Fic: House, M.D., House/Wilson, G
Title: Sleepless
Author: starlettmalfoy
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: G
Spoilers: Season 3
Word Count: 691
Warning: Just a little slash, but not a lot
Disclaimer: I don't own the show, the characters, or the actors. Wah. >.<
Author's notes: I have no idea why I keep writing "G" and "PG" stories. I don't particularly like reading them. This was in my head as I was going to sleep the other night. Well, the basics of it was. I think I had a lot more but, selfishly, I decided to drift off instead of lugging my ass out to the computer to type it down. Lol. It's written in a weird tense. I usually use past. Hmm. Anywho. My first attempt at House/Wilson, considering I just started the show. Of course, anyone with eyes and a brain can see it in canon, so I decided, "Oh hell, why not?".
Sleepless
The pain in his leg wakes him in the middle of the night. He spasms as his brain regains consciousness, clutches his thigh with a muffled grunt. The alarm clock is slightly out of focus from the sleep in his eyes, but he can read it through the haze. The glaring red numbers tell him that it's just after four in the morning. He grimaces, bothered by the fact that he's only gotten three hours of sleep so far, knowing he probably won't get any more before he has to be back at the hospital at nine. Maybe he won't go in until eleven. He misses the days when he could go jogging more than he'd care to admit to himself or anyone else.
His hands blindly reach out towards the bedside table where he knows his Vicodin will be. A glass of water is there - not his - and he knocks it over because he forgets. The tinkling of the glass as it shatters on the floor below reminds him. The muffled gasp on the other side of the bed confirms it. His hand closes around the pill bottle as the person beside him sits up.
Wilson's hair is in disarray, sticking up from the static electricity caused by the pillow. House ignores him and swings his legs carefully off of the bed. He lets them dangle dangerously over the glass, not touching the floor, but only just.
"House?"
He grunts noncommittally as he struggles to open the bottle. Damn these stupid child-proof tabs. They taunt him as his hand shakes on the plastic. Finally, he gives a small growl and rips the lid off. The pills fly out, falling to the floor. He bites back an angry yell and the veins in his neck throb as he grits his teeth.
"Oh, shit. Here, let me-"
"No." his voice cuts across Wilson's, annoyed at the pity he hears. "I'm fine."
Wilson stops and continues to sit on the bed, staring at him. He hates it when Wilson stares. Quickly, he fishes three pills out of the wreckage and checks to make sure he didn't grab any glass fragments instead before dry swallowing them. He has slippers at the end of the bed, so he scoots down away from the glass and leans over to grab them. As careful as he tries to be, the movement causes another spike of pain and this time he can't hold back his groan.
Wilson jumps up and hurries around to the foot of the bed, holding House upright by his shoulders.
"Obviously, you're not. Your leg hurts? Did it wake you?"
House rolls his eyes. "No, of course not. I like getting up this early. It's good for my health."
Wilson, with years of practice brushes off the sarcasm easily. He sighs and lets his hands drop from House's shoulders before reaching down and calmly sliding each foot into a slipper. Without a word, Wilson walks out of the bedroom. House is in the middle of standing, steadying himself with his cane when Wilson returns, dustpan and brush in hand. He cleans the glass and walks out again as House stands there, watching.
House sighs and rubs his eyes tiredly. Wilson comes back in and stands in front of the other man, waiting. It's a tactic he's long since mastered, waiting for House to get bored enough to talk to him. It's not long before House looks up at the oncologist and simply says, "Thank you."
House moves past him then, silently. Wilson looks back and forth between the doorway and the bed, trying to decide. Shaking his head, he makes his choice and follows House to the living room.
House is already seated at the couch, remote in hand. The TV is muted, as always, and the blue glow radiating from it hurts Wilson's eyes. He deposits himself onto the couch next to him and scoots a bit closer.
Wordlessly, House's arm moves up to the back of the couch behind Wilson before dropping around his shoulders. They stay like that until seven-thirty; Wilson dozes.
House already feels a little better.
Author: starlettmalfoy
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: G
Spoilers: Season 3
Word Count: 691
Warning: Just a little slash, but not a lot
Disclaimer: I don't own the show, the characters, or the actors. Wah. >.<
Author's notes: I have no idea why I keep writing "G" and "PG" stories. I don't particularly like reading them. This was in my head as I was going to sleep the other night. Well, the basics of it was. I think I had a lot more but, selfishly, I decided to drift off instead of lugging my ass out to the computer to type it down. Lol. It's written in a weird tense. I usually use past. Hmm. Anywho. My first attempt at House/Wilson, considering I just started the show. Of course, anyone with eyes and a brain can see it in canon, so I decided, "Oh hell, why not?".
Sleepless
The pain in his leg wakes him in the middle of the night. He spasms as his brain regains consciousness, clutches his thigh with a muffled grunt. The alarm clock is slightly out of focus from the sleep in his eyes, but he can read it through the haze. The glaring red numbers tell him that it's just after four in the morning. He grimaces, bothered by the fact that he's only gotten three hours of sleep so far, knowing he probably won't get any more before he has to be back at the hospital at nine. Maybe he won't go in until eleven. He misses the days when he could go jogging more than he'd care to admit to himself or anyone else.
His hands blindly reach out towards the bedside table where he knows his Vicodin will be. A glass of water is there - not his - and he knocks it over because he forgets. The tinkling of the glass as it shatters on the floor below reminds him. The muffled gasp on the other side of the bed confirms it. His hand closes around the pill bottle as the person beside him sits up.
Wilson's hair is in disarray, sticking up from the static electricity caused by the pillow. House ignores him and swings his legs carefully off of the bed. He lets them dangle dangerously over the glass, not touching the floor, but only just.
"House?"
He grunts noncommittally as he struggles to open the bottle. Damn these stupid child-proof tabs. They taunt him as his hand shakes on the plastic. Finally, he gives a small growl and rips the lid off. The pills fly out, falling to the floor. He bites back an angry yell and the veins in his neck throb as he grits his teeth.
"Oh, shit. Here, let me-"
"No." his voice cuts across Wilson's, annoyed at the pity he hears. "I'm fine."
Wilson stops and continues to sit on the bed, staring at him. He hates it when Wilson stares. Quickly, he fishes three pills out of the wreckage and checks to make sure he didn't grab any glass fragments instead before dry swallowing them. He has slippers at the end of the bed, so he scoots down away from the glass and leans over to grab them. As careful as he tries to be, the movement causes another spike of pain and this time he can't hold back his groan.
Wilson jumps up and hurries around to the foot of the bed, holding House upright by his shoulders.
"Obviously, you're not. Your leg hurts? Did it wake you?"
House rolls his eyes. "No, of course not. I like getting up this early. It's good for my health."
Wilson, with years of practice brushes off the sarcasm easily. He sighs and lets his hands drop from House's shoulders before reaching down and calmly sliding each foot into a slipper. Without a word, Wilson walks out of the bedroom. House is in the middle of standing, steadying himself with his cane when Wilson returns, dustpan and brush in hand. He cleans the glass and walks out again as House stands there, watching.
House sighs and rubs his eyes tiredly. Wilson comes back in and stands in front of the other man, waiting. It's a tactic he's long since mastered, waiting for House to get bored enough to talk to him. It's not long before House looks up at the oncologist and simply says, "Thank you."
House moves past him then, silently. Wilson looks back and forth between the doorway and the bed, trying to decide. Shaking his head, he makes his choice and follows House to the living room.
House is already seated at the couch, remote in hand. The TV is muted, as always, and the blue glow radiating from it hurts Wilson's eyes. He deposits himself onto the couch next to him and scoots a bit closer.
Wordlessly, House's arm moves up to the back of the couch behind Wilson before dropping around his shoulders. They stay like that until seven-thirty; Wilson dozes.
House already feels a little better.