Beach Trip

Nov. 11th, 2009 02:42 pm
cindylouwho: (h/w)
Title: Beach Trip
Author: cindy_lou_who8
Prompt: 36 Wilson drags House to the beach
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): House/Wilson preslash/friendship
Word count: 550
Warnings: vague spoilers for season 6
Disclaimer: Obviously not mine, I can't even afford groceries
Beta: [Bad username or unknown identity: arhh] <3
Summary:  House and Wilson go to the beach



read less, more tv )


Nov. 10th, 2009 06:28 pm
cindylouwho: (Default)
I want an icon of House/Wilson on that ledge last night.  I have no talent so if someone could make it for me or find it for me I promise to love you forever. 

Broken Arm

Oct. 19th, 2009 09:00 pm
cindylouwho: (wilsonstop)

Title: Broken Arm
[profile] cindy_lou_who8
Prompt: #3 Wilson breaks his arm/leg/clavicle/etc. ...and House is the one who broke it.
Rating: R for language and references to sexual sitations
Character(s)/Pairing(s): House/Wilson friendship (pre-slash if you wear goggles), House/Cameron friendship, Chase/Cameron (alluded to)
Warnings: If you haven't seen any of season 6, then proceed with caution, and assumes this occurs at some point before Chase/Cam start assisting Foreman with diagnostics.
Word Count: 1044
Beta: my wonderful friend [ profile] arhh
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I don't even have a job.
Summary: for
[profile] wilson_fest
 Wilson breaks his arm.

     After a long week at the hospital House and Wilson were hanging out at home, getting ready to watch a football game on television. Wilson really wasn't up for cooking so they decided to hit their favorite Indian place before the game started at four.

     After bundling up in winter gear, they headed out to Wilson's car, House leading the way with Wilson close behind. And in an instant, House's cane hit a patch of ice, missed by their usually conscientious landlord. Wilson reacted quickly, trying to steady house, but instead of steadying him, House toppled over on top of Wilson and they both hit the pavement.

     House slowly moved off of Wilson and assessed himself. After a quick check he determined he was no more worse for the wear with a bruised knee and a broken cane. But Wilson on the other hand was practically in tears as he cradled what they both assessed and assumed to be a broken arm.


read less. more tv )

After Life

Sep. 22nd, 2009 09:18 pm
cindylouwho: (whatnow)
 Author: [profile] cindy_lou_who8
Title: After Life
Rating: R (themes)
Word count: 206
Pairing: House/Stacy alluded to in the past
Spoilers for S5's "97 Seconds"
Summary: What House saw while he was "dead."  Inspired by a conversation with [ profile] arhh and [personal profile] bishojo_kitsune

Zap.  The electric current flowed into House's body, stopping his heart.  This is the story of what House saw before he was resuscitated by Amber.

He saw himself as a child playing in the yard moments before being scolded by his father.  He saw himself receiving his college diploma, and only his mother applauding for him.  He saw Wilson smashing that glass window twenty years ago in a seedy New Orleans bar.

 Instants later he's being shot with a paintball gun by Stacy, and the happy times they shared.  Then he’s curled up in pain during the infarction; being shot for real in his office. 

            Time continues to swirl around him faster and faster until he is no longer in the past but the future. A mangled bus and sad faces. Wilson sitting alone in his apartment, so still.   Cuddy smiling down at a dark haired child. 

            And then as he can feel the electrical impulses restating his heart, he sees the scariest thing of all, a dark haired man lying in a pool of his own blood.  He wakes up to see Amber straddling over him, an honest look of concern on her face.  That’s the last thing he sees before he passes out cold.  

cindylouwho: (autopsy)
more of [ profile] arhh 's Amnesia AU for [personal profile] bishojo_kitsune 

                House nor Wyatt followed Wilson to the front door.  They heard his footsteps echo through the apartment and the front door close shut.   House reclined against the headboard, his breathing labored, as he had to breathe through his mouth since he was so congested.   He attempted to blow his nose again, but it was too much effort and caused him too much pain. 

                Wyatt poured him a glass of juice and gave him some Sudafed.  “This should help,” he said.  House downed the pills and the juice and snorted at Wyatt, which caused him to sneeze again.  “Bless you,” Wyatt said, slightly concerned.  “I should have taken your temperature before you drank the juice.  Oh well.  It will have to wait.  Why don’t you try to rest?”

                “Whabt, no lectdure about whabt was gobing on width Wilsond?”

                “Would it matter, Gregory if I were to offer my opinion on the matter?”

                House rolled his eyes at the use of his proper name. 

                “No, I suppose it wouldn’t,” Wyatt continued.  “You need to get some rest.  Sleep now and I’ll have some nice soup ready for you for when you wake up.”  Wyatt gathered the bags he had brought in and headed out, closing the door gently behind him.

                House laid back and stared at the ceiling.  His head was killing, his leg was killing, and he felt like shit.  He hated being sick in general, and being sick and in pain just made him even more irritable.  Tack on a bus crash, killing his best friend’s girlfriend, and now losing said best friend, and it made for an unusually miserable House.  He sighed, and continued to stare at the ceiling, and waited for sleep to overtake him. 

cindylouwho: (autopsy)

A tiny bit more for [personal profile] bishojo_kitsune , who I think needs something to cheer her up <3 <3 <3

     House sneezed violently.  Wilson and Wyatt, locked in a heated gaze, turned and said “bless you” to him at the same time.  “You should be in bed asleep, Gregory, not up and talking.  You’ve got a nasty cold, not to mention recovering from a dangerous operation,” Wyatt said with a glare in Wilson’s direction.   “Let’s get you some juice, and I shall see your guest out.”    

     Wilson held up his hand in Wyatt’s direction.  “Wait just a minute,” Wilson said.  “House, you really have no idea what’s going on; what’s happened in the past week?”  House blew his nose carefully while he contemplated his words to Wilson.  Part of him wanted to confess it all; but he felt so miserable at this point it was easier to keep up with the lie instead of trying to explain it all to Wilson and to Wyatt. 

     House sniffled and wiped his nose and looked miserable.  “I dob’t know.  I dob’t remember mubch of adything.   Bits and piedses, forebn lands and voices.  A lot of it is a blur.”  He coughed weakly and rubbed his head.   He grabbed for the handkerchief again and sneezed as gently as he possibly could, to spare his severely aching head.

     “Bless you,” Wyatt and Wilson said in unison once again.  House shut his eyes and leaned back against the headboard.  “That’s quite enough now.  It’s time you were leaving, Doctor Wilson.  Gregory obviously needs some rest.”  Wilson glared at Wyatt, and looked back at House.  He still wasn’t sure if House was messing with him or not, but one thing was obvious.  He was in a lot of pain and feeling miserable.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly and turned and walked out the door. 

Sick II

Aug. 14th, 2009 09:05 pm
cindylouwho: (autopsy)
Written for [ profile] bishojo_kitsune, who is a pest wonderful friend and wanted more Amnesia fic. This story is part of [ profile] arhh's Amnesia series and goes AU during the events of Sick

No doctors were harmed in the writing of this story.

Wilson let himself, hesitantly, into House’s apartment. It was as untidy as usual; with the addition of crumpled tissues, water bottles, and a half empty glass of juice on the coffee table in the living room. House was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear what sounded like congested snoring coming from the direction of House’s bedroom.

Wilson quietly walked down the hall, and opened the partially closed door. House was sprawled across the bed, his forehead glistening with sweat. There were once again crumpled tissues everywhere, and a water bottle on the night stand, along with House’s ever present Vicodin. It didn’t look like it was helping the fever the older man obviously had. Wilson wondered how long House had been alone; how long since it had been since his last dose.

Wilson left the bedroom and headed into the bathroom, and returned with a damp, cool facecloth. He placed it on House’s forehead, as he sat on the edge of the bed. He reached for House’s wrist to take his pulse, to make sure it wasn’t too rapid.

The coolness of the cloth and the sudden touch woke House. He startled, practically jumping out of his skin. He croaked out “Who are you? Where’s Wyatt?” He began to cough and reached for the water bottle on the nightstand and drained a fair amount of it.

Wilson watched with a mixture of amusement and worry. What if House really didn’t know who he was? No, he thought to himself, this was just one of House’s poor excuses of a practical joke. “House, it’s me Wilson. You know that, obviously. Knock off the game. It isn’t funny.”

House stared at Wilson, not understanding, or seemingly recognizing the man at all. He quickly reached for one of the crumpled tissues on the bedside table and sneezed violently several times. Wilson looked around to see if there were any more tissues, which of course there weren’t, and reluctantly pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to House. “Here.”

House took the soft cloth and sneezed twice, cringing in pain. He attempted to blow his nose after, but found that it just made his head ache and gave up. He sniffled and stared at Wilson once again. “Wby are you here? Wyadd tolb me whad I did, what happed. Why would you cobe here?” He winced, his leg and his head causing him considerable pain. He reached for the Vicodin bottle and dry swallowed three, not even recognizing the look of disappointment that quickly crossed Wilson’s face.

“I came here; I came here because Cuddy told me to. She told me you had no memory of what happened to Amber.” He paused on saying her name. Amber. “She said maybe if I forgive you, you’d get your memory back. But I don’t think you’ve lost your memory. I think you’re just doing what you always do, acting like an ass!” Wilson’s voice rose as he had gone on and was practically shouting. At that moment, Dr. Wyatt returned from the store and barged in to the bedroom. “What in the bloody hell is going on here?”
cindylouwho: (alone)

     It’s getting late, and his leg has been bordering on the unbearable for the past two days.  He lay on the couch rubbing and rubbing his mangled thigh and alternating heat and ice for as much as he can tolerate it.  He checked the time to see if he could take some more Vicodin and decided unless he wanted to go into acute liver failure, he needed to wait a little longer. 

     He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and flicked around the channels trying to find something to occupy his mind and to keep it off the locked metal box on the top of the bookshelf.   He settled on Paris Hilton is my new BFF in hopes of there being some hot chicks, but even that couldn’t deviate his attention from the agonizing pain he was experiencing. 

     He debated calling Wilson but he really didn’t want him knowing how much pain he was experiencing right now.  Wilson would ingrain himself and insist on an MRI or admitting him and blood tests and he was just too tired to deal with that kind of caring. 

     House wiped the sweat off his brow and put the ice pack back on his leg.  He picked up his very light bottle of Vicodin and counted the remaining pills and sighed.  It looked like he was going to have to talk to Wilson either way.  But not tonight.   He tossed back three pills and swallowed, shutting his eyes and waited for the pain to be bearable enough for him to move to the bedroom to lie awake, alternating counting the cracks in the ceiling and the beating of his heart in his ears.

cindylouwho: (wilson9)
#44 Wilson gets the flu. Bonus points for hilarious House-attempts at making him feel better/cheering him up. (House/Wilson preferred)

     House came home from a grueling (read: he was only interrupted once during his nap) day at work to find Wilson sprawled on the couch and in the midst of a coughing fit. When Wilson was finally able to get the coughing under control and to take deep breaths, House grabbed the stethoscope off the coffee table and listened to his chest. This had been the routine since Wilson came down with the flu a few days ago. Despite being pumped thoroughly with Tamiflu and antibiotics and Day/Nyquil, Wilson just couldn’t seem to shake it. All he had done for the better part of the past few days was to alternately lay on the couch or in bed coughing and sneezing and being miserable and plotting revenge against the kid who had coughed on him in the first place.

      House checked Wilson’s ears and glands and took his temperature. “Ears are clear, temperature still 100 degrees. Do you feel any better?” Wilson turned away from House and sneezed in response. “Bless you. I’ll take that as a no.” House handed a handful of tissues to Wilson who was waiting with eyes glazed over, to sneeze again. Wilson sneezed twice and blew his nose, and just looked inconsolable. House rolled his eyes.

     “Bless you again. Are you done?”

     “Thanks so much for caring.”

     “I do care. I’ve been caring all week for you. Making you tea and soup and bringing you drugs.”

     “Yes, I know having to be the provider must be so frustrating for you, instead of me enabling your sorry ass. Whatever have you done all week without having me at work to buy your lunch and coffee and snacks?”

      For once House was at a loss for words, so he headed into the kitchen to retrieve a beer for himself and decided he must continue to cater to Wilson, lest he not put out once he was better. And he had better get well soon. His hand was getting sore from all the action it had been getting as of late. He poured a glass of orange juice for Wilson and headed back into the living room. House sat down on the bit of couch that wasn’t occupied by Wilson, his blankets or tissues and handed him the juice, which Wilson drained immediately.

      “So, clinic duty was less boring than usual today.” House took a long pull on his beer and waited for a response.

      “Hmmm? Was Cuddy wearing a push up bra?” Wilson sniffled and sat up slightly trying to look interested.

      “No.” He paused, reflecting on the image of Cuddy’s tits for a moment. “This girl has come in because she had put half of a toothbrush holder up her hoo hoo.”

      Wilson knew he was going to wish he hadn’t asked this later, but he couldn’t help himself. “Why did she use only half of a toothbrush holder?”

      “Well she figured she could put her electric toothbrush inside the holder and get off that way.”

      Wilson laughed until he coughed. House handed him a bottle of water off of the coffee table and waited until Wilson’s breathing was back under control.

     “I told her to go to Good Vibrations and pick out something more appropriate for the task. I told her that they even came in purple like her toothbrush holder and in shapes like dolphins and rabbits and ducks and Hello Kitty. That seemed to boost her spirits.”

     Wilson reached for the tissues and sneezed rather violently. He wiped his nose and sighed and cleared his throat. “Well that was nice of you.”

     “Well, I do know my sex toys.” House said with a wink and a leer in Wilson’s direction.

     This time it was Wilson’s turn to roll his eyes. “Not a chance, House.”

     “I didn’t want your germ infested mouth near my cock anyway.”

     “Wait until later when your jerking off in the bathroom for the 10th time this week and maybe you would rather it be my germ infested mouth.

     House drained the last of his beer and tried not to think of Wilson’s mouth on his dick which became a bit more difficult as Wilson made himself more comfortable on the couch, his head resting on House’s good thigh. House grumbled something about Wilson not getting any snot on his jeans and turned the television on to AMC. If his fingers skated across Wilson’s head and back occasionally it was just to check his temperature, nothing more. Wilson smiled and relaxed into the contact and started to feel just a little bit better.

cindylouwho: (wilson3)
     Wilson smiled, the effects of the champagne hitting him pretty hard.  He hadn't been eating much since quitting.  But now that was all behind them all. 

     Despite all House did, he knew their friendship mattered.  And somehow, right now at this moment, it was enough.
cindylouwho: (autopsy)

              When Wilson woke up he was hot, and alone on the couch.  The spot next to him was warm still, so he figured House was getting a drink or using the bathroom.  He tried to sit up but the pounding in his head and sinuses made that difficult so he shut his eyes and waited.

                A few moments later he heard the tell tale sound of House coming back into the room, and felt something cool rest on his forehead.  While it felt good, the change in temperature didn’t do him any good and Wilson sneezed violently.  

                House snickered.  “Loodks like you caubht by cold.”  Wilson sat up, wincing, and glared at him.  “Yes, apparently I habe.”  Wilson sighed and sniffled and reached for the tissues on the coffee table.  He carefully blew his nose.  House put his hand on Wilson’s forehead.  “I want to take your tempberature; you’re burning up.” 

                House handed Wilson the thermometer, who reluctantly put it in his mouth, grumbling something about ungrateful diagnosticians spreading germs.  When it beeped, House snatched it away from Wilson and read the result: 99.9.  “Not bad, not as high as BY fever was,” House chided.  “This isn’t a competition, House!  It’s a colbd.  I’ll libe.”  Wilson located the Tylenol on the coffee table and washed two down with some cold tea.

                House sniffled and pouted.  “But by feber was higher,” he mumbled.   Somehow, for added dramatic measure, House’s breath hitched and he sneezed loudly.  Wilson rolled his eyes.  “Bless you.”  “Thanbks,” House replied as he blew his nose.  He sat back and sighed.  “Bell this sucks.  Who’s goinbg to tadke care of be nowd?”  Wilson laughed, which ended up turning into a rather prolonged coughing fit.  When he was done, and had drained a bottle of water, he turned to House.  “Who is goibnd to take care of you?!  What about be?  I’b sick too!” 

                House sniffled and shrugged and turned his attention back to the television.  “By fever was higher, thereforde I’b sicker.”  Wilson sighed once again and shook his head.  “Logically,” Wilson muttered before he quickly reached for the tissues.  Wilson bent forward in a fit of sneezes, while House peered at him from the corner of his eye.  When Wilson finally stopped, House handed him some fresh tissues.  “Bless.  Done?”  Wilson nodded.  “I thibk so.  Thandks.”  He appreciatively took the tissues and blew his nose. 

 “Look House, we’re both sidck.  Let’s just try nbot to kill each other, odk?”  House carefully regarded Wilson, sniffled and nodded.  He felt just a tiny but bad about whining so much a few moments ago, when he really was feeling much better, and Wilson was just getting this cold.   Of course this moment of remorse lasted about twenty seconds.  “Are you goibg to make us sobe tea or what?”  House coughed weakly to accentuate his point.  Wilson rolled his eyes again, sighed and struggled to his feet.   House would never change.  It was too bad he couldn’t give House this cold back. 

Mid May

May. 29th, 2009 10:14 pm
cindylouwho: (h/w)

It’s snowing and her cheeks are flushed slightly pink.  A dove lands on her shoulder and that’s when he realizes it’s not real.  He wakes up in a sweat, ragged breathing, and he can’t remember but he can smell her perfume, something tangy and sweet he could never quite name.  He clutches her pillow and tries to sleep.

On the other side of town dreams disturb as well despite the medicinal whiskey.  There is no serene snow, only broken glass and promises flowing in a river of blood.  He doesn’t fall back to sleep.

When they pass each other for the first time the next morning, Wilson wonders if something is different . . . . Maybe House is slightly more unkempt, maybe his limp is a little more pronounced. 

House knows Wilson isn’t sleeping by the sheer volume of coffee he retrieves during the day.   His collar is gaping at the neck and the failures to reprimand stolen French fries tell a silent tale.

It is mid May.  Dying changes everything for way more than two months.

When he begins to see Amber, he wonders if Wilson sees her too.  ‘He’s as tired as I am,’ he thinks.   But he isn’t of course; no one shares this version of House’s private hell.  It’s a single showing and he’s got the only ticket in existence.  He wishes he wasn’t alone on this journey, but Wilson’s waging his own private war within the sheets. 

                When there is no going back and it’s time to go to Mayfield, House wants to tell Wilson everything and nothing at the same time.  So he is silent and watches the raindrops travel down the passenger side window to nowhere.  He is terrified and alone, but he knows Wilson’s journey ends here.   With his watch and wallet and phone, objects of his past and perhaps never to be reclaimed.  They are not as important as the one thing he lost but found again or the one thing he is losing.

                Wilson stands there for a very long time after the door has shut, waiting to see if it will pass, like in one of his dreams.   It doesn’t.  He goes home to grieve again.  In mid May.

cindylouwho: (h/w)

House sat on his couch, flushed and of chapped nose.  He was surrounded by used tissues, along with a box half full.  He hadn't bothered to toss them into the wastebasket Wilson had thoughtfully moved into the living room for him, it was too much effort.  He pulled the afghan tighter around his shoulders and looked pitifully toward the kitchen where Wilson was making some sort of commotion.

                He sniffled and his breath hitched, and he sneezed pitifully four times.  When he had recovered, he realized Wilson had come into the room and was sitting next to him, holding a cup of tea and a handful of tissues for him.  House snatched the tissues from Wilson and carefully blew his sore nose.   "Bless you.  I made you some tea."   House tried to look and sound as miserable as possible as he took the steaming mug from Wilson. "Thadks."  House winced as the tea hit his tender throat.   Wilson peered at him, concerned, yet suspicious of how much was House being House or House actually being sick. 

                "I want to look at your throat again, ok?"  Wilson located his penlight and waited for House to drain the mug of tea.   House reluctantly nodded and opened his mouth.  Wilson peered in, noticing that House's throat was red, but not as much as earlier.  No spots or anything of concern.  House began to make a funny noise, and batted Wilson away weakly as he bent forward in a fit of sneezes, just barely missing sneezing all over Wilson. 

                "Bless you again."  He went to hand House more tissues and found the box empty.  He fumbled through his trouser pocket and found his handkerchief, and handed it to House.  House moaned his displeasure at feeling miserable.  "Wilsob," he croaked out.  "I'm sidck."   He wiped his nose, and half flopped over, head falling onto Wilson's shoulder. 

                Wilson took this opportunity to feel House's forehead, and found it much cooler than earlier.  "Well your fever broke; you are much cooler now.  And your throat looks way better."  House sniffled at the news.  Wilson righted House off his shoulder and waited.  House blinked several times and then sneezed violently twice again.  Wilson chuckled and stood up.  "Bless you.  Let me see if I can find you some more tissues, and maybe some sudafed or something."  House looked up at Wilson pitifully.  "Vicodin," he croaked.  "The leg doesn't lidke the coubch so buch."  House wiped at his nose again and sighed. 

                Wilson smiled.  "Yes, I will find your Vicodin too.  And I'll get you some more tea."   He leaned down and kissed House on the forehead.  "You better take just as good care of me if I get this cold from you."  Wilson rubbed his throat, which was beginning to feel scratchy.  House looked up at Wilson, alarmed.  Wilson just shrugged.  "At least you won't be miserable alone," he said as he headed back into the kitchen.

                House must have dozed off for a few minutes, because when he woke up he found two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table in front of him, along with two bottles of water, his Vicodin, assorted cold meds and a new box of tissues.  Wilson was sitting beside him watching television.  He sat up and grabbed his Vicodin and downed a few with a few mouthfuls of tea.  He blew his nose again, and looked over at Wilson.   He sniffled and Wilson looked over at him.  "You ok?" he asked.  House nodded.  House finished his tea, and settled back on the couch, close to Wilson.  Within moments he was fast asleep, snoring slightly, his head on Wilson's shoulder.  

                Wilson smiled.  He should take a picture of this for bribery purposes, he thought.  He pulled out his cell phone and took a picture.  'This should help get him to take care of me if I get this cold, he thought.  Wilson put his phone back in his pocket and shifted closer to House.  If he was getting this cold, he better get some rest too. 

cindylouwho: (whatnow)
Someday You Will Be Loved
Spoilers for S4 and S5 up to "Joy"

      After Wilson left PPTH, he had a lot of time on his hands. Granted a lot of that time was spent just trying to cope and function on everyday tasks. The bereavement time had just not been enough. He had lost the wind in his sails and the bounce in his step. He had lost his sense of self, the love of his life, and his best friend in one fell swoop.

      Time slowly passed however, in grief counseling, in visiting his family, in receiving visitors to his apartment like Cameron and Cuddy. And slowly the ache in his heart that had been so present since Amber died in his arms, the pain that had been imprinted on him since he had told House they were no longer friends began to slowly slip away.

      And when Cuddy came to him talking of the future and children, he was terrified and alarmed, but for the first time began to think the future may not be so bleak after all. He was unsure if she was going to request a donation, or if she, after an appropriate time, was going to pursue a relationship with him. After all, they weren't getting any older, and they did share many common interests. A spark ignited in him that he may finally have something to live for once again, love.

      He began to shower and shave every morning; he knew he would have to soon, as he'd be starting his new position soon. He began walking, and talking his anti-depressant regularly. He thoroughly cleaned the apartment, sans one mug, that still adorned the kitchen counter. On one of her many visits, Cuddy helped Wilson with the overwhelming task of settling Amber's affairs and her belongings which still haunted him.

       A week passed after the apartment began to take on more of Wilson's personality, he asked Cuddy over for dinner, to show his appreciation of how much she had helped him. She amicably accepted. Wilson threw himself into making a special meal, something he hadn't had the motivation or desire to do in some time.

      Each course was prepared with love and care, and when she arrived the apartment was filled with a delightful aroma. They enjoyed the meal of fresh vegetable lasagna and fancy green salad with perfectly chilled wine. They talked and laughed, and Wilson felt more like his own self than he had in months.

      Once the dishes were cleared, and they had moved their wine glasses to the living room, Wilson decided that now was the time to bring up the possibility of taking this further. He loved Amber and he always would, but he was so alone, and the hurt of being alone, was taking its toll.

       Wilson reached over and took Cuddy's hand in his. “Lisa, you have been so wonderful through all of this, so supportive. I can't thank you enough.” Cuddy smiled at Wilson. “Wilson, you don't need to thank me. I wanted to be there for you, it was the least I could do. You needed a friend, and I was glad I could do something for you. It was so hard to see you struggling.”

      Wilson's eyes became downcast, and he felt them filling with tears. He willed them away, and looked into Cuddy's eyes. “Were you serious before? When you were talking about kids?”

      “Of course, you know I've always wanted a child of my own. I'm getting too old to keep trying, especially since I haven't been able to carry past the first trimester.”

      Wilson nodded, his hand still holding hers. He struggled through the next words, his voice thick with emotion. “If you were willing to try again, Lisa, I'd be there for you. I, I'd like to have a child with you.”

      For a moment there was dead silence. Cuddy slowly pulled her hand away. “James, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean, I wasn't looking for . . .” Cuddy’s voice trailed off as she tried desperately to find the right words. “I wasn't looking for a partner or a donation.” She smiled, trying to make this as easy as possible. “James, I want to adopt, and I was hoping you would write my letter of recommendation to the agency. That was why I was talking it up, I was so excited to find an agency that was really willing to invest the time and help me do this. I've wanted this for so long and now, it is so close.” Cuddy tried to read the look on Wilson's face at this point and was unsure if he was going to laugh or cry.

       “I'm so sorry you misinterpreted this. I didn't mean to hurt you, James. You are a good friend, and you will make a wonderful father I am sure. But right now you need to be taking care of yourself, not taking on any more obligations, relationship-wise.”

      Wilson nodded slowly. He felt a fool. He couldn't believe that he had misinterpreted and misconstrued all of this. “I'm so sorry, Lisa. I feel foolish.”

      “Don't. It's ok, and forgotten.” She paused a moment. “Would it be horrible of me to still ask you to write up the letter of recommendation?”

      “No, of course not. I would love to; I'd be honored to do it.” Wilson smiled, his coping face back into place as if he hadn’t been heartbroken.

       An awkward silence filled the air, until Cuddy said something about having an early meeting and Wilson rose to walk her to the door. She gave him the information for the letter, and bade him a good night, with a gentle kiss on the cheek.

      The door closed behind him, Wilson rested his forehead against it for a moment, summoning up the energy to go on. He felt foolish and sad and devastated. Finally he pushed himself away from the door, and headed into the kitchen where he retrieved a bottle of scotch and a single glass. He retreated back into the living room, poured two fingers, and began to think where all of this went wrong.

      He was so alone, which he wasn't used to. He had his family growing up, and then his wives, and of course House. And then Amber, who changed his life, who loved him for who he was, and who could even tolerate House. He drained the glass and poured two fingers more.

       And as he sat there in the dark all he could think about was how wrong it all was, how wrong and unfair life was, and how much his heart ached without Amber. Tears slid down his cheeks, and deep sobs wracked his body as he gave over to the foolishness of the evening and the grief of losing the only person, wait two people who had ever cared about him at all.

      When he had finally drunk all he could stomach, he stumbled into the bedroom. Seeing the perfect bed there, reminded him of coming home that fateful evening and finding Amber's letter. Dejected, he collapsed to the bed in sobs that carried on long after he fell asleep.

cindylouwho: (broken)
written for [ profile] prompted_quill 

      At some point Wilson had abandoned drinking from the wine glass and reverted to drinking straight from the bottle. He wished he had something stronger, but even in the aftermath of Chase’s bachelor party all he could dredge up was wine. He smiled wistfully at the memory of a happier time, even though he should have realized something was wrong then. Very wrong. Of course he never saw House reclining in his tub talking to “Amber.” He was wandering around Princeton in his underwear, drunk off his ass.

      He ran his hand absently through his hair as he took another swig and tried to forget. He won’t, he can’t.

      When he woke up in the morning, awkwardly positioned on the couch, he was cotton mouthed and hung over. He saw the wine bottle on its side on the floor. Two teardrops of wine shone perfectly on the hardwood.

      For the first time in a long time, Amber wasn’t his first thought upon waking.

      It was the look of longing and utter terror in the last gaze House gave him before the heavy, old door closed in front of him that crossed his mind first.

      Wilson’s tears fell and mixed with the drops of wine on the floor. Outside, the rain began to soak the ground as the heavens grieved along with him.


Apr. 28th, 2009 12:14 pm
cindylouwho: (Default)

     When their eyes meet across the poker table, there is more than greed at stake.   There is the knowledge that the two of you have been in this place before challenging one another, seeing who will be the first to break.  Eye contact or the bank, nothing is sacred. 


     The stories and anecdotes told do nothing to sway either of you from your cards; from your goal of outwitting the other.  It’s is the desire within each of you to win, to come out on top that keeps you going long into the night, when all others have gone home.

cindylouwho: (Default)
2 short ficlets
Discipline- spoilers for "Saviors"
Fraught- no spoilers


                Based on his outward appearance one would think Gregory House was not a disciplined man.   Tufts of hair were standing on end.  It was the end of the day and he sat at his piano, a melancholy tune on his mind and fingertips.


cindylouwho: (Default)


Wilson yawned and sleepily walked into the kitchen Sunday morning to find all of the fixings for macadamia nut pancakes laid out.  Wilson turned and glared at House, who had followed him as far as the living room.  Wilson stood exasperated, hands on hips.  House could tell by the expression on Wilson’s face that the younger man was NOT pleased or amused by the situation.

“House, I told you last night, I was NOT making pancakes this morning.  You have had pancakes every Sunday for weeks.  I do not want pancakes.  So I am not making any.  Why do you always have to instigate everything?  Why can’t you just take NO for an answer?”  Wilson ran his hands over his face and tried to calm down.  It wasn’t worth having a coronary over pancakes.

House looked rather smug and bemused.    “And I don’t understand what the big deal is.  I ask for pancakes.  You make them.  That is how it works.  Case closed.” 

                “That is not ‘how it works.'  I make them because I want to make them, not just because you ask me.  And I am not making them now.”  Wilson stood his ground and crossed his arms in front of him, meeting House’s bemused look.

                House gave Wilson a look that clearly said, ‘oh really?’  He limped into the kitchen and pulled out a chair from the table.  He grabbed Wilson by the wrists and brought him closer.  He pulled Wilson’s pajama pants down and smirked when he found Wilson was sans boxers.  “You dirty boy,” he said quietly before taking Wilson into his mouth.

                House expertly sucked Wilson, licking and swirling his tongue around the head and up and down the shaft, as if Wilson were a sucker or Popsicle.    He used his right hand to slowly cup and stroke Wilson’s balls, feeling the heat rising from Wilson.  He sensed Wilson was quickly coming undone, thrusting into House’s mouth; grabbing House’s hair and pulling, moaning uncontrollably.   House continued his ministrations until he felt Wilson was close to the edge.  He then slipped his finger first quickly into his mouth and then into Wilson’s tight hole, causing Wilson to come down House’s throat with a gasp.

                Wilson pulled out of House’s mouth and half collapsed, half leaned against the table and pulled his pants up.  House contentedly looked up at Wilson and smiled.    Wilson returned his gaze and dryly said, “I guess I’ll be making pancakes now.”

cindylouwho: (Default)
An alternate ending to Not Cancer
written for [ profile] prompted_quill 

In giving advice, seek to help, not please, your friend.” ~Solon


      After House left and the door closed behind him, Wilson rested his forehead against it for a moment, summoning up the energy to go on. He felt angry and sad and devastated. Finally he pushed himself away from the door, and headed into the kitchen where he retrieved a bottle of scotch and a single glass. He retreated back into the living room, poured two fingers, and began to think where all of this went wrong.

     He was so alone, which he wasn't used to. He had his family growing up, and then his wives, and of course House. And then Amber, who changed his life, who loved him for who he was, and who could even tolerate House. He drained the glass and poured two fingers more.

      And as he sat there in the dark all he could think about was how wrong it all was, how wrong and unfair life was, and how much his heart ached without Amber. Tears slid down his cheeks, and deep sobs wracked his body as he gave over to the foolishness of the evening and the grief of losing the only person, wait two people who had ever cared about him at all.

     He was well on his way to being drunk, when he heard a familiar knock. “House, go away,” he bellowed. He couldn't deal with House anymore, he needed to move on.

     There was some slight scratching sounds, and then a few moments later, Wilson felt the couch cushions shift and settle, as House sat down next to him. Neither of them said a word for some time. House, seeing Wilson in such despair, was for once at a loss for words. Finally, he was able to say what he had came to say. “Solon once said, '“In giving advice, seek to help, not please, your friend.' I know anything I say right now won't matter. But I am so sorry.” House placed another bottle of scotch down on the table, along with a refill of Wilson's antidepressants along side of it. “For tomorrow. I trust you not to mix the two.” He then placed an white envelope down on the table, and using his cane to push himself to his feet, he left Wilson's apartment silently as he came.

     When he had finally drunk all he could stomach, he stumbled into the bedroom. Seeing the perfect bed there, reminded him of coming home that fateful evening and finding Amber's letter. Dejected he collapsed to the bed in sobs that carried on long after he fell asleep. Alone.

     Wilson woke up the next morning with an acrid stomach and a killer headache. He headed into the kitchen for some water and asprin, and as he was walking back to the bedroom, he again saw the contents of his coffee table. He walked over and picked up the white envelope and opened it. He found several candid pictures of Amber, when she was trying out for House's team, and he had to smile at the openness of her smile, her expressions. There was also several pieces of sheet music, entitled what looked like 'jr high,' and a cd. Swallowing a mouthful of water, Wilson curiously took the cd to the stereo and inserted it.

     Soft piano music began to play. It took Wilson a moment to recognize it, but once he did he realized it was the piece that House had started in junior high that had been finished by his patient Patrick, before he lost his genius.

     Wilson sat down and listened, and continued to look through the pictures of Amber. The last one wasn't of Amber, but of he and House laughing over something, both unaware the picture was being taken. Wilson put the pictures down and put his head in his hands, and let the tears flow. And he sat alone again, with the pieces of his past that brought him here, and sobbed.

cindylouwho: (Default)
written for [ profile] prompted_quill 

     House adjusted his reading glasses, and squinted at the screen in annoyance. "You need special permission to view this material,” he muttered to himself. “What the hell does that mean?”

     “Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity, you know,” Wilson said as he entered House's office and walked over to his desk. “Well, then you've been insane for a long time, judging from the amount of times you talk to yourself while you're grooming yourself,” House replied.

     “You, you can hear that?” Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at House uneasily. “Relax, your secrets are safe with me.” House grinned wickedly at Wilson and turned back to the computer screen.

     “What are you doing anyways? Looking at porn?” Wilson came closer, and looked over House's shoulder, curiously. “No, not porn,” House said in annoyance. “It's Cuddy's Facebook page. I think she has it blocked specifically to keep me out. I even tried logging in as her, so I could change the settings, but apparently she has changed her password from 'partypants' to something more clever.”

     Wilson laughed as he watched House click repeatedly on the website. “Why do you want to see what's on Cuddy's Facebook page anyways?” House looked back at Wilson with an annoyed look on his face. “I don't care what's ON her page. I care about what I can ADD to her page.” He grinned mischievously and laughed.  "Links for penis pumps and male enhancement creams for a start."  If Wilson didn't know any better, he would have thought House was giggling.

     Wilson rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand and shook his head slowly. “I should have guessed. Well, I have actual work to do. See you later, House.” Wilson headed back out the way he came, leaving House to his own devices.


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