Reunions, Chapter Eleven
Jul. 21st, 2011 05:09 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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house_wilson_ghctitle: Reunions
author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sydpenguinbunny
pairing: House/Wilson, 13/[surprise]
rating: PG-13, thus far
summary: House is trying to continue his life without incident after the events from S7, but people from his past keep coming back...
warnings (if any): Spoilers for 7x23. There's some character death coming up eventually.
author/artist notes (if any): Feedback is most loved!!! And the House/Wilson begins this chapter. Sorry about the wait, some of the plots got a bit longer than expected.
Chapter One: Case Study
Chapter Two: Complications
Chapter Three: Hello Again, Dr. House
Chapter Four: Complete History
Chapter Five: New Hire
Chapter Six: Reluctance
Chapter Seven: Power
Chapter Eight: Pinballs
Chapter Nine: A Girl Worth Fighting For
Chapter Ten: Sparring Match
Chapter Eleven: Pick Up the Pieces
“House!” Wilson called as House walked by – on a mission as always. “We need to talk.”
“Do we? After all, I left Eve in the lounge and she could get lost… Maybe you should go find her,” House retorted, not stopping as he made his way towards his office – he needed to bounce his ball, watch his shows, get all his distractions out so that he could get Tritter the hell out of his head. Because the more Tritter was in his head with his cane-kicking and that self-assured mocking glance that he’d thrown, not to mention that voice – he probably hated the voice most of all – House would be off his game. And no one wanted House off his game. So why was Wilson interrupting him?
“Yes, we do,” Wilson replied, reaching out and placing a hand on House’s cane. The diagnostician glared; his cane was fairly sacred territory and Wilson usually didn’t impose like that. House stopped walking, however, because if he was that willing to impose, it must have been for something important. But, however, couldn’t this important talk, whatever it was, wait until he had cured the patient and by extension sent his nemesis off to whatever corner of Princeton he was currently inhabiting?
Looking at Wilson’s face, House decided – apparently, not.
“Okay,” House continued. “What do we need to talk about?”
“Us,” Wilson murmured under his breath, then pleaded, “My office?” House sighed.
“Okay, okay.” He allowed the oncologist to lead him into his office, and watched as Wilson shut the door and then began staring at his fingers nervously.
“House, ever since… This whole thing with Cuddy, I’ve been thinking,” Wilson began. He stopped a moment and looked at House, as if deciding how to proceed based upon his gauge of the diagnostician’s reaction.
“Okay,” House replied, craning his head to look at Wilson and wondering what had made the man so nervous, and beginning to believe that he wouldn’t like the answer.
“And I’ve been thinking… that you should really move back in with me. It was a mistake to kick you out – I’m an asshole. And I’d be honored if you’d move back in with me,” Wilson said quietly.
“There’s more to it,” House said, cutting him off. “You’ve said I should move back in with you before – but you weren’t so nervous about it the last time. The last time you were self-righteous… Right now you look self-effacing.” Wilson blushed against his will.
“There is more to it.” Wilson said the words barely above a whisper. “I think… I think I have feelings for you.”
The words hung in the air, painfully, and he could taste rather than feel each moment that House doesn’t answer – for Wilson couldn’t tell whether they are seconds or minutes or hours or maybe even decades, or perhaps time had stopped entirely as a favor to him to save him from when House would thrash him painfully or laugh at him or worse, just not say anything and simply walk away.
“You do?” came House’s gentle question – gentle? Yes, because he was whispering, and he was stepping towards Wilson, and he had placed his hand on Wilson’s shoulder, ran it down Wilson’s arm to his right hand, his right hand that had only so recently been released from its cast. Wilson’s head tipped downward, and he was surprised into speechlessness at House’s actions. This was good, as it gave House a chance to say a few words more. “And you want me to move back in?” Wilson nodded, and House gave a long pause. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll move back in.”
Thirteen was making good on her promise – well, it wasn’t so much a promise such as a command she was following – to babysit Tritter, and was finding it not that bad a task to end up with.
They’d not uncovered anything new or earth-shattering about either’s past, but they were exchanging pleasantries and telling war stories from each of their jobs. Tritter was currently in the midst of relating the time that a colleague of his had been confronted by a drunken man who was convinced that he was George W. Bush and insisted on attempting to get a ride to the White House. Thirteen smirked and countered with the tale of a former hook-up appearing as one of House’s patients.
But Thirteen found her thoughts wandering to, yet again, what Tritter had done exactly to earn House’s ire. He’d been so very vague about it. And she needed to know, especially as she was getting a creeping sense of… no, best not to think about that. Patients’ families were verboten. Especially in this case, especially now. What was Thirteen thinking? It didn’t matter what Tritter did to make House mad because after this case was over, Thirteen was never going to see Tritter again. And that was the way that it should be.
Then why was she looking into his eyes and moving a little closer? Still laughing at his jokes and – what the fuck, this man is old enough to be my dad! But it seemed as if the phone line which connected her thoughts to her actions had been snipped – maybe a mouse bit it, she thought, an old sing-song Dr. Seuss rhyme ringing in her head, “A mouse has cut the wire – goodbye!” – and now her hand was on Tritter’s shoulder and she was nodding but she couldn’t quite recall at what because she was looking into his eyes which were oh so very blue. Sky blue, maybe, or baby blue – why am I thinking this? Shut up, brain, shut up brain…
And then – oh God – before she knew what was happening or could really actively stop it, make those gears turn in her head to say stop, this is stupid, this is really, really stupid, she had gone from looking in those oh-so-blue eyes to having her lips on his and oh God, what the fuck am I doing?
She broke the embrace and turned and walked away, not saying a word, not having anything that she could really say. And the only thought in her head was that she had to know what he had tried to do to House. And she couldn’t get it from him.
She had to go see Chase.
author:
sydpenguinbunnypairing: House/Wilson, 13/[surprise]
rating: PG-13, thus far
summary: House is trying to continue his life without incident after the events from S7, but people from his past keep coming back...
warnings (if any): Spoilers for 7x23. There's some character death coming up eventually.
author/artist notes (if any): Feedback is most loved!!! And the House/Wilson begins this chapter. Sorry about the wait, some of the plots got a bit longer than expected.
Chapter One: Case Study
Chapter Two: Complications
Chapter Three: Hello Again, Dr. House
Chapter Four: Complete History
Chapter Five: New Hire
Chapter Six: Reluctance
Chapter Seven: Power
Chapter Eight: Pinballs
Chapter Nine: A Girl Worth Fighting For
Chapter Ten: Sparring Match
Chapter Eleven: Pick Up the Pieces
“House!” Wilson called as House walked by – on a mission as always. “We need to talk.”
“Do we? After all, I left Eve in the lounge and she could get lost… Maybe you should go find her,” House retorted, not stopping as he made his way towards his office – he needed to bounce his ball, watch his shows, get all his distractions out so that he could get Tritter the hell out of his head. Because the more Tritter was in his head with his cane-kicking and that self-assured mocking glance that he’d thrown, not to mention that voice – he probably hated the voice most of all – House would be off his game. And no one wanted House off his game. So why was Wilson interrupting him?
“Yes, we do,” Wilson replied, reaching out and placing a hand on House’s cane. The diagnostician glared; his cane was fairly sacred territory and Wilson usually didn’t impose like that. House stopped walking, however, because if he was that willing to impose, it must have been for something important. But, however, couldn’t this important talk, whatever it was, wait until he had cured the patient and by extension sent his nemesis off to whatever corner of Princeton he was currently inhabiting?
Looking at Wilson’s face, House decided – apparently, not.
“Okay,” House continued. “What do we need to talk about?”
“Us,” Wilson murmured under his breath, then pleaded, “My office?” House sighed.
“Okay, okay.” He allowed the oncologist to lead him into his office, and watched as Wilson shut the door and then began staring at his fingers nervously.
“House, ever since… This whole thing with Cuddy, I’ve been thinking,” Wilson began. He stopped a moment and looked at House, as if deciding how to proceed based upon his gauge of the diagnostician’s reaction.
“Okay,” House replied, craning his head to look at Wilson and wondering what had made the man so nervous, and beginning to believe that he wouldn’t like the answer.
“And I’ve been thinking… that you should really move back in with me. It was a mistake to kick you out – I’m an asshole. And I’d be honored if you’d move back in with me,” Wilson said quietly.
“There’s more to it,” House said, cutting him off. “You’ve said I should move back in with you before – but you weren’t so nervous about it the last time. The last time you were self-righteous… Right now you look self-effacing.” Wilson blushed against his will.
“There is more to it.” Wilson said the words barely above a whisper. “I think… I think I have feelings for you.”
The words hung in the air, painfully, and he could taste rather than feel each moment that House doesn’t answer – for Wilson couldn’t tell whether they are seconds or minutes or hours or maybe even decades, or perhaps time had stopped entirely as a favor to him to save him from when House would thrash him painfully or laugh at him or worse, just not say anything and simply walk away.
“You do?” came House’s gentle question – gentle? Yes, because he was whispering, and he was stepping towards Wilson, and he had placed his hand on Wilson’s shoulder, ran it down Wilson’s arm to his right hand, his right hand that had only so recently been released from its cast. Wilson’s head tipped downward, and he was surprised into speechlessness at House’s actions. This was good, as it gave House a chance to say a few words more. “And you want me to move back in?” Wilson nodded, and House gave a long pause. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll move back in.”
Thirteen was making good on her promise – well, it wasn’t so much a promise such as a command she was following – to babysit Tritter, and was finding it not that bad a task to end up with.
They’d not uncovered anything new or earth-shattering about either’s past, but they were exchanging pleasantries and telling war stories from each of their jobs. Tritter was currently in the midst of relating the time that a colleague of his had been confronted by a drunken man who was convinced that he was George W. Bush and insisted on attempting to get a ride to the White House. Thirteen smirked and countered with the tale of a former hook-up appearing as one of House’s patients.
But Thirteen found her thoughts wandering to, yet again, what Tritter had done exactly to earn House’s ire. He’d been so very vague about it. And she needed to know, especially as she was getting a creeping sense of… no, best not to think about that. Patients’ families were verboten. Especially in this case, especially now. What was Thirteen thinking? It didn’t matter what Tritter did to make House mad because after this case was over, Thirteen was never going to see Tritter again. And that was the way that it should be.
Then why was she looking into his eyes and moving a little closer? Still laughing at his jokes and – what the fuck, this man is old enough to be my dad! But it seemed as if the phone line which connected her thoughts to her actions had been snipped – maybe a mouse bit it, she thought, an old sing-song Dr. Seuss rhyme ringing in her head, “A mouse has cut the wire – goodbye!” – and now her hand was on Tritter’s shoulder and she was nodding but she couldn’t quite recall at what because she was looking into his eyes which were oh so very blue. Sky blue, maybe, or baby blue – why am I thinking this? Shut up, brain, shut up brain…
And then – oh God – before she knew what was happening or could really actively stop it, make those gears turn in her head to say stop, this is stupid, this is really, really stupid, she had gone from looking in those oh-so-blue eyes to having her lips on his and oh God, what the fuck am I doing?
She broke the embrace and turned and walked away, not saying a word, not having anything that she could really say. And the only thought in her head was that she had to know what he had tried to do to House. And she couldn’t get it from him.
She had to go see Chase.
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no subject
Date: 2011-07-23 01:36 pm (UTC)I just wonder... Why isn't House scared of moving in with Wilson? After what Cuddy did to him, he should be scared out of his wits.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-23 11:05 pm (UTC)The way I see it, House is basically trying to ignore the underlying sexual tension between them and basically trying to look at it as that things are still the same as they always are. This will be revisited later :-)
no subject
Date: 2011-07-23 05:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-23 11:05 pm (UTC)