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The Fix
by Housepiglet
"Wilson?" House closed the door behind him, and stared across his living room. He'd been surprised to see light spilling through the blinds at the window to his apartment, and even more surprised to see Wilson's Volvo parked out front. What the hell was Wilson doing there? House had left him in front of the television in the oncology lounge an hour earlier, and Wilson had looked set for a couple of hours at least, waiting for urgent lab results on one of his newest patients.
There was no reply from Wilson, but looking around the room House saw signs of a recent disturbance at the foot of the book case. "Hmmm," he mused, consideringly. It looked almost as though someone had attempted to climb up the bookshelves! There was a pile of books on the floor, and there was a big gap at the top where he normally kept his morphi...
"Shit! Wilson!" gasped House, as realization dawned, and he lurched towards the bathroom as quickly as his leg would allow. The door was closed, but he yanked it open to find Wilson propped on the floor against the toilet, attempting to fasten a piece of rubber tubing around his upper arm. He wasn't making a particularly good job of it.
"House! Great!" mumbled Wilson, through a mouth full of rubber. "Can you give me a hand with this? I've been trying to fasten it, but I can't seem to get it tight enough. I've never done it before." He smiled up at House then, a little distractedly, and - released suddenly by his smile - the tubing flew back towards his arm with a loud snap.
"What the hell are you doing?" yelled House, appalled. His morphine box lay open on the floor at Wilson's side, and he saw that Wilson had drawn up a syringe. House made a sudden move towards Wilson, and tried to flick the box away with his cane, but Wilson was quicker, and he swept the syringe to a place of safety behind his back.
Wilson took a deep breath, then, and looked up at House. "Have you been reading the spoilers?" he asked. House shook his head, dumbly, and Wilson continued. "No, I didn't think so. Neither have I until tonight. I overheard Chase and Foreman in the men's room earlier, though, talking about the preview for next Tuesday's episode. I tried not to listen, but... well... when you're an addict..." Wilson ducked his head, then, and blinked rapidly a couple of times. "Well, I guess you know what it's like. I ran back to my room, and before I knew it I was over at Marykir's Enabling Archive scrolling through the list, and the next thing I knew I was downloading the preview! It turns out..." Wilson's voice began to crack a little, but he swallowed hard, and went on. "It turns out that we discover a secret about you that no-one is prepared for, and next thing, there was I was telling Cameron that She. Can't. Tell. Anybody! And after that, Chase was hugging you! Chase! Hugging you! I mean, after 61 episodes, and it's Chase who gets the hug?!" Wilson swallowed hard again, and lowered his head. "And on top of all that..." Wilson stopped then, and it was some little time before he was able to continue. "On top of all that," he began again, in a low tone, "it looked like you were about to kiss Cameron!" He lifted his head and stared across at House, his eyes bright and his voice rising suddenly in pitch. "She had her hands wrapped right around your ears!!!" Wilson had never used so many exclamation marks in a single paragraph before, and he slumped back against the toilet for a moment, quite drained and exhausted.
House blanched, and let himself down onto the bathroom floor with a bump. He felt a bit sick, and suddenly it seemed like he was having trouble breathing. "What happened after that?" he asked, in a strangled tone.
Wilson gave a tight little laugh, then, and House thought he detected a note of hysteria in his voice. "I have absolutely no fucking idea! Apparently there's another 3 week hiatus before the next episode!" Wilson laughed again, bitterly, and reached behind his back for the syringe. "It's too much, House! I just can't take it any more!" He reached for the tubing again, then, and turned back to House with a glare. "Are you going to help me with this or not?"
House paused for a moment, and then he leaned over to take a closer look in the box. After that he sat back, and looked over at Wilson. "D'you think there's enough in there to do both of us, or do I have to call Cuddy for a re-supply?"
The End (until the next fix :-)
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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