A String of Lights

[1lostone]

 Hi don't mind me, just posting everything in the same spot. :D

Title: String of Lights
Prompt: 'A string of Christmas Lights is out to get Wilson. He falls victim to an injury.'
Pairing: H/W Cathegory: preslash h/c sick!wilson Christmas fluff
Rating/Warnings: Rating PG-13 for language. Spoilers for S6- up to Wilson.
Words: 3326
Summary: see prompt. Written for the sickwilson_fest  challenge.
Disclaimer: Oh please. I wish.
Beta: Unbeta’d, so all mistakes are all mine. My betabookfan85  has been very ill and was unable to check this for me… but I love her anyway. :D

 The argument started over a bucket of water.

As far as buckets went, there wasn't anything particularly malevolent about it. It was a cheap, plastic mop bucket that Wilson had taken from Amber's apartment.  The small blue container was filled half-way with murky water that still smelled faintly of Pine Sol.   There were no dark clouds overhead to signify deep foreboding.  No evil cackling was heard when Wilson would catch sight of it, sitting in the corner of the room.

It was just a bucket.

Moving into what they laughingly called “Cuddy’s place” had been fine.  The apartment had a fairly common floor plan.  House and Wilson each had a large room to themselves. There was a large kitchen, a sunny breakfast nook, and a third bedroom that they had decided to use as a shared study. There was enough closet space to have made all three of his exes fairly start drooling.  All in all, the problems hadn’t been with the new place at all.  The movers had put all of Wilson’s carefully labeled boxes in the correct rooms. House had, of course, come along behind them and pulled from each box, slinging the contents wily-nilly into whichever room he deemed more appropriate.  Wilson had just sighed, rolling his eyes and moving his things back to where they belonged.

As far as being roommates went, House had even been fairly good about some of his mementos of Amber he had kept around, although he was pretty adamant about not allowing another shrine in any of the shared spaces. The photograph of him standing behind Amber with his arms around her shoulders; both of them grinning at the camera had been framed and put on Wilson’s desk. House hadn’t even made a comment.

They had unpacked and set everything up, buying new furniture and arranging the hundreds of books into House’s own version of organization- consisting of everything from the subject, to the date he bought it, to its branch of medicine.  Wilson didn’t really mind. House’s system was second nature to him now. 

They had shared chores, splitting up duties like cooking and cleaning in a very mature way, settled manfully over a few games of poker as to who would do what. Until it came to mopping.

“How the hell are you going to make a cripple mop the floors?”

“You’re going to play the cripple card now? Really? After taking the garbage out to the dumpster? The dumpster that, I might add, is approximately one-hundred yards of ice and sleet covered asphalt away from the apartment?”

House’s eyes had narrowed. House loathed mopping floors. Hated it with the burning passion of a thousand fiery suns.  Wilson was fully aware of this of course, but had decided that it wouldn’t really kill House to do some of the less-pleasant chores around the house.  Plus it amused him to watch House's pending meltdown.

“Here. I’ll even fill it up for you. All you have to do is the actual mopping.”

“No.”

“Oh come on. You’re being childish.”

House had flipped him off and then stuck his fingers in his ears, sticking out his tongue.

“House.” Wilson had stood over him with his hands on his hips, feeling a weird sense of déjà-vu from when a teenaged Wilson had tried to squirm out of doing various household chores in his parent's home. 

House had just gotten up and left the room.

Wilson had filled the bucket has he promised and left it in the middle of the floor. When he had returned from work, he barely had time to stop his forward motion before tripping over the damn thing from where House had pushed it right in the center of the kitchen walkway.

Two weeks later, the bucket was still in the living room, floors unmopped.  Wilson refused to do it. House refused to do it. Neither of them would give the other the satisfaction of dumping the water out, so there it sat slowly moving around the room as one of them would push it out of their way until it found a home in the back part of the room behind the couch. Out of sight, but never out of mind, it sat there, the Pine Sol causing the water to turn a cloudy, murky gray.

***

"I just think it would be festive."

Wilson eyed House from his half of the couch. They were both stretched out with their feet up, sharing some popcorn and watching the Biggest Loser, House mocking the contestants and Wilson getting teary-eyed over the contestants with equal fervor. They had both sat through several Christmas commercials while the show was on, and House had spoken after flipping around a few times, unable to get away from holiday cheer.

“You want… what?”  Wilson thought his eyebrow had a mind of its own as it rose up under his bangs.

House took a quick glance at Wilson out of the corner of his eye and then resumed watching the television show.  He was quiet for several minutes. Wilson assumed that he had dropped the subject and went back to munching popcorn, watching fitness trainers scream at people.

In fact, he didn’t even think about it again until the following evening. He and House had been walking up the stairs to their condo, when House had turned around. Wilson, who was trying to unlock the door while juggling briefcase, lab coat, and their take-out cursed when House prodded him in the middle of the back with his cane.

He turned, looking furious. House was completely oblivious to his reaction (or not, sometimes it was hard for even Wilson to tell) staring out at the condominium across the parking lot. Wilson had to admit, it was really something to look at. The white lights had a way of leaching out all the harsh light from the streetlamps, making the balcony and windows of the structure look warm and inviting. They had placed candles in the windows, and wrapped the door to look like a present.  They hadn’t gone overboard and it looked… cozy.

House reached out to take Wilson’s briefcase, and part of the take out bag so that Wilson could unlock the door.  They both went inside saying nothing as House threw the briefcase in the general direction of the couch, and set their food on the dining room table. Wilson watched passively as House limped around the kitchen, getting a couple of beers and some silverware. He didn’t bother with his cane, leaving it hooked on the breakfast nook counter. Wilson thought House looked strangely vulnerable as he limped around the room for the can opener, coming into the dining room and setting it all on the table with a sigh. 

They didn’t bother with small talk, digging into their food and beer with equal gusto, having had a very long in a series of even longer days.  Wilson, to be honest, was a little wary of House’s mood. He wasn’t being snarky or sarcastic… wasn’t angry or complaining. He seemed… pensive as he ate, eyes running around the room, his brain whirring at a pace that Wilson didn’t think he could imitate if he tried.

“I do think it would be festive. Not because I’m particularly full of the Christmas spirit or anything… but it just looks… nice.”

Wilson blinked as House randomly continued the conversation from over twenty-four hours before. It took him a moment to respond, and he finished chewing his mouthful of pepper steak while he thought of what to say.  House’s mood was, well… different. Wilson was cautious enough not to come out mocking, although the temptation was certainly there. Truth was, he liked these little glimpses of the House he was friends with before his infraction; before pain and addiction turned him into a different person.

“It does look nice. And you want to… decorate our apartment? For Christmas?”

House’s blue gaze flicked over to Wilson’s quickly before skittering back to his beer. He took a long drink. “Well, we could find some little light-up Dreidels”

Wilson snorted before he could help himself. House’s grin was almost sweet as he met his gaze for the first time. 

“The bases had regulations, and we couldn’t put up lights.  I just never… got why people did it. I think most of that is bullshit anyway. An angel with a tree sticking up her butt?  Inflatable Santas and reindeer just look stupid. But the lights? I just think…” And he trailed off, looking back down at his plate, taking another bite of food.

“Oh thank god. I thought you were going to tell me about a religious conversion or something.” Wilson watched as House’s lips twitched into a smirk. “I might be the only Jew in the greater New-Jersey area who is saying this, but…” Wilson shrugged. “Why not?”

***

Why not indeed.

Fucking bastarding things! Wilson, of course, was the one that was elected to put the lights actually up. They had decided to decorate the inside of the house around the crease where the ceiling and the wall met, and put a couple of strings around each of the living room windows.  House was taking care of that, volunteering to go outside and hang the lights. He was tall enough to not need a ladder to stand on.

Wilson was unlucky enough to be perched precariously on the ladder, reaching out with a staple gun to attach the lights to the crease of the wall.  Why the hell did no one tell me that you had to check the damn things to make sure that they worked? Wilson had had to take down the strand twice- and that was not fun when trying to remove staple gun staples. He could kiss his apartment deposit goodbye with every hole he put in the wall.

Fucking things.

Wilson stood on the top of the ladder, with his left foot scrunched on the top of the window, holding the slack from the Christmas lights in his mouth, both arms stretched over his head as he stapled the lights into place. He heard House knock on the window from the outside and rolled his eyes, moving his mouth just far enough that the lights slid across his skin. They weren't hot enough to burn, but he could definitely feel their heat as he looked down to the window. House was blowing on the cold glass, making his mouth bulge out grotesquely as he flicked his tongue against the glass. Wilson couldn't help the bark of laughter that erupted from his chest as he watched House's immature antics.

That was a mistake.

The string of lights slipped from his mouth. Wilson made a futile grab for them, which made his center of gravity shift. After that, it was like everything happened in slow motion. His right arm pinwheeled for balance, sending the staple gun flying off into the distance. He heard a muffled crash as it knocked something over upon impact. Meanwhile, his left hand grabbed for some kind of purchase on the wall, fingernails tearing to the quick as he tried to use his fingers to somehow catch himself. His sneaker slipped off the sill of the window.  For one brief second he thought he was okay. He managed to bend almost in half and hold himself on the ladder, barking his shin against the metal and scraping what felt like an inch of skin off of his leg.

He had one moment of relief before the ladder started to tip.  The string of Christmas lights, somehow still plugged in,  were still in his hand which closed around them in a death grip as he started to fall, closed fist sliding down the lights and breaking each individual bulb, sending glass everywhere. Wilson caught a quick glimpse of House's horrified stare through the window as he fell back onto the hardwood floor. He smelled the sharp odor of Pine Sol, and had just a second to shut his eyes before the live wire hit the dirty water spilled onto the floor from the forgotten mop bucket.

***

He came to once.

Blurry eyes opened at a sharp pain on his cheek. House was saying something, practically screaming into a phone, standing right out of the way of a largish spill of water. From Wilson's vantage point, he could see faint blue lines still zipping over the spill. He couldn't feel any pain, except for his face, but his half-closed gaze took in the fact that it looked as though the wood floor around the water had been scorched. There was a heavy smell of ozone and a strangely sweet burnt smell hanging in the air. The mixture made him nauseous.  Wilson twitched, trying to move his unresponsive body so that he could get sick without choking.

"Wilson! Jesus, don't move!"

Wilson couldn't ever remember House sounding so panicked before. He felt his body let go, vomit spilling forth from his mouth. Idly, he noticed that he sprayed onto one of House's sneakers. When his body started to convulse, Wilson lost consciousness again, House's stricken face swimming out of focus as the blackness overtook him.

***

The next time he came to, everything was dark. It was quiet except for the beeps of various machines. Wilson could feel the blood pressure cuff tightening on his arm, and he winced. It was as though that one small movement caused a whole symphony of agony to play upon the rest of his body.  He let out a small whimper of pain, his eyes fluttering closed again. His head wasn’t working right, thoughts jumbling together slowly. Wilson couldn’t remember what had happened. He felt lethargic from some kind of drug, but his heart rate increased as he tried to force his brain to remember what had happened. Every moment that he couldn’t remember caused his heart to beat faster, forcing blood to all the painful areas on his body. He took a ragged breath, the panic starting to set in.

“Hey.”

Wilson’s whole body sagged with relief for a moment as he recognized the rough voice to his left.  There was a quick brush of something on the inside of his arm, above the bend of his elbow.

“..’owse?”

His mouth wouldn’t work, throat as dry as sandpaper.

“Yeah, you idiot. It’s me. Who else?  Now don’t try to move. You can’t see because your eyes are covered with gauze. Relax.”

Wilson tried to turn his head towards House’s voice and let out another feeble whimper as his the symphony of pain became more of a cacophony of agony.

He felt House’s warm hand pushing on his shoulder. His hand slid very slowly across his shoulders, helping him to sit up.  The puff of his breath was cool on his overheated cheek. “I said… don’t. Move. Moron.” Wilson felt plastic on his dry lips, and realized that House must be holding a cup for him, the straw close enough that he could grasp it with his mouth. The water felt wonderful, easing his throat. Wilson felt the bed moving up behind him, to hold him up as he took very small sips of the tepid liquid. That small action made him extremely tired, and he sagged back onto his bed, grateful that House had moved it so that he would be comfortable.

Wilson heard some fiddling with his IV bag, and soon his pain drifted away.

“What… happened?”

“You. You ginormous fuckwit.” House managed to sound exasperated, concerned and pissed off all at once, a talent that Wilson admired. “You electrocuted your idiot self while hanging up Christmas lights.”

“I… wha….?”

He could almost hear House rolling his eyes. “You managed to break about ten lightbulbs when you grabbed them to somehow catch your fall.  There was water spilled, and you dropped the live wire directly into the water, then decided to land directly on it.”

“Water..?” His head was swimming from the drugs that House had slipped him, but that one word stuck out in his thoughts, jarring a memory loose.

“Errrm...” That syllable managed to sound extremely sheepish.

Wilson remembered the sharp smell of Pine Sol and narrowed his eyes under the gauze. Before he could say anything else, the drugs overtook his system, causing everything to start to fade. Before he fell back asleep, he thought he heard a muttered apology and the slight ghost of a pair of lips on his overheated forehead.

***

Wilson wasn’t moving too quickly. He felt several years older than his age as he hobbled into his apartment behind House.  House, who had apparently confused himself with Wilson’s grandmother, was clucking around him like a mother hen with a recently rediscovered chick. It would be extremely annoying if Wilson didn’t have very firm plans to milk his injury for everything it was worth.

 He had an electrical burn on most of the right side of his face, and on his shoulder where he had landed. He had broken two ribs and sprained his back when he fell onto the mop water, the electricity sending his body into convulsions before House had managed to get to him. House had managed to yank the plug out of the wall and push Wilson out of the water, the thick soles of his sneakers keeping him safe from the charge of electricity. Wilson had spent exactly two days in the hospital with House berating all the nurses and other doctors who had ventured into the private room before he had insisted on going home.

Now, House situated him onto the couch, propped up with pillows and as comfortable as he could possibly be.

“Just a sec. Don’t fall asleep.” House left the room to go get the rest of his stuff from the car, the measured limping thump of his step and the cane familiar enough that Wilson felt himself start to doze off.  The couch cushion shifted as House sat down beside him, turning his body so that the uninjured half of Wilson fell against him. Wilson was too tired to complain. House was warm against him and he murmured something about being comfortable, feeling House’s chest move as he laughed.

“Hey. Sleeping Beauty. Open your eyes. I have a surprise for you.”

Wilson frowned. House’s deep, gravelly voice had spoken directly into his ear.  He wasn’t sure he could be bothered to open his eyes. He was really comfortable, and sleep sounded like just about the most perfect thing ever. House pinched him and he jumped a little, moving so that he could glare at his friend.

House’s face was much closer than it should have been.

“Look.”

Wilson did, turning his neck so that he could see the rest of the room. What seemed like hundreds of tiny white lights had been strung along the perimeter of the room, bathing the space in a warm glow.

“I made Chase do it. He didn’t almost kill himself.”

Wilson sat back against the couch, carefully not thinking to hard about the fact that he was snuggling into House’s lankier frame.

There was one small string of blue lights strung in a relaxed U shape over the television. Wilson squinted, and then chuffed a gasp of laughter.

“Nice. You found the Dreidels.”

“Hmm.”  House’s response was low enough that Wilson could feel the vibration of his vocal cords against his ear as it rested on the top of House’s chest, near his shoulder.

“Very …. pretty.” Wilson’s voice was close to sleep as he watched the blinking of the soft lights play against the walls, reflecting off the hardwood floors.

 This time Wilson was certain he didn’t imagine the feel of House’s lips as the other man brushed a feather-light kiss on the top of his head. He smiled a little to himself, comfortable with the knowledge that House would be there for him when he woke up.

 ===

End.

A/N:  I haven't written H/W in a very long time so feel free to rip it apart. The idea of Wilson being stuck stringing Christmas lights just made me laugh for some reason. :) AHHH this EFFING lj format is driving me crazy!!! lol. Everytime I put in the user tags it cuts off part of the story. *bangs head*

Comments

[xlcatloveress.livejournal.com]

I had to go to bed before you had a chance to send this link yesterday so I woke up to finding it this morning and .. AWWW! This might be fluff, but it has as few hints at emotional hurt and more than enough physical hurt complete with the necessary comfort that it still reads absolutely perfect! I'm loving their interaction, loving how in-character they both read as they go about their daily business. You should write more of the two *wink wink, nudge nudge* ;)