New House Fic: Cabins and Cripples
Title: Cabins and Cripples
Author: Megan M. (mmorgan317)
Rating: PG
Summary: Wilson has a migraine and tries to hide it from a bored House.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing.
Author's Notes: Written for Camp Sick!Wilson’s “Sekret Woid” entry. MINOR H/W slash, barely there. I hope you like it.
Also the title is meant do say that Cabins and bored Cripples DO NOT go well together. :)
Here's a link to the FF story just in case: Cabins and Cripples
“Hey Wilson!” House called as he thumped his way into the cabin, “You have got to see this. There’s a woman out hear trying to fend off bees with her purse.” He continued his slow trek into where the living room lay, the hundred year old floorboards creaking and whining with every step he makes.
There he finds Wilson, lying on the couch with a pillow over his head and the ankle that he’d manage to sprain while hiking elevated on a pillow. “Come on lazy bones,” House prods using his cane to poke ginger ankle, “if one of us should be sleeping in the afternoon it should be me. You should be making dinner.”
Wilson emits a groan that tugs and House’s heartstrings but he doesn’t let it show. Okay so poking a tender joint with his cane may not have been the best way to get Wilson’s attention but was he supposed to be concerned Connie just because Wilson got a boo boo?
“House, go away.” Wilson grumbles underneath his pillow while he clutches it tighter to his head.
“Mom,” House whines annoyingly, “I’m bored,” Had he been able to House would have pouted right then and there but he needed the cane to hold him up.
“Then go outside and watch that woman get repeatedly stung. I’ll start dinner in a few minutes.” Wilson answered with the ease of babysitting House for years.
House furrowed his brow in disappointment but he realized that Wilson wasn’t up for playing right now so he decided to do as was suggested and leave grumpy-pants alone. “It better be good,” he grumbled as departed the living room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wilson lay on the couch deathly still while he waited for House to leave the cabin. Unbeknownst to House, he had a massive migraine and the mere thought of moving sent bile into his throat. None the less he knew that House had a point. The deal was that HE would cook all the meals if House came along with him and while House was an excellent cook, he would also burn down the cabin while he did it.
Impatiently, the oncologist waited for the Excedrin Migraine to kick in. Thankfully the aspirin in the medicine was helping to dull the deep throbbing in his ankle so cooking would be easier.
He mentally shook his head when he remembered the accident which led to House actually trying to wrap the joint and “play doctor” as he so childishly put it.
The sun shone brightly through the trees while the faint hint of a summer breeze played idly on the leaves. Wilson had decided to go for a short walk which had ended up being more of a hike than anything. When he’d heard a noise to his right, Wilson had spun around to face the adversary while jumping at the same time.
He hadn’t realized that there was a deep, leaf covered hole in the same place that his right foot just happened to land on until after he felt his ankle pop and twist. Defiantly he continued to stare at the bushes, daring his adversary to attack while he gingerly examined the painful ankle.
The laughter of a mad man filled the forest when the adversary came out of the brush and looked at him with brown, curious eyes, tall ears, twitching nose and a fluffy white tail.
Yes! He’d been scared of a rabbit! House was never going to let him live this down.. He shook his head to concentrate on his next task which was to get back to the cabin, a good three miles away, on an ankle that he could barely tolerate to touch.
Bracing himself, Wilson scooted over to a baby oak and counted on its strength to help ease him off the ground. Later he wondered what he would have done if the thing had broken but at that moment he hadn’t cared.
The sturdy sapling held his weight and he was able to get off the wet ground and stand unsteadily on his good leg. Out of shape, he stood there panting from the effort it took to drag his body weight upright.
The path before him suddenly looked miles upon miles long rather than the short distance it actually was. Steeling himself for the pain he was about to cause, Wilson took a hesitant step, putting as much weight on his injured ankle as he could manage.
Unfortunately it hadn’t been much and he’d been forced to limp very heavily to the cabin where a bored House had been waiting impatiently.
Concern had shown briefly in the cerulean eyes before it was replaced by sheer joy and laughter when Wilson unwillingly relayed his tale. He grumpily helped Wilson to the couch where he took off, none too gently by the way, Wilson’s tennis shoe and sock.
The ankle, and incidentally the foot as well, had swollen to the size of a cantaloupe and had turned a rainbow of colors.
House’s touch had been feather light while he’d examined the injured joint and after determining that it was just a bad sprain and Wilson would live, left to grab a pack of frozen corn and a beer. He tossed the corn to Wilson while he’d kept the beer.
They’d spent the rest of the evening with Wilson on the couch begging House to shut up about the rabbit while House merely ignored him and continued making up little dramas of Wilson being scared by the bunny.
House’s cane thumping into the foyer of the cabin brought Wilson out of his embarrassed musings and to the present. “Where’s dinner? I don’t smell anything.” House grumbled while he limped, heavily from the sounds of it, into the living room.
With a long-suffering groan, Wilson took the pillow off his face, wincing at how bright the dimmed sunlight was, and sat up. He studied his friend quickly and upon noticing the dark look in House’s eyes, the lines of pain around his mouth and the way he was almost furiously rubbing his thigh, the oncologist eased himself off the couch.
He stifled a groan when the pounding in his head threatened to make him sit back down but couldn’t stop the slight hisses of pain every time he put weight on his ankle. Slowly but surely he made it into the well stocked kitchen and after mentally cataloging the supplies, decided on something relatively easy yet deliciously filling.
As quickly as he could, he limped around the kitchen gathering potatoes, foil, steaks, spinach, romaine, baby tomatoes and cucumbers. He placed them all on the kitchen island then sat down while he prepped the potatoes to be baked in the campfire while he cooked the 16oz Ribeyes.
The trip outside was hard and painful but he managed with only throwing up once. Gratefully, he sat down on a chair while he waited for the food to cook. The smells of the trees, the steak and potatoes combined with the cooling evening breeze threatened to sing him to sleep so he rolled his eyes, wincing when the migraine pounded more furiously with the action then got up to check the food.
After one last little sizzle, Wilson peeled the steaks off the grill and placed them on a plate then forked the potatoes out of the fire, placing them quickly on the plates next to the meat.
His fingers burned with the heat from the food but he kept his mouth shut while he placed them on the table then grabbed the small salad he’d put together as well. “It’s ready!” He called out, hissing when his head announced its dislike of the volume.
Bile rose in his throat so suddenly that he didn’t have time to do anything but turn around and puke into the sink. He hated it and not just because he’d be the one to clean the sink later. A small whimper escaped through barely parted lips while he waited to see if more would come or stay settled like a rock in his stomach.
When he decided that he’d be fine, Wilson turned around to find House watching him, his diagnostic goggles on. “How long have you had a migraine?” He asked dispassionately.
“I’m fine,” Wilson appeased, holding out his hand placatingly.
House narrowed his eyes, something that never boded well for Wilson, “Okay!” he yelled before slamming his cane as hard as he could on the kitchen island. He limped, less heavily than when he’d entered the cabin, over to the back door and proceeded to slam it shut with all his might which, given that he uses his upper body to support him, was a lot.
Unable to stop it, a groan of agony escaped his mouth while he curved his back to clench his stomach and held his head in his hands. The jackhammers of throbbing became atomic bombs and Wilson thought he’d be better off if his head DID explode - he’d feel better anyways.
Soft hands of apology grabbed his shoulders and steered him to a chair. One hand held on to him, steadying him, while the other ran soothingly up and down his back. He almost froze in shock when, through the haze of pain, he felt the rubbing turn to massaging strokes that were mainly applied to his shoulders and neck.
Wilson opened his tear filled eyes to find House sitting next to him, blue eyes warm with concern and concentration. “Ass,” he said, earning a half-smile from the older man.
“Wouldn’t have done it if you’d just admitted the truth,” House answered, still massaging Wilson’s neck. They both knew that that was as close to an apology as he would utter aloud.
Wilson offered a smile, which he guessed turned out to be more of a grimace as pain spiked sharp and warm in his ankle. He cleared his throat, hoping to rid the leftover taste of bile, “Better eat before it gets cold.”
Slightly disappointed at the thought of withdrawing his hand from Wilson, House offered a small nod then got up and grabbed the plates that had been left in the kitchen. He placed his own plate down first then Wilson’s before he seated himself across from the oncologist.
Wilson gave House a smile before he turned his attention to his plate where a HUGE carrot lay atop it. He turned a glare to House who sat smirking widely.
“For the next time you get attacked by a rabbit.” He said before digging in to his own plate.
Wilson couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped. The pain had been worth it. He left with a note to himself - Cabins and Cripples don’t go well together.
Author: Megan M. (mmorgan317)
Rating: PG
Summary: Wilson has a migraine and tries to hide it from a bored House.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing.
Author's Notes: Written for Camp Sick!Wilson’s “Sekret Woid” entry. MINOR H/W slash, barely there. I hope you like it.
Also the title is meant do say that Cabins and bored Cripples DO NOT go well together. :)
Here's a link to the FF story just in case: Cabins and Cripples
“Hey Wilson!” House called as he thumped his way into the cabin, “You have got to see this. There’s a woman out hear trying to fend off bees with her purse.” He continued his slow trek into where the living room lay, the hundred year old floorboards creaking and whining with every step he makes.
There he finds Wilson, lying on the couch with a pillow over his head and the ankle that he’d manage to sprain while hiking elevated on a pillow. “Come on lazy bones,” House prods using his cane to poke ginger ankle, “if one of us should be sleeping in the afternoon it should be me. You should be making dinner.”
Wilson emits a groan that tugs and House’s heartstrings but he doesn’t let it show. Okay so poking a tender joint with his cane may not have been the best way to get Wilson’s attention but was he supposed to be concerned Connie just because Wilson got a boo boo?
“House, go away.” Wilson grumbles underneath his pillow while he clutches it tighter to his head.
“Mom,” House whines annoyingly, “I’m bored,” Had he been able to House would have pouted right then and there but he needed the cane to hold him up.
“Then go outside and watch that woman get repeatedly stung. I’ll start dinner in a few minutes.” Wilson answered with the ease of babysitting House for years.
House furrowed his brow in disappointment but he realized that Wilson wasn’t up for playing right now so he decided to do as was suggested and leave grumpy-pants alone. “It better be good,” he grumbled as departed the living room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wilson lay on the couch deathly still while he waited for House to leave the cabin. Unbeknownst to House, he had a massive migraine and the mere thought of moving sent bile into his throat. None the less he knew that House had a point. The deal was that HE would cook all the meals if House came along with him and while House was an excellent cook, he would also burn down the cabin while he did it.
Impatiently, the oncologist waited for the Excedrin Migraine to kick in. Thankfully the aspirin in the medicine was helping to dull the deep throbbing in his ankle so cooking would be easier.
He mentally shook his head when he remembered the accident which led to House actually trying to wrap the joint and “play doctor” as he so childishly put it.
The sun shone brightly through the trees while the faint hint of a summer breeze played idly on the leaves. Wilson had decided to go for a short walk which had ended up being more of a hike than anything. When he’d heard a noise to his right, Wilson had spun around to face the adversary while jumping at the same time.
He hadn’t realized that there was a deep, leaf covered hole in the same place that his right foot just happened to land on until after he felt his ankle pop and twist. Defiantly he continued to stare at the bushes, daring his adversary to attack while he gingerly examined the painful ankle.
The laughter of a mad man filled the forest when the adversary came out of the brush and looked at him with brown, curious eyes, tall ears, twitching nose and a fluffy white tail.
Yes! He’d been scared of a rabbit! House was never going to let him live this down.. He shook his head to concentrate on his next task which was to get back to the cabin, a good three miles away, on an ankle that he could barely tolerate to touch.
Bracing himself, Wilson scooted over to a baby oak and counted on its strength to help ease him off the ground. Later he wondered what he would have done if the thing had broken but at that moment he hadn’t cared.
The sturdy sapling held his weight and he was able to get off the wet ground and stand unsteadily on his good leg. Out of shape, he stood there panting from the effort it took to drag his body weight upright.
The path before him suddenly looked miles upon miles long rather than the short distance it actually was. Steeling himself for the pain he was about to cause, Wilson took a hesitant step, putting as much weight on his injured ankle as he could manage.
Unfortunately it hadn’t been much and he’d been forced to limp very heavily to the cabin where a bored House had been waiting impatiently.
Concern had shown briefly in the cerulean eyes before it was replaced by sheer joy and laughter when Wilson unwillingly relayed his tale. He grumpily helped Wilson to the couch where he took off, none too gently by the way, Wilson’s tennis shoe and sock.
The ankle, and incidentally the foot as well, had swollen to the size of a cantaloupe and had turned a rainbow of colors.
House’s touch had been feather light while he’d examined the injured joint and after determining that it was just a bad sprain and Wilson would live, left to grab a pack of frozen corn and a beer. He tossed the corn to Wilson while he’d kept the beer.
They’d spent the rest of the evening with Wilson on the couch begging House to shut up about the rabbit while House merely ignored him and continued making up little dramas of Wilson being scared by the bunny.
House’s cane thumping into the foyer of the cabin brought Wilson out of his embarrassed musings and to the present. “Where’s dinner? I don’t smell anything.” House grumbled while he limped, heavily from the sounds of it, into the living room.
With a long-suffering groan, Wilson took the pillow off his face, wincing at how bright the dimmed sunlight was, and sat up. He studied his friend quickly and upon noticing the dark look in House’s eyes, the lines of pain around his mouth and the way he was almost furiously rubbing his thigh, the oncologist eased himself off the couch.
He stifled a groan when the pounding in his head threatened to make him sit back down but couldn’t stop the slight hisses of pain every time he put weight on his ankle. Slowly but surely he made it into the well stocked kitchen and after mentally cataloging the supplies, decided on something relatively easy yet deliciously filling.
As quickly as he could, he limped around the kitchen gathering potatoes, foil, steaks, spinach, romaine, baby tomatoes and cucumbers. He placed them all on the kitchen island then sat down while he prepped the potatoes to be baked in the campfire while he cooked the 16oz Ribeyes.
The trip outside was hard and painful but he managed with only throwing up once. Gratefully, he sat down on a chair while he waited for the food to cook. The smells of the trees, the steak and potatoes combined with the cooling evening breeze threatened to sing him to sleep so he rolled his eyes, wincing when the migraine pounded more furiously with the action then got up to check the food.
After one last little sizzle, Wilson peeled the steaks off the grill and placed them on a plate then forked the potatoes out of the fire, placing them quickly on the plates next to the meat.
His fingers burned with the heat from the food but he kept his mouth shut while he placed them on the table then grabbed the small salad he’d put together as well. “It’s ready!” He called out, hissing when his head announced its dislike of the volume.
Bile rose in his throat so suddenly that he didn’t have time to do anything but turn around and puke into the sink. He hated it and not just because he’d be the one to clean the sink later. A small whimper escaped through barely parted lips while he waited to see if more would come or stay settled like a rock in his stomach.
When he decided that he’d be fine, Wilson turned around to find House watching him, his diagnostic goggles on. “How long have you had a migraine?” He asked dispassionately.
“I’m fine,” Wilson appeased, holding out his hand placatingly.
House narrowed his eyes, something that never boded well for Wilson, “Okay!” he yelled before slamming his cane as hard as he could on the kitchen island. He limped, less heavily than when he’d entered the cabin, over to the back door and proceeded to slam it shut with all his might which, given that he uses his upper body to support him, was a lot.
Unable to stop it, a groan of agony escaped his mouth while he curved his back to clench his stomach and held his head in his hands. The jackhammers of throbbing became atomic bombs and Wilson thought he’d be better off if his head DID explode - he’d feel better anyways.
Soft hands of apology grabbed his shoulders and steered him to a chair. One hand held on to him, steadying him, while the other ran soothingly up and down his back. He almost froze in shock when, through the haze of pain, he felt the rubbing turn to massaging strokes that were mainly applied to his shoulders and neck.
Wilson opened his tear filled eyes to find House sitting next to him, blue eyes warm with concern and concentration. “Ass,” he said, earning a half-smile from the older man.
“Wouldn’t have done it if you’d just admitted the truth,” House answered, still massaging Wilson’s neck. They both knew that that was as close to an apology as he would utter aloud.
Wilson offered a smile, which he guessed turned out to be more of a grimace as pain spiked sharp and warm in his ankle. He cleared his throat, hoping to rid the leftover taste of bile, “Better eat before it gets cold.”
Slightly disappointed at the thought of withdrawing his hand from Wilson, House offered a small nod then got up and grabbed the plates that had been left in the kitchen. He placed his own plate down first then Wilson’s before he seated himself across from the oncologist.
Wilson gave House a smile before he turned his attention to his plate where a HUGE carrot lay atop it. He turned a glare to House who sat smirking widely.
“For the next time you get attacked by a rabbit.” He said before digging in to his own plate.
Wilson couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped. The pain had been worth it. He left with a note to himself - Cabins and Cripples don’t go well together.