moose_mcmoose | Frenchman and Straw

This is ridiculous. Blame the amusing suggestions that have been banging around that Wilson is in fact a time traveller.

Title: Frenchman and Straw
Characters: House and Wilson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 554
Disclaimer: I don't own them. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans.
Summary: Probably considered crack. Many have thrown out the amusing notion Wilson is a time traveller due the daft errors in the time line on the show recently. This is what my brain threw up for no apparent reason.

"Are you trying to tell me that your Volvo, this gleaming hunk of badly driven metal, is time machine?"

"I'm not a bad driver." Wilson didn't appreciate the criticism; it wasn't like House was a diligent follower of road safety. "And it's not a 'time machine.'"

"You've just said you went to 1992 last week."

"Well I didn't mean to go to 1992. I just did."

"So this car had some sort of mechanical brainfart and threw you into 1992?" This was ridiculous. House scratched his stubbled chin, bemused and confused in equal measure. It's a damn Volvo, not exactly something he would've expected to have time bending qualities. It wasn't remotely cool enough nor was the driver. He should be getting these sorts of brilliant twists in his life; he's got a motorcycle and a flaming cane. Those were the sorts of things that were meant to travel through time. Not some straight laced, Volvo driving oncologist with a Carpenters play list on their Ipod.

"I...I don't know."

"Have you changed your gas recently?"

"You think this is caused by me changing my gas station?" Wilson switched on the engine.

"I'm trying to work this out logically. There has to be a reason. They don't just make time travelling cars in the factories." House ducked and dipped his head, checking the dashboard and interior for anything peculiar. "Did a man called Doc Brown sell you the car?"

Wilson chuckled. "No." He pushed the car into drive and chuntered towards the parking lot exit. "I've already told you. I don't even know. It just happens. During the day, sometimes in the evening on the way home, sometimes in the morning on my way to work."

"That's so cool."

"It's not. I ended up in a pile of straw outside some damn fort last week."

"A fort?" House gaped. "Seriously?"

"Yes. And I think they were French which didn't help the communication."

"Wow. Did you get any souvenirs?"

"Apart from horse crap on my tyres? No, sorry. I'll ask the musketeer for his hat the next time I drop by."

"Don't you understand what this means, Wilson?"

"It means I need to get a new car." Wilson turned left onto the main road, a speeding driver only missing the front bumper by inches. "Asshole."

"What? And give this glorious gift to somebody else? Are you insane?"

"You hate this car."

"I did hate this car. Now it's the greatest car ever."

"You're so fickle." Wilson sped up and the car spluttered ungracefully. "Shit."

"What?"

"I don't think we're gonna get home any time soon." Wilson's fingers clenched around the steering wheel.

House clapped his hands on knees, bobbing up and down in the passenger seat. "Is this...you know 'it'?"

"I hate that this pleases you."

"This is every boy's dream."

"It's not mine! I just wanna get home and watch Jeopardy. I don't want to possibly end up on Normandy beach or land in sewage during the height of the Black Death." The car was rabbit hopping forward on the tarmac, the engine wheezing and coughing as they travelled. "Oh God."

"Do you know where we're going?"

Wilson glared, his hardened expression offset by the sheer panic in his eyes. "I have absolutely no idea."