Cyanide & Neck Ties
A House, M.D. and Pushing Daisies Crossover
By: Masked Maiden
Prologue: No Pickles
It was one of those ever-losing battles Wilson had grown accustomed to over the years. He no longer had to look up to know when a set of five, long and grubby fingers were launching an attack on his lunch. He could sense it, like a mother who knew when her child was reaching into the cookie jar. And at the right second, Wilson gripped the corner of a paper towel and pulled his turkey sandwich closer to him.
"No."
House gazed at his best friend and pretended to pout, his bottom lip quivering in a very mocking manner. "But your sandwich is better than my sandwich," he whined.
"You have a perfectly good Reuben on your plate. When have you ever not wanted a Reuben?"
"It has pickles. The cook got my order wrong."
"Then take the pickles off."
"Well, I could... but it’s not the same. See, those pickles that the cafeteria uses are not those crispy, cool Vlassic pickles that are supposed to snap when you bend them. These pickles…" House took the top slice of bread off his sandwich and then held up a slice of pickle for emphasis, shaking it to show how flimsy and transparent it was. "These pickles are puny and overcooked and all the juices seep into the bread, so you end up tasting the pickle even after you take it off and it kind of defeats the purpose-"
"FINE." Wilson did not have the time or the patience to listen to another one of House’s rants. He needed to work, which he preferred to do in silence. So he allowed House to win one more battle and pushed his sandwich back to its original spot.
House smirked victoriously and plopped the defected Reuben on top of the medical chart Wilson was writing on. He then grabbed the turkey sandwich and, as he turned to leave, caught a glimpse of his friend; the cold glare Wilson was giving him would have petrified any other living being, but House took the hint and knew he’d caused enough trouble for now.
“See you tonight,” House chirped. He exited Wilson’s office, already chewing on a savory mouthful of toasted bread, oven-roasted white meat, crispy lettuce, and juicy tomato.
Wilson's cooking beat a cafeteria lunch any day. Wilson shook his head as the door closed. He almost expected House to come back. The absence of any mayonnaise was enough for his friend to complain about, but Wilson could already hear him through the thin wall dividing their offices, lecturing his new team on the importance of conclusive blood tests. Realizing his lunch hour wasn’t going to be as quiet or as productive as he hoped, Wilson reached for the Reuben and took a bite.
He was dead within five minutes.
