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Black Ice (House/Wilson -- PG)
Yeah, so this is yet another drabble request that turned into a fic. o.O
This is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
housesvicodin / hawkeyesmartini, who requested House/Wilson, with House slipping on ice and Wilson catching him ('cos that kinda thing is kewt *g*). It was meant to be a drabble about the above requested, but the boys decided they wanted to have some bantering time, 'cos bantering is all they ever seem to do. *g* Yeah, so -- hope you like it!! xD
Title: Black Ice.
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG, for mention of a swear word
Words: 1,250
Disclaimer: Meh. The more I say this, the more redundant it seems to become. Don't own, all that stuff, la de dah.
Notes: Big thanks tokage_alz and quietcreativity for giving this a glance-over for me. xD
“Winter,” House begins cynically as he waits for Wilson to open the hospital’s entrance door for him, “is proof that God mocks the crippled.”
Wilson, who is tugging his scarf securely around his neck, stops in his tracks to give House an inquisitive look. “It’s proof that God mocks the crippled?”
House nods. “Yeah,” he replies assertively. He gestures with his cane at the snow-covered grounds outside, which is glowing under the pale moonlight. “That’s a death trap for defenceless crippled people.” He looks back to Wilson. “Sheer mockery on God’s part.”
“And… since when did you start believing in God?” Wilson asks slowly as he tucks the loose ends of his scarf into his thick coat with his gloved hands.
House quirks his brows. “I don’t. But just for the purpose of this conversation, I do.”
“Because…” Wilson coaxes with a sceptical tone in his voice as he buttons the top button of his coat up, “…let me guess: you’re a defenceless cripple?”
House looks contemplatively at his friend. “Cuddy wouldn’t buy that, but it’s got a damn good ring to it, hasn’t it? Dr. Gregory House, defenceless cripple.” He pauses, and then gestures to the snow again with his cane, adding, “Who is mocked greatly by God at winter time.”
Wilson snorts. “Cuddy, and I’m pretty sure God, wouldn’t be the only ones who wouldn’t buy that.”
“What, you don’t believe me, Jimmy?”
Wilson twitches at the nickname and casts House an even look. “You are far from defenceless, House.”
House merely pouts at him and Wilson shakes his head with a roll of his eyes as he shoves the door open. “You are not defenceless,” Wilson repeats firmly, holding the door wide for his friend.
“Oh, right,” House remarks smugly as he limps across the threshold and out into the bitingly cold winter night. “That explains why you’re doing the whole nice-guy sympathy thing and holding the door open for me. Either that…” He turns around to face Wilson. “…or you secretly like me.”
The corner of Wilson’s lips quirk slightly as he steps out into the night after House. “Yes, of course, you are so right,” he sarcastically intones, the warmth of his breath a billowing white cloud of steam in front of his face in the cold air.
“About which part? You just being Mr. Nice Guy to the defenceless cripple, or that you like me?”
“You’re not a cripple, Greg.”
“Oh, so we’re on a first-name basis now, are we? Oh well, you clearly secretly like me, then.”
Wilson tries not to look flustered but fails, the chill of the icy wind making his flushed cheeks look redder than they already are from House’s jibes. “You’re not a cripple,” he repeats as though to either correct himself or stress his point.
House raises his cane briefly. “But I have a cane, Jimmy.”
Wilson twitches at the nickname again and refrains from giving an exasperated sigh. “Fred Astaire had a cane, too. That never made him a cripple.”
House lets his cane swing back down, the end striking the snow-covered ground with a clack. “That’s ‘cos God never went out of His way to mock him.”
“Right, so we’re back to God, again.” Wilson rolls his eyes once more. “House, what has God got to do with this ridiculous conversation we’re having?”
“It’s not ridiculous.” House feigns looking hurt.
Wilson arches his brows incredulously at House. “What is it, then?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
Wilson merely gives his friend a confused look.
House heaves an impatient sigh at Wilson and then points towards the snow again with his cane. “We’re discussing how God mocks defenceless cripples at winter time,” he replies in a tone that suggests he’s told Wilson this a thousand times. He then clacks his cane back onto the ground as he faces back to his friend. “And through that, we’ve also discovered that you secretly like me.”
“I don’t secretly like you!” Wilson protests, his face flushed red again.
“Oh,” House remarks thoughtfully. “You… openly like me?”
“I don’t like you!” Wilson exclaims. He falters and then adds quickly, “I mean, I… I-I suppose I… I like you, but I don’t like like you.”
House scoffs disbelievingly. “Your self-denial is so blatant, Wilson.”
“How is it blatant?!” he asks House defensively.
“Oh, please,” House snorts. He rests his weight heavily against his cane as he leans in towards Wilson. “De Nile ain’t just a river in Egypt, pal.”
Wilson opens and closes his mouth a few times, clearly at a loss for words before he remarks in a stiff voice, pointing to House’s cane, “Having a cane doesn’t necessarily make you a defenceless cripple.”
House gives Wilson a deadpanned look. “Now you’re just spoiling my fun, Jimmy.”
That said, House turns around and begins to walk away, glancing over his shoulder to see if his friend is following him. He feels his shoes sliding slightly on the icy ground and a few times his cane almost slips as he leans against it for support. Behind him, he catches the sound of shoes scuffing on the ground and Wilson cursing in surprise -- House glances over his shoulder again to see Wilson looking momentarily frazzled from having almost slipped over on the icy ground -- and when Wilson finally catches up to him, House begins to make a comment about God obviously mocking the Jewish, too, when he feels his foot slide sharply underneath him.
His cane loses friction on the frosty ground and slips with a skid to the side, and House frantically makes a wide-eyed snatch at Wilson, fingers clutching clumsily at his friend’s coat as he exclaims, “Shit.”
Wilson’s reflexes are just as quick -- as House’s cane lands with a slap onto the fresh-fallen snow, his arm loops swiftly around House’s waist, his other hand grabbing House’s coat. In a scuffle of both trying to maintain balance and not letting his friend fall or hurt his leg, Wilson clutches House close and breathes against his ear when he’s certain he has a firm grasp on him, “You okay?”
House takes a moment to catch his breath, feeling slightly shaken. Still gripping Wilson’s coat tightly, he nods and then turns his head, realising suddenly how close Wilson is to him; how warm his breath feels against his chin.
“Yeah,” House replies gruffly after a moment, looking away and regaining his footing as he gingerly lets his friend go. Willing his racing heartbeat to slow down, House then adds sarcastically, though his voice is wavering slightly from the shock of almost falling over, as Wilson bends down carefully to retrieve his cane from the ground, “Told you God mocks the defenceless cripples at winter time.”
Wilson stands back up and presses House’s cane into his hand with a faint, caring smile on his lips. “Fine. He mocks the defenceless cripples at winter time. Happy?”
“Oh, say it like you mean it,” House shoots back cynically as he carefully takes a step forward.
“You’re not defenceless,” Wilson replies with another roll of his eyes. “Nor a cripple. You never were and you never will be.”
Yet, the rest of the way to House’s car, Wilson keeps one arm looped protectively around House’s waist, his other hand loosely clutching his friend’s wrist, and House doesn’t shrug him away.
(He does, however, make jibes to Wilson as he drives him home that Wilson likes likes him, and Wilson, much to House’s amusement, eventually stops denying it.)
Edit: Defenceless is how it's spelt in my corner of the globe. You may spell it defenseless. Just like there is the spelling of 'color' and 'colour'. Tomato, tomarto.
This is for
housesvicodin / hawkeyesmartini, who requested House/Wilson, with House slipping on ice and Wilson catching him ('cos that kinda thing is kewt *g*). It was meant to be a drabble about the above requested, but the boys decided they wanted to have some bantering time, 'cos bantering is all they ever seem to do. *g* Yeah, so -- hope you like it!! xDTitle: Black Ice.
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG, for mention of a swear word
Words: 1,250
Disclaimer: Meh. The more I say this, the more redundant it seems to become. Don't own, all that stuff, la de dah.
Notes: Big thanks to
kage_alz and quietcreativity for giving this a glance-over for me. xD~0~
Black Ice
~
Black Ice
~
“Winter,” House begins cynically as he waits for Wilson to open the hospital’s entrance door for him, “is proof that God mocks the crippled.”
Wilson, who is tugging his scarf securely around his neck, stops in his tracks to give House an inquisitive look. “It’s proof that God mocks the crippled?”
House nods. “Yeah,” he replies assertively. He gestures with his cane at the snow-covered grounds outside, which is glowing under the pale moonlight. “That’s a death trap for defenceless crippled people.” He looks back to Wilson. “Sheer mockery on God’s part.”
“And… since when did you start believing in God?” Wilson asks slowly as he tucks the loose ends of his scarf into his thick coat with his gloved hands.
House quirks his brows. “I don’t. But just for the purpose of this conversation, I do.”
“Because…” Wilson coaxes with a sceptical tone in his voice as he buttons the top button of his coat up, “…let me guess: you’re a defenceless cripple?”
House looks contemplatively at his friend. “Cuddy wouldn’t buy that, but it’s got a damn good ring to it, hasn’t it? Dr. Gregory House, defenceless cripple.” He pauses, and then gestures to the snow again with his cane, adding, “Who is mocked greatly by God at winter time.”
Wilson snorts. “Cuddy, and I’m pretty sure God, wouldn’t be the only ones who wouldn’t buy that.”
“What, you don’t believe me, Jimmy?”
Wilson twitches at the nickname and casts House an even look. “You are far from defenceless, House.”
House merely pouts at him and Wilson shakes his head with a roll of his eyes as he shoves the door open. “You are not defenceless,” Wilson repeats firmly, holding the door wide for his friend.
“Oh, right,” House remarks smugly as he limps across the threshold and out into the bitingly cold winter night. “That explains why you’re doing the whole nice-guy sympathy thing and holding the door open for me. Either that…” He turns around to face Wilson. “…or you secretly like me.”
The corner of Wilson’s lips quirk slightly as he steps out into the night after House. “Yes, of course, you are so right,” he sarcastically intones, the warmth of his breath a billowing white cloud of steam in front of his face in the cold air.
“About which part? You just being Mr. Nice Guy to the defenceless cripple, or that you like me?”
“You’re not a cripple, Greg.”
“Oh, so we’re on a first-name basis now, are we? Oh well, you clearly secretly like me, then.”
Wilson tries not to look flustered but fails, the chill of the icy wind making his flushed cheeks look redder than they already are from House’s jibes. “You’re not a cripple,” he repeats as though to either correct himself or stress his point.
House raises his cane briefly. “But I have a cane, Jimmy.”
Wilson twitches at the nickname again and refrains from giving an exasperated sigh. “Fred Astaire had a cane, too. That never made him a cripple.”
House lets his cane swing back down, the end striking the snow-covered ground with a clack. “That’s ‘cos God never went out of His way to mock him.”
“Right, so we’re back to God, again.” Wilson rolls his eyes once more. “House, what has God got to do with this ridiculous conversation we’re having?”
“It’s not ridiculous.” House feigns looking hurt.
Wilson arches his brows incredulously at House. “What is it, then?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
Wilson merely gives his friend a confused look.
House heaves an impatient sigh at Wilson and then points towards the snow again with his cane. “We’re discussing how God mocks defenceless cripples at winter time,” he replies in a tone that suggests he’s told Wilson this a thousand times. He then clacks his cane back onto the ground as he faces back to his friend. “And through that, we’ve also discovered that you secretly like me.”
“I don’t secretly like you!” Wilson protests, his face flushed red again.
“Oh,” House remarks thoughtfully. “You… openly like me?”
“I don’t like you!” Wilson exclaims. He falters and then adds quickly, “I mean, I… I-I suppose I… I like you, but I don’t like like you.”
House scoffs disbelievingly. “Your self-denial is so blatant, Wilson.”
“How is it blatant?!” he asks House defensively.
“Oh, please,” House snorts. He rests his weight heavily against his cane as he leans in towards Wilson. “De Nile ain’t just a river in Egypt, pal.”
Wilson opens and closes his mouth a few times, clearly at a loss for words before he remarks in a stiff voice, pointing to House’s cane, “Having a cane doesn’t necessarily make you a defenceless cripple.”
House gives Wilson a deadpanned look. “Now you’re just spoiling my fun, Jimmy.”
That said, House turns around and begins to walk away, glancing over his shoulder to see if his friend is following him. He feels his shoes sliding slightly on the icy ground and a few times his cane almost slips as he leans against it for support. Behind him, he catches the sound of shoes scuffing on the ground and Wilson cursing in surprise -- House glances over his shoulder again to see Wilson looking momentarily frazzled from having almost slipped over on the icy ground -- and when Wilson finally catches up to him, House begins to make a comment about God obviously mocking the Jewish, too, when he feels his foot slide sharply underneath him.
His cane loses friction on the frosty ground and slips with a skid to the side, and House frantically makes a wide-eyed snatch at Wilson, fingers clutching clumsily at his friend’s coat as he exclaims, “Shit.”
Wilson’s reflexes are just as quick -- as House’s cane lands with a slap onto the fresh-fallen snow, his arm loops swiftly around House’s waist, his other hand grabbing House’s coat. In a scuffle of both trying to maintain balance and not letting his friend fall or hurt his leg, Wilson clutches House close and breathes against his ear when he’s certain he has a firm grasp on him, “You okay?”
House takes a moment to catch his breath, feeling slightly shaken. Still gripping Wilson’s coat tightly, he nods and then turns his head, realising suddenly how close Wilson is to him; how warm his breath feels against his chin.
“Yeah,” House replies gruffly after a moment, looking away and regaining his footing as he gingerly lets his friend go. Willing his racing heartbeat to slow down, House then adds sarcastically, though his voice is wavering slightly from the shock of almost falling over, as Wilson bends down carefully to retrieve his cane from the ground, “Told you God mocks the defenceless cripples at winter time.”
Wilson stands back up and presses House’s cane into his hand with a faint, caring smile on his lips. “Fine. He mocks the defenceless cripples at winter time. Happy?”
“Oh, say it like you mean it,” House shoots back cynically as he carefully takes a step forward.
“You’re not defenceless,” Wilson replies with another roll of his eyes. “Nor a cripple. You never were and you never will be.”
Yet, the rest of the way to House’s car, Wilson keeps one arm looped protectively around House’s waist, his other hand loosely clutching his friend’s wrist, and House doesn’t shrug him away.
(He does, however, make jibes to Wilson as he drives him home that Wilson likes likes him, and Wilson, much to House’s amusement, eventually stops denying it.)
~
Fin
Please review
~0~
Fin
Please review
~0~
Edit: Defenceless is how it's spelt in my corner of the globe. You may spell it defenseless. Just like there is the spelling of 'color' and 'colour'. Tomato, tomarto.
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