SkyBranches
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Summary
When a stranger at a bar claims he's invented truth serum, House takes the pill, determined to prove him wrong because truth serum isn't real.
And now House can't lie.
But even though he's talking about how much he wants to sleep with Wilson, nobody believes him, which is perfect—until he starts showing symptoms from whatever was in the pill.
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- English
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Bookmarked by SkyBranches
10 May 2026
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Mid fifties, House guessed. No helmet. Short-cropped hair, silvering at the edges, the recession at his temples carving a deep widow’s peak that somehow worked in his favor. A gray beard speckled with white framed his mouth. Aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, but not the confidence in his posture.
House watched him through the smoke, unhurried, evaluative. The man pulled off his gloves, tucking them into his jacket pocket.
“Nice ride!” House called from the bench. “Your bike, too.”or, House and Wilson meet someone new at a medical convention
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“Say you got married,” Robby found himself asking. “Would you wear your dress blues? Or civilian clothes?”
It had only been an idle thought, no different than any number of easy, directionless musings of the sort that often came over the two of them on mornings like this one, when no one had a shift to go to for at least thirty-six hours. Robby didn’t mean anything by it. But he regretted the words the instant they left his mouth, even before he saw the incredulous grin slide over Jack’s face.
“Say I got married?”
Bookmarked by SkyBranches
02 May 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
totally messed up proposal scene but u can't imagine anything better😭
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“You’re in pain.”
Robby exhaled, closing his eyes in a way that spoke of weariness and irritation.
“Chronic pain, Jack. That’s not new.”
Jack frowned at his husband's words, finally moving to sit next to him.
“This isn’t your normal pain.”
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OR the one where they go to a medical conference and Robby starts feeling under the weather.
Bookmarked by SkyBranches
01 May 2026
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The groceries beat Jack to Robby’s place, but not by much. The milk’s not even sweaty. There’s a good chance one or both of the house’s inhabitants are asleep when he opens the door, so he resists the urge to belt out a cancel worthy Ricky Ricardo impression. The curlicue-script-on-a-heart sentiment of it is definitely swelling in his chest, though. Home. This was almost his home, eleven years ago. He tiptoed right up to the threshold, then stumbled back. Now he’s powering through the door with about thirty pounds of freight per arm, because fuck multiple trips. Robby and the baby are waiting for him.
Series
- Part 4 of Save a Motorcycle, Ride an ER Cowboy