epic summer project #1 - 'beachcombing'
title: beachcombing
author: phinnia
illustrator and graphics wizard: jane_hidell
rating: PG
disclaimer: a wandering minstrel I, a thing of shreds and patches. I own nothing.
author's note: first in a sporadically updated set of fluffy wilson-centered ficthings done by request! Writing by me; pixel-Wilsons by jane_hidell. Sounds fun, doesn't it? It IS fun. If you want your own, go here and ask for one! (the rules, which are kind of minimal, are in the post. <3) This one, as requested by north_of_you, features House and Wilson snorkelling.
"Oh please. We are not doing this at the pool."
"I just want to get the hang of it somewhere safe." Wilson shoved the snorkelling gear into his net beach bag, his eyebrows furrowing together as the swim fins tangled in the loose cotton weave.
"You think a public pool is safe? Those things are loaded with peeing toddlers and their overprotective parents. No."
"All right then, what do you suggest?"
As soon as it came out of his mouth, Wilson knew the statement was a mistake.
When House started poking at Google, he just sat down on the sofa with his head in his hands and waited for the inevitable.
*
"Where are we going?"
"Wait and see."
"I hate when you say that. Where are we going?"
"It'll be fine."
"Our individual concepts of 'fine' have been shown to drastically differ."
"Shut up and find something to listen to that isn't the Osmond Brothers or I'll leave you by the side of the road."
"Love you too, asshole."
"
The inevitable was, in this case, surprisingly harmless; stretches of white sand, thickets of beach grass, and a flat grey expanse of sea dotted with small whitecaps further out. It was overcast, but the wind was mellow and warm blowing past them. A brown and white mottled shorebird trotted past, its dark eyes intent on something undefinable: it disappeared into one of the clumps of foliage. Wilson leaned against a railing near the changing rooms and took in the scene, feeling more than a bit foolish for his reactions earlier.
House appeared behind him. "Mellow enough for you, Chicken Little? Or do we need to get you water wings and a kickboard, too?"
"Um, it's fine." Wilson coughed sheepishly, staring at the ridiculous sprawl the swim fins made at his feet. "Sorry. Um, you ready to go?
"Yep." House grabbed hold of the rail.
"You can - you know, we can -" Wilson made a vague gesturing motion that might have looked like a supporting hand around shoulders, maybe.
"If I'm hanging off you and you fall on your ass in those damned things we're both in trouble." House rolled his eyes. "Forgive me if I trust mechanical solutions this time. I've seen you try and walk in those."
*
A ramp extended gently down to the shoreline and beyond, a few feet into the water itself: it made for much easier going than their previous attempts at beach trips. The water was cool but pleasant, cutting through the haze of the late afternoon.
"Relax. And wipe off the inside your mask or you won't see anything." House advised, ducking his head underwater and pushing off the sand with his left foot.
"Wait!"
He could barely see the sharp blue eyes through the plastic mask, but he knew enough about House to know the faintly irritated expression in them. "What?"
"Have you done this before?" Wilson asked.
"A long time ago." House ducked under the water again, evading the question in the most blatant way he could, like always.
*
It took a little doing, getting used to proper breathing techniques through the snorkel (especially remembering not to breathe through his nose) he finally managed to get the hang of it and swam off after House.
The world below was silent. A hollow echoing filled his ears, and he focused his attention on the vista before him; golden sunlight filtered through the water and drew lazy ripples on the sandy ocean bottom. He could see nothing at first, but as his eyes adjusted and he drifted along, barely kicking, he spotted a small school of minnows that darted through the water like miniature waves made solid. A slender frond of some kind of ocean weed brushed against one of his hands.
Another school of fish was up ahead, and as he watched the water-ceiling broke open, torn into pieces by a hunting seagull. He could hear its distant cry of victory as the bird screamed overhead, proclaiming its catch.
It was suddenly cold.
Wilson turned and nearly dunked himself as his swim trunks - which were not where he had left them - tangled even more in the clumsy weight of the swim fins. He surfaced, spitting out bitter salted water and curses, and shook his soaking head in the direction of a familiar laugh as he tried to put everything to rights.
*
By the time everything was settled, House was leaning against the railing at the edge of the beach turning something small and white around in his hand.
"I am never taking you out again ever." Wilson seethed, double-knotting his swim trunks.
"Oh, you don't mean that, Jimmy." House smirked, batting falsely innocent blue eyes. He pressed the small object into Wilson's palm and started his way back to the changing rooms.
Wilson opened his hand. Flat against his waterlogged skin was a sand dollar, washed a brilliant white by the sand and waves.
He smiled, slipped it in his pocket and headed away from the beach.
*
"So you've done this before?"
"I told you. A long time ago." House's eyes were closed, and his head lolled back against the headrest.
"When?"
"1973."
"You were ..." Wilson did some quick math in his head. "Fourteen. In Japan?"
"Yes." House reached down and picked up his backpack. Wilson thought at first he was going for the vicodin, and was surprised to feel something else pressed into his hand - something small and pointed and strangely cool that paradoxically seemed to burn its way through his palm with a peculiar weight.
"Shark tooth." House traced its long, jagged triangle in Wilson's hand and then took it back, sliding it into what Wilson noticed was the change pocket of his wallet. "There were sharks - all different kinds, way out. Nothing ever came near the beaches while I was there, but these would wash up every so often."
"Your mother must have just loved that."
"Yeah, pretty much."
The trip was silent for a while.
"Better than the pool." Wilson yawned. "You were right."
His only answer was a slight snore.
Wilson chuckled to himself and kept driving.
author: phinnia
illustrator and graphics wizard: jane_hidell
rating: PG
disclaimer: a wandering minstrel I, a thing of shreds and patches. I own nothing.
author's note: first in a sporadically updated set of fluffy wilson-centered ficthings done by request! Writing by me; pixel-Wilsons by jane_hidell. Sounds fun, doesn't it? It IS fun. If you want your own, go here and ask for one! (the rules, which are kind of minimal, are in the post. <3) This one, as requested by north_of_you, features House and Wilson snorkelling.
"Oh please. We are not doing this at the pool."
"I just want to get the hang of it somewhere safe." Wilson shoved the snorkelling gear into his net beach bag, his eyebrows furrowing together as the swim fins tangled in the loose cotton weave.
"You think a public pool is safe? Those things are loaded with peeing toddlers and their overprotective parents. No."
"All right then, what do you suggest?"
As soon as it came out of his mouth, Wilson knew the statement was a mistake.
When House started poking at Google, he just sat down on the sofa with his head in his hands and waited for the inevitable.
*
"Where are we going?"
"Wait and see."
"I hate when you say that. Where are we going?"
"It'll be fine."
"Our individual concepts of 'fine' have been shown to drastically differ."
"Shut up and find something to listen to that isn't the Osmond Brothers or I'll leave you by the side of the road."
"Love you too, asshole."
"
The inevitable was, in this case, surprisingly harmless; stretches of white sand, thickets of beach grass, and a flat grey expanse of sea dotted with small whitecaps further out. It was overcast, but the wind was mellow and warm blowing past them. A brown and white mottled shorebird trotted past, its dark eyes intent on something undefinable: it disappeared into one of the clumps of foliage. Wilson leaned against a railing near the changing rooms and took in the scene, feeling more than a bit foolish for his reactions earlier.
House appeared behind him. "Mellow enough for you, Chicken Little? Or do we need to get you water wings and a kickboard, too?"
"Um, it's fine." Wilson coughed sheepishly, staring at the ridiculous sprawl the swim fins made at his feet. "Sorry. Um, you ready to go?
"Yep." House grabbed hold of the rail.
"You can - you know, we can -" Wilson made a vague gesturing motion that might have looked like a supporting hand around shoulders, maybe.
"If I'm hanging off you and you fall on your ass in those damned things we're both in trouble." House rolled his eyes. "Forgive me if I trust mechanical solutions this time. I've seen you try and walk in those."
*
A ramp extended gently down to the shoreline and beyond, a few feet into the water itself: it made for much easier going than their previous attempts at beach trips. The water was cool but pleasant, cutting through the haze of the late afternoon.
"Relax. And wipe off the inside your mask or you won't see anything." House advised, ducking his head underwater and pushing off the sand with his left foot.
"Wait!"
He could barely see the sharp blue eyes through the plastic mask, but he knew enough about House to know the faintly irritated expression in them. "What?"
"Have you done this before?" Wilson asked.
"A long time ago." House ducked under the water again, evading the question in the most blatant way he could, like always.
*
It took a little doing, getting used to proper breathing techniques through the snorkel (especially remembering not to breathe through his nose) he finally managed to get the hang of it and swam off after House.
The world below was silent. A hollow echoing filled his ears, and he focused his attention on the vista before him; golden sunlight filtered through the water and drew lazy ripples on the sandy ocean bottom. He could see nothing at first, but as his eyes adjusted and he drifted along, barely kicking, he spotted a small school of minnows that darted through the water like miniature waves made solid. A slender frond of some kind of ocean weed brushed against one of his hands.
Another school of fish was up ahead, and as he watched the water-ceiling broke open, torn into pieces by a hunting seagull. He could hear its distant cry of victory as the bird screamed overhead, proclaiming its catch.
It was suddenly cold.
Wilson turned and nearly dunked himself as his swim trunks - which were not where he had left them - tangled even more in the clumsy weight of the swim fins. He surfaced, spitting out bitter salted water and curses, and shook his soaking head in the direction of a familiar laugh as he tried to put everything to rights.
*
By the time everything was settled, House was leaning against the railing at the edge of the beach turning something small and white around in his hand.
"I am never taking you out again ever." Wilson seethed, double-knotting his swim trunks.
"Oh, you don't mean that, Jimmy." House smirked, batting falsely innocent blue eyes. He pressed the small object into Wilson's palm and started his way back to the changing rooms.
Wilson opened his hand. Flat against his waterlogged skin was a sand dollar, washed a brilliant white by the sand and waves.
He smiled, slipped it in his pocket and headed away from the beach.
*
"So you've done this before?"
"I told you. A long time ago." House's eyes were closed, and his head lolled back against the headrest.
"When?"
"1973."
"You were ..." Wilson did some quick math in his head. "Fourteen. In Japan?"
"Yes." House reached down and picked up his backpack. Wilson thought at first he was going for the vicodin, and was surprised to feel something else pressed into his hand - something small and pointed and strangely cool that paradoxically seemed to burn its way through his palm with a peculiar weight.
"Shark tooth." House traced its long, jagged triangle in Wilson's hand and then took it back, sliding it into what Wilson noticed was the change pocket of his wallet. "There were sharks - all different kinds, way out. Nothing ever came near the beaches while I was there, but these would wash up every so often."
"Your mother must have just loved that."
"Yeah, pretty much."
The trip was silent for a while.
"Better than the pool." Wilson yawned. "You were right."
His only answer was a slight snore.
Wilson chuckled to himself and kept driving.