Damn it's hot!!
We went from winter to summer in a day. It was 92 degrees. Why do I live in Missouri, I keep forgetting. Anyway, I am annoyed with the upcoming episodes, not next week the one after. This is my response to.......I'll put in a cut for those who don't want to be spoiled.
I want Wilson to stay with House, not move out!!! I know, I know but a girl can wish, can't she?
Statement
“I want you to stay.” The words had been spoken but he’d not heard. Too impatient, too annoyed, too filled with his own sorrow, Wilson had not heard nor recognized those few words for what they were. And so he had left, packing his suits and his hair dryer and his Tupperware neatly and moved on. A new apartment, a new girlfriend, a new start and life went on. Hours slipped into days slipped into weeks and he never heard the echo of the words, never wondered at their being spoken. Why would those mean anything, everybody lied. It’s actions that count and he had been the butt of the joke, the nerd getting pranked too often not to see it wouldn’t end like everything else in his life did. It wasn’t until the storm rolled in and he sat in his nearly empty apartment with thunder crashing all around him that he finally began to hear. The irony wasn’t lost on Wilson, and he allowed himself a small smile, sitting with his pillow clutched to his chest, Cary Grant and Joan Fontain playing out their own cat and mouse game in the storm with him.
He’d taken the words for lies and the actions for truth and for once he had misread House. There in the confines of his world, in that small sanctuary he had created for himself, House had told the truth. His childish pranks had been only an invitation to play, to share in a lessening of misery by the fact they were together. Sometimes Wilson forgot that the brilliant doctor was really no more than a lonely child inside, chased there by jealousy and resentment, kept locked inside by arrogance and pride. House didn’t adhere to rules made by others but he held to a personal code that shackled him more surely than the damaged leg. Thunder shook the windows, the sound so startling and violent it made Wilson jump and in that instant he thought he heard House’s voice again- I want you to stay and It makes me smile. Wilson got to his feet, threw on a jacket, grabbed his keys and raced out into the storm. He drove quickly despite the rain lashing his windshield and the jagged flashes of lightning that blinded him but when he reached the familiar doorstep of 221 he stopped, shuddering under the onslaught. Rain poured down his collar, ran into his eyes and stung his cheeks but none of that caused the sudden pounding of his heart.
He could feel, like an echo of his own racing heartbeat, House inside needing him there. Wilson wasted no time - bursting inside, dripping rainwater on the wood floors, slipping in his haste and nearly overturning the umbrella stand full of canes. Lightning followed him in like a reprimand, checking out the damage before dashing away. He did not see House lying prone on the floor, or as a dark and lifeless bundle on the couch but sensed the wrongness of it all like an ailment with no symptoms. He found his way to House’s bedroom, stepping into the darker shadows and rehearsing what he would say when House woke. He found House on the bed, the pill bottle lying like a spent lover at his side, and for an eternity he counted and recounted the number in his mind. A strangled sob erupted from his throat when it didn’t add up to the end of it all and the sound caused House to stir. Slits of deep blue appeared beneath his fluttering lashes and a slurred voice uttered his name.
Wilson did not answer, or shout or cry or do any of the things he’d long ago thought he might do if this happened. Instead he gathered House into his arms, holding him tight and with his cheek against softly graying hair, he began to whisper, “I want you to stay. I want you to stay. I want you to stay.” The storm rolled over them and morning came and Wilson did not leave.
Question
The first time had been just after they met, there’d been an instant spark, a crackling connection even someone blind could have felt. He could still remember Stacy’s introduction; “James this is House, the mad doctor. House, this is James.” House had grinned, and he had smiled and legend had been born that day. They shared a laugh and a drink and later some weed. He’d left House and Stacy rolling around on the couch high and half naked and he’d gone to a little bar he knew. He’d found what he needed; tall and slender, older than himself, the eyes were not the right shade of blue but he’d never seen that color before, so he made do. The sex had been good and when he got home if Kim smelled it on him she never said. He told her a month later when being around House drove him to it. He confessed, told her he’d broken their marriage vows with real shame, and when she’d cried, demanding to know who the name had slipped unbidden “House.” He’d given Kim everything she’d asked for, not because he felt that guilty but with a kind of sorrow that he’d not found what he needed and hurt her by it. He appeared on House’s doorstep and slept on a mattress in the spare room. He listened to House and Stacy make love and his muffled “House” added an odd competition to Stacy’s cry of “Greg”. The arrangement lasted until Stacy found him washing his sheets one afternoon, her expression of didn’t change but her eyes acknowledged their common bond. He married Beth soon after and clung to her when he thought he might lose House and clung to House when he lost Stacy. It wasn’t what he’d imagined; it was raw and guttural and punished them both but it welded them together like steel. He allowed himself to sit by House’s bedside and hold his hand, and ignored insults and curses hurled at him like stones. There were no tears when Beth stormed out, smelling the sex on him and staring with cold anger. He didn't protest when she accused House of taking him away from her because it was as true as he could make it. And now Julie has turned the tables and his confession is gathering dust in his heart. He seeks out that little bar once again, finding someone who can be what he needs and when he gets to House’s place he wonders if House smells sex on him. But more than that he wonders if House asks who - what will he say?
I want Wilson to stay with House, not move out!!! I know, I know but a girl can wish, can't she?
Statement
“I want you to stay.” The words had been spoken but he’d not heard. Too impatient, too annoyed, too filled with his own sorrow, Wilson had not heard nor recognized those few words for what they were. And so he had left, packing his suits and his hair dryer and his Tupperware neatly and moved on. A new apartment, a new girlfriend, a new start and life went on. Hours slipped into days slipped into weeks and he never heard the echo of the words, never wondered at their being spoken. Why would those mean anything, everybody lied. It’s actions that count and he had been the butt of the joke, the nerd getting pranked too often not to see it wouldn’t end like everything else in his life did. It wasn’t until the storm rolled in and he sat in his nearly empty apartment with thunder crashing all around him that he finally began to hear. The irony wasn’t lost on Wilson, and he allowed himself a small smile, sitting with his pillow clutched to his chest, Cary Grant and Joan Fontain playing out their own cat and mouse game in the storm with him.
He’d taken the words for lies and the actions for truth and for once he had misread House. There in the confines of his world, in that small sanctuary he had created for himself, House had told the truth. His childish pranks had been only an invitation to play, to share in a lessening of misery by the fact they were together. Sometimes Wilson forgot that the brilliant doctor was really no more than a lonely child inside, chased there by jealousy and resentment, kept locked inside by arrogance and pride. House didn’t adhere to rules made by others but he held to a personal code that shackled him more surely than the damaged leg. Thunder shook the windows, the sound so startling and violent it made Wilson jump and in that instant he thought he heard House’s voice again- I want you to stay and It makes me smile. Wilson got to his feet, threw on a jacket, grabbed his keys and raced out into the storm. He drove quickly despite the rain lashing his windshield and the jagged flashes of lightning that blinded him but when he reached the familiar doorstep of 221 he stopped, shuddering under the onslaught. Rain poured down his collar, ran into his eyes and stung his cheeks but none of that caused the sudden pounding of his heart.
He could feel, like an echo of his own racing heartbeat, House inside needing him there. Wilson wasted no time - bursting inside, dripping rainwater on the wood floors, slipping in his haste and nearly overturning the umbrella stand full of canes. Lightning followed him in like a reprimand, checking out the damage before dashing away. He did not see House lying prone on the floor, or as a dark and lifeless bundle on the couch but sensed the wrongness of it all like an ailment with no symptoms. He found his way to House’s bedroom, stepping into the darker shadows and rehearsing what he would say when House woke. He found House on the bed, the pill bottle lying like a spent lover at his side, and for an eternity he counted and recounted the number in his mind. A strangled sob erupted from his throat when it didn’t add up to the end of it all and the sound caused House to stir. Slits of deep blue appeared beneath his fluttering lashes and a slurred voice uttered his name.
Wilson did not answer, or shout or cry or do any of the things he’d long ago thought he might do if this happened. Instead he gathered House into his arms, holding him tight and with his cheek against softly graying hair, he began to whisper, “I want you to stay. I want you to stay. I want you to stay.” The storm rolled over them and morning came and Wilson did not leave.
Question
The first time had been just after they met, there’d been an instant spark, a crackling connection even someone blind could have felt. He could still remember Stacy’s introduction; “James this is House, the mad doctor. House, this is James.” House had grinned, and he had smiled and legend had been born that day. They shared a laugh and a drink and later some weed. He’d left House and Stacy rolling around on the couch high and half naked and he’d gone to a little bar he knew. He’d found what he needed; tall and slender, older than himself, the eyes were not the right shade of blue but he’d never seen that color before, so he made do. The sex had been good and when he got home if Kim smelled it on him she never said. He told her a month later when being around House drove him to it. He confessed, told her he’d broken their marriage vows with real shame, and when she’d cried, demanding to know who the name had slipped unbidden “House.” He’d given Kim everything she’d asked for, not because he felt that guilty but with a kind of sorrow that he’d not found what he needed and hurt her by it. He appeared on House’s doorstep and slept on a mattress in the spare room. He listened to House and Stacy make love and his muffled “House” added an odd competition to Stacy’s cry of “Greg”. The arrangement lasted until Stacy found him washing his sheets one afternoon, her expression of didn’t change but her eyes acknowledged their common bond. He married Beth soon after and clung to her when he thought he might lose House and clung to House when he lost Stacy. It wasn’t what he’d imagined; it was raw and guttural and punished them both but it welded them together like steel. He allowed himself to sit by House’s bedside and hold his hand, and ignored insults and curses hurled at him like stones. There were no tears when Beth stormed out, smelling the sex on him and staring with cold anger. He didn't protest when she accused House of taking him away from her because it was as true as he could make it. And now Julie has turned the tables and his confession is gathering dust in his heart. He seeks out that little bar once again, finding someone who can be what he needs and when he gets to House’s place he wonders if House smells sex on him. But more than that he wonders if House asks who - what will he say?