a/n: So yeah...found this months after the fact with only a vague memory of writing it... Oh well...more Housish musings! someday I'll write an actual real story about him...but until then...I Muse...maha.
"You'd think you were God. And I was worried your wings would melt."
"God doesn't limp."
He leaves the room and goes on about his way, only bothering to really think about Wilson's words in the few moments of floating just before sleep takes over.
"And I was worried your wings would melt." He mumbles to himself, and then shifts uncomfortably on the mattress, poking restlessly at his pillow. He thinks to himself of the story of Daedalus and Icarus and wonders if Jimmy knew how much his metaphor did not make sense. Neither the dead Artificer, nor his beloved son were gods…neither were they Doctors, and honestly, the only time House ever flew was when the vicodin hit his blood stream or when he knew the answer and all the pieces fit.
But then he decides that maybe that's the flying Jimmy was referring to. In theory, either high, if pushed too far, could bring him down, be it, physically or mentally. If he flew too low, backslid into the freedom his lovely little pills brought, his wings might get too wet and he wouldn't be able to fly if his wings were wet. But if he rode the high that came when everything worked, when his puzzles fit into a box regardless of whether the pieces had anything to do with his patients….He'd end lives rather than save them and that would send him plummeting just as easily.
But if he was Icarus, then in what way was Jimmy Daedalus? House muses as he absently rubbed at his thigh, trying to convince the muscles to loosen so he could get to sleep. Daedalus built the wings so the two could fly. He thought for a moment, and then snorted in amusement. Jimmy always was an enabler. And House was always one to take every inch. If Jimmy let him, House would fly straight into the sun.
Fumbling at his nightstand, House grabbed up his phone and hit his speed-dial. Jimmy was number 2, right after Chow's Wok.
"What?" Jimmy's voice had that irritated sound that he adopted when he was pretending that House woke him when he knew that House knew that he really hadn't been sleeping.
"Can you install heat-guided missiles on my wings? If I'm going to plummet to my death I'm sure as hell going to take you down with me before the wax disintegrates completely." Jimmy was silent a moment.
"Not necessary…you can just drag me down when I try to catch you." He said after a long minute, his voice no longer annoyed, but softer, like when he was feeling that weird emotional…emotional-ness that House didn't like to acknowledge. Acknowledgment might be construed as approval and House just wasn't that mushy.
"But I want to see the big boom." House argued plaintively, relaxing back into his pillows as the ache in his leg lessened.
"Good night, House." Wilson said firmly, and hung up. House smiled to himself and tossed the phone aside, snuggling back into his pillows. That was better.