Fic - Collectively

[jezziejay]

Title: Collectively
Author: Jezziejay
Rating: PG13
Word Count: ~ 3,000
Warnings:  None.  Well, except for daftness.  And sap.
Spoilers: None.  Although it includes a line I stole from Steve Coogan.
Summary: Written for the sick!Wilson Pic Prompt Challenge - features a phone, a rubber duck, a hammer, a traffic cone and a twister.

Huge thanks to flywoman for a great and speedy beta and for suggesting some crucial changes.  And apologies to her for the dodgy reception on prompt five :)

 

(Pic Prompt – Phone)

Title:  Hello

Phones hurt.

“Hi James, it’s Sarah.  Sorry, I can’t make our date tonight…I’m not feeling too well…I have Lupus.”  Click

“Jimmy, you need to get to over to the hospital.  Mom’s had a heart attack.  It’s not looking too good…No…Stable…Just come quickly.”  Click

“Dr. Wilson?  Hi, this is Steven Garret calling from Massachusetts General Hospital.  We regret to inform you that you have not been successful in your application to join our oncology department.  As I’m sure you are aware, standards are very high and…”  Click

“James, I’ve spoken to a lawyer.  I’ve filed for divorce…Stop it…Unreasonable behaviour…Yes, yours…That wouldn’t be a good idea…New Orleans?...Well, sign them when you get back.”  Click

“James, it’s Bonnie.  I’ve spoken to a lawyer.  I’ve filed for divorce…James?...James?”  Click

“Hi James, it’s Stacy.  I’m sorry for interrupting your honeymoon, and I don’t want to worry you, but you need to get back to Princeton as soon as possible.  I need…Greg needs you.  Sorry for leaving this message, but I can’t seem to reach you at the hotel.  Call me.  Please.”  Click

“I’m leaving him, James…No, you don’t…I can’t.  I just can’t anymore…Stoned and sleeping…Look, I can’t talk about this anymore.  The cab will be here in a few minutes.  Can you come over?...Thanks, and James?...I’m sorry.”  Click

“Get over here.  Now…What have I done?  Twelve vicodin and half a bottle of scotch.”  Click

“…I have the itemised bill right in front of me, Dr. Wilson.  There was substantial damage done to both the lanes and the pin machines, in areas six and seven.  While we’re not sure about lane six, we know that the damage in number seven was caused by a metal topped cane.  As for the toy claw machine, and the call out charge from the emergency services…”  Click

“Yes, I’m sure you are sleeping on his sofa…You know exactly what I mean by that…I’m filing for divorce, James…Well, I see his rudeness is rubbing off on you, although I’m guessing that’s not all he rubs off…”  Click

“Wilson?  It’s Chase.  Get down to the ER.  House has been shot.”  Click

“Dr. Wilson?  This is Dr. Jensen from Princeton General.  You rang to enquire about a Patient Jane Doe from the bus crash?...Yes, we have someone here of that description…We can discuss that when you get here.  You might want to hurry.”  Click

“…Actually, if you could be up here in two, that’d be really helpful…Because I’m about to put myself into insulin shock.”  Click

“Wilson?  Come get me.”  Click

“Yeah, hi.  Did you by any chance own a white terrier called Hector?...Yeah, I said did…He ran out in front of me.  I tried to swerve, but…Yes, sorry…Yeah, I know the place.  I can meet you in twenty…Painless?  Umm, sure…”  Click

Wilson hates phones.  Vessels of misery.  He stares at the one in his lap and wills it to ring.  Or not.  The bastard thing has been deadly silent since he had last spoken to House ten minutes ago.  Ever since House had hung up with a particularly loud click.  Or maybe it was loud in comparison to the silence that had followed that stupid, stupid question that Wilson had asked. 

Stupid question.

The phone buzzes against his thigh and he grabs at it frantically, not even bothering to screen.

He says nothing when he answers.  And in return, he hears nothing.  So he waits, and eventually House speaks.

“Yes…Yes.”  Click

 

(Pic Prompt – Rubber Duck)

Title: Stuck in a Moment

Wilson hates bachelor parties.  Especially his own.  He doesn’t want to have one.  He doesn’t want to have to spend a riotous evening with an assembly of hastily gathered colleagues and strangers.  He doesn’t want the bowling theme, all the more now that the balls have been abandoned in favour of other things that can be slid down the polished wood and into the black hole.  Things like his wallet, Lou the Janitor’s name tag, Brown’s shoe, and some nameless person’s false teeth.  He doesn’t want to wear the tee-shirt that says he’s a ‘Three Time Loser’, even if it does match House’s ‘Friend of Three Time Loser’.  He doesn’t want the strippers, who are currently being escorted from the premises.  He doesn’t want the seventh blue cocktail that House all but pours down his throat. 

He doesn’t even want to get married, for crying out loud.

He doesn’t want any of this.

But he does want the rubber duck.  He wants it more than he wants anything else right now.

The machine in the lobby clearly states that everyone will be a winner –and fuck it, despite what his tee-shirt says, Wilson is a winner.

And to prove it, he is going to win that duck.

He clumsily swings the mechanical arm around the machine, until eventually it settles above the duck.  Quickly, he presses a button and the metal claw opens and lowers itself, teasingly taking a swipe at the duck’s head.  Wilson grins and presses the button again and the claw closes around a…giraffe, before hoisting it up proudly for consideration.

“No,” he scolds.  “I don’t want the giraffe.  I want the duck.”

He makes the machine release the stuffed toy.  And he tries again.  And again.  And again.  Until finally he captures the duck’s head.  His heart is racing as he guides it with exaggerated care to the drop zone, and he presses the button one more time.

I am a winner!!

But then…nothing.  Wilson waits patiently for his prize to fall into the collection slot, but it doesn’t.

What the fuck?

He gives the machine a little shake, before bending down to peer inside the slot, and seeing more nothing.

Now, he might be drunk, but no amount of alcohol can argue with the laws of gravity.  The duck went down the chute, the chute ends here. 

So, where the fuck is the duck??

Wilson gets on his knees and shoves his hand up the chute.  No duck.  He pushes up further and still no duck.  Further again and then his fingers are tipping something smooth and plastic.  With a final push, he is able to close his had around his prize. 

Winner!!

House finds him sometime later, sloped against the wall, his arm somewhere in the machine, the duck still in his hand.

“Hey,” he nods.  “Whatcha doin’?”

“Nothing,” Wilson shrugs with one shoulder, as House slides down the wall to sit beside him.  “Where’s your cane?”

House gives a vague wave to the bowling area and Wilson has a clear image of it sliding down the lane.

“Stuck?”

“Yep.”

“Sore?”

“Very.”

House leans over and there is just enough of Wilson’s arm to take a brachial pulse.  He thumps back against the wall.

“Sluggish.  We might want to call someone.”

“Way ahead of you.  Fire service should be here any minute now.”

Wilson’s refusal to let go of the duck hampers the rescue somewhat, but twenty minutes later he and the duck are freed.  House moves so that he is sitting between Wilson legs, facing him, his own feet hooked over Wilson’s thighs.  He begins massaging the blue tinge out of the newly released skin, his torso rocking as hands move up and down the arm.  They look like they’re playing Row, Row, Row your Boat.  When he gets to the wrist, he tells Wilson to let go of the duck.

“No…Hey!”

The duck is snapped from one hand and put into the other.

Wilson twirls it around his fingers and smiles.  “I’m a winner.”

House squeezes his fingers and says, “Quack”.

 

(Pic Prompt – Hammer)

Title: The Nutcracker (not so) Suite

The patient went blind about forty minutes ago – and Taub envies her. 

There are just some things that should never be seen. 

Such as House holding an ice-pack to Wilson’s boxer clad groin.

“Yeasssssss? he drawls while continuing to fondle Wilson’s…bits…with the ice.

“Um…the patient has begun responding to…to…to…um…the anti-inflama…but she’s gone…she’s…I’m sorry, but what are you doing?”

House gives him a puzzled look before glancing innocently at his busy hand and then, dear god, cupping it.

“I’m making Wilson all better.  What do you think I’m doing?”

To be fair, Wilson does look a little green around the gills.  His upper body is leaning into House’s, his head resting on his friend’s shoulder.  That he is not mortified by this little scene tells Taub that he must be in considerable agony.

“Okaaaaay.  Why?”

House nods towards Wilson’s desk, upon which lie a bowl of walnuts and a hammer, and Taub should have made the connection before House has to explain it.

“No?  Wilson took a hammer to his nuts and in the process managed to do some damage to my nuts.”

Taub catches on.  Wilson must have been trying to open the walnuts with the hammer and in doing so caused an injury to his…hold on…

“Don’t you mean he was trying to open his nuts and then hurt his own…”  Taub winces before he can begin to make himself continue.  “Nuts?”

“No,” House shakes his head before looking pointedly at the table.  “His nuts.”  He then looks down to the hand that is still cupping the ice pack around Wilson, and gives a nod.  “My nuts.  These babies,” and dear god, he’s squeezing.  “All mine.”

Taub closes his eyes and thinks that sometimes it might be nice to be deaf, too.

 

(Pic Prompt – Traffic Cone)

Title: Cone-stant craving

“Christ, House, not again.”

“Again,” House confirms before dropping the traffic cone onto the carpet.  “Eventually Cuddy will tire of this game, she’ll give me back my parking spot and I’ll stop having to borrow hers.  Until then I’m going to keep stealing her babysitters.”  He scoffs at the heavy duty witch’s hat.  “As if that could stop me.”

“Is there any chance that I could stop you bringing these things into my office?” 

“Nope.  Now be a good Wilson and put it with the others.”

Wilson gestures to the metal closet that is currently storing a change of clothes, a toiletries case and six stacked traffic cones.  “There’s no space left.  It’s never going to fit in there.”

“Hmmm,” House begins with a leer.  “I seem to remember proving you wrong the last time you said that.”

Wilson looks at him blankly and House wrinkles his nose.  “Different context, though.”

“What?  Oh…Oh, God, House, you are so…so…”

“Sexy?” House offers.  “Hot?  Amazing?  Talented?”

“I was thinking more ‘inappropriate’.”  He smiles indulgently at the man standing across his desk.  “But, yeah, those other things, too.”

“Glad we agree,” House smirks back at him.  “Now come over here and I’ll remind you that I’m also irresistible.”

“No way.  We’re at work.”  But Wilson is already on his feet and walking around his desk, where House is standing and waiting, and then running his fingers through Wilson’s hair as he pulls him in for a kiss.

“Hey, you know what’s good about dragging heavy traffic cones through the hospital on a daily basis?” he mumbles against Wilson’s cheek a few minutes later.

“Hmm?” Wilson groans against his neck.

“Builds up upper arm strength.  Look.”  And with a louder huff than Wilson feels is strictly necessary, he leans to the left, locks his arms around Wilson’s back and hoists him up about three inches off the ground.

“Yes, very romantic.  I’m swept away.  Now put me down before you drop me.”

“Wilson,” House pants while valiantly trying to hold on to the man in his arms.  “A bulldozer couldn’t sweep you away.”

Before Wilson can reply, the inevitable happens, and he is dropped.  His foot slides on the plastic corner of the cone and he’s falling, twisting his body enough to thump his face off the pointed tip and landing gracelessly on the floor.

“Ow,” he complains, rubbing his jaw and feeling the circular indent on his cheek.  He tastes blood in his mouth, his gums still not fully healed after a recent wisdom teeth extraction.

House does what he does in these situations – laughs.  But he does offer Wilson a hand to get up off the floor, before opening the cabinet piling the offending cone on top of the others.

“Back in a minute,” he calls cheerfully as Wilson spits blood into a tissue.

An ice pack is thrown at him upon House’s return and Wilson presses it to his throbbing cheek, before jerking it away suddenly.  “This isn’t the same ice pack as you used on me when…”

“Relax,” House smirks.  “I think Taub had HazMat destroy that particular one.  Too bad for him that they can’t destroy memories.”

Wilson rolls his eyes and replaces the ice just as his office door opens.

“House.  Get your car out of my space.  The next time I see it there, I’m going to have it towed.”

“Not my fault, Cuddy.  Since you’ve taken away my parking space, I have no other option but to drive around and around until I find another.  Amazingly, yours is always free… But don’t worry,” he drops his voice to an exaggerated whisper, “I won’t tell the Dean about your tardiness.”  He finishes the charade with a knowing tap to the side of his nose.

“I’ve had out of hospital meetings all week, as well you know, and my parking spot is never free.  I told maintenance to make sure of it.”

House furrows his brows in convincing innocence.  “Well, they’ve been doing a lousy job, because every time I drive past your space, it’s free.  And welcoming.”

Cuddy looks at him sceptically.  “Really?  You haven’t been removing any parking obstacles and hiding them…”  She gestures around the room and Wilson covers his smirk with the ice pack.  “Somewhere?”

House waves his cane in answer.  “Kind of hard for me to remove and hide any such things.”

Wilson catches the glimpse of guilt that crosses her face, before she backs down.

“What happened to you?” she asks, as if noticing him for the first time.

“He fainted while I was kissing him.  Happens all the time,” House answers before Wilson can.

Cuddy sighs in exasperation and turns to look properly at Wilson, just as House slyly continues.   “In fact, it happens cone-stantly.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes narrowing.  “What?”

“Hey, don’t blame me.  It’s Wilson’s fault.  He doesn’t seem at all cone-cerned about breaking the ‘no making out at work’ rule.  I’m not cone-doning it, but sometimes he just makes it so hard for me to cone-centrate.  He even keeps cone-doms in his top drawer…”

He stops as she folds her arms and a sweet smile crosses her face.  “House, move your car.  Then get the traffic cones back to maintenance.  Then get your sorry ass down to the clinic, where you’ll be working for the rest of the day.”

House rises to the challenge.  “You can’t make me.”

Cuddy turns to leave, and pats him patronisingly on the arm as she passes.  “Yes, I can.  You might want to read the fine print in your cone-tract.”

It hurts to laugh, but Wilson does anyway.

(Pic prompt – whirlwind/twister)

Title: Inside Out

When House calls to tell him about the twister warning, it’s too late.  Wilson is already caught up in it, helplessly horizontal and powerless within the wind’s current.   Canes, motorbikes and white pills have formed a vortex around him and everything is tinged with blue.  The symbolism is not so subtle that Wilson misses it.

“What?” House screeches.  “I told you to stay side.”

“Don’t you mean inside?”

“Exactly.”  House hangs up.

Wilson’s jaw is aching, and his mouth is bloody.  He runs his tongue along the sutured gum and thinks that having your wisdom teeth pulled is a shitty way of spending your last day on earth.  Had he known, he never would have bothered.

His cell rings again, and it’s all he can do to fight against the wind to bring it to his ear.

“House?”

“Yeah.  Are you pain?”

“Do you mean am I in pain?”

“Well, duh, Wilson.”

House has often told Wilson that vicodin helps him focus, helps him see what might otherwise remain hidden.  Wilson is about to call House on his bullshit when he is briefly turned upside down and nearly collides with one of the motorbikes.  The phone makes a vroom vroom sound and he answers it.

“Wilson?  Don’t let go of the phone.  I need to be…touch you.”

“You need to be in touch with me,” Wilson corrects.

“Christ, Wilson, you are an idiot,” House laughs.

Wilson closes his eyes and lets himself float.  It’s not so bad up here, he thinks.  Pity House isn’t here, too.  He’d like it.  They could both be quite content spinning around here, with nothing to annoy them but the sound of the wind.  They could be together, just the two of them…

The phone vibrates.

“I can hear you thinking Wilson.  Teresting.”

“You mean interesting.”

“That’s what I said.  But then what I’m saying and what you’re hearing seem to be two different things.”

House hangs up but calls back immediately.  “You know that I love you, right?”

“Yes.”

“Proves my point.  You’re still not hearing me.”

The twister stills and Wilson is falling and tumbling, and the phone drops from his hand and it hits the ground just before he…

Wilson wakes with a start, placing one hand on his thudding chest, and the other on his swollen jaw.  During the age it takes for him to calm down, he resolves to switch from the vicodin to ibuprofen. 

Outside the storm is gaining momentum, branches and small stones bashing against the window pane and Wilson stares at it awhile, until his eyes feel heavy again.

Inside.  In pain.  Interesting.  Love.

And then he is wide awake again and grappling for his phone.  Four missed calls from House.  Without allowing any time to talk himself out of his folly, he presses redial.  House answers on the first ring.

“Are you…are you in love with me?”

There’s a moment’s silence before House hangs up.  

Click