Categories > TV > House
title: Phase 5
Author: evila_elf
Pairing: House/Wilson friendship or pre-slash, whatever suits your fancy :-)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Nada
Summary: House discovers Wilson's guitar while his friend moves in after another divorce.
Disclaimer: I don't own them sobs
Notes: This idea came about from a mini conversation I had with neverbelonged on LJ :-)
Phase 5
The moving van shows up in front of House's apartment building right on schedule, Wilson pulling up right beside it. House watches from the window as his friend stumbles from the vehicle. It is a wonder he had made it there in one piece, he looks exhausted. And when he comes knocking on the door, House realizes that it is emotional exhaustion, not physical.
Jimmy offers a weak smile as House moves out of the way to allow friend and box to enter.
"I would help but," House raises his cane in the air as Wilson heads out the door again.
He waves a hand in House's general direction as he rounds the corner, the hand saying both that it is okay and that he never expected House to help in the first place. Strange how single gestures can convey so much at times.
The driver of the van makes an appearance here and there as he helps, but only half as often as Wilson. He is being paid by the hour, so no reason for him to bust a gut. And Wilson. He just wants to get each thing he is focussing on at the time done with. Packing, hiring a mover, driving to House's, unloading at House's...
With an exhausted sigh, Wilson slumps down on the couch, leaving House to close the door after him. This is the first time he had sat down to rest since Phase 1: Packing. He swings his feet up on the couch cushions and puts an arm over his eyes.
House watches his friend a moment to make sure he isn't going to break down like he had after his last failed marriage. After he is reassured, he heads over to the box-lined wall and starts rummaging around.
"That is considered rude, you know," Wilson mumbles, his voice muffled by his shirt-sleeve.
"So is moving into an already crowded apartment," House points out as he digs through another box.
"At least I called first this time."
"What's this?" House has discovered something of interest behind the boxes.
"Mine." Wilson doesn't bother to look to see what caught House's attention, though he has an idea. He hears some boxes being pulled away and sighs. So much for trying to hide it until he is able to find another apartment. Next he hears a few clicks. Then silence. "Still alive back there?"
"I didn't know you played, Jimmy."
Wilson sighs again and swings himself into a sitting position to see what House is up to. As suspected, the diagnostician is standing over the open guitar case, thoughtful look on his face. "I don't play it anymore. Damned if I will let Julie keep it."
House leans over and scoops it from the case, holding it out to his friend.
He reluctantly takes it, not wanting to see what House would do with it if he doesn't rescue it. "What?"
"Play." Simple, demanding, begging, and mischievous all at once.
"I haven't played in years!"
"Should be just like riding a bike then, but less hard to fall off of."
Wilson smirks and silently runs his fingers over the strings, as if caressing an old lover. He glances up and sees House watching rather impatiently. He looks back down at his fingers and plucks one of the strings, listening as the sad little note fades to silence.
"I was expecting something a little longer."
Wilson plucks a different string, this time with a little more strength and the note lasts for twice the time.
"Cute." House glares.
Wilson holds up a hand, fending off any attack, verbal or physical, House may make. Lowering his hand back to the strings, he plays both the previous notes, then adds a third and they harmonize perfectly. Then the song begins...
Even though he is left handed, Wilson strums the strings with his right hand, his left on the neck, fingers stretching to push down on the strings. He hums softly to himself to keep the rhythm under control.
House listens with a slack jaw. He thought he knew everything about the oncologist. Everything. To be able to play that well, he would have to have been playing for many years!
Out of the corner of his eye, Wilson sees House stand up. He continues to ignore him, keeping his eyes fixed on the strings. He didn't realize how much he had missed playing. Most nights when he had got home, Julie had been asleep and had never appreciated the noise, however soft he had tried to play.
The sound of a piano startles the oncologist and he looks up, fingers slowing, but still playing. House has his back to him and he too slows, their paces matching. Wilson smiles, amused.
An hour passes before the last notes of their unnamed duet reluctantly fades away, silence reclaiming the room. House gently closes the key cover before turning around. His smile is small, but it is one that reaches his eyes.
Wilson sets the guitar down on the floor, his fingers throbbing in time with his pulse. House stands and joins him on the couch. Noticing the hand, House examines the red fingers. "They feel like they are going to fall off then run away from me."
"Good thing I am a doctor then," House says, bringing the hand to his lips and giving the fingers a gentle kiss.
Author: evila_elf
Pairing: House/Wilson friendship or pre-slash, whatever suits your fancy :-)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Nada
Summary: House discovers Wilson's guitar while his friend moves in after another divorce.
Disclaimer: I don't own them sobs
Notes: This idea came about from a mini conversation I had with neverbelonged on LJ :-)
Phase 5
The moving van shows up in front of House's apartment building right on schedule, Wilson pulling up right beside it. House watches from the window as his friend stumbles from the vehicle. It is a wonder he had made it there in one piece, he looks exhausted. And when he comes knocking on the door, House realizes that it is emotional exhaustion, not physical.
Jimmy offers a weak smile as House moves out of the way to allow friend and box to enter.
"I would help but," House raises his cane in the air as Wilson heads out the door again.
He waves a hand in House's general direction as he rounds the corner, the hand saying both that it is okay and that he never expected House to help in the first place. Strange how single gestures can convey so much at times.
The driver of the van makes an appearance here and there as he helps, but only half as often as Wilson. He is being paid by the hour, so no reason for him to bust a gut. And Wilson. He just wants to get each thing he is focussing on at the time done with. Packing, hiring a mover, driving to House's, unloading at House's...
With an exhausted sigh, Wilson slumps down on the couch, leaving House to close the door after him. This is the first time he had sat down to rest since Phase 1: Packing. He swings his feet up on the couch cushions and puts an arm over his eyes.
House watches his friend a moment to make sure he isn't going to break down like he had after his last failed marriage. After he is reassured, he heads over to the box-lined wall and starts rummaging around.
"That is considered rude, you know," Wilson mumbles, his voice muffled by his shirt-sleeve.
"So is moving into an already crowded apartment," House points out as he digs through another box.
"At least I called first this time."
"What's this?" House has discovered something of interest behind the boxes.
"Mine." Wilson doesn't bother to look to see what caught House's attention, though he has an idea. He hears some boxes being pulled away and sighs. So much for trying to hide it until he is able to find another apartment. Next he hears a few clicks. Then silence. "Still alive back there?"
"I didn't know you played, Jimmy."
Wilson sighs again and swings himself into a sitting position to see what House is up to. As suspected, the diagnostician is standing over the open guitar case, thoughtful look on his face. "I don't play it anymore. Damned if I will let Julie keep it."
House leans over and scoops it from the case, holding it out to his friend.
He reluctantly takes it, not wanting to see what House would do with it if he doesn't rescue it. "What?"
"Play." Simple, demanding, begging, and mischievous all at once.
"I haven't played in years!"
"Should be just like riding a bike then, but less hard to fall off of."
Wilson smirks and silently runs his fingers over the strings, as if caressing an old lover. He glances up and sees House watching rather impatiently. He looks back down at his fingers and plucks one of the strings, listening as the sad little note fades to silence.
"I was expecting something a little longer."
Wilson plucks a different string, this time with a little more strength and the note lasts for twice the time.
"Cute." House glares.
Wilson holds up a hand, fending off any attack, verbal or physical, House may make. Lowering his hand back to the strings, he plays both the previous notes, then adds a third and they harmonize perfectly. Then the song begins...
Even though he is left handed, Wilson strums the strings with his right hand, his left on the neck, fingers stretching to push down on the strings. He hums softly to himself to keep the rhythm under control.
House listens with a slack jaw. He thought he knew everything about the oncologist. Everything. To be able to play that well, he would have to have been playing for many years!
Out of the corner of his eye, Wilson sees House stand up. He continues to ignore him, keeping his eyes fixed on the strings. He didn't realize how much he had missed playing. Most nights when he had got home, Julie had been asleep and had never appreciated the noise, however soft he had tried to play.
The sound of a piano startles the oncologist and he looks up, fingers slowing, but still playing. House has his back to him and he too slows, their paces matching. Wilson smiles, amused.
An hour passes before the last notes of their unnamed duet reluctantly fades away, silence reclaiming the room. House gently closes the key cover before turning around. His smile is small, but it is one that reaches his eyes.
Wilson sets the guitar down on the floor, his fingers throbbing in time with his pulse. House stands and joins him on the couch. Noticing the hand, House examines the red fingers. "They feel like they are going to fall off then run away from me."
"Good thing I am a doctor then," House says, bringing the hand to his lips and giving the fingers a gentle kiss.
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