House MD Fanfiction

Prompt 219

Hilson, smut, 3526 words
By: l57371

219. House/Wilson – House falls asleep in oncology lounge and Wilson is working late.

The room was dim, the security lighting only left in the hallways, the glow of the computer screen illuminated his desk.  He heard footsteps, the click of high heels on a hard floor, tile or terrazzo.  But the floors were carpeted...

The door opened and in strolled Carmen Electra.  Oh damn, a small part of House’s brain thought.  Definitely dreaming then.  She opened her mouth to speak but quickly morphed into the form of Wilson, suit impeccable and tie straight, hair pristine, leaning on his doorway.

“Well, here I am.  What did you want?”  Wilson pushed off the door frame with his shoulder and strolled casually over to the desk, leaning forward on his hands and looking House directly in the eye.  “What do you want, House?”

He tried to answer, “I want you, I want you to talk to me again, I want to be friends again, I’m sorry,” but his mouth wouldn’t work.

House jerked his head up as he woke up with a start, instantly wincing at the twinge in his neck and shoulders from falling asleep in his office chair.  He quickly took inventory.  Pain in his neck, shoulders, head and leg.  This was definitely a two-Vicodin moment.  Tiredly he popped the cap, downed a pair of pills dry, and then glanced at the whiteboard in the next room.

The patient was going to die, he was going to do it soon and he was going to be in massive amounts of pain while doing it.  House had exhausted every test he could think of and was now grasping at straws, but he was too tired to think, too tired to make the connection, too tired to solve the puzzle.  It was there, the answer was just in front of him, he knew it, he could see it hovering just outside the edges of his vision.

He dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and leaned his elbows on the desk, mentally beating his brain into submission and trying to make it perform the acrobatics he needed.  No go, nothing doing.  Dammit.  He needed sleep, and he needed it now.

Speculatively he eyed his reclining chair but decided against it quickly.  He’d had enough of sleeping upright.  Briefly he considered the sofa in Wilson’s office, but it was built for looks, not for comfort, and also about six inches too short for him.  He always ended up with his knees bent up or his feet hanging off the arm.  Not conducive to a good night’s sleep.

That left the sofa in the Oncology lounge, to which Wilson had ever so thoughtfully provided a key.  It was the middle of the night and he was unlikely to be interrupted there, his minions were busy re-running tests.  Best of all, Wilson, he knew, had gone home at least five hours previously.  Not that the man himself had told him, he had to find out by catching the sight of Wilson boarding the elevator with briefcase and coat in hand out of the corner of his eye.  He didn’t even stop in to say goodnight.  Not anymore, not since their fight the week before.

House heaved a deep breath and pushed himself carefully to his feet.  He hesitated a few seconds to make sure his leg would hold his weight, then hobbled carefully to the hallway and made his way slowly to the lounge.

When he reached the door he fished out his keys, sorted through them, and fitted the key to the lock, swinging the door open and flipping on the light.  Good, empty, he thought, switching the overhead light back off again and instead turning on a lamp on a side table by the sofa.  He shucked his jacket and shoes, rearranged the throw pillows on one end of the long couch and laid down with a heavy sigh.

He shifted once, moving one of the pillows down and under his right knee and turning slightly, then felt his eyes slide shut and was quickly fast asleep.