Title: No backing out
Pairing: House / Wilson
Rating: PG
Summary: Fluffy stuff. In honour of the '200 members' prompt on livejournal sickwilson
The prompt was 'Wilson blinked and winced against the sudden bright light'. And I've used it more than once...
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing
Notes: Written on a train journey so apologies if any typos. And I was trying to keep each section to 100 words. Just because :0)
Wilson blinked and winced against the sudden bright light.
Pain is the first thing he registers – it's radiating along his spine. Cold comes next and he shivers, groaning as his back muscles spasm viciously in reply.
He's lying in his bathroom, he realises, taking in the clinical white of the hotel he calls home. A cautious look to his left reveals his boxers and socks strewn across the floor beside him.
Memory comes flooding back, along with total humiliation.
He's naked.
He can't move.
And in the background he can hear Martha, the room maid, knocking on the door, calling his name.
He's never going to live this down.
Wilson blinked and winced against the sudden bright light.
The walls are grey now instead of white. He shifts uncomfortably, his breath catching as the pain spikes.
"Whoa, Dr Wilson. Just take it easy."
The Australian accent registers and he forces himself to focus. Chase nods reassuringly then carries on working. That's right, he remembers, Chase is working an ER rotation this week.
Damn.
He closes his eyes and stifles another groan.
"Cuddy's got House working clinic duty," the Australian informs him, as if reading his mind. "We'll keep him out of your hair for a few hours. Now, do you want to tell me what happened?...".
Wilson blinked and winced against the sudden bright light.
"James! Come on!"
Grabbing back his baseball cap, he puts it on, protecting his eyes against the midday glare. Crawling from the golf buggy, he follows his three golfing partners toward the 17th hole.
He's tired. He's hungry. And he's seriously starting to doubt his doctor's recommendation that exercise is a good way to deal with depression.
Forcing a smile, he joins in the banter about his doubtful technique and atrocious score. Placing his golf ball on the tee he takes a few practice swings.
Maybe he should have gone swimming instead he thinks, as his back twinges in protest.
Wilson blinked and winced against the sudden bright light.
The TV above his bed is on, its glare slashing through the darkness enveloping his room. The pain has a softer edge. He sighs with relief.
"Golf?" A voice floats out from somewhere on his left.
"Doctor's orders," he sighs, not bothering to turn. He and House have never indulged in social niceties.
"Idiot."
He smiles tiredly. He knows the comment isn't directed at him. "I used to enjoy golf," he offers. He's rewarded with a snort of laughter. Playing golf with House had involved lethal character assassination of anyone else within 200 yards.
"So, the paramedics said you were naked…"
Wilson blinked and winced against the sudden bright light.
Inches from his nose two beer bottles glint enticingly. Stifling a yawn, he carefully pushes himself upright on House's couch and snatches a beer from the coffee table.
"Alcohol and meds?" Rolling his eyes, House sits beside him.
"Living dangerously."
"Says the man who threw out his back pulling his boxers on."
"You're not going to let that drop, are you?"
"Nope." House sniggers.
Wiping his palm across his face, he resigns himself to his fate. "So, what's this new game you've got?"
His face breaks into a grin as House pulls out a box. "Tiger Woods PGA Tour…"