FIC: "Too Close to the Sun", Greg House/James Wilson
Title: Too Close to the Sun
Authors: amazonqueenkate and hawkeyecat
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters: Dr. Gregory House, Dr. James Wilson
Community: slash_me_twice
Prompt: 008. Danger
Word Count: 1,523
Rating: Everyone
Authors' Notes: Don’t treat painkillers like House does, and if you do, we’re not responsible. (Yes, I know mixing booze and narcotics is tempting.) Thanks, as always, to sarcasticsta for the beta.
It hadn’t been a particularly long day, but a busy one; House had been on his feet more than usual, and his leg didn’t much appreciate it. Relaxing in the armchair with his legs outstretched, a glass of very good scotch in hand and a halfway decent movie on, he popped open his pill vial and washed one down with the alcohol.
Wilson, as he'd expected, was running late from the hospital-so what else was new?-and he watched the movie with above-average attentiveness even when a key scraped in the lock and Wilson wandered in, shedding his overcoat and then suit coat at the door and slipping off his shoes.
"Hey," he greeted, wandering into the living room. "Anything good on?"
House dropped the bottle into his lap and shrugged. "Hot women and a semblance of a plot."
"Two for the price of one. Not bad." He eyed the vial and frowned. "Bad day?"
"No, they taste like candy."
"I wouldn't put it past Cuddy to swap your Vicodin for SweetTarts." He sunk onto the couch. "How many?"
House raised an eyebrow at him. "Sleeping with you makes you the pill police? Should've warned me."
"It's Cuddy's night off. And that's not an answer."
"You want the day's count, or the week's?" House asked, irritated.
"Live on the edge, give me the month's." Wilson narrowed his eyes. "It's just a question."
"One." Which was true, for now. If it wasn't enough, he'd take another.
He just wasn't planning to tell Wilson the day's total unless he pushed it.
"With the scotch?"
"It's for display purposes only."
"Oh, of course. Because you knew I'd be window shopping for booze tonight. How kind." Wilson rolled his eyes.
House turned his attention back to the TV, figuring the subject was closed.
For a moment, the only noise was the movie. Then Wilson sighed.
"Today."
Damn it. Should've known he'd ask. "Does it really matter?"
"If you're drinking, yeah. It does. Or did you miss the 'mixing prescriptions and alcohol' lesson in med school?"
"About as much as you missed the 'alcohol as a muscle relaxant' part."
"You have to be careful about it," Wilson warned.
"Thank you, Doctor. Whatever would I do without your advice?" House took an ostentatious swig of his scotch.
"You want an honest answer to that?"
"I want to enjoy my scotch, watch the movie, and let the pill work, but you've apparently decided this is 'have a serious talk' time."
"Sorry. I'll stop voicing my concern any day now."
"No, you won't, because you're concerned."
"Would you rather me not be? I can work on it. I think there's a twelve-step program."
House rolled his eyes. "Won't work. You're hopelessly addicted to caring."
Wilson snorted. "I thought that was you and Vicodin. My mistake."
House glared over at him. "You fix my leg, and I'll get off the Vicodin. Since you can't, deal with it."
"There's a difference between off and abusing."
So much for the movie. No way he was going to be able to watch it now. "Oh, I forgot about your extensive experience managing pain in yourself instead of your patients."
"I know my patients well enough to know risky behavior, thanks."
"I've managed it for over five years without you supervising me," House pointed out. "You don't need to start."
"Technically, I'm your prescribing doctor. So I have been supervising. Whether," he added, almost as an after thought, "you've liked it or not."
"And yet you didn't get on my case about it until now."
"You're usually not this bad."
More than ten minutes, and the ache wasn't maintaining or lessening. House needed another, and he briefly weighed the bitching Wilson would do against the pain he'd be in, and decided he could handle the bitching far more easily. This time, he dry-swallowed it instead of using his drink. "Usually, I don't need this many."
Wilson frowned noticeably at the second pill and then at the scotch. "Stop drinking," he stated firmly.
"I was planning not to finish this tonight, after that," House retorted. "I do have the same degree as you."
"Technically, you don't," Wilson countered, "but that's beside the point."
"Oh, true. I've been practicing longer." House set down the glass.
"Your judgment can be skewed."
"Yeah, that pesky 'broader specialty' thing really screws with my judgment about medication."
"I was more talking about the 'chronic pain' thing, actually."
"Oh, that one. Tell you what. Take the leg for a day and see if you can make it without the pills."
Wilson sighed. "House, I didn't tell you to go without."
"No, just to cut back. Want me to ask you if it hurts before I take a pill? Which is, by the way, one of the stupidest ideas behind pain management," House replied. The whole thing just kept getting more annoying.
"Or just not to drink when you're taking Vicodin." He nodded to the scotch glass. "Novel concept, I know."
"Right, one glass is going to kill me." House snorted.
"Take enough Vicodin? It might."
"Two Vicodin and one glass. Yeah, definitely lethal."
"I have no way of knowing you only took one before I got here."
"Then you'll have to take my word for it."
Wilson frowned. "Are you being careful?" he asked slowly.
Okay, enough. He didn't need someone, even Wilson, looking over his shoulder about his Vicodin use. House picked up the glass again and sipped before replying. "Completely."
"Are you being mature?" Wilson quipped.
The Vicodin was giving him the barest of buzzes, and he downed the rest of the scotch. "Are you being motherly?"
"No. I'm being concerned. There is a difference."
"There is. My mother would trust my judgment."
Wilson narrowed his eyes. "Want me to call her and confirm that?"
He set the glass down firmly on the table. "No, remember that the person in pain has the best idea of what they need, and keep in mind that I happen to be a doctor."
"I just don't want you being stupid, accidentally or on purpose."
"And I want you," and House's voice was barely rising, "to remember that I've been coping for years without you watching what I do. Back off."
"I've always been watching you," Wilson replied coolly, "and that's why I am concerned."
"I'm an addict. We both know that." House gave him a hard look. "And that's not going to change."
"I'm not trying to change that. I just want you to be a reasonable addict."
This look was disbelieving. "Did you just say reasonable addict?"
"Yeah." Wilson paused, considering this. "I'm sure it's possible. Maybe. In some cultures."
"That are not ours," House added.
"Good thing you've never been a fan of mainstream culture."
He smirked at Wilson. "You're trying to change me, and if I remember the issues with the wives, part of it was that they wanted to change you."
"Does that make me the wife now?" Wilson sent him a theatrical frown. "Should I invest in a pink, frilly apron?"
"Only if you learned how to cook well." House considered that. "Or you'll wear nothing underneath."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Is that all you think about, you pig?"
"Sex? Nah. Just most of it."
"Sex, drugs... Add the rock 'n' roll, and you've got the holy triangle, or whatever it is Catholics call it."
"Trinity. Very convenient way for them to get around the 'one god' thing." House sobered briefly. "I meant it. Back off."
"And I mean it. Be careful." Wilson pursed his lips for a moment. "Please," he added.
"I am careful." House pocketed the pills. "Just not by your definition or Cuddy's."
Wilson smirked slightly. "Like you'd let us definite it for you," he said.
"Yet you keep trying. You never learn." The slight buzz was now a mild hum, enough to dull the leg.
"There's something to be said for persistence."
"That's what Daedalus said," House reminded him.
"And he lived to tell the tale."
"Icarus didn't."
"So, the moral of this story is that I should refrain from building wax wings?"
"Something like that." He relaxed back against the chair.
Wilson smiled something. "I'll try to keep that in mind, then."
"There's food in the fridge."
He nodded. "You want anything?"
House considered for a moment. "I should."
Wilson smirked as he rose to his feet. "I'll get you something. Extra moldy, just for you."
"Fitting the food to my personality? Interesting technique."
"Knowing the fridge, the options are either 'extra moldy' or 'gaining sentience.'"
House made a face. "You think the sentient stuff might be edible?"
"There are people in the world who swallow live goldfish," Wilson noted, smirking. "I'll order a pizza, though, if you're so concerned."
"Probably a better idea, unless you want me to treat us for food poisoning."
"As tempting as playing doctor with you is, I'll call."
"Playing doctor's only fun when we do a prostate exam." House closed his eyes.
"We'll work on that later," Wilson replied, smiling, and briefly patted House on the shoulder before retreating into the kitchen to call for a pizza.
Authors: amazonqueenkate and hawkeyecat
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters: Dr. Gregory House, Dr. James Wilson
Community: slash_me_twice
Prompt: 008. Danger
Word Count: 1,523
Rating: Everyone
Authors' Notes: Don’t treat painkillers like House does, and if you do, we’re not responsible. (Yes, I know mixing booze and narcotics is tempting.) Thanks, as always, to sarcasticsta for the beta.
It hadn’t been a particularly long day, but a busy one; House had been on his feet more than usual, and his leg didn’t much appreciate it. Relaxing in the armchair with his legs outstretched, a glass of very good scotch in hand and a halfway decent movie on, he popped open his pill vial and washed one down with the alcohol.
Wilson, as he'd expected, was running late from the hospital-so what else was new?-and he watched the movie with above-average attentiveness even when a key scraped in the lock and Wilson wandered in, shedding his overcoat and then suit coat at the door and slipping off his shoes.
"Hey," he greeted, wandering into the living room. "Anything good on?"
House dropped the bottle into his lap and shrugged. "Hot women and a semblance of a plot."
"Two for the price of one. Not bad." He eyed the vial and frowned. "Bad day?"
"No, they taste like candy."
"I wouldn't put it past Cuddy to swap your Vicodin for SweetTarts." He sunk onto the couch. "How many?"
House raised an eyebrow at him. "Sleeping with you makes you the pill police? Should've warned me."
"It's Cuddy's night off. And that's not an answer."
"You want the day's count, or the week's?" House asked, irritated.
"Live on the edge, give me the month's." Wilson narrowed his eyes. "It's just a question."
"One." Which was true, for now. If it wasn't enough, he'd take another.
He just wasn't planning to tell Wilson the day's total unless he pushed it.
"With the scotch?"
"It's for display purposes only."
"Oh, of course. Because you knew I'd be window shopping for booze tonight. How kind." Wilson rolled his eyes.
House turned his attention back to the TV, figuring the subject was closed.
For a moment, the only noise was the movie. Then Wilson sighed.
"Today."
Damn it. Should've known he'd ask. "Does it really matter?"
"If you're drinking, yeah. It does. Or did you miss the 'mixing prescriptions and alcohol' lesson in med school?"
"About as much as you missed the 'alcohol as a muscle relaxant' part."
"You have to be careful about it," Wilson warned.
"Thank you, Doctor. Whatever would I do without your advice?" House took an ostentatious swig of his scotch.
"You want an honest answer to that?"
"I want to enjoy my scotch, watch the movie, and let the pill work, but you've apparently decided this is 'have a serious talk' time."
"Sorry. I'll stop voicing my concern any day now."
"No, you won't, because you're concerned."
"Would you rather me not be? I can work on it. I think there's a twelve-step program."
House rolled his eyes. "Won't work. You're hopelessly addicted to caring."
Wilson snorted. "I thought that was you and Vicodin. My mistake."
House glared over at him. "You fix my leg, and I'll get off the Vicodin. Since you can't, deal with it."
"There's a difference between off and abusing."
So much for the movie. No way he was going to be able to watch it now. "Oh, I forgot about your extensive experience managing pain in yourself instead of your patients."
"I know my patients well enough to know risky behavior, thanks."
"I've managed it for over five years without you supervising me," House pointed out. "You don't need to start."
"Technically, I'm your prescribing doctor. So I have been supervising. Whether," he added, almost as an after thought, "you've liked it or not."
"And yet you didn't get on my case about it until now."
"You're usually not this bad."
More than ten minutes, and the ache wasn't maintaining or lessening. House needed another, and he briefly weighed the bitching Wilson would do against the pain he'd be in, and decided he could handle the bitching far more easily. This time, he dry-swallowed it instead of using his drink. "Usually, I don't need this many."
Wilson frowned noticeably at the second pill and then at the scotch. "Stop drinking," he stated firmly.
"I was planning not to finish this tonight, after that," House retorted. "I do have the same degree as you."
"Technically, you don't," Wilson countered, "but that's beside the point."
"Oh, true. I've been practicing longer." House set down the glass.
"Your judgment can be skewed."
"Yeah, that pesky 'broader specialty' thing really screws with my judgment about medication."
"I was more talking about the 'chronic pain' thing, actually."
"Oh, that one. Tell you what. Take the leg for a day and see if you can make it without the pills."
Wilson sighed. "House, I didn't tell you to go without."
"No, just to cut back. Want me to ask you if it hurts before I take a pill? Which is, by the way, one of the stupidest ideas behind pain management," House replied. The whole thing just kept getting more annoying.
"Or just not to drink when you're taking Vicodin." He nodded to the scotch glass. "Novel concept, I know."
"Right, one glass is going to kill me." House snorted.
"Take enough Vicodin? It might."
"Two Vicodin and one glass. Yeah, definitely lethal."
"I have no way of knowing you only took one before I got here."
"Then you'll have to take my word for it."
Wilson frowned. "Are you being careful?" he asked slowly.
Okay, enough. He didn't need someone, even Wilson, looking over his shoulder about his Vicodin use. House picked up the glass again and sipped before replying. "Completely."
"Are you being mature?" Wilson quipped.
The Vicodin was giving him the barest of buzzes, and he downed the rest of the scotch. "Are you being motherly?"
"No. I'm being concerned. There is a difference."
"There is. My mother would trust my judgment."
Wilson narrowed his eyes. "Want me to call her and confirm that?"
He set the glass down firmly on the table. "No, remember that the person in pain has the best idea of what they need, and keep in mind that I happen to be a doctor."
"I just don't want you being stupid, accidentally or on purpose."
"And I want you," and House's voice was barely rising, "to remember that I've been coping for years without you watching what I do. Back off."
"I've always been watching you," Wilson replied coolly, "and that's why I am concerned."
"I'm an addict. We both know that." House gave him a hard look. "And that's not going to change."
"I'm not trying to change that. I just want you to be a reasonable addict."
This look was disbelieving. "Did you just say reasonable addict?"
"Yeah." Wilson paused, considering this. "I'm sure it's possible. Maybe. In some cultures."
"That are not ours," House added.
"Good thing you've never been a fan of mainstream culture."
He smirked at Wilson. "You're trying to change me, and if I remember the issues with the wives, part of it was that they wanted to change you."
"Does that make me the wife now?" Wilson sent him a theatrical frown. "Should I invest in a pink, frilly apron?"
"Only if you learned how to cook well." House considered that. "Or you'll wear nothing underneath."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Is that all you think about, you pig?"
"Sex? Nah. Just most of it."
"Sex, drugs... Add the rock 'n' roll, and you've got the holy triangle, or whatever it is Catholics call it."
"Trinity. Very convenient way for them to get around the 'one god' thing." House sobered briefly. "I meant it. Back off."
"And I mean it. Be careful." Wilson pursed his lips for a moment. "Please," he added.
"I am careful." House pocketed the pills. "Just not by your definition or Cuddy's."
Wilson smirked slightly. "Like you'd let us definite it for you," he said.
"Yet you keep trying. You never learn." The slight buzz was now a mild hum, enough to dull the leg.
"There's something to be said for persistence."
"That's what Daedalus said," House reminded him.
"And he lived to tell the tale."
"Icarus didn't."
"So, the moral of this story is that I should refrain from building wax wings?"
"Something like that." He relaxed back against the chair.
Wilson smiled something. "I'll try to keep that in mind, then."
"There's food in the fridge."
He nodded. "You want anything?"
House considered for a moment. "I should."
Wilson smirked as he rose to his feet. "I'll get you something. Extra moldy, just for you."
"Fitting the food to my personality? Interesting technique."
"Knowing the fridge, the options are either 'extra moldy' or 'gaining sentience.'"
House made a face. "You think the sentient stuff might be edible?"
"There are people in the world who swallow live goldfish," Wilson noted, smirking. "I'll order a pizza, though, if you're so concerned."
"Probably a better idea, unless you want me to treat us for food poisoning."
"As tempting as playing doctor with you is, I'll call."
"Playing doctor's only fun when we do a prostate exam." House closed his eyes.
"We'll work on that later," Wilson replied, smiling, and briefly patted House on the shoulder before retreating into the kitchen to call for a pizza.