Alphabet meme

stolen from arhh and some of her answers verbatim, lol


A
- Available: Yes
- Age: 33
- Annoyance: stupid people, people who can't walk/drive and get out of the way
- Animal: cat
( Life shouldn't be random. )

Misery Loves Company

I'm feeling kind of down and feeling like I'm getting sick (or maybe not recovered fully) so I've done a bit of transference here.


from the 50_scenes prompt table "borrowed" from arhh 



02. Cold.( word count 100)
     House and Wilson had spent most of the day indoors. Wilson went out once to attempt to clear his car off, but realized while he was out there braving the elements that it was a rather futile attempt. So he dragged his wet and sorry ass back inside, where it was warm and toasty.
      House was sitting on the couch, legs propped up on the coffee table when Wilson came inside. Wilson pulled off his boots and hung up his coat before joining him. House flipped channels in a bored manner. “It’s cold,” he said. Wilson sighed with feigned annoyance.


046. Medication (word count 134)

House sat on the couch, an old blanket around his shoulders. Tissues were scattered on the floor and coffee table. He shuddered and coughed harshly. He had just managed to bring the coughing under control when Wilson came in, laden with bags from the pharmacy. House looked up at him pathetically, sniffling. Wilson came over and sat down next to House, and took out tissues, cold medication, cough drops, and House’s Vicodin. House grabbed at the box of tissues, opening them, and pulling out a handful. He blew his nose desperately, which in turn caused him to bend over in a fit of sneezes. Wilson rubbed circles on House’s back, trying to be comforting. “Bless you, all right now?” House answered with a painful sounding cough and a death glare toward Wilson.

027. Dying  (word count 100)

“Wilson, I’b dying,” House whined pathetically from his cocoon of blankets on the couch.  Wilson rolled his eyes as he came in from the kitchen with a mug of hot tea.   “You are not dying, as much I might wish you were so I wouldn’t have to listen to you carrying on.”   Wilson handed the tea to House and sat down next to him.  House accepted the mug, took a sip, and set it down.  He looked crossly at Wilson and decided to get back at him for that last crack.   His breath hitching, House sneezed loudly in Wilson’s direction.

 

034. Idea (word count 100)

“House!  What did you do that for?”  Wilson was fuming mad, agitated.  House coughed, sighed wearily, and shrugged.  “What gave you the brilliant idea to sneeze on me?”  House shrugged.  “You were beindg mead to me.”  Wilson went into the kitchen to wash his hands.  “It isn’t like you haben’t been exposed already,” House called.  Wilson came back in, drying his hands.  “It doesn’t mean I want a one hundred percent chance of getting sick.”  House looked up at Wilson, innocent.  “But Wilson, I’b sick,” House whined and sniffled.  Wilson put a cool hand on House’s warm forehead in forgiveness.

039. Apple (word count 100)

House had finally fallen asleep, albeit fitfully, on the couch.  Wilson spent as much time as he could cleaning and de-germing everything within reach.  He didn’t particularly want to get sick, even if it was just a cold.  After cleaning he ate an apple, and took a handful of vitamins, just to be on the safe side.  “Ad apple isn’t going to keep you from gettibg sick you know,” House grumbled as he limped into the kitchen.  He poured a glass of orange juice and drained it down in one gulp.  Wilson nodded.  “Just keep your germs to yourself, House.”

 

037. Insomnia (word count 100)

Wilson had long since been asleep, claiming he had a better chance of staying healthy if he got enough rest.  House was unable to sleep, the usual insomnia combined with the inability to breathe.  He nursed his glass of scotch, and hoped it would bring Nyquil like sleep.  He stared at the blank tv for some time, until he heard a noise coming from the bedroom.  He drained his scotch, and headed down the hall to their bedroom.  Wilson was sitting up in bed, tissues by his side.  He glared at House between sneezing and blowing his nose.  “Bless you,” House said unhelpfully, a guilty look on his face.

036. Fever. (word count 108)

Wilson was burning with fever. He tossed and turned in the sweat-soaked sheets, unable to find a comfortable position. Every fiber of his body ached and burned. He longed for sleep. House came in from the store where he had been picking up juice, tissues and soup, and checked on Wilson. He saw the state Wilson was in and returned with a washcloth and placed it on Wilson’s forehead. Wilson shivered from the contact of the cool cloth and sneezed violently. House pulled the blankets over Wilson. “Bless. Try and rest, while I make you some soup,” House said congestedly. Wilson had done the same for him.