Title: Five Conversations House and Wilson May or May Not Have Had
Rating: T, for language
Fandom / Pairing: House, M.D., genfic and humor
Disclaimer: I...have no clever quip today.
Summary: What the title says. Pre-series to mid S3.
Notes: I haven't watched House since Merry Little Christmas, or the middle of S3, so I'm a little rusty at this.
Notes II: For this round's fraternizing challenge over at LJ, featuring drama and humor, oh my!
"Did you take my pen?"
He twirled his cane idly while leaning back in his chair. "The gold one, with the filigree and the refillable tip? Of course not."
"You did!" Wilson stepped into the office and towered over the seated House. "Give it back."
"But Jimmy, I never took your pen."
"Now I know you did." He sighed. "Where is it, House?"
House paused - even the cane stopped - and spoke carefully. "I'll give it back if you do me a favor."
"Blackmail, House? Really?"
"It's come to this." He sighed again. "Fine. What do you want?"
"Could you talk Cameron into making more coffee?"
"Maybe you should stop with the anger."
"The anger?" He stole Wilson's open bag of chips and put a handful on his plate.
"You know, the surly, I'm-so-angry-fear-me thing."
He raised a graying eyebrow at Wilson. "You're kidding."
"No, I'm perfectly serious. It can't be healthy."
House let out a bark of a laugh. "Tell you what. I'll stop being angry when the coffee here stops tasting like piss."
"Wilson, do me a favor."
Wilson looked up from the charts he was updating. "I didn't hear you say please."
"Oh, now you're just being petty."
"I'm the one being petty?" he retorted mildly, continuing to ignore House in favor of the charts.
"Look," House starts, leaning over Wilson's desk, a hand on the edge of the folder, "I'm asking."
Wilson looks up at him, eyes dark with something House can't quite read. "You'd need to beg. You won't," he states bluntly, then brushes off House's hand and continues filling in stats.
"The hell with you," House mutters, and stalks off to the sound of a pen scratching ceaslessly on paper.
The space is dark when Wilson turns the key and pushes open the door.
"House?" he calls, but gets no response. A light flickers in the room with the television, and Wilson makes his way over once he's hung his coat and set his keys down on the counter.
"House," he calls again, and steps into the blue-lit room. House sits on the couch, eyes peering at the television. There's a haunted look there, unfamliar on the features it graces.
The gaunt face turns to Wilson before turning away. Wilson can see the cane flung across the room, and the dent in the wall where it struck and sighs.
"I'll make something," he says, and turns off the television.
"Get me more Vicodin?"
"Not on your life," Wilson retorts, flicking his wrist and scoring a goal. House's goalie spins in place uselessly.
"I could steal your perscription pad again." The ball drops into the middle of the foosball table once more.
"I'm not going to put my neck on the line for you again. I like my neck where it is just fine, thanks." He spins his line of three players, managing to punt the ball back to the other side.
"You've said that before, too."
"I mean it, House."
"God, you sound like a broken record."
"I really do!"
"Whatever, Wilson." He flips his line of three and scores. "One for the cripple."
"I hate you."
"Love you, too, sunshine. You owe me lunch."
"You owe me lunch. Several lunches."
1. The five bold words are the five stages of grief. shrug I just thought it would be a nice tie of themes. That, and I'm seriously saddened by where the show chose to go as opposed to where I had hoped it would.
2. fraternizing prompt #25:Miranda: Maybe it's time I stopped being so angry.
Carrie: Yah, but what would you do with all your free time?
– Sex and the City
3. This is for all the House fans watching my LJ. You guys deserve a bone once and again, I think.
4. Originally published 17 December 2007.