Tearing Apart: angsty drabble

[triedunture]

*stares at drabble* This was an unexpected, but weirdly cool result of a prompt from mylexie. Prompt was the Portishead song "Biscuit" (which is sad and angsty, hence...ta daaa.) Thanks for the idea.

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“Drinking alone,” Wilson would have said, “is one of the first signs of alcoholism.”

But Wilson wasn’t saying that because he wasn’t here; if he was, House wouldn’t be alone and the point would be moot.

Briefly, hazily, House remembers that "moot" has two definitions: the legal one, meaning not actually relevant, and the normal, plain one, meaning debatable.

One word, with two opposite meanings. To use it is to be right back where you started, because it means nothing.

House continues to play his piano, eyeing the level of scotch in the glass sitting on the black lacquer.

Lacquer sounds a lot like liquor. It is highly unlikely, however, that they share the same Latin root.

Lack her. Lick her. House stops playing to let loose a bark of laughter. He takes another swallow.

Laughter, if you stretch out the syllables, sounds a little bit like “laugh at her.” But that’s the last thing House can do right now.

“Do you know,” a voice says from the doorway, “one of the first signs of alcoholism is drinking alone?”

“I had you pegged for a statement,” House murmurs, and doesn’t explain further. He begins to play again, something slower and ponderous. He hadn’t heard the door snick open, but he’s more perturbed with the grating question in Wilson’s voice, the question underneath the question.

The belowground question is actually a statement too. It’s tearing you apart.

Wilson doesn’t voice that aloud, just slides onto the piano bench next to House, carefully moving the cane aside and propping it against the wall.

“No room for a duet,” House says, his voice rumbling low.

“I’m tone deaf anyway.” Wilson shrugs and reaches for the glass. He downs the remaining few inches and gives one sharp gasp after he swallows.

“That was mine,” House says, not unkindly. The song is still slow, plodding.

Wilson wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and reaches for the brown bottle that is sitting on the floor. He refills the glass and holds it in his hand, weighing it.

“We’ll share,” he offers. “That way, it’s not drinking alone.”

Alone, House thinks. From the Middle English meaning “all one.” These days, it means “only one.”

He watches Wilson sip at the drink, hogging the glass, and keeps playing.