Ever since his disastrous date with Cuddy the night before, House hadn't ventured out of his room. The only time he left briefly was to get his pill, though when he returned to his room he went straight back to bed and refused to budge from it. He was in a foul mood, his leg hurt, and he felt groggy and unrested. The more he tried to keep thoughts of Cuddy and Stacy out of his head, the more those thoughts stewed in his mind
( ... )
"Oh, c'mon," Wilson replied, slightly muffled by the door he was speaking to. "I don't have a key this time."
He'd caught the sound of House's voice, of course, but his own tone was normal despite this. Wilson knew House's moods better than anyone and could easily infer exactly what he was going to find behind the door if it ever opened. He didn't know the reason for it, though, and that made him furrow his brow. One hand rested against the doorframe and he leaned a bit closer to the door.
"House?" he tried in a very passive and unassuming voice. For some reason he really, really wanted to see him. Wasn't going to take no for an answer.
House was surprised to hear Wilson's voice. And instantly annoyed, too. He was pissed off about the friendship Wilson had struck up with the Doctor; he didn't like how much of an outsider he felt, didn't matter how much bad blood had stirred between Wilson and himself
( ... )
Wilson offered House a look of confusion and then rolled his eyes. "Mine doesn't look very new at all. Appears to have just gotten out of bed," he returned dryly. After squinting to appear like he was studying House more closely, Wilson shook his head dismissively. "Yep. Same old you."
It was truly futile, this exercise in ignoring House's remarks regarding the Doctor, Wilson knew. But he didn't exactly understand what House's problem was, either. They were okay, weren't they? Not really, but they hadn't been really okay for a while and Wilson didn't actually expect that to come back. To him, things between them had changed and that was just the way things were. Apparently
( ... )
"That's not who I meant, and you know it," House snapped.
What, did Wilson seriously think House was going to forget that smart ass 'Doctor' any time soon? He gave Wilson a peeved look and thought about shutting the door on his face because he really wasn't in the mood for any kind of socialising. Wilson had his friend now, what more could House offer him that his new friend couldn't offer?
He glared at Wilson and his hands-on-hips Stance of Self-Importance. "You can do that," House agreed in retort, "but I know you're not going to."
Pushing away from the door frame, he stepped back and moodily let the door swing open without offering Wilson to actually come into his room. He headed towards the bathroom; he needed to piss now that he was up.
"Right," Wilson agreed sarcastically as House turned and walked away toward the bathroom. He stood there outside the door for another moment but then forced himself to go in. He'd wanted to see House, after all. Stupid, really
( ... )
House ignored whether Wilson actually came into his room or not while he went to the bathroom; he peed with the door open, flushed and then moved across to the sink. As he washed his hands, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and was somewhat disgusted by the sight that looked back at him. Dishevelled, tired, lines set heavily in his face... He splashed some cold water over his face to wake himself up, the iciness a shock to his system
( ... )
Wilson frowned when House shook the empty pill bottle, thinking back to what he'd heard about how limited House's supply was. Back when he prescribed--
Not that it mattered, now. His eyes darted from the bottle to House's weary and worn face, and Wilson's frown deepened.
He forced a snort at House's question and crossed his legs, sitting foward a bit. "He's fine. Just a little disgruntled by Project Desert Storm a few days ago," Wilson explained conversationally. "Reading makes him feel better, I think. I told him he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up but that's kind of his thing."
This was how Wilson handled House's moods. He answered questions without giving House the satisfaction of getting to him. Some called this passive, but Wilson called it calibrated. "Cuddy not around today?" he asked carefully in return, looking at the bottle in House's hand again.
Yeah, well, that wasn't an invitation for Wilson to toss about how well he knew his new friend. Not that it realistically was, but House was feeling prickly enough to take anything Wilson said about the Doctor as a deliberate snub of some kind, didn't matter of Wilson was here of his own volition.
He shot Wilson a dark look. "Well, it's good that you know what his kind of thing is," House couldn't help retorting, knowing full well that he was being deliberately antagonising. "I'm sure he appreciates that."
God, he hated the Doctor. He really, really hated him. Regardless as to how much tension there'd been between Wilson and himself, House really, really hated the fact that Wilson had someone else as a friend. Back home, it wouldn't have mattered so much. Life would've been normal and Wilson would've always been there and that would've been all House needed. But in here, it was a completely different situation. Wilson and Cuddy were all House had, and he was pretty sure he was on the road to losing Cuddy and he'd more or less lost
( ... )
"You know what? I'm just going to go. Leave you to it," Wilson snapped. "Slip a note under my door when it's actually safe for me to speak to you, because I've lost the ability to figure it out, myself."
Dammit he was angry. Angry at House for being House and for not having pain relief and for looking like shit. Angry at him for being incapable of treating Wilson any other way than this. But he couldn't do this again. He wasn't going to do this again, either. So he stood from his seat and crossed the room, hand outstretched for the doorknob.
"I don't know what your fucking problem is," he snarled as he walked, not looking back at House. "I no longer care. Enjoy the freedom." Wilson didn't usually talk that way, but he this was different. He felt forced and pissed off and confused. Mostly pissed off. So much so that he was aching to rip the door off its hinges the second he grasped the handle.
So used to Wilson usually tolerating his moods, House wasn't expecting Wilson to snap like that. He knew he was antagonising Wilson, but he didn't actually expect Wilson to react. He looked a little startled at the way Wilson reacted, too - watching him angrily move to the door, talking just as angrily.
House's first instinct was to snap back at Wilson, tell him to fuck off to his new buddy. But he bit it back, remembering how Cuddy had slapped him the night before. This was kind of the same thing, the way Wilson was walking off like this. And god damn it, as much as he pushed people away when he was moody, he really didn't want to lose his relationship with either of them.
"Don't leave," he said in a voice equal parts awkward and resentful. He glanced up at Wilson, waiting a beat before he added impatiently, "Don't leaveHe stared hard at Wilson's back, then relented and dropped his eyes to a spot on the floor. "I don't want you to leave," he mumbled
( ... )
He'd smack him. Wilson would smack him and feel better. Or smack the door. Right now he was gripping the doorknob so hard it hurt.
"What makes you think I give a damn about what you want?" asked Wilson lowly. "Half the time you're walking out. Half the time you're... "
Oh, why couldn't he just leave? Why? Wilson refused to let go of the door's handle. If he let go it meant turning around and he was angry, dammit.
"Most of the time you act like you can't stand me."
Wilson braced himself against the doorframe and kept holding, but didn't walk out yet. Mostly because hearing House say what he'd said was sinking in and he wasn't sure House had ever asked him not to leave like that. Might've been shock.
He watched Wilson lean against the doorway, positive Wilson was going to leave. What Wilson said, though, jerked House out of his moment of cowering enough to rile him into an outburst.
"I can't stand this place!" House exploded. "It's got nothing to do with you!"
The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think, and the moment he'd said them he stopped as if a realisation had just struck him. He knew somewhere in the rational part of his mind that this place was the reason he was so angry all the time. The fact that he'd lost his life back in New Jersey, the fact that he couldn't escape, the fact that he had no control over anything in his life anymore. Not even his own medication. It was so easy to place all his anger onto other people, however, that it was just as easy to lose sight of why and what he was actually angry at.
That, of course, didn't dismiss all the things that had happened between Wilson and himself. But hearing his own words blurted out just then slapped House with a moment of clarity: this place was
( ... )
The image flashed across his head like an unwanted reel of film zipping by the screen. Frayed around the edges but clearer than the real thing. House's apartment. Wilson by the front door and House on the couch. Gripping his thigh in white hot pain that showed on his face. Asking Wilson not to leave even though he'd been anything but welcoming to Wilson before that.
It's got nothing to do with you. It didn't then, either. And yet Wilson was right back at the door, aching to leave. Not to leave so much as teach House a lesson. But he was holding the handle loosely now, if that, and after another second his arm fell to his side. Wilson turned his head enough to look at House over his shoulder and caught House's gaze, surprisingly.
Without saying anything, Wilson slowly turned around toward House and then took a few steps into the room again. His jaw was still set and he didn't feel like sitting down yet. Why? he wanted to ask House. It was very possible, Wilson thought, that this wasn't
( ... )
House kept guarded watch on Wilson, still convinced Wilson was actually going to leave. Just from Wilson's hesitation, he could tell Wilson was obviously having some internal debate, which made House feel both impatient and remorseful at the same time. He kept his eyes fixed on Wilson as he ventured away from the door, only dropping his gaze away when he saw the tense, strained look on Wilson's face
( ... )
Why was Wilson even here? It didn't make much sense now that he'd come to see House in the first place. Either House wasn't ever going to get over the fact that Wilson had screwed up or the Hotel had just changed both of them too much for this to work. Whatever 'this' was.
And yet, even as the mountains of logic got higher and higher, Wilson stood there with his hands on his hips defying them. He didn't want to leave. That pissed him off the most. All of this could be traced back to the sex. That thought made him even more uncomfortable
( ... )
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He'd caught the sound of House's voice, of course, but his own tone was normal despite this. Wilson knew House's moods better than anyone and could easily infer exactly what he was going to find behind the door if it ever opened. He didn't know the reason for it, though, and that made him furrow his brow. One hand rested against the doorframe and he leaned a bit closer to the door.
"House?" he tried in a very passive and unassuming voice. For some reason he really, really wanted to see him. Wasn't going to take no for an answer.
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It was truly futile, this exercise in ignoring House's remarks regarding the Doctor, Wilson knew. But he didn't exactly understand what House's problem was, either. They were okay, weren't they? Not really, but they hadn't been really okay for a while and Wilson didn't actually expect that to come back. To him, things between them had changed and that was just the way things were. Apparently ( ... )
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What, did Wilson seriously think House was going to forget that smart ass 'Doctor' any time soon? He gave Wilson a peeved look and thought about shutting the door on his face because he really wasn't in the mood for any kind of socialising. Wilson had his friend now, what more could House offer him that his new friend couldn't offer?
He glared at Wilson and his hands-on-hips Stance of Self-Importance. "You can do that," House agreed in retort, "but I know you're not going to."
Pushing away from the door frame, he stepped back and moodily let the door swing open without offering Wilson to actually come into his room. He headed towards the bathroom; he needed to piss now that he was up.
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Not that it mattered, now. His eyes darted from the bottle to House's weary and worn face, and Wilson's frown deepened.
He forced a snort at House's question and crossed his legs, sitting foward a bit. "He's fine. Just a little disgruntled by Project Desert Storm a few days ago," Wilson explained conversationally. "Reading makes him feel better, I think. I told him he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up but that's kind of his thing."
This was how Wilson handled House's moods. He answered questions without giving House the satisfaction of getting to him. Some called this passive, but Wilson called it calibrated. "Cuddy not around today?" he asked carefully in return, looking at the bottle in House's hand again.
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He shot Wilson a dark look. "Well, it's good that you know what his kind of thing is," House couldn't help retorting, knowing full well that he was being deliberately antagonising. "I'm sure he appreciates that."
God, he hated the Doctor. He really, really hated him. Regardless as to how much tension there'd been between Wilson and himself, House really, really hated the fact that Wilson had someone else as a friend. Back home, it wouldn't have mattered so much. Life would've been normal and Wilson would've always been there and that would've been all House needed. But in here, it was a completely different situation. Wilson and Cuddy were all House had, and he was pretty sure he was on the road to losing Cuddy and he'd more or less lost ( ... )
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"You know what? I'm just going to go. Leave you to it," Wilson snapped. "Slip a note under my door when it's actually safe for me to speak to you, because I've lost the ability to figure it out, myself."
Dammit he was angry. Angry at House for being House and for not having pain relief and for looking like shit. Angry at him for being incapable of treating Wilson any other way than this. But he couldn't do this again. He wasn't going to do this again, either. So he stood from his seat and crossed the room, hand outstretched for the doorknob.
"I don't know what your fucking problem is," he snarled as he walked, not looking back at House. "I no longer care. Enjoy the freedom." Wilson didn't usually talk that way, but he this was different. He felt forced and pissed off and confused. Mostly pissed off. So much so that he was aching to rip the door off its hinges the second he grasped the handle.
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House's first instinct was to snap back at Wilson, tell him to fuck off to his new buddy. But he bit it back, remembering how Cuddy had slapped him the night before. This was kind of the same thing, the way Wilson was walking off like this. And god damn it, as much as he pushed people away when he was moody, he really didn't want to lose his relationship with either of them.
"Don't leave," he said in a voice equal parts awkward and resentful. He glanced up at Wilson, waiting a beat before he added impatiently, "Don't leaveHe stared hard at Wilson's back, then relented and dropped his eyes to a spot on the floor. "I don't want you to leave," he mumbled ( ... )
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"What makes you think I give a damn about what you want?" asked Wilson lowly. "Half the time you're walking out. Half the time you're... "
Oh, why couldn't he just leave? Why? Wilson refused to let go of the door's handle. If he let go it meant turning around and he was angry, dammit.
"Most of the time you act like you can't stand me."
Wilson braced himself against the doorframe and kept holding, but didn't walk out yet. Mostly because hearing House say what he'd said was sinking in and he wasn't sure House had ever asked him not to leave like that. Might've been shock.
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"I can't stand this place!" House exploded. "It's got nothing to do with you!"
The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think, and the moment he'd said them he stopped as if a realisation had just struck him. He knew somewhere in the rational part of his mind that this place was the reason he was so angry all the time. The fact that he'd lost his life back in New Jersey, the fact that he couldn't escape, the fact that he had no control over anything in his life anymore. Not even his own medication. It was so easy to place all his anger onto other people, however, that it was just as easy to lose sight of why and what he was actually angry at.
That, of course, didn't dismiss all the things that had happened between Wilson and himself. But hearing his own words blurted out just then slapped House with a moment of clarity: this place was ( ... )
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The image flashed across his head like an unwanted reel of film zipping by the screen. Frayed around the edges but clearer than the real thing. House's apartment. Wilson by the front door and House on the couch. Gripping his thigh in white hot pain that showed on his face. Asking Wilson not to leave even though he'd been anything but welcoming to Wilson before that.
It's got nothing to do with you. It didn't then, either. And yet Wilson was right back at the door, aching to leave. Not to leave so much as teach House a lesson. But he was holding the handle loosely now, if that, and after another second his arm fell to his side. Wilson turned his head enough to look at House over his shoulder and caught House's gaze, surprisingly.
Without saying anything, Wilson slowly turned around toward House and then took a few steps into the room again. His jaw was still set and he didn't feel like sitting down yet. Why? he wanted to ask House. It was very possible, Wilson thought, that this wasn't ( ... )
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And yet, even as the mountains of logic got higher and higher, Wilson stood there with his hands on his hips defying them. He didn't want to leave. That pissed him off the most. All of this could be traced back to the sex. That thought made him even more uncomfortable ( ... )
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