Fic: He Told Me He Loved Me
Title: He Told Me He Loved Me.
Fandom: House MD
Characters: House/Wilson friendship/pre-slash, slight House/Cuddy
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: S4E3, 97 Seconds"
Disclaimer: I don't own House.
Summary: "He told me he loved me." Wilson said, and everyone replied.
Word count: 541
Status: Complete
A/N: Because of that AMAZING scene last night (I know all h/w shippers will know what I mean), here's a post-ep fic. It takes place the week or so after the scene.
"He told me he loved me."
Nancy, Wilson's therapist, leaned forward, confused. "Who? Your father, a patient-"
"House."
As Wilson watched Nancy process this information, he sat back into the hard leather sofa, much different than House's lumpy, stained couch, and feigned indifference. The heat of the room was almost unbearable, even in the fall, and Wilson resisted the urge to take off his tie and roll up his sleeves. Studying the therapist's face he could tell exactly what she was thinking: House? Love him, love anyone? She was drawing her conclusions from the stories Wilson told her, about House when he was at his lowest low. When House's pain was shown on Wilson's face, when they were both miserable. But did she know House? Did she know him when he was almost peaceful, almost happy, almost... loving?
She couldn't, she wouldn't. She would only know a House painted by Wilson pain-filled stories, and that House could never love anyone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"He told me he loved me."
Cuddy knew exactly who he was talking about. "When?"
"When he woke up. I asked him if he saw anything, he insisted on doing a differential on his patient. He wanted to talk to the guy with the knife, and I kept pressuring him... he refused to tell me anything. I could tell he was in pain, I ordered more meds. Then he just came out and, well... he said it.
"He was saying thank you for the meds," Cuddy replied without question. "He didn't... mean it."
Wilson looked at her for a second, in disbelief. "Why?" He questioned, almost angry. Then, more quietly, "Did he ever tell you, when you were in college?"
Her eyes grew distant, she nodded slowly. "Once," she whispered.
Wilson walked out, leaving Cuddy staring into the past.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He told me he loved me.
Wilson argued with himself. It was for the meds. He didn't mean it, he was drugged, House was messing with him. He meant it, he really did love him, it wasn't drug induced words, he wasn't just thanking him for the meds. What should I have said? Wilson wondered, turning the events over and over in his mind. Should I have said that I loved him back, should I have smirked, should I have done something, anything?
And then, slowly, through foosball games and beer filled nights on House's couch, Wilson realized he did say something back, through his rants, his jokes, his conversations about nothing. He said, I love you too. And Wilson only hoped House could hear him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You told me you loved me."
"Yeah." House appeared disinterested: he searched his desk for some unknown object. "Meds do that to you."
Wilson rubbed his neck, sighing. "House-"
"I didn't see anything."
"That's not what I was asking. House- were you just thanking me for the meds?"
House looked at him, meeting his eyes before looking down again.
"What do you think?"
Wilson nodded once, twice, and left the office, walking slowly down the hall. He threw House's words around in his head, grinning slightly. House's comment was the only one that mattered, the only one he could really trust.
And Wilson loved House back, just for that, just for everything.
Wilson just loved House.
~Muse
Fandom: House MD
Characters: House/Wilson friendship/pre-slash, slight House/Cuddy
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: S4E3, 97 Seconds"
Disclaimer: I don't own House.
Summary: "He told me he loved me." Wilson said, and everyone replied.
Word count: 541
Status: Complete
A/N: Because of that AMAZING scene last night (I know all h/w shippers will know what I mean), here's a post-ep fic. It takes place the week or so after the scene.
"He told me he loved me."
Nancy, Wilson's therapist, leaned forward, confused. "Who? Your father, a patient-"
"House."
As Wilson watched Nancy process this information, he sat back into the hard leather sofa, much different than House's lumpy, stained couch, and feigned indifference. The heat of the room was almost unbearable, even in the fall, and Wilson resisted the urge to take off his tie and roll up his sleeves. Studying the therapist's face he could tell exactly what she was thinking: House? Love him, love anyone? She was drawing her conclusions from the stories Wilson told her, about House when he was at his lowest low. When House's pain was shown on Wilson's face, when they were both miserable. But did she know House? Did she know him when he was almost peaceful, almost happy, almost... loving?
She couldn't, she wouldn't. She would only know a House painted by Wilson pain-filled stories, and that House could never love anyone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"He told me he loved me."
Cuddy knew exactly who he was talking about. "When?"
"When he woke up. I asked him if he saw anything, he insisted on doing a differential on his patient. He wanted to talk to the guy with the knife, and I kept pressuring him... he refused to tell me anything. I could tell he was in pain, I ordered more meds. Then he just came out and, well... he said it.
"He was saying thank you for the meds," Cuddy replied without question. "He didn't... mean it."
Wilson looked at her for a second, in disbelief. "Why?" He questioned, almost angry. Then, more quietly, "Did he ever tell you, when you were in college?"
Her eyes grew distant, she nodded slowly. "Once," she whispered.
Wilson walked out, leaving Cuddy staring into the past.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He told me he loved me.
Wilson argued with himself. It was for the meds. He didn't mean it, he was drugged, House was messing with him. He meant it, he really did love him, it wasn't drug induced words, he wasn't just thanking him for the meds. What should I have said? Wilson wondered, turning the events over and over in his mind. Should I have said that I loved him back, should I have smirked, should I have done something, anything?
And then, slowly, through foosball games and beer filled nights on House's couch, Wilson realized he did say something back, through his rants, his jokes, his conversations about nothing. He said, I love you too. And Wilson only hoped House could hear him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You told me you loved me."
"Yeah." House appeared disinterested: he searched his desk for some unknown object. "Meds do that to you."
Wilson rubbed his neck, sighing. "House-"
"I didn't see anything."
"That's not what I was asking. House- were you just thanking me for the meds?"
House looked at him, meeting his eyes before looking down again.
"What do you think?"
Wilson nodded once, twice, and left the office, walking slowly down the hall. He threw House's words around in his head, grinning slightly. House's comment was the only one that mattered, the only one he could really trust.
And Wilson loved House back, just for that, just for everything.
Wilson just loved House.
~Muse