travelogue: four drabbles about passport stamps Title:Travelogue: four drabbles about passport stamps Authorphinnia Characters: Wilson POV, brief appearances by Cuddy, House and Bonnie; the last one is definitely H/W Disclaimer: Not mine; I promise to put them back when I'm done. Rating: PG-13, mostly for the last one. Author's Notes: Absecon is a suburb of Atlantic City. Masala is an Indian spice mix. And the Simpsons really does come on at 6:00AM in Mumbai.
Canada The true north strong and free - of tangled backstory, others' expectations. Flashpoint: his first solo crossing, how the Quebecois guards spit tabac and epithets in equal measures as he waited for the final stamps on his student visa. The heavy seal embossed rows of leaves in red ink around the date - he took his first steps alone on foreign soil with the giddy bells of excitement and terror ringing in his ears. Things here were different - extra letters, bilingual signage, colored money pledging allegiance to a foreign Queen - even as habits made things the same again.
Israel The border guards are impossibly young. He feels old beyond his years (not to mention lecherous) as he smiles at them, and more than a little nervous at the lazy way they hold their sidearms. The country is beautiful and fierce, a woman flashing stilletto heels and bloodied teeth on the world stage. He gets off a bus two blocks from the Wailing Wall, trailing the lilting prayers of the devoted - then has the breath knocked sprawling from him by palpable masses of superheated air. Four dead, headlines scream; it takes years not to mentally uptick the body count.
Mexico Bonnie shadows his steps at the airport; he looks for the complimentary shuttle, fumbles thickened words from high school Spanish. They might as well be in Absecon as Acapulco: busboys clamor for American dollars and the decor is Taco Bell tarted up for the prom, daubed with glitter and tuneless mariachi bands. Remembers little about the trip but aches from the burn of re-entry - Cuddy's voice, stretched thin by sleepless nights and aging copper wires; the lump in his throat when he found out how House had played chicken with the devil and limped away to tell the tale.
India Mumbai: brilliant washes of color, silk, spice. Street children beg with soulful eyes; House scatters them using his cane and baleful stares, Wilson soothes, tossing small change that echoes silver in his well of Western guilt. Bart Simpson blends with the endless traffic at six a.m, creating a surreal backdrop to the ragged gasps and moans of morning sex. There is masala in everything - by day four of their stay his blistered tongue yearns for cafeteria meatloaf. Even blowjobs seem a little spicier; when asked about the conference House gleefully passes this on to Cuddy, who doesn't ask again.
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phinnia) wrote in ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
house_wilson,
good
