In Which Greg House Hates A Lot Of Things
folder
G through L › House
Rating:
Adult
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1
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2,317
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
G through L › House
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,317
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
Not mine. They belong to David Shore. This is worship. No monetary profit was made.
In Which Greg House Hates A Lot Of Things
Title: In Which Greg House Hates A Lot Of Things.
Author: Myself.
Pairing: Not so much an actual pairing, but it's sort of implied. House/Wilson.
Rating: G. No swearing, no sexual intercourse. Just action and thought, pretty much.
Warning/Spoilers: Little bit of a warning. If you haven't seen up to/past House's Head, Wilson's Heart, and Dying Changes Everything then don't read this. Kay? Kay.
Summary: House needs Wilson.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, they belong to David Shore. Consider this worship. No monetary profit was made.
Word Count: 309.
Author's Note: This is pretty much a one shot. I just watched reruns of House's Head, Wilson's Heart and Dying Changes Everything recently, and this scene got into my head.
Dr. Gregory House: I could stay here with you.
Dr. Amber Volakis: Get off the bus.
Dr. Gregory House: I can't.
Dr. Amber Volakis: Why not?
Dr. Gregory House: Because... because it doesn't hurt here. Because I... I don't want to be in pain, I don't want to be miserable. And I don't want him to hate me.
Dr. Amber Volakis: Well... you can't always get what you want.
James carries the box on his hip. A motion that would require a twist for my bones that would ultimately hurt my leg. He leaves me alone in the dark of his office. The door is still open, not quite finished swinging toward the wall. This isn't his office. Not any longer. In a week, it won't even smell like him anymore.
I turn toward the doorway, watching him walk down the hall. I take a step forward. Step-limp-step. I hate this cane in my hand, it's old. It's brown, and unexciting and there are no flames around the bottom. I hate it for that as much as I hate it for the fact that I need it.
He's right. Were he and I ever really friends? Or did I see something else in him?
Or maybe he's not right. Maybe there is a reason for our friendship.
I shuffle down the hall after him, my steps echoing off the walls after me. Step-limp-step-limp-step-limp. Step-limp-step-limp-step-limp. I hate that sound. He stops at the elevator and I can see in the way his shoulders tense up that he can hear me.
He doesn't turn around.
And he stiffens further when I reach him, when my free arm shoves itself around his shoulders, and I'm suddenly so glad that this corridor is deserted.
Wilson is barely breathing and I'm barely breathing and I lean my forehead on his shoulder and I sigh.
"I need you. Can't you see that?"
And my voice cracks when I speak. I hate that.
My best friend says nothing. He pulls away from me and gets into the elevator, and hits the button without turning around.
And I hate that, too.
Author: Myself.
Pairing: Not so much an actual pairing, but it's sort of implied. House/Wilson.
Rating: G. No swearing, no sexual intercourse. Just action and thought, pretty much.
Warning/Spoilers: Little bit of a warning. If you haven't seen up to/past House's Head, Wilson's Heart, and Dying Changes Everything then don't read this. Kay? Kay.
Summary: House needs Wilson.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, they belong to David Shore. Consider this worship. No monetary profit was made.
Word Count: 309.
Author's Note: This is pretty much a one shot. I just watched reruns of House's Head, Wilson's Heart and Dying Changes Everything recently, and this scene got into my head.
Dr. Gregory House: I could stay here with you.
Dr. Amber Volakis: Get off the bus.
Dr. Gregory House: I can't.
Dr. Amber Volakis: Why not?
Dr. Gregory House: Because... because it doesn't hurt here. Because I... I don't want to be in pain, I don't want to be miserable. And I don't want him to hate me.
Dr. Amber Volakis: Well... you can't always get what you want.
James carries the box on his hip. A motion that would require a twist for my bones that would ultimately hurt my leg. He leaves me alone in the dark of his office. The door is still open, not quite finished swinging toward the wall. This isn't his office. Not any longer. In a week, it won't even smell like him anymore.
I turn toward the doorway, watching him walk down the hall. I take a step forward. Step-limp-step. I hate this cane in my hand, it's old. It's brown, and unexciting and there are no flames around the bottom. I hate it for that as much as I hate it for the fact that I need it.
He's right. Were he and I ever really friends? Or did I see something else in him?
Or maybe he's not right. Maybe there is a reason for our friendship.
I shuffle down the hall after him, my steps echoing off the walls after me. Step-limp-step-limp-step-limp. Step-limp-step-limp-step-limp. I hate that sound. He stops at the elevator and I can see in the way his shoulders tense up that he can hear me.
He doesn't turn around.
And he stiffens further when I reach him, when my free arm shoves itself around his shoulders, and I'm suddenly so glad that this corridor is deserted.
Wilson is barely breathing and I'm barely breathing and I lean my forehead on his shoulder and I sigh.
"I need you. Can't you see that?"
And my voice cracks when I speak. I hate that.
My best friend says nothing. He pulls away from me and gets into the elevator, and hits the button without turning around.
And I hate that, too.