House MD Fanfiction

Something Old

Hilson, smut, 3164 words
By: l57371

House was just getting comfortable on the couch, slouching down into the welcoming cushions, feet up on the coffee table, when a knock sounded at the door.

'Use your key!'' he shouted, barely moving except for the slight roll of his eyes. Only one person would be calling this late on a Friday night, and the pizza guy had already been and gone. He heard the scrape of a key in the lock and smirked. Had to be him, of course.

''You know, one of these days it's not going to be me at the door,'' Wilson said, shutting it softly behind him and shrugging out of his coat.

''The day that happens, someone else will be living here,'' House growled in reply, never taking his eyes from the television. He waited for Wilson to make himself comfortable on the other end of the chesterfield. And waited. And waited.

Finally he craned his neck around to peer at Wilson, still standing by the door with his coat in his hand and trailing on the floor, his other hand covering his face as he hung his head. Well, this was new.

''Are you planning to actually come in or are you just going to stand there and drip emo all over the floor?'' House groused, eyeing him carefully.

''Like there isn't enough crap on this floor already,'' Wilson responded, sounding like he was on autopilot, scrubbing his fingers over his eyes and down to his chin.

House frowned slightly and turned back to the TV. ''Sit. Bring beer with you,'' he said in dismissal, vaguely hoping that Wilson would just follow orders and forget about whatever it was that was obviously bothering him. He had been hoping Wilson would be in a good mood, good enough to maybe ... or maybe not. Not tonight, he guessed.

Again he waited. In vain, it turned out.

He sighed heavily and screwed his eyes shut tightly. ''Are you going to sit or not?''

Wilson exhaled audibly behind him and House heard the coat rustle to the floor. Eventually he felt the end of the chesterfield dip as Wilson finally sank into it. He chanced a glance over to see the man sitting just on the edge of the cushion, shoulders slumped and face cushioned in his palms, elbows resting on knees. The very picture of defeat.

''You didn't bring the beer,'' House noted. He raised his eyebrows and puffed out his cheeks a little, waiting expectantly.

''God, House, just ... not now, okay?'' Wilson said into his hands.

''Well, aren't you stimulating company today? Okay, fine. If it'll make you get the beer any faster, tell me what happened to get your panties all in a twist.'' He settled back into the chesterfield and turned partially towards his friend, prepared for a long and drawn out whine from Wilson involving patients and ex-wives and whatnot, the same as always.

Wilson leaned back and dropped his head to the back of the sofa, letting his arms drop to his sides limply. He heaved another big sigh and looked over towards House, pressing his lips together into a thin line.

''I'm fine.''

House raised an eyebrow. ''Hokay then.'' He turned back to the TV.

''It's just...''

House slumped, sighing dramatically. ''Just what?''

''I guess I'm just ... tired.''

''Then you should have had a nap before you came.''

''Not sleepy tired.''

''Fine. No nap then.'' House turned his attention resolutely back to the television. For a few minutes there was silence.