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nonesensedI'm in one of those weird moods you only get in when you've been equally praised and censored in the time-span of a few hours. This causes me to do odd things, for example attempting to write House fanfiction. This is what I've got so far:
Title: Rest
Fandom: House, M.D.
Category: General
Rating: G
Pairing: Vague House/Wilson
Warnings: None
Spoilers: _Really_ vague ones. You'll only understand that they're spoilers if you've seen the second half of season 2.
Summary: Wilson and rest are currently not on the best of terms.
Word count: 382
Disclaimer: I do not own the TV-show "House, M.D." or any of its characters.
Wilson rolls over to lie on his other side, right fist loosely curled around the sheets of his bed. His bed. The sheets are soft, there's plenty of room and it's all brand new. It's warm and comfortable. It's his.
He can't sleep. That shouldn't really be surprising, but it still is. Three nights he's been twisting and turning in this bed, sleep just out of reach. There is no reason. Work has been good – or as good as anything involving cancer ever gets – and the divorce is over and done with. His mind is blank as he closes his eyes, the darkness is welcome and yet the blissful nothing of unconsciousness refuses to envelop him.
Restless. It takes Wilson four days to realize that's what he's feeling; restless. As soon as he thinks the word a small part of his mind makes a lame joke – no sleep means no rest means restless – but he ignores it. The voice is wrong. He is exhausted from lack of sleep. It is lack of rest that keeps him awake.
He laughs out loud when the answer comes to him. Not too loudly of course, but enough of a chuckle to earn him curious looks from the people standing in the hallway.
House has begun giving him those looks; the ones that show something that exists between faint concern and curiosity. They're rare but Wilson has gone a week without sleep so he thinks he deserves them.
The invitation to House's place isn't unexpected. It's a Friday. The evening contains the usual: take out, beer, old movies they've seen an uncountable number of times before. House mocks the lousy actors and as many other things he can think of that he finds amusing or pathetic. It's a long list.
Wilson can feel the restlessness seep out of his muscles and mind with each mouthful of beer, which each word of comfortable banter. He begins to relax back into the couch, his smile tinted with just a hint of self-mockery.
House smirks to himself, but the smirk has a strange barely-there-but-still-visible softness to it. He gets up, leaning on his cane. With a last satisfied look at Wilson he heads for the bedroom.
Wilson doesn't notice any of this - he's already asleep.
Title: Rest
Fandom: House, M.D.
Category: General
Rating: G
Pairing: Vague House/Wilson
Warnings: None
Spoilers: _Really_ vague ones. You'll only understand that they're spoilers if you've seen the second half of season 2.
Summary: Wilson and rest are currently not on the best of terms.
Word count: 382
Disclaimer: I do not own the TV-show "House, M.D." or any of its characters.
Wilson rolls over to lie on his other side, right fist loosely curled around the sheets of his bed. His bed. The sheets are soft, there's plenty of room and it's all brand new. It's warm and comfortable. It's his.
He can't sleep. That shouldn't really be surprising, but it still is. Three nights he's been twisting and turning in this bed, sleep just out of reach. There is no reason. Work has been good – or as good as anything involving cancer ever gets – and the divorce is over and done with. His mind is blank as he closes his eyes, the darkness is welcome and yet the blissful nothing of unconsciousness refuses to envelop him.
Restless. It takes Wilson four days to realize that's what he's feeling; restless. As soon as he thinks the word a small part of his mind makes a lame joke – no sleep means no rest means restless – but he ignores it. The voice is wrong. He is exhausted from lack of sleep. It is lack of rest that keeps him awake.
He laughs out loud when the answer comes to him. Not too loudly of course, but enough of a chuckle to earn him curious looks from the people standing in the hallway.
House has begun giving him those looks; the ones that show something that exists between faint concern and curiosity. They're rare but Wilson has gone a week without sleep so he thinks he deserves them.
The invitation to House's place isn't unexpected. It's a Friday. The evening contains the usual: take out, beer, old movies they've seen an uncountable number of times before. House mocks the lousy actors and as many other things he can think of that he finds amusing or pathetic. It's a long list.
Wilson can feel the restlessness seep out of his muscles and mind with each mouthful of beer, which each word of comfortable banter. He begins to relax back into the couch, his smile tinted with just a hint of self-mockery.
House smirks to himself, but the smirk has a strange barely-there-but-still-visible softness to it. He gets up, leaning on his cane. With a last satisfied look at Wilson he heads for the bedroom.
Wilson doesn't notice any of this - he's already asleep.
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