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Jan. 31st, 2007 09:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinetzinTitle: Gregory House and the Nosy Ducklings
Summary: It all would have gone smoothly if it hadn’t been for the owl.
Fandom: House/Harry Potter
Word Count: 1113
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, AU, silliness
Pairing: None, House & Ducklings-centric
A/N: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wtf27 Prompt 25 and house_fest Prompt 22. This may be the first crossover of any length I've written, except for the never finished Firefly/Bebop fic.
It all would have gone smoothly if it hadn’t been for the owl.
There was a persistent tap-tap-tapping on the glass behind Cameron’s head, but she put it down to that branch that the landscapers had been needing to trim for a good month.
“Famous British fantasy novelist,” Chase said, chewing on the end of his pencil. “Seven letters.”
“Tolkien,” Cameron answered automatically.
“Won’t fit,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Guys?” They both turned to look at Foreman. “Am I the only person who sees the giant bird at the window?”
Cameron turned around and almost jumped out of her chair. “Is that an owl?”
Chase didn’t bother looking up from his crossword. “Just let it alone. It’ll fly away in a minute.”
“If I have to listen to that tapping for one more minute, I’m going to kill someone,” Foreman said, walking towards the window.
“What are you going to do?” Cameron asked suspiciously.
“I’m just gonna scare it away,” Foreman told him, but as soon as he opened the window, the bird alit on his arm. He pulled it inside, examining it.
“Foreman,” Cameron gasped. “Who knows what that thing is carrying?”
“Looks like a letter,” he replied, holding his arm out the window for the bird to fly away. “Dr. Gregory House, Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital,” he read off the envelope.
The aforementioned chose just that moment to walk in. “Thirty-five year old male with-” he stopped, looking at the window. “Those windows open?”
“Have you taken up birding recently?” Cameron asked him.
He looked at Chase. “Does she mean the ones that fly, or has she picked up some of your Limey slang?”
Chase didn’t even bother to roll his eyes. “An owl turned up at the window.” Foreman mutely held out the letter; House took it, considering it for a moment.
“Cameron, take Foreman down and get him prophylaxis for,” he paused, making a wide motion with his free hand, “whatever deadly thing owls in New Jersey carry. I’m sure there’s something.”
“It sounded like we have a patient,” Cameron said, making no move toward the door.
“Who you’re going to treat after you make sure Foreman’s not going to drop dead.” He fumbled a Vicodin out of his pocket, wrenching the top off with far more force than was necessary. “I promise he’ll still be sick when you get back. Chase, get an MRI.”
Chase didn’t move either. “Why?”
House gave him a look that clearly stated that he was about as intelligent as a pre-med. “When haven’t we run an MRI? We might as well just move the whiteboard in there.” Chase heaved a sigh but headed for the door, the others reluctantly following.
“Don’t you think House is acting weird today?” Foreman asked as Cameron swabbed at his arm.
“What do you mean?” she asked, prepping the needle.
“After that letter came, he just seemed,” he hissed as Cameron stuck him, “off.”
“Maybe a little irritable, but that’s not new. Hold this,” she ordered, indicating the cotton ball over the injection site.
“But this wasn’t just irritable,” he pressed, watching Cameron bandage his arm. “What’s the point of sending us off on wild goose chases when we’ve got a patient? He’s keeping himself from his new puzzle.”
She rolled down Foreman’s sleeve, leaving it for him to button. “Whatever’s in that letter must be more interesting.”
Just as they left the room, Cameron’s pager sounded, followed quickly by Foreman’s. “I didn’t know you could kill someone with an MRI,” Foreman deadpanned as they ran up the stairs.
“Get out,” House barked from beside the bed, not turning around.
“He’s crashing,” Cameron said, alarmed. When she tried to enter, she found herself pushed back by Chase, who gave her an apologetic look, shutting the door in her face.
Foreman threw up his hands and started to walk toward the office. As Foreman passed her, Cameron grabbed his arm. She pointed at a crack in the blinds; through it, he could see Chase holding the patient’s ankles down to the bed. As he watched, House jerked the handle off of the top of his cane. Foreman was halfway expecting to see a sword sticking from it; instead, it was something like a dowel. To his greater amazement, House ran whatever it was down the patient’s chest. Immediately, Foreman could see his breathing calm and even out. Within moments, the patient sat up, shaking his head.
“I didn’t imagine that, did I?” Cameron asked him, a little shakily.
“I think we need to read that letter,” Foreman replied, secretly wondering if he should just skip it and go to church instead.
Cameron eventually managed to locate it in the bottom of House’s desk, beneath two empty pill bottles, a bottle of rum, and Esther’s file. She slipped off the envelope, scanning the parchment inside.
“Have you ever heard of a Saint Mungo’s?” she asked, passing it to him.
“I didn’t even know there was a Saint Mungo,” he replied. “The medications on this list aren’t even real. What the hell is murtlap?” Spying House on his way into the office, he pushed the letter back on Cameron.
“It’s not mine,” House said, before the door was even shut.
“House,” Cameron warned.
“All right, it is mine. Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to touch other people’s things?”
She sighed. “What are you doing? You know you haven’t got permission to do any experimental treatment.”
House thought for a moment. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it experimental. Who wants ice cream?”
“House, this is serious.”
“See, the thing is-”
“Obliviate,” a voice said firmly from behind him, repeating the word twice.
“How many more times do you think we’ll have to do that?” House asked, waving his hand in front of Foreman’s nose.
“Seven, eight?” Chase answered, tucking his wand back into his lab coat.
“I owe you one,” House told him, popping another Vicodin.
“For starters, you could stop pointing out that I’m British,” he said, annoyed, “unless you’re purposefully trying to blow my cover.”
“Please. I’m a crazy old bigot, remember? It just makes you look more Australian.” Taking his cane in the crook of his arm, he clapped his hands loudly, bringing Cameron and Foreman out of their reverie. “Good morning and welcome to the hospital!” House said in a loud voice.
“Why does my head feel like it has socks in it?” Cameron asked, rubbing her temple.
“Probably all that drinking you did last night. And the twelve hours of sex.”
“House!” Chase yelped.
“You never let me have any fun,” House sighed. “Now that we’ve all remembered we’re doctors again, let’s get to work.”
Summary: It all would have gone smoothly if it hadn’t been for the owl.
Fandom: House/Harry Potter
Word Count: 1113
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, AU, silliness
Pairing: None, House & Ducklings-centric
A/N: For
wtf27 Prompt 25 and house_fest Prompt 22. This may be the first crossover of any length I've written, except for the never finished Firefly/Bebop fic. It all would have gone smoothly if it hadn’t been for the owl.
There was a persistent tap-tap-tapping on the glass behind Cameron’s head, but she put it down to that branch that the landscapers had been needing to trim for a good month.
“Famous British fantasy novelist,” Chase said, chewing on the end of his pencil. “Seven letters.”
“Tolkien,” Cameron answered automatically.
“Won’t fit,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Guys?” They both turned to look at Foreman. “Am I the only person who sees the giant bird at the window?”
Cameron turned around and almost jumped out of her chair. “Is that an owl?”
Chase didn’t bother looking up from his crossword. “Just let it alone. It’ll fly away in a minute.”
“If I have to listen to that tapping for one more minute, I’m going to kill someone,” Foreman said, walking towards the window.
“What are you going to do?” Cameron asked suspiciously.
“I’m just gonna scare it away,” Foreman told him, but as soon as he opened the window, the bird alit on his arm. He pulled it inside, examining it.
“Foreman,” Cameron gasped. “Who knows what that thing is carrying?”
“Looks like a letter,” he replied, holding his arm out the window for the bird to fly away. “Dr. Gregory House, Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital,” he read off the envelope.
The aforementioned chose just that moment to walk in. “Thirty-five year old male with-” he stopped, looking at the window. “Those windows open?”
“Have you taken up birding recently?” Cameron asked him.
He looked at Chase. “Does she mean the ones that fly, or has she picked up some of your Limey slang?”
Chase didn’t even bother to roll his eyes. “An owl turned up at the window.” Foreman mutely held out the letter; House took it, considering it for a moment.
“Cameron, take Foreman down and get him prophylaxis for,” he paused, making a wide motion with his free hand, “whatever deadly thing owls in New Jersey carry. I’m sure there’s something.”
“It sounded like we have a patient,” Cameron said, making no move toward the door.
“Who you’re going to treat after you make sure Foreman’s not going to drop dead.” He fumbled a Vicodin out of his pocket, wrenching the top off with far more force than was necessary. “I promise he’ll still be sick when you get back. Chase, get an MRI.”
Chase didn’t move either. “Why?”
House gave him a look that clearly stated that he was about as intelligent as a pre-med. “When haven’t we run an MRI? We might as well just move the whiteboard in there.” Chase heaved a sigh but headed for the door, the others reluctantly following.
“Don’t you think House is acting weird today?” Foreman asked as Cameron swabbed at his arm.
“What do you mean?” she asked, prepping the needle.
“After that letter came, he just seemed,” he hissed as Cameron stuck him, “off.”
“Maybe a little irritable, but that’s not new. Hold this,” she ordered, indicating the cotton ball over the injection site.
“But this wasn’t just irritable,” he pressed, watching Cameron bandage his arm. “What’s the point of sending us off on wild goose chases when we’ve got a patient? He’s keeping himself from his new puzzle.”
She rolled down Foreman’s sleeve, leaving it for him to button. “Whatever’s in that letter must be more interesting.”
Just as they left the room, Cameron’s pager sounded, followed quickly by Foreman’s. “I didn’t know you could kill someone with an MRI,” Foreman deadpanned as they ran up the stairs.
“Get out,” House barked from beside the bed, not turning around.
“He’s crashing,” Cameron said, alarmed. When she tried to enter, she found herself pushed back by Chase, who gave her an apologetic look, shutting the door in her face.
Foreman threw up his hands and started to walk toward the office. As Foreman passed her, Cameron grabbed his arm. She pointed at a crack in the blinds; through it, he could see Chase holding the patient’s ankles down to the bed. As he watched, House jerked the handle off of the top of his cane. Foreman was halfway expecting to see a sword sticking from it; instead, it was something like a dowel. To his greater amazement, House ran whatever it was down the patient’s chest. Immediately, Foreman could see his breathing calm and even out. Within moments, the patient sat up, shaking his head.
“I didn’t imagine that, did I?” Cameron asked him, a little shakily.
“I think we need to read that letter,” Foreman replied, secretly wondering if he should just skip it and go to church instead.
Cameron eventually managed to locate it in the bottom of House’s desk, beneath two empty pill bottles, a bottle of rum, and Esther’s file. She slipped off the envelope, scanning the parchment inside.
“Have you ever heard of a Saint Mungo’s?” she asked, passing it to him.
“I didn’t even know there was a Saint Mungo,” he replied. “The medications on this list aren’t even real. What the hell is murtlap?” Spying House on his way into the office, he pushed the letter back on Cameron.
“It’s not mine,” House said, before the door was even shut.
“House,” Cameron warned.
“All right, it is mine. Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to touch other people’s things?”
She sighed. “What are you doing? You know you haven’t got permission to do any experimental treatment.”
House thought for a moment. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it experimental. Who wants ice cream?”
“House, this is serious.”
“See, the thing is-”
“Obliviate,” a voice said firmly from behind him, repeating the word twice.
“How many more times do you think we’ll have to do that?” House asked, waving his hand in front of Foreman’s nose.
“Seven, eight?” Chase answered, tucking his wand back into his lab coat.
“I owe you one,” House told him, popping another Vicodin.
“For starters, you could stop pointing out that I’m British,” he said, annoyed, “unless you’re purposefully trying to blow my cover.”
“Please. I’m a crazy old bigot, remember? It just makes you look more Australian.” Taking his cane in the crook of his arm, he clapped his hands loudly, bringing Cameron and Foreman out of their reverie. “Good morning and welcome to the hospital!” House said in a loud voice.
“Why does my head feel like it has socks in it?” Cameron asked, rubbing her temple.
“Probably all that drinking you did last night. And the twelve hours of sex.”
“House!” Chase yelped.
“You never let me have any fun,” House sighed. “Now that we’ve all remembered we’re doctors again, let’s get to work.”
