We'll Be Fine
Jun. 1st, 2011 12:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
damigellaTitle: We'll Be Fine
Words: approx 500
Rating : PG for language
Spoilers : 7x23
Warnings : Violence
Summary : Written for camp![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sick_wilson challenge #1 - The Great Fix. Alternative ending to final seventh season episode - Moving On. [Yes, I copied this verbatim from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
menolly_au.]
"Get out."
Wilson just stares at House.
"Are you deaf? Get out of my goddamn car!" House's face is red with anger, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"No." Wilson forces himself to remain calm. To keep enough sanity for himself and for his friend.
"I want to be left alone. Get out."
"House, you can't be alone." Wilson's hand glides on his pulse. "You have a fever. An infection, probably - not a surprise after all you've done. You should go lie down in the back of the car and I'll drive you to the hospital. It will be faster than an ambulance."
House laughs derisively. "I'm the diagnostician, you moron. If I had an infection I would be in pain."
"If you weren't so stoned, you mean. Let me drive."
"Forget it."
"Okay, park and I'll get down. But go park away from Cuddy's place. In the parking lot of the Safeway's two blocks ahead."
House turns his eyes to the road, and Wilson looks at the sidewalk. He discreetly pulls out his cellphone. 911 is on speed dial already, has been since the cannonball dive. House is busy parking, slaloming between shopping carts and wailing toddlers. Wilson speaks fast but clearly. "Infection, fever, mental problems. Parking lot of Safeway's in 11th Street, corner Gardenia Drive, blue sedan, tall middle aged man with a cane."
House stops the car abruptly, switches off the engine, and slaps the phone out of Wilson's hands. "Judas."
"House, you're sick and need help."
House's eyes are red rimmed, his pupils tiny dots of black in a lake of blue which seems to be freezing over with fury. Wilson thinks he can see adrenaline spiking in his friend's body.
The first punch is unexpected, although it shouldn't have been. House's arms are strong, especially the right, used to carry so much of his weight. Wilson's nose cracks audibly, the noise startling him one moment before the pain hits.
Unable to think, it's only by instinct that he raises his arms to defend his face. House punches again, then grabs Cuddy's hairbrush. Through tears-blurred eyes Wilson sees silver flashing in front of him, landing with a twack on his left forearm. Pain shoots up: his ulna is at least cracked, probably broken.
People shout, open the doors to the car, someone tries to pull House out. "Don't touch him. He's sick. He needs medical care. I'm his doctor." His voice is so calm and reasonable that everyone steps back. The ambulance gets audibly nearer.
House drops the brush. He looks at the broken nose, blood all over Wilson's clothes and the car. "Wilson… help me, please."
Wilson holds House's hand, sighing with relief as he sees the ambulance pulling in in the parking lot.
The tears falling on his hand are as burning hot as the sweaty palm pressed against his own.
"You'll be fine, House."
Wilson should be surprised when parched lips start covering his hand with small kisses, the sensation mixing with the tickling of House's beard. But he's not. For the first time in what feels like forever, he's hopeful.
"We'll both be fine."
Words: approx 500
Rating : PG for language
Spoilers : 7x23
Warnings : Violence
Summary : Written for camp
sick_wilson challenge #1 - The Great Fix. Alternative ending to final seventh season episode - Moving On. [Yes, I copied this verbatim from menolly_au.]"Get out."
Wilson just stares at House.
"Are you deaf? Get out of my goddamn car!" House's face is red with anger, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"No." Wilson forces himself to remain calm. To keep enough sanity for himself and for his friend.
"I want to be left alone. Get out."
"House, you can't be alone." Wilson's hand glides on his pulse. "You have a fever. An infection, probably - not a surprise after all you've done. You should go lie down in the back of the car and I'll drive you to the hospital. It will be faster than an ambulance."
House laughs derisively. "I'm the diagnostician, you moron. If I had an infection I would be in pain."
"If you weren't so stoned, you mean. Let me drive."
"Forget it."
"Okay, park and I'll get down. But go park away from Cuddy's place. In the parking lot of the Safeway's two blocks ahead."
House turns his eyes to the road, and Wilson looks at the sidewalk. He discreetly pulls out his cellphone. 911 is on speed dial already, has been since the cannonball dive. House is busy parking, slaloming between shopping carts and wailing toddlers. Wilson speaks fast but clearly. "Infection, fever, mental problems. Parking lot of Safeway's in 11th Street, corner Gardenia Drive, blue sedan, tall middle aged man with a cane."
House stops the car abruptly, switches off the engine, and slaps the phone out of Wilson's hands. "Judas."
"House, you're sick and need help."
House's eyes are red rimmed, his pupils tiny dots of black in a lake of blue which seems to be freezing over with fury. Wilson thinks he can see adrenaline spiking in his friend's body.
The first punch is unexpected, although it shouldn't have been. House's arms are strong, especially the right, used to carry so much of his weight. Wilson's nose cracks audibly, the noise startling him one moment before the pain hits.
Unable to think, it's only by instinct that he raises his arms to defend his face. House punches again, then grabs Cuddy's hairbrush. Through tears-blurred eyes Wilson sees silver flashing in front of him, landing with a twack on his left forearm. Pain shoots up: his ulna is at least cracked, probably broken.
People shout, open the doors to the car, someone tries to pull House out. "Don't touch him. He's sick. He needs medical care. I'm his doctor." His voice is so calm and reasonable that everyone steps back. The ambulance gets audibly nearer.
House drops the brush. He looks at the broken nose, blood all over Wilson's clothes and the car. "Wilson… help me, please."
Wilson holds House's hand, sighing with relief as he sees the ambulance pulling in in the parking lot.
The tears falling on his hand are as burning hot as the sweaty palm pressed against his own.
"You'll be fine, House."
Wilson should be surprised when parched lips start covering his hand with small kisses, the sensation mixing with the tickling of House's beard. But he's not. For the first time in what feels like forever, he's hopeful.
"We'll both be fine."
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no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 12:28 pm (UTC)I suppose its preferable to having House drive the car into a house with Wilson in the car as well though...
no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 12:40 pm (UTC)precisely. That seemed really crazy. But then, the whole of S7 seemed crazy.
"having House drive the car into a house with Wilson in the car as well"
I'm an optimist and hope we can count on some of our fellow campers for that :-). Wilson can get much more severely hurt that way [evil grin].