(no subject)
Title: Mercy Killing
Author: veronicaluv
Fandom: House
Rating: G (House/Wilson)
Summary: Losing, finding, and strappy sandals.
Mercy Killing
Pain attacked in many forms. Sometimes it was hidden in a quickly stifled sigh or a response to something House said that was a beat too slow in coming. Other times it came in visible waves, revealing itself in tight skin around the eyes, quickly drawn breaths, knuckles clenched until they were white - all with no visible stimulus. All of these symptoms had been observed over the last month, categorized and inspected and found real, despite the subject's obvious and clumsy attempts at hiding them.
And House needed to find out what was causing it.
As a diagnostician, it was House's job to interpret the causes of pain in order to cure the patient, if they were lucky--or identify the disease that killed them if they weren't. He rarely needed the cooperation of the patient and he didn't need it now. He knew Wilson was on a consult elsewhere and so let himself into Wilson's office with a sense of entitlement. After all, this is what Cuddy paid him to do, right? Solve the unsolvable?
Sure, that worked.
A quick reconnaissance yielded only one clue--a dead hydrangea sitting forlornly in a blue vase that revealed no water in its base. What should have been there instead was an arrangement that Julie cut for Wilson's office every week from their perfectly manicured garden, always placed precisely on the credenza behind Wilson's desk. House stared at it for a moment, grasping at its significance before giving in to temptation and touching it.
The fragile flower crumbled immediately, sending a shower of grayish lavender petals onto the carpet below.
"Shit," he mumbled, pivoting on his cane in a half-hearted search for something to clean up the mess. Instead, he found Wilson standing beside the door, scowling at him.
"Hey, you killed it."
"I didn't kill it, I was performing an autopsy." House prodded the the fallen petals with the tip of his cane. "And I can say with perfect certainty that this was a case of negligent homicide." He shifted until he could rest his hips against the credenza. "What happened? Juan the gardener overtrim the mums again?"
"You might say that." Wilson gathered up the petals and tossed them away. "Julie's gone."
"Gone? How gone? On a trip? On a bender? On a spiritual journey to uncover the meaning of Manolo Blahnik's strappy sandals for spring?"
"She left me."
"Ah, gone as in she caught you cheating on her. You know what they say about mistresses who marry their lovers - they're the first one to know when he starts cheating again."
"Yeah, but what they don't say is that the reverse is just as true."
"You mean--?"
"With the landscape architect. Steven, though, not Juan."
"I'm sorry."
"No, you're not, but thanks anyway."
"So why the flower corpse?"
Wilson shrugged, the rise and fall of his white coat emphasizing a loss of weight that House hadn't failed to notice. "I like to be reminded of my failures."
"No man likes to be reminded of his failures."
"Right. That's why you hang around Stacy like a lovesick teenager, because that relationship was such a glorious success."
"Well, at least I never taunted my wives - or my soon to be ex-wife - with my affairs."
That was greeted with a heavy sigh. "I told you, I didn't cheat on Julie."
"Not yet. She just beat you to it."
"You're an idiot, you know that? A brilliant, deductive mind and a thick skull, a truly outstanding combination."
"What are you talking about?"
"I never taunted anyone with my affairs, Greg. I was too busy taunting you with my wives." He reached for his chair but was stopped by House's cane pressed flat against his sternum. "What's this for?"
House limped closer, forcing Wilson backward until he had him pressed against the wall. "Do you mean," he said with quiet menace, "that during all these years I've watched you screw up your personal life, you've been trying to tell me something?"
Wilson refused to meet his eyes. "And doing a lousy job, apparently," he muttered.
House lowered the cane pinning Wilson to the wall and replaced it with his body.
"And you say I'm thick."
Pressing his mouth to Wilson's was sweeter and hotter than House had let himself imagine it could be, partly because it was fueled by the thrill that they could be interrupted at any moment. House didn't care about that and almost hoped someone would come in, just so he'd have a witness if Wilson claimed amnesia later. When Wilson tilted his head away, breaking the kiss he'd obviously enjoyed, House braced himself for rejection.
"If you want to do that again--" Wilson reached up and lightly scraped his finger across House's stubbled chin before touching the surface of his own newly swollen lower lip "--do us both a favor and shave first, okay?"
~~~
"Did you hear?" Chase smirked at House but directed his comments to Foreman and Cameron as he joined them at the table. "House got laid last night."
Cameron shot House a worried glance that he returned with a bland smile. "He did not."
"Well, look at him--he's practically glowing. Only one thing puts that kind of smile on a man's face."
"Yeah," House snorted, "like you'd know."
Foreman tipped his chair back as he turned the page of his newspaper. "Look, he just shaved. Probably has to go to a funeral or something."
"There, you see?" House beamed. "Foreman has again proved he's smarter than you two. How do you live with that?"
Cameron looked faintly relieved. "You mean you are going to a funeral?"
House frowned up at the ceiling. "Hmm, no, more like a memorial service."
"Yeah?" Foreman asked. "Who died?"
"None of your business, but trust me, it was best for all concerned."
Chase looked bored. "Why?"
"Figure it out, people." House smiled, and for once there were no sharp edges to it. "I put the patient out of his misery."
Author: veronicaluv
Fandom: House
Rating: G (House/Wilson)
Summary: Losing, finding, and strappy sandals.
Mercy Killing
Pain attacked in many forms. Sometimes it was hidden in a quickly stifled sigh or a response to something House said that was a beat too slow in coming. Other times it came in visible waves, revealing itself in tight skin around the eyes, quickly drawn breaths, knuckles clenched until they were white - all with no visible stimulus. All of these symptoms had been observed over the last month, categorized and inspected and found real, despite the subject's obvious and clumsy attempts at hiding them.
And House needed to find out what was causing it.
As a diagnostician, it was House's job to interpret the causes of pain in order to cure the patient, if they were lucky--or identify the disease that killed them if they weren't. He rarely needed the cooperation of the patient and he didn't need it now. He knew Wilson was on a consult elsewhere and so let himself into Wilson's office with a sense of entitlement. After all, this is what Cuddy paid him to do, right? Solve the unsolvable?
Sure, that worked.
A quick reconnaissance yielded only one clue--a dead hydrangea sitting forlornly in a blue vase that revealed no water in its base. What should have been there instead was an arrangement that Julie cut for Wilson's office every week from their perfectly manicured garden, always placed precisely on the credenza behind Wilson's desk. House stared at it for a moment, grasping at its significance before giving in to temptation and touching it.
The fragile flower crumbled immediately, sending a shower of grayish lavender petals onto the carpet below.
"Shit," he mumbled, pivoting on his cane in a half-hearted search for something to clean up the mess. Instead, he found Wilson standing beside the door, scowling at him.
"Hey, you killed it."
"I didn't kill it, I was performing an autopsy." House prodded the the fallen petals with the tip of his cane. "And I can say with perfect certainty that this was a case of negligent homicide." He shifted until he could rest his hips against the credenza. "What happened? Juan the gardener overtrim the mums again?"
"You might say that." Wilson gathered up the petals and tossed them away. "Julie's gone."
"Gone? How gone? On a trip? On a bender? On a spiritual journey to uncover the meaning of Manolo Blahnik's strappy sandals for spring?"
"She left me."
"Ah, gone as in she caught you cheating on her. You know what they say about mistresses who marry their lovers - they're the first one to know when he starts cheating again."
"Yeah, but what they don't say is that the reverse is just as true."
"You mean--?"
"With the landscape architect. Steven, though, not Juan."
"I'm sorry."
"No, you're not, but thanks anyway."
"So why the flower corpse?"
Wilson shrugged, the rise and fall of his white coat emphasizing a loss of weight that House hadn't failed to notice. "I like to be reminded of my failures."
"No man likes to be reminded of his failures."
"Right. That's why you hang around Stacy like a lovesick teenager, because that relationship was such a glorious success."
"Well, at least I never taunted my wives - or my soon to be ex-wife - with my affairs."
That was greeted with a heavy sigh. "I told you, I didn't cheat on Julie."
"Not yet. She just beat you to it."
"You're an idiot, you know that? A brilliant, deductive mind and a thick skull, a truly outstanding combination."
"What are you talking about?"
"I never taunted anyone with my affairs, Greg. I was too busy taunting you with my wives." He reached for his chair but was stopped by House's cane pressed flat against his sternum. "What's this for?"
House limped closer, forcing Wilson backward until he had him pressed against the wall. "Do you mean," he said with quiet menace, "that during all these years I've watched you screw up your personal life, you've been trying to tell me something?"
Wilson refused to meet his eyes. "And doing a lousy job, apparently," he muttered.
House lowered the cane pinning Wilson to the wall and replaced it with his body.
"And you say I'm thick."
Pressing his mouth to Wilson's was sweeter and hotter than House had let himself imagine it could be, partly because it was fueled by the thrill that they could be interrupted at any moment. House didn't care about that and almost hoped someone would come in, just so he'd have a witness if Wilson claimed amnesia later. When Wilson tilted his head away, breaking the kiss he'd obviously enjoyed, House braced himself for rejection.
"If you want to do that again--" Wilson reached up and lightly scraped his finger across House's stubbled chin before touching the surface of his own newly swollen lower lip "--do us both a favor and shave first, okay?"
~~~
"Did you hear?" Chase smirked at House but directed his comments to Foreman and Cameron as he joined them at the table. "House got laid last night."
Cameron shot House a worried glance that he returned with a bland smile. "He did not."
"Well, look at him--he's practically glowing. Only one thing puts that kind of smile on a man's face."
"Yeah," House snorted, "like you'd know."
Foreman tipped his chair back as he turned the page of his newspaper. "Look, he just shaved. Probably has to go to a funeral or something."
"There, you see?" House beamed. "Foreman has again proved he's smarter than you two. How do you live with that?"
Cameron looked faintly relieved. "You mean you are going to a funeral?"
House frowned up at the ceiling. "Hmm, no, more like a memorial service."
"Yeah?" Foreman asked. "Who died?"
"None of your business, but trust me, it was best for all concerned."
Chase looked bored. "Why?"
"Figure it out, people." House smiled, and for once there were no sharp edges to it. "I put the patient out of his misery."