ineffablefandom: Fall

[dontkeepkosher]

“You haven’t got any food in the house,” Wilson remarked as he stood in front of the fridge, door open, leaning over to peer inside. A near-empty container of butter, three slices of bread, half a shrivelled tomato on a saucer, a carton of eggs with only one egg left in it, four bottles of beer

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[gotcanewillpoke]

After Wilson had gone, House went into the kitchen to get the beer Wilson had opened and left on the counter. Beer in hand, he went back to the couch and the television. He sat down harder than he'd intended, and a jolt of pain streaked through his leg and crept up into his lower back.

He thrust his cane to the side with a grunt, and tried to get comfortable like he'd been before Wilson had to storm in and ruin his mood. He stared at the television for hours, and had no idea what was going on. Shows came on and ended and he didn't even know what he'd watched.

The half empty beer bottle was still in his hand, his fingers aching from the tight grip on the neck, when his phone rang and startled him back to awareness. He blinked, rubbed his face with his free hand while his other hand set the beer on the table next to him.

He didn't answer the phone.

[dontkeepkosher]

Wiilson had been home, in his silent and empty apartment, for a number of hours before he decided on a whim to phone House. He was only going to phone him once, and once only, and if House wasn't going to answer then Wilson decided he wasn't going to bother.

He'd stood there, phone pressed againt his ear, with an uncomfortable and angry expression on his face. That expression only hardened as the ringing continued, and when Wilson was too frustrated to continue listening to it, knowing that House wasn't going to answer, he hung up by slamming the phone down onto the cradle.

Fine, if that was the way House was going to be, then... Wilson took to rubbing his neck as he walked away from the phone, his other hand braced on his hip.

Why did he tolerate House as much as he had again? To be treated like this?

[gotcanewillpoke]

He knew it was Wilson on the phone. No one else ever called him. HIs mother, sometimes. Rarely. She knew he hated to talk on the phone. Wilson knew it too.

He should have answered. Apologised. Asked for help. No. Never. He didn't need help, and he had nothing to apologise for. If he wanted to sit around with no food in the house, that was his choice. He was the one with the bad leg, and the cold made it ache all the more.

Maybe he'd order a pizza. Have it delivered. Yeah. That's what he'd do. He'd order a pizza, and then there'd be food. He could eat off it for days. Except he had no energy to get to the phone and call it in.

He'd rather sit and stare at the television. Even though he had no idea what he was watching.

He took a sip of Wilson's beer. Warm. Gross. Nasty. he felt it slide all the way down. Felt it pour into his very empty stomach. A pizza really did sound good. He just coudln't motivate himself to call it in.

[dontkeepkosher]

So, somehow, for Wilson, it went from deciding to never bother with House again, to thinking maybe he should call him one more time, to deciding against that, to worrying, to finally shrugging his coat back on and grabbing his keys up. All of that took place over a span of a couple of hours because Wilson was as stubborn as House could be and he was determined not to let House get the better of him