vicodincrutch | Dial Tone

[House rolls his eyes without a shred of apology.]

Do you want fries with that?

[No he is not going to get it himself. No fucking way. After all he's sitting now, it will take longer than it should be. He wheels to the hallway. He snaps his fingers and claps. Then resorts to cupping his hands on either side of his mouth to shout. Hey! Get me that plant. No! That one!]

[ Amory's surprised that House decided to play along with what appears to be a plainly absurd request. Patients ask for aspirin, maybe diapers when their sick infants shit their pants, but decorative plants? ]

Don't forget to recheck the bag. I asked for ketchup.

[ The receptionist delivers the plant and drops it with a noisy clatter onto the counter. She doesn't look impressed. Clearly, House should try stand-up comedy.

Sliding off the examination table, Amory walks over the Amaryllis. He examines it a moment then rubs one of the red petals between his fingers. ]

Nice looking plant, isn't it?

[Ego commands that he not laugh or even grin at the ketchup remark. Of course he is listening. There's a reason and if no reason then at least a bluff to call.]

It's a plant. They're okay. It takes in carbon dioxide and converts it to oxygen like any other plant.

[Amaryllis mean pride and determination, don't they? How cute. The flowers mean something here. Though he doesn't say anything. It's the gears of the old man's mind turning without end. If he doesn't figure something out he might expire or go crazy.]

Even logic where your heart's supposed to be. [ He hover over the flower, as he fumbles through the contents of his pocket. Cigarette. Lighter. Colorful change. Band-aids. ] Some might call that a defect.

I think it's refreshing, personally. [ There it is-- a fold-out pocket knife. He withdraws it from his pocket, opening the blade with aslish-click. It gleams against the yellow hospital lights. ]

How much do you need?

[ He drives the blade hard and sharp into the meat of his palm. Blood starts to bubble up from the wound. ]

[Heart? What? With flowers? It hardly seems mentioning however House makes a dramatic expression as he pulls his head back as if he smelled something foul. Men and flowers seldom mix.

Shucks. Are you going to ask me to the prom next?

[Flowers. Compliments. Though it is all about the prescription. Now that Amory is getting what he wants he'll indulge Hose. It's not a thank you. And that's just fine.]

Unorthodox but it'll work.

[Scoot, scoot to get a syringe anyway.]

If you spill any I'm making you clean the room personally.

[ Hearts, flowers...My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun- no, of course not. What you have here is Amory being facetious, while under the influence of a good mood. It's hard to be friendly, or even pretend to be friendly, when you're in frequent pain. House knows this.

Just think of it as a thank you. ]

Sure.

[ It appears as if Amory is about to turn and face House, but he instead raises his palm above the plant, allowing the blood to drip onto the petals in slow, steady rivulets. He drags the knife in deeper to increase the flow.

This isn't your grade school volcano and baking powder experiment. As soon as the there's enough red to soak the petals, the blood does it work--devouring the plant to nonexistence: it looks as if the amaryllis dissolving, from the tips of its petals all the way down to the roots. Even the soil is stripped of its organic matter, leaving only dry sediment and sand. The blood has disappeared entirely. ]

Your sample, Doctor House. [ A beat. He turns from the plant to House, pining the doctor with a sharp stare. ] I said I'm not a liar.

[Romance as normal people know it is a different ritual entirely for House. And it isn't because he is not capable of tender feelings, it's that they manifest themselves in such a way.]

No time to make popcorn.

[So he's watching trying to take in as many details as possible. How thick is his blood? How freely does it flow? Is there a smell? Is that acidic? Sentient? There has to be some kind of a waste or imprint within the soil. That would be where to start. That needs an x-ray and of course a microscopic analysis.]

You're lying to me right now by saying that you're not capable of being called a liar.

[ Such a way that appears as an alien cipher, unknowable to all besides that hot attorney. ]

A liar, in the context of your accusation: That is, a drug addict, making up an impossible story to get a fix. [ A pause, and the slightest smile. ] Semantics.

[ Boots tap against the concrete floor as he steps away from the plant and walks toward the other man. He presents his wrist to House, one hand wrapped around the wound to staunch the flow of blood. ]

You have a bandage on you?

[This must have been on The Outer Limits or something. That could be worthy research.]

If I can remember correctly you're the one who keeps tossing around the word addict. Protest too much.

[The more he says it the more House believes that he is trying to convince himself.]

No. We don't have those here.

[Pushing off to a drawer he comes back with rubber gloves and a bandage.]

[ Aren't you keen, Dr. House? Or is that an observation born from his personal experience?

]

So that's it? You'll give it to me.

[ He lets House work his magic. ]

[Keen. Obnoxious. Aren't they practically the same thing?]

I'll write you the prescription but you have to walk your own happy ass to the pharmacy and purchase it yourself.

[Bandages are fixed on swiftly, snugly and efficiently.]

Easy enough.

[ He touches the bandage with the pad of his thumb, before slipping the hand in his pocket and turning to toward the door. ]

Thanks.

[ There, he said it ]

Dial Tone

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