FIC: Start of a holiday (2/3)
Title: Start of a holiday
Summary: sequel to Unlocked. House and Wilson go to the cabin. AU
Genre: general/fantasy
The next day, House was awakened by the shower running. He groaned; if Wilson was going to blow-dry his hair he would find the damn thing and throw it into the lake! He rolled over, hiding his face in the pillow and trying to fall asleep again. It didn’t work though - it never worked. He checked his watch: just after nine. House rolled over again and looked around the room. There wasn’t very much in it: a bed, a nightstand, a cupboard with most likely some bedding and a small desk. Some books lay on top of it, but he couldn’t read the titles from where he was.
He decided to leave his warm nest and stumbled into the kitchen, still wearing his long pyjama-pants and a T-shirt, following the smell of coffee that Wilson had obviously already brewed. Helping himself to a cup he limped to what he decided would be his chair while they were here. Blue eyes focused on the fireplace; he was really looking forward to the night - and the marshmallows he would sucker Wilson into roasting with him.
The sound of running water stopped and was replaced by a familiar noise. Rolling his eyes House left his comfortable perch and stalked to the bathroom, taking his coffee with him. He opened the door and stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t know why he was surprised seeing Wilson’s wings; after all, it was the reason they were here, but for a small moment he was. He was more surprised however that Wilson was using the blow-dryer on his right wing; the white feathers were plastered tight to the wing itself, some however were sticking up like the needles of a hedgehog. His friend had removed the wrap holding the left wing to his body, causing it to droop slightly.
House scrunched up his nose at the burnt crisps smell he always associated with wet bird. Transferring his cane to his left hand he found the outlet and pulled out the cord. “You didn’t get the left one wet, did you?”
“Hey! I was busy with that!” Wilson turned around, his right wing fanning out and brushing against House’s arm.
An evil gleam appeared in the older man’s eyes and before Wilson had an idea what he was up to he had pulled out one of the protruding feathers. “Just let it dry naturally, the noise is driving me nuts! Now let me see whether you got the other one wet as well!”
Wilson’s wing quickly returned to a tightly folded position on his back and the oncologist turned huge disbelieving eyes at him. “I can’t believe you did that! No, wait, I can believe you did that. That stung like hell, why did you take it?”
House shrugged nonchalantly, sticking his price behind his ear since he didn’t have any pockets; it wouldn’t have fit in anyways. “I warned you, be glad I’m not pulling out some more; I could make a real neat feather duster with a dozen or so extra…”
The oncologist took a step back, trying to protect his wings from him. He held out one hand, palm upwards, fingers beckoning. “The Indian look doesn’t suit you and my wing did not hit you, it brushed against you - big difference. So give it back!”
House shook his head. “Nuh-uh. It’s mine now. I’m thinking of hanging it off my cane - like a good luck charm. Besides, what would you do with it now? It’s not like you can stick it back in there!”
Wilson ran a hand over his face and made a frustrated noise. “House!”
The diagnostician gave him his best puppy-dog expression. “Jimmy, come on… let me keep it?”
The younger man studied him for a moment, trying to look stern; one corner of his mouth twitched upwards and Wilson shook his head slowly. “Promise not to pull any more out without my permission and you can keep it.”
House cackled with glee. “Rad!”
Wilson cleared his throat. “Promise, House. I want to hear you say the actual words.”
The diagnostician rolled his eyes. “All right, I promise not to pull out any more feathers without your permission. Satisfied?”
The younger man nodded at him. “Very.”
House harrumphed and limped of, muttering just loud enough for his friend to overhear. “Besides, what would I want with a feather duster? I still got you and Lady to do my cleaning. Oh, and stop blow-drying or I’ll kidnap the thing and throw it in the lake!”
There was a sputtering noise behind him and the diagnostician smirked; he’d won on both accounts there.
*
House was sitting in his chair, stroking the now-dry feather. All he would have to do was make a little hole in the pen and put a thread through it so he could hang it from his cane. If anyone would ask he could always say it was from a swan, a really big swan. Or he could just tell them the truth, saying he got it from Jimmy; yeah, that would work. He wouldn’t be lying and people could read into that whatever they wanted. House grinned; he could already see the confused look Cameron would have, wondering why Wilson would have given him a feather of all things?
A few minutes later Wilson appeared; dressed except for a top. The younger man was fluffing up the feathers of his right wing and scowled at him, no doubt more sore about the blow-dryer than House’s stolen treasure, before moving into the kitchen to grab his own coffee, lazily leaning on the counter. “Bathroom’s yours; there are fresh towels on the rack…”
House stood up and limped to the bathroom, coming back with the abandoned pile of bandages and moving right behind Wilson. Seeing the suspicious look the other shot him he snorted. “Oh, stop being such a wuss. I just want to check your left wing, you really shouldn’t take this off.” He held out the green tape.
Wilson rolled his eyes, but stood up straight, allowing House to rewrap the limb to his chest again. “Are you suggesting I should skip showering? I didn’t want it to get wet. Besides, it should be all right for a short while…”
The older man just grunted, finishing quickly. Then he looked at the right wing. “Wilson?”
The oncologist sighed. “What House?”
“Put a bag over your wing next time.”
“It didn’t get wet!” Wilson defended, turning around.
House looked at him, deadpan. “I meant the other one. You smell like wet bird…”
~*~
While House was in the bathroom Wilson kept on fluffing his wing, regretfully thinking that if he had used the blow-dryer he would be done by now. Better safe than sorry; House had threatened to get rid of it and knowing the man he would do exactly as he had said. He turned his head towards his right wing, huffing, he did not smell like wet bird! He couldn’t hold on to his indignation for long though as the memory of House and his childish glee popped up in his mind; the day had certainly started well enough. Wilson looked outside, so far no rain; if the weather stayed like this he might even be able to cajole House into going to the lake with him later on. Though first he first wanted to do a bit of cleaning; he wasn’t particularly fond of dust clinging to every surface.
The grumbling of his stomach made him start rummaging around in the cupboards and he got out all he needed to make macadamia nut pancakes. He would have lots of time for cooking now, something he liked very much when he had the time for it. He didn’t even mind that mostly likely he would be the one doing all the cooking; House’s skills in the kitchen were practically non-existent and the one time he had badgered the older man about making something it had ended up being a black unrecognizable disaster. Wilson had a strong suspicion though that House had done that one on purpose; the recipe hadn’t been that difficult to follow!
House seemed to sense Wilson was making his favourite food, for it was just as he finished baking the last one that the diagnostician limped back to the room and snatched one of the plates, pouring a large amount of syrup over the pancakes before making his way to the lounge chair. “Love you Jimmy!”
Wilson put the last one onto his own plate and went to sit on the couch. “How is your side?”
House rolled his eyes. “Colourful. It doesn’t bother me all that much though, you see,” he reached into his pocket for his bottle and shook it, “I got these little white pills…”
The oncologist frowned, setting his plate on the coffee table before him and moving to stand in front of his friend . “Stand up. I knew I should have checked you before we left.”
The older man let out a whine. “But mo-om, I’m eating! And in case you’d forgotten, I’m a doctor as well; I would know if there was something wrong and I’m telling you to let it rest already!”
Wilson turned his own version of the puppy-eyes on the older man. “Let me see. If the vicodin is messing with your pain reception I wanna be sure.”
House dug into his pancake, making no intention to get up. “After these pancakes. Besides, you’d need an X-ray to be sure and unless you got a secret lab in the basement there’s no way you’d get one. I’m not driving to a hospital and you can’t make me.”
While the older man did have a point Wilson still wanted to see it. He started tapping his foot, nodding towards House’s plate. “Now if you want any more of those in the near future.”
The diagnostician let out a snort. “Killjoy.”
“Twerp.”
A twinkle appeared in the blue eyes. “Overgrown dove.”
Wilson looked at him, nonplussed. “What kind of insult is that?”
House smiled. “Who was saying anything about insults? I was just stating the facts.”
The younger man wondered what House meant, but knew that the other man wouldn’t explain if he was in one of his mood - no matter how much he would bug him about it. He straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow, letting House know that his diversion tactic would not work.
Sighing, House handed over his plate for him to put on the table and stood up, raising his shirt. Wilson winced seeing the blue and purple contusion over his friend’s ribs and his instinct was to apologize for it once more, but he stopped himself just in time. He gently probed the area, seeing House clench his teeth; he didn’t feel any breaks, but perhaps he should drag House to the nearest hospital for some X-rays…
House slapped his hand away. “Knock it off Wilson, there’s nothing to worry about.” Wilson tried to say something, but before he could the diagnostician held a couple of fingers to his temple, eyes squinting at Wilson’s wings. “I can see… this big new pillow with the coolest stuffing in my near future!”
Wilson held up his hands. “Fine.” He turned around and walked to his own room; his right wing was finally dry and he missed the warmth of a sweater. Returning to the living room he sat down again, ready to finish up his pancakes. He frowned, suspiciously eyeing his plate: there seemed to be a few missing. The oncologist shot his friend a dark look, but House just stared innocently back at him. Wilson sighed; he really should have known better than to leave any of his food in the same room as the other man. Well, on the bright side - at least House had left him some.
“So… in for some questions?” House asked when he’d finished.
“If I say ‘no’, will that actually stop you from asking any?” Wilson gathered up their plates and started cleaning them and the other stuff he’d used to prepare breakfast. Hearing his friend come up behind him he turned and threw a tea towel at him. “You help, I answer. Otherwise you can just wait until I’m finished.”
House scrunched up his nose and threw the towel right back at him, limping off to his room; several minutes later he came back, gameboy with him, and plopped himself in his chair. Wilson was amused; apparently House’s hate for chores outranked his curiosity.
*
House hadn’t moved from his seat while Wilson was tidying up the place, except to move more of his stuff into the living room; one of those sappy romance novels, his iPod, a new game… Wilson hadn’t expected to receive any help, this was House after all; the man that hid dishes in the oven and seemed to go especially out of his way if it would mean someone else could clean up the mess. Perhaps later on he would force his friend to help, but right now he simply wanted it over and done with. When he was finally finished, he took a soda from the fridge and sat down, heaving a relieved sigh.
House looked at him curiously, laying down the romance novel he’d been reading. “So how old are you really?”
Wilson shrugged. “Still thirty-seven…”
The older man leaned forward. “So besides the wings, is there anything else? Any cool powers?”
A twinkle appeared in the brown eyes. “I can put up with you without becoming a basket case, but that’s about it.”
House stuck out his tongue at him. “So you’re not immortal?”
Wilson shook his head. “Nope. Just think of avians as humans with wings."
The diagnostician nodded thoughtfully. “So how many of you are out there?”
Wilson palmed his face. “Always with the numbers! I don’t know.”
“Make a guess.”
The younger man sighed. “I really have no idea. It’s not like there’s a place where they teach avian history or an archive that keeps count. If there are ‘secret gatherings’ they’ve certainly not informed me. So as for how many avians there are in the world - your guess is as good as mine.”
House frowned. “How do you know someone else is an avian?”
The oncologist shrugged. “Just do.”
“Right…” The look on House’s face disagreed however.
“How do you tell a man from a woman by just looking at their faces? If you know what to look for there’s always something and if you’re not sure you just ask in a roundabout way. My family knows quite a few avians, who know other avians and so on, so there is some way to get in touch with others.”
Blue eyes narrowed. “So how many do you know?”
Wilson thought for a bit. “Personally? Twenty-six, mostly relatives.”
The older man nodded pensively, fiddling with his cane. “So why isn’t the secret out already? Your little accident just proved that your wings can pop out without permission, so what happens if an avian ends up in the hospital, in a coma?”
Wilson had actually wondered about that as well. “I think there’s some mechanism preventing wings popping out in those cases: signalling pathways that are turned on or off all of a sudden in case of trauma. No way to test it though unless you start up an entire study and you know that’s not gonna happen.”
House harrumphed and was silent for a while - thinking. Wilson let him, knowing that even though the older man could never actually test it he was thinking of theories and ways to prove them.
The oncologist fiddled with his long sleeves before his gaze landed on the novel House had been reading. He picked it up, idly leafing through the first couple of pages until the older man was finished. When House looked at him again Wilson could see that he had more questions, so before his friend could open his mouth he got up, intending to fetch his dad’s fishing gear. “I was thinking of going to the lake… Wanna come?”
House glanced at his cane, unsure.
“It’s not all that far, about ten minutes, smooth ground the entire way and there are benches near the dock.” Wilson reassured him. “I’m gonna take my dad’s fishing gear; if the boat is all right I was thinking of fish for dinner later on.”
The diagnostician perked up at that; then got a thoughtful look on his face before finally he nodded and rose from his seat. Wilson fondly shook his head and walked off to get the fishing gear…