Simple Pleasures
Simple Pleasures
Author: heledren
Characters: House/Wilson, slash-if-you-squint
Word Count: 1770
Rating: PG
Warning: Vague insinuations
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Beta'd by the long-suffering srsly_yes.
Summary: House sends Wilson for a much-needed vacation.
April
“God, Wilson, you must be the only guy on the planet without hobbies!” House bellowed as he let himself into Wilson’s apartment, juggling keys, cane, and a large paper bag.
Wilson stuck his head out of his bedroom door and peered down the hall, confused. “House? What are you doing here?” He hustled down the hall to relieve House of his burden, and put the bag down on the dining table, flicking on lights as he went.
House peeled off his jacket and got comfortable on the couch. “I’m making a point, Wilson,” he said, spinning his newsboy cap away in a graceful curve designed to buzz the side of Wilson’s head, which it did.
“Are you going to tell me what that point is, or do I have to do the work myself?” Wilson sniped, but he couldn’t help the little smile that curled around his mouth as he pulled out two cartons of Chinese and a Z-grade horror movie featuring Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. There was almost no amount of House-ish annoyance that couldn’t be cured by Elvira’s busty charms.
“Are you going to tell me what you were doing in the bedroom… all alone?” House countered, waggling his brows outrageously. Wilson rolled his eyes, bringing over the food and sliding the evening’s entertainment into the DVD player. After a pause, and just to stop House’s obscene gestures and accompanying noises, Wilson answered, “Paperwork.”
“Ah hah!” House exclaimed, as though he’d caught Wilson in a crime, “Paperwork! And my point is proven.”
Wilson sighed, and gave up enjoying Elvira’s low-cut costume. House obviously wasn’t in the mood for peace. “What point? What am I proving?”
“Don’t you ever listen?” House accused, “You have no hobbies. It’s Friday night, and I knew that you’d be here, alone, doing work. God, it’s enough to make me sick. You used to be interesting, you know… used to do stuff.”
“And you used to be pretty and charming,” Wilson huffed impatiently, “People change. So?”
“So,” House stressed the word as though it was obvious, “I booked you a week in a cabin for July.”
Wilson paused momentarily in his consumption of his chicken lo mein. “A cabin? The two of us in a cabin for a whole week-is there at least TV?”
House poked Wilson in the side, and said, “No, you in a cabin for a whole week. I’m not going. You need to get out and smell the fresh air once in a while, and that’s really just not my style.”
Wilson thought about mentioning that it had been House’s style once, about as long ago as it had been Wilson’s style, but he didn’t want to bring down the mood of the evening.
“Fine,” he sighed, trying to sound as put-upon as possible, but really, he thought, it would be nice to get out to the woods again. He’d always enjoyed the feeling of concerns slipping from his shoulders as soon as he hit the road.
July
The car was packed to the brim with foodstuffs, beach equipment, and hiking gear. House had watched in lazy amusement the night before as Wilson had checked and double-checked his packs.
“Isn’t the point of this vacation to escape your anal-retentive lifestyle?” he’d mocked, lounging on the sofa with a cold beer. Wilson watched a bead of condensation trace down the bottle.
“The point is to enjoy myself, which I will do once I’m sure that I have everything I need. Use a coaster.”
In the early, pale yellow light, Wilson made his great escape, feeling lighter with each mile he put between him and his office. He followed the GPS directions off the Jersey Turnpike, and eventually down the I-95. He settled into the smooth stupor of pleasant driving, and didn’t stop until his stomach startled him with a loud rumble some time before Baltimore. Wilson dined at a roadside café, smiled at the waitress and ate his pie slowly, saving the crust until the end. He reveled in the small joy of eating his own dessert.
It was after suppertime when the car drew up to a smallish cabin, one of several along the lakeshore. He unpacked his bags and chuckled to himself when he realized that he’d packed enough food for two. Old habits died hard. He was slightly less amused when Wilson realized that House had replaced his medical magazines-most of his reading material, in fact-with thick, glossy porn magazines. A note on the cover, in House’s unique scrawl, read: Relax, idiot. With a snort, Wilson moved to toss the note in the garbage, and then hesitated. Following an impulse that came to him from some long ago summer in his childhood, Wilson drew the spearmint gum out of his mouth and used it to fix House’s order at eyelevel to the door. The sweet smell of the gum filtered through the room as Wilson settled in.
The next four days dawned clear and compelling. Wilson packed his lunch everyday and set about exploring the trails that wound through the greenery and around the lake. The sunlight, the sweet air, and the quiet combined to sooth something in Wilson’s chest that he hadn’t known was ruffled. The fifth afternoon, Wilson donned his swim trunks and headed to the lake. A couple of dips in the still-chilly water were enough to convince him to stay ashore, and within half an hour, he’d dropped into a deep sleep.
“Sir? Sir? Are you ok?” Wilson cracked his eyes open to find a fellow beachgoer standing over him. Her three overactive children jumped around behind her, pointing at him and squealing. “You’ve been asleep a long time. I just thought…” the sentence trailed off, and so did her eyes. They tracked down his body unashamedly. “Wow,” she said.
Wilson felt a flush run through him. Although he certainly wasn’t adverse to women ogling his chest, three-time mothers of hyperactive children weren’t really his type, especially not ones that gaped at men in front of said children. Wilson was no shining moralist, but… well, really.
He got to his feet and gathered up his things hastily. “Excuse me,” he said, and began a fast trek to his cabin. He was still shaking his head over the brazen woman when he stepped into the tiny bathroom (toilet, shower, no sink and no mirror) to clean off the sand. He turn the shower handle, heard the creak and rattle of old pipes, and screamed as liquid fire rained down on him. He jumped out of the shower instinctively, and with a jolt of panic felt his feet slip out from under him. A shock of pain raced up his leg as his ankle twisted sharply, and merciful blackness descended.
An unmeasured amount of time later, Wilson came to himself, shivering on the tiles in the cramped, dim bathroom. He felt chilled clear through his skin and down to his bones, which he partially rectified by tugging the towel off of the toilet lid and draping it around his shoulders. Wilson realized with a twist in his gut just how close he had come to hitting the toilet as he fell, and swallowed back a small amount of bile. Had he knocked his head on the floor? The hard tiles were fully capable of concussing him.
He crawled out of the bathroom and dragged himself up on the couch. In a daze, he grabbed his cell phone off of the coffee table and punched in a few numbers. As he listened to the ringing on the other end, he stared in stupefied wonder at startling pinkness of his skin. Sunburn. No wonder he felt hot and cold chills crawling in turns over his body.
By the time House arrived, medical kit in hand, Wilson had gingerly dried himself off dressed himself warmly, if loosely, in a robe. He’d grabbed a bag of frozen peas that he alternated between his ankle and his head.
House pinned Wilson to the ugly old couch with a glare as he let himself in. “When I sent you away, I didn’t expect you to kill yourself. My God, you’re high-maintenance.”
Wilson shrugged, worry dissipating as House went to work, wrapping his ankle and checking his head in a professional manner. He felt his eyes drift shut as House’s fingers sifted through his hair. A gentle, unspoken sympathy seemed to pass between them, and Wilson relaxed into it, falling back…
A sharp pain lanced through his head as House pressed a finger into the bump on Wilson’s scalp.
“Stay awake. You’re not concussed, but there’s nothing good on basic cable, and I’m bored.”
“I saw a Chinese place in the town not too far away. Maybe they deliver,” Wilson offered grumpily, and House made the call. When the knock came at the door, Wilson made a half-hearted gesture to get up, but House pressed him back into the couch with his cane and answered it with only a small grumble.
They ate their Chinese on the tiny back deck. If Wilson ignored the fresh air and stars, he could pretend that they were on their balcony at PPTH, after a long day at the office. He leaned his head against his chair and breathed in a deep sigh. House glanced over.
“Good vacation?” the older man asked sardonically, and Wilson shrugged.
“Good,” he replied, “but now it’s better.”
House grunted and stole the last spring roll.
“Hey, House,” Wilson ventured after a pause, “How did you get out here so fast?”
There was a momentary halt to the crunching, and then House slurped back his chow mein as noisily as he could. Wilson was not to be put off. He shifted painfully in his chair to better look at his friend.
“It took me all day to drive here from Jersey, and you got here in less than an hour. Were you… stalking me?”
House snorted, driven from his original plan of ignoring Wilson by the absurdity of the question.
“Wilson, I booked your cabin. I watched you pack and said goodbye. I’m hardly stalking you. And secondly, would you actually be surprised if I was?”
Wilson acknowledged that he would not, but persisted.
“I was already staying in town,” House admitted grudgingly, looking away from Wilson and up at the distant stars. “I figured that since you weren’t around, I might as well take a vacation, too.”
The silence stretched out between them as replies raced through Wilson’s head, from So, you’re creepy, to I missed you, too.
In the end, all he said was, “Oh.”
Author: heledren
Characters: House/Wilson, slash-if-you-squint
Word Count: 1770
Rating: PG
Warning: Vague insinuations
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Beta'd by the long-suffering srsly_yes.
Summary: House sends Wilson for a much-needed vacation.
April
“God, Wilson, you must be the only guy on the planet without hobbies!” House bellowed as he let himself into Wilson’s apartment, juggling keys, cane, and a large paper bag.
Wilson stuck his head out of his bedroom door and peered down the hall, confused. “House? What are you doing here?” He hustled down the hall to relieve House of his burden, and put the bag down on the dining table, flicking on lights as he went.
House peeled off his jacket and got comfortable on the couch. “I’m making a point, Wilson,” he said, spinning his newsboy cap away in a graceful curve designed to buzz the side of Wilson’s head, which it did.
“Are you going to tell me what that point is, or do I have to do the work myself?” Wilson sniped, but he couldn’t help the little smile that curled around his mouth as he pulled out two cartons of Chinese and a Z-grade horror movie featuring Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. There was almost no amount of House-ish annoyance that couldn’t be cured by Elvira’s busty charms.
“Are you going to tell me what you were doing in the bedroom… all alone?” House countered, waggling his brows outrageously. Wilson rolled his eyes, bringing over the food and sliding the evening’s entertainment into the DVD player. After a pause, and just to stop House’s obscene gestures and accompanying noises, Wilson answered, “Paperwork.”
“Ah hah!” House exclaimed, as though he’d caught Wilson in a crime, “Paperwork! And my point is proven.”
Wilson sighed, and gave up enjoying Elvira’s low-cut costume. House obviously wasn’t in the mood for peace. “What point? What am I proving?”
“Don’t you ever listen?” House accused, “You have no hobbies. It’s Friday night, and I knew that you’d be here, alone, doing work. God, it’s enough to make me sick. You used to be interesting, you know… used to do stuff.”
“And you used to be pretty and charming,” Wilson huffed impatiently, “People change. So?”
“So,” House stressed the word as though it was obvious, “I booked you a week in a cabin for July.”
Wilson paused momentarily in his consumption of his chicken lo mein. “A cabin? The two of us in a cabin for a whole week-is there at least TV?”
House poked Wilson in the side, and said, “No, you in a cabin for a whole week. I’m not going. You need to get out and smell the fresh air once in a while, and that’s really just not my style.”
Wilson thought about mentioning that it had been House’s style once, about as long ago as it had been Wilson’s style, but he didn’t want to bring down the mood of the evening.
“Fine,” he sighed, trying to sound as put-upon as possible, but really, he thought, it would be nice to get out to the woods again. He’d always enjoyed the feeling of concerns slipping from his shoulders as soon as he hit the road.
July
The car was packed to the brim with foodstuffs, beach equipment, and hiking gear. House had watched in lazy amusement the night before as Wilson had checked and double-checked his packs.
“Isn’t the point of this vacation to escape your anal-retentive lifestyle?” he’d mocked, lounging on the sofa with a cold beer. Wilson watched a bead of condensation trace down the bottle.
“The point is to enjoy myself, which I will do once I’m sure that I have everything I need. Use a coaster.”
In the early, pale yellow light, Wilson made his great escape, feeling lighter with each mile he put between him and his office. He followed the GPS directions off the Jersey Turnpike, and eventually down the I-95. He settled into the smooth stupor of pleasant driving, and didn’t stop until his stomach startled him with a loud rumble some time before Baltimore. Wilson dined at a roadside café, smiled at the waitress and ate his pie slowly, saving the crust until the end. He reveled in the small joy of eating his own dessert.
It was after suppertime when the car drew up to a smallish cabin, one of several along the lakeshore. He unpacked his bags and chuckled to himself when he realized that he’d packed enough food for two. Old habits died hard. He was slightly less amused when Wilson realized that House had replaced his medical magazines-most of his reading material, in fact-with thick, glossy porn magazines. A note on the cover, in House’s unique scrawl, read: Relax, idiot. With a snort, Wilson moved to toss the note in the garbage, and then hesitated. Following an impulse that came to him from some long ago summer in his childhood, Wilson drew the spearmint gum out of his mouth and used it to fix House’s order at eyelevel to the door. The sweet smell of the gum filtered through the room as Wilson settled in.
The next four days dawned clear and compelling. Wilson packed his lunch everyday and set about exploring the trails that wound through the greenery and around the lake. The sunlight, the sweet air, and the quiet combined to sooth something in Wilson’s chest that he hadn’t known was ruffled. The fifth afternoon, Wilson donned his swim trunks and headed to the lake. A couple of dips in the still-chilly water were enough to convince him to stay ashore, and within half an hour, he’d dropped into a deep sleep.
“Sir? Sir? Are you ok?” Wilson cracked his eyes open to find a fellow beachgoer standing over him. Her three overactive children jumped around behind her, pointing at him and squealing. “You’ve been asleep a long time. I just thought…” the sentence trailed off, and so did her eyes. They tracked down his body unashamedly. “Wow,” she said.
Wilson felt a flush run through him. Although he certainly wasn’t adverse to women ogling his chest, three-time mothers of hyperactive children weren’t really his type, especially not ones that gaped at men in front of said children. Wilson was no shining moralist, but… well, really.
He got to his feet and gathered up his things hastily. “Excuse me,” he said, and began a fast trek to his cabin. He was still shaking his head over the brazen woman when he stepped into the tiny bathroom (toilet, shower, no sink and no mirror) to clean off the sand. He turn the shower handle, heard the creak and rattle of old pipes, and screamed as liquid fire rained down on him. He jumped out of the shower instinctively, and with a jolt of panic felt his feet slip out from under him. A shock of pain raced up his leg as his ankle twisted sharply, and merciful blackness descended.
An unmeasured amount of time later, Wilson came to himself, shivering on the tiles in the cramped, dim bathroom. He felt chilled clear through his skin and down to his bones, which he partially rectified by tugging the towel off of the toilet lid and draping it around his shoulders. Wilson realized with a twist in his gut just how close he had come to hitting the toilet as he fell, and swallowed back a small amount of bile. Had he knocked his head on the floor? The hard tiles were fully capable of concussing him.
He crawled out of the bathroom and dragged himself up on the couch. In a daze, he grabbed his cell phone off of the coffee table and punched in a few numbers. As he listened to the ringing on the other end, he stared in stupefied wonder at startling pinkness of his skin. Sunburn. No wonder he felt hot and cold chills crawling in turns over his body.
By the time House arrived, medical kit in hand, Wilson had gingerly dried himself off dressed himself warmly, if loosely, in a robe. He’d grabbed a bag of frozen peas that he alternated between his ankle and his head.
House pinned Wilson to the ugly old couch with a glare as he let himself in. “When I sent you away, I didn’t expect you to kill yourself. My God, you’re high-maintenance.”
Wilson shrugged, worry dissipating as House went to work, wrapping his ankle and checking his head in a professional manner. He felt his eyes drift shut as House’s fingers sifted through his hair. A gentle, unspoken sympathy seemed to pass between them, and Wilson relaxed into it, falling back…
A sharp pain lanced through his head as House pressed a finger into the bump on Wilson’s scalp.
“Stay awake. You’re not concussed, but there’s nothing good on basic cable, and I’m bored.”
“I saw a Chinese place in the town not too far away. Maybe they deliver,” Wilson offered grumpily, and House made the call. When the knock came at the door, Wilson made a half-hearted gesture to get up, but House pressed him back into the couch with his cane and answered it with only a small grumble.
They ate their Chinese on the tiny back deck. If Wilson ignored the fresh air and stars, he could pretend that they were on their balcony at PPTH, after a long day at the office. He leaned his head against his chair and breathed in a deep sigh. House glanced over.
“Good vacation?” the older man asked sardonically, and Wilson shrugged.
“Good,” he replied, “but now it’s better.”
House grunted and stole the last spring roll.
“Hey, House,” Wilson ventured after a pause, “How did you get out here so fast?”
There was a momentary halt to the crunching, and then House slurped back his chow mein as noisily as he could. Wilson was not to be put off. He shifted painfully in his chair to better look at his friend.
“It took me all day to drive here from Jersey, and you got here in less than an hour. Were you… stalking me?”
House snorted, driven from his original plan of ignoring Wilson by the absurdity of the question.
“Wilson, I booked your cabin. I watched you pack and said goodbye. I’m hardly stalking you. And secondly, would you actually be surprised if I was?”
Wilson acknowledged that he would not, but persisted.
“I was already staying in town,” House admitted grudgingly, looking away from Wilson and up at the distant stars. “I figured that since you weren’t around, I might as well take a vacation, too.”
The silence stretched out between them as replies raced through Wilson’s head, from So, you’re creepy, to I missed you, too.
In the end, all he said was, “Oh.”