Daphnies Journel

House fic: Subtext

Thu, 22 May 2008 20:21:28 GMT

TITLE: Subtext
AUTHOR: Daphnie_1 (me)
PAIRING: House/Wilson (established)
RATING: R - for the implication/discussion of Slash
WARNINGS: Implied slash content. Please note this contains spoilers for Doctor Who season three. Reply comments may not be House s5 finalie safe.
SUMMARY: House and Wilson watch TV, the word ‘subtext’ is thrown about a lot, and things of a Slashy nature are discussed.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House MD or the characters they belong to David Shore and Fox
BETA: Thanks to the ever fantastic magie_05 who is a fantastic writer as well as being a great Beta. Any mistakes are my own.
NOTES: This is sheer fluff, I figured we could do with some.

"Why are we watching this?”

Wilson sighs, he hasn’t even put the DVD in yet and House is fussing.

"Because it’s good, you’ll like it. The British actually make good TV shows."

"Yeh, when you can understand what they’re saying."

Wilson had to concede that sometimes the accents where a little difficult to understand.

"Just trust me."

House pulls a face.

"That’s what you said about Doctor Who."

"Don’t even start on Doctor Who. You liked it, you watched three seasons!"

House shrugs.

"It was okay. I guess."

"Good, so shut up, eat pizza, and watch."

They get through the credits without Wilson wanting to kill House – which is something of a surprise. A few minutes in House says something and Wilson is actually surprised he was quiet for that long.

"Hey, isn’t that the guy from Doctor Who?"

"Yeh John Simm, he played the Master."

House considers this piece of information.

"So, is this a Doctor Who thing?"

Wilson takes a deep breath and counts to ten in his head. House was being purposely annoying.

"No, House, this is not a Doctor Who thing. It’s just the same actor: Actors do play different parts."

House feigns his best ‘hurt’ expression and Wilson wants to slap him.

"Touchy! I only asked. I mean if I’d said we were only watching because you wanted to perve on John Simm I can see you being annoyed."

Wilson tries very hard to keep his temper. If he gets annoyed it’ll just give House some more ammo.

"I do not perve on John Simm"

"Yeh, if you say so Wilson."

Miraculously they manage to get through the night without Wilson ripping House’s head off.

The next day they’re sitting in the hospital cafeteria.

"There’s something weird about those guys, don’t you think?" House declares.

Wilson can’t help thinking that he must have missed something.

"What?"

"Sam and Gene from the show."

"Life on Mars? What about them?"

House looks at Wilson as if he’s gone a little crazy.

"Subtext much? Those guys are so gay."

Wilson just looks at him.

"Yeh, okay, point taken. They so are, though."

Wilson considers this for a second.

"You sure? I don’t see it."

"Seriously? With the touching and the tension?"

Wilson looks at him blankly.

"I don’t see it; they’re just friends."

House is grinning now.

"People would say the same about us, and you know how that is."

"Yeh, gotta give you that."

House smirks.

"You’ve got to love the British shows for their subtext. The whole Doctor/Master thing? That was nice."

"I’m going to dread asking. Doctor/Master thing?"

"I mean that phone conversation alone, but the fact he dies in the Doctor’s arms? Subtle."

Wilson is so confused by all this.

"But they hate each other!"

House just snorts.

"I think you’re just making this all up so you can perv!"

House laughs and it makes Wilson grin.

"No, the subtext just makes the perving easier. It’s why they invented subtext."

"They invented subtext just so you could perv?"

"I told you I was special, but you just refuse to listen."

Wilson rolls his eyes.

"It’s a shame, alright."

House laughs.

"I should have known you’d be no good with subtext. It took you long enough to figure out the thing with me."

"I wasn’t that slow!"

"Yeh, right. I had to kiss you before you got it."

Wilson scowls.

"Just so you know, I hate you."

"I know, Wilson. I know."

Life on Mars fic: Freefall

Fri, 16 May 2008 13:12:13 GMT

TITLE: Freefall
AUTHOR: Daphnie_1 (me)
PAIRING: None, it's Gen
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: Spoilers for the S2 Finale
SUMMARY: Can't say much more for fear of spoiling
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Life on Mars or it's characters, they are the property of it's creators and the BBC.
BETA: The utterly fantastic t_eyla. Thank you so much for how much thought you put in! Any mistakes - as always - are my own.
NOTES: Again, please observe the spoiler warning! I don't want to ruin the ending for anyone.

1) Standing Steady

His first day in 1973 is the first time he almost throws himself off the roof of Manchester CID. He thinks it’s what he needs to do to get home.

He can see for miles – what feels like the entirety of Manchester – but it’s not the Manchester he knows. He moves closer to the edge, vertigo clawing at his stomach, and he wonders again if he’s lost it. He wonders if it even matters anymore.

If all of this is a delusion, if that’s all 1973 – this 1973 – is, then surely it won’t hurt?

That Bowie song is still playing in his head, and he hums along under his breath.

He stands on the edge, looking out over the city, and takes a deep breathe. Don’t be stupid, he tells himself, how can it hurt? It’s all in his head.

The air is calm and cool, and he’s almost ready.

The only thing that stops him is the sound of Annie’s voice, and then he realises how scared he actually is.

2) Tierd

The second time is a few weeks later when he’s just tired.

He’s tired of Test Card Girl, tired of Gene Hunt, and 1973 in general.

It’s night-time and he’s cold. The sky is clear and he can see the stars – they are absolutely beautiful. He’s amazed that his mind can create something so perfect.

It occurs to him that if his mind can create this then it can create pain. The rush of air and, the feeling of vertigo as he falls. Even if it’s not real it’ll still hurt. He wonders if that might be okay, If he could do this to get home.

Then, for the first time, he deals, with the possibility that this might all be real. The idea is an alien yet fascinating one, and he knows he can’t jump.

3) Technicolor

Sam Tyler’s dreams are so real, always have been, they’re just so sharp and clear.

He sometimes replays his first day in his head – standing on the roof, Annie trying to convince him not to jump.

It had been so simple then.

The dream does not always go as he remembers it. Sometimes he does throw himself off, sometimes he trips, and sometimes the dream ends as it should and he goes with Annie.

No matter what happens, though, he always wakes, covered in sweat, and filled with the distinct impression that he’s falling.

It usually takes him a few moments to decide which is the memory and which is the dream.

4) Freefall

This time he does jump, because it’s all he can do.

He’s on the roof of Manchester CID in 2007, but nothing seems real anymore. It looks – and sounds – like his life before the accident, but something’s wrong. It’s like he’s watching the telly, but something’s interfering with the signal and he’s just getting bland, colourless static.

He wonders which is real and which is fake: which is Kansas and which is Oz? And he wonders if it would even matter if he knew.

A familiar tune plays in his head, one that’s been haunting him since this whole thing began , and Sam Tyler smiles and jumps.

Housefic: Phone Number

Thu, 15 May 2008 21:04:54 GMT

TITLE: Phone Number
AUTHOR: Daphnie_1 (me)
PAIRING: House/Wilson (in a way)
RATING: R
WARNINGS: Implied Slash content (nothing graphic) alcohol consumption.
SUMMARY: This is just one version of how House and Wilson met.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House MD or the characters they belong to David Shore and Fox
BETA: Thanks to the ever fantastic magie_05who is a fantastic writer as well as being a great Beta. Any mistakes are my own.
NOTES: Written for Savemoony’s ‘Odd-couple’ challenge and for 5drunkfics (prompt: tipsy)

House has to admit the guy sitting next to him is good looking. Light brown hair, large expressive eyes. The sensitive sort – House betted – that women loved. He was soft, and sweet, and...So why the hell was he on his own? They had both sat here for two hours in this stupid bar, and not one person had spoken to either of them.

The guy orders another drink, his voice slightly slurred. House doesn’t know why but he says something. He hates people, and now here he is willingly engaging one in conversation.

“I think you might have had enough to drink already.”

He shakes his head, a few strands of light brown hair move out of place.

“Nope, I'm tipsy, not drunk.”

“There's a difference?”

“Yes, commonly known fact. I'm a doctor, I should know.”

All said with a total deadpan voice, but the guy’s eyes are sparkling.

“I'm a doctor too, and I seem to have missed that in Doctor Class.”

The guy shrugs.

“Maybe you were off that day.”

House sticks out a hand.

“Greg House.”

The other guy smiles and shakes his hand.

“James Wilson.”

“Well, Dr. Wilson, shouldn't you know better than to get 'tipsy' anyway?”

“Yes, but what's your excuse, Dr. House?”

House smirks to himself and Wilson smiles.

“Treating patients all day. I’m in Infectious Diseases.”

“Nice, I’m in Oncology.”

House winced in his head, tough speciality. It took a certain type of person to want to specialise in Oncology, and it generally took its toll. No wonder the guy was in here getting drunk: all those annoying dying patients must be a complete bitch to deal with.
They talk for an hour or so and to House’s surprise he isn’t bored. He’d normally be ripping his hair out, but there is just something about Wilson that House can’t quite figure out... He seems to be nice but he’s got a nasty sense of humor. He’s interesting, and House can’t quite figure him out.

They leave at the same time, Wilson chatting away as they make their way down the flight of stairs outside the bar. Wilson’s foot trips and he tumbles down the flight of stone stairs onto the street.

House saunters down the stairs and holds out a hand. Wilson grabs it and House pulls him to his feet. Wilson is standing so close that House can smell the alcohol on his breath. Wilson’s heart is beating so fast; perhaps it’s actually his own, he can’t decide. He wants to reach out and kiss him, and he has no idea why. He wonders what it would be like, even considers doing it for a second. The way Wilson is looking at him...but something stops him.

He steps back slightly, can almost feel the tension easing on his skin.

“I think that settles the drunk thing.”

Wilson laughs and the last remaining bit of tension disappears.

“I think it just might.”

House looks at Wilson and he just can’t figure it out. Why is he so taken with this guy? He didn’t understand what made Wilson special, what made him the exception to the rule that House hated everybody. Perhaps it was because Wilson clearly wasn’t what he seemed to be. He pretended to be cheerful and happy, yet there was something innately sad about him. The fact he was drinking alone in a bar on Friday night could have just given House that impression.

Wilson was smiling but his eyes were sad.

“So, why were you drinking?” House asks.

Wilson just shrugs. Either he doesn’t know or the reasons are too many to count. House wonders which, but guesses it’s a mixture of both.

“I think you should go home.” He tells Wilson, and they wait for a cab. On impulse, House grabs Wilson’s wrist and snatches a pen from the other man’s shirt pocket. He scrawls his phone number in blue ink, but doesn’t say anything. Wilson has the sense to say nothing and just smiles slightly.

The cab arrives and Wilson leaves, neither of them mentioning the phone number. House had doubted Wilson would ever phone. Sometimes it’s funny how things turn out.

Doctor Who fic: Family

Sun, 11 May 2008 20:59:43 GMT

Title: Family
Author: me
Characters: Donna, Ten, Jenny
Pairing: None, it's Gen
Rating: PG
Spoilers: S04E06 (The Doctors Daughter)
Summary: Donna thinks about the Doctor and what he's lost.
Author's Note: Please note the spoiler warnings!
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, nor the characters. They are the property of the BBC.
BETA: The lovely Atari-Chan

Donna wonders how she never realised it before. For all his talk – and there was a lot of it – the Doctor never said anything. He spoke about anything and everything, but when it came to things that mattered he’d shut down. Refuse to talk because of the pain it seemed to cause him. Everybody had their secrets and the Doctor seemed to have more than most.

This didn’t stop her wanting to ask. She wanted to hear more about Gallifrey and its dark skies, of how and why it burnt. Martha had told her the little that she knew. What it was like to grow up there as a child, and how strange it would seem to her. She wanted to talk about the time lords, and the Doctor’s family, of everything he had lost. The Doctor was a father; the thought was so strange to her. She wasn’t sure she quite believed it. If she did believe it she wasn’t entirely sure how to process the thought. He looked so young, but she knew he wasn’t. She didn’t have a clue how old he was, but the way he spoke said everything.

She wanted to know about his child, such an important part of him. She’d be happy with anything, even just a name. Then there was the child’s mother, the most important woman in the Doctors life. The woman that must have been so special, so unique, to mean so much to the Doctor.

She knew they were both dead, destroyed in the Time War. How or why she didn’t know. She just understood that the Doctor was alone, last of the time lords. She couldn’t help but think of her own family, and how much they meant. How empty her life would be without them. Yes, her mother could be bossy and over-critical, but when Donna needed her she was there, always had been as far back as she could remember. Then there was her grandfather who Donna loved so much. She’d got her love of the stars from him. So many nights just sitting on the hill, gazing at the stars. He’d been so happy when the Doctor came along, because Donna would get to see all the things he couldn’t. He’d always thought she was meant for greater things.

Surely the Doctor had similar stories of growing up, of his family and friends. She wondered if the Doctor would be better off forgetting it all than remembering, going by how much it seemed to hurt. The Time War had taken everything from him and left him alone.

This fact was never far from the Doctor’s mind; that much she could fathom. It was clear in his sometimes ominous dark looks and coated words. She wondered if he ever stopped thinking about it. Well, he certainly couldn’t if his mind ran as fast as his words.

It occurred to her that the Doctor always travelled with someone because he needed them. Not only to stop him when his conscience disappeared – a vision of Christmas past, thousands of the Rachnoss burning and the Doctor standing over them like some vengeful god – but because it was so damn quiet.

He didn’t want to travel on his own because it left far too much time for thought. He travelled because he had nowhere to go. So he threw himself into the adventure and the noise, delighted in it, because he had nothing left.

Jenny had almost given him that, a reason to live. He claimed there was always one, but she knew how much it must have hurt. He’d said himself that he saw those he’d lost in her. Perhaps it was better that she was gone than the Doctor live haunted with that.

No, Jenny had been something special. The Doctor would have gotten over that, started to finally see her for what she was: her own person, not the ghosts of people long since dead. Donna would never forget the look on the Doctor’s face when he’d heard that double heart-beat, how haunted he’d seemed. How sad he’d been when he lost her. Jenny might have helped him heal, escape the past.

That chance was lost now, and as she looked at him she wondered if he’d ever get any better.

housefic: Apologies

Sat, 03 May 2008 23:55:25 GMT

TITLE: Apologies
AUTHOR: Daphnie_1
PAIRING: House/Wilson
RATING: 18

WARNINGS: House and WilsonSlash (with the physical contact and everything). Spoilers up to Season Three episode ''Words and Deeds.' Deals with adult concepts in regards to mentions of drug abuse and the side effects of withdrawal.
SUMMARY: House goes to rehab and thinks about how to make amends.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House MD or the characters they belong to David Shore and Fox
BETA: Thanks to the ever fantastic magie_05who is a fantastic writer as well as being a great Beta. Any mistakes are my own.
NOTES: Again please note, spoilers for everything up to the Season Three episode 'Words and Deeds'

He didn't belong here, that much House could be sure of. He wasn't an alcoholic, and he wasn't a shivering addict. He took his pills because he needed them, not because he wanted them. They made the pain in his leg bearable, helped him to think. For some reason people acted like this was a bad thing - something he should be sorry for - and he wasn't.

He wasn’t sorry for the pills, he wasn’t sorry for the fact that he needed them; it was just a basic and straightforward fact. Nothing he could do about it, the hole in his leg sort of dictated that one.

He had only done what he'd done because of them. He'd taken the patient’s pills because they'd left him no other choice. It was either take the pills or suffer, and House was never one to suffer.

His pain-meds had nothing to do with Tritter; he was just some insane cop who hadn't liked being stood up to. House had spent most of his life standing up to bullies and Tritter had been no different. He was just another idiot who thought more of himself than they should do. Pity this bully had been slightly smarter than he looked.

None of this had anything to do with House. Wilson’s lectures and Cuddy's reprisals would do nothing to convince him otherwise.

This did not make House feel any better, though; in fact, he felt like complete and utter crap. The pain was almost unbearable, worse than it had ever been. Not just in his leg though, it was like it radiated through his entire body. He was being sick every half-hour but he'd lost the contents of his stomach long ago – so it wasn’t a very pretty sight - and he had no desire to eat anything, didn't think he could if he wanted to.

So he sat in his 'room' sulking – something he’d perfected to almost an art form as a child - when he didn't have group therapy or art class.

His first visitor had been Cuddy. She'd taken one look at him and softened. She told him this was good - didn't feel it - that this was the right thing to do. She seemed genuinely enthusiastic and happy for him, which he found disconcerting.

“You're doing good, keep it up,” Cuddy told him.

His second visitor had been Cameron. She'd dropped by, apparently to talk about a case, but he knew otherwise. She felt sorry for him, and he hated that. He didn't like being thought of as weak, pitied because they thought he couldn't cope. He wasn't weak, and he didn't need looking after.

The case provided a momentary distraction from the wrenching pain in his leg and the throbbing in his head.

“I'll come back when we find out a little more,” Cameron tells him.

The third visitor had been Wilson, but not until the next day.

House is tired when Wilson shows up the next day. His dreams had become startlingly vivid, and they kept waking House up. They were never fun things.

Wilson sat across from House in the rehab, which House thought was odd. He hadn’t really expected Wilson to come and visit him, not after everything. Especially after Christmas, so much left unsaid. Which is nothing new for them admittedly, so many things they never talked about. They exchange basic small talk. Wilson might as well not have said anything but seemed to want to fill the awkward silence. Weird, as silences had never been awkward before.

Then Wilson tells him something. He tells House that he's proud of him. House doesn’t quite know what to do with this information; Wilson has never said that before. Some part of him is happy, because he doesn’t want Wilson angry any more. The memory of Christmas Eve still strong in his mind, which strikes him as funny because at the time it could almost have been a dream. He’s also kind of angry at Wilson for feeling that way, for putting so much faith in him when he shouldn’t.

Even House understands how fragile their friendship is, which he guesses says everything. He hates that, all this walking on egg shells. He's no good at this stuff. He will say something wrong and Wilson will walk, although he might have made up his mind to do that already.

House knows he shouldn't care but he does, against his better judgement and protests he does. As Wilson talks House wonders if Wilson understands that House does – in a way – care what happens. He used to know what Wilson was thinking, but now he isn’t so sure. So much has changed. Things never used to be like this before Tritter came along and ruined everything.

House can’t help but think of how things used to be.

Wilson goes and House is left with his thoughts and his pain, both keep him awake. The thoughts run riot through his brain and the pain shoots through him. It's a very sleepless night, and the little sleep he does get is haunted by dreams.

He sits in group therapy, trying to pay no attention to the sad sacks around him. He's doing pretty well until the therapist asks him a question. He wants to know how House is going to make amends.

“The people in my life have no expectations of me,” House informs him.

He liked it that way. People didn't expect anything, and they weren’t disappointed. Seemed like a winning situation to him. Yet he couldn't help but think of Wilson and Cuddy, and he wondered if he'd sunk lower than they'd ever have suspected he could. If he'd somehow managed to shatter even their basic expectations, he started to wonder exactly how bad things were.

Wilson visits the next day, and keeps up the pretence that everything is normal, when clearly it's not. He can tell by the look in Wilson’s eyes, and the odd expression on his face that it all seems too surreal to him. He probably hadn’t quite accepted it. There was something rather sad about Wilson, chattering on like he always did. Trying to give House a little bit or normality, even if he didn’t have any himself. Wilson was so pathetic sometimes.

He looks so tired, and so...drained. What had happened to the Wilson he used to know? The calm and confident doctor that had once been his friend was replaced by the person that sits before him now. He isn’t sure which he likes better, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter.

House is haunted by the way things are.

At the daily group therapy session he contributes little, and mostly just spends his time thinking about Wilson. Admittedly not a new thing for House, but this is an oddly new train of thought.

Somewhere a couple of hours into his thought process – thrown off by pain and annoyance and just noise – he reaches a conclusion. He needs to apologise to Wilson, he needs to make Wilson stay. Not as simple as it sounds, and he wonders exactly how much good it will do. He thinks about what he’s going to say. He picks his words carefully, so, so carefully. Trying to pre-empt Wilson’s reactions, cover for any eventuality. In the end he knows this is impossible.

He throws himself into the art class because he can’t really think of any other distraction they’ll allow him. When the art class finishes he finds himself sitting at one of the windows and looking out into the rain, but really he isn’t even there, he’s lost in his own thoughts. He’s trying to forget everything, but all he can do is think, and it finally leads to something he’s always sort of understood. He just needed to put the pieces together.

Wilson visits for the third time and House apologises. It’s difficult for House, not something he’s used to, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Wilson thinks it’s just for Tritter, House has phrased it that way, but really it’s for everything. Its rare House feels bad for the things he does to Wilson – House blames the rehab screwing with his brain – and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the emotion.

Wilson pretends to be amused but he isn’t, House knows Wilson better than that, well he thinks so at least. Hard to tell these days. Wilson doesn’t believe House; honestly doesn’t think that he’s sorry. Perhaps he’s not, House wonders; perhaps this is just another way to manipulate, another way to make Wilson stay.

As Wilson says goodbye they stand so close, and the thoughts of the previous day come flooding back. Wilson is standing so close that he could reach out and touch him – kiss him – because House has decided that’s what he wants. He thinks that’s what Wilson wants too. He doesn’t do anything, though, and Wilson leaves.

House is terrified of the way things could be.

House is in a jail cell a few weeks later and Wilson looks disappointed in him – Wilson always looks disappointed. He asks if the apology meant anything and House can’t bring himself to say ‘yes.’ Not after he’s taken the Vicodin, not after he’s lied the way he has. So he just tells Wilson to think what he wants. The sad look in Wilson’s eyes, even though he’s smiling, tells him exactly what Wilson thinks. According to House nothing has changed, but he knows that it has, at least for him.

House spends the solitary night in jail – contempt of court – and thinks, which he’s been doing a lot lately. He tries to sleep but even with the Vicodin thoughts still bug him and keep him awake. He thinks about Wilson, about his eyes and his hair, and wonders how he never realised how pretty Wilson was. He wonders how he can make Wilson realise that he is sorry for all this, even if he isn’t.

He goes into Wilson’s office the next day and kisses him. He knows exactly how much he’s risking doing this, but he doesn’t think he cares. Sure, he’d been scared as hell - Wilson could have rejected him and this could fail, but either way he figures their friendship is screwed anyway, so he might as well try. It is soft and sweet and full of passion. Wilson doesn’t push him away, which House considers is a small victory in itself.

“You believe me now?” House asks, his voice almost a whisper.

Wilson smiles.

“Yeah, I do.”

The light in Wilson’s eyes is something House has never seen before, but he knows what it means. It means that Wilson is not going to leave, that this won’t be the thing that breaks them. The future isn’t as he’d thought, and he’s happy – for the first time in as long as he can remember. He wonders how long that will last.

House spends the rest of his day in shock – slight surprise that he hasn’t screwed up, that everything might be okay. Wilson has forgiven him, and this time he meant it. He’s still afraid, though, afraid of what this all could mean. Afraid that this could go somewhere they can never go back from, no matter how hard they try. Afraid that he’ll screw up and now losing Wilson would be ten times worse – even if he doesn’t fully understand why.

Wilson pages House to his office in the afternoon and is kissing him the second he’s through the door. He pulls back and reaches down to unbutton House’s shirt, and shoots him a questioning look. So much is said without words, a single question hanging in the air: do you want this? House kisses him as an answer, and it seems to be enough for Wilson.

The shirt is discarded on the floor and Wilson’s hands are under the tee-shirt as he kisses House, his hands exploring the bare skin. House wonders how long Wilson has wanted this, fantasised about this. No way in hell could he hope to live up to expectations. Though Wilson seems to be fairly happy with the way things are. House kisses a spot underneath Wilson’s ear and Wilson grins.

A knock on the door and they both startle, surprised by this rude and horrendously timed intrusion from the outside world.

Wilson scowls at the door and scoops House’s shirt from the floor. House quickly puts it on as Wilson goes to answer the door. It’s a patient, and House makes a show of looking relaxed.

“Thank you for the consult, Dr. Wilson.”

“My pleasure, Dr. House.”

House walks out into the corridor and just can’t stop himself from grinning.

The third time House kisses Wilson is a few days later at Wilson’s hotel. It is passionate, and unrestrained. Before House knows what’s happening Wilson is shedding clothes, urging House to do the same. His eyes dark and filled with need. His skin against Wilson’s is unlike anything he’s ever felt before, and it’s completely electric.

They’re on Wilson’s bed soon after that and House is sorry. He’s sorry that he never thought of this before.

House fic: Soliloquy

Tue, 29 Apr 2008 15:35:01 GMT

TITLE: Soliloquy
AUTHOR: Daphnie_1
PAIRING: House/Wilson with refrences to Wilson/Amber
RATING: NC 17 (for sexual situations and swearing)
WARNINGS: House and Wilson slash (with the physical contact and everything).
SUMMARY: "Amber is both everything House is – all the things Wilson seems to like in him – and everything Wilson wants House to be. "
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House MD or the characters they belong to David Shore and Fox
BETA: Thanks to the ever fantastic magie_05who’s a fantastic writer as well as being a great Beta. Any mistakes are my own.
NOTES: This was rather odd to write

He tries to pretend that nothing has changed when it has. He walks into Wilson’s office and tells him how he feels, that he’s got the whole thing worked out. Wilson smiles and it’s unlike anything he’s ever seen. Wilson has known all along, that much House knows; this is all just part of some big plan. Wilson needed to know that House wanted this too, and now he does.

Which is why Wilson kisses him. At first House is surprised, but it feels so good. This is what House has wanted since he figured out what the thing with Amber meant, figured out how he felt. Wilson steps back and he’s grinning.

Then Wilson looks at him, his eyes dark, because he wants this too. He unbuttons House’s shirt, still kissing him with more passion than he ever thought Wilson was capable of.

Their bare skin touching is electric, and God, it’s just wonderful. He runs his hands down to Wilson’s waist and Wilson stops him.

“Not now. Later.”

House nods in agreement and this earns him another kiss. He spends the rest of the day in a daze.

They both go back to House’s after work; the car ride back is just torture, neither of them really knowing what to say. Both trying to pretend nothing has changed when it has.

They get in and Wilson takes House’s hand, pulls him close. The way Wilson is looking at him freaks House out. For once, there is nothing hidden, there is none of the anger and disappointment that he is used to seeing written there. Somehow this is more nerve-wracking than last time. House can feel Wilson’s heart beat, and to his surprise, it’s racing.

“You’re an idiot,” Wilson tells him, and House doesn’t argue. How could it have taken him this long to figure it out? It’s been staring at him the whole time. Perhaps it’s because he can’t really figure out why anyone would want him. Wilson kisses him.

Without talking, they go through to the bedroom and Wilson starts to undress. House laughs in his head because Wilson is prettier than any guy has the right to be.

House undresses and sits on the bed. A strange look filters into Wilson’s eyes. He walks over, a soft smile on his face, and gently runs a finger over the scar on House’s leg. It doesn’t hurt, which is strange. Wilson has never seen the scar, not even just after the infarction. It is something completely new to him.

Wilson wants to say something, but he doesn’t; the gesture has really said it all. Wilson kisses him and House is surprised. Perhaps this means the scar isn’t as bad as he thought. If Wilson can see him like this – no secrets, nothing hidden - and still want him, then he can’t be all that bad, right? Of course, it could just be Wilson being Wilson, taking care of someone he thinks needs him.

Wilson goes to the other side of the bed and pulls House towards him and House forgets everything. All he can focus on is himself and Wilson. What it feels like for Wilson to touch him, kiss him, run his fingers down him. He has wanted this for such a long time and it’s perfect.

House is awake the next morning before Wilson. House thinks about what this means for them both, what this shift in their relationship actually means, what’s going to change. Wilson shifts and goes to move but House puts a hand around his wrist before he can stop himself. This makes Wilson grin and he kisses him. It’s then House realises that everything will be alright, because they both want this so much.

House sighs because none of this will ever happen, he’ll never get to see that particular smile. He’ll never get to kiss him, run his hands over Wilson’s bare skin. He is stuck with an illusion and nothing more. It is a wonderful illusion, but it has no substance, no basis in reality. It’s just a pretty picture that plays in his head, but sometimes it’s more hurtful than anything else.

You see, Wilson doesn’t actually love him; House knows that. Perhaps he used to – before House understood all this – but not now. House wonders if he might be better off not knowing. Wilson’s got Amber and that seems to be enough. The original verses the proxy, and it seems he’s been beaten at his own game.

That’s what makes it worse, that it should be him. They are so alike. Except Amber is everything Wilson wants House to be. She is calmer, less damaged, she has never hurt Wilson in the way that House has. She has never lied to him, cost him everything. She is actually capable of loving him. Most importantly, though: she is a version of House that is capable of change. Amber can actually be what Wilson wants, what Wilson needs.

Amber is both everything House is – all the things Wilson seems to like in him – and everything Wilson wants House to be. How can he compete with that? Quite simply, he can’t.

House Fic: Shower Scene

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 14:58:44 GMT

TITLE: Shower Scene
AUTHOR: Daphnie_1
PAIRING: House/Wilson
RATING: 18 - please do not read if you are under that age
WARNINGS: House and Wilson Slash (with the physical contact and everything)
SUMMARY: House makes Wilson late for a confrence with an ingenious plan
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House MD or the characters they belong to David Shore and Fox
BETA: Thanks to the ever fantastic magie_05who’s a fantastic writer as well as being a great Beta. Any mistakes are my own.
NOTES: Blame Magie_05 for this, it's all her fault...

House smiled as Wilson slumped against the changing room wall, exasperation written all over his face. They had been together a few months and still Wilson could surprise him.

House knew he should have been focused on what Wilson was saying – there’d be a quiz – but he couldn’t. He was too fixated on how good Wilson looked. Those scrubs suited him, and the way his hair was just now...

Wilson’s complaints about his day were silenced by House’s tongue in his mouth. After House was finished, Wilson was grinning.

“What the hell?”

“You look good. I love the doctor stuff.”

Wilson smiles, an evil grin spread across his face.

“If you come over here, I’ll check your pulse”

House smiled at that. “Worst line ever.”

Before Wilson kisses him he tells House, “Like you could come up with better.”

House always forgets how intense kissing Wilson is, like nothing else on earth.

“I mean, you could have at least put a little effort into it. I’d even have put up with ‘wanna play doctors?’”

Wilson laughed and House was standing so close that he felt it go straight through him.

“Shut up.”

A grin from House.

“Make me.”

Wilson sighs, but he’s got a grin spread over his face.

“That’s original.”

Wilson is happy to oblige, though, and soon he’s kissing House again, all tongue and heat.

To think Wilson used to be shy about kissing in public. Lately, though, Wilson had changed, and House had never seen him so confident, and just so happy in himself. It was something he liked – Wilson was less whiney – even if he didn’t understand it.

House could feel the muscles in Wilson’s neck tense as he sighed underneath House’s lips.

“I’ve got a board meeting in like five minutes.”

House couldn’t help but smile – Wilson did that to him a lot – because he’d thought Wilson would have known better. That was practically an invitation to delay Wilson.

“Trust me, you don’t,” House mutters.

Cuddy had warned House about this, making Wilson turn up to these meetings late and all flustered.

An evil grin spread across Wilson’s face.

“Well...if I’m staying.”

Wilson grins as he tugs the tee-shirt over House’s head and tosses it onto the floor.

“Good thing I had the sense to lock the door.”

It’s not long before Wilson’s top is discarded on the floor as well and House is running his hands down Wilson’s bare skin. He rarely gets to see Wilson like this in any sort of light. For some reason, Wilson is rather self-conscious. House could never really figure out why.

“I thought you had to get ready?”

Confusion lines appeared over Wilson’s face that House has the desire to kiss.

“Not that I’d send you to do such a mammoth task alone of course.”

Wilson starts to understand and a smile creeps across his face. They make their way to one of the shower cubicles, kissing and shedding cloths until they’re both naked under the warm water. House can’t help himself from running his hands through Wilson’s soaked hair. It looks so different, far darker. He pushed Wilson gently against the back of the shower cubicle and kisses him.

Wilson picks up the shower gel and House takes it from him. He spreads some all over Wilson, rubbing it on to his bare skin and chest, the stuff foaming when the water hits it. House grins and starts drawing patterns in the soap, Wilson taking a deep, sharp, breath as his nails make contact.

Then Wilson takes hold of House’s shoulder, his nails digging in slightly, and starts kissing House ferociously. He runs his hand down House’s side and starts paying attention to a particular piece of anatomy until House gasps in pain – the spasms in his muscles hurting his leg for a second – till he’s flooded with pleasure.

“Fuck.”

Wilson grins into the skin on House’s neck and whispers something he doesn’t quite catch. It’s not long before Wilson himself is all worn out and grinning like an idiot. House still doesn’t understand why Wilson is self-conscious, House thinks he looks fantastic.

They get dried and gather clothes scattered all over the floor, Wilson getting changed into his professional doctor clothes between kisses. A quick kiss in the corridor before Wilson rushes off to his meeting, suitably messed up – and very late. Wilson sneaks in, and shoots Cuddy an apologetic smile. She just sighs.

House Fic: First do no harm.

Sun, 13 Apr 2008 11:02:39 GMT

TITLE: First do no harm
AUTHOR: Daphnie_1
PAIRING: House/Wilson
RATING: R
WARNINGS: House and Wilson minor slash (kissing), Spoilers up to the episode ‘All In’. Deals with adult concepts in the form of kissing, alcohol and how Doctors deal with Death.
SUMMARY: Five patients that House and/or Wilson have lost and how they deal with it.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House MD or the characters they belong to David Shore and Fox
BETA: Thanks to the ever fantastic magie_05 who’s a fantastic writer as well as being a great Beta. Any mistakes are my own.
NOTES: This story was written for magie_05 my Beta, a short note at the end of the story explains why.

It was brought to my attention in doing a little research that First do no harm does not appear in the Hypocratic oath (new or classical) in that many words. I’m informed it comes from Epidemics, Bk. I, Sect. XI and for those interested the translation reads: "Declare the past, diagnose the present, foretell the future; practice these acts. As to diseases, make a habit of two things — to help, or at least to do no harm."

1) Cause and effect

House looses a patient three weeks out of med school. She'd had a heart attack and no-one had been quick enough. They'd talked about patients dieing in med-school, but it wasn't quite the same. It bothered him because he couldn't quite figure out why. He didn't understand why his patient had a heart attack, and in truth that was all that mattered to him. It was like a personal insult to him, he should have done better. Wilson would later call it a 'god complex' but House just called it doing his job.

He obsessed over that patient night and day, trying to figure out what happened. He never did. It wasn't that he held himself accountable; it was just that it shouldn't have happened. Cause and effect, X follows Y, and he just needed to figure out the cause.

The attending told him that these things happen, sometimes people just die. House knows they don't, there is always a reason.

House still has the file in a locked draw in his desk.

2) Attachment

The first time Wilson loses a patient he finds himself crying in the empty oncology lounge. He knows it’s stupid, almost pathetic, but that doesn’t matter.

The day he’d met the patient he knew she was going to die – he’d had to be the one to tell her. Stage four breast cancer, he knew it’d only be a matter of time. Amazing she lasted as long as she did. He idly wonders if it’ll get any easier. If losing patients hurt any less as the time passed.

He knew she was going to die and yet he insisted on forging some sort of connection. It was the right thing to do – the human thing to do. God it was amazing everyone in his profession wasn’t a gibbering wreck.

Once he stops crying he just sits there for hours, unsure what to do. He feels empty and hollow. He wonders if its hunger but he doesn’t think he can eat.

It never does get any easier.

3) Obsession

When House tells him about Esther, Wilson knows it’s going to be one of those things he can’t let go. Every death is like some sort of personal vendetta, especially if he doesn’t know why. If they get the diagnosis wrong, or the medication reacts badly, well, Yeh, that sucks. He never reacts like this though.

Wilson walks into House’s office, it’s late and he’s fixated on the whiteboard which is covered both sides in his own spidery hand-writing. His team we’re sent home hours ago, useless and tired. House is paying so little attention that Wilson thinks the entire world might not exist outside the white-board and House. He’s talking to himself underneath his breath, seemingly ignorant of Wilson’s presence.

He asks a question and Wilson doesn’t know if it’s even shot at him. Wilson makes some coffee and he sits and he waits. Despite House’s best efforts his patients going to die, they both know that, yet House persists. Wilson thinks House must have a god complex, the desire to save the entire world.

Esther dies at three Am and House says nothing on the subject. They just sit talking till the early hours of the morning, loads of words but very little actually said. They play a game of foosball. Wilson thinks the hospital is creepy like this, totally empty.

House is still obsessing over the board the next day, and the day after that. House pretends to let it go but he never really does. A similar case year later proves that. Wilson wondered if House would ever get over it.

House still has the file in a locked draw in his desk, even after he’s solved it.

4) Patience

Wilson’s patient reminds him of his brother. Wilson thinks House doesn’t know but he does. Not that it changes anything but he does.

Wilson is brooding in his office, which House considers rather boring. I mean it’s not as if Wilson isn’t boring enough as it is without this. He lost loads of patients, yet this one seemed to have hit him harder than usual. It was all Wilson’s fault though, he got too connected, let this stuff bother him when he shouldn’t. Wilson could be so pathetic sometimes that it stopped being funny. He’d never admit that though, it would never pay to let Wilson know that he understood him. Hell, he had a hard enough time getting Wilson to shut up as it was without planting the idea in Wilson’s head that he might sympathise.

“You’re so pathetic sometimes.”

This is the first thing House says to Wilson – who is moping behind his desk – when he walks into his office from the balcony door. Wilson looks up at him and it’s painfully clear he’s been crying. This makes House twinge inwardly; outward displays of emotion annoy him. They’re so messy. He’d confront Wilson on it if it wasn’t for that, and also for the fact Wilson would deny it. ‘I’m just tired House’.

“Nice to see you’re in a good mood House, you just get back from a trip to you’re hookers?”

House scowled.

“Less interest in my sex life please. I was going to ask if you wanted to get something to eat but since you’re being so bitchy I won’t bother.”

Wilson sighs.

“Sorry, rough day.”

“Yeh, yeh save it for the shrink. We going or what?”

This is House’s way of helping; he’ll annoy and distract Wilson so he doesn’t think about the patient. He could just talk but that’d get messy, and he can’t be bothered anyway. So he bugs and annoys, and is in his own way patient. He has to put up with this every few weeks after all. It never gets any easier, or any more fun.

5) Understanding

They’re sitting in a bar drowning there sorrow in some cheap whiskey. The stuff is atrocious but neither of them seems to notice. They’re resolutely not talking about the patient they’d lost. Some guy Wilson had thought had Brain cancer, but it had turned out to be more than that. House had tried his hardest – always did – but the patient had died. Wilson understood that House didn’t want to talk about it, and House understood Wilson would blame himself. Even though it hadn’t really had anything to do with him.

When they hadn’t really known each other they had separate ways of dealing with patients dieing: House obsessed and Wilson cried. Neither really bothered the other. Collectively though they get drunk (even though Wilson knows this will make him cry more). It just seemed like the adult thing to do. Misery loves company after all. So they would sit and drink, and not talk about anything.That is until House decides to hell with this – it’s boring.

He downs the last of the whiskey in his glass.

"We’re going”

Wilson is barely in the door before House is all over him, drowning him with kisses, and he can feel Wilson relaxing underneath his hands. It’s not talking, but it’s a step better House thinks. This way he can’t screw up with words.

Some times things did get better, and sometimes House could just let it go.

I just want to take a quick moment and mention that this was written for my Beta and good friend Magie_05. I just want to thank her for everything, and for putting up with me. I know I can be a pain in the arse sometimes so thank you for being so patient. You gave me the confidence to start writing again – and this is just a small way of saying thank you.

House MD fic: One bad mistake

Tue, 08 Apr 2008 23:29:48 GMT

TITLE: One bad mistake
AUTHOR: Daphnie_1
PAIRING: House/Wilson
RATING: R
WARNINGS: Drinking, Swearing, refrences to House & Wilson in an adult situation and a kiss (nothing graphic). Minor Het with refrence to past relationship with Stacey.
SPOILERS: Nothing past the S1 Finalie
SUMMARY: After House & Wilson spends the night together, House wonders if it might be a mistake.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House MD or the characters they belong to David Shore and Fox
BETA: Thanks to the ever fantastic magie_05 who’s a fantastic writer and a great Beta.
NOTES: I had way too much fun writing this, it was written for 5drunkfics, Prompt: Mistakes.

House wonders if he's made a mistake.

He lies trying to sleep, but his mind won't shut off and he keeps noticing things.

The quiet sound of Wilson breathing, the way his chest rises and falls as he sleeps. He's been watching Wilson for a while now and wondering. The way worry lines are etched onto Wilson’s face and under his eyes fascinate House. Only Wilson could still bear stress scars when he was sleeping. He looks calmer than House has ever seen him.

House wonders for the tenth time in as many minutes if he'd made a mistake.

He'd drunk enough to pass it off as one anyway. It'd been a long day for them both, and House had decided it might be a plan to go get completely and utterly pissed, Wilson in tow.

House had got silly and in a moment of spontaneity kissed Wilson. The amount he had actually risked made him sick, way too many what-if's. What if Wilson had reacted differently? That could have been real fun. Except Wilson hadn't and they'd ended up here. House can’t decide if that’s for the best or not.

House can’t help but grin. Who'd have thought Wilson had that much passion in him? House scratches the patch on his neck that Wilson has turned blue with kisses.

Another quick look at Wilson - a conscious effort to remember him like this. A silent struggle to retrieve his cane and walk to the living room.

He sits, flicking his phone, unsure what to do. He dials.

“Hi Stacey, it's me. I need some advice.”

“What's wrong?”

He hesitates about telling her, doesn’t know what she’ll say. Doesn’t know what he’ll say. How can he put any of this into words?

“I may have slept with Wilson.”

Sometimes the truth is all there is to it.

"Very funny House, seriously. What is it?”

House doesn’t say anything.

“You're not joking. Fuck.”

“Is this a mistake?”

A soft laugh from the other end of the phone. It’s been so long since he’s heard her laugh.

“It's Wilson.”

“What do you mean, it's Wilson?”

Again, another laugh. House doesn’t think Stacey believes him, which he guesses is really only fair.

“Please. Wilson always talked about you being the ghost in his relationships, but he was the ghost in ours. I know how you felt, wondered if you knew. I guess not.”

House had never thought of Wilson like that, because he didn’t feel anything, never had. It’d all just sort of happened.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure, that’s why you’re phoning. You never do anything unless you’ve got all the angles covered.”

“I was drunk, no big deal.”

“You knew what you were doing, you never drink that much. Remember who you’re talking to, please.”

Okay, so he had to confess things might not look as simple as he thought they were, and perhaps – part of him – had wanted this for a long time. Not a big deal, really.

"What do I do?”

She sighs.

"The likelihood of Wilson leaving was always pretty low. Now it's practically zero. That doesn’t mean you won't try. You will push and push until he breaks, but he won't leave.”

Everybody always leaves, and Wilson would be no exception, House knew that much, regardless of what Stacey seemed to think. The fact he’d stuck around this long was only a fluke.

“Not like you did.”

“No, because Wilson wasn't born with the self-preservation the rest of us were. So you stop yourself from sabotaging this as much as you can.”

That was Wilson all right, never capable of looking after only himself.

“You make it sound like I do this stuff on purpose.”

“You do. You figure out what could make you happy and you destroy it.”

Stacey had made House happy those years they spent together, happier than he could ever remember being.

“I chose you.”

“But you let me go.”

House had loved her so much, still did in a way. Stacey was one of the only people that really understood him, and that’s why he’d called her. He’d normally have talked to Wilson, but that wasn’t exactly an option in this case. Might not be ever again. Sadly, with this understanding people seemed to need some weird brand of pop-psychoanalysis.

“You sound like him."

Both a compliment and a condemnation, and he knows which it’s meant to be.

“I know it's you, House, but try real hard not to screw up, okay?”

“So you don’t think it’s a mistake?”

“Oh, no it absolutely is. You will drive each other crazy, you will hurt each other, but I don’t think it matters. It might be the best mistake you’ve ever made.”

House thinks she might well be right, that this might be the best mistake he’s ever made, but it might also be the worst. No, he knows the worst mistake he ever made was letting her go.

A noise from the bedroom.

“Thank you.”

House wonders what he’ll say to Wilson when he comes through. Wonders if he should tell him that they need to end it now, before they rip each other to shreds. Before Wilson gets so stuck there’s no way he can ever leave, even when he wants nothing more. Wilson will talk himself into believing that he’s happy, that he loves House when really he hates him. He will talk himself into believing that House loves him, when House just isn’t capable. Wilson is the master of self-deception and won’t realise that he will never be happy, because House can’t make him happy. At least, that’s how House sees things.

Surely Wilson will expect something from him, expect him to change, and he doesn’t know if he can. He’d never even considered what Wilson might say about all this, about what he might think. Wilson could think this was a mistake too.

Wilson smiles, and there is so much hope in it.

Then Wilson kisses him House knows this is a mistake, without a shadow of a doubt; it can’t be anything else. Stacey’s right, they will just push and hurt each other, and House will win, because he always does. He knows this because he knows himself and he knows Wilson. It will all end badly, but House doesn’t think he cares. This is worth that, this is worth anything. He just hopes that Wilson feels the same.

Doctor Who Fic: To the last man (1/4)

Sun, 06 Apr 2008 23:45:53 GMT

Title: To the last man (1/4)
Author: me
Charictors: Doctor Number Nine and Romana
Pairing: None, it's Gen
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nothing past 'The End of the World. Mostly Old School spoilers.
Summary: The Doctor gets a message from someone he thought was dead long ago.
Author's Note: Concerns an 'Old Series' assistant Romana knowledge of said assistant might be usefull in understanding this story properly. I'm new at all this, so if my Canon is off, please be nice.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, nor the charictors. They are the proprty of the BBC.
Word Count: 528

He'd forgotten how pretty Romana was. The exact colour of her hair, the way her eyes sparkled, the sound of her voice.

"If you get this, Doctor, I'm back from E-Space." A pause as she considers something "And you've survived the Time War so far."

A darkness enters her eyes.

"If anyone will, it's you. I don't see many of us surviving, certainly not on the front lines."

A prediction that was eerily close to the truth. He'd fought the front lines; he knew. Everyone was gone.

Everyone but him. He'd done what he had to do, and because of that he'd lived. If you could call this living.

"I'm so, so sorry."

He mutters to the hologram of a woman long dead. She moves her head as if to acknowledge his apology, as if it could fix anything.

"We must stop the Daleks, whatever it takes. To the last man, Doctor."

A sad smile from the hologram.

"I honestly thought I’d never have to say those words. If only we could have been reunited under better circumstances. So many good times, even if you were a bit slow."

A smile from the Doctor. Romana would never let him forget she'd gotten better grades at the academy than he did.

"You've probably gone through two regenerations already, the way you burn through them- so careless."

"Four, actually," he tells the hologram.

"Look after yourself. If we both survive this, come and find me, okay?"

He couldn’t help but obsess over the word if, it said so much. If we both survive this, like she thought they wouldn't. She'd been right. Romana was always right.

"Goodbye, Doctor."

"Goodbye, Romana."

And the hologram dissipated into specks of light.

He couldn't help but think he'd disliked Romana at first. Her first regeneration had been cold and aloof, appearing uninterested in humans and the universe. You could learn all you needed to know from books and watching - typical time lords. His fourth incarnation had been infectious in his enthusiasm and a bit of that had rubbed off. Her second incarnation had been better, more human; she'd learnt, and the Doctor adored her for that.

He'd been devastated when she'd left, but he'd grown used to people leaving - they always did. He'd thought about Romana lot since she'd gone to E-Space. It'd been the right thing to do - final proof that she’d learnt her lesson - and he was so proud of her.

He couldn't stop staring at the spot where the hologram had been.

He'd thought about Romana before he'd pushed the button - destroying the Daleks but ripping Gallifrey to shreds. It had been the right thing to do - he hadn't any other choice.

To the last man, Doctor.

How weirdly prophetic those words where. He'd refused to allow himself the hope that anyone else had survived. Surely he'd know? He'd sense them. He'd not considered he could be wrong. Now his mind wouldn't let him drop it. What if she was alive? What if he wasn't the last one left? The idea was too gorgeous to comprehend.

If she was alive, he would find her.

House MD Fic: Ghost of Christmas future

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 20:12:55 GMT

TITLE: Ghost of Christmas future
AUTHOR: Daphnie_1
PAIRING: House/Wilson
RATING: R
WARNINGS: Drinking, Swearing, the events In MLC and of course, House and Wilson minor slash (kissing). Spoilers up to, and including, Merry Little Christmas (S3E10). A knowledge of the events in that episode might be useful.
SUMMARY: House and Wilson have a discussion after the events of MLC. Wilson’s consumed a bit too much alcohol and things get confessed.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House MD or the characters they belong to David Shore and Fox
BETA: Thanks to the ever fantastic Magieo5 who’s a fantastic writer as well as being a great Beta.
NOTES: I had way too much fun writing this, it was written for 5drunkfics, Prompt: confessions.

Wilson knew he shouldn't have drunk as much as he did, but he couldn't help it. He did anything to try and get that picture out of his head. He'd started with cleaning. Some twisted little part of his mind just wouldn't let him leave it. He knew it was stupid and pathetic - wasn't his house, wasn't his job, didn't care. So he had cleaned the sick up off the floor and the t-shirt House had just left there- as if this would restore order to the known universe. It's just what his mother would have done. It was after that he realised he could really do with a drink.

Wilson was sitting on the sofa, and got a fright when he heard House's voice. He hadn’t even heard House come in.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He had enough sense not to look up as House slumped beside him on the couch and he carried on pretending to look at the TV. He'd been crying and his eyes where still a little glassy - if House knew he'd never hear the end of it.

“I was waiting on you.”

A half-laugh from House.

“What for?”

It was a good question, not one Wilson was sure he had an answer for.

“I...I was worried.”

Another laugh from House, who was also pretending to watch the TV.

“Yeh, you must have been real worried to just leave me there.”

Bastard. That wasn't fair. That SO wasn't fair and House knew it.

“Of course I was worried, House! You tried to kill yourself.”

House wouldn't like it, Wilson knew that, but the alcohol was making him braver than usual. House just snorted. He will not make me angry; I refuse to be angry, he will not goad me into being angry.

“I'm allowed to be angry! I could have lost you.”

Shit. He'd meant to say the first bit, but not the second. Definitely not the second. He knew House was absolutely going to rip him to shreds.

“It's always about you. You and your pathetic little crush.”

Fuck. House knew? House knew? How the fuck could he know? The question must have been written on his face.

“You thought I didn't know? Please.”

“I don't have a...'crush'...on you House”

Then House kissed him. It took a few moments for it to sink into Wilson’s alcohol-addled mind. All the little voices that screamed in his head-- the confusion, the worry - suddenly seemed to stop existing. House pulled away.

“Yeh, you totally don't.”

Wilson’s mind, usually so complicated and filled with nagging worry, could be summed up in a single word: Jesus.

“Oh my god, you’re still drugged aren’t you?”

Wilson sat, slumped in his hands, trying to think. He couldn't though. His head was pounding too much. He thought about earlier, about the mess House had been in.

“Wilson. Would you look at me?”

Complete silence.

“Look at me.”

Wilson looked up. House wasn't drugged, his eyes clear and blue.

“You've been crying. Wow. You must have had a lot to drink.”

Wilson said nothing, but rubbed a hand over one of his eyes. He was waiting on House to start mocking him.

Instead House kissed him again. It was deep and left Wilson breathless. Wilson had fantasised about this for years, but never like this. This was less perfect, but somehow it was still better. It scared Wilson, though - more than he'd ever been scared by anything - because there was just something so needy about it, so soft and gentle. Which just didn't seem right - it was House.

When House pulled back he was still only inches away from Wilson’s face.

Wilson whispered, “You've got to stop doing that...I can't deal with the mind games just now.”

Houses whispered into Wilson’s ear, sending shocks through him.

“Who said it was a game?”

It had never occurred to Wilson that House might want this too. So many god-damn emotions, this just complicating them, making things so much worse. Hurting so much more. The cynical part of Wilson’s brain – the bit that sounded distressingly House like - wondered if that was the point, that House had set out to hurt Wilson. It also wanted to know why now, if he’d always known, why was House doing this now?

“I could have lost you.”

Fear, and anger, and just a little bitterness. House just rolled his eyes.

“Why did you do that, House?”

He could hear the shakiness in his own voice. For someone usually so composed and in control of his emotions, it was something quite strange. If he hadn't been so drunk, he'd have hated himself for it.

“Stop bitching. Wilson. I’m here now. You win.”

Not for a lack of trying, and no amount of kisses or alcohol was going to take that away. House would rather have died than gone to rehab. He thought so little of himself, he thought so little of me. The fact that I care, the fact that...it all means nothing.

Sometimes House is right; sometimes it is all about Wilson. It’s not something Wilson is proud of – it’s so damn selfish – in fact, he hates himself for it.

“This isn’t a game House – neither of us ‘wins.’”

A smirk from House as he stops himself saying something. Wilson just wants to cry, the alcohol is really playing havoc with him. He won’t cry, though, not in front of House. Its bad enough House knew he’d been crying, without actually doing it in front of him. He’d never live it down.

House says nothing for a long time after that, and they both pretend to watch the TV. Wilson doesn’t even know what’s on, never mind being able to follow the plot. He knows he shouldn’t ask the question, but he has to.

‘Why did you kiss me?’

‘To prove a point.’

‘Then what was with the second time?’

House shrugged.

‘I wanted to.’

Couldn’t really argue with that, Wilson supposed. Then Wilson kisses House – just to prove a point, of course.

‘I...I think I might have a thing for you.’

‘No kidding.’

5drunkfics Challenge table

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 12:20:10 GMT

5drunkfics: pick your poison
Author: daphnie_1
Fandom: House MD
Claim: House and Wilson

tipsy

drunk

forget

confessions

mistakes

3/5

So I joined one of these challenge thingies, which I've never done before. It looks like it's going to be great fun. I'm just posting this table here so I can keep track of what I’ve written and what I've still got to do. When I complete a prompt I'll link from this table to the story.

Well, I'd best get to work!

House Fic: Face to face with your demons

Wed, 05 Mar 2008 00:25:46 GMT

TITLE: Face to face with your demons
AUTHOR: Daphnie_1
PAIRING: House/Wilson
RATING: Pg 13 (swear words)
WARNINGS: Crossover Fic, Houseverse with His Dark Materials Universe (Limited too a single concept, no reading of the books is really necessary.) This is an AU Fic.
SUMMARY: House and Wilson have Daemons.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House or His dark Materials Trilogy; they belong to David Shore and Philip Pullman.
BETA: Thanks to the ever fantastic Magieo5 Whoose a fantastic writer as well as being a great Beta.
NOTES: As I said in the warnings, crossover Fic with His Dark Materials, AU.

This is my first ever House Crossover story and was just too much fun too write. For an explanation of what Daemons are, click Here

House was woken by the feeling of sharp claws digging into his side.

“Jesus, Cass!”

Cassandra, House's daemon, was woken by his voice. The pretty red fox Daemon fixed her bleary eyes on House.

“Didn't mean it.”

She flinched in unison with House as a stab of pain ran up her leg. She left it a few minutes and tried to stand. The pain was too much and it sent her falling down onto the bed with a snarl.

“What’s wrong?”

Daemons have an innate ability to feel the pain and emotions of the person they're connected too. Normally the pain wasn't too bad, but today it was rather intense. It'd been bothering her the last few nights, along with snatches of House's normal insomnia. She stretched out the sore leg and flinched, regretting it, and got to her feet, taking a few tentative steps along the length of the bed.

“Nothing, think I’m okay”

She jumped from the bed to the floor, a little bit of her usual agility lost.

“You going to feed me or what?”

House fed Cassandra and got some coffee. He could have ignored her and slept a few more hours but she'd just have whined at him, and he couldn't be bothered with that. Plus she was going to be extra bitchy today.

Because Cass had gotten him up so early he decided he might as well go to work. He could torment his flunkies and bug Cuddy earlier than usual, which would be a nice change. He sat in his office for a bit, throwing his tennis ball off the wall until Cuddy showed up and shooed him to the clinic. He could easily have ignored her, but it just didn't seem worth the battle. He'd go for half an hour then sneak off, go bother Wilson to buy him lunch.

He sat in one of the exam rooms and treated a few patients, some blonde girl with a sparrow, a kid who'd got the flu. Nothing interesting, nothing even remotely challenging. Cassandra just sat fidgeting in one of the spare chairs, her boredom evident.

After he’d finished with his current patient he escaped, Cassandra in tow. He’d got about half way across the clinic before a yelp issued from behind him. Cassandra had fallen over; a stab of pain went shooting up his leg. He walked back and gently scooped her up in one arm. Neither of them said anything between there and his office. He sat her down on an empty chair and she licked her sore leg.

“This sucks.”
They shared a glance, a quick smile from Cassandra.

“No kidding.”

He went and sat down in his own chair, absentmindedly doodling on a form for something or other. Cassandra jumped down from her own chair and hobbled over so she could sit on him. He patted her without really thinking, a little lost in his own head. It wasn’t until Cassandra licked his hand that he really snapped out of his reverie.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“It’s nothing.”

She hopped up onto his desk and batted the tennis ball he’d left there around.

“Yeh, please remember who you’re talking to. I’m not the rest of the world; I can tell when you’re lying.”

House just snorted.

“You do know you don’t have to do the whole brooding in a dark room thing, don’t you?” the daemon told him.

House glared at Cassandra and she glared right back.

“I’m not brooding.”

She sighed.

“Don’t give me that, I can recognise it a mile off. It’s because you’re leg hurts, funny enough I’m probably the only one who gets that.’

A laugh from House.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous.”

“It hurts; you’re allowed to feel that way.”

House was almost shouting.

“I’m not that fucking self-pitying!”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed.

“I can’t help how you feel, Jackass”

She jumps off the desk and stalks over to an empty chair.

A little while later Cuddy walked into his office, her panther daemon walking at her heels.

“Hey, I heard about what happened in the clinic.”

Fuck. This was the last thing he needed – sympathy, and kind-hearted Cuddy almost radiated with it. She often tried to pretend otherwise, but she did care about other people’s feelings.

House shrugged.

“Oh?”

“Yeh, she okay?”

He nodded

“She’s just being pathetic.”

Cassandra had been curled up on the seat, trying to ignore House since their fight. She glared at him.

“She thinks you’re an ass.”

House just ignored her – she got this way sometimes. So goddamn self-pitying it was pathetic. Yes, her leg hurt, he got that, funny enough. Sometimes she needed a swift kick up the ass.

Cuddy stood a soft look on her face. She knew exactly what was going on.

Yes, his leg was being a complete bitch, why bother making such a huge deal over it? He quickly took a pill for himself but he knew it’d do nothing for Cassandra; for some reason, they didn’t affect her.

Cuddy decided to make a swift exit, probably feeling like she’d intruded. Being honest, though, House had been thankful for a break in the silence. House decided, on that note, it might be a good time to go see Wilson, Cassandra silently in tow.

Wilson’s daemon Midna – a gorgeous Russian Blue Cat – sat on the balcony sunning herself, when House walked towards the door the cat said simply, ‘No.’

“What?”

“He’s got a consult, if I’m not allowed in there neither are you. If you go barging in there he’ll get all pissy and I’ll have to put up with him whining all day: so, no.”

To those that didn’t know Wilson as well as they thought they did his daemon always came as a surprise; she seemed nothing like him. In reality she was just Wilson when he wasn’t trying to be nice or professional. So if he had patients she got kicked outside, because she couldn’t be counted on to keep her mouth shut. Not that she cared; she’d rather be here than have to put up with another one of his pathetic patients. Wilson’s daemon had never surprised House though, because he could always see through the persona Wilson put on.

House thought about ignoring her, but the look Midna shot him told House he might not want to get on the wrong side of Wilson today unless he wanted to be lectured to death – which understandably is something he’d rather avoid. If he got bored enough it might be worth risking, but at this precise second it might be easier to go back to his office. The Daemon sat cleaning its paw.

“I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

House went back to his office, muttering obscene curse words about Midna, till the Vicodin kicked in. He hadn’t been sleeping very well, and it made him kind of drowsy. He was asleep in an armchair in his office before he knew what hit him.

Midna sat quietly at Wilson’s feet while he tried to focus on the mountain of paperwork he had to do. No matter how hard he tried it never seemed to get any smaller. Neither did his patient load, though he lost more than he’d like. He sometimes envied House, who had like one patient a week and none of them seemed to die. Hell, Wilson had handed out three terminal diagnoses even before he’d had lunch. He sighed.

“Must you be so self-pitying?”

He hadn’t said anything, but Midna always knew what he was thinking, and sometimes he really hated that.

“If I didn’t know better I’d swear you liked being miserable.”

Wilson tried to ignore her. This was how Midna worked, she could never just talk to you, oh no, that’d just be far too easy. She had to drag a reaction out of you, make you shout or get really angry, as if that’d fix everything. He sometimes had to admit that it did. Sometimes he also had to admit that he hated her. Why did she have to be so god damn difficult all the time?

“You do really need to curb that self-hatred of yours, it’s not productive you know. Surely if I’m difficult then you are too?”

He drew in a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm, and a smile flickered across her face.

“Calm down, Wilson, you know I just like to get a reaction out of you. It’s far too easy these days.”

She jumped elegantly from the floor to the desk and sat cleaning her paw while Wilson resolutely filled in the rest of his form. Once he’d finished, he looked up at her, her dark eyes filled with something close to kindness.

“You know that train of thought isn’t good for you, otherwise we’ll just spend the day moping and I’d rather not. Got better things to do.”

He nods at that and smiles slightly, then pats her on the head.

“I think I just need to get out of here for a while.”

She smiles at him, which is rather an odd thing for her.

“House dropped by earlier, I think he wanted something.”

Wilson walked into House’s office before he noticed House was asleep. Cassandra flicked an eye open, stood up and walked over.

“Hey Cassandra, do you know what House wanted?”

Cassandra shook her head.

“No. We had a fight; I’m not sure what he wanted.”

Wilson smiled, but it wasn’t really a happy smile.

“Is he alright?”

It was Cassandra’s turn to smile this time, as much as a fox can smile. He already had that scared and flustered look in his eyes. Nothing was wrong and he already had that twitchy look. He cared far too much. He knew that, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“Look, Wilson you really don’t need to worry so much okay? That’s my job.”

Then Cassandra just licked him on the hand. It was a quick gesture, gone before Wilson could even register it. The shock it sent through him was astonishing. Touching another person’s daemon wasn’t something you did lightly, and it was such an odd feeling. The shock faded and then he realised what that meant. It meant that House...ahhhhh.

Midna sat twitching in the doorway.

“Don’t give me all this sappy crap, Wilson; you’re pathetic sometimes. As if you haven’t always known?”

Wilson had to admit that he did.

First set of House Pod-Fics!

Fri, 29 Feb 2008 12:00:31 GMT

Well folks I made my first set of podfics! YAY!

br />
Author: mer_duff</lj>
Title: The Only Survival
Read by: Daphnie
Rating: I'd say a PG13 (only because of a few swear words)
Summary: Five reasons why House hates Wilson (and one why he doesn't)
File type: mp3
Length: 15 minutes, 25 Seconds
File-Size: 14.1 MB
Warnings/Spoilers: Everything up to and includeing 97 Seconds (S04E03)

Posted with very kind permission by Mer-duff. You can read the origional, and her other storys: Here

You can download the story: Here

And a second, much shorter one, for you

Author:Magie_05
Title: Here's looking at you
Read by: Daphnie
Rating: I'd say a PG
Summary: "Just looking at you hurts."
File type: MP3
Length: 15 minutes, 25 Seconds
File-Size: 10.5 KB
Warnings/Spoilers: Everything up to and includeing 97 Seconds (S04E03)

Posted with very kind permission by Magie05. You can read the origional, and her other storys: Here

You can download the story: Here

Any comments or sugestions anyone might have i'd be more than glad to take. This is my first shot at it, but I had a fantastic time.

I hope you like!

I'll try my hardest to maintain the sendspace links, If i don't feel free to give me a kick, or you can just download at the fantastic jinjurly's archive which is: Here

;

Livejournel Introduction Post

Mon, 25 Feb 2008 21:13:29 GMT

Well here I am then huh? I really meant to do this AGES ago, when I first started writeing House Fan-Fic, at least I have somewhere to post it now. I use FF.Net but I think i might grow to like Live-Journel slightly better.

It's a damn sight prettyer thats for sure.