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house_wilson_ghcTitle: Cracking
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lucid_dreamer_
Rating: PG for language
Summary: House breaks a glass.
Author's note:chickloveslotr gave me another prompt, and here it is. I accept prompts, btw, not just from her. This is more on the friendship side of things than slash. This is probably a hell of a lot sappier than anything else I've written for H/W.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even a beer.
1. Cracking
Wilson heard it from the living room; a sharp, snap followed by the glittering sound of glass and liquid falling to the floor. Instinctually, he was on his feet and headed for the kitchen. Rationally, he was wondering why a fifty-year-old man triggered his instincts like a six-year-old child.
He stopped where the wooden floor gave out to tile.
House was leaning against the counter, his shoulders slumped, and it looked as if he was shaking. The shattered glass, formerly the happy bearer of beer, was on the floor. It looked as if House had maybe, for one split second, lost his balance while carrying two beers and one of them was a casualty in the ensuing scramble to not fall down.
“House…”
“Fuck,” House looked over his shoulder at him, and it was apparent that he’d been crying. It was not in House’s character to cry, much less about something as trivial as a broken glass, “Just…fuck.”
“Its alright, House, I—“
“Just leave it.”
Wilson nodded, but stayed where he was, just watching House. The older man held on to the counter while he stooped down to pick up the larger pieces, tossing them into the ruined (but still mostly intact) bottom of the glass.
“Thankfully you bought those thick bottomed glasses,” Wilson commented and earned himself a red-eyed glare. He fell silent, just watching House picking up the pieces…
“God dammit,” House was muttering, “every fucking day there’s something…”
Wilson cocked his head to the side. A broken glass was nothing. In House’s world, it was even less than that… the man made life or death decisions every day, he could handle losing a patient without batting an eye…sure, he’d be annoyed that he hadn’t solved the puzzle in time, but Wilson had never seen him cry about it.
There was something more to this. There was some causality that linked it all together, a heavy feeling of responsibility on House’s shoulders that had only become visible to Wilson because of a broken glass.
He moved forward, grabbed the dustpan and a rag, and started to help pick up the pieces.
“Hey, I’ve broken glasses before.”
We all lose people… trust me, I know it hurts.
“Besides, this was your beer, right?”
I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, then… and you got hurt, too.
“You have the whole case in the fridge.”
There’s more to life than all this shit that’s happened.
“I always liked it out of the bottle more, myself.”
You just have to accept it as it comes to you. One day at a time.
“Here… I’ll get you a new one.”
I’ll help you. I’m not leaving this time.
Author:
lucid_dreamer_Rating: PG for language
Summary: House breaks a glass.
Author's note:
chickloveslotr gave me another prompt, and here it is. Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even a beer.
1. Cracking
Wilson heard it from the living room; a sharp, snap followed by the glittering sound of glass and liquid falling to the floor. Instinctually, he was on his feet and headed for the kitchen. Rationally, he was wondering why a fifty-year-old man triggered his instincts like a six-year-old child.
He stopped where the wooden floor gave out to tile.
House was leaning against the counter, his shoulders slumped, and it looked as if he was shaking. The shattered glass, formerly the happy bearer of beer, was on the floor. It looked as if House had maybe, for one split second, lost his balance while carrying two beers and one of them was a casualty in the ensuing scramble to not fall down.
“House…”
“Fuck,” House looked over his shoulder at him, and it was apparent that he’d been crying. It was not in House’s character to cry, much less about something as trivial as a broken glass, “Just…fuck.”
“Its alright, House, I—“
“Just leave it.”
Wilson nodded, but stayed where he was, just watching House. The older man held on to the counter while he stooped down to pick up the larger pieces, tossing them into the ruined (but still mostly intact) bottom of the glass.
“Thankfully you bought those thick bottomed glasses,” Wilson commented and earned himself a red-eyed glare. He fell silent, just watching House picking up the pieces…
“God dammit,” House was muttering, “every fucking day there’s something…”
Wilson cocked his head to the side. A broken glass was nothing. In House’s world, it was even less than that… the man made life or death decisions every day, he could handle losing a patient without batting an eye…sure, he’d be annoyed that he hadn’t solved the puzzle in time, but Wilson had never seen him cry about it.
There was something more to this. There was some causality that linked it all together, a heavy feeling of responsibility on House’s shoulders that had only become visible to Wilson because of a broken glass.
He moved forward, grabbed the dustpan and a rag, and started to help pick up the pieces.
“Hey, I’ve broken glasses before.”
We all lose people… trust me, I know it hurts.
“Besides, this was your beer, right?”
I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, then… and you got hurt, too.
“You have the whole case in the fridge.”
There’s more to life than all this shit that’s happened.
“I always liked it out of the bottle more, myself.”
You just have to accept it as it comes to you. One day at a time.
“Here… I’ll get you a new one.”
I’ll help you. I’m not leaving this time.
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