Ficlet : Wilson and the Syncopal Episode
Jun. 17th, 2013 02:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
menolly_auTitle: Wilson and the Syncopal Episode
Characters: House & Wilson
Rating: PG
Words 600
Summary: For the Insta-Prompt challege at Camp Sick!Wilson. Prompt was House's cane can suddenly fly and Wilson ends up with syncope. Crackishness.
There's a hard surface beneath his body and he's lying with his limbs twisted at awkward angles. He blinks his eyes open. He's lying face down on the floor of House's apartment, dressed in his pyjamas.
House is sitting on the couch, completely absorbed in playing one of his video games, as if Wilson wasn't lying on his floor. His cane is propped up next to him.
"What..." Wilson says, his voice comes out in an embarrassing squeak so he clears his throat and starts again. "What happened? Why am I on the floor?"
He starts to pull himself together into a sitting position.
"You fainted. Or to put it in fancy three syllable medical words - you had a syncopal episode."
"I fainted?"
"Like a dead parrot."
Oh. He's never fainted before in his life, not even first year med school when half the class fainted dead away at the sight of the first cut up cadaver.
He stands up slowly and tries to remember what happened. It's the middle of the night. He'd woken up and heard House in the living room, playing video games. He'd stumbled out, planning on asking him to turn the sound down to a low roar - he had to go to work early tomorrow - when --
"Your cane! It was flying!" He blurts out. It all comes back to him. House had been sitting on the couch and his cane had been flying across the room. Actually flying. Like an airplane.
House gives him an incredulous look.
"My cane was flying? How many happy pills did you take before going to bed? You had a dream, Wilson."
"No, no, no. I saw it. It was..." Wilson waves his arms in a rough approximation of what a flying cane looks like. "Flying. You made it fly. That's why I fainted."
"I made it fly? Did I wiggle my nose like Samantha?"
"No, you waved your hand, like this. " Wilson waves his hand and then stares hopefully at the discarded cane. Nothing.
"You were dreaming Wilson, you had some sort of night terror. You were only half awake when you came out here. You hallucinated and then you fainted. Trust me, I'm a diagnostician, and it's not a hard call. Canes don't fly."
They really didn't. He looks around the room again, suspecting a practical joke, but there are no wires or pulleys visible. He picks up the cane and inspects it, no motor. It's just an ordinary wooden cane.
He stands there, rubbing the back of his neck. He's sore from the fall, and tired. Maybe he was mistaken.
"Go back to bed, Wilson." House looks at him intently. "There's nothing to see here. Canes don't fly." He makes a motion with his hand and Wilson nods.
"I'll go back to bed. There's nothing to see here. Canes don't fly."
"Goodnight, Wilson."
"Goodnight, House."
When Wilson has shuffled off back to bed House breathes a sigh of relief. That was close. Thirty years of living amongst mortals and he still slips up sometimes. He waits until he hears Wilson's bedroom door close and then he waves his hand. A beer comes flying in from the kitchen and settles nicely into the palm of his hand.
"Now you're just showing off."
House looks up with a start. Wilson is leaning against the door jamb. His arms are crossed and there's a knowing smile on his face. He must have closed the bedroom door and crept back. House is well and truly sprung.
Oh well, at least this time he didn't faint.
~ End
Characters: House & Wilson
Rating: PG
Words 600
Summary: For the Insta-Prompt challege at Camp Sick!Wilson. Prompt was
There's a hard surface beneath his body and he's lying with his limbs twisted at awkward angles. He blinks his eyes open. He's lying face down on the floor of House's apartment, dressed in his pyjamas.
House is sitting on the couch, completely absorbed in playing one of his video games, as if Wilson wasn't lying on his floor. His cane is propped up next to him.
"What..." Wilson says, his voice comes out in an embarrassing squeak so he clears his throat and starts again. "What happened? Why am I on the floor?"
He starts to pull himself together into a sitting position.
"You fainted. Or to put it in fancy three syllable medical words - you had a syncopal episode."
"I fainted?"
"Like a dead parrot."
Oh. He's never fainted before in his life, not even first year med school when half the class fainted dead away at the sight of the first cut up cadaver.
He stands up slowly and tries to remember what happened. It's the middle of the night. He'd woken up and heard House in the living room, playing video games. He'd stumbled out, planning on asking him to turn the sound down to a low roar - he had to go to work early tomorrow - when --
"Your cane! It was flying!" He blurts out. It all comes back to him. House had been sitting on the couch and his cane had been flying across the room. Actually flying. Like an airplane.
House gives him an incredulous look.
"My cane was flying? How many happy pills did you take before going to bed? You had a dream, Wilson."
"No, no, no. I saw it. It was..." Wilson waves his arms in a rough approximation of what a flying cane looks like. "Flying. You made it fly. That's why I fainted."
"I made it fly? Did I wiggle my nose like Samantha?"
"No, you waved your hand, like this. " Wilson waves his hand and then stares hopefully at the discarded cane. Nothing.
"You were dreaming Wilson, you had some sort of night terror. You were only half awake when you came out here. You hallucinated and then you fainted. Trust me, I'm a diagnostician, and it's not a hard call. Canes don't fly."
They really didn't. He looks around the room again, suspecting a practical joke, but there are no wires or pulleys visible. He picks up the cane and inspects it, no motor. It's just an ordinary wooden cane.
He stands there, rubbing the back of his neck. He's sore from the fall, and tired. Maybe he was mistaken.
"Go back to bed, Wilson." House looks at him intently. "There's nothing to see here. Canes don't fly." He makes a motion with his hand and Wilson nods.
"I'll go back to bed. There's nothing to see here. Canes don't fly."
"Goodnight, Wilson."
"Goodnight, House."
When Wilson has shuffled off back to bed House breathes a sigh of relief. That was close. Thirty years of living amongst mortals and he still slips up sometimes. He waits until he hears Wilson's bedroom door close and then he waves his hand. A beer comes flying in from the kitchen and settles nicely into the palm of his hand.
"Now you're just showing off."
House looks up with a start. Wilson is leaning against the door jamb. His arms are crossed and there's a knowing smile on his face. He must have closed the bedroom door and crept back. House is well and truly sprung.
Oh well, at least this time he didn't faint.
~ End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-06-17 06:33 am (UTC)Adorable, and whatever I expected, this wasn't it. I love Wilson's sneakiness.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-06-17 11:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-06-17 12:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-06-17 01:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-06-17 04:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-06-17 11:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-06-18 12:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-06-18 03:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-06-18 10:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-06-20 03:38 am (UTC)This call out for a series (at least of drabbles if not more). Just saying. ;)
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-06-22 11:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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