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sick_wilson2010-07-12 12:12 pm
Night Games
My Camp Sick!Wilson entry for the three things fic - a baseball bat, a book shelf and a horror movie.
Title: Night Games
Author: Barefootpuddles
Rating: PG
Pairing: House/Wilson friendship
Disclaimer: Do. Not. Own
Summary: It’s a long, hot summer night and Wilson is playing his own version of baseball. House better hide.
House knew there was going to be trouble the moment he saw Wilson standing in the study’s doorway, bat in hand. With his tousled hair, barefeet, and too long pajama bottoms he should have been an endearing sight; but the vacant eyes and the Louisville Slugger in his grip told a different story. House eased himself off the sticky couch and carefully made his way towards Wilson, keeping his cane between himself and his friend, all the while his eyes glued to the bat in Wilson’s hand. As he approached he murmured what he hoped were calming words, but Wilson appeared to be ignoring him. Just when he began to believe he might be able to get a hand on the weapon before anything really bad happened, Wilson swung.
The bat flew in a wide arc away from House’s head, but directly in the path of the end table lamp, sending the shade flying and the lamp’s base shattering across the hard wood floor. House skittered over to the wall and quickly pulled the plug out of the wall socket – madmen were enough to deal with without a corollary apartment fire. Meanwhile Wilson had made his way across the room, impervious to the broken shards underneath his feet, and towards the bookcases that lined the far wall. He raised his bat again and swung for the fence. The tip of his bat caused an explosion of paper and colored bindings to swirl around him, but Wilson paid them no heed. A few small volumes were sent flying out the nearby window, left open to help counter the stifling summer night air, and now serving as a portal for lost literature. After taking out one entire bookshelf Wilson moved on to the next, and then the next. Row upon row of medical texts, first editions, and beloved novels crashed to the floor. As House made his way carefully around the bits of glass, he couldn’t but help admire Wilson’s swing. Years of suburban Little League training had given the man excellent form. Mentally House categorized each blow in his mind as a double, triple, or homerun. There were no singles or strikeouts in the bunch.
House watched from a fair distance until he saw Wilson’s shoulders begin to sag before the next swing. Even madmen tired at some point. He carefully noted the sweat now pouring down the back of Wilson’s neck and the heaving of his friend’s chest; but just to be extra certain he let Wilson take a few more swipes at the now decimated library before he made his move.
Carefully closing the distance, House made his way to within an arm’s length of Wilson’s now still figure. However, with his back towards House and the bat remaining in his hand, the older man could not be sure that they had reached the end of this. Willing all sarcasm or insincerity out of his voice, House asked quietly, “Are they gone?”
Wilson’s answer was an almost imperceptible nod.
House bit back an audible sigh of relief. “Good. You did good.”
Wilson turned towards House, his eyes no longer vacant, but instead distant. As if seeing something that was clearly not present. “I don’t think they’ll be back. I…I hope they won’t be back.”
“No,” House assured him, “I think they’re gone for good. But all the same, let me hang on to this.” He tugged gently at the wooden bat now hanging loosely from Wilson’s fingertips.
Wilson conceded the bat to House and allowed his friend to gently lead him around the other side of the couch to avoid the shards that still littered the floor, out into the hallway, and onto his bedroom.
Once he maneuvered his friend back into his bed, he checked his feet over for any bits of glass that may have lodged there. Wilson meanwhile had fallen back into a deep sleep the moment he had laid his head on the pillow, and House was grateful that there would be no discussion of this tonight. He wondered if Wilson would recall the night’s events at all. He left Wilson’s door open when he exited all the same.
It took two hours, three fingers of scotch, and four ibuprofen to get the study back in order. And on his way to the condo’s dumpster to deposit the remains of the reading lamp, House grabbed two more items as well for tomorrow’s garbage pickup – a well used wooden baseball bat and a newly purchased horror film. It was the last time they would ever be watching that particular movie, House would make sure of that.
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This one just sort of popped out at me as soon as I saw the prompts. The fic was super easy to write (I spent most of the time hacking the description back down to a manageable size).
As scary as the scenario was, I loved how you spliced House's warped pov and humor into it
House is all about the little details, isn't he? I figured he would notice stuff like that.
Thanks for commenting. :)
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That was great, very vivid and it seems very like House to step back calmly and wait until he can safely intervene. Great story!
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Yeah, I figure with the cane and all there was only so much he could do. Better to let Wilson swing himself out. I am not a big believer in dark!Wilson, but I definitely believe in emotionally repressed!Wilson. Anyone who can throw a bottle like we know he did at least twice, has some bottled up aggressiveness that must get released by the subconscious mind now and again. And I think House knows when to duck.
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House's handling of this was, I think, very Housey. Very in-character in that it surprised me in the way House sometimes does -- by being quiet and thoughtful when you'd expect shouting.
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Like I mentioned to
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It's the pajamas. Wilson could have a chainsaw in one hand and a flame thrower in the other, but if he was in pajamas he'd still be adorable - I'm convinced of it. *nod in agreement with self*
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Then...“No,” House assured him, “I think they’re gone for good. But all the same, let me hang on to this.” He tugged gently at the wooden bat now hanging loosely from Wilson’s fingertips.
I love when people coax things from Wilson when he's out of it. I really enjoyed this. :D
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I've read that one! Yeah, no high fever for this one, just sleepwalking a nightmare (though last week I did a fever hallucinating fic for sick!Wilson. I am on some sort of roll with this concept I guess. LOL).
I love when people coax things from Wilson when he's out of it. I really enjoyed this.
For some reason this tickles my sense of humor. We could have a coaxing!Wilson fest! :P
Thanks for the review and I'm glad you liked my little story.
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I have to say though, much as I loved Wilson walking across broken glass, you may have crossed a line for me in hurting the books!! My heart was in my throat at Row upon row of medical texts, first editions, and beloved novels crashed to the floor. and I mourn for that lost literature (really nice phrase there though)
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Noooo....not the books!!! Anything but the books!!!! :)
Don't worry, no actual books were harmed in the making of this fic. Just Wilsons. :)
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