Fandom: House MD
Pairing: House/Wilson
Wordcount: 300
Rating: PG
Notes/Warnings: Post-ep for The Down Low. Sixth season spoilers. Lots of angst. No Beta so feel free to advise typos etc.
Summary: Winning isn't enough.
Rivers belong where they can ramble, eagles belong where they can fly.
After A Chorus Line, Wilson segued into Pippin, and House felt himself slipping into a deep brood. He’d “won,” to the extent that Wilson was here, annoying him, instead of getting it on with a certain perky-breasted blonde, but the fact that he’d even had to put up the fight was a bad sign.
He knew damn well it wasn’t his machinations that had prevented Wilson from planting a flag in Nora’s bedroom. The only reason he hadn’t kept up the pursuit was because the girl upstairs hadn’t pinged his personal pain-dar hard enough to keep chasing.
The bad news was he’d been interested in the first place. Wilson was officially on the prowl.
I’ve got to be where my spirit can run free.
It was his own damn fault, of course. With over ten years of Wilson-watching under his belt, he’d still made a rookie mistake: he’d gotten too healthy. At the rate things were going, he was likely to end up like Bonnie; all alone on an ugly couch waiting for Wilson to come home from tending his latest charity project.
There was only one way to reverse the process and it had to be something drastic. He’d already eased his way back into drinking without a peep from Wilson, in spite of the list of “warning signs” posted on the refrigerator. If he wanted the rush of Wilson’s devotion, he’d had to dive back to the bottom of his other addiction to get it, knowing full well where he ended up last time and probably would again.
He could hear Dr. Nolan asking him if getting what he wanted from Wilson was worth losing everything else.
Gotta find my corner of the sky.
Absolutely.