I don't have any cider, but I can mull wine, how's that? When I was in uni, Corpus dorms had these dinky old fireplaces we weren't supposed to actually use, but in winter everyone did anyway, and we'd nick the kettle from the common kitchen and use it to mull wine.
[It should be more, but she’s not exactly abiding by any traffic laws here. No one’s going to pull her over for speeding over some mushrooms and six fallen tree logs.
She’s at least careful about parking, mostly because it is dark and she can’t tell where one warded wall starts and another ends. Where is the goat when she needs it? Probably wrapped in a House Sweater.
Very pointedly, she’s making a point of not chattering her teeth or shivering when she adds, outside:]
[ John is there immediately, warm hand pulling her through the strange thick air of the ward, the blood on his fingers evaporating as he brings her in. He has clothes ready, one of the nice long button up shirts Lottie made for him in a warm rust, thick itchy House-knitted socks and scarf, the big black cape-coat he'd draped over her shoulders at the orgy. Warm things. ]
Sorry, gotta, sorry—
[ Hurrying back to the wood stove to stir the wine, which has filled the air with the scent of spices, the same blend as he likes to use in his tea.
Godmoding House a little: he's going to take his golf cart keys back and head on out again to get post-snowball drunk with the other """war heroes""". ]
Cute, [comes out before she even really thinks twice. He is cute, somehow still surprisingly soft.
There’s a smile on her face, and she realises a little dimly, that it’s the first thing her face has done for hours. She pushes that out of mind, follows the smell of spices to the fire and decides to strip and peel off her frozen clothes there, where the heat can thaw her a little. She folds as she goes, where the fabric will let her. Then she slips into the shirt, the socks, wraps the scarf around herself like a shawl and outstretches her arms, palms wide to catch the heat. ]
Smells amazing. [Sweet; a little herbal. She adds, glancing at him:] Sorry if I worried you. And House.
[ John shrugs. He isn't sure worried is quite the right emotion, but he isn't sure how to name the truth. It's easier to just lean into the parental thing that veers in and out of being a joke or a kink: ]
Out so late without even a text?
[ There's no sting to it, if anything he's doing a middling impression of his gran to amuse himself. Adds, more seriously: ]
Look, don't worry about it. Just get yourself warmed up.
I uhm - [and pauses, because there's always a little slither of embarrassment that comes over her when she tries to admit to the parts of her that are. Broken. That do not work the way they should. ] I blanked out. For a while. I was mostly just doing circles, I think.
[Mindlessly, really. Watching the horizon go blurry, get dark, get colder. She shuffles closer to the fire, wraps her arms around herself while her skin regains its feeling. ] No damage to the cart, though. I know it's his baby.
[ John doesn't joke about how the House loves the cart more than any of them, just comes and sits next to her, quiet and careful like he would be with Harrow. ]
Would you like to talk about why?
[ Gaze on the wood stove, watching the wine simmer gently, watching the flames. ]
[ Not enough for him to feel confident guessing on his own. He slides closer, wraps an arm around her waist. He's always sun-warm even underdressed in the cold. ]
[ His big weakness. She'd shown up during a really stressful moment, the All-Sight discussion, and made him laugh. It's the same way House hooked him. ]
I don't judge, Jem. What a terrible hypocrite I'd be if I did. You're good, and I like you.
[ But he will have to break this sweet embrace to take the mulled wine off the heat and pour them both a mug. ]
[She's not too fussed about having to pull away. The wine is a nice balm, anyway. She takes a hesitant little sip after a blow or two, enough time to distract her from thinking I'm not very good, really. Neither is John, or House, or Danny. That's fine. ]
This is good. [The wine. The company. ] I probably won't make you laugh today, though. I feel like a frozen rat.
That's all right. You don't need to be good company.
[ They don't even really need to talk, even if that makes for boring ass log tags. John is a master of sitting in comfortable silence, has no urge to fill it. They can just sip the wine and vibe in the warmth. ]
[Might be, could be, it's always hard to tell when you're a little drunk, when you're comfortable, when you're warm. She tries, instead: ] Tell me about your day?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject
won’t be long
how’s his nose?
no subject
I'll put the kettle on. Really missing hot choccie right now.
no subject
and, same. i miss baileys too. hot cider. squirty cream and dairy milk.
no subject
no subject
i haven’t had mulled wine in ages
i should probably grab some dry clothes first otherwise i might freeze it
no subject
[ a hint of how actually worried he is slipping through. ]
no subject
okay, i’ll be 5 mins.
[It should be more, but she’s not exactly abiding by any traffic laws here. No one’s going to pull her over for speeding over some mushrooms and six fallen tree logs.
She’s at least careful about parking, mostly because it is dark and she can’t tell where one warded wall starts and another ends. Where is the goat when she needs it? Probably wrapped in a House Sweater.
Very pointedly, she’s making a point of not chattering her teeth or shivering when she adds, outside:]
let me in please, my face is freezing in place
no subject
Sorry, gotta, sorry—
[ Hurrying back to the wood stove to stir the wine, which has filled the air with the scent of spices, the same blend as he likes to use in his tea.
Godmoding House a little: he's going to take his golf cart keys back and head on out again to get post-snowball drunk with the other """war heroes""". ]
no subject
There’s a smile on her face, and she realises a little dimly, that it’s the first thing her face has done for hours. She pushes that out of mind, follows the smell of spices to the fire and decides to strip and peel off her frozen clothes there, where the heat can thaw her a little. She folds as she goes, where the fabric will let her. Then she slips into the shirt, the socks, wraps the scarf around herself like a shawl and outstretches her arms, palms wide to catch the heat. ]
Smells amazing. [Sweet; a little herbal. She adds, glancing at him:] Sorry if I worried you. And House.
no subject
Out so late without even a text?
[ There's no sting to it, if anything he's doing a middling impression of his gran to amuse himself. Adds, more seriously: ]
Look, don't worry about it. Just get yourself warmed up.
no subject
[Mindlessly, really. Watching the horizon go blurry, get dark, get colder. She shuffles closer to the fire, wraps her arms around herself while her skin regains its feeling. ] No damage to the cart, though. I know it's his baby.
no subject
Would you like to talk about why?
[ Gaze on the wood stove, watching the wine simmer gently, watching the flames. ]
no subject
[it happens, she waits it out. ] Did Danny tell you, about - me?
[child soldier, murderer, coward, coward, coward.] House called me soldier. It’s just been a long time.
no subject
[ Not enough for him to feel confident guessing on his own. He slides closer, wraps an arm around her waist. He's always sun-warm even underdressed in the cold. ]
Got it. Well, it's no trouble.
[ To look after her, to listen. ]
no subject
Why are you so nice to me, John? I'm a mess.
no subject
[ His big weakness. She'd shown up during a really stressful moment, the All-Sight discussion, and made him laugh. It's the same way House hooked him. ]
I don't judge, Jem. What a terrible hypocrite I'd be if I did. You're good, and I like you.
[ But he will have to break this sweet embrace to take the mulled wine off the heat and pour them both a mug. ]
no subject
This is good. [The wine. The company. ] I probably won't make you laugh today, though. I feel like a frozen rat.
no subject
[ They don't even really need to talk, even if that makes for boring ass log tags. John is a master of sitting in comfortable silence, has no urge to fill it. They can just sip the wine and vibe in the warmth. ]
no subject
[Might be, could be, it's always hard to tell when you're a little drunk, when you're comfortable, when you're warm. She tries, instead: ] Tell me about your day?