ext_25844 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
srsly-yes.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sick_wilson2008-04-26 11:33 am
srsly-yes.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2008-04-26 11:33 am
Entry tags:
The Ultimate Puzzle 1/1
Title: The Ultimate Puzzle
Summary: What House knows about Wilson's darker side.
Characters: House, Wilson
Rating: What rating does 'sad' get, and a little bit of naughty language?
Warning: Beware, this may sting a bit at the end, so if you don't like sad, stop before the line break. A little AU.
Word Count: 325
Spoilers: No.
Disclaimer: Do not own House MD, or the characters, and never will, *sniff*. Haven't been there, or done that, but bought the DVD's. Just playing with the alphabet and look! Some words spell 'House' and 'Wilson'.
Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at fan fiction. I've been reading House MD for a few months, and want to give back to the community. This is unbeta-d, butI have some other ideas for stories, and would like to request a beta if anyone is interested. I bow to all the great writers, and sacrifice this to the alter of fan fiction. Please R&R.
Summary: What House knows about Wilson's darker side.
Characters: House, Wilson
Rating: What rating does 'sad' get, and a little bit of naughty language?
Warning: Beware, this may sting a bit at the end, so if you don't like sad, stop before the line break. A little AU.
Word Count: 325
Spoilers: No.
Disclaimer: Do not own House MD, or the characters, and never will, *sniff*. Haven't been there, or done that, but bought the DVD's. Just playing with the alphabet and look! Some words spell 'House' and 'Wilson'.
Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at fan fiction. I've been reading House MD for a few months, and want to give back to the community. This is unbeta-d, butI have some other ideas for stories, and would like to request a beta if anyone is interested. I bow to all the great writers, and sacrifice this to the alter of fan fiction. Please R&R.
House does not suspect; he knows Wilson is all about the secrets and the lies.
The oncologist is too intimate a subject for a DDx white board. A spanking white piece of paper will do.
He’s the ultimate puzzle – the one that proclaims there are 2500 interlocking jigsaw pieces sealed in the box, but the assembled image always comes up short by one piece.
Wilson is a closed book. A diary clamped shut with a combination lock that requires a retinal scan to open.
Motives are buried deeper than a pharaoh’s tomb long forgotten in the desert. Warm brown eyes easily change to fathomless black when boundaries are breached. The silence of The Sphinx warns, Don’t crack this ancient seal - tombs protect secrets at any cost.
Even the grizzled doctor acknowledges whom the better liar and consummate manipulator is. House would be willing to bet that Wilson took a dip in Machiavelli’s gene pool.
Everybody is clued into Wilson’s Jimmy Stewart stammer. Small lies stutter from his lips, and ex-wives claim that is why they leave. It’s the whoppers that fly under the radar. He’s a polygraph examiner’s worst nightmare, but F. Lee Bailey’s fondest wet dream. It’s the reason all three ex’s say they still like him.
No NASCAR car driver ever walked a track more thoroughly to prepare for future hazards, or turned on a dime quicker than Wilson.
Yeah, his friend is like the man in the moon. His face glows with self-sacrifice, patience, generosity, empathy, wit and charm for all the world to see, but the puzzle lover in House is ever aware of Jimmy's dark side.
But, no one else will ever know.
House learned from the best how to keep a secret.
Slowly, tired blue eyes pull focus, and scan the paper before him. The words ‘Generous,’ and ‘Empathetic’ are awash among a myriad of doodles. Question marks morph into jigsaw pieces, and cascading rectangles hang off pyramids. His hand returns the plump ballpoint (stolen from Wilson’s lab coat pocket protector) to the desk, and crushes yet another sheet into a crumpled ball, tossing it towards a dark corner in the room where it joins previous rejects.
He sighs.
Places another white expanse on the desk.
Seeks out the pen.
And . . .
. . . begins writing the eulogy once again.
Fin
The oncologist is too intimate a subject for a DDx white board. A spanking white piece of paper will do.
He’s the ultimate puzzle – the one that proclaims there are 2500 interlocking jigsaw pieces sealed in the box, but the assembled image always comes up short by one piece.
Wilson is a closed book. A diary clamped shut with a combination lock that requires a retinal scan to open.
Motives are buried deeper than a pharaoh’s tomb long forgotten in the desert. Warm brown eyes easily change to fathomless black when boundaries are breached. The silence of The Sphinx warns, Don’t crack this ancient seal - tombs protect secrets at any cost.
Even the grizzled doctor acknowledges whom the better liar and consummate manipulator is. House would be willing to bet that Wilson took a dip in Machiavelli’s gene pool.
Everybody is clued into Wilson’s Jimmy Stewart stammer. Small lies stutter from his lips, and ex-wives claim that is why they leave. It’s the whoppers that fly under the radar. He’s a polygraph examiner’s worst nightmare, but F. Lee Bailey’s fondest wet dream. It’s the reason all three ex’s say they still like him.
No NASCAR car driver ever walked a track more thoroughly to prepare for future hazards, or turned on a dime quicker than Wilson.
Yeah, his friend is like the man in the moon. His face glows with self-sacrifice, patience, generosity, empathy, wit and charm for all the world to see, but the puzzle lover in House is ever aware of Jimmy's dark side.
But, no one else will ever know.
House learned from the best how to keep a secret.
*******************************************************
Slowly, tired blue eyes pull focus, and scan the paper before him. The words ‘Generous,’ and ‘Empathetic’ are awash among a myriad of doodles. Question marks morph into jigsaw pieces, and cascading rectangles hang off pyramids. His hand returns the plump ballpoint (stolen from Wilson’s lab coat pocket protector) to the desk, and crushes yet another sheet into a crumpled ball, tossing it towards a dark corner in the room where it joins previous rejects.
He sighs.
Places another white expanse on the desk.
Seeks out the pen.
And . . .
. . . begins writing the eulogy once again.
Fin