Rights
Title: Rights
Pairing: House+Wilson friendship
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG
Warnings: Bonnie
Summary: Wilson's back hurts because Bonnie made him sleep on the couch.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Notes: Just a little bit of pre-infarction hurt comfort between the boys.
T
Wilson swallowed, curling his hand on the edge of the cushions.
He wasn’t entirely sure House would be okay with him being here without asking, but he knew his friend wouldn’t kick him out until he was able to walk again.
The door opened, and familiar footsteps, which stopped, abruptly.
“Wilson. Are you drunk?”
“No…” said Wilson, pitifully.
“Hung-over?”
“No…”
House sighed, shaking his head, “then tell me why you’re on my couch at one in the morning.”
“I… Bonnie… made me sleep on the couch.”
“I think she probably meant *your* couch.”
“Last night.”
“Wilson… seriously, explain or I’m kicking you out.”
“And then I had to stay with Jessie and Sarah while their grandfather and legal guardian coded seven times and then went into a coma. All day. The nurses couldn’t, and… Dr. Stevenson told me to go home, but…”
“So you slept on your couch and then stood up all day.”
Wilson nodded into the couch cushion, miserably.
“And you can’t sleep on your own couch ‘cause it’s horrible.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t still wet the bed, right?”
Wilson glared miserably at his friend.
House just shook his head and walked into the kitchen.
Wilson watched him, a little confused.
…why was House just getting home at one o’clock in the morning?
House came back in, and sat on the chair across from the couch.
He had a glass of milk, of all things.
“You want some Percocet? I got some left from when that patient went nuts and broke my ribs.”
“No.”
“’kay. Why did Bonnie kick you onto the curb… er, couch.”
“I was late for dinner.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How-come you came home at one in the morning?”
“Because I don’t have a curfew.”
“You don’t smell like you’ve been drinking.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Where were you?”
“You want me to let you sleep on my couch or not?”
“Sorry… I just-ah!”
House lowered his glass, frowning at his friend.
Wilson’s hand had tightened on the edge of the couch, and his face was buried in the cushions.
His shoulders were trembling.
“Does Bonnie know making you sleep on the couch hurts your back?”
Wilson shook his head, still hiding his face in the couch.
“You’re a moron. And you look like crap. Take a damn Percocet.”
Wilson shook his head again, miserably.
House rolled his eyes, and got up, taking his empty glass into the kitchen.
Wilson turned his head to the side, watching the doorway.
When House came back, he had a beer with a straw in it, and a bunch of grapes.
He walked over to the couch, and down, waving the beer in front of his friend’s face.
Wilson looked at it in confusion.
“What?”
“Alcohol’s a muscle relaxant. Should help with the cramping.”
Wilson looked at him, miserably, then took the beer, and stuck the straw into his mouth.
“I can get you something stronger if you want?”
Wilson shook his head, and sipped at the beer.
House snorted, and walked back to his chair.
“You can go to bed. You don’t have to stay up,” said Wilson, quietly.
“You about to get to sleep?”
“No. Not unless this beer has something besides beer in it.”
House snorted, popping a few grapes into his mouth.
“How-come you weren’t home until one?”
House sighed, realizing Wilson wasn’t going to let this go, “I went for a drive and got a flat tire. I’m fine, the car’s fine, I just had to wait for somebody to come ‘cause I didn’t have a spare.”
Wilson nodded, silently.
House eyed him, warily.
Wilson really did look like crap, pale and shaky.
House got up, padding over to sit on the coffee table.
He reached, hesitantly, brushing his fingers against Wilson’s shoulder.
Wilson looked at him, miserably, eyes clouded.
“She does know, doesn’t she?”
Wilson closed his eyes.
House shook his head in disgust and anger.
“I’m only gonna do this ‘cause you told me that. And I’m not doing it again. And don’t say anything.”
Wilson opened his eyes in surprise, as hands rested on his back, and kneaded, rubbing, starting at his shoulders, and slowly massaging each muscle group, “House-“
“I said don’t say anything.”
Wilson started at his friend over his shoulder.
Then, slowly, smiled, resting his head back down on the couch cushions, and closing his eyes, as House’s hands moved over his back in firm circles.
By the time House had finished, Wilson was deeply asleep, face peaceful and content.
House watched him, frowning a bit.
He rolled Wilson onto his back, pulled his friend’s arm over his shoulders, slid his own arms under Wilson’s back and knees, and lifted, carrying his slumbering friend into the bedroom.
Wilson stirred a little, and rested his head against House’s shoulder, murmuring something soft and sleepy.
House set his friend on the bed, ignoring the small, unhappy noise Wilson made at the loss of contact, and pulling the blankets over the younger doctor. House would be fine on the couch-he didn’t have back problems, and it wasn’t an overstuffed, impractical display piece like the one in Wilson and Bonnie’s apartment.
He frowned, thought, as a small flash of pain crossed his friend’s face, and sat on the edge of the bed, adjusting the blankets unhappily.
Bonnie didn’t have the right to cause Wilson pain… and it really pissed him off that she thought she did.
Pairing: House+Wilson friendship
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG
Warnings: Bonnie
Summary: Wilson's back hurts because Bonnie made him sleep on the couch.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Notes: Just a little bit of pre-infarction hurt comfort between the boys.
T
Wilson swallowed, curling his hand on the edge of the cushions.
He wasn’t entirely sure House would be okay with him being here without asking, but he knew his friend wouldn’t kick him out until he was able to walk again.
The door opened, and familiar footsteps, which stopped, abruptly.
“Wilson. Are you drunk?”
“No…” said Wilson, pitifully.
“Hung-over?”
“No…”
House sighed, shaking his head, “then tell me why you’re on my couch at one in the morning.”
“I… Bonnie… made me sleep on the couch.”
“I think she probably meant *your* couch.”
“Last night.”
“Wilson… seriously, explain or I’m kicking you out.”
“And then I had to stay with Jessie and Sarah while their grandfather and legal guardian coded seven times and then went into a coma. All day. The nurses couldn’t, and… Dr. Stevenson told me to go home, but…”
“So you slept on your couch and then stood up all day.”
Wilson nodded into the couch cushion, miserably.
“And you can’t sleep on your own couch ‘cause it’s horrible.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t still wet the bed, right?”
Wilson glared miserably at his friend.
House just shook his head and walked into the kitchen.
Wilson watched him, a little confused.
…why was House just getting home at one o’clock in the morning?
House came back in, and sat on the chair across from the couch.
He had a glass of milk, of all things.
“You want some Percocet? I got some left from when that patient went nuts and broke my ribs.”
“No.”
“’kay. Why did Bonnie kick you onto the curb… er, couch.”
“I was late for dinner.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How-come you came home at one in the morning?”
“Because I don’t have a curfew.”
“You don’t smell like you’ve been drinking.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Where were you?”
“You want me to let you sleep on my couch or not?”
“Sorry… I just-ah!”
House lowered his glass, frowning at his friend.
Wilson’s hand had tightened on the edge of the couch, and his face was buried in the cushions.
His shoulders were trembling.
“Does Bonnie know making you sleep on the couch hurts your back?”
Wilson shook his head, still hiding his face in the couch.
“You’re a moron. And you look like crap. Take a damn Percocet.”
Wilson shook his head again, miserably.
House rolled his eyes, and got up, taking his empty glass into the kitchen.
Wilson turned his head to the side, watching the doorway.
When House came back, he had a beer with a straw in it, and a bunch of grapes.
He walked over to the couch, and down, waving the beer in front of his friend’s face.
Wilson looked at it in confusion.
“What?”
“Alcohol’s a muscle relaxant. Should help with the cramping.”
Wilson looked at him, miserably, then took the beer, and stuck the straw into his mouth.
“I can get you something stronger if you want?”
Wilson shook his head, and sipped at the beer.
House snorted, and walked back to his chair.
“You can go to bed. You don’t have to stay up,” said Wilson, quietly.
“You about to get to sleep?”
“No. Not unless this beer has something besides beer in it.”
House snorted, popping a few grapes into his mouth.
“How-come you weren’t home until one?”
House sighed, realizing Wilson wasn’t going to let this go, “I went for a drive and got a flat tire. I’m fine, the car’s fine, I just had to wait for somebody to come ‘cause I didn’t have a spare.”
Wilson nodded, silently.
House eyed him, warily.
Wilson really did look like crap, pale and shaky.
House got up, padding over to sit on the coffee table.
He reached, hesitantly, brushing his fingers against Wilson’s shoulder.
Wilson looked at him, miserably, eyes clouded.
“She does know, doesn’t she?”
Wilson closed his eyes.
House shook his head in disgust and anger.
“I’m only gonna do this ‘cause you told me that. And I’m not doing it again. And don’t say anything.”
Wilson opened his eyes in surprise, as hands rested on his back, and kneaded, rubbing, starting at his shoulders, and slowly massaging each muscle group, “House-“
“I said don’t say anything.”
Wilson started at his friend over his shoulder.
Then, slowly, smiled, resting his head back down on the couch cushions, and closing his eyes, as House’s hands moved over his back in firm circles.
By the time House had finished, Wilson was deeply asleep, face peaceful and content.
House watched him, frowning a bit.
He rolled Wilson onto his back, pulled his friend’s arm over his shoulders, slid his own arms under Wilson’s back and knees, and lifted, carrying his slumbering friend into the bedroom.
Wilson stirred a little, and rested his head against House’s shoulder, murmuring something soft and sleepy.
House set his friend on the bed, ignoring the small, unhappy noise Wilson made at the loss of contact, and pulling the blankets over the younger doctor. House would be fine on the couch-he didn’t have back problems, and it wasn’t an overstuffed, impractical display piece like the one in Wilson and Bonnie’s apartment.
He frowned, thought, as a small flash of pain crossed his friend’s face, and sat on the edge of the bed, adjusting the blankets unhappily.
Bonnie didn’t have the right to cause Wilson pain… and it really pissed him off that she thought she did.