Fic : A Little Help
Apr. 24th, 2012 09:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
menolly_auTitle: A Little Help
Characters: House & Wilson
Rating: PG
Spoilers: For 8.18 - Body & Soul
Words: Approx 650
Summary: Small episode tag to Body & Soul which ignores the promo for next episode. Wilson has to deal with House before he can deal with himself.
Wilson stood outside House's office and stared in. The noise was deafening. House had brought in his electric guitar, a massive amplifier and some sort of light machine and was currently rocking out, oblivious to everything around him. His eyes were closed and he was swaying to the music while the office was filled with a kaleidoscope of light, bouncing off every surface.
Wilson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, he'd expected something like this, but that didn't mean he wanted to deal with it.
There was no-one else who would, or could, though, so he went in there and ripped the plug out of the wall, bringing the 'music' to an abrupt halt and cutting the light show short. House looked up and Wilson caught a trace of something in his expression before House pulled a face at him.
"Hey man, you're harshing my mellow." House turned away, reaching for the power cord and Wilson put a hand out to stop him.
"Don't. Just don't."
"Music gotta be free," House said, "step aside, those chords aren't going to play themselves." Wilson saw his grip tighten on his guitar.
"I'm not talking about the music," Wilson said, "I'm talking about you. Don't make this about you, House. It's not about you, not this time."
"Just because you've got cancer, you're going to be all me, me, me?"
"Shouldn't I be?" Wilson asked, raising his voice, his fist balling by his side. He was not going to let House provoke him, he took a deep steadying breath. "I know what's coming, House. I know what it's going to be like... I know too much. I can't do it if I have to worry about you as well. I need to know that you're not going to jump off any balconies, or run off and hide somewhere, that I'm not going to find you on your office floor next to a bottle of pills one morning. I need... I'm going to need you to be there... I'm going to need a friend."
House looked stubborn, "then you should have picked..."
"Don't. Just don't," Wilson repeated, " you picked me, you've gone on picking me for the last twenty years. And it's been all about you for most of that time. And that's... that's okay, I get it. Like you said, I drink neediness and," Wilson smiled ruefully, " there's nothing wrong with being Watson. I wanted to be there for you, despite all the crap it was fun, it was good. But now... now I need you."
House stared at him, all bravado gone from his stance. Their eyes met and then slowly House nodded, and then broke eye contact, looking away and fiddling with his guitar.
"Just so you know, I don't do bedpans, or holding your hair while you hurl," House said. "If you need shaving though, I'm your man."
"I'll bear that in mind," Wilson said, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair protectively. "Thanks, House."
House nodded again and started playing, softly this time, and without the light show. Wilson took his cue and turned to go.
"You still have to buy me lunch," House called after him. "Just because you'll be puking doesn't mean I go hungry."
Wilson flapped a hand at him and kept walking, the soft guitar chords following him until he got back to his office. Wilson went and stared at his scans, still in the light box, and then snapped off the light and went to his computer and started clearing his schedule. He could do this. With a little help.
Characters: House & Wilson
Rating: PG
Spoilers: For 8.18 - Body & Soul
Words: Approx 650
Summary: Small episode tag to Body & Soul which ignores the promo for next episode. Wilson has to deal with House before he can deal with himself.
Wilson stood outside House's office and stared in. The noise was deafening. House had brought in his electric guitar, a massive amplifier and some sort of light machine and was currently rocking out, oblivious to everything around him. His eyes were closed and he was swaying to the music while the office was filled with a kaleidoscope of light, bouncing off every surface.
Wilson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, he'd expected something like this, but that didn't mean he wanted to deal with it.
There was no-one else who would, or could, though, so he went in there and ripped the plug out of the wall, bringing the 'music' to an abrupt halt and cutting the light show short. House looked up and Wilson caught a trace of something in his expression before House pulled a face at him.
"Hey man, you're harshing my mellow." House turned away, reaching for the power cord and Wilson put a hand out to stop him.
"Don't. Just don't."
"Music gotta be free," House said, "step aside, those chords aren't going to play themselves." Wilson saw his grip tighten on his guitar.
"I'm not talking about the music," Wilson said, "I'm talking about you. Don't make this about you, House. It's not about you, not this time."
"Just because you've got cancer, you're going to be all me, me, me?"
"Shouldn't I be?" Wilson asked, raising his voice, his fist balling by his side. He was not going to let House provoke him, he took a deep steadying breath. "I know what's coming, House. I know what it's going to be like... I know too much. I can't do it if I have to worry about you as well. I need to know that you're not going to jump off any balconies, or run off and hide somewhere, that I'm not going to find you on your office floor next to a bottle of pills one morning. I need... I'm going to need you to be there... I'm going to need a friend."
House looked stubborn, "then you should have picked..."
"Don't. Just don't," Wilson repeated, " you picked me, you've gone on picking me for the last twenty years. And it's been all about you for most of that time. And that's... that's okay, I get it. Like you said, I drink neediness and," Wilson smiled ruefully, " there's nothing wrong with being Watson. I wanted to be there for you, despite all the crap it was fun, it was good. But now... now I need you."
House stared at him, all bravado gone from his stance. Their eyes met and then slowly House nodded, and then broke eye contact, looking away and fiddling with his guitar.
"Just so you know, I don't do bedpans, or holding your hair while you hurl," House said. "If you need shaving though, I'm your man."
"I'll bear that in mind," Wilson said, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair protectively. "Thanks, House."
House nodded again and started playing, softly this time, and without the light show. Wilson took his cue and turned to go.
"You still have to buy me lunch," House called after him. "Just because you'll be puking doesn't mean I go hungry."
Wilson flapped a hand at him and kept walking, the soft guitar chords following him until he got back to his office. Wilson went and stared at his scans, still in the light box, and then snapped off the light and went to his computer and started clearing his schedule. He could do this. With a little help.
