Back at the cabin, House sits at the table, a glass of water and one of his gabapentin pills in front of him. Wilson’s moving around, bringing things in from the car and putting the groceries away; House doesn’t pay him much attention.
He rolls the pill between his fingers. Part of him screams that it’s the enemy. He
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(Or hey! Finish part 7 and then write a sequel. As you should apparently be doing with all of your fics.)
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Eeeeexcellent...
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Do you know what I find the most cutting. The bits where House wants desperately to be normal 'should I have brought work too?', but doesn't know how to fit in properly.
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