Comment Fics (2) - House & Wilson Friendship
Characters: House& Wilson friendship
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to about the middle of season 6
Words: approx 2400 in total
Warnings: A combination of angst and fluff
Some more ficlets I wrote in response to prompts for comment_fic. These ones are all House and Wilson friendship. They are mostly post-eps for seasons 5 and 6, so are a bit dated now but posting in case anyone wants to read them.
Retaliation
Follows on from 5.17 The Social Contract
"House!" Wilson felt his face turning red, and hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself as small and invisible as possible. "This is NOT a monster truck rally!"
He hadn't suspected anything when House had issued the invitation. Sure, it was unusual for House to offer to drive, and to pay for the tickets but House had been making these tiny, microscopic baby steps towards being a 'better person' this year. Wilson had thought this was more of the same.
He'd dressed down for the occasion. He knew he'd confused House with the whole 'I hate monster trucks' thing. So he'd gone all out to convince his friend that he did, in fact, still like monster trucks. He'd even donned a hoodie with a giant picture of Gravedigger on it and put on his second-best pair of Nikes. House was dressed in his usual style complete with matching T-shirt (Monster Trucks Do It In the Dirt).
Now they were standing in the foyer of one of Princeton's oldest buildings. Surrounded by a crowd of people in elegant evening dress, including what seemed like half the medical professionals of New Jersey.
"We can't go in there dressed like this, House."
House rolled his eyes. He dug around into his backpack and produced his green trucker's hat and sunglasses which he proceeded to put on. Producing another hat he plunked it on Wilson's carefully tended hair and pulled it down so that Wilson's face was in shadow.
"Now no-one will know that Jimmy Wilson is wearing the wrong clothes at the wrong time. Your reputation will be safe."
Wilson spluttered and waved his arms around but in the end he did as he normally did and followed House.
As they settled into their seats and the lights dimmed Wilson felt himself relax just a tiny bit. As the first notes of la Boheme sounded he glanced at House. He'd closed his eyes and there was a peaceful expression on his face, lines of pain smoothing away as he lost himself in the music. Wilson smiled to himself, and settled down to enjoy the show.
Reality TV
Follows on from 5.20 Simple Explanation
Wilson slipped into his office, his face tired and drawn from the day's events.
"Good funeral?" House asked.
"There were a lot of people there. Which you would have known if you had gone instead of hanging around here....setting fire to my office!" Wilson caught a glimpse of what House was doing. Four candles were lined up on his desk, three were lit and burning brightly, the other stood dark and cold.
"Fire represents life, once the fire is gone... " House snubbed out one of the candles with his fingers "so are you. The tribe has spoken."
Wilson glanced at the candle that hadn't been lit and rubbed the back of his neck as he fought back his conflicting emotions.
"Amber wasn't on your team House."
"They were my final four. Two are gone. Who will be the sole survivor?" House stared at the still burning candles. "Smart money is on Taub but the way he's been moping around lately Thirteen might have a showing. Should we get the hospital staff to phone in with their votes?"
Wilson slumped down on his couch, looking into the dancing flames. It had been a long hard week and he just couldn't deal with this now. Macabre as it was House did have a point, his new selection of fellows had been little short of a disaster. He didn't want to think about Amber, he didn't want to think about Kutner, he just wanted to get out of here.
"House, go and get your coat. I am taking you out to a bar, and we are going to drink and forget this week."
House looked at him, seeming to want to say something more but then shrugged and limped tiredly towards the door.
"You're paying... and driving."
Wilson just nodded in resignation and watched him go. As the door closed behind him he approached his desk. Two of the candles were now dark, all life extinguished from them. He closed his eyes a moment as he pictured Amber, that smile on her face, the knowing look in her eyes, and Kutner, so full of life, his face alive with mischief..
It was surprisingly hard for him to extinguish the two candles that still burned brightly before leaving his office.
When Wilson is stuck, House really does care
Set after Wilson
Wilson thinks he is handling everything just fine. He's been keeping busy, organising their move, planning everything down to the last minute. House hasn't lifted a finger to help of course, his only input being to allocate a space for his piano. Wilson had to arrange to get the thing moved from House's apartment.
Wilson has made lists of things to do, things to pack, calls to make. He's arranged for cleaners and movers. He hasn't let himself think of what he is leaving behind. Hasn't dwelt on the fact that this was where he lived with Amber, that when he leaves this place he will be leaving Amber behind forever.
Now, though, he is packing up her things. Most of them are going to charity. All he is keeping is his precious photos of her. Those he intends to wrap up carefully himself. He will put one or two up in their new place.
His fingers falter as he reaches for the first glass frame. He stares down at her. Across the room he can see House watching. Staring at him. Wilson looks up, blinking away tears and puts the photo down.
House comes over, the familiar limping footsteps echoing on the empty boards. Wilson braces himself for the mockery, for the taunts about his long dead girlfriend - cut throat bitch. He tries to summon up the will not to care what House will say. He fails.
House picks up the photo and Wilson flinches, he is sure that House will smash it, throw it or otherwise destroy it. Instead House brushes his fingers over it, picks up the newspaper and begins wrapping. Carefully. He puts it in the box gently and reaches for another. Wilson blinks away more tears and swallows the lump in his throat.
Together they finish the packing, load up the box and leave the empty apartment. Time to start over.
When Wilson opens the door to their new place he is happy to hear the limping footsteps follow him in.
It wouldn't be home if House wasn't there.
House MD, House/Wilson, Just For You
House didn't think the whole 'be a nicer person' thing was working out very well. He'd tried for a while but once he was back in his old job the same old patterns of behaviour had set in. Not the Vicodin yet, although that was only a matter of time, but the manipulating people, pushing people around as if they were pawns on his chessboard. After Cameron's lecture about how evil he was, and after Cuddy's firm rejection of his advances he was feeling a bit like something that someone had scraped off the sidewalk. Mayfield, and its promise of a better life, seemed miles away and the goal of happiness was as elusive as ever.
He let himself into WilsonandAmbers apartment, looking forward to crashing out on the couch in front of some mindless television. As soon as he opened the door it became apparent that something was afoot. The dinner table has two elegant place settings, a tablecloth and there was even a candle in the middle of it. Delicious smells wafted in from the kitchen and he could hear Wilson humming to himself in there. His heart sank, obviously Wilson was having some new conquest for dinner, he would have to make himself scarce.
He limped to the kitchen doorway and took in the sight of Wilson, in an apron, taking an enormous turkey out of the oven.
"It will be ready in a moment House, just go and wash up."
House stared at him and then looked back at the table, yep, only two place settings.
"I think you missed turkey day by a bit Wilson, it was like... last week."
Wilson nodded.
"Yes, and I went to my parents place, and you went on a six hour round trip to an empty house. So this is for you."
House's first instinct was to open his mouth and mock his friend but he swallowed it back. Wilson shuffled his feet and stared at the floor.
"I haven't been as good a host as I could have been House. I know it hasn't been easy for you, the whole Mayfield thing, then coming back to the hospital, the stuff with Cuddy. "
House nodded stiffly, no, it hadn't been easy.
"Is this the part where we hold hands and say all the things that are we are thankful for?" he asked, deflecting Wilson's concerns.
Wilson smiled.
"Well, we don't have to hold hands..."
"Good." House turned to go and Wilson touched his arm gently.
"House, thank you. Thank you for trying to save her. Thank you for what you did. You are a very good friend."
House looked at him, then at the floor, then out the window. He nodded again, uncomfortable with the naked emotion in Wilson's face.
"Thank you.... for the turkey." he finally responded. "And.. you know... the roof over my head..."
Wilson smiled.
"You are very welcome House."
"So are we going to eat that thing?" House gestured towards the cooling bird. "Or do you want to sit around some more and talk about our feelings." He made a puppy eyed face and Wilson rolled his eyes.
As House sat down to eat his plate of Wilson-cooked, Wilson-served, turkey he thought that maybe there was something to this 'being a nicer person thing' after all. It couldn't hurt to try.
House MD, House/Wilson, The first stolen fry.
James Wilson discovered very early on in his acquaintance with House that everything comes with a price.
The tall lanky stranger who had bailed him out of jail and casually told him everything 'was taken care of' had been like an angel sent down from heaven for Wilson, who had never been in trouble with the law before and had no idea what to do. When the stranger, House, had mentioned how hungry he was it been the work of a moment to offer to buy him lunch. After all, it was the least he could do.
House ordered an enormous amount of food and proceeded to demolish it with very few table manners, and he talked almost non-stop throughout the meal. Wilson sedately worked on his own small burger and fries, both fascinated and repelled by the man.
It wasn't until House had finished his own plate of food that it happened. House was busy explaining how every doctor in his hospital was an idiot when he casually reached across the table, grabbed a handful of fries off Wilson's plate and popped them into his own mouth.
Wilson stared at him and House merely stared back, chomping happily on his stolen fries. Wilson blinked first and looked down at his plate. Mentally he shrugged. After all House had bailed him out of jail, had taken care of everything. A few lost french fries, and an expensive lunch, weren't much of a dent in that debt.
Although he had decided to let it go he casually moved his plate closer to him and placed his arm close to it. One thing was for sure, House wasn't getting any more of his food.
House, House/Wilson, one year later
Wilson stared at the calendar on the wall of Mayfield's reception area with a heavy heart. One year today. House had been here for one year. When he'd dropped him off Wilson had been optimistic, a quick detox, a few weeks of therapy and House would put this behind him. His friend had always been resilient to all life could throw at him.
Over the last twelve months though his optimism had washed away. House had rapidly deteriorated, his behaviour had become more and more erratic, he'd become violent and aggressive. The hallucinations and delusions persisted, even became stronger. Medications were piled on in ever increasing amounts to control this, and all those medications had their own side effects.
Eventually they had stabilised House, but at a very low level of functioning. He seemed totally withdrawn into himself, shuffling around Mayfield like a zombie. He ate when he was told, slept when he was told and attended therapy on command. His doctors had admitted they could get very little out of him during those therapy sessions.
A nurse came out, and welcomed Wilson warmly (they all knew him by now) and ushered him into the visiting room. House was already there, vacant eyes staring at the wall opposite.
"Hey House, how you doing?" Wilson greeted him, not expecting an answer. House stared down at the floor.
Wilson kept up a steady stream of babble, filling the silence between them. The hour passed and he rose to go, his heart breaking.
He jumped when a bony hand grasped his wrist. He looked down to see House staring at him, blue eyes wide and focused for the first time in months.
"I want to go home."
"House?" Wilson sat back down and grabbed his friend's arm. House flinched but didn't pull away. His eyes were clouded again and he didn't say anything more.
When Wilson was back in his car he took one last look back at Mayfield before driving off.
"I'll bring you home House. That's a promise, it won't be another year."
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to about the middle of season 6
Words: approx 2400 in total
Warnings: A combination of angst and fluff
Some more ficlets I wrote in response to prompts for comment_fic. These ones are all House and Wilson friendship. They are mostly post-eps for seasons 5 and 6, so are a bit dated now but posting in case anyone wants to read them.
Retaliation
Follows on from 5.17 The Social Contract
"House!" Wilson felt his face turning red, and hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself as small and invisible as possible. "This is NOT a monster truck rally!"
He hadn't suspected anything when House had issued the invitation. Sure, it was unusual for House to offer to drive, and to pay for the tickets but House had been making these tiny, microscopic baby steps towards being a 'better person' this year. Wilson had thought this was more of the same.
He'd dressed down for the occasion. He knew he'd confused House with the whole 'I hate monster trucks' thing. So he'd gone all out to convince his friend that he did, in fact, still like monster trucks. He'd even donned a hoodie with a giant picture of Gravedigger on it and put on his second-best pair of Nikes. House was dressed in his usual style complete with matching T-shirt (Monster Trucks Do It In the Dirt).
Now they were standing in the foyer of one of Princeton's oldest buildings. Surrounded by a crowd of people in elegant evening dress, including what seemed like half the medical professionals of New Jersey.
"We can't go in there dressed like this, House."
House rolled his eyes. He dug around into his backpack and produced his green trucker's hat and sunglasses which he proceeded to put on. Producing another hat he plunked it on Wilson's carefully tended hair and pulled it down so that Wilson's face was in shadow.
"Now no-one will know that Jimmy Wilson is wearing the wrong clothes at the wrong time. Your reputation will be safe."
Wilson spluttered and waved his arms around but in the end he did as he normally did and followed House.
As they settled into their seats and the lights dimmed Wilson felt himself relax just a tiny bit. As the first notes of la Boheme sounded he glanced at House. He'd closed his eyes and there was a peaceful expression on his face, lines of pain smoothing away as he lost himself in the music. Wilson smiled to himself, and settled down to enjoy the show.
Reality TV
Follows on from 5.20 Simple Explanation
Wilson slipped into his office, his face tired and drawn from the day's events.
"Good funeral?" House asked.
"There were a lot of people there. Which you would have known if you had gone instead of hanging around here....setting fire to my office!" Wilson caught a glimpse of what House was doing. Four candles were lined up on his desk, three were lit and burning brightly, the other stood dark and cold.
"Fire represents life, once the fire is gone... " House snubbed out one of the candles with his fingers "so are you. The tribe has spoken."
Wilson glanced at the candle that hadn't been lit and rubbed the back of his neck as he fought back his conflicting emotions.
"Amber wasn't on your team House."
"They were my final four. Two are gone. Who will be the sole survivor?" House stared at the still burning candles. "Smart money is on Taub but the way he's been moping around lately Thirteen might have a showing. Should we get the hospital staff to phone in with their votes?"
Wilson slumped down on his couch, looking into the dancing flames. It had been a long hard week and he just couldn't deal with this now. Macabre as it was House did have a point, his new selection of fellows had been little short of a disaster. He didn't want to think about Amber, he didn't want to think about Kutner, he just wanted to get out of here.
"House, go and get your coat. I am taking you out to a bar, and we are going to drink and forget this week."
House looked at him, seeming to want to say something more but then shrugged and limped tiredly towards the door.
"You're paying... and driving."
Wilson just nodded in resignation and watched him go. As the door closed behind him he approached his desk. Two of the candles were now dark, all life extinguished from them. He closed his eyes a moment as he pictured Amber, that smile on her face, the knowing look in her eyes, and Kutner, so full of life, his face alive with mischief..
It was surprisingly hard for him to extinguish the two candles that still burned brightly before leaving his office.
When Wilson is stuck, House really does care
Set after Wilson
Wilson thinks he is handling everything just fine. He's been keeping busy, organising their move, planning everything down to the last minute. House hasn't lifted a finger to help of course, his only input being to allocate a space for his piano. Wilson had to arrange to get the thing moved from House's apartment.
Wilson has made lists of things to do, things to pack, calls to make. He's arranged for cleaners and movers. He hasn't let himself think of what he is leaving behind. Hasn't dwelt on the fact that this was where he lived with Amber, that when he leaves this place he will be leaving Amber behind forever.
Now, though, he is packing up her things. Most of them are going to charity. All he is keeping is his precious photos of her. Those he intends to wrap up carefully himself. He will put one or two up in their new place.
His fingers falter as he reaches for the first glass frame. He stares down at her. Across the room he can see House watching. Staring at him. Wilson looks up, blinking away tears and puts the photo down.
House comes over, the familiar limping footsteps echoing on the empty boards. Wilson braces himself for the mockery, for the taunts about his long dead girlfriend - cut throat bitch. He tries to summon up the will not to care what House will say. He fails.
House picks up the photo and Wilson flinches, he is sure that House will smash it, throw it or otherwise destroy it. Instead House brushes his fingers over it, picks up the newspaper and begins wrapping. Carefully. He puts it in the box gently and reaches for another. Wilson blinks away more tears and swallows the lump in his throat.
Together they finish the packing, load up the box and leave the empty apartment. Time to start over.
When Wilson opens the door to their new place he is happy to hear the limping footsteps follow him in.
It wouldn't be home if House wasn't there.
House MD, House/Wilson, Just For You
House didn't think the whole 'be a nicer person' thing was working out very well. He'd tried for a while but once he was back in his old job the same old patterns of behaviour had set in. Not the Vicodin yet, although that was only a matter of time, but the manipulating people, pushing people around as if they were pawns on his chessboard. After Cameron's lecture about how evil he was, and after Cuddy's firm rejection of his advances he was feeling a bit like something that someone had scraped off the sidewalk. Mayfield, and its promise of a better life, seemed miles away and the goal of happiness was as elusive as ever.
He let himself into WilsonandAmbers apartment, looking forward to crashing out on the couch in front of some mindless television. As soon as he opened the door it became apparent that something was afoot. The dinner table has two elegant place settings, a tablecloth and there was even a candle in the middle of it. Delicious smells wafted in from the kitchen and he could hear Wilson humming to himself in there. His heart sank, obviously Wilson was having some new conquest for dinner, he would have to make himself scarce.
He limped to the kitchen doorway and took in the sight of Wilson, in an apron, taking an enormous turkey out of the oven.
"It will be ready in a moment House, just go and wash up."
House stared at him and then looked back at the table, yep, only two place settings.
"I think you missed turkey day by a bit Wilson, it was like... last week."
Wilson nodded.
"Yes, and I went to my parents place, and you went on a six hour round trip to an empty house. So this is for you."
House's first instinct was to open his mouth and mock his friend but he swallowed it back. Wilson shuffled his feet and stared at the floor.
"I haven't been as good a host as I could have been House. I know it hasn't been easy for you, the whole Mayfield thing, then coming back to the hospital, the stuff with Cuddy. "
House nodded stiffly, no, it hadn't been easy.
"Is this the part where we hold hands and say all the things that are we are thankful for?" he asked, deflecting Wilson's concerns.
Wilson smiled.
"Well, we don't have to hold hands..."
"Good." House turned to go and Wilson touched his arm gently.
"House, thank you. Thank you for trying to save her. Thank you for what you did. You are a very good friend."
House looked at him, then at the floor, then out the window. He nodded again, uncomfortable with the naked emotion in Wilson's face.
"Thank you.... for the turkey." he finally responded. "And.. you know... the roof over my head..."
Wilson smiled.
"You are very welcome House."
"So are we going to eat that thing?" House gestured towards the cooling bird. "Or do you want to sit around some more and talk about our feelings." He made a puppy eyed face and Wilson rolled his eyes.
As House sat down to eat his plate of Wilson-cooked, Wilson-served, turkey he thought that maybe there was something to this 'being a nicer person thing' after all. It couldn't hurt to try.
House MD, House/Wilson, The first stolen fry.
James Wilson discovered very early on in his acquaintance with House that everything comes with a price.
The tall lanky stranger who had bailed him out of jail and casually told him everything 'was taken care of' had been like an angel sent down from heaven for Wilson, who had never been in trouble with the law before and had no idea what to do. When the stranger, House, had mentioned how hungry he was it been the work of a moment to offer to buy him lunch. After all, it was the least he could do.
House ordered an enormous amount of food and proceeded to demolish it with very few table manners, and he talked almost non-stop throughout the meal. Wilson sedately worked on his own small burger and fries, both fascinated and repelled by the man.
It wasn't until House had finished his own plate of food that it happened. House was busy explaining how every doctor in his hospital was an idiot when he casually reached across the table, grabbed a handful of fries off Wilson's plate and popped them into his own mouth.
Wilson stared at him and House merely stared back, chomping happily on his stolen fries. Wilson blinked first and looked down at his plate. Mentally he shrugged. After all House had bailed him out of jail, had taken care of everything. A few lost french fries, and an expensive lunch, weren't much of a dent in that debt.
Although he had decided to let it go he casually moved his plate closer to him and placed his arm close to it. One thing was for sure, House wasn't getting any more of his food.
House, House/Wilson, one year later
Wilson stared at the calendar on the wall of Mayfield's reception area with a heavy heart. One year today. House had been here for one year. When he'd dropped him off Wilson had been optimistic, a quick detox, a few weeks of therapy and House would put this behind him. His friend had always been resilient to all life could throw at him.
Over the last twelve months though his optimism had washed away. House had rapidly deteriorated, his behaviour had become more and more erratic, he'd become violent and aggressive. The hallucinations and delusions persisted, even became stronger. Medications were piled on in ever increasing amounts to control this, and all those medications had their own side effects.
Eventually they had stabilised House, but at a very low level of functioning. He seemed totally withdrawn into himself, shuffling around Mayfield like a zombie. He ate when he was told, slept when he was told and attended therapy on command. His doctors had admitted they could get very little out of him during those therapy sessions.
A nurse came out, and welcomed Wilson warmly (they all knew him by now) and ushered him into the visiting room. House was already there, vacant eyes staring at the wall opposite.
"Hey House, how you doing?" Wilson greeted him, not expecting an answer. House stared down at the floor.
Wilson kept up a steady stream of babble, filling the silence between them. The hour passed and he rose to go, his heart breaking.
He jumped when a bony hand grasped his wrist. He looked down to see House staring at him, blue eyes wide and focused for the first time in months.
"I want to go home."
"House?" Wilson sat back down and grabbed his friend's arm. House flinched but didn't pull away. His eyes were clouded again and he didn't say anything more.
When Wilson was back in his car he took one last look back at Mayfield before driving off.
"I'll bring you home House. That's a promise, it won't be another year."