Ficlet : Tell Me
Very small conversational snippet, set post finale, in which no-one dies.
"I already told you."
They were lying back on the bed in their latest hotel. It had been a pleasant evening of watching television, drinking, junk food, and more television. Much like all their evenings. They were both mildly buzzed, on painkillers and booze, and feeling so languid that even going to sleep seemed too much effort.
Wilson nodded solemnly to House's latest proclamation and then looked confused.
"You already told me what?"
"Oh, House, I need you to tell me that you love me," House shrilled in a deliberate exaggeration of Wilson's voice. He drained the rest of his drink and then peered into the empty glass. "I already told you."
"I think I'd remember you doing that."
"You'd think so, wouldn't you?"
"Wait! Wait!" Wilson sat up straighter. "You don't mean when you were in a hospital bed, recovering from deliberately electrocuting yourself?" He shook his head indignantly. "That so doesn't count."
"Does too."
"You were in pain and I'd just offered you some more painkillers; you would have married me for another dose of morphine."
House shrugged and put his empty glass on the bedstand.
Wilson drained the last of his drink and then looked around the room. Their helmets and leathers were piled in one corner, a variety of medications were lined up on a shelf in the bathroom and House's wallet containing his fake ID was lying on the desk.
"Yeah," Wilson said softly, "yeah, that totally counts."
~End
"I already told you."
They were lying back on the bed in their latest hotel. It had been a pleasant evening of watching television, drinking, junk food, and more television. Much like all their evenings. They were both mildly buzzed, on painkillers and booze, and feeling so languid that even going to sleep seemed too much effort.
Wilson nodded solemnly to House's latest proclamation and then looked confused.
"You already told me what?"
"Oh, House, I need you to tell me that you love me," House shrilled in a deliberate exaggeration of Wilson's voice. He drained the rest of his drink and then peered into the empty glass. "I already told you."
"I think I'd remember you doing that."
"You'd think so, wouldn't you?"
"Wait! Wait!" Wilson sat up straighter. "You don't mean when you were in a hospital bed, recovering from deliberately electrocuting yourself?" He shook his head indignantly. "That so doesn't count."
"Does too."
"You were in pain and I'd just offered you some more painkillers; you would have married me for another dose of morphine."
House shrugged and put his empty glass on the bedstand.
Wilson drained the last of his drink and then looked around the room. Their helmets and leathers were piled in one corner, a variety of medications were lined up on a shelf in the bathroom and House's wallet containing his fake ID was lying on the desk.
"Yeah," Wilson said softly, "yeah, that totally counts."
~End