House Ficlets

Ficlets, drabbles, etc.


A drabble written as a kind of Chanukah gift for House fandom at large. Set during some other winter season, happier for Wilson and for House than S3 is panning out to be so far...

House dropped the McDonald's bag on Wilson's desk. "Here."

Wilson pushed it aside, not wanting smudges on his charts, but curiosity got the better of him.

The bag was full of hashbrowns.

"For me?" Wilson couldn't decide whether to be amused or annoyed by whatever game House was playing. "You shouldn't have."

"They're fried in oil. It was the best I could do."

Oh, House. "Happy Chanukah to you too."

House poked him with his cane. "Don't say I never give you anything."

"I wouldn't," Wilson assured him, withdrawing a latke-equivalent from its little paper envelope with a smile.

(100 words)


House scowled at the space where Wilson's blender had been. He'd come to think of it as his.

And now Wilson had absconded with the damn thing. Probably Julie had demanded it, along with everything else from their married life that had given Wilson pleasure.

Maybe it wasn't fair use Wilson's blender to liquor Cuddy up, anyway. Even if betrayal was a cornerstone of their relationship.

His knife bit into a lime and sliced it clean.

(100 words)


Cuddy checked her voicemail for the tenth time and sighed. Three hours in the airport. Odds of getting home were not looking good.

The man across from her -- wearing a tweed sportcoat most guys couldn't have pulled off -- offered a weary smile. "Long day." Ah, he was English.

"Too long."

"What brought you to Cleveland?"

"Conference. Hospital administration. You?"

He colored slightly. "A former -- student of mine lives here."

Maybe it was the accent, but she was charmed. His blush reminded her of Wilson. "Good visit?"

"Quite." This smile transformed him.

"Lucky student," Cuddy said, on impulse, and smiled back.

(100 words)


Christy requested a House/Wilson drabble on the theme of kisses.

The first time House kissed Wilson was at a hospital Christmas party. They were drunk, which was a good excuse. They barely knew each other. House thought Wilson was pretty, in an offhand way, but mostly resented him for not being fazed when House made nasty remarks about underaged cancer patients.

The first time Wilson kissed House was two weeks later. Both sober. Exam room A. By the time they broke, it was all House could do not to drop to his knees.

That first kiss had been a drastic miscalculation, though one House never could bring himself to regret.

(100 words)


There was no way to listen to this solo without indulging in a little air-guitar. House closed his eyes, leaned his chair back precariously, and imagined himself Richard Thompson.

"Where are your screaming fans?" Wilson, loudly, in the open door.

House paused the iPod and looked at him reproachfully. "Don't you knock?"

Irritation pervaded Wilson's posture. It made House smile.

"I was going to offer to buy you dinner, but if you'd rather make music by yourself --"

House leered. "We can always make music together."

"You should be so lucky," Wilson muttered, but there was anticipation in his eyes.

(100 words)


Nestra requested House/Wilson, "chocolate."

When things are falling apart -- another child leukemia patient coming out of remission, or another relationship irretrievably on the rocks -- Wilson turns to chocolate. This has always seemed to House like definitive proof that deep down, Wilson's really a girl.

Wilson glared when the Hershey's kisses started showing up on his desk, back in the dark days after his first divorce: presents from oncology nurses alternately worried and lovestruck. But he couldn't technically lay blame, since he'd never actually told this secret to House, and of course House never admitted it was he who let the coping strategy slip.

This time House spends too long contemplating options. Dark chocolate with wasabi and sesame seeds sounds exciting, but Wilson would probably say he doesn't need anything else sharp or bitter. In the end he chooses basic Cadbury to leave without a note -- a flavor reliable as he himself has never been.

The next time Wilson shows up with takeout Chinese and a sixpack of cold beer, House tells himself the apology has been accepted. They don't discuss it. That unspoken boundary has always been clear.

Sometimes he's tempted to leave chocolate on Wilson's desk even when he hasn't said something hurtful. But that's too much like courting; Wilson would notice. So he calculates the right distance between transgressions -- rare enough to keep Wilson from giving up on him, but frequent enough that he has an excuse to make a peace offering, one that will say all the things he otherwise can't.

(250 words)