Fandom: House, MD
Characters/Pairing: Gregory House, James Wilson
Word Count: 4594
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language--and that's pretty much it. Some boy love is needed here, too.
Disclaimer: House, MD © David Shore
Summary: Moments don't last a lifetime. In fact, they don't last a minute. So whatever you do, don't let them slip through your fingers.
Author's Notes: I selected ten scenes from the House series that I didn't like or wanted to go about differently, and did just that--made them into what I wanted. I did use a lot of quotes from the scene, to keep it as close to the real thing as possible, up until the point of no return.There are no spoilers as far as I can see, as long as you've seen every episode up to the current one in season 5. So no need to worry about that. Each scene is like a little drabble, but not really. They are in no way connected to each other as a flowing story, but read as you like. They are in order by episode.

Sports Medicine - Monster Trucks

There's something terrifying about the gleeful expression on House's face. Wilson watches him warily as he shuffles through the drawer of his desk, and peers over the desktop with anxious anticipation.

It's when he jumps up with a manila envelope in his hand, eyes wide and expression the same that he gets when he's on the ultimate high, that Wilson thinks that maybe he should've stayed in his office.

"I scored," and before he knows it, the grin that couldn't get any bigger just did, "It's a brave new world, doc, and we are at the cutting edge." He hands the envelope to Wilson, who takes it warily and starts to pull it open. "You are looking at two all-access passes to paradise itself!"

He can't believe it. Actually, he can't believe a couple things, like the fact that House got these tickets and the fact that House actually thought of him and bought one for him.

So thoughtful. Now that's a warm and fuzzy feeling.

Or maybe it's just gas. If it is, it'll pass.

"How much?" He can feel his hands tremble with excitement and he clenches the envelope slightly, but falters in fear of crushing the precious treasure inside.

House's expression turned smug. "True cost, no man can say."

"Could that man's accountant say?"

"One thousand dollars." Oh god, a thousand dollars. House bought something and it was worth more than ten bucks and half of it was for him. Oh god, oh god, oh yessss."Friday night--the biggest official monster truck jam in the history of New Jersey!"

There's a sudden squeal of breaking tires, which is quickly followed by a loud explosion as everything suddenly went up in smoke--along with the warm and fuzzy feeling.

Friday? No...he can't have said Friday.


Wilson is suddenly feeling very nervous and holds onto the tickets like a life raft. "Okay, please tell me you didn't just say Friday night."

Even House's smug expression has turned into pure horror, then determination. "Whatever you've got, you cancel." His voice is firm and authoritative, and Wilson wants to obey. Yes, oh god, he wants to obey but ole by golly by Jesus, he can't.

Can he?

He can feel pressure building up behind his eyes and he knows it's not proper for an adult to cry because he can't go to a monster truck jam on a Friday night. "I-I can't do it!"

Oh god, now he's whining.

House is ranting now about forms and releases, and he's not really even listening at this point. He's trying to find an excuse now to either bail out on this sudden predicament, or even--

Wait a minute.

"...we could die," House starts waving an arm and a cane and Wilson suddenly tunes back into the same station and leaps at the desk. He holds up the envelope and grins as if he just figured out the best way to break into Fort Knox and take the loot without being caught.

"You know what, that lecture can wait. I do, what, nine or ten a year?" House looks at him suspiciously but then shrugs at it. "What's a miscommunication here and there? This Friday? I thought you meant next Friday. I mean, rectal cancer lectures? No, there is no way," he peers back into the little bundle of heaven and finds himself turning into goo.

"Damn right there's no way, now you give those back to me before you slobber all over them, or worse--eat them." House snatches the envelope and stashes it back into the safety of the desk drawer with a smirk. "Be ready bright and early. This is going to rock. And don't you DARE wear a tie." He limps out of his office and practically skips down the hallway.

It's only then when he's alone does he realize what he's done.

Why couldn't I go before? Why, wait--shit. What--

Stacy. Damnit, dinner with Stacy.


He heads back into his office and already has the phone ringing for her when she picks up after the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hello, Stacy? It's James. I--uh--I'm going to have to move our meeting onto Saturday, if that's all right with you. Something came up for Friday."

House versus God - Moving Out, Moving In, Moving On

It's odd to be walking side by side again, especially after the spat earlier that day (or was it yesterday? Wilson loses track of time.). But here they are, paired up like a couple, walking out and talking like nothing had happened.

They step out of the elevator and start going through the lobby when House brings up the inevitable.

"So, how's your girlfriend?"

Wilson knows this won't end well, so he decides to be honest, and also tries to wander around any unneeded information. "She's got a little more time out of this. Not a lot."

House nods almost knowingly. Their conversation continues about her status up until they reach the doorway, and that's when the big one hits like a fly ball out of nowhere.

"You're moving out?"


There's a brief silence as they regard the outside and the change in temperature. The silence between them is broken when suddenly, House is almost on top of him with wide eyes full of expectation. "You moving back in with me?"

At first, he's a little unnerved by the proximity. Usually House is the one screaming "OUT OF MY BUBBLE! You are in my bubble!", but now he's turned around and started invading other bubbles. It's a little uncomfortable, and Wilson inches away with a prepared 'no' on his tongue, but his mouth is rebellious and an excited "Can I?" pops out instead.

House shrugs at him and a smile it tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Sure. My couch is always open, and if you're a good boy, you may be promoted to the big kid's room."

Wilson is too stunned by the comment to be angry at his mouth, so he nods dumbly and the two walk to Wilson's car together without another word.

Whac-A-Mole - Bus Stop

It's chilly. It's damp. It's depressing.

Wilson sighs and tucks his hands into the sleeves of his coat as he stares out into the darkness of the night, waiting impatiently for the bus to arrive. He wants to oh-so badly get away from this place, but he's trapped here without a way to escape independently.

His only form of transportation is running late by fifteen minutes, and it's getting colder by the second. He's already lost feeling in his toes, and he knows they're going to hurt tonight in the shower back at the hotel.

His ass is feeling cold too. The bench is wet from the rain earlier, and the slight breeze that keeps passing through just chills him and he keeps finding himself shivering uncontrollably.

He's about ready to just get up and walk to the damned hotel when he hears a loud rev of a motorcycle, and he tries to ignore the approaching headlight of said motorcycle. The bright orange is hard to miss in the darkness, and he pretends that he doesn't notice the presence.

The vehicle stops in front of him, and he slowly raises his head and finds himself unexpectedly catching the gaze of the rider, who watches him with piercing blue eyes. House regards him coolly, and he just can't take it anymore. He bows his head, and wishes for the bus to arrive already, goddamnit.

The engine revs, and streaks off down the road. He isn't surprised. House wouldn't have stayed. Not after what he had done.

The sound of the bike grows quiet, but just as quickly as it did it starts to grow louder. His head pops up and he looks to see the same bike coming towards him.

Of course, it would be like House to mock him.

The bike slows to a stop in front of him, and the rider pulls off the helmet, tossing it with ease onto Wilson's lap.

"Get on."

The hard plastic feels warm against his fingers, and he carefully slips it on his head. He grabs his briefcase and quickly climbs on without a word, in fear that House will change his mind.

He is tense and scared. He doesn't dare wrap his arms around House's waist to avoid falling off. Instead, he clutches his briefcase in one hand and holds onto a bar with the other.

The motorcycle doesn't move for a moment, and he's already starting to feel dread in his stomach. Maybe House has already changed his mind? Oh please, please don't.

House's hand comes out behind him, grabs his arm and wraps it around his waist. He grabs the briefcase, takes it up front and straps it on with some bungee that Wilson doesn't remember ever seeing before, and finds his other arm being forced into the same fate as the other.

"I maybe an asshole, but I don't want you dead. Hang on."

Wilson feels his eyes burn and is thankful for the helmet so House doesn't see the tears that start to stream down his face as they race through the streets together.

Finding Judas - Failure

Goddamn that woman.

House limps angrily down the hall and throws open the door, marching in. He wants to slam his cane against something--preferably a person's skull at this point.

They're all idiots for not listening to him.

He hears water running and throws open the door and finds the woman he's pissed off at. She's soaked to the bone, cradling a child as cold water cascades down on them from the shower head. Her eyes are swelled up with tears and there's fear in her eyes.

"Look at her arm," her voice is close to cracking, but he doesn't care.

He wants to hurt her.

He doesn't bother to spare even a glance at the arm of the poor child, and instead hisses at her venomously. "Told you it was an infection."

Life springs into her eyes as she snaps at him. "We fixed the infection!"

He must crush her.

"Well, apparently not!" There's a sound of a door opening but he ignores it to further bitch at Cuddy. "I asked you for broad spectrum, you put her on the bare minimum! It's a good thing you failed to become a mom because you suck at it!"

He finds himself satisfied with the slack jaw and the deep expression of hurt on her face. He turns to walk away, but suddenly finds himself viciously shoved into the wall and pinned down by a pair of angry brown eyes.

"Don't you ever speak to her that way again," Wilson snarls in his face, and he can practically feel the anger that rolls off the oncologist in waves. "Do it again and I won't hesitate to break every bone in your body."

House sneers at him. "Finally grow a backbone, Jimmy?"

The hands that were on his shoulders are suddenly pressed up against his throat, thumbs pressed dangerously on his air pipe. "Do it, House. I dare you." The look in Wilson's eyes is defiant, and for once, House believes him and doesn't say a word as he is released and shoved away as Wilson goes into the shower to help Cuddy.

Merry Little Christmas - Mr. Zebalusky

He paces back and forth on the stoop and tries to find a reason, any reason, to be anywhere but here.

He's hoping that House is just being an asshole. He hopes that the whole reason why the phone remains unanswered it because of that, and nothing more. Originally he hoped it was because no one was home, but the fact that the motorcycle is parked out front crushed it almost instantaneously.

He pulls out the cell phone he borrowed and tries once more, hearing the ring within the apartment that remains unanswered for rings. The answering machine picks up and he hangs up before it beeps.

He resorts to pounding loudly and swears he'll strangle the man for this. "House! Are you okay? I called three times."

He tries the handle and finds it locked. He whips out his keys and finds the one he needs, unlocks the door, and enters on full alert--he's prepared to make a mad dash if House is armed with sharp, pointy things.

The apartment is silent, and he decides to stalk towards the bedroom and feels his blood run cold when he sees a set of legs just beyond the couch. He leaps into action, makes jumps and dives and is by House's side in mere seconds.

His fingers shake as he checks for a pulse, finding it weak but there. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and wrinkles his nose at the sight and smell of fresh vomit. He scans the room as he tries to ignore the unfocused look that House gives and his eyes beeline for the familiar brown bottle that rests without a care so close in reach.

He picks up the bottle and doesn't even need to read it to know that it was stolen. He is disappointed and angry, and he rises to leave the apartment. He's at the door when he hears a choked gurgle from behind and spins around in time to see House vomit all over the floor and his shirt. He's disgusted at how low his friend has become and decides that the only thing worse at this point is to leave him here to choke in his own puke.

He pulls off his jacket and throws it carelessly onto the piano bench before clapping his hands loudly. "Rise and shine, you idiot, and Merry Christmas. Guess what? I'm going to be the one to stop you from dying in your vomit tonight. Don't feel lucky because when you finally get off your high I'm going to bitch both of your ears off, and then some."

He ignores the empty look that the man gives him and manhandles him into the bathroom, throwing him into the tub carelessly and pretends that the awkward groan wasn't from the bad leg landing first, but from his head hitting the tiled wall.

Half Wit - Don't Panic

It's been a peaceful day, overall. House hasn't come in to steal his lunch yet, no surprise consults, and better yet, no patients to sentence.

He's halfway done with a stack of paperwork when the phone rings, and he curses himself for jinxing the good fortune. He picks up the phone and cradles it between his ear and shoulder before he speaks. "Dr. Wilson."

"Hey, Wilson, what's up?"

He blinks slowly before narrowing his eyes. "Nothing except paperwork. Why?"

"Oh nothing." There's a pause and Wilson knows that House knows that he's suspicious. "Well, there is something."

"And that would be--" He wishes House would just hop over the balcony barrier and talk to him because it's better to make faces to get a point across than emphasizing and trying to show rapid hand waving that never gets to be seen.

"When Cuddy comes in, don't panic. There is nothing wrong with me. Just--play along."

Wilson jerks his head and catches the phone in time to get out a barked "House--" but his door is suddenly thrown open and the woman in question barges in, closes the door, and starts checking the blinds.

"Remember, don't panic." The phone goes dead and Wilson hangs up before Cuddy turns to face him.

"What's up?"

She looks nervous and starts to fidget. "Do you know Dr. Kupersmith in Boston?"

He suspicious now and tries not to show it. "Yeah, he's an oncologist. What's up?"

The fear in her eyes is starting to grow. "What's his sub-specialty?"

"Brain cancer," he frowns and suddenly feels like he's being used in an evil plot. "What's going on?"

Cuddy only stares at him with eyes brimming with unspoken fear and he knows that House is up to no good.

Half Wit - Pizza, Movie, or Something

The clock on his VCR turns and it reads eight in the evening. He's bored out of his mind, and he's slightly annoyed now that he's been found out by everybody. Well, almost everybody. Wilson already knew, the sonofabitch, before he even got the best parts of his act out.

"How depressed are you?!"

"I'm not depressed."

Wilson looks unconvinced. "You faked...cancer."

He didn't mean to. It was there, the opportunity was valuable, and he was curious.

Besides, curiosity only killed the cat, right?

Wilson starts to throw his arms around and now House knows that Wilson is pissed. "You made people think you were going to die!"

"I didn't make them! I tried to hide it! You idiots needed to get into my business!"

Instead of snapping back, Wilson only laughs and his stomach sinks.

"I'm sure I'll regret asking, but why are you laughing?"

"It's ironic," Wilson turns to him, his smile is bitter and his eyes lack any warmth and humor that they normally held.


"Depression in cancer patients. It's not as common as you think." Wilson gets into a rant about how the dying alone is what gets people depressed, and how people try to be with others so they aren't. He then pulls House into his lecture. "You don't have cancer. You do have people who give a damn. So what do you do?" There's that cynical laugh again and the hairs on the back of his neck start to stand on end. "You fake the cancer, then push the people who care away."

"Because...they're boring." Wilson's face falls at House's statement and he feels a little giddy now. "Go home to your hotel room and laugh at that irony."

Wilson, however, just smiles at him. "Start small, House. Take a chance. Maybe...something that doesn't involve sticking stuff into your brain." He approaches and there's something in his eyes that reads desperation. "Pizza with a friend." He bows with a sweeping gesture and rises to sweep his arm as he continues. "A movie. Something."

He taps his finger repetitively on the remote and turns his head warily to stare at the phone. With a sigh, he reaches over, grabs the damn thing, and dials. After several rings, the call is answered. "Hello?"

"Hey, you bring the movies, I got the pizza."

There's a silence at the other end of the line before he hears a soft laugh and can practically see the grin through the phone. "All right. Be over in a few minutes."

He hangs up only to redial for Tony's Pizzeria.

Act Your Age - Blasphemer!

The very minute that the words leave House's mouth, Wilson knows there's two ways to go about this. The first being honest about it, and the second is to have a little fun.

He decides to have a little fun because fun at House's expense is better than no fun at all.

He looks up and chews silently on his sandwich for a moment before nodding down to his plating. "Fries?"

House leans in intently. "You took her to a play," Wilson now rolls his eyes as his friend ignores him, "You only take women to plays because..."

He now has to cut in before his sex life becomes mainline entertainment. "No, you only take women to plays for that reason. That's your theory."

House nods with a knowing look, then stops to narrow his eyes. "Okay, then why did you take her to a play?"

Wilson puts his sandwich down on his plate and wipes his hands on a napkin. "She's a friend."

"A friend with a squish mitten."

Wilson stops and glares at him. "It is possible to have a friend of the opposite sex without..."

"BLASPHEMER!" Wilson blinks repeatedly and decides that he's had enough of this 'lecture' and waits until the fry that House stole is practically in his mouth before playing his card.

"Yes, I slept with her."

The fry's journey came to an abrupt halt and House's eyes widened comically as he stared in shock. "Seriously?"

He keeps a straight face and simply shakes his head once. "No." He goes to pick up his sandwich but pauses when he feels the eyes burning on his head now.

"Yes you did!" The fry is still floating before his mouth and House seems to realize that as he goes to pop it in and Wilson decides that yeah, he can take it.

"Yes, I did." He whispers. More dramatic.

It brings the shock out of House again.

Same wide eyes, same lingering fry. "Seriously?"

He smiles. "Yes."

The fry drops to the table and Wilson holds back a laugh as he takes a bite out of his sandwich, ignoring the gaping fish impression that House was currently doing.

97 Seconds - The Page

He was going to kill the idiot.

The moment that House regained consciousness, he was going to scream and yell at him, then strangle him, and maybe for added effect, smother him with a pillow.

Wilson watched in silence, waiting for the idiot to wake up.

Fifteen minutes later, and one thousand 'I'll kill this sonofabitch's later, House opens his eyes and turns his head slowly. Wilson purses his lips and pretends that he's not going to cry any minute now.

"You're an idiot." House looks away and now he's tempted to stab something. "You nearly killed yourself."

"That was the whole idea."

Wilson blinks rapidly and narrows his eyes. "You wanted to kill yourself?"

House looks back to him and does an awkward shrug. "I wanted to nearly kill myself. Is he...better?"

Wilson glares at him and decides that he's going to take control of this right now. "No, we are not deflecting from this." He stands up and approaches the head of the bed, resisting the previous temptation of smothering the man with a pillow. "You paged me. You paged me to go to your office only to give me a light show and end up without a pulse for nearly a minute."

The man rolls his eyes dramatically and looks away. "Oh, I knew better. I should've called Cutthroat."

The oncologist snaps a finger at him and points at him viciously. "You killed yourself in front of me! What the hell did you want me to do? Congratulate you on not dying? News flash, you did die, and I swear, if you do it again and live, I'll kill you myself."

House's face scrunches up as Wilson paces the floor. "What would it matter if I was dead or alive? It'd probably be better if I was gone, right?" Wilson freezes and stares at him numbly. "I mean--no one would use you, steal your money, your food, ruin your marriages..."

"Shut up." Wilson brushes a hand on his forehead and turns away, trying very hard to keep his emotions in check and not to break down. "Just shut up, House."

"But wouldn't it be...?"

"No, goddamnit!" Wilson whirls and the dam breaks. "You better not leave me behind, you asshole."

They stare at each other for a moment before House slowly nods his head, then shifts with a grunt of pain.

Wilson wipes his eyes quickly and approaches, grabbing the clipboard and yanks out a pen, silently running it across the paper while ignoring the thankful look from his friend.

Not Cancer - Please Don't Do This

He's desperately trying not to look at him.

House is mocking him. He doesn't even need to say a thing, and he's still mocking him. He shows up on the doorstep, demanding for him to talk to have an epiphany, and now they stand in silence as he tries to desperately not look at him and break down.

The cane taps against the floor a couple times, and Wilson misses the sound so much. He misses being by his side, he misses their chats and their jokes, and--

--goddamnit, he can't do this.

He looks up unwillingly and sees a sad face looking back at him. His breath catches in his throat and he feels like he's suffocating.

House offers a shy smile, and he's close to dying now. He knows it.

"How are you?" His voice is soft, and there's a break in it like he's trying to hold something in check too. Wilson's afraid to answer because he knows that if he says one word, the control and the walls he started to build are going to crumble and he's going with it.

He just shakes his head and tries to close the door, but a hand stops it and he starts to shake.

Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to me.

He avoids looking into his blue eyes and keeps his gaze locked on the floor. Somehow, though, his eyes lock onto the flames of the cane.

"Makes it look like I'm going faster."

"It's nice."

"It's bitchin'."

"Wilson, please..." His voice has broken and Wilson looks up to see his face glittering, eyes turning red, and his hands are trembling in the door.

His chest tightens at the sight, and he wants to close the door and forget that he ever saw it. "Please, please don't do this." His voice is cracking like his walls, and pretty soon, he's going to crash.

House apparently already has.

"Goddamnit Wilson," his voice is high, and he shakes his head back and forth. "Don't leave me." He looks up and Wilson feels the walls tip and start to give. "I need you."

Everything crashes down, and Wilson lets out a haggard sob before lunging forward to grab House. He squeezes him with desperation and feels House return the embrace.

"You bastard," he chokes. "Why do you always do this to me? Why can't I just--drop you and leave?"

House tenses, but relaxes as he starts to rock them gently. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

Wilson laughs and House pulls back, fear on his face. "No you're not. If you were sorry, you wouldn't have done it in the first place."

The man looks rejected and looks to the ground, and Wilson knows that now's the time.

"We need to talk."

House looks up and nods. "Of course."

"There's to be new rules."

"All right."

"We're going to set new boundaries," Wilson tugs at House's arm and the man lets himself be pulled into the apartment silently, and Wilson closes the door behind them.

"Were there any to start with?"

Wilson purses his lips and House looks down in shame. "Sorry."

"No, I just--I'm trying to hate you still and I shouldn't because you're trying," he stops and sniffs. "I still want the old House."

He looks confused. "The sarcastic, evil, manipulative one?"

Wilson softly scoffs. "The very same."

"But--" he looks hesitant. "Won't you leave again if I--"

"That's why I said we need new boundaries," Wilson pushes him down to the bed and sits beside him, ignoring how their thighs brush against each other with each movement.

House looks nervous, but he nods and swallows. "Okay. I'll--I just don't want you to leave again."

Wilson smiles at him and leans towards him. "I won't have to this time."

He leans in slowly, nervously, and closes his eyes as he shyly presses his lips onto House's.