House MD Fanfiction

Just A Little Touch

Hilson, smut, 4,645 words
By: l57371

Cuddy thinks she's so clever.

House sat in his lounge chair in his office, eyes closed, and the dulcet tones of Al Green blaring from his iPod.

Making me touch people, thinking I'd gain something from it.

He shifted a little, straightening his bad leg and rolling his head to the other side. He opened his eyes and glanced briefly out his office window to the hall. Empty. It was early in the evening though, so not so odd that it would be all but deserted.

Touching to bring about humanity. Seriously, what am I if not human?

His eyes drooped closed again, and he coasted on the waves of the Vicodin high, brain foggy and light, body relaxing into the warmth of painlessness. Or at least as close as he ever got these days.

You're inhuman, House.

Wilson's voice sliced through his buzz and his eyes snapped open again, taking in the empty office, the conference room next door, the barren hallway. When exactly did his conscience take on Wilson's voice, anyway?

You could certainly stand to gain a little humanity.

House snorted lightly, his lips curling up into a smile, almost a sneer. Humanity is over-rated, he answered himself. Getting all touchy-feely about it isn't going to change anything. He felt his mind begin to drift again, and his muscles relaxed into a boneless heap as the drug finally overcame his thoughts. Nobody I want to touch, anyway.

* * *

It was well after nine before House roused himself from his drugged torpor and made his way down the elevator to the lobby. The elevator doors opened onto the main hallway and he slowly shuffled his way toward the main doors, glancing into the subdued lighting of the clinic to his right. Two people, only shadows from House's point of view, were standing at the main desk, leaning against it and chatting. He narrowed his eyes and tried to make out who they were. One was Wilson, there was no mistaking his posture, the way he moved his hands as he spoke, the shaking of his shoulders as he laughed at something the other one said. He would know Wilson anywhere; he didn't have to see his face. Who the other man was, though, he couldn't make out.

House moved to the shadows beside the door and continued watching them, Wilson and the mystery man. Maybe if he waited long enough he could corral Wilson and make him buy dinner. After a few minutes Wilson bent to pick up his briefcase and the other man swung his overcoat over his shoulders, preparing to leave. House shrunk back a little further. The unknown man took two steps past Wilson, then turned back and put a hand on Wilson's shoulder, rubbing it back and forth as he spoke what looked like a question into Wilson's ear. Wilson shook his head, patted the other man's hand that was still on his shoulder, leaning into the touch, then turned to leave as well. They came through the door of the clinic together.

'Dr. Warren,” House intoned softly. 'Working a little late, aren't you? There generally aren't that many late night emergencies for you Ear-Nose-Throat guys.”

'Dr. House,” the other man returned with a half smile. 'I presume I'm doing the same thing you're doing, seeing to the care of my patients. Oh, sorry,” the man's mouth curved into a sneer, 'patient.” He enunciated the 't” loudly, with little pop.

'From what I hear, Dr. Warren,' House growled, 'You're seeing more to the care of your secretary than your patients these days.' He cocked his head to the side. 'Oh, sorry, secretaries.' He drew out the 's' like a long zed sound, enunciating just as carefully.