Days Like This (House; House/Wilson - Secret Santa for cally) 1/?

[sapphiremint]

Merry (belated) Christmas and Happy New Year @cally!  I’m your Secret Santa this year!  I'm also cutting the deadline super close and I deeply apologize for my tardiness.   Even though it’s been quite a while since I’ve written House, it’s still one of my favorite tv shows and I’m always down to write for it, hopefully I’m not too rusty on details or characterization.  I have a few installments in mind so if there's something you'd like to see, don't hesitate to let me know!!  Sorry there's not a lot of the good stuff yet, most of this was set-up but I hope you enjoy!

Set around Season 6.

Part I

Propping his right leg on the leg rest, House collapsed into the armchair and let out a small sigh of relief as the pain dissipated, albeit only marginally.  He reached into his coat pocket to pop a couple of Vicodin, only remembering that, one, he was off Vicodin, and two, Wilson had his bottle of acetaminophen.  Since discharging the previous week’s patient, the pain seemed to be worse than usual.  Cameron seemed to notice his discomfort; as his old team filed out of the room, her gaze had flickered from his leg to his face.  Of course he kept his expression unreadable–what kind of poker player would he be if Cameron could read him that easily?  While taking on cases mitigated the pain, he hadn’t had an interesting case in over a month and his thigh seemed to agree as it continued to throb uncomfortably.  He shifted his leg in an attempt to find a more comfortable position when his office door opened.  Pretending to ignore the figure lingering in the doorway, he continued to settle in the chair before yawning loudly and speaking to the air, “Should really get the door fixed.  I hate it when my furniture has a mind of its own.”

As he closed his eyes, he heard pills rattling in a bottle and felt the container hit his hand.  “Cameron said that you seemed to be favoring your left leg today.  Thought you could use a few,” Wilson began.

He could sense that Wilson was ramping up to scold him, per the usual. Since House had moved in with him, Wilson seemed to think that it gave him free reign to constantly nag him.  House opened his eyes reluctantly, angling his head towards the oncologist, who had his arms crossed over his chest.  “I knew she wasn’t over me.  Chase is totally going to lose it.”

Wilson rolled his eyes, he knew House wasn’t going to admit that he was in more pain than usual.  Mentioning that House could talk to him would be a waste of time but he’d been trying to be as supportive as possible after Mayfield.  Clearing his throat, he pointed out–for what was probably the tenth time, “You know that you can talk to me right?”

“I believe this is the fourth time you’ve mentioned it.  I also believe it’s lunchtime and it’s Thai Tuesday.”  Typical of House to deflect and only be concerned about his stomach.  He’d hoped that House would open up a little more now, but he wasn’t holding his breath.

“Can’t, I have to meet with a patient in fifteen minutes,” he replied, promptly exiting the diagnostician’s office.  House watched Wilson’s retreating back before turning his attention to the bottle of acetaminophen.  Not his first choice of pain relief, but what choice did he have?  Turning the bottle in his hand, he noticed that it felt lighter than he remembered.  Twisting the cap off, he peered into the container before shaking out a couple of pills.  Wilson better not have been sneaking some off his stash.  Dry swallowing the pills, he leaned back into the chair once more.

Trying to ignore his rumbling stomach, House thought back to earlier that morning when Wilson suggested that he supervise House’s medication intake and actually give it to him at specified intervals.  He’d reluctantly complied, despite the pain being worse, because admitting it to Wilson would result in a long-winded conversation (more like a lecture) that he’d give his right leg to avoid.  Limping to the back door which led to their connecting balconies, he peered through the glass to see the oncologist at his desk holding his head in his hands.  He ventured out into the brisk December air, climbing over the wall between their patios before brusquely pushing open Wilson’s door.  

Wilson slowly lifted his head, his eyes dark and his lips pressed tightly together.  House leaned against the wall, twirling his cane around.  Wilson continued to stare down the diagnostician in silence, waiting for him to make the first move.  Luckily he didn’t have to wait long.  House jabbed the cane in his direction. “You lying bastard.”

“Bit early for name calling don’t you think?” Wilson responded flatly.

“You didn’t really think you could get away with it did you?”

“Skip to the end, House.  I’m not in the mood for one of your mind games.”  Wilson sighed rubbing the nape of his neck.  Pulling out the prescription bottle from his coat pocket, House tossed it towards Wilson, who wasn’t particularly expecting the action and barely managed to catch it before it smacked him in the eye.  The vial looked as it had when he’d given it to House previously.  Wilson shook his head briefly before glancing back at House in bewilderment.  Before he could say anything, House interjected.

“There’s a few missing from when I gave it to you before we left for work to when you dropped it off.  So either there’s an invisible hole in the vial or someone has an acute case of sticky fingers.”

Wilson raised his arms. “You got me.  Better call the Cuddy or better yet, the DEA.”  House ignored him, continuing his assertions.

“The lying is one thing.  Then I started thinking about the increased irritability and decreased appetite.  The blinds on the side window are closed indicating light sensitivity.  You took the pills because you have a headache.  Not just that but, it seems to be a symptom of the onset of a rhinovirus infection,”  House concluded.

“You’re making all these deductions based on, what?  A few missing acetaminophen?  Seems like a stretch even for you.  You don’t think that maybe you’ve been unwittingly taking a couple more because your leg pain flared up–you didn’t think I noticed did you?”  House’s smirk faded at the last statement, Wilson was keeping a closer eye on him that he thought.  He opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by a breathy “excuse me” from Wilson, as the latter swiveled in his chair before smothering his face into the crook of his arm.

“Hh’ngCHH! Ht’kCCHT!”

“You were saying?” House commented in mock-innocence, a smug smirk painted across his face.

[cally]

Oh, hooray!   I am already utterly in love with this and cannot wait for the rest.

Here are just a few lines I'm particularly fond of.  

 

16 minutes ago, sapphiremint said:

“Bit early for name calling don’t you think?”

 

17 minutes ago, sapphiremint said:

“You got me.  Better call the Cuddy or better yet, the DEA.”

Ummmm, maybe not the DEA.  They might start nosing around into where Tritter left off.  

17 minutes ago, sapphiremint said:

You don’t think that maybe you’ve been unwittingly taking a couple more because your leg pain flared up–you didn’t think I noticed did you?”  House’s smirk faded at the last statement, Wilson was keeping a closer eye on him that he thought.

He's probably counting them, House.  Although, probably out of concern for your liver than anything else.  

[Red]

Yeah, I haven't read House for a long time and I love sneezy Wilson and House mocking him / caring for him! Also love how you write the characters, great!