Fic: Sound of Your Voice (1/1)
Finally it's off my chest! *does the victory dance*
Title: Sound of Your Voice
Author: arwen_kenobi
Rating: PG
Paring: House/Wilson
Disclaimer: Not Mine. No Profit. Just for fun. Please don’t sue
Summary: House misses his favourite wake up call
Author’s Note: I’ve been obsessing over Barenaked Ladies thanks to the release of their new albums. This fic can be blamed on their new song “Sound of Your Voice”. Special thank you to awwsugah for the beta and morale boosting.
On the first morning it’s the alarm clock that wakes House up. He hasn’t heard that thing go off in so long that he actually bolts straight up in bed when the radio starts wishing him a good morning and talking about how miserable the weather is outside. His leg loudly voices its displeasure at this sudden movement but House is still in shock at hearing the annoyingly cheerful voice. He reaches for the Vicodin, pops one and wonders why the hell Wilson hadn’t shut the wretched thing off earlier.
Then he realizes that he’s alone in the bed. The left side of the bed is vacant; a touch confirms that it’s cold as well. No one’s been there since yesterday morning and the alarm clock is on that side of the bed. There’s no one there to shut it off.
House makes a mental note to turn that damn thing down a few levels.
- - - -
The second morning is when the alarm clock meets its end. House rolls over quickly to the other side of the bed and viciously throws the thing against the wall before rolling back just as quickly, like a kid trespassing in a neighbour’s back yard. The resounding smash of the clock only makes House happy for a moment, maybe less than that. He’s always hated that alarm clock. He’d always known that. So it would usually have been shut off before it had a chance to announce its unholy presence and other ways would have been found to wake House up. Nicer ones. Gentler ones. Soft whispers and light laughs did the trick much better than that device ever could.
He didn’t miss it. There was no way he was going to admit that, even in his own mind. Just like he wasn’t going to admit that it was his own damn fault, just like he wasn’t going to admit he had gone too far.
- - -
On the third morning it’s the pain that wakes him up. Pain from his leg, pain from his shoulder, pain from his back, it didn’t matter what the source was anymore. Pain is pain is pain…and he almost wishes he had that damn alarm clock back.
He carefully swings himself to a sitting position with his feet on the floor and begins massaging his damaged thigh. He tries not to think about the fact that if it hurt this bad now the rest of the day was certainly going to be worse.
House looks over to the other side of the bed. The remains of the alarm clock were still there. No one was there to pick it all up. An inner voice he always associated with him tells him that he could always pick it up himself.
He stops that thought right where it is. He was not going there. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not next week. He’s gone. Not coming back.
House pauses and cranks his head to get a good view of the hallway. He could have sworn that he’d heard the door open, heard Wilson whisper an apology in that quiet voice that House always seemed to forget Wilson had. That voice that told him that he’d pushed too far, that Wilson was bleeding on the inside and wanting nothing but for House to close the wounds before they bled dry.
He’d never been very good at that
- - - -
On the fourth day it’s the sunlight that wakes him up, and not in a good way. It was at just the right angle to burn his retinas. House flips over and buries his head under the pillow. Go away, Mr. Sun. Don’t shine on me today. Being a blind cripple will be more annoying than being an ordinary cripple. My life sucks enough without your help.
He reaches for the other side of the bed again. No one there. Would he ever learn?
- - -
On the fifth day, after being woken up by someone leaning on the horn, House decides he would give anything and everything he had to wake up to the sound of Wilson’s voice one more time.
Not that he’d ever say it out loud
- - -
On the sixth day it’s his pager that wakes him up. It’s Cuddy, obviously. Who else would it be? It was the usual threat: to get his sorry ass to work before she went over and dragged him there herself.
Wait…what usual threat? There were usual Cuddy threats and there were usual Cuddy threats. This was not a usual Cuddy threat. The last time she’d threatened to come to his apartment and drag him out of bed he’d sat there and waited for her. She didn’t have the guts to follow through on that kind of threat. All threats she made were directed at his professional life, not his personal one.
Only one person could make threats about his personal life. Make threats, carry them out and live to tell about them no less.
House checks the pager number again. It’s definitely Cuddy’s number but had Cuddy actually sent it?
He gets of the door in record time. He wasn’t hoping. Hoping was dangerous. He wouldn’t let himself hope.
- - -
On the seventh morning he wakes up to Wilson whispering in his ear. House is grateful that he isn’t facing him, that way he can’t see the smile on his face. Wilson would know he was awake then and stop talking and House couldn’t have that.
A small part of him registers exactly what is being said, but rest of him doesn’t care what Wilson is saying. Just the fact that he’s speaking to him again is enough. Not that’d ever say it out loud, of course.
“I know you’re awake,” Wilson whispers in his ear, the words finally sinking into House’s brain. “You can lay there all you want but I’m not shutting up until you open your eyes.”
House is just fine with that.
Title: Sound of Your Voice
Author: arwen_kenobi
Rating: PG
Paring: House/Wilson
Disclaimer: Not Mine. No Profit. Just for fun. Please don’t sue
Summary: House misses his favourite wake up call
Author’s Note: I’ve been obsessing over Barenaked Ladies thanks to the release of their new albums. This fic can be blamed on their new song “Sound of Your Voice”. Special thank you to awwsugah for the beta and morale boosting.
On the first morning it’s the alarm clock that wakes House up. He hasn’t heard that thing go off in so long that he actually bolts straight up in bed when the radio starts wishing him a good morning and talking about how miserable the weather is outside. His leg loudly voices its displeasure at this sudden movement but House is still in shock at hearing the annoyingly cheerful voice. He reaches for the Vicodin, pops one and wonders why the hell Wilson hadn’t shut the wretched thing off earlier.
Then he realizes that he’s alone in the bed. The left side of the bed is vacant; a touch confirms that it’s cold as well. No one’s been there since yesterday morning and the alarm clock is on that side of the bed. There’s no one there to shut it off.
House makes a mental note to turn that damn thing down a few levels.
- - - -
The second morning is when the alarm clock meets its end. House rolls over quickly to the other side of the bed and viciously throws the thing against the wall before rolling back just as quickly, like a kid trespassing in a neighbour’s back yard. The resounding smash of the clock only makes House happy for a moment, maybe less than that. He’s always hated that alarm clock. He’d always known that. So it would usually have been shut off before it had a chance to announce its unholy presence and other ways would have been found to wake House up. Nicer ones. Gentler ones. Soft whispers and light laughs did the trick much better than that device ever could.
He didn’t miss it. There was no way he was going to admit that, even in his own mind. Just like he wasn’t going to admit that it was his own damn fault, just like he wasn’t going to admit he had gone too far.
- - -
On the third morning it’s the pain that wakes him up. Pain from his leg, pain from his shoulder, pain from his back, it didn’t matter what the source was anymore. Pain is pain is pain…and he almost wishes he had that damn alarm clock back.
He carefully swings himself to a sitting position with his feet on the floor and begins massaging his damaged thigh. He tries not to think about the fact that if it hurt this bad now the rest of the day was certainly going to be worse.
House looks over to the other side of the bed. The remains of the alarm clock were still there. No one was there to pick it all up. An inner voice he always associated with him tells him that he could always pick it up himself.
He stops that thought right where it is. He was not going there. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not next week. He’s gone. Not coming back.
House pauses and cranks his head to get a good view of the hallway. He could have sworn that he’d heard the door open, heard Wilson whisper an apology in that quiet voice that House always seemed to forget Wilson had. That voice that told him that he’d pushed too far, that Wilson was bleeding on the inside and wanting nothing but for House to close the wounds before they bled dry.
He’d never been very good at that
- - - -
On the fourth day it’s the sunlight that wakes him up, and not in a good way. It was at just the right angle to burn his retinas. House flips over and buries his head under the pillow. Go away, Mr. Sun. Don’t shine on me today. Being a blind cripple will be more annoying than being an ordinary cripple. My life sucks enough without your help.
He reaches for the other side of the bed again. No one there. Would he ever learn?
- - -
On the fifth day, after being woken up by someone leaning on the horn, House decides he would give anything and everything he had to wake up to the sound of Wilson’s voice one more time.
Not that he’d ever say it out loud
- - -
On the sixth day it’s his pager that wakes him up. It’s Cuddy, obviously. Who else would it be? It was the usual threat: to get his sorry ass to work before she went over and dragged him there herself.
Wait…what usual threat? There were usual Cuddy threats and there were usual Cuddy threats. This was not a usual Cuddy threat. The last time she’d threatened to come to his apartment and drag him out of bed he’d sat there and waited for her. She didn’t have the guts to follow through on that kind of threat. All threats she made were directed at his professional life, not his personal one.
Only one person could make threats about his personal life. Make threats, carry them out and live to tell about them no less.
House checks the pager number again. It’s definitely Cuddy’s number but had Cuddy actually sent it?
He gets of the door in record time. He wasn’t hoping. Hoping was dangerous. He wouldn’t let himself hope.
- - -
On the seventh morning he wakes up to Wilson whispering in his ear. House is grateful that he isn’t facing him, that way he can’t see the smile on his face. Wilson would know he was awake then and stop talking and House couldn’t have that.
A small part of him registers exactly what is being said, but rest of him doesn’t care what Wilson is saying. Just the fact that he’s speaking to him again is enough. Not that’d ever say it out loud, of course.
“I know you’re awake,” Wilson whispers in his ear, the words finally sinking into House’s brain. “You can lay there all you want but I’m not shutting up until you open your eyes.”
House is just fine with that.