Signing up for detox involves a commitment of weeks. While he knew that when he came here, he hadn't expected the time to pass this *slowly*. Or to be trapped in frighteningly cheerful decor for the entire time.
So he's now Gregory House, M.N.B. Those initials being Mind-Numbingly Bored. Next time Cuddy orders business cards, he's going to get that added right after the M.D. But that would require actually using the business cards Cuddy ordered for him, instead of handing them out at strip joints with Cuddy's office number on the back.
He'll think about it.
"I never knew my workload was this light," he says, avoiding the topic at hand and reaching forward to take a handful of peanuts from the snack-sized bag.
"On average, you see one to two patients a week," Wilson replies, picking up his bag of peanuts and cradling them on his lap, just out of House's reach. "Not counting clinic hours, of course."
"Yeah, but I never have this much free time. If I knew there was so little requirement for my face-to-face wisdom, I would have taken up a hobby years ago."
It's a blatent lie. Firstly, he already has hobbies: Gameboy, PSP and a satisfying interest in soap operas. Secondly, he doesn't normally have this much free time. Seems oddly fitting that as he's sitting here, mind slowly rotting from sheer, utter boredom, this week's patient had the bad taste to actually *have* Lupis.
Wilson raises one perfectly dark eyebrow. Then he eats a peanut. "A hobby?"
"I'm thinking sky-diving. Bungy-jumping might strain the leg," he says, tapping his bad thigh and stretching out a little further on the bed. They're both sitting on House's single cot: Wilson at one end, House at the other. It's just long enough that those peanuts are still out of reach.
"Maybe you should play it safe and take up something more sedientary. Something you could start now. Knitting, for example."
"They don't like giving us needles in detox. Weird, huh?" As he says that, he picks up the bottom of his cane and uses the handle to swipe at the bag of nuts. He'd hoped that with enough force, the nuts would spray towards him and he could gather them up off the cheap polyester bedspread. Instead, they scatter across the carpet. "Not worth picking those up. You don't know what that carpet's seen."
For a long moment, Wilson blinks at the random sprinkle of nuts, then he licks the last traces of salt from his fingers. "Strangely enough, this brings us back to the actual topic of conversation."
"My over-abundance of free time?"
"Apologies. And the rarity of you making them."
(The rest is here. I ran over the word-count. (http://out-there.livejournal.com/869156.html?mode=reply))
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
Set in Stone: House M.D., House/Wilson, apology
Date: 2007-04-01 01:38 pm (UTC)Signing up for detox involves a commitment of weeks. While he knew that when he came here, he hadn't expected the time to pass this *slowly*. Or to be trapped in frighteningly cheerful decor for the entire time.
So he's now Gregory House, M.N.B. Those initials being Mind-Numbingly Bored. Next time Cuddy orders business cards, he's going to get that added right after the M.D. But that would require actually using the business cards Cuddy ordered for him, instead of handing them out at strip joints with Cuddy's office number on the back.
He'll think about it.
"I never knew my workload was this light," he says, avoiding the topic at hand and reaching forward to take a handful of peanuts from the snack-sized bag.
"On average, you see one to two patients a week," Wilson replies, picking up his bag of peanuts and cradling them on his lap, just out of House's reach. "Not counting clinic hours, of course."
"Yeah, but I never have this much free time. If I knew there was so little requirement for my face-to-face wisdom, I would have taken up a hobby years ago."
It's a blatent lie. Firstly, he already has hobbies: Gameboy, PSP and a satisfying interest in soap operas. Secondly, he doesn't normally have this much free time. Seems oddly fitting that as he's sitting here, mind slowly rotting from sheer, utter boredom, this week's patient had the bad taste to actually *have* Lupis.
Wilson raises one perfectly dark eyebrow. Then he eats a peanut. "A hobby?"
"I'm thinking sky-diving. Bungy-jumping might strain the leg," he says, tapping his bad thigh and stretching out a little further on the bed. They're both sitting on House's single cot: Wilson at one end, House at the other. It's just long enough that those peanuts are still out of reach.
"Maybe you should play it safe and take up something more sedientary. Something you could start now. Knitting, for example."
"They don't like giving us needles in detox. Weird, huh?" As he says that, he picks up the bottom of his cane and uses the handle to swipe at the bag of nuts. He'd hoped that with enough force, the nuts would spray towards him and he could gather them up off the cheap polyester bedspread. Instead, they scatter across the carpet. "Not worth picking those up. You don't know what that carpet's seen."
For a long moment, Wilson blinks at the random sprinkle of nuts, then he licks the last traces of salt from his fingers. "Strangely enough, this brings us back to the actual topic of conversation."
"My over-abundance of free time?"
"Apologies. And the rarity of you making them."
(The rest is here. I ran over the word-count. (http://out-there.livejournal.com/869156.html?mode=reply))