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deelaundryFive Times Wilson Didn't Cry for House and the One and Only Time He Did
A Short Exercise in Sarcasm (rated R for language)
by Dee Laundry
Spoilers through episode 5-4.
One. Infarction
It was really, really inconvenient of House to have his infarction during Wilson’s second honeymoon. Not his second-ever honeymoon, his second honeymoon with his second wife. Bonnie. Anyway.
Wilson had been this close to talking the very cute, very busty activities concierge into giving him a private tour of the staff quarters during Bonnie’s Spa Day of Pampering when he was paged to the resort’s front desk for a “medical emergency.”
He was hoping for a chance to give mouth-to-mouth to the check-in girl, but no, it was a phone call. Stacy, in tears, saying that Greg had been hospitalized with severe pain and they wanted to do some procedure and could James come? Help her make an important decision about Greg’s future?
So inconvenient.
Two. Stacy Leaving
Stacy put up with House’s shit better than any woman ever had; she really did. And she would wear whatever outfit House wanted. Naughty schoolgirl, French maid, kinky nun… she’d wear them all, and let House photograph her. (Wilson didn’t think she knew Wilson had his own copies but if she did? Holy crap, even hotter.)
Why House was surprised when she couldn’t deal with him being a cripple on top of the bastard he’d already been, Wilson would never know.
He had dinner with her a month later and held her while she cried.
She was wearing the lingerie from picture number 19. Until she was wearing nothing at all, anyway.
Three. Shot in Conference Room
Wilson had never cared about bedding the slutty nurses. He’d bedded them, of course, he just hadn’t cared about it. But the quiet, virtuous ones… now those were a challenge.
And sweet Mary Susan Bianchi, fresh from nursing school, devoted to her family and her Roman Catholic faith, was the biggest challenge of all. Weeks of talking, mentoring, an encouraging word here, a gentle platonic touch there.
Today was it. Wilson could feel it in his bones. (That bone, too, but he’d worn briefs today to keep everything as discreet as possible.) Mary Susan was in his office, sitting daintily on the couch, upset about her hamster Charlie’s untimely demise. She needed comfort, and Wilson was just the man to give it to her.
His strong arm around her shoulders, her gentle tears falling on his shirt, damn, she even smelled like Juicyfruit gum. So young, nubile, vulnerable and ripe for the taking. He tilted up her chin, gazed soulfully into her eyes, and watched as she… jerked back when a loud retort sounded from the next room.
“What was that? A gun shot?” she asked fearfully.
“Don’t worry about it,” Wilson replied, drawing her close to him again and trying to put her mouth within easy reaching distance again. “Happens all the time.”
“Gun shots happen all the time?”
“Car backfiring! That’s what it is. Happens all the time.” He looked deeply into her eyes again. “Trust me.”
Then his pager went off.
“You should –” she said, gesturing toward the desk, where he’d left it.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he replied and hauled himself up to gaze at the screen.
House had been shot.
That bastard always ruined everything.
Four. Deep Brain Simulation
Amber made sex videos with him. Enthusiastically. SEX VIDEOS. And she’d said she’d be open to a threesome with Thirteen. THREESOME.
No shit he asked House to stick some stupid electrodes in his brain. No shit.
And then Amber was dead, and Wilson had lost the hottest, kinkiest sex partner of his life, all because House had been stupid enough to drink at Sharie’s, where they always took your keys! C’mon, the bartenders at McDougal Pub would let anyone not passed out on the floor drive! Stupid House.
Five. Father Died
House never liked the son-of-a-bitch anyway, and the funeral was the same weekend as Swingfest 2008. Wilson was missing Mary Carey! Not to mention the non-refundable airfare and hotel reservations. Damn it.
The only reason he ever agreed to take House to the funeral was to make Blythe grateful to him.
She was a fox for a gal in her sixties.
One and Only. Last Thursday
You look like crap.
Yes, thank you, House.
What’ve you been boo-hooing about? Eightieth anniversary of Richard Outcault’s death?
Who in the world is Richard Outcault?
Was Richard Outcault. Creator of Mary Jane.
Someone created marijuana? Wouldn’t that really be “discovered”? And, like, a lot longer ago than eighty years?
Mary Jane Brown, the comic character after whom Mary Jane shoes were named. You know, Mary Janes? Little girl shoes, like the kind you wear?
You know way more gay references than I ever have, House.
I know way more every kind of references than you do.
Yes, you are more brilliant than I could ever hope to be.
Finally you admit it. You still haven’t explained the bawling.
My eyes are watering because I’ve been chopping onions and chiles.
For…?
Your favorite recipe of all time.
Sweet! Man, Wilson, you keep making that for me, and one of these days I’ll put out.
Uh-huh. You don’t know what flunitrazepam tastes like, do you?
What?
Nothing.
A Short Exercise in Sarcasm (rated R for language)
by Dee Laundry
Spoilers through episode 5-4.
One. Infarction
It was really, really inconvenient of House to have his infarction during Wilson’s second honeymoon. Not his second-ever honeymoon, his second honeymoon with his second wife. Bonnie. Anyway.
Wilson had been this close to talking the very cute, very busty activities concierge into giving him a private tour of the staff quarters during Bonnie’s Spa Day of Pampering when he was paged to the resort’s front desk for a “medical emergency.”
He was hoping for a chance to give mouth-to-mouth to the check-in girl, but no, it was a phone call. Stacy, in tears, saying that Greg had been hospitalized with severe pain and they wanted to do some procedure and could James come? Help her make an important decision about Greg’s future?
So inconvenient.
Two. Stacy Leaving
Stacy put up with House’s shit better than any woman ever had; she really did. And she would wear whatever outfit House wanted. Naughty schoolgirl, French maid, kinky nun… she’d wear them all, and let House photograph her. (Wilson didn’t think she knew Wilson had his own copies but if she did? Holy crap, even hotter.)
Why House was surprised when she couldn’t deal with him being a cripple on top of the bastard he’d already been, Wilson would never know.
He had dinner with her a month later and held her while she cried.
She was wearing the lingerie from picture number 19. Until she was wearing nothing at all, anyway.
Three. Shot in Conference Room
Wilson had never cared about bedding the slutty nurses. He’d bedded them, of course, he just hadn’t cared about it. But the quiet, virtuous ones… now those were a challenge.
And sweet Mary Susan Bianchi, fresh from nursing school, devoted to her family and her Roman Catholic faith, was the biggest challenge of all. Weeks of talking, mentoring, an encouraging word here, a gentle platonic touch there.
Today was it. Wilson could feel it in his bones. (That bone, too, but he’d worn briefs today to keep everything as discreet as possible.) Mary Susan was in his office, sitting daintily on the couch, upset about her hamster Charlie’s untimely demise. She needed comfort, and Wilson was just the man to give it to her.
His strong arm around her shoulders, her gentle tears falling on his shirt, damn, she even smelled like Juicyfruit gum. So young, nubile, vulnerable and ripe for the taking. He tilted up her chin, gazed soulfully into her eyes, and watched as she… jerked back when a loud retort sounded from the next room.
“What was that? A gun shot?” she asked fearfully.
“Don’t worry about it,” Wilson replied, drawing her close to him again and trying to put her mouth within easy reaching distance again. “Happens all the time.”
“Gun shots happen all the time?”
“Car backfiring! That’s what it is. Happens all the time.” He looked deeply into her eyes again. “Trust me.”
Then his pager went off.
“You should –” she said, gesturing toward the desk, where he’d left it.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he replied and hauled himself up to gaze at the screen.
House had been shot.
That bastard always ruined everything.
Four. Deep Brain Simulation
Amber made sex videos with him. Enthusiastically. SEX VIDEOS. And she’d said she’d be open to a threesome with Thirteen. THREESOME.
No shit he asked House to stick some stupid electrodes in his brain. No shit.
And then Amber was dead, and Wilson had lost the hottest, kinkiest sex partner of his life, all because House had been stupid enough to drink at Sharie’s, where they always took your keys! C’mon, the bartenders at McDougal Pub would let anyone not passed out on the floor drive! Stupid House.
Five. Father Died
House never liked the son-of-a-bitch anyway, and the funeral was the same weekend as Swingfest 2008. Wilson was missing Mary Carey! Not to mention the non-refundable airfare and hotel reservations. Damn it.
The only reason he ever agreed to take House to the funeral was to make Blythe grateful to him.
She was a fox for a gal in her sixties.
One and Only. Last Thursday
You look like crap.
Yes, thank you, House.
What’ve you been boo-hooing about? Eightieth anniversary of Richard Outcault’s death?
Who in the world is Richard Outcault?
Was Richard Outcault. Creator of Mary Jane.
Someone created marijuana? Wouldn’t that really be “discovered”? And, like, a lot longer ago than eighty years?
Mary Jane Brown, the comic character after whom Mary Jane shoes were named. You know, Mary Janes? Little girl shoes, like the kind you wear?
You know way more gay references than I ever have, House.
I know way more every kind of references than you do.
Yes, you are more brilliant than I could ever hope to be.
Finally you admit it. You still haven’t explained the bawling.
My eyes are watering because I’ve been chopping onions and chiles.
For…?
Your favorite recipe of all time.
Sweet! Man, Wilson, you keep making that for me, and one of these days I’ll put out.
Uh-huh. You don’t know what flunitrazepam tastes like, do you?
What?
Nothing.