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Bad Company

Aftershocks 13.1: Rude Awakening

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Aftershocks 13.1: Rude Awakening

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TITLE: Aftershocks: A Story in Shattered Pieces
SUMMARY: Oh, how I hate to wake up in the mornin'...
CHARACTERS: Wilson, House
RATING: R for language and themes.
WARNINGS: Details the aftermath of events in Bad Company, a rough, violent story. Aftermath isn't always pretty; may distress some readers. Adult themes and adult language.
SPOILERS: No.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Never will.
NOTES: The pieces of this shattered story are numbered. The first number signifies the number of days that have elapsed since the original event in Bad Company; the second number signifies when the fic occurs during that day.


Rude Awakening


"Are you sure you wouldn't like more champagne?"

Yesica Toscanini smiles. It's a smoldering, sultry smile, just like the picture in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, and Wilson can't help but smile back.

"You're too kind," she murmurs in her liquid Argentine accent, and Wilson glances down modestly. The summer meadow is sun-dappled, green and glowing in the slanting light. Birds are calling, a soft breeze stirs Yesica's long dark hair, and the champagne (Veuve Clicquot, with the familiar orange label) is perfectly chilled. He tips a little more of the bright, bubbling wine into her tall crystal flute. A bee buzzes at his ear, and he slaps at it absently.

Yesica plucks a strawberry from the flute and licks it, slowly.

The bee comes back, more loudly than before, and Wilson slaps at it again.

"Oh, James," Yesica breathes. The strawberry is now covered in melted dark chocolate, which she sucks off the fruit's skin. Slowly.

The buzzing gets louder, and Wilson frowns a little. It's a weird, metallic sound, as if the pristine meadow harbors cybernetic robot bees.

"Does this sound like an open A to you?" Yesica asks.

Wilson blinks at her. "What?"

Yesica pouts. "I said, Mr. Williams, does this sound like an open A?"

And suddenly it's not Yesica Toscanini sitting across from him, her trim, shapely legs drawn up under her trim, shapely, ass, it's—

"Mr. Williams!" Carla Jean chides. "Let's get you all nice and cleaned up now. My Billy will be here any minute and he's got a whole new wardrobe for you two to try on before everything's in key!"

Punishment, some part of Wilson's brain asserts cheerfully. Punishment for those mean, mean thoughts about her son.

"Here, Mr. Williams—you try this one on for size!" In Carla Jean's beefy hand, the champagne flute has become a  stiletto-heeled crystal slipper.

Wilson shrieks and falls backward, but it's too late—the robot bees are everywhere, their shiny silver wings buzzing and buzzing and making his teeth ache, and when he finally realizes it's a dream, nothing but a bad, crazy dream, he opens his eyes to—

House, holding what looks for all the world like a two-tined fork in front of his eyes. A vibrating, two-tined fork.

"Wilson!" House barks. "What does this sound like to you?"

Wilson stares at him. Impatient, House strikes the tuning fork against the hospital bedframe, and instantly the sound of the summer bees fills the room.

"That's better," House mutters, and uses his free hand to aim a remote control at his CD player. The player blares to life, and Mick Jagger's voice informs the world at a virtually earth-shattering volume that he can't get no satisfaction. House's fingers race up and down his own guitar, the power chords ringing through the apartment, playing along with Keith Richards. On the bedside tray, Wilson's morning meds, water, and breakfast slush are already laid out. The plastic water bottle bounces a little bit every time the heavy bass kicks in.

"Come on, Wilson," House calls out. "Chow time! Gotta make sure you don't keel over in the shower." He leers suggestively at Wilson and waggles his eyebrows. "You do remember how to use a shower, don't you? Or do I have to call in more of my reliably Reliant evil minions?"

Wilson drops his head back on his pillow and groans.

He wishes he were strong enough to stick that damn water bottle in House's ear.




*** Yesica Toscanini is very real. You can read more about her (or just look at the pretty pictures) here.
 
 
  • Geez, House! Didja have to be so mean??

    Yes, I really think it is great the way that House is seeing to Wilson's needs with the meds'n'mush and all, but I was really getting into contrite and quiet and guilty House!

    Well, this might be what Wilson needs--a return to normalcy.

    Although yesterday he was crying for morphine, so maybe he is not quite ready.

    Loved the dream sequence!
  • Wilson's brain telling him this is punishment for those mean thoughts about Carla Jean's son is a really hilarious moment. And don't you know House's neighbors must simply hate him? Hehee!
  • I kew Wilson's dream was too good to be true. What I didn't understand was the tuning fork. Damn, House is back to being a caring bastard!!
  • I love every piece of this as it comes up, you are all wonderful.
  • I like these two pieces together -- House may know exactly how to care for Wilson, at least physically, but he's also still an ass. And that's juuust right.
  • I'm guessing her mommy didn't name her Yesica, unless she was hoping for a porn star daughter. [snickers] I'm a mean person too, Wilson.

    Punishment, some part of Wilson's brain asserts cheerfully. Punishment for those mean, mean thoughts about her son.
    Such a Wonderfully Wilson thought.

    Awww, House saved Wilson again from Carla with the Sponge Bath Fetish. I was worried when I saw Suds as the other title and had to read it first. Only House is allowed to see Wilson naked. :0)
    • I would love to see them do a House/Wilson shower scene which I think would be much hotter than a kiss. I really do need to get my mind out of the gutter :)
  • Just wanted to pop by and say how much I'm enjoying this series.

    Felt sorry for Wilson :( And I thought House was being really mean until I remembered the previous chapter where House was trying to figure out how to wake up Wilson... That's what I like about this story - it's the things that aren't being said that are as important as the things that are. Very well written by everyone.

    Mick Jagger music made me smile. As someone who always resorts to loud rock music to get me moving when I'm feeling down I do wonder if it was for Wilson or House's benefit. Probably both I guess...
    • Thanks, Miss Slothy. We love to know who's reading.

      This bit made us happy, because House is once again behaving like, well, House.

  • Do robot bees dream electric honey? I liked the surreality of this one; House and his tuning fork permeating the fog of Wilson's drugged up dreams and more too... his fantasy morphing into some sort of wicked cinderella nightmare via icky Carla and her glass slipper. Maybe I'm reaching there.
    • Oh, if you're reaching, you're not reaching overly far.

      The Cinderella allusion was absolutely intentional. Heh.

      Poor Wilson.
  • Poor Wilson! Even with a doctor's note he can't avoid the madness that is living with House!

    Loved the robot bees :-)
  • Greetings!

    Yeah, I can see Wilson def. wanting some kind of physical revenge. And I can so totally see House's desire for a decently tuned piece. (Wonder if he has perfect pitch?)

    What a transition - beautiful woman, choccy-covered strawberries... then House being loud and obsessive. I'd try and kill him! :lol

    -Katrina
  • Got so caught up in the story that I forgot about trying to guess who's who--but I've got a guess for this one:

    nightdog_barks?
  • Wow! She is pretty :D I can see why Wilson is dreaming about her ;) Too bad it couldn't have stayed a nice dream for long! Goddamnit, House :P
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