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alanwolfmoon.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sick_wilson2007-07-11 09:30 pm
alanwolfmoon.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2007-07-11 09:30 pm
trash cans beware (ch 16)
Title: Trash cans beware (ch 12)
Pairing: House / Wilson
Author:</b></a>![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG 13--mild swearing by a very stressed out person.
Summary: In honour of the '200 members' prompt on </b></a>sick_wilson
The prompt was "Today wasn't the first time Wilson had been a little late for work recently, so House didn't give it much thought. Especially since the patient Cuddy had found for him was turning out to be more than just a case of intestinal flu, after all."
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Notes: Only my seccond attempt at fanfiction. Ever. Reveiws and flames alike are welcome.
oh, poor wilson.....and this is a long one too....
oh, and i have to work tomarrow.
so less rapid fire chapters coming out, sorry.
and now, for the wilson smacking...
Pairing: House / Wilson
Author:</b></a>
alanwolfmoonRating: PG 13--mild swearing by a very stressed out person.
Summary: In honour of the '200 members' prompt on </b></a>
sick_wilsonThe prompt was "Today wasn't the first time Wilson had been a little late for work recently, so House didn't give it much thought. Especially since the patient Cuddy had found for him was turning out to be more than just a case of intestinal flu, after all."
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Notes: Only my seccond attempt at fanfiction. Ever. Reveiws and flames alike are welcome.
oh, poor wilson.....and this is a long one too....
oh, and i have to work tomarrow.
so less rapid fire chapters coming out, sorry.
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
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http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wilson/52380.html#cutid1
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
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http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wilson/52380.html#cutid1
and now, for the wilson smacking...
“So....”
Wilson looked up from eating his rather depressingly bland grits.
“Yeah?”
“You know...I don’t think anything we’ve tried is helping all that much.”
“I do. I’m not puking every five hours anymore, am I?”
“Yeah, but you’re still having problems all the time.”
“Mild problems.”
“Well, yeah, mild most of the time. But you’re still getting dizzy a lot of the time. And you’re in the differential room sleeping or at least lying down whenever you don’t have a patient in your office.”
“I’m in the differential room a lot because you moved my files there.”
“Well...actually, Foreman did...”
“Uh-huh. And that makes a difference how?”
House rolled his eyes.
“House, I’m dealing, ok? I don’t...want to talk about it right now.”
“Well...I was just thinking that there was one kind of treatment we haven’t tried yet...but I was mostly going to ask if you would rather have the effects of it, or meniere’s attacks.”
“Surgery? No. I’m not doing that unless it gets a lot worse.”
“That’s not what I meant, actually.”
Wilson blinked at him.
“What did you mean?”
“Diuretics....”
“You know House? I think I’d rather just be dizzy.”
House sighed.
“Fine.”
“What? You seem annoyed. Is it just that I’m not letting you solve the puzzle?”
“No...it’s just that...”
“What?”
“You might seriously...never mind.”
House limped out of the kitchen, not finishing his sentence.
Wilson sighed.
Sometimes living with House could be fun, but other times it could be like living with a ticking time bomb wrapped in ducktape, covered with those “do not eat” packets, and the only disarming instructions you got were written in huttese.
“Here we go...again.” said House as he pulled up onto the sidewalk next to his apartment, Wilson having insisted that he take his motorcycle for once.
Wilson sighed.
“What is it about your motorcycle?”
“I don’t know...probably the turning or something...”
Wilson sat on the curb, waiting for the world to stop spinning quite so fast.
“Here.”
Wilson squinted at House, who was handing him nausea suppressants.
“You know those don’t work, right?”
“You haven’t gone without them yet, so we don’t know if they don’t work, or just don’t help all the way.”
“I seriously doubt they help.”
“They help your chemo patients.”
“Who have chemically induced nausea. Not “the entire world is spinning so fast you can’t see it” induced nausea.”
“Should still help.”
Wilson groaned, annoyed, and pushed House’s hand away.
“Oh, come on. They aren’t going to hurt.”
“Putting anything in my mouth makes me want to puke. So yes, they are going to hurt.”
“You’re being awfully grumpy today.”
“Gee, I wonder why?”
House sighed.
“Look, I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that.”
“Then are you going to tell me what you were going to say?”
House looked at Wilson, annoyed.
“No.”
“You’re being an ass, House.”
“I’m a misanthropic bastard, remember? Being an ass is part of the job description.”
Wilson frowned.
He hadn’t heard that name in a while.
“House...”
“Up?”
“Yeah.”
House and Wilson made their way as hurriedly as they could into House’s apartment, and then into the bathroom.
Wilson fell, rather than knelt, in front of the toilet, and started heaving.
“I told you they helped.”
Wilson gave him the finger.
House sighed, and sat down, rubbing Wilson’s back.
“Sorry.”
“You...had better....be.”
House sighed again.
This was not going the way he had hoped.
“Look.--” House started to say something, but was cut off.
Wilson had let out a loud groan, and House wasn’t sure what had caused it.
“Wilson?”
“Really....don’t....feel....good.”
“Not good how?”
“Head....stomach...”
“Migraine?”
“Uh-huh.”
House got up and flicked the light switch off, then dug in Wilson’s jacket for the sumitriptan.
“Hey, where’s your sumitriptan? It isn’t in your jacket.”
Wilson swore.
“Office.”
House stared at him.
“You never leave it there.”
“Used it.”
“Two in one day?”
“From....puking...now.”
House sighed, and sat back down next to Wilson.
“I’ve got over the counter stuff, vicodin, and morphine. Your choice.”
“Bastard.”
“What?”
“Making...me...chose.”
“You do know what my philosophy about pain is, right?”
“Your....” Wilson had to stop for a moment, “mean.” he finished, giving up on whatever he had been about to say.
House looked at him.
Wilson was being rather inarticulate, even for being in the state he was in.
It was Wilson after all, he wasn’t stupid.
“You’re not going to panic again, are you?”
“No....I’m....going....to puke...on you....if....you....don’t leave....me...alone.”
Ah, that was it.
Angry, hurting, puking, and dizzy was not exactly the best combination for pleasant conversation.
“So, did you ever find the rouge semi naked cancer patient you lost?”
“Go...away!”
“Nope. So where was he?”
“House!”
Wilson groaned after shouting.
“That’s a bad idea, you know.”
“Get out....of this...bathroom....House.”
“Nope. Come on, where was he?”
“Carl.”
“Do you think I care what his name is? I just want to know where a guy running around in his boxers in a hospital ends up. At least, I hope he was wearing boxers.”
“Out!”
“Stop yelling, it’s just going to make your headache worse.”
Wilson stopped heaving for a moment or two.
“House, is this some kind of revenge? You’re all annoyed because I “made” you be somewhat human, and you’re taking it out by being truly mean to me?”
“Nope.”
“Then get out.”
“Nope.”
“House! GET THE HELL OUT!” exploded Wilson.
Wilson glared at House for a split second before the result of his yell reverberated through his head.
He whimpered and put his head down, not really bothering with sitting up anymore.
A second before it hit the hard rim of the toilet, House put his hand under Wilson’s head, holding the rest of him up with the other hand.
“That wasn’t very smart.”
“Nng.”
“And that wasn’t very eloquent.”
“Urnnng”
“And that wasn’t even a describable sound.”
Wilson mumbled a few swear words, but didn’t seem too intent on finishing his tirade.
“That’s at least a little bit better.”
“House...stop it. Go....away.”
“Nope.”
Wilson looked at House, totally and completely done with dealing with him.
House was grinning.
Wilson muttered a swear word, and then the word “off”
“Nope.”
Wilson promptly made good on his threat, by puking on the hand that had been holding his head up.
“That’s not very nice.”
“Neither....are you.”
“Ah, but you are. Usually anyway.”
“Go...away.”
“Nope.”
Wilson opened his mouth, blinked, and found tears on his cheeks.
He was crying.
In front of House.
While House was being a huge jerk.
This alone was reason enough to cry.
Wilson couldn’t help it.
He was so stressed that he couldn’t keep it in.
House wasn’t helping at all.
His head hurt really badly.
He was more dizzy than he had ever been in his life.
He had been puking nearly nonstop for almost an hour.
He had been under a lot of stress for months, and in the last month in particular.
None of his patients were getting better.
House had been being so smug...
He couldn’t hold it in.
He just couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Then, to his shock, House patted him on the shoulder.
“Finally. Thought you were planning on holding that in until I hit you or something.”
Wilson looked up from eating his rather depressingly bland grits.
“Yeah?”
“You know...I don’t think anything we’ve tried is helping all that much.”
“I do. I’m not puking every five hours anymore, am I?”
“Yeah, but you’re still having problems all the time.”
“Mild problems.”
“Well, yeah, mild most of the time. But you’re still getting dizzy a lot of the time. And you’re in the differential room sleeping or at least lying down whenever you don’t have a patient in your office.”
“I’m in the differential room a lot because you moved my files there.”
“Well...actually, Foreman did...”
“Uh-huh. And that makes a difference how?”
House rolled his eyes.
“House, I’m dealing, ok? I don’t...want to talk about it right now.”
“Well...I was just thinking that there was one kind of treatment we haven’t tried yet...but I was mostly going to ask if you would rather have the effects of it, or meniere’s attacks.”
“Surgery? No. I’m not doing that unless it gets a lot worse.”
“That’s not what I meant, actually.”
Wilson blinked at him.
“What did you mean?”
“Diuretics....”
“You know House? I think I’d rather just be dizzy.”
House sighed.
“Fine.”
“What? You seem annoyed. Is it just that I’m not letting you solve the puzzle?”
“No...it’s just that...”
“What?”
“You might seriously...never mind.”
House limped out of the kitchen, not finishing his sentence.
Wilson sighed.
Sometimes living with House could be fun, but other times it could be like living with a ticking time bomb wrapped in ducktape, covered with those “do not eat” packets, and the only disarming instructions you got were written in huttese.
“Here we go...again.” said House as he pulled up onto the sidewalk next to his apartment, Wilson having insisted that he take his motorcycle for once.
Wilson sighed.
“What is it about your motorcycle?”
“I don’t know...probably the turning or something...”
Wilson sat on the curb, waiting for the world to stop spinning quite so fast.
“Here.”
Wilson squinted at House, who was handing him nausea suppressants.
“You know those don’t work, right?”
“You haven’t gone without them yet, so we don’t know if they don’t work, or just don’t help all the way.”
“I seriously doubt they help.”
“They help your chemo patients.”
“Who have chemically induced nausea. Not “the entire world is spinning so fast you can’t see it” induced nausea.”
“Should still help.”
Wilson groaned, annoyed, and pushed House’s hand away.
“Oh, come on. They aren’t going to hurt.”
“Putting anything in my mouth makes me want to puke. So yes, they are going to hurt.”
“You’re being awfully grumpy today.”
“Gee, I wonder why?”
House sighed.
“Look, I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that.”
“Then are you going to tell me what you were going to say?”
House looked at Wilson, annoyed.
“No.”
“You’re being an ass, House.”
“I’m a misanthropic bastard, remember? Being an ass is part of the job description.”
Wilson frowned.
He hadn’t heard that name in a while.
“House...”
“Up?”
“Yeah.”
House and Wilson made their way as hurriedly as they could into House’s apartment, and then into the bathroom.
Wilson fell, rather than knelt, in front of the toilet, and started heaving.
“I told you they helped.”
Wilson gave him the finger.
House sighed, and sat down, rubbing Wilson’s back.
“Sorry.”
“You...had better....be.”
House sighed again.
This was not going the way he had hoped.
“Look.--” House started to say something, but was cut off.
Wilson had let out a loud groan, and House wasn’t sure what had caused it.
“Wilson?”
“Really....don’t....feel....good.”
“Not good how?”
“Head....stomach...”
“Migraine?”
“Uh-huh.”
House got up and flicked the light switch off, then dug in Wilson’s jacket for the sumitriptan.
“Hey, where’s your sumitriptan? It isn’t in your jacket.”
Wilson swore.
“Office.”
House stared at him.
“You never leave it there.”
“Used it.”
“Two in one day?”
“From....puking...now.”
House sighed, and sat back down next to Wilson.
“I’ve got over the counter stuff, vicodin, and morphine. Your choice.”
“Bastard.”
“What?”
“Making...me...chose.”
“You do know what my philosophy about pain is, right?”
“Your....” Wilson had to stop for a moment, “mean.” he finished, giving up on whatever he had been about to say.
House looked at him.
Wilson was being rather inarticulate, even for being in the state he was in.
It was Wilson after all, he wasn’t stupid.
“You’re not going to panic again, are you?”
“No....I’m....going....to puke...on you....if....you....don’t leave....me...alone.”
Ah, that was it.
Angry, hurting, puking, and dizzy was not exactly the best combination for pleasant conversation.
“So, did you ever find the rouge semi naked cancer patient you lost?”
“Go...away!”
“Nope. So where was he?”
“House!”
Wilson groaned after shouting.
“That’s a bad idea, you know.”
“Get out....of this...bathroom....House.”
“Nope. Come on, where was he?”
“Carl.”
“Do you think I care what his name is? I just want to know where a guy running around in his boxers in a hospital ends up. At least, I hope he was wearing boxers.”
“Out!”
“Stop yelling, it’s just going to make your headache worse.”
Wilson stopped heaving for a moment or two.
“House, is this some kind of revenge? You’re all annoyed because I “made” you be somewhat human, and you’re taking it out by being truly mean to me?”
“Nope.”
“Then get out.”
“Nope.”
“House! GET THE HELL OUT!” exploded Wilson.
Wilson glared at House for a split second before the result of his yell reverberated through his head.
He whimpered and put his head down, not really bothering with sitting up anymore.
A second before it hit the hard rim of the toilet, House put his hand under Wilson’s head, holding the rest of him up with the other hand.
“That wasn’t very smart.”
“Nng.”
“And that wasn’t very eloquent.”
“Urnnng”
“And that wasn’t even a describable sound.”
Wilson mumbled a few swear words, but didn’t seem too intent on finishing his tirade.
“That’s at least a little bit better.”
“House...stop it. Go....away.”
“Nope.”
Wilson looked at House, totally and completely done with dealing with him.
House was grinning.
Wilson muttered a swear word, and then the word “off”
“Nope.”
Wilson promptly made good on his threat, by puking on the hand that had been holding his head up.
“That’s not very nice.”
“Neither....are you.”
“Ah, but you are. Usually anyway.”
“Go...away.”
“Nope.”
Wilson opened his mouth, blinked, and found tears on his cheeks.
He was crying.
In front of House.
While House was being a huge jerk.
This alone was reason enough to cry.
Wilson couldn’t help it.
He was so stressed that he couldn’t keep it in.
House wasn’t helping at all.
His head hurt really badly.
He was more dizzy than he had ever been in his life.
He had been puking nearly nonstop for almost an hour.
He had been under a lot of stress for months, and in the last month in particular.
None of his patients were getting better.
House had been being so smug...
He couldn’t hold it in.
He just couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Then, to his shock, House patted him on the shoulder.
“Finally. Thought you were planning on holding that in until I hit you or something.”