Okay. So my muse has died a horrible, terrible death. I've tried everything, but for some unknown reason, my writing attempts on further chapters of First Times: For Good just aren't gelling. Soooo, I decided to try and kill the writer's block by switching gears. I've seen people do i-Pod shuffle fics before, where they do one-shots or something based on the random songs that come up.

I put my i-Pod on shuffle, and apparently the gods love me, because the first 8 songs that came up were PERFECT. So I've started writing one-shots based on them. These don't have the normal amount of detail I normally like to get into when writing, because they're just an exercise to get me out of my funk. But I do hope you enjoy. Cheers.

Disclaimer: All lyrics for this first one-shot are attributed to the wonderful band Muse. I take no credit for them.

Our Time is Running Out

1/8

James Wilson sighed as he watched his best friend walk away from him… again. For all intents and purposes, House was running, his uneven gait pounding an angry rhythm across the tiles. He watched House pause at the end of the hallway to pop open his bottle of vicodin and dry swallow a few. Wilson nearly winced. It wasn't like this was anything new, but that still didn't mean he had to like it.

This had been the third real fight they'd had this week. Unlike the other two, this one had grown out of something as inconsequential as House noticing a thank-you card that had been tucked away in a desk drawer. It had been from one of the nurses in Peds. Wilson had only talked her through a rough time and eaten lunch with her. House was convinced she was another one of Wilson's conquests. Wilson had denied it, which had only made House angrier.

"And I'm sure you helped her out of the goodness of your heart. You may fool all the big-breasted, blue-eyed bimbos, but you don't fool me. You've always got an angle, Jimmy," he'd sneered.

This, of course, had lead to them rehashing the old issue of "Wilson's need for neediness," as House put it. It had been the first argument on that subject for a while. The last one had been over Grace. Wilson tried not to feel that pang of guilt and regret when he thought of her. The other two arguments this week had been, unsurprisingly, about House's self-medicating. It'd been getting worse as of late.

I think I'm drowning. Asphyxiated. I wanna break the spell that you've created.

Wilson couldn't help but think that perhaps recent developments between them had been a…mistake. A disaster. It wasn't that he was blaming himself for House's problems, but he could see that maybe it had all been too much for the man. Hell, he didn't blame him for having a bit of a breakdown. People who suddenly began having sex with their best, male friend of over ten years were almost entitled to it. Wilson's freak-out had just been a little quieter.

You're something beautiful. A contradiction. I wanna play the game. I want the friction.

The power of his own desire for House had scared the shit out of him. He didn't think he'd ever really wanted anyone as much as he wanted House, and the most baffling part was that it had seemed to come out of nowhere. Two weeks ago when House had pinned him to the wall in the middle of some playful ribbing, pressing their lips together fiercely, Wilson had been completely surprised. From the way House had pulled back, panting, his eyes wide and terrified, Wilson saw that he'd been just as confused by it. Somehow, that hadn't seemed to stop Wilson from pulling House back in, feeling his heart race as stubble rasped against his cheek and lips parted under his.

You will be the death of me. Yeah, you will be the death of me.

He'd always known that being friends with House would get him killed eventually. He just had never imagined it would be like this. And ever since they'd started this…whatever the hell it was, House had been taking one step forward and ten steps back. And Wilson knew exactly what House was trying to do. He'd be damned if he was going to let House stay in his safe zone, push Wilson out and hope that it didn't really mean anything at all.

Bury it. I won't let you bury it. I won't let you smother it. I won't let you murder it.

And maybe Wilson was clinging to something that was unrealistic, maybe he was being an idiot, but he couldn't help but feel that they needed each other. That they needed… whatever it was they were doing. Was it so terrible that they were both bumbling through this without knowing? Did they have to put a label on it? It felt right. Shouldn't that be enough?

Our time is running out. You can't push it underground. You can't stop it screaming out. How did it come to this?

Wilson knew that House felt cornered. Even before this newest development, he'd seen the signs. Wilson had been getting too close. House had been getting too dependent. Now that House had realized it, he was trying to do a 180 and get out before it was too late. The ironic thing was that even though House thought he was the one getting tied in, Wilson had always really been the one who was caught.

I wanted freedom. Bound and restricted. I tried to give you up, but I'm addicted.

With a sigh, Wilson turned around and walked back into his office. He'd give House a half hour or so to sulk, and then he'd go after him. He started making a mental checklist of all the places to look for his friend. It shouldn't take that long to find him. Because as much as House liked to deny it, they understood each other after all.

Now that you know I'm trapped, sense of elation. You'd never dream of breaking this fixation.

It turned out that Wilson didn't have to go looking for House. Approximately fifteen minutes later, House was barging into his office, eyes blazing with an emotion Wilson had never seen before. He slammed the door behind himself and locked it.

"House, what--?" Wilson started to ask, but House just propped his cane against the desk, pulled Wilson out of his chair and slammed him against the wall. It was a position Wilson was becoming familiar with.

"Shut up," House growled, claiming his lips in a possessive kiss.

Wilson bit back a whimper and dug his fingers into House's back, pulling him closer.

This was utterly and completely fucked up.

And you will suck the life out of me. You can't push it underground. You can't stop it screaming out.

Somehow, Wilson couldn't find it in himself to complain.