Standard Disclaimer
wanderingwidget has, is, and does not plan in the future to make any money on any of the fics here archived. They were written and are provided for pure entertainment purposes.
Prompt: 143. House and Wilson go pet-hunting.
Rating: PG13
Pairing: H/W established relationship
Author's Notes: Written for the 2006 hw_fest challenge, all 'research' done via the interwebs and google. I don't claim that any of it is particularly accurate and I certainly wouldn't take it as sound medical advice. No animals were actually harmed during the writing of this fic, somewhat ignored - yes - but not actually harmed. Thanks to selskia and topaz_eyes for the beta'ment!
Summary: Steve McQueen dies a glorious death and House goes on a mission to replace him that evening.
Steve McQueen died in a blaze of glory. At least that’s what Greg claimed whenever anyone asked him what had happened. In truth Steve had died a quiet death in the corner of his cage, sometime between when James had fallen into bed and passed out at midnight, and when he’d woken up to find Greg quietly contemplating the dead rodent. If they’d been different kinds of people he would have offered some sort of comfort, Greg would have accepted it, and life would have moved on. But they weren’t those kind of people, and he’d hated the damned plague carrier anyways, so he just brewed the coffee and fried up Greg’s eggs and didn’t mention it.
When he came home after work Steve was gone and his cage was nowhere in sight. A vast improvement, if anyone had bothered to ask him, but no one did. He checked the refrigerator, because Greg was the kind of person to try and preserve his dead pet for ‘scientific purposes’ but the only things in there were a half-empty gallon of milk and beer. He made a mental note to do the shopping before Greg noticed and started yelling at him.
An hour and a half later Greg appeared. His eyes were bright, his was smiling, and if he’d been a different sort of person James might have been afraid that the death of his rat had pushed him over the edge. Instead he looked suspiciously towards the freezer and wondered if he’d have to scrub it out with bleach after all.
“Please tell me the ground round in there is still, actually, beef.”
Greg snorted and made a follow me gesture. “It probably wasn’t ever anything resembling a cow, even in a past life.”
Trust him to completely ignore the fact that he only ever bought organic free range meats from reputable sources. He heaved himself to his feet and followed Greg down the hall and through the front door. It didn't occur to him to ask where they were going until he'd turned back to lock up.
“Where, exactly, do you think we're going?”
By way of answer Greg tossed him the keys to his Volvo and slid into the passenger side. He wasn’t sure when he’d had the time to pick his pocket, or when he’d gotten close enough to do it, but he figured that there were worse ways to spend his evening. Like grocery shopping.
The directions Greg gave him sounded suspiciously like the directions to the nearby strip mall where he did most of his grocery shopping and, when he pulled into the parking lot, he turned to glare at him. Why was it that the one time he counted on Greg not noticing what went on right under his nose he actually paid attention? Right, because he was Greg.
He parked in a handicapped spot and raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
Greg pointed over his shoulder at the gaudy pink Pets-A-Million next to their Trader Joe's.
“Please tell me you’re joking,” James groaned and pressed his forehead to the steering wheel. He’d waited very patiently for Steve to die. He’d even gone so far as feeding it and changing its water when Greg forgot (which was often). But he hadn’t been that patient for that long, simply so Greg could run out and replace the damn thing the day it finally shuffled off the mortal coil. He turned his head and watched as Greg slammed the door behind him and hobbled towards the store.
With more sighing and groaning than the situation really called for (he felt entitled, he’d saved them up over the last few weeks) he followed him. He’d been in before, of course, because Greg’s idea of proper rodent care tended to run towards feeding it scraps and tossing the occasional toilet paper tube into the cage.
The inside of the store was even gaudier than the outside with violently green signs delineating each section. Still sighing, and with his hands shoved into his pockets, he made his way over to rodents and circled the area. He found the rats no problem. He’d paused to look at them more often than not. He didn’t find Greg.
A thorough search of the store, which entailed catching a passing employee (not hard given that their natural coloring was as violently pink and green as the rest of the décor) and asking if she’d seen a very tall crazy bum wandering the aisles. She pointed him towards the other end of the store and went on her merry way to clean up more animal shit.
“I am not getting a dog,” Greg announced with his back to him. In front of him stood a kennel full of cats from the local animal shelter. He was already giving too much attention to a mangy black thing with a shredded ear and a mean look in his single eye.
He made sure to keep his distance. “If you bring that thing home I’m moving out.”
“Now that’s hardly the Christian spirit!” Greg peered at the animal’s name tag. “Demon here just needs a little tender love and care, you know. Besides, he’s perfect for us, says here he needs a home with no children.”
“Demon?” James yelped.
“Oh, look, he likes me.” Greg stepped aside so that James could get a proper look at Demon, who was bristling and growling and giving him the evil eye.
“Absolutely not.”
“But Mo~om.”
He crossed his arms and tried to do his best impression of his mother in full on Jewish Mother mode. “No.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” Greg pouted.
“You’re right, I’m not, but I am in charge of myself and if you bring that thing into our home you won’t be getting any. Ever.”
“You’re bluffing.”
Demon paced his cage, back to front, and bobbed his head back and forth to keep both of them under his evil influence.
“See if I’m not,” James dared.
Greg opened his mouth, no doubt to call the nearest clerk and demand that they put their life in their hands and box up Demon to go, but before he could start to shout one of them appeared at his elbow, carrying a cardboard carrier that mewled pathetically.
“Here you go Dr. House,” she said, and handed it over.
Greg immediately handed it to James, who peered down at it, and then turned to suspiciously eye Demon. When he looked back up Greg rolled his eyes and made a get-on-with-it hand motion.
“Well, aren’t you going to look at her?”
He set the carrier on the floor and slowly eased the top open. Huddled inside, shivering pathetically, was an undersized Seal-Point Siamese with the biggest purple eyes he’d ever seen on a cat. She peered up at him and mewled a long, high pitched mew. When he gave her his hand she sniffed it daintily before deciding it worthy enough to rub her head against.
Beside him Greg was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “She was returned by some family who thought a cat for Christmas would be a good idea,” he said. “Then they took her for her shots and found out she has diabetes and they decided that having to deal with daily injections and urine glucose tests was too much work for a Christmas present.”
James smiled as the kitten started to clean his hand. “You’re getting a diabetic cat. Can I ask why? Or were you just curious?”
Greg shrugged. “According to her vet records her name is officially Bonnie. I refuse to call her something that annoying.”
He groaned. “Please tell me you’re not naming her ‘Pussy Galore’.”
“I was thinking something more along the lines of Carmen, or maybe Angelina.”
He carefully took his hand back and re-closed the carrier. “We’ll talk about it. Now come on, we need to get supplies. Please tell me you have precise instructions from the vet on what to feed her.”
Greg pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over with a flourish.
“And her insulin?”
“Waiting for us at the counter.”
“Karo syrup, really?”
“Only for emergencies.”
From inside her box the kitten complained, loudly, as James set it into a shopping cart. “What about Sweetie?”
“No.”
“Maggie?”
“No.”
“How about Ella?”
“As in Fitzgerald?” House stopped at the end of the litter box aisle and made a face at the various colors available.
“We’re getting one with a cover.”
“But all of those are, like, pink. I don’t think we should be imposing our culture’s gender stereotypes on our offspring.”
“She’s not a person, and she won’t even notice. Besides, look, here’s a yellow one. Gender neutral enough for you?”
“It has a heart on it.”
He was right, the filter cut-out was heart-shaped, but James didn’t care. He was the one who was going to be cleaning up after her after all. He picked up litter box liners as well and tucked them into the cart.
“Pussy,” Greg accused as he meandered his way towards the cat toys. From the cart the cat mewled her agreement.
“We’ll see how long you stay on his side,” James muttered. He checked the list the vet had given them and peered at the various bags of cat food on the shelves. Of course none of the names in the ‘approved’ column were on sale, but he shrugged and picked the nicest looking anyways; it wasn’t like they couldn’t afford it.
Especially since he’d lifted Greg’s wallet.
THE END
