Fandom: House MD
Rating: G to PG-13
Genre: From angst to fluff
Wordcount: 2 867
Feedback: Yes please, I live on it
Disclaimer: I don't own House MD or any of the characters. I'm just playing around a bit.
Summary: In which tea is drunk, angst ensues twice, ruckus is caused, Billy Joel is sung, cuddling occurs and ties are being yanked.
Author's Note: A few days ago I stumbled over something called 'The I-Pod challenge' and I immediately got hooked on the idea. It's really just the same as the book challenge that is so popular right now, only that you take your I-Pod/MP3-player and put it on shuffle and use the first ten song-titles as prompts instead of sentences. I decided to try it, and here's the result. This is un-beta'd, so if you see any mistakes, please point them out. Oh, and bonus points to anyone who can figure out what movie House and Wilson are watching. g
Now, please enjoy the fic!
01. Skin (Breaking Benjamin)
"House! If we don't hurry up we'll be late to Lisa's party!"
"I'm not the one who's still in the bedroom," House called back from his seat on the couch, not looking up from the magazine he was reading. The sound of sock-clad feet on parquet was heard and then it suddenly stopped.
"Well, I'm ready to go now. Are you?" Wilson asked, and House turned around to answer when the words died on his tongue.
Wilson was dressed in a pair of dark denim jeans and a black, relatively tight shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and one, two, three of the uppermost buttons were unbuttoned.
House kept forgetting how arousing the sight of skin was.
"The party can wait," he proclaimed as he got up from the couch. Wilson stared incredulously at House.
"Wait? If we don't go now, we'll be la--" Wilson started but was interrupted by House's lips against his own. Without premises, House pushed his friend against the wall behind them and deepened the kiss as he buried his hands in Wilson's hair.
When they parted a minute later to catch their breath, House looked at the man before him. Wilson's hair was tousled from House's fingers, his lips red and shiny and his eyes were glazed. In House's opinion, he looked nearly perfect.
"Yeah," Wilson agreed in a hoarse whisper. "The party can wait."
The two men then proceeded to stumble into the bedroom and didn't leave it until the next morning.
02. The Trick Is To Keep Breathing (Garbage)
Being one of the most important persons in Greg House's life means two things -- one, you will never again be able to place yourself in the first room, and two, you always have to keep up with the insanely fast, and often inexplicable, twists and turns of the madman's mind. There is also the unwritten rule of never being boring, but if you manage the main two you are pretty much in the clear.
Wilson has lived by these rules for over a decade. It is tiresome and exhausting and he'd had to sacrifice most of his sanity over the years, but he would be lying if he said he hadn't enjoyed the ride. He had, and is still. He just has to hang on tight and remember to breathe while he's laughing with either joy or hysteria.
Being with House means excitement, crazy pranks, constantly playing with fire and saying farewell to peace and quiet. While it is dangerous, it's also one of the few things that makes Wilson feel alive. He wouldn't trade his friendship with House for anything in the whole world. Keeping up with House's sudden changes of mind has become an irretrievable part of his life.
So when House grabs his tie and yanks him forward, lips meeting in a bruising kiss, Wilson's only thought is to remember to breathe.
03. Honey And The Moon (Joseph Arthur)
As Wilson stirred the cup of tea he was holding, he looked out the kitchen window. The light of the city illuminated the night, making the world dark but not pitch-black. But while the stars delicate light had been drowned, the moon still stood out in the cloudless sky. As full and bright as it was, it was just the kind of moon that had made the younger and more naïve James Wilson want to believe in werewolves and magic.
Wilson shook his head and smiled a little as he laid aside the spoon on the kitchen counter. He held the steaming cup with both hands as he padded into the dark living room, the floor cold to his bare feet. The man sitting by the piano looked up to acknowledge the other's presence in the room. No lights were on, the only illumination coming through the windows from the streets outside, and House's face was almost completely hid in shadows.
Wilson held out the mug to his friend, and House accepted it with a mumbled "Thanks." The whisper was loud and intrusive in the thick silence of the night, but to Wilson it was welcome. At nights like these, when his friend couldn't overcome his insomnia, it felt strangely enough almost comforting to stay up with House until the pre-dawn hours or until he dozed off from exhaustion.
House took a sip of the tea and then let out an almost mewling noise. "Good God, what did you put in this?" he asked and screwed his face up. "It's insanely sweet."
Wilson smiled as he sat down on the couch. "I thought you didn't believe in God," he remarked and leaned against the armrest. Then he said, "I added some extra honey." House huffed, but he didn't put away the cup.
The faint sounds of drinking and calm breathing were the only things to be heard in the still night air.
04. Psychobabble (Frou Frou)
Wilson opened the door to House's apartment hastily and dumped the carrier bag and his briefcase on the floor inside.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he said hurriedly as he started to take off his coat. House had asked him to come by around eight, but it was nearly nine now. "The board meeting ran over the time and traffic was horrible. Apparently there was an accident on Washington Road or something, I'm not quite sure. In any case, there were tailbacks everywhere."
He hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes. When House didn't answer or even give a snide remark, he turned around. "House?"
Wilson could see his friend's head over the back of the couch, but House's figure seemed to be slumped. The TV wasn't on, and Wilson couldn't see any bottle of hard liquor standing around. "House, is something wrong?" he asked carefully, and when House failed to reply yet again, he cautiously neared the couch. He was just about to reach out and touch his friend and ask again, when he saw the coffee table.
Dozens of photocopies laid scattered across the low table, seemingly all of them of notes of some kind. A tape-recorder was also on the table and beside it laid an empty cassette-sleeve. With an icy feeling of dread in his stomach, Wilson slowly leaned forward and glanced at one of the notes. The dread became heavy as lead and a lump formed in his throat.
It was the notes from his therapy sessions.
Wilson was so shocked that it actually took a moment for him to realize that House had spoken.
"You love me," House said, his voice dangerously stripped of emotions. "You are in love with me."
With a rapidly beating heart, a numb mind and shaking hands, Wilson did the only thing he could think of.
He backed away from the couch, turned around and fled the apartment.
05. Miracle Drug (U2)
"Still feeling like crap?"
"What? Oh, hi. You know, normally I would appreciate such a generous show of concern, but since it's you I assume you have an ulterior motive for asking."
"Aw, that's harsh. I'm just asking a simple question, no need to be snappish about it."
"Very well, the answer is 'Yes, I'm still feeling awful.' Seriously, I think I might be coming down with a cold or something..."
"I don't think so. You don't have a fever, your nose isn't running and your throat's fine. You're fit as a fiddle."
"Well, I don't feel fit as a fiddle, so excuse me for not agreeing with your diagnosis."
"Apology not accepted. Here, open up."
"House, what... mmmph."
"Hey, don't chew off my finger!"
"... Chocolate? Why are you feeding me chocolate? Why are you feeding me, period?"
"Oh, just shut up and eat it."
"See? That wasn't so hard now, was it?"
"... Feeling any better yet?"
"Surprisingly enough, yeah, I actually do. You didn't lace it with something, did you?"
"Nope, it's just plain, regular chocolate."
"Good, I was starting to worry... Why are you smirking at me like that?"
"You are such a woman."
06. Hide And Seek (Imogen Heap)
"You're not going to tell me why we are hiding, no matter how much I ask, are you?"
"Nope," House affirmed with a grin and Wilson sighed.
They'd been sitting on the balcony for over half an hour, shoulder to shoulder, their backs resting against the brick wall behind them. House had brought along a pillow to sit on, but Wilson hadn't had time to bring along anything since House had more or less had kidnapped him.
At first Wilson had thought it was some kind of twisted joke, but after ten minutes he'd started to doubt that. After twenty minutes he'd managed to squeeze out of House that they were hiding. Now the only question remaining was whom they were hiding from, although that wasn't too hard to figure out. A much more interesting question was why Wilson absolutely had to be a part of it.
"You know this is a stupid hide-out, right? Cuddy will find you right away," Wilson said and rested the back of his head against the wall. The late afternoon sun was warm and gentle on his face, and he closed his eyes.
"She hasn't found me yet," House replied and Wilson could hear the cheerful grin in his voice. Obviously House had created a ruckus somewhere, and was just waiting for an infuriated Cuddy to show up.
Wilson opened his eyes and turned his head to look at his friend. When he saw the childish excitement and the pleased expression, he decided that House didn't need a lecture today. Turning his face to the sun again, he relaxed and just enjoyed the simple feeling of thinking everything was alright.
Try Again (Keane)
Sequel to "Psychobabble"
They hadn't spoken for a days since the incident. For the first couple of days House thought it was pretty much justified, but when it had gone four days and Wilson still avoided him, he started to become restless. He even tried to seek out Wilson by day five, but every time he tried Wilson would just look at him with cold and hurtful eyes and House would leave without having said a word.
But when a week has passed and House still hadn't spoken to Wilson, he decided to tackle the matter head-on and fight against his pride. If he didn't, he feared that he might actually lose Wilson.
House waited until Wilson was getting himself ready to leave for the night, and then climbed over the dividing wall on their shared balcony. He considered for a moment to knock, but didn't and just opened the door like he always did.
Wilson visibly flinched, and refused to look up from his desk. House looked down too, although out of awkwardness rather than anger. He waited for Wilson to say something, but the room was dangerously quiet.
Then House closed his eyes, swallowed and desperately tried to smother his pride. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He closed it, embarrassed, and then tried again.
"I'm not going to apologize, because you wouldn't believe that I was sincere," he said, voice strained and quiet and he was still staring at the floor. "But I am sorry for the way you found out."
House dared a quick glance up, and realized that he was holding his breath.
Wilson looked at him, as if waiting for him to continue, but then sighed and looked down. His shoulders slumped slightly and he covered his face with his left hand. After a few seconds he uncovered his face and looked directly at House. House quickly ducked his head.
"Did you see what Dr. Hill thinks about you?" Wilson asked after a short pause, his voice flat and emotionless. House was still for a moment and then nodded slowly.
"She thinks you're better off without me," he mumbled, refusing to look up at his friend.
Wilson sighed again and bit his lower lip. He looked at a spot somewhere to the right of House's shoulder, seemingly deep in contemplation, and then shook his head.
"... Pizza at your place?" he asked, glancing at House, something almost resembling resignation in his voice.
House looked up, feeling cautiously hopeful against his better judgment, and when Wilson didn't say anything more he nodded.
"Good. You're paying," Wilson said and grabbed his coat and briefcase and headed towards the door. House followed him, and for once didn't argue.
08. Bliss (Muse)
If anyone from the hospital walked in on them now, House thought, they probably wouldn't believe their eyes.
He and Wilson were sitting on the couch, watching a very confusing British romantic comedy that Wilson had insisted on renting. Or rather, Wilson was watching while House pretended to watch.
Wilson had his feet propped up on the table and was leaning against the back of the sofa, his eyes focused on the screen. House on the other hand was lying on the couch with his head in his friend's lap, eyes closed and with one of his hands resting on Wilson's left leg. Wilson had one hand in House's hair and was idly threading his fingers through it, and the other was holding a can of beer.
House opened his eyes slightly and peered at the screen. Alan Rickman and Rowan Atkinson seemed to be making a fuss, and then suddenly Emma Thompson showed up and House closed his eyes again. He hadn't followed the movie, so instead of being humorous as it probably was supposed to be, it was only confusing. But Wilson seemed to find it entertaining, if his soft chuckled was anything to go by.
House let out an almost content sigh, and then felt how he slowly started to drowse off. The last memory he had before he fell asleep was the warm and gentle hand caressing his hair.
09. You May Be Right (Billy Joel)
House let his fingers rest on the piano keys for a moment before he started to play. He grinned when he heard how the clatter in the kitchen became more aggressive after just three seconds of the intro. House kept playing, but got no further reaction. He then took a deep breath and started to sing.
"Even rode my motorcycle in the rain," he sung, loudly and merrily. "And you told me not to drive but I made it home alive, so you say that only proves that I'm insane."
"House..." Wilson lamented, his voice sounding like something between a groan and a plea.
House ignored it and cheerfully continued. "You may be right, I may be crazy. But it just might be a lunatic you're looking for."
"Can't we have just one anniversary without you playing that song?" Wilson asked, now leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen, his shirtsleeves still rolled up and hands and forearms wet. That didn't stop him from placing his hands on his hips, though.
"Hey, you're the one that said 'You're crazy, bordering on deranged, but that's who you are and I love you anyway', remember?" House pointed out, still grinning. Wilson sighed and was just about to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he lowered his hand before he got soap lather in his eyes.
"Yes, and I regret it every year," he said irritated, but House just continued playing, the grin never leaving his face.
"Remember how I found you there, alone in your electric chair. I told you dirty jokes until you smiled."
Wilson let out an exasperated sigh and went back into the kitchen.
10. Easy Way To Cry (David Gray)
The last time Wilson could recall he had really cried was during the aftermath of the infarction, after Stacy's leave and the rehab. Since then, he had been on the verge many times, but he had never actually shed any tears.
So when his eyes suddenly started to water that perfectly normal Saturday night, he had no idea why. Tears were running down his cheeks in rapid streams and they refused to stop, no matter how many times he wiped them away.
"Wilson?" House asked, an almost undetectable quiver in his voice. The unspoken 'Are you okay? What the hell happened?' hung heavily in the air.
"Nothing, I'm fine, I'm... Really, I'm fine," Wilson said, his voice surprisingly stable with only the slightest of wavering in it. The confused and awkward look didn't disappear from House's face though, and he watched Wilson almost warily. "No, seriously, nothing's wrong."
House nodded slowly, still not entirely convinced, but while he didn't offer comfort, he didn't shy away either.
Wilson spent the next ten minutes wiping more tears away. He didn't want to call it 'crying' since it really was more of 'water coming from his eyes' -- he wasn't sobbing, he didn't feel sad or anything.
Eventually it stopped though, but the awkwardness remained between the two men. Later that night they went to sleep together as usual, and they didn't talk about it the next morning. After that everything went back to normal, or at least their own screwed-up version of 'normal'.