All - a House-story
Title: All
Author: Hibernia1
Rating/Genre/Characters/Warning/et cetera: PG-13? Has some bad words. House & Wilson established relationship/Old-Age-Verse (set in the future); no spoilers of any kind; a little sad, I guess; 903 words
Summary: Wilson sings a song
Beta: more or less un-beta’d. If you see a typo or other mistake, please feel free to point it out (or hit me over the head with it, whatever you feel is best)
Disclaimer: House MD belongs to David Shore, Heel and Toe Films and Bad Hat Harry Productions and probably some other people as well - all of those people are NOT named Hibernia
This story was born a few weeks ago after hearing a song on the radio. It also marked the birth of a brand new -verse. There might be more to come (then again, there might not).
Thanks & hugs to my dear friend and wonderful First Reader
hilsonlover for helpful suggestions & encouragement! You're awesome and I'm happy we are friends!
Also, thanks to namasteyoga for pointing out an Europe-ism!
All
House woke up feeling as if someone was watching him. When he opened his eyes, he discovered this feeling was correct. Wilson was sitting up against the headboard of the bed, watching House intently with the hint of a smile on his face.
“What are you looking at?” House asked.
“Just admiring the view,” Wilson said.
“Not much to admire,” House grumbled.
Wilson had aged gracefully. His hair was now silvery white with a few brown streaks, which looked very distinguished. His eyebrows were still mostly brown. He had a few lines in his face and his back wasn’t as straight as it used to be, but he was as charming as ever, and both women and girls were still looking at him with approval.
Also, no one ever called him ‘gramps’.
House on the other hand looked his years, and then some. He was practically bald, his face was wrinkled and his hands shook. At home, he hobbled around on crutches but whenever he ventured outside (which wasn’t often) he had to use a wheelchair. He hated the wheelchair.
But not as much as he hated random people calling him ‘gramps’.
Wilson had also stayed completely healthy, both physically and mentally. He didn’t even need reading glasses and he never had to think long and hard before remembering events from the week or even the day before, like House had to these days.
“I’ve always loved your looks,” Wilson said sincerely.
“I look like a troll,” House said, “and since we never have sex anymore, that’s probably a good thing.”
Wilson got back under the blankets and nestled himself up against House’s left side.
“When we still were able to we had enough sex for several lifetimes,” he said, “so don’t worry about it, okay?”
House snorted loudly. The reason they didn’t have sex anymore was House’s pain that had been increasing with each passing year. It wasn’t just his leg anymore, either. All those years of limping and using the cane had done a number on his back, neck, right arm and also on his good leg.
This meant that even with the high doses of morphine House took daily it was impossible for them to have sex in a way that didn’t mean agony for House. At one point Wilson simply decided to give up on sex altogether. Whenever House had a good day, which didn’t happen often, they cuddled a little bit, but that was all they could manage.
House felt awful about it.
“I mean it,” Wilson said, gently stroking House’s chest.
“You are fucking unbelievable,” House snarled, “people need sex. You should get a hooker. You need to...”
“No.”
“I’m serious,” House said, “you want to…”
“No,” Wilson interrupted him again, “do you know that song?”
House frowned in confusion.
“What song?”
Wilson gently wrapped his arms around House and rested his head upon House’s chest, so he could feel the beating of his heart.
“That one song by that British band.”
“Luckily, there are only one or two British bands,” House said sarcastically, “what the hell are you talking about?”
“That synthesizer band from the eighties,” Wilson clarified.
“The Human League? Yaz? OMD?”
“No, no, and no. I can’t remember their name. I’ll just sing the song for you,” Wilson announced.
“That will be interesting,” House muttered, “you can’t carry a tune to save your life. Even if by some weird chance I know this song, I won’t recognize it when you sing it.”
“Words like violence - break the silence,” Wilson sang. He didn’t even come close to the actual melody of the song, but the words did ring a bell in House’s mind.
“Enjoy the silence by Depeche Mode,” he stated, “why is it I can remember that right away, but I have trouble recalling what we had for dinner yesterday?”
“Beats me,” Wilson lied. House was showing all the signs of developing vascular dementia, but Wilson wasn’t ready to admit that even to himself.
“Yeah, right,” House said, “and what the fuck is so special about that song?”
Wilson pulled House a little closer.
“All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms,” he sang.
“God, Wilson, you…” House started but Wilson interrupted.
“Words are very unnecessary - they can only do harm,” he crooned.
House threw Wilson a dirty look, but Wilson kept singing, and when he reached the part about how all he ever wanted and needed was right there in his arms again House gave in.
“You’re such a wuss,” he grumbled while relaxing in Wilson’s arms, “and you’re pathetic, too, because you actually mean what you sing.”
“I’m not pathetic, I’m very lucky,” Wilson said.
“Yeah, right,” House repeated. He ran his fingers through Wilson’s hair.
“So am I,” he then said, “if you stop singing, that is.”
Wilson smiled broadly and kissed House.
“I will. Until next time I need to convince you of something.”
House didn’t bother to respond. He closed his eyes and fell asleep almost instantly, feeling happy and at ease in Wilson’s embrace.
Wilson soon followed his example. There was plenty to worry about regarding House’s health, but that was nothing new, and when he’d moved in with House all those years ago he’d promised himself not to spoil the time they would get together with worrying.
So he slept, using House as a pillow. Right at this moment, life was good.
Thanks for reading!
Author: Hibernia1
Rating/Genre/Characters/Warning/et cetera: PG-13? Has some bad words. House & Wilson established relationship/Old-Age-Verse (set in the future); no spoilers of any kind; a little sad, I guess; 903 words
Summary: Wilson sings a song
Beta: more or less un-beta’d. If you see a typo or other mistake, please feel free to point it out (or hit me over the head with it, whatever you feel is best)
Disclaimer: House MD belongs to David Shore, Heel and Toe Films and Bad Hat Harry Productions and probably some other people as well - all of those people are NOT named Hibernia
This story was born a few weeks ago after hearing a song on the radio. It also marked the birth of a brand new -verse. There might be more to come (then again, there might not).
Thanks & hugs to my dear friend and wonderful First Reader
hilsonlover for helpful suggestions & encouragement! You're awesome and I'm happy we are friends!
Also, thanks to namasteyoga for pointing out an Europe-ism!
All
House woke up feeling as if someone was watching him. When he opened his eyes, he discovered this feeling was correct. Wilson was sitting up against the headboard of the bed, watching House intently with the hint of a smile on his face.
“What are you looking at?” House asked.
“Just admiring the view,” Wilson said.
“Not much to admire,” House grumbled.
Wilson had aged gracefully. His hair was now silvery white with a few brown streaks, which looked very distinguished. His eyebrows were still mostly brown. He had a few lines in his face and his back wasn’t as straight as it used to be, but he was as charming as ever, and both women and girls were still looking at him with approval.
Also, no one ever called him ‘gramps’.
House on the other hand looked his years, and then some. He was practically bald, his face was wrinkled and his hands shook. At home, he hobbled around on crutches but whenever he ventured outside (which wasn’t often) he had to use a wheelchair. He hated the wheelchair.
But not as much as he hated random people calling him ‘gramps’.
Wilson had also stayed completely healthy, both physically and mentally. He didn’t even need reading glasses and he never had to think long and hard before remembering events from the week or even the day before, like House had to these days.
“I’ve always loved your looks,” Wilson said sincerely.
“I look like a troll,” House said, “and since we never have sex anymore, that’s probably a good thing.”
Wilson got back under the blankets and nestled himself up against House’s left side.
“When we still were able to we had enough sex for several lifetimes,” he said, “so don’t worry about it, okay?”
House snorted loudly. The reason they didn’t have sex anymore was House’s pain that had been increasing with each passing year. It wasn’t just his leg anymore, either. All those years of limping and using the cane had done a number on his back, neck, right arm and also on his good leg.
This meant that even with the high doses of morphine House took daily it was impossible for them to have sex in a way that didn’t mean agony for House. At one point Wilson simply decided to give up on sex altogether. Whenever House had a good day, which didn’t happen often, they cuddled a little bit, but that was all they could manage.
House felt awful about it.
“I mean it,” Wilson said, gently stroking House’s chest.
“You are fucking unbelievable,” House snarled, “people need sex. You should get a hooker. You need to...”
“No.”
“I’m serious,” House said, “you want to…”
“No,” Wilson interrupted him again, “do you know that song?”
House frowned in confusion.
“What song?”
Wilson gently wrapped his arms around House and rested his head upon House’s chest, so he could feel the beating of his heart.
“That one song by that British band.”
“Luckily, there are only one or two British bands,” House said sarcastically, “what the hell are you talking about?”
“That synthesizer band from the eighties,” Wilson clarified.
“The Human League? Yaz? OMD?”
“No, no, and no. I can’t remember their name. I’ll just sing the song for you,” Wilson announced.
“That will be interesting,” House muttered, “you can’t carry a tune to save your life. Even if by some weird chance I know this song, I won’t recognize it when you sing it.”
“Words like violence - break the silence,” Wilson sang. He didn’t even come close to the actual melody of the song, but the words did ring a bell in House’s mind.
“Enjoy the silence by Depeche Mode,” he stated, “why is it I can remember that right away, but I have trouble recalling what we had for dinner yesterday?”
“Beats me,” Wilson lied. House was showing all the signs of developing vascular dementia, but Wilson wasn’t ready to admit that even to himself.
“Yeah, right,” House said, “and what the fuck is so special about that song?”
Wilson pulled House a little closer.
“All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms,” he sang.
“God, Wilson, you…” House started but Wilson interrupted.
“Words are very unnecessary - they can only do harm,” he crooned.
House threw Wilson a dirty look, but Wilson kept singing, and when he reached the part about how all he ever wanted and needed was right there in his arms again House gave in.
“You’re such a wuss,” he grumbled while relaxing in Wilson’s arms, “and you’re pathetic, too, because you actually mean what you sing.”
“I’m not pathetic, I’m very lucky,” Wilson said.
“Yeah, right,” House repeated. He ran his fingers through Wilson’s hair.
“So am I,” he then said, “if you stop singing, that is.”
Wilson smiled broadly and kissed House.
“I will. Until next time I need to convince you of something.”
House didn’t bother to respond. He closed his eyes and fell asleep almost instantly, feeling happy and at ease in Wilson’s embrace.
Wilson soon followed his example. There was plenty to worry about regarding House’s health, but that was nothing new, and when he’d moved in with House all those years ago he’d promised himself not to spoil the time they would get together with worrying.
So he slept, using House as a pillow. Right at this moment, life was good.
Thanks for reading!