And the Livin' is Easy
Title: And the Livin' is Easy
Characters: House, Wilson
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nope
Words: 2,500
Summary: House and Wilson go camping. Things go wrong. Somewhat crack-ish, but also angsty (crangsty?)
Written for the Camp Sick!Wilson "ABC to XYZ" challenge. Inspired by (stolen from) menolly_au, whose story for this challenge used all the prompts, in order. I used all the prompts, in reverse order ;)
A - alligator N - nail
B - bear trap O - outhouse
C - campfire P - porcupine
D - duck Q - quicksand
E - electricity R - river
F - forest S - snake
G - gopher T - teepee
H - hammock U - umbrella
I - island V - vulture
J - jellyfish W - water gun
K - knife X - xenolith
L - lake Y - yearling
M - moose Z - zipper
Wilson mentally cursed the broken zipper on his pants. “Great,” he muttered to the tree he’d just used as a restroom.
Wilson had brought only one other pair of pants on the camping trip, and they were covered in the remnants of a s’more that House had dropped on him.
Wilson sighed. He supposed wearing dirty pants was acceptable in the wilderness. But he was not going to like it.
Just then a rustling sound made Wilson start. He exhaled in relief when he saw that it was only a young deer cautiously making its way through the trees.
The sight made Wilson think back to one of his favorite childhood movies, The Yearling. For a time, he’d wanted to grow up to be Gregory Peck, which he’d soon discover was unusual for a kid his age.
But Wilson-Jimmy back then-had been unusual in a lot of ways. His passion for xenoliths, for one. While the neighborhood kids spent the summer in spirited water-gun fights, Jimmy had stayed inside, engrossed in National Geographic.
But now here Wilson was, roughing it in the great outdoors. A middle-aged man camping with his best friend-an even older man who, as a kid, might have been the type to pick on Jimmy, encouraging the other kids on the playground to descend on him like vultures.
Luckily, the picked-on weakling stage hadn’t lasted-or at least it had diminished over the years.
The shift started in high school, when Jimmy grew into his gangly body a bit more and morphed into James. Girls started noticing his cheekbones. And he became comfortable with the fact that he was smart; he started allowing himself to make dry comments that actually made some other kids laugh (the ones who understood references to classic literature, of course).
James even made some friends. And he became very interested in keeping them-by being funny, nice, reliable. A good guy.
As if on cue, the sound of House’s approaching voice broke into Wilson’s reverie. House was singing.
“You can stand under my umbrella…ella, ella, ay, ay, ay.”
House came into view, limping toward Wilson with a mostly eaten s’more in his non-cane hand.
“Under my umbrella!” House finished as he pulled up next to Wilson.
House looked down. “Your fly’s open,” he said, before popping the last of the s’more into his mouth.
“I’m aware.”
“Am I interrupting your pee break?” House said around a mouthful of gooey marshmallow and chocolate. “Or…something else?” he added, waggling his eyebrows.
“You disgust me,” Wilson said, just for the record. “The zipper is broken.”
“Ah,” House said, clearly losing interest. “Speaking of pee, have you noticed that our teepee is starting to sag?”
“It’s a tent. Wait, is that a euphemism?”
House just looked at him. Then Wilson noticed House’s eyes widen.
“Wilson,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t freak out. And don’t step backward.”
Oddly, Wilson’s first instinct was to step backward. But something in House’s eyes made him remain stock-still. “What?” he whispered.
House’s eyes darted down, then back to Wilson’s eyes. “Copperhead snake.”
Wilson felt himself instantly break into a cold sweat.
He had been irrationally terrified of snakes ever since he was 7.
His older brother, David, had told him tales of snakes that coiled themselves around their victims, slowly squeezing the life out of them. David had also been sure to mention that a little runt like Jimmy would be toast in two minutes flat, should a snake ever get the chance.
Then a few nights later, David had tossed a giant rubber snake on Jimmy as he lay in bed, mumbling his multiplication tables. The melee that followed got David grounded. And it left with Jimmy with a phobia that would survive his transformation into James, and finally into Wilson.
“Wilson,” he heard House’s voice bringing him back to the present. “I’m gonna back way. Just follow me…And don’t freak out.”
Wilson nodded. He kept looking at House’s eyes, feeling a little stupid as he slowly walked, fly open and sweat collecting on his brow.
“You’re good,” House said after a short distance. “Snakey looks very content right where he is.”
Wilson didn’t turn around to look, deciding instead to trust House on this one. He mentally kicked himself for not expecting to confront a snake at some point. They were in the woods, near a river. Snake heaven.
Wilson’s legs suddenly felt very heavy, like he was standing in quicksand.
“I need to sit down,” he muttered to House, who responded by quickly grabbing his arm.
“Not here,” House said, rolling his eyes. “Knowing you, you’ll plonk your big ass on a porcupine.”
Wilson glared, but then began following House back to the tent, holding his pants up and keeping an eye out for more snakes.
“You were asking for trouble,” House pointed out as they walked. “Using nature as your outhouse.”
Wilson couldn’t contain an eye-roll. “Uhhh, you’ve been doing the same thing for the past two days.”
“Actually, no,” House said, stopping and facing Wilson. “I’m holding it in until we get back to civilization. Or a truck stop.”
“What?” Wilson didn’t want to buy it, but he also couldn’t put it past House. “That’s crazy.”
House shrugged. “I have amazing tolerance and willpower when I feel like it,” he explained. “I once slept on a bed of nails. Oh, and I’ve been friends with you for…what? Twenty years?”
“Feels like fifty,” Wilson said through a sigh.
Then Wilson was hit with a sudden image of his father, a man with a large number of what the senior Wilson considered decades-long friendships. But those friends were mainly fellow Moose Lodge members, and those “friendships” were largely symbolic.
Wilson’s father had been very careful to keep lots of connections, and an appearance of being an outgoing, easy-to-know kind of guy. But in reality, his father had been cold and distant. And even though his many Moose friendships and business relationships kept him busy, no single one was deep.
“See what I mean?” Wilson heard House say.
“What?”
“The teepee. It’s sagging.”
Wilson looked at their tent. Indeed, sagginess.
Wilson scratched an eyebrow with his thumb, keeping his pants up with his other hand.
“Guess I didn’t do much of a job pitching it-Don’t say it.”
But House was already snickering. Then he shook his head. “We should’ve gone to the lake like I suggested. We could’ve stayed in one of those non-sagging houses they have.”
Wilson sighed. “Sorry. Let’s add this to your databank on my failings.”
“OK,” House readily agreed. “And that reminds me, I forgot to record your watermelon mishap from last night.”
“Cutting watermelon is tricky!” Wilson protested, with more fervor than he’d intended to show.
He bit his lip, then explained more calmly: “The knife slipped. And I noticed, by the way, that my bleeding hand didn't stop you from eating all the wedges I’d cut. Or from complaining that there will still seeds.”
House smiled. “Once I got past that, though, the watermelon was very refreshing. It’s a shame you didn’t get any.”
Wilson shook his head, sitting down on a large rock by the tent. He folded his forearms over his knees and rested his forehead there.
“Don’t be a baby,” he heard House say.
Just like that, another childhood memory flooded Wilson’s mind: the time when he was 8 or 9, and his family had gone to the Florida coast for summer vacation. On the very first day at the beach, he’d managed to get stung in the leg by a jellyfish.
Wilson remembered the pain. It had been so bad he couldn’t stop crying-even though his father kept telling him to stop, that the crying was only making things worse.
David had moaned about Jimmy ruining their first beach day, while Danny looked on, bottom lip trembling and tears in his big brown eyes.
Jimmy had just cried harder, because he’d scared Danny and messed up the day for everyone.
In the end, his mother had brought him back to the hotel so his father and brothers could still enjoy themselves. And he’d fallen asleep with his mother gently stroking his hair-something she had never done before and would never do again.
It had felt so nice that Wilson remembered it more than he did the pain.
For years afterward, Wilson had steered clear of beaches. The only exceptions he would make were for House. Before the infarction, he’d loved to swim in the ocean. After the infarction, they’d still sometimes drive to Coney Island on the Fourth of July, so House could watch that Japanese kid shove shocking quantities of hot dogs down his throat in the Nathan’s Famous contest.
Wilson looked up to see House settling onto the hammock they’d set up between two accommodating trees. One of the few successes they could claim from this trip.
Wilson had always wanted a backyard hammock when he was a kid. One summer, his dad had made him join Little League. He’d ended up playing short-center for the Golden Gophers-a made-up position that ensured the ball usually went over him to the real center fielder or stopped short of him in the infield.
Jimmy had been just fine with that.
But the one part of Little League he had liked was when Billy Anderson’s parents would take Jimmy and a few other boys home with them after practice. The Andersons had the biggest yard in the neighborhood, with a pool, a badminton set and a hammock. Sometimes Mr. Anderson would fall asleep in the hammock when he was supposed to be making sure the boys weren’t getting up to any shenanigans.
He’d looked so content and peaceful in that hammock, Wilson remembered.
And sometimes Mrs. Anderson would make them black forest brownies and fresh-squeezed lemonade with lots of sugar. Mrs. Wilson had never let her boys have sugary treats like that. She’d believed that sugar make kids rambunctious, and with her migraines she’d needed the boys to be quiet and considerate.
House’s voice broke in again. Wilson just caught the tail end of a rant about the lack of electricity.
“You thought some of these trees would have outlets?” Wilson inquired.
House lazily swung, his good leg dangling off the hammock. “House,” Wilson said. “Be careful. You’re gonna tip over.”
House scoffed...right before the hammock spit him off and he landed on the ground with a yelp.
“You OK?” Wilson stood up and stepped toward House, promptly tripping over the pants that he’d forgotten to hold up. And then he was falling. And then, nothing.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Wilson could not figure out why the duck was talking to him, or what he’d done to piss it off. He’d been just sitting by the pond, minding his own business, when this duck waddled over to him and started calling him a moron.
“Listen, I just want to sit here and enjoy my vacation,” Wilson told the duck. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“You should never vacation,” the duck informed him. “You're an accident waiting to happen at all times. But especially during the summer, and especially when you attempt a get-away.”
This duck seemed to know him quite well.
“Did House put you up to this?”
The duck came closer, invading Wilson’s personal space. Wilson leaned away. “You need to stay close to home from now on,” the duck advised. “There’s nothing wrong with spending the summer on my couch.”
“Huh?”
The duck got its bill right up in Wilson face. “Wake up, you moron.”
Wilson closed his eyes. This duck was seriously freaking him out.
Then the duck starting sounding a lot like House. “Wake up, you moron.”
Wilson opened his eyes and there was House, hovering close like the duck had been. Wilson was lying on the ground-actually, on a sleeping bag, he realized. Then Wilson noticed how much his head hurt.
“Ohhhh,” he groaned.
House sighed, and Wilson thought he saw relief on his friend’s face. “What’s your name?” House asked.
“Jimmy,” Wilson said.
House frowned. So Wilson amended, “My name is James Wilson. And today is Sunday, June 24.”
“Where are you?” House persisted.
“Hell?”
Wilson started to sit up, but was stopped by House’s hand on his shoulder.
“Just lie there for a while,” House ordered. “I put an ice pack under your head. Just in case your tiny brain starts to swell. There was only one pack in your stupid first-aid kit, by the way.”
House started to move out of Wilson’s line of sight. But a second later his face was back again. And it was not a happy face.
“Oh,” House said, “and it was a brilliant idea to leave our cellphones behind. You’re supposed to be the responsible one. Did it occur to you what would happen if one or both of us were injured?”
Wilson wasn’t used to seeing House so straight-up angry. He wasn’t sure how to handle it.
“I-the cellphones wouldn’t work here anyway,” Wilson said weakly, finding it hard to argue from a lying-down position.
House scowled. “Moron,” he muttered again. “Just-just lie there for a while.”
Wilson felt suddenly scared but wasn’t sure why. “Where are you going?” he asked.
House gave him a puzzled look. “Nowhere. I’m just gonna get the campfire going. It’ll be dark soon.”
“Oh.” Wilson felt some of his unease settle. But not entirely. He couldn’t quite shake the fear that if House left his sight, he might not be coming back.
Maybe House would fall down and hit his head, too. Or get caught in a bear trap. Or maybe he’d decide, while building the campfire, that Wilson just wasn’t worth it. And then he’d walk away.
Wilson was looking straight up at the darkening patches of sky between the tree tops. “House?” he said, hearing the shakiness in his voice and instantly hating it.
No answer. “House?” he asked again.
Then House’s face was over his. “What’s wrong?”
Wilson blinked. “Nothing,” he said.
House rolled his eyes. “Fantastic. Can I build the fire now?”
Wilson wanted to nod but couldn’t. House was apparently taking his silence as a “yes” anyway, because he disappeared again.
Danny had once disappeared when they were kids. When Wilson was 10 and Danny was 7, the whole family had gone to the Philadelphia Zoo, and Danny had just vanished for about an hour.
Wilson’s parents had been frantic, of course. And at one point, David pulled Jimmy aside and told him that mom and dad were so upset because Danny had probably fallen into the alligator area.
“You’re lying!” Jimmy had said. But David had looked at him with such sad, serious eyes, that Jimmy had believed, for a short time, that it might be true. That Danny might really be gone.
Thirteen years later, when Danny disappeared again, it was so much worse. Because Wilson knew there were no alligators. Danny had chosen to vanish, and it was mostly Wilson’s fault.
“House?” Wilson called again.
After a few moments, House face came into view. “Don’t go anywhere, OK?” Wilson said.
House pulled a face. “Sure. I’ll tell my spelunking group I have to cancel. Where do you think I’m going?”
Wilson bit his lip, feeling stupid but just needing…something. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
House’s eyes were studying Wilson’s face now, in that way he had. Then House’s face softened. “I’m right over there,” he said, nodding toward the campfire. “I was going to make s'more s’mores. You can even have one.”
Wilson felt himself smiling, even though it hurt a little. “Don’t drop any on me this time.”
“Right,” House said. “That would ruin an otherwise perfect evening.” But House gave him a small smile before moving away.
Wilson was again looking at the sky, darker now. But he could smell the campfire, and hear House moving about, grumbling every now and then about doing all the work around the house.
So he closed his eyes and trusted House would be there when he opened them.
End
Characters: House, Wilson
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nope
Words: 2,500
Summary: House and Wilson go camping. Things go wrong. Somewhat crack-ish, but also angsty (crangsty?)
Written for the Camp Sick!Wilson "ABC to XYZ" challenge. Inspired by (stolen from) menolly_au, whose story for this challenge used all the prompts, in order. I used all the prompts, in reverse order ;)
A - alligator N - nail
B - bear trap O - outhouse
C - campfire P - porcupine
D - duck Q - quicksand
E - electricity R - river
F - forest S - snake
G - gopher T - teepee
H - hammock U - umbrella
I - island V - vulture
J - jellyfish W - water gun
K - knife X - xenolith
L - lake Y - yearling
M - moose Z - zipper
Wilson mentally cursed the broken zipper on his pants. “Great,” he muttered to the tree he’d just used as a restroom.
Wilson had brought only one other pair of pants on the camping trip, and they were covered in the remnants of a s’more that House had dropped on him.
Wilson sighed. He supposed wearing dirty pants was acceptable in the wilderness. But he was not going to like it.
Just then a rustling sound made Wilson start. He exhaled in relief when he saw that it was only a young deer cautiously making its way through the trees.
The sight made Wilson think back to one of his favorite childhood movies, The Yearling. For a time, he’d wanted to grow up to be Gregory Peck, which he’d soon discover was unusual for a kid his age.
But Wilson-Jimmy back then-had been unusual in a lot of ways. His passion for xenoliths, for one. While the neighborhood kids spent the summer in spirited water-gun fights, Jimmy had stayed inside, engrossed in National Geographic.
But now here Wilson was, roughing it in the great outdoors. A middle-aged man camping with his best friend-an even older man who, as a kid, might have been the type to pick on Jimmy, encouraging the other kids on the playground to descend on him like vultures.
Luckily, the picked-on weakling stage hadn’t lasted-or at least it had diminished over the years.
The shift started in high school, when Jimmy grew into his gangly body a bit more and morphed into James. Girls started noticing his cheekbones. And he became comfortable with the fact that he was smart; he started allowing himself to make dry comments that actually made some other kids laugh (the ones who understood references to classic literature, of course).
James even made some friends. And he became very interested in keeping them-by being funny, nice, reliable. A good guy.
As if on cue, the sound of House’s approaching voice broke into Wilson’s reverie. House was singing.
“You can stand under my umbrella…ella, ella, ay, ay, ay.”
House came into view, limping toward Wilson with a mostly eaten s’more in his non-cane hand.
“Under my umbrella!” House finished as he pulled up next to Wilson.
House looked down. “Your fly’s open,” he said, before popping the last of the s’more into his mouth.
“I’m aware.”
“Am I interrupting your pee break?” House said around a mouthful of gooey marshmallow and chocolate. “Or…something else?” he added, waggling his eyebrows.
“You disgust me,” Wilson said, just for the record. “The zipper is broken.”
“Ah,” House said, clearly losing interest. “Speaking of pee, have you noticed that our teepee is starting to sag?”
“It’s a tent. Wait, is that a euphemism?”
House just looked at him. Then Wilson noticed House’s eyes widen.
“Wilson,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t freak out. And don’t step backward.”
Oddly, Wilson’s first instinct was to step backward. But something in House’s eyes made him remain stock-still. “What?” he whispered.
House’s eyes darted down, then back to Wilson’s eyes. “Copperhead snake.”
Wilson felt himself instantly break into a cold sweat.
He had been irrationally terrified of snakes ever since he was 7.
His older brother, David, had told him tales of snakes that coiled themselves around their victims, slowly squeezing the life out of them. David had also been sure to mention that a little runt like Jimmy would be toast in two minutes flat, should a snake ever get the chance.
Then a few nights later, David had tossed a giant rubber snake on Jimmy as he lay in bed, mumbling his multiplication tables. The melee that followed got David grounded. And it left with Jimmy with a phobia that would survive his transformation into James, and finally into Wilson.
“Wilson,” he heard House’s voice bringing him back to the present. “I’m gonna back way. Just follow me…And don’t freak out.”
Wilson nodded. He kept looking at House’s eyes, feeling a little stupid as he slowly walked, fly open and sweat collecting on his brow.
“You’re good,” House said after a short distance. “Snakey looks very content right where he is.”
Wilson didn’t turn around to look, deciding instead to trust House on this one. He mentally kicked himself for not expecting to confront a snake at some point. They were in the woods, near a river. Snake heaven.
Wilson’s legs suddenly felt very heavy, like he was standing in quicksand.
“I need to sit down,” he muttered to House, who responded by quickly grabbing his arm.
“Not here,” House said, rolling his eyes. “Knowing you, you’ll plonk your big ass on a porcupine.”
Wilson glared, but then began following House back to the tent, holding his pants up and keeping an eye out for more snakes.
“You were asking for trouble,” House pointed out as they walked. “Using nature as your outhouse.”
Wilson couldn’t contain an eye-roll. “Uhhh, you’ve been doing the same thing for the past two days.”
“Actually, no,” House said, stopping and facing Wilson. “I’m holding it in until we get back to civilization. Or a truck stop.”
“What?” Wilson didn’t want to buy it, but he also couldn’t put it past House. “That’s crazy.”
House shrugged. “I have amazing tolerance and willpower when I feel like it,” he explained. “I once slept on a bed of nails. Oh, and I’ve been friends with you for…what? Twenty years?”
“Feels like fifty,” Wilson said through a sigh.
Then Wilson was hit with a sudden image of his father, a man with a large number of what the senior Wilson considered decades-long friendships. But those friends were mainly fellow Moose Lodge members, and those “friendships” were largely symbolic.
Wilson’s father had been very careful to keep lots of connections, and an appearance of being an outgoing, easy-to-know kind of guy. But in reality, his father had been cold and distant. And even though his many Moose friendships and business relationships kept him busy, no single one was deep.
“See what I mean?” Wilson heard House say.
“What?”
“The teepee. It’s sagging.”
Wilson looked at their tent. Indeed, sagginess.
Wilson scratched an eyebrow with his thumb, keeping his pants up with his other hand.
“Guess I didn’t do much of a job pitching it-Don’t say it.”
But House was already snickering. Then he shook his head. “We should’ve gone to the lake like I suggested. We could’ve stayed in one of those non-sagging houses they have.”
Wilson sighed. “Sorry. Let’s add this to your databank on my failings.”
“OK,” House readily agreed. “And that reminds me, I forgot to record your watermelon mishap from last night.”
“Cutting watermelon is tricky!” Wilson protested, with more fervor than he’d intended to show.
He bit his lip, then explained more calmly: “The knife slipped. And I noticed, by the way, that my bleeding hand didn't stop you from eating all the wedges I’d cut. Or from complaining that there will still seeds.”
House smiled. “Once I got past that, though, the watermelon was very refreshing. It’s a shame you didn’t get any.”
Wilson shook his head, sitting down on a large rock by the tent. He folded his forearms over his knees and rested his forehead there.
“Don’t be a baby,” he heard House say.
Just like that, another childhood memory flooded Wilson’s mind: the time when he was 8 or 9, and his family had gone to the Florida coast for summer vacation. On the very first day at the beach, he’d managed to get stung in the leg by a jellyfish.
Wilson remembered the pain. It had been so bad he couldn’t stop crying-even though his father kept telling him to stop, that the crying was only making things worse.
David had moaned about Jimmy ruining their first beach day, while Danny looked on, bottom lip trembling and tears in his big brown eyes.
Jimmy had just cried harder, because he’d scared Danny and messed up the day for everyone.
In the end, his mother had brought him back to the hotel so his father and brothers could still enjoy themselves. And he’d fallen asleep with his mother gently stroking his hair-something she had never done before and would never do again.
It had felt so nice that Wilson remembered it more than he did the pain.
For years afterward, Wilson had steered clear of beaches. The only exceptions he would make were for House. Before the infarction, he’d loved to swim in the ocean. After the infarction, they’d still sometimes drive to Coney Island on the Fourth of July, so House could watch that Japanese kid shove shocking quantities of hot dogs down his throat in the Nathan’s Famous contest.
Wilson looked up to see House settling onto the hammock they’d set up between two accommodating trees. One of the few successes they could claim from this trip.
Wilson had always wanted a backyard hammock when he was a kid. One summer, his dad had made him join Little League. He’d ended up playing short-center for the Golden Gophers-a made-up position that ensured the ball usually went over him to the real center fielder or stopped short of him in the infield.
Jimmy had been just fine with that.
But the one part of Little League he had liked was when Billy Anderson’s parents would take Jimmy and a few other boys home with them after practice. The Andersons had the biggest yard in the neighborhood, with a pool, a badminton set and a hammock. Sometimes Mr. Anderson would fall asleep in the hammock when he was supposed to be making sure the boys weren’t getting up to any shenanigans.
He’d looked so content and peaceful in that hammock, Wilson remembered.
And sometimes Mrs. Anderson would make them black forest brownies and fresh-squeezed lemonade with lots of sugar. Mrs. Wilson had never let her boys have sugary treats like that. She’d believed that sugar make kids rambunctious, and with her migraines she’d needed the boys to be quiet and considerate.
House’s voice broke in again. Wilson just caught the tail end of a rant about the lack of electricity.
“You thought some of these trees would have outlets?” Wilson inquired.
House lazily swung, his good leg dangling off the hammock. “House,” Wilson said. “Be careful. You’re gonna tip over.”
House scoffed...right before the hammock spit him off and he landed on the ground with a yelp.
“You OK?” Wilson stood up and stepped toward House, promptly tripping over the pants that he’d forgotten to hold up. And then he was falling. And then, nothing.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Wilson could not figure out why the duck was talking to him, or what he’d done to piss it off. He’d been just sitting by the pond, minding his own business, when this duck waddled over to him and started calling him a moron.
“Listen, I just want to sit here and enjoy my vacation,” Wilson told the duck. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“You should never vacation,” the duck informed him. “You're an accident waiting to happen at all times. But especially during the summer, and especially when you attempt a get-away.”
This duck seemed to know him quite well.
“Did House put you up to this?”
The duck came closer, invading Wilson’s personal space. Wilson leaned away. “You need to stay close to home from now on,” the duck advised. “There’s nothing wrong with spending the summer on my couch.”
“Huh?”
The duck got its bill right up in Wilson face. “Wake up, you moron.”
Wilson closed his eyes. This duck was seriously freaking him out.
Then the duck starting sounding a lot like House. “Wake up, you moron.”
Wilson opened his eyes and there was House, hovering close like the duck had been. Wilson was lying on the ground-actually, on a sleeping bag, he realized. Then Wilson noticed how much his head hurt.
“Ohhhh,” he groaned.
House sighed, and Wilson thought he saw relief on his friend’s face. “What’s your name?” House asked.
“Jimmy,” Wilson said.
House frowned. So Wilson amended, “My name is James Wilson. And today is Sunday, June 24.”
“Where are you?” House persisted.
“Hell?”
Wilson started to sit up, but was stopped by House’s hand on his shoulder.
“Just lie there for a while,” House ordered. “I put an ice pack under your head. Just in case your tiny brain starts to swell. There was only one pack in your stupid first-aid kit, by the way.”
House started to move out of Wilson’s line of sight. But a second later his face was back again. And it was not a happy face.
“Oh,” House said, “and it was a brilliant idea to leave our cellphones behind. You’re supposed to be the responsible one. Did it occur to you what would happen if one or both of us were injured?”
Wilson wasn’t used to seeing House so straight-up angry. He wasn’t sure how to handle it.
“I-the cellphones wouldn’t work here anyway,” Wilson said weakly, finding it hard to argue from a lying-down position.
House scowled. “Moron,” he muttered again. “Just-just lie there for a while.”
Wilson felt suddenly scared but wasn’t sure why. “Where are you going?” he asked.
House gave him a puzzled look. “Nowhere. I’m just gonna get the campfire going. It’ll be dark soon.”
“Oh.” Wilson felt some of his unease settle. But not entirely. He couldn’t quite shake the fear that if House left his sight, he might not be coming back.
Maybe House would fall down and hit his head, too. Or get caught in a bear trap. Or maybe he’d decide, while building the campfire, that Wilson just wasn’t worth it. And then he’d walk away.
Wilson was looking straight up at the darkening patches of sky between the tree tops. “House?” he said, hearing the shakiness in his voice and instantly hating it.
No answer. “House?” he asked again.
Then House’s face was over his. “What’s wrong?”
Wilson blinked. “Nothing,” he said.
House rolled his eyes. “Fantastic. Can I build the fire now?”
Wilson wanted to nod but couldn’t. House was apparently taking his silence as a “yes” anyway, because he disappeared again.
Danny had once disappeared when they were kids. When Wilson was 10 and Danny was 7, the whole family had gone to the Philadelphia Zoo, and Danny had just vanished for about an hour.
Wilson’s parents had been frantic, of course. And at one point, David pulled Jimmy aside and told him that mom and dad were so upset because Danny had probably fallen into the alligator area.
“You’re lying!” Jimmy had said. But David had looked at him with such sad, serious eyes, that Jimmy had believed, for a short time, that it might be true. That Danny might really be gone.
Thirteen years later, when Danny disappeared again, it was so much worse. Because Wilson knew there were no alligators. Danny had chosen to vanish, and it was mostly Wilson’s fault.
“House?” Wilson called again.
After a few moments, House face came into view. “Don’t go anywhere, OK?” Wilson said.
House pulled a face. “Sure. I’ll tell my spelunking group I have to cancel. Where do you think I’m going?”
Wilson bit his lip, feeling stupid but just needing…something. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
House’s eyes were studying Wilson’s face now, in that way he had. Then House’s face softened. “I’m right over there,” he said, nodding toward the campfire. “I was going to make s'more s’mores. You can even have one.”
Wilson felt himself smiling, even though it hurt a little. “Don’t drop any on me this time.”
“Right,” House said. “That would ruin an otherwise perfect evening.” But House gave him a small smile before moving away.
Wilson was again looking at the sky, darker now. But he could smell the campfire, and hear House moving about, grumbling every now and then about doing all the work around the house.
So he closed his eyes and trusted House would be there when he opened them.
End