moose_mcmoose (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moose_mcmoose) wrote2010-06-16 04:23 pm
moose_mcmoose) wrote2010-06-16 04:23 pm
A Duplicitous Dive
Title: A Duplicitous Dive
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 644
Disclaimer: Not mine. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans. Yes I still haven't bought them. Had a hair cut though.
Summary: Wilson does something very silly trying to live out a childhood fantasy. Written for the Camp Sick!Wilson Random Items #2 Challenge using the fifth prompt: Tree, Bet.
It was a stupid idea.
He knew it was a stupid idea now, but after several punchy servings of alcohol, stupid and perfectly reasonably had sort of amalgamated into meaning the same thing. And with House goading him from the sidelines, waving his cane about, calling him a girl at the top of his voice, and Wilson's very own booze addled analysis of the situation, there was nothing much stopping him from putting the aforementioned stupid idea in practice.
He also knew he was lucky to escape with only a dislocated shoulder, concussion and a couple of busted ribs; falling to your death from that height was not unheard of. Though, House would surely insist that he hadn't fell properly or that he had bent the tree so far down due to his middle aged spread that he only fell from about three feet.
But Wilson was in no position to argue his case. Especially when the prosecution had an eyewitness to his attempts in reliving his childhood Superman dream, underwear over trousers and everything. And especially when that eyewitness could very easily tell every living soul in the hospital, which no doubt he will do anyway, but Wilson decides will cross that bridge when he comes to it. For now, he is willing to cling on to whatever dignity he still has left, even if it is for a few fleeting minutes, hours or days.
Although, there was one thing he was pleased with himself about in this entire debacle.
His bartering skills.
From $150 to $1000 through a bit of pissed haggling and ego bashing. Sure, he'd acted up the slurred voice and sleepy eyes to get a little extra, but all fair in drinking and gambling.
"I can't believe you actually did that?"
Wilson jerked, taken aback by House's sudden and unexpected intrusion. "What made you think I wouldn't?"
"You were inebriated. You can't even count to ten when you're drunk, never mind climbing a damn tree."
"It's amazing what a bit of cash can inspire you to do."
"You're a disgrace. Duping a cripple like that. You'd go to jail for that if you weren't such an upstanding member of the community." House limped to the end of the bed, stealing a pot of jello from Wilson's tray. "You're not eating this are you?"
Yeah. "No. Feel free."
"I was gonna take it anyway."
"I know."
"I told Cuddy you were here." House sucked a sliver of jello from a plastic spoon.
"I hope you didn't tell her why."
"God no!" House smirked. "I'll tell her that later when she gets here."
"She's coming?!"
"Of course. She wouldn't not visit her delightful Head of Oncology who attempted to drunkenly back flip from a tree with his underwear on over his pants. That would just be rude."
"You can't tell her."
"Why not? It'll be a lovely little story to tell Rachael when she's older. Then she can see her godfather for the drunken, duplicitous soak that he really is."
Wilson shifted his pillow with his free hand. "Oh you flatter me so."
"Don't get used to it." House pointed a finger to buffed apple lying solemnly on the side of Wilson's tray. "I'll have that too." He swiped the helpless fruit before hobbling to the partition door.
"House!" Wilson rubbed his fingers together. "You owe me."
"Can I pay it in instalments?"
"Like the motorbike? That went well. Five years later and you only own me about three quarters of that money."
"Put it on my tab."
"Bu-.." There was no point in finishing his sentence, House had already bolted like a stable horse, unwilling to hold his side of the deal. Wilson can only muster a shrug, safe in the knowledge that, regardless of the alcohol level in his bloodstream, back flipping from trees was definitely not for him.
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 644
Disclaimer: Not mine. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans. Yes I still haven't bought them. Had a hair cut though.
Summary: Wilson does something very silly trying to live out a childhood fantasy. Written for the Camp Sick!Wilson Random Items #2 Challenge using the fifth prompt: Tree, Bet.
It was a stupid idea.
He knew it was a stupid idea now, but after several punchy servings of alcohol, stupid and perfectly reasonably had sort of amalgamated into meaning the same thing. And with House goading him from the sidelines, waving his cane about, calling him a girl at the top of his voice, and Wilson's very own booze addled analysis of the situation, there was nothing much stopping him from putting the aforementioned stupid idea in practice.
He also knew he was lucky to escape with only a dislocated shoulder, concussion and a couple of busted ribs; falling to your death from that height was not unheard of. Though, House would surely insist that he hadn't fell properly or that he had bent the tree so far down due to his middle aged spread that he only fell from about three feet.
But Wilson was in no position to argue his case. Especially when the prosecution had an eyewitness to his attempts in reliving his childhood Superman dream, underwear over trousers and everything. And especially when that eyewitness could very easily tell every living soul in the hospital, which no doubt he will do anyway, but Wilson decides will cross that bridge when he comes to it. For now, he is willing to cling on to whatever dignity he still has left, even if it is for a few fleeting minutes, hours or days.
Although, there was one thing he was pleased with himself about in this entire debacle.
His bartering skills.
From $150 to $1000 through a bit of pissed haggling and ego bashing. Sure, he'd acted up the slurred voice and sleepy eyes to get a little extra, but all fair in drinking and gambling.
"I can't believe you actually did that?"
Wilson jerked, taken aback by House's sudden and unexpected intrusion. "What made you think I wouldn't?"
"You were inebriated. You can't even count to ten when you're drunk, never mind climbing a damn tree."
"It's amazing what a bit of cash can inspire you to do."
"You're a disgrace. Duping a cripple like that. You'd go to jail for that if you weren't such an upstanding member of the community." House limped to the end of the bed, stealing a pot of jello from Wilson's tray. "You're not eating this are you?"
Yeah. "No. Feel free."
"I was gonna take it anyway."
"I know."
"I told Cuddy you were here." House sucked a sliver of jello from a plastic spoon.
"I hope you didn't tell her why."
"God no!" House smirked. "I'll tell her that later when she gets here."
"She's coming?!"
"Of course. She wouldn't not visit her delightful Head of Oncology who attempted to drunkenly back flip from a tree with his underwear on over his pants. That would just be rude."
"You can't tell her."
"Why not? It'll be a lovely little story to tell Rachael when she's older. Then she can see her godfather for the drunken, duplicitous soak that he really is."
Wilson shifted his pillow with his free hand. "Oh you flatter me so."
"Don't get used to it." House pointed a finger to buffed apple lying solemnly on the side of Wilson's tray. "I'll have that too." He swiped the helpless fruit before hobbling to the partition door.
"House!" Wilson rubbed his fingers together. "You owe me."
"Can I pay it in instalments?"
"Like the motorbike? That went well. Five years later and you only own me about three quarters of that money."
"Put it on my tab."
"Bu-.." There was no point in finishing his sentence, House had already bolted like a stable horse, unwilling to hold his side of the deal. Wilson can only muster a shrug, safe in the knowledge that, regardless of the alcohol level in his bloodstream, back flipping from trees was definitely not for him.
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And go figure House would skip out on his side of the bet.
I loved this!
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Thanks for sharing!
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How could Wilson have thought that he would get his money from House? Must have been the alcohol. ;-)
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*snort* what an excellent descriptor.
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Really, thank gods he was drunk, since he was probably relaxed enough for the fall that he was less injured than he could have been . . .
Except, of course, in his pride. Oh, and his dignity. And, thanks to House, his pocketbook.
This was fun!
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This was very cute and surprisingly IC.
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I need new jeans, too. Let me know when your ship comes in. :}}
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Oh yeah and picturing Wilson as Superman in his underwear was priceless. :D