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moose_mcmoose Title: 2+2=5
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 213
Disclaimer: Not mine. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans.
Summary: I'm gonna be honest with you, it isn't exactly happy times here. Spoilerish for the past couple of episodes I guess. "Wilson daren't move the sleeping man. There was no need."
He should really have put two and two together last week when he found that empty tumbler on the coffee table. Water, he'd assumed; something to help wash down the Ibruprofen. He didn't bother to take a sniff to confirm his assumption.
A schoolboy error. A black mark to put against his name.
Because now the tumbler was full, almost over flowing, with the richest, brown tinged liquid, a couple of solemn looking ice cubes lay bobbing on the top. And House was slumped on the sofa, one arm across his chest, the other dangling to the floor.
Wilson daren't move the sleeping man. There was no need.
All it would achieve would be to remind them both how they had fucked up.
House's relapse and his failure.
It didn't stop him thinking, as he poured the whisky down the sink, how they had managed to get to this point.
He tries to remember; the things he had seen, the things he had heard, the things that were missed.
But the sums in his head don't add up.
He wish he could. He wish he could divide, simplify and equate. Create a formula to get the right answer.
An answer for the sorry situation.
But his math had always been a little suspect.
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 213
Disclaimer: Not mine. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans.
Summary: I'm gonna be honest with you, it isn't exactly happy times here. Spoilerish for the past couple of episodes I guess. "Wilson daren't move the sleeping man. There was no need."
He should really have put two and two together last week when he found that empty tumbler on the coffee table. Water, he'd assumed; something to help wash down the Ibruprofen. He didn't bother to take a sniff to confirm his assumption.
A schoolboy error. A black mark to put against his name.
Because now the tumbler was full, almost over flowing, with the richest, brown tinged liquid, a couple of solemn looking ice cubes lay bobbing on the top. And House was slumped on the sofa, one arm across his chest, the other dangling to the floor.
Wilson daren't move the sleeping man. There was no need.
All it would achieve would be to remind them both how they had fucked up.
House's relapse and his failure.
It didn't stop him thinking, as he poured the whisky down the sink, how they had managed to get to this point.
He tries to remember; the things he had seen, the things he had heard, the things that were missed.
But the sums in his head don't add up.
He wish he could. He wish he could divide, simplify and equate. Create a formula to get the right answer.
An answer for the sorry situation.
But his math had always been a little suspect.
