If you're at all wondering why I've been hesitant to update all my other stories, this seems a lot easier to go along with than everything else. Don't worry I have not stopped my other stories--just consider it a hiatus. Enjoys.
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"I hope u feel relieved." Wilson struggled to say as he pulled House's duffle through the doorway.
"Relieved? Moving in with u is a relief? If that's the word u wanna use, door all means." House replied as he followed behind him. Discharged from Mayfield today, House was now shifting to Wilson's apartment. Moving in, until he could get back on his feet.
As Wilson carried his belongings into the guest room, House scoped out his new home. It still looked the same as it always had, just cleaner and Wilson-like. As it should be.
But what was left, still itching at his mind was--
"--House, check the messages will you?" Wilson called out from the bedroom. His thought interrupted, he sighed and limped into the keuken-, keuken towards the counter top, boven to play back any messages.
"One new message: Today at five twenty-seven p.m.; Wilson it's Cuddy. Um--let me know when you've got House. So we can--start making arrangements for him. End of message." House leaned a little on the counter, closed his eyes and pressed a button on the machine. "Message deleted."
Wilson walked into the keuken-, keuken and folded his arms as he leaned along the archway. House payed no attention until he addressed him.
"Angry?" he asked meekly. House looked up.
"Disappointed."
"She's calling for you."
"We role-playing? I don't remember being Wilson." he zei as he walked into the living room.
"You heard the concern. u can't pretend it wasn't there."
"I can pretend she had a boyfriend, I can pretend she has a kid. I can also pretend she has a life. I can pretend a lot of things, but most of those are actually true."
"You know as much as I do that she would be the last person to back down on you."
"Even if that is true, it doesn't mean it's right."
"It's right for her."
"Which has to change." House replied immediately. He continued.
"A lot of things are going to change." and he stood up, limping towards his bedroom as Wilson stared in an awkward awe, uncertain of what really just happened.
---
That night
The field was silent. Looking through his helmet, he could see the entire stadium, cheering him on. With lacrosse stick tightly gripped in his hand, he walked slowly, and as soon as the whistle blew he rushed down the field without a thought, running towards the goal. About twenty yards away from the goal, someone called his name from afar.
Turning around, one of the opposing teams' players came rushing into him and knocked him flying. With another blow of the whistle as he fell back, his helm slid off. Fellow players and coach rushing to his side, he moved his head around in pain. Groaning, he attempted to open his eyes and turned his head. On the sidelines, he saw someone. She had a scared and worried face as she stared back at him. Slightly bugging out his eyes, the coach began to slap him.
"House! House! Are u okay?" He looked back at all of them. And got up slowly. All of them sighing in relief, he retrieved his helmet, continuing to stare at her. As if she were a ghost. But she didn't give the same reply. All she did was mouth out something to him. He just put on his helmet, and picked up his stick once more.
With a blow of the whistle, it all happened so fast, jolting door the ten yard line, his name called out once more, a tossing and catching of the ball, before a schommel, swing at the net. And a silent swoosh, and everyone went insane. Teammates went up to him and began butting helmets. Some jumped on him in tremendous excitement, some lifted him off the ground. He naturally smiled and laughed with all of them as they dumped a barrel of Gatorade on the coach and himself. Drenched, he ripped off his helm and shook his hair. The long stubble along his jaw held a mix of the Gatorade and sweat, along with his faded brown hair. Despite all this, he still looked young. And then, a hand brushed against his arm and he turned around. His eyes had met his kryptonite. The woman he had seen before was now running towards him, and jumped up, clinging her arms around his neck and legs around his waist. This time he wasn't surprised, he was shocked, and he gave an immediate response door smiling with her. Resting her forehead on his to kiss him, her curly hair swept across his rosy cheeks. But, before this moment could last, thunder and lightning began to bicker above them, and rain began to fall. The skies were a murky gray while the crystal drops fell like bombs. Despite all this, the team still cried in victory, sliding across the field on their knees. But then the worst happened. A sudden shooting pain occurred in his leg, causing him to release the woman. He fell back even harder as he did before and grabbed his thigh. Sitting up, biting viciously into his lip, he looked around. As everyone rushed around him, he stared only at her.
"What's wrong?" she asked him. But he stared in horror as a figure formed beside her.
"It's interesting that I can haunt u in your dreams too." Amber stated happily. As she smiled, he allowed himself to lay his torso back on the grass.
"You can dream House. There's no doubt about it. But they all won't come true." As Amber laughed above him, all the other faces, including the woman disappeared. Soon enough, he was alone and wet in the field. Eyes bugged out, he only whispered one thing.
"Cuddy..."
House shot up from his bed to discover himself drenched in sweat from head to toe. His sheets were also wet. Breathing hard, he tried to regain back sanity. Redirecting his mind he looked to the side, his hand had been set in a bowl of warm water. Hence, the wet bed. Smirking slightly, he got out of bed.
Changing the sheets, and a new set of clothes, he returned to bed. Before shutting his eyes, he caught his watch: Three thirty a.m.,. With a quick sigh, he struggled to get back to sleep.
---
"Cooking?" House asked Wilson at the counter the following morning. Setting down mugs in front of House and him, he leaned on the counter waiting for the coffee.
"It's a good skill u should learn. Take out isn't the most substantial food to be constantly kept in your stomach."
"I've survived this far."
"Right." The coffee quickly brewing behind them, Wilson threw occasional glances. Then checking the time on the watch, he stepped out to get the paper. As he did so, House went over and locked the door. Walking casually back into the kitchen, he poured himself some coffee. Then a twist of the handle and knocks followed.
"House! Open the door I locked myself out."
"I'm not here! And neither is Wilson! So leave a message!" House called out as he drank his coffee.
"House, open the door!"
"I'm sure you'll find a way to get in eventually! I trust u completely!"
"HOUSE!"
"Break in. I'm a cripple and u expect me to open the door for you?"
"I'm not breaking in."
"It's a good skill u should learn. Not leaving around extra keys is the best strategy to keep yourself locked out. That, and leaving me in the house." Rapping on the door, House smirked, and walked into the living room, and flipped on the stereo, blasting the music.
"House!"
"And door the way! You're sheets are stained!" Smirking slightly, House kicked back on the couch. Enjoying this ; This being the one and only way to compensate for the vorige night.
____________________________________________________________
"I hope u feel relieved." Wilson struggled to say as he pulled House's duffle through the doorway.
"Relieved? Moving in with u is a relief? If that's the word u wanna use, door all means." House replied as he followed behind him. Discharged from Mayfield today, House was now shifting to Wilson's apartment. Moving in, until he could get back on his feet.
As Wilson carried his belongings into the guest room, House scoped out his new home. It still looked the same as it always had, just cleaner and Wilson-like. As it should be.
But what was left, still itching at his mind was--
"--House, check the messages will you?" Wilson called out from the bedroom. His thought interrupted, he sighed and limped into the keuken-, keuken towards the counter top, boven to play back any messages.
"One new message: Today at five twenty-seven p.m.; Wilson it's Cuddy. Um--let me know when you've got House. So we can--start making arrangements for him. End of message." House leaned a little on the counter, closed his eyes and pressed a button on the machine. "Message deleted."
Wilson walked into the keuken-, keuken and folded his arms as he leaned along the archway. House payed no attention until he addressed him.
"Angry?" he asked meekly. House looked up.
"Disappointed."
"She's calling for you."
"We role-playing? I don't remember being Wilson." he zei as he walked into the living room.
"You heard the concern. u can't pretend it wasn't there."
"I can pretend she had a boyfriend, I can pretend she has a kid. I can also pretend she has a life. I can pretend a lot of things, but most of those are actually true."
"You know as much as I do that she would be the last person to back down on you."
"Even if that is true, it doesn't mean it's right."
"It's right for her."
"Which has to change." House replied immediately. He continued.
"A lot of things are going to change." and he stood up, limping towards his bedroom as Wilson stared in an awkward awe, uncertain of what really just happened.
---
That night
The field was silent. Looking through his helmet, he could see the entire stadium, cheering him on. With lacrosse stick tightly gripped in his hand, he walked slowly, and as soon as the whistle blew he rushed down the field without a thought, running towards the goal. About twenty yards away from the goal, someone called his name from afar.
Turning around, one of the opposing teams' players came rushing into him and knocked him flying. With another blow of the whistle as he fell back, his helm slid off. Fellow players and coach rushing to his side, he moved his head around in pain. Groaning, he attempted to open his eyes and turned his head. On the sidelines, he saw someone. She had a scared and worried face as she stared back at him. Slightly bugging out his eyes, the coach began to slap him.
"House! House! Are u okay?" He looked back at all of them. And got up slowly. All of them sighing in relief, he retrieved his helmet, continuing to stare at her. As if she were a ghost. But she didn't give the same reply. All she did was mouth out something to him. He just put on his helmet, and picked up his stick once more.
With a blow of the whistle, it all happened so fast, jolting door the ten yard line, his name called out once more, a tossing and catching of the ball, before a schommel, swing at the net. And a silent swoosh, and everyone went insane. Teammates went up to him and began butting helmets. Some jumped on him in tremendous excitement, some lifted him off the ground. He naturally smiled and laughed with all of them as they dumped a barrel of Gatorade on the coach and himself. Drenched, he ripped off his helm and shook his hair. The long stubble along his jaw held a mix of the Gatorade and sweat, along with his faded brown hair. Despite all this, he still looked young. And then, a hand brushed against his arm and he turned around. His eyes had met his kryptonite. The woman he had seen before was now running towards him, and jumped up, clinging her arms around his neck and legs around his waist. This time he wasn't surprised, he was shocked, and he gave an immediate response door smiling with her. Resting her forehead on his to kiss him, her curly hair swept across his rosy cheeks. But, before this moment could last, thunder and lightning began to bicker above them, and rain began to fall. The skies were a murky gray while the crystal drops fell like bombs. Despite all this, the team still cried in victory, sliding across the field on their knees. But then the worst happened. A sudden shooting pain occurred in his leg, causing him to release the woman. He fell back even harder as he did before and grabbed his thigh. Sitting up, biting viciously into his lip, he looked around. As everyone rushed around him, he stared only at her.
"What's wrong?" she asked him. But he stared in horror as a figure formed beside her.
"It's interesting that I can haunt u in your dreams too." Amber stated happily. As she smiled, he allowed himself to lay his torso back on the grass.
"You can dream House. There's no doubt about it. But they all won't come true." As Amber laughed above him, all the other faces, including the woman disappeared. Soon enough, he was alone and wet in the field. Eyes bugged out, he only whispered one thing.
"Cuddy..."
House shot up from his bed to discover himself drenched in sweat from head to toe. His sheets were also wet. Breathing hard, he tried to regain back sanity. Redirecting his mind he looked to the side, his hand had been set in a bowl of warm water. Hence, the wet bed. Smirking slightly, he got out of bed.
Changing the sheets, and a new set of clothes, he returned to bed. Before shutting his eyes, he caught his watch: Three thirty a.m.,. With a quick sigh, he struggled to get back to sleep.
---
"Cooking?" House asked Wilson at the counter the following morning. Setting down mugs in front of House and him, he leaned on the counter waiting for the coffee.
"It's a good skill u should learn. Take out isn't the most substantial food to be constantly kept in your stomach."
"I've survived this far."
"Right." The coffee quickly brewing behind them, Wilson threw occasional glances. Then checking the time on the watch, he stepped out to get the paper. As he did so, House went over and locked the door. Walking casually back into the kitchen, he poured himself some coffee. Then a twist of the handle and knocks followed.
"House! Open the door I locked myself out."
"I'm not here! And neither is Wilson! So leave a message!" House called out as he drank his coffee.
"House, open the door!"
"I'm sure you'll find a way to get in eventually! I trust u completely!"
"HOUSE!"
"Break in. I'm a cripple and u expect me to open the door for you?"
"I'm not breaking in."
"It's a good skill u should learn. Not leaving around extra keys is the best strategy to keep yourself locked out. That, and leaving me in the house." Rapping on the door, House smirked, and walked into the living room, and flipped on the stereo, blasting the music.
"House!"
"And door the way! You're sheets are stained!" Smirking slightly, House kicked back on the couch. Enjoying this ; This being the one and only way to compensate for the vorige night.
