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sick_wilson2008-05-21 08:43 am
srsly-yes.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2008-05-21 08:43 am
Entry tags:
Lasso His Heart 5/8
Summary: Sunday – Cross words, crosswords, and birthday surprises. A 1960's style bromantic comedy.
Rating: R for a word or two. Fluff.
Disclaimer: So not mine, and never will be *sigh*
A/N: Please note italicized phrases are House talking to himself. I apologize for the story written in present tense. It went through several permutations and my head was too scrambled to change it back to past tense. The story is completely written, and chapters will be released every few days. Please read and review.
I want to thank the reviewers of my other stories. It encouraged me to try a long story this time. My betas, [Unknown site tag]![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
triedunture and bookfan85 deserve a round of applause for their many wonderful suggestions. They are the best, and I don’t deserve them. *Clapping* I’m responsible for all remaining errors.
Chapter 5: South by Southeast
Rating: R for a word or two. Fluff.
Disclaimer: So not mine, and never will be *sigh*
A/N: Please note italicized phrases are House talking to himself. I apologize for the story written in present tense. It went through several permutations and my head was too scrambled to change it back to past tense. The story is completely written, and chapters will be released every few days. Please read and review.
I want to thank the reviewers of my other stories. It encouraged me to try a long story this time. My betas, [Unknown site tag]
triedunture and bookfan85 deserve a round of applause for their many wonderful suggestions. They are the best, and I don’t deserve them. *Clapping* I’m responsible for all remaining errors.Chapter 5: South by Southeast
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the fragrance of sautéed onions assail House’s senses as he checks what Wilson is up to in the kitchen.
Apparently, an evening watching the “L Word” and “Monster Truck” videos could still be relied upon to pacify Wilson. Not everything had to be Hitchcock all the time.
“Made something different for breakfast.”
“Different?!!”
“Yes, you know the last time I checked the word 'different' didn’t have an NC-17 rating.”
“That’s because you mix up NC-17 with PG13.”
Busy, Wilson ignores House’s weak jab at sarcasm as he inexpertly tilts a small frying pan with his right hand coaxing a half-moon of puffed egg onto a waiting plate. Wilson curses softly as the egg splits in two, and hot cheese and vegetables bubble out of the crevice. He then spoons red sauce, sour cream and guacamole over the top of the omelet, and offers the hodgepodge to House.
“Red and green foods are for Christmas.”
“Shut up and try it.”
One small bite is followed by a larger gobble. Nearly half the Spanish omelet is missing from the plate. “mksmmrwiluratit”
“I’m sorry House, you’re saying?”
“Makesomemorewhileyouareatit.”
“I – I’m having trouble hearing you. Speak up.”
“Oh, Damn-it-to-hell, Wilson. More! Make! More!”
Barely keeping a straight face Wilson takes the fork and plate from the demanding man, and sets the food and steaming mug of coffee on the table beside the couch, gesturing to the food the way Vanna White points to a letter, “Yes Master. Finish this first”.
Following the keeper of his stomach with his plate of food, House grabs the dish as he falls back onto the couch grumbling, “Master, my ass.” I wish.
Clean up goes faster than yesterday. Wilson loads a bag with dirty bowls and spoons as he cooks. After breakfast, he sweeps everything left on the counter into another bag and takes it out to the garbage. House lets it all slide until he catches the cool and appraising look Wilson gives his coffee maker. The scruffy doctor rescues the machine from Wilson’s clutches by administering CPR – Cleans Pot & Rotates filter.
He hasn’t seen his iPod since yesterday afternoon.
House begins to cave, “We should invest in paper plates, plastic forks and knives.”
Tight lipped silence.
“Here’s $20. Knock yourself out and buy the fancy plates with pictures of large-eyed kittens and frolicking puppies.”
The bill disappears into Wilson’s pocket.
After breakfast Wilson steps out to pick up the “New York Sunday Times,” and the two share the paper, swapping sections.
A skirmish ensues when each doctor grabs the Sunday crossword puzzle.
“I bought the newspaper!”
“If you want the crossword then you should purchase two papers.”
“Why should I buy two papers? Go out and buy your own!”
“Cripple here. Letting you stay in my home!”
"Most limping twerps don't make guests clean, cook and run errands."
" . . . "
" . . . "
“Okay. It’s the 21st century Wilson. We can beat King Solomon at his own game.”
“We’re going to cut the crossword in half?”
“Copy the puzzle, you idiot. Use the copy function on my printer.”
The next hour passes in dead silence as each man pretends indifference while fiercely rushing to finish the crossword before the other.
They finish in a dead heat - it’s a tie.
Wilson drifts asleep in the rosy glow of the late afternoon sun, until House nudges the doctor’s foot with his cane.
“Wha?”
“Wakey Wakey, Wilson”
Wilson eyes House. He is dressed in dark slacks and sport jacket. The black shirt looks . . . pressed.
“Get dressed. We are going out to dinner for your birthday!”
“You’re paying?”
“Of course! I have a gift certificate to the ‘China Palace.’ Cost isn’t a consideration.”
“You, bought it with my MasterCard, didn’t you.”
“It’s . . . Priceless!”
“Priceless to you, costly to me. Give me 15 minutes.”
“No time for sex, Wilson. Take 10.”
Returning to the apartment in a state of sluggish contentment after stuffing themselves on exotic Chinese delicacies and beer, the two doctors are in a mellow mood, enjoying each other’s company without any verbal attacks peppering their conversation.
Wilson heads for his customary end of the couch and settles in when House pitches the old jigsaw box into his lap.
“Kind of late now to start uh, jigsaw puzzles, House?”
“Needed a box for your birthday gift. Open it.”
“Really, you never gave me presents before.” Wilson rubs the back of his neck, “Are there any credit lines left on my cards?”
“This one is entirely on me”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously!”
Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Wilson lifts the lid and tosses it aside.
Cradled in tissue, the oncologist discovers a slim solid silk, light blue tie. It is pre-knotted with the narrow end of the tie slipping through the knot, and a lasso-like opening for the head to come through. All the wearer needs to do is pull the knot up to the neck while holding down the tail.
House watches as Wilson reverently fingers the soft fabric with the back of his finger, and respectfully lifts each tie from its nest, carefully arranging the neckties on one end of the coffee table. The colors blend harmoniously together: Navy, royal blue, pale blue, pearl gray, yellow, taupe and bronze. His face and eyes are solemn as he looks into the attentive blue ones. “House, these are beautiful.”
“Those are vintage ties from the ‘50’s. The type Cary Grant wore in North by Northwest.”
As Wilson continues to stare intently at his face, House continues, but his voice sounds unusually husky, even to his own ears. “Thought with your injured hand you would be able to handle these ties by yourself.”
House holds out the bronze one to Wilson. “Here, see if it works.”
Without saying a word, and barely taking his eyes off House, Wilson slips the tie over his head, and with some trial and error pushes the knot nearly up to his collar. As if his own hands didn’t belong to him, House's fingers shoo Wilson's away, and tightens the knot with a couple of expert tugs.
Clearing his throat, ”I used the Windsor knot, because the Internet said it was classic.” Pointing to the depression right under the knot, “I thought the dimple complements the one on your left cheek.” And without forethought, his hand touches Wilson’s forehead and his index finger traces down his nose, slides over the left cheek and pauses in the crease to the side of his mouth. “South by Southeast. Cary Grant’s dimple is on his chin.”
The two men’s faces nearly touch as their eyes hold through several heartbeats, neither one moving. Each man is sending questions but not hearing the answers. Messages in a language neither one of them speaks. Eventually, one lets out a long breath, and the other remembers to breathe. The spell is broken.
Wilson breaks eye contact first and begins returning the ties back into the box. “Thank you, House,” and with a lopsided grin, “I’m - it – it’s just what the doctor ordered. I’ll wear one tomorrow.”
House leverages himself off the couch with his cane, and heads back to his bedroom. “If you want to wear a tie, you have no choice but to wear one of mine”
Still groggy from the food and beer, not deciphering what his friend is saying, he watches with slightly crossed eyes as House stumps down the hallway, “Huh?”
“Never mind. Night, Wilson”
“Night, House
TBC
A/N: How will the birthday gift affect House and Wilson? Will it tie them closer together, or twist each man into knots? Stay tuned for tomorrow's episode.
Links to previous chapters:
1. Love Potion #9
2. North by Northwest
3. One Man's Trash
4. Another Man's Treasure
Apparently, an evening watching the “L Word” and “Monster Truck” videos could still be relied upon to pacify Wilson. Not everything had to be Hitchcock all the time.
“Made something different for breakfast.”
“Different?!!”
“Yes, you know the last time I checked the word 'different' didn’t have an NC-17 rating.”
“That’s because you mix up NC-17 with PG13.”
Busy, Wilson ignores House’s weak jab at sarcasm as he inexpertly tilts a small frying pan with his right hand coaxing a half-moon of puffed egg onto a waiting plate. Wilson curses softly as the egg splits in two, and hot cheese and vegetables bubble out of the crevice. He then spoons red sauce, sour cream and guacamole over the top of the omelet, and offers the hodgepodge to House.
“Red and green foods are for Christmas.”
“Shut up and try it.”
One small bite is followed by a larger gobble. Nearly half the Spanish omelet is missing from the plate. “mksmmrwiluratit”
“I’m sorry House, you’re saying?”
“Makesomemorewhileyouareatit.”
“I – I’m having trouble hearing you. Speak up.”
“Oh, Damn-it-to-hell, Wilson. More! Make! More!”
Barely keeping a straight face Wilson takes the fork and plate from the demanding man, and sets the food and steaming mug of coffee on the table beside the couch, gesturing to the food the way Vanna White points to a letter, “Yes Master. Finish this first”.
Following the keeper of his stomach with his plate of food, House grabs the dish as he falls back onto the couch grumbling, “Master, my ass.” I wish.
Clean up goes faster than yesterday. Wilson loads a bag with dirty bowls and spoons as he cooks. After breakfast, he sweeps everything left on the counter into another bag and takes it out to the garbage. House lets it all slide until he catches the cool and appraising look Wilson gives his coffee maker. The scruffy doctor rescues the machine from Wilson’s clutches by administering CPR – Cleans Pot & Rotates filter.
He hasn’t seen his iPod since yesterday afternoon.
House begins to cave, “We should invest in paper plates, plastic forks and knives.”
Tight lipped silence.
“Here’s $20. Knock yourself out and buy the fancy plates with pictures of large-eyed kittens and frolicking puppies.”
The bill disappears into Wilson’s pocket.
HWHWHWHWH
After breakfast Wilson steps out to pick up the “New York Sunday Times,” and the two share the paper, swapping sections.
A skirmish ensues when each doctor grabs the Sunday crossword puzzle.
“I bought the newspaper!”
“If you want the crossword then you should purchase two papers.”
“Why should I buy two papers? Go out and buy your own!”
“Cripple here. Letting you stay in my home!”
"Most limping twerps don't make guests clean, cook and run errands."
" . . . "
" . . . "
“Okay. It’s the 21st century Wilson. We can beat King Solomon at his own game.”
“We’re going to cut the crossword in half?”
“Copy the puzzle, you idiot. Use the copy function on my printer.”
The next hour passes in dead silence as each man pretends indifference while fiercely rushing to finish the crossword before the other.
They finish in a dead heat - it’s a tie.
HWHWHWHWH
Wilson drifts asleep in the rosy glow of the late afternoon sun, until House nudges the doctor’s foot with his cane.
“Wha?”
“Wakey Wakey, Wilson”
Wilson eyes House. He is dressed in dark slacks and sport jacket. The black shirt looks . . . pressed.
“Get dressed. We are going out to dinner for your birthday!”
“You’re paying?”
“Of course! I have a gift certificate to the ‘China Palace.’ Cost isn’t a consideration.”
“You, bought it with my MasterCard, didn’t you.”
“It’s . . . Priceless!”
“Priceless to you, costly to me. Give me 15 minutes.”
“No time for sex, Wilson. Take 10.”
HWHWHWHWH
Returning to the apartment in a state of sluggish contentment after stuffing themselves on exotic Chinese delicacies and beer, the two doctors are in a mellow mood, enjoying each other’s company without any verbal attacks peppering their conversation.
Wilson heads for his customary end of the couch and settles in when House pitches the old jigsaw box into his lap.
“Kind of late now to start uh, jigsaw puzzles, House?”
“Needed a box for your birthday gift. Open it.”
“Really, you never gave me presents before.” Wilson rubs the back of his neck, “Are there any credit lines left on my cards?”
“This one is entirely on me”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously!”
Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Wilson lifts the lid and tosses it aside.
Cradled in tissue, the oncologist discovers a slim solid silk, light blue tie. It is pre-knotted with the narrow end of the tie slipping through the knot, and a lasso-like opening for the head to come through. All the wearer needs to do is pull the knot up to the neck while holding down the tail.
House watches as Wilson reverently fingers the soft fabric with the back of his finger, and respectfully lifts each tie from its nest, carefully arranging the neckties on one end of the coffee table. The colors blend harmoniously together: Navy, royal blue, pale blue, pearl gray, yellow, taupe and bronze. His face and eyes are solemn as he looks into the attentive blue ones. “House, these are beautiful.”
“Those are vintage ties from the ‘50’s. The type Cary Grant wore in North by Northwest.”
As Wilson continues to stare intently at his face, House continues, but his voice sounds unusually husky, even to his own ears. “Thought with your injured hand you would be able to handle these ties by yourself.”
House holds out the bronze one to Wilson. “Here, see if it works.”
Without saying a word, and barely taking his eyes off House, Wilson slips the tie over his head, and with some trial and error pushes the knot nearly up to his collar. As if his own hands didn’t belong to him, House's fingers shoo Wilson's away, and tightens the knot with a couple of expert tugs.
Clearing his throat, ”I used the Windsor knot, because the Internet said it was classic.” Pointing to the depression right under the knot, “I thought the dimple complements the one on your left cheek.” And without forethought, his hand touches Wilson’s forehead and his index finger traces down his nose, slides over the left cheek and pauses in the crease to the side of his mouth. “South by Southeast. Cary Grant’s dimple is on his chin.”
The two men’s faces nearly touch as their eyes hold through several heartbeats, neither one moving. Each man is sending questions but not hearing the answers. Messages in a language neither one of them speaks. Eventually, one lets out a long breath, and the other remembers to breathe. The spell is broken.
Wilson breaks eye contact first and begins returning the ties back into the box. “Thank you, House,” and with a lopsided grin, “I’m - it – it’s just what the doctor ordered. I’ll wear one tomorrow.”
House leverages himself off the couch with his cane, and heads back to his bedroom. “If you want to wear a tie, you have no choice but to wear one of mine”
Still groggy from the food and beer, not deciphering what his friend is saying, he watches with slightly crossed eyes as House stumps down the hallway, “Huh?”
“Never mind. Night, Wilson”
“Night, House
TBC
A/N: How will the birthday gift affect House and Wilson? Will it tie them closer together, or twist each man into knots? Stay tuned for tomorrow's episode.
Links to previous chapters:
1. Love Potion #9
2. North by Northwest
3. One Man's Trash
4. Another Man's Treasure
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Thank you. <3 <3 <3
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There's a hint of that when House saved a few and tucked them in his nightstand, but this was kind of a Doris Day story so it never went further. Sorry. lol
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At least his advice about choosing fruits and vegetables at the grocery store came in handy.