House MD

This blog is for posting stories submitted to the House M.D. Addicts Anonymous guild on

Friday, January 13, 2006

Vicodin – My Anti-Love by hikaridonya

Vicodin – My Anti-Love - hikaridonya

House had known what day it was the minute he had stepped out of the elevator – he was still trying to fathom why he hadn’t checked the date that morning – and had immediately attempted to scramble back inside, unnoticed, and flee to the safety of his apartment. Unfortunately, luck was against him. Cuddy approached, pressing files into his hands and shooing him in the direction of the clinic.

He was there now, fingers rubbing against his temple, as his newest patient explained what was wrong. He opened the drawer, took out his bottle of Vicodin, and gave it a thorough shake. The patient stopped in his relentless tirade of a diagnosis and stared at him. House just grinned and said ‘yummy’, popping a few into his mouth.

House raised his hand, to keep the patient silent, and deliberated his response. “What you mean to tell me is that you are here because you burnt your hand baking…” He paused, shaking his head. “Baking cookies for your girlfriend. I understand it’s Valentines Day and all of that lovey-dovey crap, but seriously… what do you want me to do?”

“Well…” The patient began, “It… hurts. So I was wondering if I could have some painkillers and-”

House laughed. “I’m sorry. Painkillers for a burn that has practically vanished? Are you wasting my time on purpose, or is this a hobby of yours? Never mind. Just go home, rub some cream into it, and then-” He stopped for dramatic effect.

“And then?” The patient asked, leaning forward from where he was perched on those stupid plastic chairs.

“And then,” House continued, “take a couple of dollars, go to the nearest bakery and buy some bloody cookies. It’s not like your girlfriend will give a damn anyway.”

“I-I-” The patient stuttered. “I don’t appreciate your disregard of both my pain and effort.”

House stared at the man as though he had just sprouted an extra head. “Oh blah-de-freaking-blah. Just shut up and get out. You’re wasting my goddamn time, which, to be honest, I could be using to treat patients that need it more than you.”

He heard the door slam shut, and something that sounded like ‘report to your superior’, and he let his head rest on the desk. There was a genuine reason he had skipped on clinic duty for so long, specifically because he would be prone to encounter idiots (like the man that had just swept out of the room). He wondered distantly if he had some comic books stashed away in here, somewhere, so that he could commandeer them and barricade himself in his office for the rest of this damnable day.

There was a rapping noise at the door – very polite rapping, House thought, that could only be one person – and he opened one eye. He lifted his hand and gestured for them to enter.

“You know, you really should stop insulting the patients. It’s not good for the reputation of the clinic.” Wilson shut the door behind him with a click, his lab coat stained near the collar with a pink-ish tinge.

“You know, you really should stop eating doughnuts. It’ll go straight to your hips,” House retorted.

Wilson rubbed at the offending stain with his hand. “It was a strawberry tart, actually.”

“I'll bet she was.” House grinned and, although he couldn't see his face, Wilson knew it.

“Oh ha-ha, you’re so hilarious I may need surgery to sew up my split sides.” Wilson flopped down onto the seat nearest the desk.

House lifted his head up and stretched his arms over his head. He yawned. “I’m sure I could arrange something.”

“Can’t you just feel the love today? I am so overwhelmed by this feeling emanating from you that I may just pass out from bliss. Oh joyous love, such a rose thou art.”

“Says the man who has had three marriages, three divorces, and countless affairs.” House smirked. “Though you’re probably right, Wilson. Love is like a rose. You know… with all those thorns. Ouch.”

“You’re being more of a cynical bastard than usual today, what’s the occasion?” Wilson asked, fiddling with a pen that had been in his coat pocket.

House nodded at the calendar on the wall. “The same one that has you wearing that atrocious tie. Bright pink with a teddy bear holding a heart? What were you thinking?”

“You bought it for me last year,” Wilson said, re-pocketing his pen. “I thought you’d appreciate me wearing it.”

“I thought you’d have burned it. It’s the ugliest tie I have ever seen.” He scratched the top of his head, clearly deep in though. “What was I on when I bought it?”


“I must have been close to overdosing if I didn’t feel the pain of purchasing that…monstrosity.”

“Hey! Now don’t be mean, it has feelings too.” Wilson smoothed the tie down.

“Next you’ll be calling it ‘the love of your life’ and having some kind of civil ceremony. I’m sure you’ll have lots of wonderfully grotesque offspring together.” House leant his cheek against his palm. “At least it’s prettier than Julie.”

Wilson sighed. “We may be divorced, Greg, but you don’t have to resort to insulting her.”

“A-ha!” House chanted. “So you admit that the tie is ugly!”

“Alright, alright, it’s ugly. Still though, I did love her.” Wilson tugged at the bottom of the tie, letting it fall back into place after a couple of seconds.

“Wilson, you loved all your wives. You loved that hooker you picked up. Hell, you even loved that strawberry tart.” He stared at Wilson, noticing that he was fidgeting a lot. First with the pen and then the tie. “What did you come in here for, there must have been a reason?”

“Yeah. To defend love with a great big sword, and fight valiantly in it’s honor, against the cynical evil known as…” Wilson paused momentarily. “Known as Darth House! But with all seriousness, I came in here to ask what we were doing tonight.”

“Love is a luxury, not a necessity. Love is society's dangerous pressure, which ruins those who vainly try to comply with it. Love leeches you of your intelligence, rational abilities, creativity, time and money.”

“So… that means pizza and a movie at your place then,” Wilson hazarded, completely ignoring his run-down of the ‘meaning of love.’

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of Chinese. Pizza works for me though.”

Wilson smiled. “I’ll pick up a pizza after my shift is over. You finish before me so you get the film. But, please, no porn.”

House looked crestfallen. “Dash my dreams, Wilson, why don’t you? I had the perfect one in mind too. This wonderful story of a tie and an Oncologist that… Oof!” He rubbed his head viciously. “Ow, pen!”

“You’ll live. Anyway, I have to get back to work.” Wilson stood up and walked towards the door. “Play nice with the children now.”

“Yes Mum…”

Wilson grabbed at the door-handle then stopped. “Oh, almost forgot.” He stuck his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a familiar bottle with a red ribbon tied around the middle. He chucked it at House. “Here. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

House stared at the bottle for a little longer than necessary. “Vidocin? Wilson, you shouldn’t have.”

“I know.” Wilson scowled.

“No really. You shouldn’t have. I was going to nick some from the med-store later.” House put the bottle onto the table.

“Well, I just saved you a trip. See you later.” Wilson left, his lab coat trailing behind him, the door slightly ajar.

He grinned and shook the bottle. Opening it a familiar scent met his senses. “Bastard…” He whispered to himself. “It’s chocolate.”

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

My Only Love by RamiaAnimorphis

My Only Love - RamiaAnimorphis

Greg House sat in his office, playing gameboy while the ducklings ran tests on their new patient. He grumbled at the sound of the door opening, figuring the tests were done right as he reached the eighteenth level. He was surprised to look up and see the resigned figure of Dr. James Wilson standing there, looking expectantly at his friend.

“What?” House said gruffly, not wanting to talk at the moment.

“Well . . . I guess I expected you to have something interesting to say.” Wilson sat down in the chair in front of Greg’s desk.

“Like what? Our patient has a funny tumor, and we need your help? Stacey’s giving me the cold shoulder again? Cameron is pregnant with Chase’s baby? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but nothing intriguing is happening in the life of Dr. Gregory House, chief diagnostician.” House finished with a rather smug look at the label he gave himself.

“So, it’s been that boring around here?” Wilson said as he stood to pace around the room nervously.

“Seems like it.” Greg let out a resigned sigh before continuing, “Why are you really here?”

Wilson sat himself back down in his chair and ran his hand through his hair. He let out a troubled sigh and stared at the ground. Greg wanted to pry more into his friend’s life, but he knew James would begin speaking when he was ready.

The silence was so long, though that House went to change the subject anyway, “So our new patient has a. . .”

“Julie . . . said she might . . . leave me . . . ” Wilson stared at the ground, trying to remember every detail. He was on the verge of tears. He hadn’t wanted his third marriage to end. He hadn’t wanted any of his marriages to end. He couldn’t stop his roving eye. He couldn’t keep his mind off of the one person that he knew meant the most to him.

House let out another resigned sigh before hefting himself from his chair. He walked over to his friend and placed a comforting hand on James’s shoulder. He felt his friend shudder from his touch. He knew Wilson was on the verge of tears, but he also knew that nothing he could say would make it better for either of them. Still, he tried.

“If . . . you want to stay . . . at my house for a while . . . that would be fine with me . . . ” Greg felt genuinely awkward suggesting that James stay with him. He hadn’t allowed Wilson to stay with him ever since that night.

James had a lump in his throat. He tried to force out his answer, but his tongue wouldn’t allow him to talk as he stumbled over the simple words, “I . . . I–I–I gu–gu–gue–guess . . . ” He stopped, thoroughly flustered and surprised. The feelings that were swirling inside Wilson at that very moment were frightening him. He wanted to say yes, but feared that the events of the past would rear their ugly heads again. ‘I can’t believe I tried to kiss him . . . ’ he thought regretfully.

“Well, if you don’t want to . . . you could go back to your place . . . and stay with Julie. Or stay in your office for the night . . . ” House ventured. He knew what Wilson was thinking about. He could feel his friend’s heart beating faster from where his hand still rested on the oncologist’s shoulder. He could definitely hear his breathing quicken, if he’d imagined the heartbeat. ‘I can’t believe I almost let that happen.’ He thought with a wince.

He felt Wilson shift uncomfortably under his hand. He had noticed the wince. The wince he had was mostly because his leg was acting up again. He removed his hand from Wilson’s shoulder and fished in his pocket for Vicodin. After finding it, he easily removed the childproof lid with one hand and popped a Vicodin into his mouth.

“You seriously shouldn’t take as much Vicodin as you do now . . . ” Wilson’s voice sounded concerned for Greg. House sighed and returned to his chair. He picked up his gameboy and began to kill the space-monkeys again. He heard James get up and walk toward the door.

“I’m leaving at five. I won’t wait more than three minutes extra after getting to my car. I assume you’ll be there?” House looked up from his game just in time to see the surprised shock register on Wilson’s face. James gave him a quick nod before heading out the door. House smirked at the way he fumbled with the door handle. ‘Tonight . . . is gonna be interesting . . . ’ he thought before resigning to attack the space-monkeys again.

James walked out of Greg’s office with a pleased, but horribly flustered, smile on his face. Anyone who passed him assumed that he and Julie had resolved their issues and he was going home tonight. He was going home, but not to his home. He was almost back to his office when he was met with a very concerned face. One he hadn’t wished to see. The face of Allison Cameron.

“Dr. Wilson, I’m sooooo sorry! I just heard about you and Julie! Is there anything I can do to help you? Do you need a shoulder to cry on? If there’s anything I can do at all, please tell me! I want to help you.” Cameron’s eyes were huge and looked on the verge of spilling over with kind tears. Wilson shifted uncomfortably under her gaze before assuring her that he’d be fine. Her eyes showed that she didn’t believe him, but she still let him go.

When Wilson finally reached his office, he sat down in his chair and closed his eyes. All his patients were taken care of. None of them were dying abnormally fast. House certainly didn’t need his help on any cases. He then decided that he would nap until five when he could drive home with House and relax.

The rapping of a cane on his door startled him from sleep. He looked up and saw House looking irritated and glancing at his watch. He looked at his own watch and saw that it was nearly 6:30. He sputtered and stood up abruptly. Immediately following this, he fell on his face because his leg was asleep and didn’t feel like supporting his weight. He heard House snicker and he attempted to stand up again and was successful this time.

“When I said five o’clock, I meant FIVE.” House growled, but added, “You’re lucky I waited.”

Wilson nodded in gratitude and tried to tidy his shirt. While he continued to smooth the wrinkles in his shirt, he noticed Greg had stopped walking. He looked up at him. Seeing the shocked look on his face, he asked, “Greg? What’s wrong?”
House shook his head, “Nothing . . . it’s nothing.” Greg continued to limp along, looking rather embarrassed with himself. Had he really thought that? About Wilson? About his best friend? ABOUT WILSON? House shook the thought from his mind. The last thing he mentioned to himself about it was ‘Did I really think I wanted James’s shirt off?’

They hadn’t said anything the whole way home. House was focused on the road and Wilson was focused on his plight. His marriage was ending, he was staying with his friend whom he . . . liked? No. He couldn’t think that way. He and Greg were friends and that was it. ‘So first of all, I’m gonna call him House. Not Greg.’ He nodded his head without noticing, which caused House to look at him awkwardly. Taking notice of this, he turned toward the window, away from House, and blushed profusely. ‘There’s no use denying it, James. You like him. Just don’t call him Greg. You might prevent ANYTHING from happening.’

When they pulled into the apartment parking lot, House found a spot close to the elevator and climbed out. He had wanted to get to his apartment without anything AWKWARD happening, but after James’s display of affection in the car, he just wanted to get home. He climbed into the elevator and stood on one side. He heaved a silent sigh of relief when Wilson occupied the other side.

“How . . . um . . . h-how long am I welcome?” Wilson stuttered.

“As long as you need . . . I guess . . . ” House offered awkwardly and shifted his weight. He winced, earning a concerned look from his friend. He cursed silently and looked at the wall. If only this elevator went faster. Finally, the doors dinged open and the 3rd floor became visible. He hastily limped out of the elevator and headed toward his door, fishing for his keys.

James realized that he was making this entire situation very awkward and he made a point to purposefully kick his foot hard on the elevator door to punish himself for it. He cursed under his breath and continued walking after House. They both reached the door of House’s apartment and entered. Wilson shuddered slightly at the memories he had with this place. All of the noises and smells of that night flooded back to him. He half-wished the floor would swallow him up. He hears the clinking of bottle on glass and looked up to see House pouring whiskey into two glasses.

“Thought I’d give us something to relax. To get your mind off of Julie for a while.” House said, although he knew Wilson hadn’t thought about Julie since they had gotten in the car. Still, he poured the whiskey while thinking about the consequences of the plan he was about to put to action. He handed Wilson a glass and took the other, reclining on his couch. He heard Wilson sit down in the recliner across from him. ‘Thank God.’ He thought, ‘I don’t think I could keep my “composure” with Wils in such close proximity.’ Wils. He liked the sound of that, though he reminded himself not to voice it. Well, not yet at least.

As the night dragged on, the two men became more relaxed and the whiskey bottle became increasingly empty. They were laughing about everything again. House nearly started crying from laughter when Wilson told him about Cuddy’s “UPS Man” visit. It was everything the two men could do to keep themselves from collapsing with laughter. At one point, Wilson had moved over to the couch to show House something, so they were now in close proximity.

Greg stood to get more whiskey, but he fell back down on the couch, landing with his head in James’s lap. He cursed profusely at the pain radiating throughout his leg. He half-mindedly popped a Vicodin and looked up at James. They stared absentmindedly at each other.

“You . . . have vuury preeeetty eyes . . . Greg . . . ” Wilson slurred offering a wily smile.

“I shoooould shay theth sameth toooo yooooo.” House replied with a laugh.

“I doooon’t knew hooow I din’t seee it befooooore.” Wilson looked Greg deep in the eyes.

“Seeeee wut?” Greg cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

“That I love you.” James said, not at all joking. He leaned down cautiously and placed a small kiss on Greg’s lips. When he pulled away, he noticed a small smile was left on Greg’s mouth.

“I think I love you too, Wils.” House smirked and leaned up to kiss Wilson again.

Nowhere to Go by T.C. Robson

Nowhere to Go by T.C. Robson

“See? I told you Cuddy had a heart.”

Greg wasn’t amused. Of all the holidays of which Cuddy would give Greg a break from his strenuous occupation, it couldn’t be Christmas. Thanksgiving. Easter. No, no. It had to be Valentine’s Day. He knew she did it just to spite him for his slacking clinic duty. The one day he’d want…no, crave to doctor up a ten-year-old’s runny nose or cure a restless worker’s raging hemorrhoids, he was stuck at home with no one to kiss, hug, or hold warmly in his arms…except Wilson. But Greg wasn’t that desperate.

“This is only so she doesn’t have any interruptions while she ravages her sex-retary,” Greg proclaims. James couldn’t help but enjoy a bout of laughter. Though the sole purpose for his presence at Greg’s apartment was to badger him about his lovelorn day, the conversation quickly went dry…until he spotted the freshly-cut bouquet of red roses, waiting patiently on the dining table to deliver a healthy dose of happiness to someone extraordinary.

“Something actually colorful and pretty in your apartment – that’s new,” Wilson refreshes the discussion. Looking over his shoulder at the collection of flowers, Greg follows an adroit smirk with “Do you need the florist’s number? Because you’ll probably need a few cases full for all your wives…”.

“Very funny. Seriously, do you intend to give them to a special someone, or were you planning a day of picking the petals off one by one, asking some invisible entity whether Stacy loves you or loves you not?”

Rising from his cushy recliner, Greg paints his face with a mysterious, embarrassed expression as he hobbles over to the dining table. “No, I…uh…”


“I got them for you, my dear, loving James. You are my heart’s one true desire, after all…”

James stands cemented to his spot, speechless.

“That warm, rich cologne you blanket yourself in each morning, those sexy ties you wear…all major turn-ons for me. And you should know I can’t help but fall victim to that sexy figure of yours…”

“All right, all right! I won’t pry,” a cringing James finalizes the conversation as he tightly grips the apartment door’s knob. “But if it does involve anyone who is an employee or patient at the hospital, you know I will find out. I have my people.” Wilson delivers a teasing wink as he exits the scene.

Greg knew who the flowers were meant for. But he was aware of all the emotions and feelings that would surface with them, too. Emotions, feelings, sudden bursts of happiness and joy…none of that was his field. He stood in the kitchen doorway, pondering the destiny of the crimson buds. He only assumed it a nice gesture, but even that was a stretch for him. He knew it would be so much easier to hand the spray of blossoms to her and run --– well, not run…maybe hobble --- but, he knew there would be repercussions, especially at the hospital. Well…maybe he could avoid her by making up his clinic duty.

He knew what he was asking: the gift without the sentiment. And he knew it didn’t work like that. He knew he felt more. He always had. Their past together showed that. But the present prevented it.

He was damaged. In pain. Stressed. Tired. Aged. Any word you could use in replacement of “lonely”. He didn’t need anyone to hold, comfort and embrace him. He had made it this far without that, and without her --- he could survive even longer without any of it, or so he attempted to convince himself. The key to opening the door between him and her was staring him square in the eyes. It was Greg’s decision to either unlock and open the door with some dignity and hope following him in, or to go on with his lone…damaged life knowing he never did.

This was his chance. He was going to take it. He would either win her heart, or get in, get out, and get on with his life, just as he would at a Chili’s restaurant. Now was a good a time as any. The “other man” wasn’t there --- she was at the apartment alone. Greg boards his motorcycle, flowers tucked securely in his beaten leather jacket, cane snapped snug in its allotted slot, his black Oakleys shielding his baby blues from the sun, the wind waiting desperately to gracefully intertwine through his silver hair. He drove like it was his last day on Earth, fast enough to get where he was going, slow enough to think about it all the way there.

This was good. A step towards something good, at least. Alone with his own thoughts was not the ideal location Greg wanted to be, but he at least was given a chance to prepare himself for the best or worst that could happen. The best? She forcefully scoops Greg into her arms and kisses him passionately, revealing the love for him that had lingered within her this whole time. The worst? She still won’t leave that train wreck of a man she’s with. Greg had made his desires known to her. He’d even made his desires known to that other guy. It wasn’t news hot off the press. But Greg’s sudden drive to pursue it would bring the shock. His motivation to do nothing more than pop an occasional Vicotin and watch his usual soaps was predicted. But go and chase after the woman he loved? That wasn’t on his agenda. He didn’t care. All his emotions, feelings and inner temptations had brought him to this point --- right in front of her apartment building. The collection of roses seem to absorb all of his sentiments, reflecting it by shaking incessantly. He wasn’t turning back after coming this far. Even if he did, he was low on gas, and the least thing he needed was to be carrying around a bouquet of flowers around the greased-up slugs at the gas station.

The final trip in the elevator. That much closer to its end. Or its beginning. Who knew at this point? Greg felt like it was the end of everything --- harder than saying farewell to her as he drifted into his chemically-induced coma following the bypass for his infarction. This time, he couldn’t just drift away and be with himself for a while --- he would receive his answer right there and then, and it was up to him to absorb it all, even in his most vulnerable state. But seeing what position he was probably putting her in made him feel a little less sorry for himself. A desperate, crippled, and yes, lonely, man coming up to your door with flowers, silently asking you for your heart --- he was putting her on the spot too. And all this went through his mind in the time the elevator ascended four floors.

Knock, knock, knock, or bam, bam, bam. Whatever sound a wooden door makes when forcefully banged against by a nervous, sweaty fist. He heard the increasingly-loud footsteps, which caused his stomach to do back flips. The door frame’s paint job needed an update, he noted. Same for the ceiling. Anything to make time slow down somewhat. The door knob turns. Greg takes a gigantic breath. And there she was.

“House? What are you doing here?”

Allison Cameron. “I…wanted to wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day real quick before I…” Greg had no place to go. His hesitancy showed that. Even the slowness he implemented in handing her the bouquet showed it.

“…go back home to your apartment, listen to sorrowful music and pop a few pills?” Well, nothing got past her, did it?

There was a silence spent exchanging awkward looks and movements. He had no other place to go. No other place. But he had to leave. “I’m sorry to bother you…,” and he turns to head back towards the elevator. The grip on his arm stopped him.

“Before you go…um…thank you. They are beautiful. Very beautiful.” He didn’t look back at her. He didn’t want to reveal the tear that had been inching down his worn, rumpled cheek since he had turned away. Beneath his breath, the words “You’re welcome” slipped through. She loosened her grip and let him go. He boarded the elevator and, though Cameron hoped and prayed he would, didn’t come back.

She eases herself into her recliner, examining the roses tenderly. The silence said it all. And it was best left unspoken, really. She had never felt so loved before. What an amazing feeling. She stands up, prances into her kitchen and, as she patiently seeks a vase to display the beautiful blossoms in, one thought goes through her mind.

Don’t tell Wilson.


This will be the home of the House Addicts Anonymous contest for Gaiaonline. Odalisque and myself will be posting the entries here for all to read.