“-can’t believe you’re cutting it so close to your flight and you just assumed I’d drop everything and drive you to the flight you booked three hours ago on a whim.” Wilson shook his head, gripping the steering wheel and merging to the carpool lane.
“I know, foolish of me to think you’d drive me to the airport at a moments notice. You really showed me what assuming does by not driving me.” House smirked.
They were on the off ramp when House started patting his pockets.
“I forgot my passport.”
“No way. You’re kidding.” Wilson whipped his head toward House with wide eyes.
“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’. Wilson could tell he wasn’t fucking around bc House’s eyes were shut, and knuckles white around the cane between his legs.
“House! It’s 5:30, your flight boards at 6:15, and we live 15 minutes from the airport!”
“Well drive faster, and suddenly we’ll be 10 minutes from the airport.”
“You’re not going to make it, House.”
“Shut up and get back on the highway. We’ll get back in 20 minutes, it’ll take me 5 minutes to get through security because it’s a Tuesday and I’ll be there with 10 minutes to spare.”
“You can’t run!”
“Ah no, but I can limp and get the attention of the kind airport staff on the fun little carts to drive me to my gate.” House winked.
Wilson huffed, running a hand through his hair as he wove back through the airport to the highway.
“Fine. If you miss your flight I’m not driving you back home, you can call a taxi. I’m supposed to be meeting someone for dinner and I’m not going to be any later than you’ve already made me.”
“Sure, Wilson. We’ll see.” His eyes flashed mischievously. “I won’t miss my flight, but if I did I bet you’d be there to drive me home. You’re like that. You love to be needed and I’ll be the neediest cripple in a 20 mile radius, and trapped in an airport.”
“Shut up, House. Get your house key out I’m not turning off the car when we get there. And haul ass, double your dose of Vicodin after, just get back in the car before I drive away.”
They both knew he wouldn’t.
The passport was on the coffee table where house had left it, and he was back in the car fast enough that he saw the surprised lift of Wilson’s eyebrows before he schooled them back into a put upon scowl.
“You’ve got me driving like a maniac for you, House.”
“Good. You were getting a little too buttoned up for my tastes, Jimmy. Thought you might be going soft on me.”
“Shut up.”
Wilson wove through lanes of traffic, zipped down the off ramp and threw the car into park outside the first airline door at the airport.
“Good luck.” He sighed, the squint of his eye and the twitch of his fingers on the wheel betraying just how stressed he was by proxy for House.
“See ya in a couple days. And untwist your panties, Wilson, I’ll make it with plenty of time.”
He took great joy in texting Wilson 7 minutes later that he’d made it through security, and a stupidly short amount of time after that that he’d be shuttled to his gate with “plenty of time to spare” (it was 6:10)
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I dreamed that I was playing mariokart and there was a track that took 3 days to complete and when I somehow managed to get 1st place a popup came onscreen that had a pic of koopa troopa and text that read “congratulations!! you’re gonna have so much sex” and I started laughing so hard I woke up
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probably time for this story i guess but when i was a kid there was a summer that my brother was really into making smoothies and milkshakes. part of this was that we didn't have AC and couldn't afford to run fans all day so it was kind of important to get good at making Cool Down Concoctions.
we also had a patch of mint, and he had two impressionable little sisters who had the attitude of "fuck it, might as well."
at one point, for fun, this 16 year old boy with a dream in his eye and scientific fervor in heart just wanted to see how far one could push the idea of "vanilla mint smoothie". how much vanilla extract and how much mint can go into a blender before it truly is inedible.
the answer is 3 cups of vanilla extract, 1/2 cup milk alternative, and about 50 sprigs (not leaves, whole spring) of mint. add ice and the courage of a child. idk, it was summer and we were bored.
the word i would use to describe the feeling of drinking it would maybe be "violent" or perhaps, like. "triangular." my nose felt pristine. inhaling following the first sip was like trying to sculpt a new face. i was ensconced in a mesh of horror. it was something beyond taste. for years after, i assumed those commercials that said "this is how it feels to chew five gum" were referencing the exact experience of this singular viscous smoothie.
what's worse is that we knew our mother would hate that we wasted so much vanilla extract. so we had to make it worth it. we had to actually finish the drink. it wasn't "wasting" it if we actually drank it, right? we huddled around outside in the blistering sun, gagging and passing around a single green potion, shivering with disgust. each sip was transcendent, but in a sort of non-euclidean way. i think this is where i lost my binary gender. it eroded certain parts of me in an acidic gut ecology collapse.
here's the thing about love and trust: the next day my brother made a different shake, and i drank it without complaint. it's been like 15 years. he's now a genuinely skilled cook. sometimes one of the three of us will fuck up in the kitchen or find something horrible or make a terrible smoothie mistake and then we pass it to each other, single potion bottle, and we say try it it's delicious. it always smells disgusting. and then, cerimonious, we drink it together. because that's what family does.
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