't move, but finally said, "…or Brave'".
He looked at her then, and the distance she'd been cultivating seemed to collapse into the size of half a park bench. Nothing felt right, everything was alien; but the bruised feeling was gone.
and one more, a fantastic line:
She struggled to quell the lurch in her stomach – an incredulous, regret/stupidity combination with an annoyingly persistent side of whybringacorsage?
*mems*