I'm reposting the shorter ones for easier pimpage and linking to the ones that exceeded the space of a comment box. These were a blast to do, and some of the requests certainly challenged my creativity. Allow me to say again with the greatest of admiration that some of you are serious sick mofos and I love you for it.
Kisses Sweeter Than Wine!
Dr. Owen Harper/Dr. Robert Chase (Torchwood/House crossover) requested by vanillafluffy
Of all the things he’d done for Torchwood…
Not even Torchwood really.
“Owen, I need you to do this for me.”
There wasn’t enough cynicism in the world to resist Jack when he gave you the look and the voice and just the right amount of physical contact. It wasn’t until he was buckled in and half way to Sydney that he realised how thoroughly he’d been had by the worlds best conman who didn’t want to risk either of pets on this particular assignment.
Now he was stuck in the bloody outback, in a tent with Robert Chase, a surgeon who’d taken a sabbatical from his job in the states to work with aboriginals and found something. The something scared the hell out of the local shaman. There’d already been several mutilated corpses resulting in the call to Torchwood and Owen’s long-distance travel.
There were worse looking fellows to share a confined space with, not that he’d been looking for anything like that. Owen was here to work.
He’d done what he could with the remains. There was something out there all right, but after the things he’d seen humans do to each other, he wasn’t quite ready to say it was not of this earth.
“You sure this thing is going to show up?” he asked, squinting at the accounts that Chase had been collecting, including sketches drawn by those who claimed to have seen the thing and survived.
Chase nodded, as if he wished he were wrong.
“Can you handle it?”
“Gotta find what we’re dealing with first.”
“You need to stop it. These people are already a dying breed.”
Sincerity in spades. Gwen would love this guy. It had been over a year since, whatever it was between them and it as though it had never happened. No one had been ret-conned, aside from Rhys, but it was as though they were all suffering from mutually agreed-upon amnesia, especially Jack, who couldn’t seem to decide if he wanted to treat Gwen like a vestal virgin or his personal concubine.
“Why’d you give up the cushy job to come out here?”
“I needed to get away.”
“From someone or something. Not like it’s my business or anything.”
“A couple of someones. My girlfriend decided she’d rather be someone else’s girlfriend.”
“I always knew it was coming. She’d had a crush on him for years. All she had to do was convince him she’d actually lost interest and he was all over her.”
The whole thing sounded oddly familiar.
“Can’t blame her. I had a bit of a crush on him myself.”
That got Owen’s attention. It was one thing to be less than straight when you had Jack around to make it look so easy and attractive, but he wasn’t expecting such a forthright admission bi-sexuality on this mission. If that’s what it was. If he really cared who or what Robert Chase fancied.. He was here to find out what was killing aboriginals and dismembering the bodies.
“How much longer?”
“It usually happens between ten and midnight. First the wind. Then the smell. Then the screaming.”
It was still too early and Owen felt restless. Chase was standing, his face illuminated by the high-intensity flashlight, which made his light stubble stand out in relief and made it impossible for Owen to look away from Chase’s blue eyes, with their hint of green.
Chase caught him at it.
“You OK, Owen?”
The thought of the sex spray now confined to the safe in Jack’s office, flitted through his head. He was on his own now. In so many ways.
By the time he was within an arm’s reach of Chase, the message had already been sent and answered and it was Chase pulling him close, pressing against him, and taking control of the kiss as though he’d been planning it from the start. Owen found his eyes closed, his hands in Chase’s hair and his words muffled against soft lips.
It lasted just long enough for Owen to know he wanted more, until they were interrupted, by something that Owen sensed rather than actually heard.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, although the movement of the tent flap made it obvious.
Owen/Tosh-Torchwood-Requested by sarahetc, kimberweeme and silverfic.
Christmas Eve. In front of the Millenium Centre. Waiting for a cab. I had mistletoe.
Matthew/Gareth-Four Weddings and a Funeral-Requested by morganmuffle
Less than three weeks away from Glasgow and Matthew could hardly believe he was the same person, because his life had completely changed.
Any aspirations toward serious study at Uni had been replaced with the sheer frivolity of life as Charles’ roommate, which essentially meant a non-stop party with a rotating gang of friends and acquaintances, some of whom Matthew was convinced Charles only pretended to recognise in order to keep up the flow of conviviality and free munchies.
Timmy, Veronica, Jamison and of Fiona, who’d immediately adopted him as her newest “pet faggot” even though Matthew hadn’t quite decided he was gay, evidence to the contrary. When he tried to convince Fiona of his lingering attachment to some pretense at heterosexuality, she’d stripped down to bra and knickers, lay on her bed and demanded that he prove it. That settled the matter once and for all and made it easier for him to fall head over heels in love with Gareth White, the first time he laid eyes on the exotic figure.
Exotic because in his old life, men didn’t sport ornate frock coats, treat their facial hair like a plumage being groomed to impress potential mates, and professors didn’t actively seek out the company of their most dissolute students, who might utterly ignore him if they deigned to show up in class at all, but were willing to sit at his feet imbibing wisdom and bon mots along with pints of lager.
One night, very late, very drunk, very tired and very happy, somewhere in the halls, with a bad acoustic guitar wafting out of one of the rooms and laughter from another, Gareth was holding forth on the possibility that Joyce really was a complete nutter and the entire academic community had perpetuated the myth of his genius just to save themselves the embarrassment of admitting that had no idea what he was on about.
Matthew, struggling for something to say, feeling as mute as Charles’ brother, but managing to opine that in fact, Joyce was probably the sanest man who had ever lived and the academic community was itself barking mad.
He waited, breathless, hands sweating against an empty bottle, eyes closed for no good reason except his own nerves and opening as he heard Gareth’s distinctive, booming, nearly artificial, but complete heart-felt laughter.
“Bravo, my boy. Bravo. Quite right. Joyce is the wise man and we are the fools.”
And with that he bent down and kissed Matthew full on the lips, his beard and mustache tickling at his skin, before pulling back to quote something about the passengers on the ship of fools, leaving Matthew giddy and breathless, and quite delighted with his new life, where-ever it took him.
Danny Messer/Cameron Chase-CSI NY/House MD crossover requested by babykid528
“So there really is a heaven, huh?”
OK, it was a little corny, but he’d been unconscious for nearly 24 hours, so when he woke up to find a beautiful blonde smiling down at him, he could be forgiven for thinking she might be an angel.
No sign of Mac. Not a surprise really. He’d been through the whole bed-side vigil scene too many times, not to mention probably being royally (and justifiably) pissed off. As for Linsday, well the last time he’d seen her, she would have been just as happy to put a bullet in him herself.
He’d have to get up and go back to New York eventually, but for the time being he had a comfortable bed, a morphine drip and Dr. Cameron to take care of him. Maybe it was the drugs that made him think she had wings.
Allison Cameron, he quickly learned was no angel, but along with Dr. Chase, she had apparently saved him from the results of walking into a diner full of thugs, chasing a lead that Mac had specifically told him to leave alone. Chase came in a few times, just enough for Danny to register his accent and his feelings for Dr.Cameron. He was a good-lucking guy, clearly devoted to her, and she didn’t seem to give a damn.
That should have told him something, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen.
Danny let himself be drawn into Cameron’s endless supply of warmth and sympathy and caring, thinking he’d be able to walk away, as soon as he could actually walk. By that time it was too late. He had to have her, had to be with her, and honestly didn’t care how many people either of them hurt, in fact he had a few in mind, starting with Lindsay, who’d finally shown up to take him back to Manhattan.
She was waiting at the door, while Cameron pushed his unneeded, but hospital mandated wheelchair. When he reached the point where he could stand up and walk back to his old life, he offered Lindsay and apparently conciliatory grin, before turning around and pulling Cameron into an affectionate farewell embrace, which quickly grew into a full-on kiss with his hands winding into her hair and her lips opening to him, heedless of any bystanders, or the look on Lindsay's face, assuming she could see it. He didn't stop until he was actually dizzy from the softness and scent and passion.
Good thing the chair was there along with Cameron. He needed them both.
Foreman/Kutner-House MD-Requested by deelaundry
What the hell had House been thinking?
At least Taub and Thirteen were competent and knew how to be quiet when necessary. Taub in fact, he found a rather soothing presence. He didn’t offer many brilliant insights, but he made a good partner when it came to searching patient’s dwellings or psyching out their significant others to obtain information. Thirteen was attractive enough and managed to keep her personal feelings out of the process with more consistency than Cameron had ever been able to achieve. Those picks made some kind of sense.
It was like working with a puppy who’d learned to talk and wouldn’t stop proving he could. Foreman was tempted to try the dosing trick with some Ritalin, in hopes it might keep Kutner at least focused on the case at hand, rather than meandering through tangent upon tangent. Sure, there were times when House seemed like the poster child for ADD, but House was a genius and his mental wanderings usually got them to the promised land in the end. Kutner’s did nothing but take up time and make Foreman feel sorry for every jibe he’d ever thrown at Chase.
He’d kill to have Chase back on the team right now, instead he was stuck in a car with Kutner on the way to patient’s apartment in Hoboken, feeling like he’d commit murder, just for a little peace.
The monologue had been going since they pulled out of the PPTH parking lot, including singing along to the radio, holding forth on his personal connection to any song that came on, asking Foreman for dirt on House, Cuddy, Wilson and the previous fellows, a fly-by mention of the patient and then a five-minute digression on his favorite crab shack in Maryland. He was so engrossed in this topic that he didn’t seem to notice Foreman pulling off the highway to the nearest rest stop.
“And then we tried Luigi’s. Now Luigi’s is awesome, but they don’t put as much meat in the actual sandwich. On the other hand, they do something amazing to the lemonade, so I think you should pick up a sandwich at Kitty’s and then take it to Luigi’s for the lemonade, if you can do it without the sandwich getting cold.”
“Don’t you ever shut up?”
“What? Huh? Where are we?”
“Kutner, you must have talent for something or House wouldn’t have picked you, but right now I’m thinking the only thing you’re really good at is pissing me off, which may be the talent House was looking for.”
“I’m sorry. I just…”
“I don’t know what happened in your past or why you feel you have to fill up every empty minute with the sound of your own voice, but unless you want to meet up with Jimmy Hoffa and a few of his friends, you are going to keep quiet from now until I stop this car at Jody Kantrowitz’s apartment. Do you understand?”
“What part of “keep quiet” is giving you difficulty?”
I don’t know. It’s just really hard to shut me up sometimes.”
Foreman couldn’t take it anymore. He leaned over and kissed Kutner on the mouth, knowing it would at least keep him quiet for the few seconds it was actually happening and possibly shock him into silence for the rest of the trip. It might even prove that Kutner was good for something that House didn’t know about.
Kutner was left shocked, but blissfully quiet, and Foreman smiled all the way to Hoboken. Now that he’d learned how to shut him up, Foreman almost hoped he would start talking again.
Gwen/Ianto-Torchwood-requested by hllangel
The things Ianto has to put up with.
Jack/Owen-Torchwood-requested by hllangel
You’re like a doctor.
Kutner/Cole-House MD-requested by hllangel
House taken a group of strangers, deprived them of any identity besides their numbers and his cruel epithets, screwed with their heads, lives and emotions, and generally turned them inside out and upside down. Then, one by one, he sent them back out into the world to try and remember who they were and start their lives over again.
So complete was the devastation that Cole, who should have been a shoe-in, who’d accomplished the impossible task of obtaining Dr. Cuddy’s thong had been dismissed, and was standing in the parking lot of PPTH, looking at his car as though it were a UFO that had just landed in front of him and the key in his hand like it was a growth that needed to be removed.
Kutner followed him at a distance, feeling more disoriented than ever. He was lousy at this kind of thing. Consolation, comfort, sympathy? Totally not him. Taub would be better. Amber would be better, but he was the one who’d gotten to know Cole. They’d hung out, shared stories, gone to a magic show and played endless games of Monopoly with Cole’s kid.
He had to do something, but what?
“You ok, man?” he asked, cringing at how lame that sounded. He just been fired by Greg House. No job. No reference. No severance. No nothing. Just Jonah waiting at daycare and a stunned look on his face.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” he sighed, “It’s just…”
“I know. It sucks. It really sucks. House is a….it sucks.”
“Not for you. You’re still in. You live to be humiliated another day.”
At least Cole was smiling, even if he still looked shell-shocked.
There was silence. The uncomfortable kind, interrupted only by the chirp of the car key. Cole was leaving because there was nothing else to do or say, and Kutner didn’t know what else to do to stop him or why he even wanted to.
What? What the hell was he going to say? It was worse than having House yell at him, looking for better answers, because once Cole got in the car that was it.
“I’m gonna miss you.”
“You know…it’s been…fun.”
“Fun? You think this has been fun?”
That was painful. He’d actually thought they’d had some good times, just hanging out.
“Fun? You think trying to impress this lunatic has been fun? You’re an idiot.”
That took the fight out of Cole again, and he slumped against the car, defeat and despair showing in his posture.
Kutner felt the need to reach out, to do something. He reached out, and found that his hands were grasping Coles shoulders, pulling his head down and …holy shit…kissing him, and that…holy motherfucking shit, it felt pretty good, especially the part where Cole, Mr. Uptight Mormon guy kissed back. It went on awhile. And then a little longer. That must have been too long because Cole pushed him away, just roughly enough to make the point. The kiss was over.
“What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know. It just….you looked sad.”
“Well now I look freaked out. Is that better?”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
This was really confusing. Like one of House’s weird cases. He had no idea what was going on.
“Great. Then you’ve succeeded.”
Cole shook his head and looked at him, with that exasperated expression he’d come to know so well.
“So long Kutner. Good luck.”
“Come see me when you get fired. Maybe I’ll return the favor.”
Jack/Gwen-Torchwood-requested by joanne_c
Jack collected first kisses.
He might not remember all the names and faces, but he told himself he’d never forget the first kisses; those were special, and he’d been waiting for this one a long time, his first kiss with Gwen Cooper.
He knew that there’d already been instances when they’d technically kissed before, but he’d always disqualified them. The time she kissed him for saving Karys, or her lips barely touching his to bring him back from the dead after Abbadon. Nice, but not what he wanted to remember hundreds or thousands of years from now, when he though of their first kiss. That’s why he’d waited so long, because when he kissed Gwen, he wanted it to be free of conflict or entanglement. Now Rhys was gone and there was nothing keeping them apart, no reason not to give in to the longing he felt all these years.
His hands held her face, feeling silky hair and soft skin and her body pressing against his, letting him know she really had loved him from the minute she caught sight of him on a rainy Cardiff night.
It was perfect, it was better than perfect. They molded to each other, bodies tight, her hands coiling around the back of his neck, as his tongue went deeper into her mouth, and found what he’d been looking for. He was already aroused, wanting her, needing her, knowing that a first kiss could lead to so much more, or it could be the end of everything, but it didn’t matter, because he was losing himself, losing his heart, feeling human, feeling alive, feeling so good….
That wasn’t Gwen. It was Ianto, getting up slowly from his position on the floor near Jack’s desk, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, fixing Jack with a look somewhere between disgust and exasperation.
He tried to shrug it off with a grin that told Ianto he’d make it up to him later, but this wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be last. Maybe he was selfish, but he knew what he wanted.
There was a perfect first kiss coming with Gwen someday.
All he had to do was wait for it.
Martha/Tosh-Torchwood-requested by silver_fic
Martha hadn’t known exactly what she was walking into when she entered the Hub, although she should have known that nothing was ever simple with Captain Jack around, certainly not relationships.
Ianto had been easy enough to mollify by making it clear she wasn’t a threat where Jack was concerned and Owen was too good a doctor and too good a man, in spite of himself, to resent a fellow professional who was there to help them do their job as long as she had no desire to usurp his position as Torchwood’s medic.
Gwen seemed the sanest of all, the one who could actually talk sense into Jack, when necessary, and had managed thus far to resist the legendary Harkness charm. Martha had to smile at the sight of Gwen’s trainers. No wonder Jack liked her. She wondered which way that was going to go, but things got too busy and then too dangerous and then too tragic for her to spend much time worrying about it.
Owen was dead. Okay, not really dead, thanks to that thing that Jack had brought in to resurrect him, but still kind of dead, and even if it wasn’t her fault, she still blamed herself, and she knew damn well Toshiko did.
Poor Tosh. They’d never had much of a chance to talk, but Jack had given her the scoop on Tosh and Owen, as if it took more than a day around the team to figure out that dynamic, anyway. Poor thing. Martha wanted to sit down and tell her what she’d told her friend and what she’d finally had to tell herself—“Get out,” but she knew it wasn’t so easy. Certainly not now that he was dead and all. It was time for her to say goodbye and get back to her life, but she couldn’t leave it this way between them.
Apparently neither could Tosh, who’d shown up on the platform for her train to Cardiff, wearing a long leather coat over an oddly impractical dress, and looking like she’d been up all night either crying or trying to think of what to say.
“Nice of you to come see me off,” she said hopefully. Maybe they could part on good terms.
“I want to make sure you go.”
Or maybe not.
“Look, Tosh, I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry, about all of this, but none of it was my fault.”
“You know he agreed to go on a date with me. Finally.”
“And then he got shot, and I’m back where I started. No, I’m worse because now he’s got more in common with Jack than he does with me. He’s been somewhere and seen something and I’ll never be able to understand it. Before he was at least somehow the same, there was something I could touch, but now….” Martha could see Toshiko’s anger crumbling into pain and tears, and instinctively reached out to hold her, even though she expected to be pushed away.
“…and it’s all your fault.”
“Tosh…I’m so sorry.”
There were tears now, and Martha could still feel the resentment in Tosh’s body, but the need for some kind of human contact was stronger and Martha knew she was doing the right thing, giving Tosh an outlet for her feelings.
“I wish you’d never come to Torchwood. We didn’t need you. We could have figured it out by ourselves, and Owen would still be alive and I wouldn’t be all alone.”
Tosh’s body was wracked with sobs, her pain an absolute, and Martha, doctor by nature as well as profession felt the urge to do something, anything to alleviate it.
“You’re not alone love,” she said, before kissing her gently on the cheek, on the forehead and finally on the lips, trying to bring comfort and finding herself be held tighter then she’d intended as Tosh latched on, kissing back, kissing deeply as though she could draw Martha’s strength into herself.
Martha let it go on, and on, telling herself it was for Tosh, but maybe enjoying it a little too much, until she heard the train pulling into the station. She saw that Tosh was still crying, but there was something calmer in her face. If she was going to tell her to get out, this would be the time, but having given a measure of hope, Martha didn’t feel she had the right to take it away again.
“Don’t give up Toshiko. There’s worse things than loving a dead man. At least he knows you’re alive.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Martha got on the train, touching her lips and hoping she’d done the right thing. Hopefully, Torchwood wouldn’t need her services for awhile. That place was too crazy for her.
Greg House/Jack McCoy-House MD/Law & Order crossover requested by phinnia
You did what?
House didn’t want to hear it from either Cuddy or Wilson.
Cuddy’s patience and special legal fund only applied when his potentially actionable behavior was undertaken in the name of saving a patient.
Wilson would extend his boundless sympathy as long as House could prove the incident had something to do House’s disability and especially his pain. Maybe if he could convince Wilson the other guy started it. He’d definitely have to leave the part about Selena out. Or Sharina. Or whatever her name had been. Except it would be in the police report and Wilson would find out. House wasn’t in the mood to see the pained expression that would follow the revelation, accompanied by the break in Wilson’s voice when he said it.
He could always try calling Cameron to come fetch him. Except she’d stopped taking his middle-of-the-night calls months ago. She said Chase didn’t appreciate the interruption. As if their canoodling, or their sleeping for that matter, was more important than a sympathetic ear for rambling half-conversations that always concluded with the reminder that she meant nothing to him. On the off-chance that she believed him, he decided not to use his one call for that.
There was a number, he’d been holding onto for years. A favor, or series of favors owed. A friendship with implications danced around and skirted for so long he wondered if the sell-by date had long since past. He hadn’t even used this “get-out-of-jail-semi-free” card when Tritter had him in his sights and everything was on line. But that was almost two years ago and somehow he felt older than he should have.
This was serious stuff. He’d burned bridges. Hurt people. Abandoned those who cared about him and now he’d probably picked the wrong night and the wrong bar to fuck with the wrong person. It might not just be his license on the line this time.
He made the call and waited. And waited some more in a cell with some seriously bad-ass looking hombres and not even his cane for self defense. If he didn’t last the night it would be all their faults: Cuddy and Wilson and Chase and Cameron and….
“Well if it isn’t Hang’ Em High McCoy.”
There he was. Jack McCoy, scourge of all evil in Manhattan, newly crowned District Attorney, coming to the bowels of Hell’s Kitchen to get him out of detention. At what cost House could only imagine. He’d known about Jack’s other side since the first time they got drunk together after House testified in a case and the trail of bars ended up in the East Village rather than the upper west side. He’d assumed Jack knew about Wilson, or at least sensed that House wasn’t an impossible achievement, but he’d been biding his time until he had the leverage to make it happen.
Jack’s hand on his wrist bit nearly as tightly as the cuffs had when he was arrested and House turned to kiss him, in gratitude, in promise of more, but they were still out on a public street, with the cold March sun rising over the city. He barely had time to touch Jack’s lips before he was pushed toward the waiting car.
“Not now,” came Jack’s broken raspy voice, promising only a delay, not a reprieve.
Mac Taylor/Stacy Warner-CSI NY/House MD crossover requested by hansolo5
It was never going to work. Not for a week, not for a day, not even for an hour in a hotel on Michigan Avenue.
He was the arresting officer in a high-profile double homicide and she was an attorney working for the defense team, attempting to prove that the warrant used to obtain the evidence had been unconstitutional, or unreasonable, or some other undefinable bullshit that would let a vicious killer walk free.
Mac hated the very idea of her and he would never consider looking at her twice, certainly not as anything but an adversary, except they’d run into each other in the parking garage of the Cook County Courthouse where she couldn’t find her car because it looked like every other rental, and she’d been so adorably helpless he wouldn’t figure out until later that she might have been playing him.
Once the car was sorted out, there was the request for directions back to her hotel and a suggestion for dinner and a joke about the resemblance of Judge Carmel to an angry Pekingese.
Without meaning to he ended up eating pasta with Stacy McCullough in a little Italian joint near McCormick place. He found himself paying too much to her mouth. Both what it was saying and how quickly her lipstick was wearing off as she worked her way through a plate of fettucini Alfredo and several martinis. Each time she wiped her mouth, he noticed the percentage of color on the napkin as opposed to the amount still on her mouth.
He’d always thought of himself as too good a husband to cheat on Claire, but even if he wasn’t, he was certainly too good a CSI to let trace evidence show up in the form of make-up where there shouldn’t be any.
Stacy patted the very last trace of color off her mouth, as she rose to visit the lady’s room and he stood as well, not to be polite but to catch her arm as she passed him and pull her close enough for their lips to touch, and to find out what her reaction would be, as if her laughter and eyes hadn’t told him already.
Her arm wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, as the kiss lasted just long enough to let him know what he could have, if he wanted it, if he were willing to risk everything on something that couldn’t possibly work.
Mac Taylor/James Wilson-CSI-NY/House MD Crossover-requested by hansolo5
Another late-night phone call and Wilson goes running, this time all the way to New York, where House has ended up in jail (again) because he pissed someone off (again) and Wilson has made bail (again.)
This time one thing is different. Instead of the police being represented by a malevolent force like Tritter, there’s an eminently reasonable, nearly scholarly detective who identifies himself as Mac Taylor.
Wilson knows he shouldn’t trust any policeman after what happened last year, knows that House will take any cooperation on his part as an act of betrayal, but they’ve been through this before and Wilson thinks he can tell the difference between a vindictive bastard and a man of science.
It takes nearly 24 hours to get things sorted out. Something about cat fibers and dust mites. Wilson watches Taylor and his team do their job, with both humor and professionalism. It reminds him of House and his team, including some of the emotional dynamics between the younger members. Taylor has the same charisma, the same conviction that he knows what he’s doing and they will find the answer with enough tests and questions. He wonders if Mac actually believes what people tell him or he shares House’s conviction about the essential perfidy of human nature.
He also wonders why he’s talking to Mac nearly two weeks after House has been released and gone back to work. On the other hand, Mac’s come pretty far out his way to drink the hospital cafeteria’s wretched excuse for coffee, just because Wilson called and asked him to. It doesn’t matter exactly what they talk about, usually their various “cases,” Wilson’s patients to healed and Mac’s crimes to be solved. Wilson likes the sound of Mac’s voice, as he talks about the trace evidence and compounds and even the gorier details of things found in the digestive tract of victims, or vics as he casually calls them.
The more they talk, at PPTH, over the phone, at a diner somewhere between Princeton and Manhattan, the more Wilson feels a connection, the way he used to feel with House. There’s something there, he knows it, wants to believe it, evidence to the contrary, because who would ever have thought it would happen with him and House, until it did.
“So then Danny tracks down the shampoo that the vic had in his hair to just two hotels on the upper east side, and from there we figured out that the concierge was having an affair with one of the accountants and they had a scam going to fleece the guests, when management found out they turned on each other and one of them ended up dead.”
Wilson is more interested in Mac’s cadences than the words themselves, but he does pick up one point of interest in the story.
“The concierge and the accountant, they were both men?”
Wilson let’s the answer sit between them, taking Mac’s neutral tone as a good sign. He doesn’t need to know everything, not yet, just one thing.
“You know my friend House?”
“Like I’d forget him after only two weeks?”
“He thinks everybody lies.”
“He might have a point. I hear plenty of bull-shit in my line of work.”
“But do you believe anybody?”
“When they’re telling the truth.”
“How do you know?”
Mac smiles and shakes his head, with a gentle amusement that Wilson feels privileged to see.
“Why don’t you tell me something and see if I believe it or not.”
It’s Wilson’s turn to nod and smile, even though something is boiling up inside.
“What if I told you I wanted to kiss you?”
He waits. He wonders. He can almost envision the clouds coming over Mac’s face as he gets up and walks away. It’s nearly ten years since he had a similar conversation with House. Two years since, Julie kicked him out. Six months since the last time he and House touched. Three months since Robin. Less then three hours since he touched himself thinking abut Mac Taylor.
“I definitely believe that.”
He leans over the table and whispers something in Wilson’s ear, which Wilson barely registers because Mac’s lips are so very close to his skin that it might actually be a kiss, even if it isn’t, it’s enough because somehow he realizes what Mac has just said.
Ianto Jones/Lawrence Kutner – Torchwood/House MD crossover- Requested by silver_fic
A kiss in Cardiff.
Stella Bonasera/Lisa Cuddy – CSI NY-House MD crossover, requested by hannahorlove
Weddings. Jewish. Italian. It’s all the same. Food, drama and dancing.
Lisa came as a favor to her friend Marcus. It’s his cousin’s wedding and he needs a date. They’ve been doing this since the freaking prom. It’s getting as old as they are, but it’s comfortable as well, and they’ll go out afterwards and eat diner food, as though they hadn’t just stuffed themselves with the best catered food Livingston Township has to offer. Only they don’t because Marcus smiles at the bartender and ends up with more than an extra olive in his martini.
Stella knows the groom’s sister and RSVPs even though she hasn’t got a date and doesn’t want one. She dances alone in a corner of room, enjoying herself in the pleasure of others. Maybe there’ll be day like this for her, but until then she’s content to drink champagne for those who find love and silently wish them better luck with it than she’s ever had.
Later on, they won’t remember whether it was the Hoar or the Tarantella or just fate that sent Lisa spinning into Stella, knocking her back against a staircase where they landed in a dizzy accumulation of high-heels, dark hair and spilled champagne.
By the time the shoes are on the right feet and the seltzer has been called for, it won’t matter any more, because they’ve looked and seen and smiled and found a place amid the coats and Lisa thinks she’s pushing Stella, but Stella’s a cop and she’ll use the cuffs that she doesn’t have on her or anything it takes not to let this one go. If it takes a kiss, or several kisses, or more than that, so be it.
The bride and groom leave for Barbados to the ribald shouts of the groom’s friends. Stella and Lisa emerge from the coat-room with lipstick smeared smiles too late to say good-bye, so they take off together to continue saying hello.
House/Ninth Doctor-House MD/Dr. Who crossover-requested by hllangel