The apartment was dimly lit, illuminated only by a few scattered lamps and their dying bulbs. It almost cast a sort of orange and yellow glow about the rooms, something that was reminiscent of a dream. Empty containers were strewn in destruction, cascading like waterfalls all about the couch and tables – some still containing traces of saliva as though licked clean of any powerful substance they might have once held. Dirty clothes were folded, yet still rumpled, in a small pile on the floor by the kitchen's opening and there was a tiny river of spilt beer that circled around it, the bottle smashed from feet. A smooth orchestration of melodies was pounding softly through the speakers, making the scenery all the more bizarre.
There was a crash, echoing from within the kitchen that was quickly followed by a string of unpleasant words. "Goddamnit," Otley could hear as human hands scrambled about to gather up the pieces of the shattered drinking glass. Wilson's head turned from his position on the couch, his fingertips still drumming silently along the buttons of the remote.
"House did you break another plate?" Grumbling ensued, validating that he had in fact done so.
"Do you need any help in there?" Otley called towards him, tired of standing alone. It wasn't that Wilson hadn't tried to interest her in conversation – but truthfully she didn't know what to say to him. Perhaps her heart was too fraught with worries of Connyr at the moment, wishing she had been allowed to stay the night at the hospital rather than practically begging to be where she was. House emerged, a fading apron decorated with the resemblance of a half naked man flexing vicariously. His brow was deeply furrowed and the side of his left thumb bleeding just slightly.
"No," he muttered crossly as he placed the injured finger to the flesh of his lips, sucking on it softly to clear the blood away. "I'm done cooking, so come eat what's there or be hungry for the night."
"Charming," Otley replied as she reached forward to snatch his thumb from his mouth's tempting embrace. "You shouldn't do that," she whispered as she leaned in. "It's bad for the cut, doctor." There was a pause of silence as House glared at the tiny girl, face aflame with a variety of emotions – and all at once Wilson broke into resounding guffaws from behind the two.
"What're you laughing at?" House snapped as he began un-wrapping the apron's strings from around his waist, simply throwing it on the floor in a similarly shaped heap as the rest of the clothes throughout the room.
"Nothing, House. Nothing at all," Wilson assured though his lingering grin made it easy to suspect that "nothing" was not the case at all. Mimicking a cuff to the side of Otley's cheek as one would a champion, he murmured. "Oh, I like her already." Otley sweetly placed an affectionate yet overly saccharine kiss to the warmth of Wilson's neck.
"Thank you," she said with the tiniest of glares which she shot at House. "At least somebody around here doesn't act like they ate glass for breakfast."
"If you ate glass what would you throw up?" House wondered aloud as he began to make his way towards the kitchen where small puffs of steam were already pouring from.
"I don't know and I don't want to know?" Otley was taken aback by the strangeness of his question, her eyes narrowed in utmost and apparent confusion. "Did you want to find out or something because I bet I can find a million people just in this building who would be more than willing to shove a few pieces of sharp objects down your throat." She grinned brightly as she sped past him, stopping only to fake a slight hobble and wince as she cried aloud, "Woe is me."
"Blatant mockery," House mumbled as Wilson began to rummage through the kitchen's drawers in search of utensils, the clanking loud and nearly unbearable. "I like you."
"Good than it's unanimous. Now get your crippled ass in gear and get me some fucking food, I'm starving Greg."
"Here," Wilson's voice was muffled and strained under the weight of numerous plates and forks as he handed some off to Otley which she quickly took to ease his burden. "House can you get some glasses for drinks?" House however remained rigid where he stood, mouth slightly agape and a stunned gloss throughout his almost permanently dilated pupils. "What is it now?"
"You told her my name?" he gasped incredulously, though in his typical sarcastic manner.
"I saw it on your magazine subscription to whatever monstrosity of porn that's laying out there in your living room dumb-ass," Otley spat with a hint of a smirk. "Leave your friend alone, Jesus. The way you pick on him it's almost like you're trying to get into his g-string or something." Wilson coughed and flushed with embarrassment.
"I don't wear g-strings," he piped up hastily as he cleared his throat once more.
"No, he can't. He doesn't have enough of an ass to pull the look off," House murmured without so much as a bat of an eyelash as he reached for the ladle atop the counter. Wilson, now deathly mute, held the plates before the simmering pot of food and waited as House scooped portions onto each dish until all had been served.
"Here you go," Wilson muttered as he placed one of the plates in Otley's grasp as he began to walk away.
"Wilson we were just playing around with you, where the hell are you going?" Wilson glanced over his shoulder as he pried the refrigerator door open with one hand, the tips of his ears still a visible pink.
"To get a beer, and lots of it."
(sorry it's so short, more soon.)