![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
And the prose just keeps rolling . . .
Until then, here it is.
Its slashy
Its House/Wilson
It reminds me of an Aerosmith song.
LS is the co-pilot, steering me round commas and run-ons and downright bad badness. Send her ice.
Things That Go Bump - Chapter Five
They limped into the elevator and House pushed a button. When Wilson felt the downward movement, he looked up at the lighted panel. G. For garage. Dr. Haynes was on the fourth floor.
“What are you doing?”
House just stared at the elevator doors.
“Where are you going?”
“It’s where I’m not going. Which is up to see Dr. McShrinky.”
“You’re going home?”
“We’re going home. By way of the big, bad MRI machine.”
Wilson reached over and punched the 4th floor button. “You can’t go home. Cuddy said . . .”
House turned and looked at Wilson. “Cuddy didn’t mean a word she said and you know it. And I said we’re going home. And I do mean that. See the difference?”
“No, I don’t. If we’re not going to see Dr. Haynes, I’ve got work to do.”
“Oh, you mean the work that’s reduced you to a humorless zombie?”
“Right. That’s it. Or I need to go find an apartment . . .”
House lifted his cane and Wilson flinched. House rolled his eyes and poked the elevator stop button. The squeak of the brakes echoed in the tiny space.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“The exact question I was going to ask you.”
“You can’t keep me trapped here.”
House took a step toward Wilson. “Yes, I can.”
“House, punch the button. The alarm is going to go off.”
House took another step toward Wilson, who backed against the wall.
“What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Yes, you are.”
“This is ridiculous. You can’t kidnap me and force me to get an MRI.”
“No, but I can force you to talk to me.”
“You don’t want to talk to me. You want to interrogate me, dissect me. I’m your new puzzle.”
“You might be my puzzle, but you aren’t new.”
House took another step so that he was nose to nose with Wilson, who placed his hands on his shoulders to try to keep him away.
“I mean it, Greg. Just stop.” His voice broke. Perfect.
House raised an eyebrow, but didn’t back off. “Greg? You pulling out the big guns now, James?”
“I just want you to leave me alone.” Wilson dropped his hands. He knew he couldn’t stop House when he was like this. Better to feign compliance and run at the first opportunity.
House turned around and punched the start button. The gears whirred to life and the elevator jerked into motion. “I’ll leave you alone . . . if that’s what you really want. But you have to get an MRI first.”
“No. I don’t. You can’t just dictate the terms of my life, you know. It’s not your business.”
“It is my business. You’re my business. You’re my . . .”
“I’m what? Your flunky? Your sidekick? Your fool?” Wilson felt the anger spread through his chest. “Well, guess what? I’m done. Really. You push and push, trying to find that one tipping point, that one straw that breaks it all, that one line in the sand that I won’t cross. Well, you found it. I’m through.”
“You’re not through. You’re just tired . . .”
Wilson sighed. “Yes, I’m tired. I’m tired of this dance we do; I’m tired of measuring each day by how miserable you are relative to how miserable I am. I’m tired of always ending up on your couch, I’m tired of . . . of . . . I’m tired of 5 year old girls wasting away to nothing while I sit with her mother and offer her what? Funeral Home brochures?”
He looked up at House, resignation etched in every line of his face. “I’m not a doctor. I’m a pre-care specialist. I get them ready to bury their children.”
You do good work.” House reached over and pressed the stop button. Wilson didn’t even notice.
“Good work? Yes, well, not many complaints, I guess. Unless you count the ones who keep me up all night, every night now. They’re certainly not happy.”
“You’ve been dreaming about your patients?”
“Don’t you?”
“Don’t dream, remember? Plus most of my patients have no idea who I am.”
“And why is that?”
“Oh, no – we’re talking about you, now. Analyze Greg is on Thursdays, remember?”
“Of course. God forbid we ever talk about you. Pisses me off.”
“Really? Who could tell? You keep everything locked so tight under that pressed and starched exterior. Might really help if you actually learned to express some anger.”
Wilson snorted. “Are you actually going to lecture me on expressing emotions? You? Really?”
“I’m doing a good job of building up some emotion right now. Guess which one.”
Wilson rubbed the side of his neck. “Just let me go, House.”
“I’m not touching you.”
“I mean here,” Wilson pointed to his head. “Stop fucking with my head.”
House moved in close. “Gladly. Got an alternative?”
Wilson swallowed hard. “You’re freaking me out with your . . . niceness.”
“You call this nice?”
“I mean all the . . . concern, the interest. It’s weird.”
“You’re my friend. Why wouldn’t I show some interest?”
“You’re not interested in anyone. Except people whose brains are melting away.”
“Maybe your brain is melting away. Oh wait – there’s a test to find that out – what’s it called? Oh yes, an MRI!”
Wilson ignored him. “And then you . . . you know.”
“Again with the you know? Are we in summer reruns?”
“Last night . . . you know.”
House cocked his head. “Oh, you mean the ‘you know?’ The heat, the lust, the kiss that rocked our world?”
“I guess. I just don’t need . . .”
“The problem is you don’t know what you need.”
House reached over and silenced any other protest with his lips. Wilson stumbled back and House dropped his cane and grabbed Wilson’s shoulders and began kissing him in earnest. Wilson responded as the heat and the lust and the taste of House’s tongue wiped away every other thought, replaced with an aching need that buckled his knees. He began sliding down the wall and House shifted, wrapping his arms around Wilson’s chest, holding him up as he began a deliberate journey down Wilson’s neck.
Wilson’s eyes closed and he moaned, his hands running up House’s chest, undoing buttons, slipping in, feeling the hot skin. House moaned and they slid to the floor, tearing off ties, ripping buttons, grinding hips. Wilson felt like he was drowning. He couldn’t get close enough; he wanted House inside him, his flesh and blood mixed with his own. His ears were ringing and buzzing . . . and then, from far down the rabbit hole, he heard a voice.
“You guys okay in there?”
As he swam closer to the surface, he realized the ringing and buzzing in his ears was the alarm. Hell. The elevator. He had just been about to do something really stupid in an elevator. At work. With House.
House cursed and shifted; touched his forehead to Wilson’s and then lifted his head up. “Peachy keen. And you?" House's voice was loud, and his eyes stayed locked on Wilson's.
“We’ll have you out of there in a jiff. Can you see if the stop button has been inadvertently depressed for me? It’s over on the panel.”
House kissed Wilson hard on the mouth and then rolled onto his back. “I can safely say that the stop button has definitely been pushed.” He turned onto his side and pulled himself up. “And it has made me extremely depressed.”
Wilson pushed himself up to a sitting position, his back against a wall. He fingered his lip, thoughtful. He watched House retrieve his cane, push the start button, and then crawl over to sit next to him, their thighs touching. Wilson could still feel his heart knocking around in his chest.
“Think they got cameras in here?” House pulled down his t-shirt.
Wilson blanched. “Oh, God. You think they do?”
“I sure hope so.” House stood slowly and then leaned a hand down and helped Wilson up. He pulled him against his chest and roughly kissed him. “I’d love to see that again in slo-mo. Make a great Christmas gift, don’t you think?”
He tried to button Wilson’s shirt, but there was only one button still attached. Wilson pulled the edges of the shirt together and bent down to pick up his tie. He didn’t know what to say. He suddenly felt awkward. Self-conscious. Shy.
The doors swished open and House limped out. “Get the MRI, Jimmy. And meet me at home.” The doors closed before Wilson could open his mouth.
**********
Foreman tore off the protective sheet and locked the new board into place. Cameron handed him the markers and he set them in the tray.
“There. The world is back to normal.”
Chase snorted. “Hardly. There is definitely something not right in the world of House.”
“The world of House and Wilson you mean.” Foreman walked over to the coffee machine. “They’re a walking train wreck.”
“House is just worried. Wilson does show signs of . . .” Cameron protested.
“Of burning out.” Foreman handed Chase a coffee cup.
Cameron frowned. “He’s not burning out. He’s a great doctor. He’s compassionate, smart . . .”
“. . . and I wuv him so, so much.” Chase mocked. He walked over and picked up a marker, and divided the board in half. He wrote House on the left side and Wilson on the right.
“Okay people; let’s finish this diagnostic properly.” He wrote the words head contusion under both names.
“Is that a symptom?” Foreman stood and picked up another marker.
“Injuries.” Chase wrote ankle sprain under Wilson’s name.
Foreman chuckled and joined Chase. They both wrote furiously, heads together, reading and laughing and nodding. They finally stepped back, read for a moment, and slapped hands.
Cameron shook her head. “Oh, great. High five. That’s nice. Wilson could have a serious . . .” She stopped talking as they stepped aside and let her read.
Under House’s name it read head contusion, increased thigh pain, jammed fingers, chest burns, lack of sleep, lack of appetite, irritable. Wilson’s side listed two head contusions, ankle sprain, chest burns, nightmares, insomnia, lack of appetite, paranoia. The phrase emotional distress = physical manifestation crossed both lines. And then at the bottom, someone had tied the last symptoms together and had drawn a big heart with GH + JW right in the middle.
“What the hell . . .” Cameron stepped closer.
Foreman patted her on the back. “Sorry, Cam – he’s taken.”
“Both of he.” Chase added. “They’re sick all right. Lovesick.”
“They are not . . .” Cameron just stared at the board.
“And if they were,” a familiar voice came from the doorway, “you yahoos would be the last to know.” House limped through and snatched the marker from Chase’s hand. He stood at the board for a moment, reading.
“We were just goofing around . . .” Chase started.
House wondered how fast the boy would backpedal if he got him up on a real bike. “Really, Beav? Just givin ol Wilson and Housey the business?”
Foreman stepped in. “We were just trying to finish the differential. You would.”
House answered by snatching the marker from Foreman’s fingers and then he turned to Cameron. “Et tu, Brutilla?”
“I had nothing to do with it.”
House smirked. “Of course you didn’t.” He turned back to the board. “Okay, here’s what I need.” He looked over his shoulder. “You still work for me, right? This isn’t a sign that you’re now freelancing – striking out on your own?”
Three variations of no only served to piss him off. One day he wished they would all just throw something at him and storm out. It seemed to him to be a much more fitting response that all the obeisance and genuflecting they did. Except Foreman. Though, since they scrambled his brains, he was almost as bad.
“Foreman, you and Cameron go make sure Wilson gets his MRI. And you do it.”
He watched as they hustled out, Chase following.
“Dr. Chase.”
Chase turned in the doorway.
“You’re with me. I need you to run some errands. Big plans. Need supplies.” House limped into his office. “Bring your steno-pad, darling. You’re going to have to take some dictation.”
tbc . . .
no subject
back to your story: best lines: “Think they got cameras in here?” House pulled down his t-shirt.
Wilson blanched. “Oh, God. You think they do?”
And just so you know my zine is going to be heart-blindingly beautiful and beautifully written and you will never fade from S&H again after you've read it. Do you believe me? You should!!!
no subject
no subject
no subject
glad you liked it!
Squee!
Lovely, just lovely. I gotta say, really enjoying this!
no subject
no subject
“Both of he.”
Hee! And the backpedalling on a bike, and the elevator--guh.
If I quoted all the parts of this I love I'd quote the entire thing. The House voice is awesome. Pitch perfect and hilarious and so House.