2dozenowies - Dr. James Wilson - Prompt #4: Bruises
Title: Wilson Vs. Can Opener
Author: aguynamedgoo
Rating: PG for mild swearing and a near dirty joke
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing: Still none, unless you count Wilson playing wife to House and House being all doctor-like.
Prompt: #4 - Bruises
Words: 1128
Disclaimer: House and all of the characters do not belong to me, sadly. They belong to people who are far more witty than I am. I just like to take them for a spin once in a while.
Notes: Still no real warnings. This is based on a true story, only I lost a fight to a can opener and a bulk-sized #10 can at work, and had no House to be all doctorly at me. So sad for me. Also, I know that black eyes aren't technically bruises, but they are in the same family as bruises, so I hope it still counts. I mean, how many people would have known that had I not pointed that out? Anyway, inspired by this discussion.
Summary: Every year, ten thousand left-handed Americans are injured using products meant for the right-handed population. As Wilson is about to learn, they were probably all using can openers.
"Where do you keep your can opener?" Wilson asked from his place in House's kitchen. He wasn't entirely sure what possessed him to agree to cook dinner for House. He hadn't lost any sort of bet. They had just been talking at lunch, and House somehow managed to make it seem like it wasn't only a good idea, but that it had been Wilson's. Not that he minded cooking. He just hated giving in to House's demands so easily.
"It's in the drawer next to the refrigerator," House answered from his place on his couch, where he was watching...God only knew what and nursing a beer. Wilson sighed and went to get the can opener.
"You don't have an electric one?" he asked as he withdrew the manual can opener from the drawer. This honestly surprised him: as much canned soup as the man ate, Wilson would have thought he'd have wanted to minimize the effort.
"Nah. I need to keep up my hand strength for-" House started.
"I don't want to know!" Wilson interrupted. He eyed the manual can opener again, wondering how he was going to manage this. It had been ages since he'd had to force himself to use a manual can opener, having purchased an electric one ages ago when he realized he couldn't find a left-handed manual one. He couldn't even remember how he had worked it last time he'd used one.
Wilson eyed the can of asparagus critically. He would have bought fresh, but it would have taken more time, and frankly, the effort would have been wasted on House. He didn't want House to think he was doing this because he wanted to, after all. Well, this shouldn't be that hard. He just needed to go slow, and not let House see that he could be defeated by a simple kitchen utensil.
He lined the gears up on the rim of the can and squeezed the handles together with is left hand, sinking the bladed gear into the inner edge of the top of the can. Well, so far, so good. He raised his right hand to the crank and began to turn.
The first thing he noticed was that he seemed inclined to turn it backwards, turning the crank out away from him rather than in toward himself. This caused his hand to slip off of the crank repeatedly. At one point, before he was even a quarter of the way finished with opening the can, his hand slipped and he scraped his wrist against the bolt connecting the crank to the rest of the apparatus. "Damn it!" he howled, dropping the can opener to survey the damage. It was a very minor scrape, with no blood drawn.
"Going to make it, Jimmy?" House asked from his place on the couch.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Wilson assured him, quickly picking the can opener up again. He glared it at, as if to say "okay, can opener, it's just you and me." Placing the gears in the portion of the can he had already opened, this time he gripped the handles with his right hand, then crossed his left hand over his right to reach the crank. Well, that felt a bit better. When he began to turn the crank, he was at least turning it in the right direction.
The problem, however, came from the pressure his left arm put on his right as it crossed over. As the effort to turn the crank applied more pressure, it would cause the gears to slip off the can, and more than once the can fell over onto its side. He swore again, then righted the can yet again and put the gears back into the groove. Halfway there. Just pace himself...
The effort of concentration had had the unforeseen effect of him unconsciously applying more pressure. He didn't really take notice, as it seemed to be working. That is, until he pressed down on his right arm particularly hard. This action caused his right hand to jerk upwards, and the handles of the can opener to be released from his grip, sending the entire apparatus directly into his right eye. He howled in pain as the can opener fell to the floor.
This at least got House's attention for him to get up and make his way into the kitchen. "What the hell is going on, Jimmy? Do you have to kill dinner before you cook it?"
"I just took a damn can opener in the eye!" Wilson howled, his hand pressed against said eye.
House didn't bother to disguise the smirk that appeared on his face. "How did you manage that one? Insult its mother?"
"You know I'm left-handed!" Wilson shot back. "It's hard for me to use a can opener!"
"That doesn't answer my question. I want to know the mechanics of getting a can opener launched into your eye," House pressed. He opened the cupboard next the refrigerator, which had various first aid and medical items in it, and took out one of the many ice packs he owned, cracking it on the counter. "Go get a washcloth from the bathroom.
Wilson obliged, wrapping the washcloth around the ice pack and applying it to his eye. "I had to cross my arms so I could hold the handles with my right hand and turn the crank with my left. I pressed my right arm a little too hard and it flew into my eye."
"Let me see," House ordered. He limped up to Wilson just as the other man lowered the ice pack. His eye was already swelling and turning dark around the socket. House pressed gently around the area of the injury.
"Ow! Hey!" Wilson cried, raising the ice pack again, but House pushed it out of the way again.
"I'm trying to be a doctor here, so shut up for a second," House ordered. He raised his finger, and without prompting Wilson followed it with his eyes. "Any pain when you move your eyes?" House asked. Wilson shook his head. "Side of your face numb?" Another negative. "No swelling or depression of the eye itself...any blurriness? Double-vision? Floaters?" Wilson shook his head again, then put the ice pack back over it. "Well, then you've got yourself a shiner. Keep it iced and let me open your damn cans from now on."
"How the hell am I going to explain this at work?" Wilson whined.
House shrugged. "I can tell them I popped you one, if that'll make you feel better."
Wilson sighed, then leaned over and picked up the can opener, thrusting it at House. "Open the cans," he ordered, heading to the bathroom to survey the damage and sulk.
The End
Author: aguynamedgoo
Rating: PG for mild swearing and a near dirty joke
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing: Still none, unless you count Wilson playing wife to House and House being all doctor-like.
Prompt: #4 - Bruises
Words: 1128
Disclaimer: House and all of the characters do not belong to me, sadly. They belong to people who are far more witty than I am. I just like to take them for a spin once in a while.
Notes: Still no real warnings. This is based on a true story, only I lost a fight to a can opener and a bulk-sized #10 can at work, and had no House to be all doctorly at me. So sad for me. Also, I know that black eyes aren't technically bruises, but they are in the same family as bruises, so I hope it still counts. I mean, how many people would have known that had I not pointed that out? Anyway, inspired by this discussion.
Summary: Every year, ten thousand left-handed Americans are injured using products meant for the right-handed population. As Wilson is about to learn, they were probably all using can openers.
"Where do you keep your can opener?" Wilson asked from his place in House's kitchen. He wasn't entirely sure what possessed him to agree to cook dinner for House. He hadn't lost any sort of bet. They had just been talking at lunch, and House somehow managed to make it seem like it wasn't only a good idea, but that it had been Wilson's. Not that he minded cooking. He just hated giving in to House's demands so easily.
"It's in the drawer next to the refrigerator," House answered from his place on his couch, where he was watching...God only knew what and nursing a beer. Wilson sighed and went to get the can opener.
"You don't have an electric one?" he asked as he withdrew the manual can opener from the drawer. This honestly surprised him: as much canned soup as the man ate, Wilson would have thought he'd have wanted to minimize the effort.
"Nah. I need to keep up my hand strength for-" House started.
"I don't want to know!" Wilson interrupted. He eyed the manual can opener again, wondering how he was going to manage this. It had been ages since he'd had to force himself to use a manual can opener, having purchased an electric one ages ago when he realized he couldn't find a left-handed manual one. He couldn't even remember how he had worked it last time he'd used one.
Wilson eyed the can of asparagus critically. He would have bought fresh, but it would have taken more time, and frankly, the effort would have been wasted on House. He didn't want House to think he was doing this because he wanted to, after all. Well, this shouldn't be that hard. He just needed to go slow, and not let House see that he could be defeated by a simple kitchen utensil.
He lined the gears up on the rim of the can and squeezed the handles together with is left hand, sinking the bladed gear into the inner edge of the top of the can. Well, so far, so good. He raised his right hand to the crank and began to turn.
The first thing he noticed was that he seemed inclined to turn it backwards, turning the crank out away from him rather than in toward himself. This caused his hand to slip off of the crank repeatedly. At one point, before he was even a quarter of the way finished with opening the can, his hand slipped and he scraped his wrist against the bolt connecting the crank to the rest of the apparatus. "Damn it!" he howled, dropping the can opener to survey the damage. It was a very minor scrape, with no blood drawn.
"Going to make it, Jimmy?" House asked from his place on the couch.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Wilson assured him, quickly picking the can opener up again. He glared it at, as if to say "okay, can opener, it's just you and me." Placing the gears in the portion of the can he had already opened, this time he gripped the handles with his right hand, then crossed his left hand over his right to reach the crank. Well, that felt a bit better. When he began to turn the crank, he was at least turning it in the right direction.
The problem, however, came from the pressure his left arm put on his right as it crossed over. As the effort to turn the crank applied more pressure, it would cause the gears to slip off the can, and more than once the can fell over onto its side. He swore again, then righted the can yet again and put the gears back into the groove. Halfway there. Just pace himself...
The effort of concentration had had the unforeseen effect of him unconsciously applying more pressure. He didn't really take notice, as it seemed to be working. That is, until he pressed down on his right arm particularly hard. This action caused his right hand to jerk upwards, and the handles of the can opener to be released from his grip, sending the entire apparatus directly into his right eye. He howled in pain as the can opener fell to the floor.
This at least got House's attention for him to get up and make his way into the kitchen. "What the hell is going on, Jimmy? Do you have to kill dinner before you cook it?"
"I just took a damn can opener in the eye!" Wilson howled, his hand pressed against said eye.
House didn't bother to disguise the smirk that appeared on his face. "How did you manage that one? Insult its mother?"
"You know I'm left-handed!" Wilson shot back. "It's hard for me to use a can opener!"
"That doesn't answer my question. I want to know the mechanics of getting a can opener launched into your eye," House pressed. He opened the cupboard next the refrigerator, which had various first aid and medical items in it, and took out one of the many ice packs he owned, cracking it on the counter. "Go get a washcloth from the bathroom.
Wilson obliged, wrapping the washcloth around the ice pack and applying it to his eye. "I had to cross my arms so I could hold the handles with my right hand and turn the crank with my left. I pressed my right arm a little too hard and it flew into my eye."
"Let me see," House ordered. He limped up to Wilson just as the other man lowered the ice pack. His eye was already swelling and turning dark around the socket. House pressed gently around the area of the injury.
"Ow! Hey!" Wilson cried, raising the ice pack again, but House pushed it out of the way again.
"I'm trying to be a doctor here, so shut up for a second," House ordered. He raised his finger, and without prompting Wilson followed it with his eyes. "Any pain when you move your eyes?" House asked. Wilson shook his head. "Side of your face numb?" Another negative. "No swelling or depression of the eye itself...any blurriness? Double-vision? Floaters?" Wilson shook his head again, then put the ice pack back over it. "Well, then you've got yourself a shiner. Keep it iced and let me open your damn cans from now on."
"How the hell am I going to explain this at work?" Wilson whined.
House shrugged. "I can tell them I popped you one, if that'll make you feel better."
Wilson sighed, then leaned over and picked up the can opener, thrusting it at House. "Open the cans," he ordered, heading to the bathroom to survey the damage and sulk.
The End