Jul 08, 2011 07:26
What's a summer camp without ghosts? This is the RIP WIP ("Rest in peace, works in progress") challenge: Take those fragments of sick!Wilson creations that have been haunting you with their unfinishedness and post them in comments here. Bury them, mourn them, and let them go.
challenge/activity,
camp sick!wilson
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***
Wilson's sigh is expressive, exasperation and amusement pureed in a blender, and he gives the ceiling a long stare, as if asking for patience. “Stubbornness is something we both share.”
The slight grin that tugs at House's mouth is a surprise, and it takes his thumb drifting absently across the tape binding the other's fingers to quell the urge to fall into a familiar pattern of banter. Scowling lightly, he pulls his hand away. A sense of loss squirms like a beetle in his chest for a moment, and then dies.
“Then tell me why. Twenty years has led to you being held together with duct tape and spit, and you're still lining up for more. So what gives?” House tugs experimentally at the cuff binding his wrist, unsure whether to be flattered or insulted that they'd used the good bindings, and not the crap ones with velcro. “My vote's for masochism with a side of Jewish guilt.”
“Oh, for the love of- Haven't we had this conversation before?” His voice cracks with sudden pain, and he grimaces, reluctantly fumbling for the morphine button. He hits it once, and House tries not to register the rapid, shallow breaths that take too long to calm. “Not everything can be categorized, you know. There's no weights or measures for human feeling.”
“Everything can be explained, Wilson,” comes the solemn rejoinder. “People who say otherwise aren't trying hard enough.”
There was a
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