Brain Damage, 5/20
Mar. 30th, 2011 08:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
damigellaTitle: Brain Damage
Spoilers: End of season 4
Summary: Deep brain stimulation is a dangerous procedure. What if House’s brain had been damaged? Twenty chapters.
Rating: NC-17 (M)
Word Count: 21000 approx.
Disclaimer: we own nothing, not even a functioning brain.
Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
coconut_ice22. This fic is a very expanded version of a one/shot of mine, Almost Like A Child. The new userpic is courtesy of luridlurker and comes from this manip.
Chapter 4
Chapter 5 - Daily Life
It was 9am when the alarm went off. Wilson didn't need an alarm; he had been up since 7am, had showered, dressed, and cooked breakfast: bacon and eggs like every Wednesday. House liked routine. When the alarm rang, Wilson put down on the table his half-drunk coffee cup, near the freshly delivered baguette and the laptop with the day's news. He made it to the bedroom door in time to see two fists vigorously scratching sleep-filled eyes, while a well-known voice shouted "Good morning, Jimmy!”.
He helped House gulp down his morning pills with a glass of water, and then walk to the bathroom. He could now do a lot alone, so Wilson waited outside the door until called. He listened and was happy to hear the sound of flushing followed by hand washing. Then the shower went on, and he could imagine House undressing and stepping in. The call came soon after. "Jimmy? Can you help me wash my hair?" He went in and helped. At the beginning he had felt weird about House's total lack of shame towards him, both about his nakedness in general and the ugly scar on the thigh in particular. But now this was slowly becoming routine.
Soon afterward they breakfasted together, House's cane leaning on the table near him. House ate all of his breakfast and almost half of Wilson's while drinking two large cups of sweet coffee with lots of milk. Wilson wondered at the gene constellation that allowed his friend to eat so much and keep such wonderful shape – he now knew his body well and there was no extra fat anywhere on it, despite his fiftieth birthday being so near. House went to brush his teeth, finish dressing and "shave" with the electrical contraption Wilson had bought him, which allowed him to keep a constant three days' stubble. Meanwhile Wilson reviewed their schedule, although he knew he didn't need to.
Every day had a slightly different rhythm: MWF at 11 House had physical therapy, TT also at 11 occupational therapy, TT at 3pm speech therapy, on alternate Fridays at 2.30 they met with the pain management consultant and Mondays at 3.30 they had joint psychotherapy. Wednesday at 3.30 it was separated psychotherapy, and Fridays from 4pm to bedtime was Jimmy-time, as House called it; one or more of the people he had learned to accept as friends picked House up and entertained him for several hours, giving Wilson the opportunity to do whatever he wanted or just relax. House had accepted this arrangement surprisingly easily, possibly because his therapist had explained that its main purpose was to keep Jimmy healthy and happy.
For the first couple of weeks Wilson had wondered how to fit such a busy schedule with his return to work, in the hope that he won his custody battle. His first thought was to give up his position as Head of Oncology and reduce his hours. Then he thought of going into private practice, and started enquiring about a group practice willing to allow him to work part-time. Then he stopped thinking about the issue at all, facing each day as it passed and ignoring the future.
They arrived in time to physical therapy, as they usually did. As Sophie dealt with House, Wilson sat quietly in a corner of the gym where his friend could see him, opened his daily planner, and started thinking. The custody audience would be in two weeks, and he pulled out the relevant to-do list. Stacy had found him an experienced lawyer willing to work on a very reduced fee, which he suspected meant that a number of people were chipping in to help.
He already had gotten both letters of support and agreements to testify by all relevant colleagues, plus all professionals currently treating House. Cuddy had even made him get letters from some members of the Board, testifying about the time when he had given up his job to save House's tenure during Vogler's time. And he had no worries about third-party experts’ evaluation on House's well being: careful pain management meant his liver values were better than they had ever been since the infarction. Of course it helped that House no longer drank like a sponge.
Still, it was going to be a fight: juries tended to side with the blood family. On top of that, there were enough people willing to suspect a sexual motivation on his part, based on rumors that had been coursing the halls of PPTH since shortly after his own arrival there. Unfortunately, there was no way to prove conclusively that such an interest didn't exist. Wilson successfully chased away from his mind the question whether it did, and then PT ended and it was time to care for House again.
After a quick lunch at a nearby diner they went back home. House took his medications and then put on his iPod: it was time for his daily massage. While his hands worked, Wilson remembered how soon after their moving in together, he had called Brandy, the escort-masseuse. How she had cried and said she wanted to remember House as he was. Wilson had then realized that here was yet another person having deeper feelings for his friend than would be reasonable, and didn't press. Instead, he met with her in a downtown hotel during his Jimmy-time. Brandy had been willing to do for him what she used to do for House, giving precise explanations and showing him how to move his hands and fingers, alerting him to unspoken signals from House's body. He paid her handsomely, but refused what she described as "happy ending". House fell asleep, as he often did during the massage. Wilson woke him up in time for the psychotherapy session.
****
"So, how was it today with Carmen?"
"It's always weird to be with her. First of all, because you're not there. And she asks the strangest questions. Sometimes they're too difficult. And sometimes...sometimes it's like there's something I ought to remember, I'm close to remembering, but I just barely don't. It's annoying."
"It's her job. Did she bring you again to your office?"
"Yes. I recognized what I had seen all the other times. And I played with my ball and my PSP. I got many more levels than last time."
"How about the books?"
"They're so difficult. Full of big words I don't understand. And some are even in languages I don't know. Was all of that really mine?"
"Yes, it was. You were very smart. You still are, only different."
"Jimmy, there's one thing I think I actually remembered today. You know the office near mine, the one which is always closed and dark?"
"Yes, I know which one." His heart started racing. He hoped House didn't notice.
"On the door it says James Wilson MD, Head of Oncology. That is...you, isn't it? Why doesn't it say Jimmy?"
"James is my official name. Some people I'm close to call me Jimmy."
"But then, why do you call me House? Shouldn't you call me Greggy, or something?"
"You...you never wanted to. You wanted me to call you House, so I did and do."
"I wonder why. There's one more thing I don't understand, too. I can't go back to my office because I am sick and my memory is gone. What about you? Shouldn't you be in that office and work? You're not sick."
Luckily Wilson had just finished talking to his own therapist, or he might have been unable to answer calmly enough. "I am on vacation now. This way I can care for you better. And soon a decision will be taken by wise people as who should keep caring for you. I asked it to be me, but your parents also want to do it themselves."
"If they're wise they'll let me stay with you. I'm not worried. But how will you be able to go back to work? Who will be with me?"
"After the decision is taken I will have some vacation left. We'll think of something then. In the meantime, how about Chinese takeout? You can choose what DVD to watch tonight."
*******
"Time for bed, House. Teeth brushing, pajamas, pee, and your medication is on the kitchen table."
"I'm ready now. Are you ready?"
"Yes. Do you want a story tonight?"
"No, I'm tired. Come here. You know I want to fall asleep in your arms."
Chapter 6
Spoilers: End of season 4
Summary: Deep brain stimulation is a dangerous procedure. What if House’s brain had been damaged? Twenty chapters.
Rating: NC-17 (M)
Word Count: 21000 approx.
Disclaimer: we own nothing, not even a functioning brain.
Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader,
coconut_ice22. This fic is a very expanded version of a one/shot of mine, Almost Like A Child. The new userpic is courtesy of luridlurker and comes from this manip.Chapter 4
Chapter 5 - Daily Life
It was 9am when the alarm went off. Wilson didn't need an alarm; he had been up since 7am, had showered, dressed, and cooked breakfast: bacon and eggs like every Wednesday. House liked routine. When the alarm rang, Wilson put down on the table his half-drunk coffee cup, near the freshly delivered baguette and the laptop with the day's news. He made it to the bedroom door in time to see two fists vigorously scratching sleep-filled eyes, while a well-known voice shouted "Good morning, Jimmy!”.
He helped House gulp down his morning pills with a glass of water, and then walk to the bathroom. He could now do a lot alone, so Wilson waited outside the door until called. He listened and was happy to hear the sound of flushing followed by hand washing. Then the shower went on, and he could imagine House undressing and stepping in. The call came soon after. "Jimmy? Can you help me wash my hair?" He went in and helped. At the beginning he had felt weird about House's total lack of shame towards him, both about his nakedness in general and the ugly scar on the thigh in particular. But now this was slowly becoming routine.
Soon afterward they breakfasted together, House's cane leaning on the table near him. House ate all of his breakfast and almost half of Wilson's while drinking two large cups of sweet coffee with lots of milk. Wilson wondered at the gene constellation that allowed his friend to eat so much and keep such wonderful shape – he now knew his body well and there was no extra fat anywhere on it, despite his fiftieth birthday being so near. House went to brush his teeth, finish dressing and "shave" with the electrical contraption Wilson had bought him, which allowed him to keep a constant three days' stubble. Meanwhile Wilson reviewed their schedule, although he knew he didn't need to.
Every day had a slightly different rhythm: MWF at 11 House had physical therapy, TT also at 11 occupational therapy, TT at 3pm speech therapy, on alternate Fridays at 2.30 they met with the pain management consultant and Mondays at 3.30 they had joint psychotherapy. Wednesday at 3.30 it was separated psychotherapy, and Fridays from 4pm to bedtime was Jimmy-time, as House called it; one or more of the people he had learned to accept as friends picked House up and entertained him for several hours, giving Wilson the opportunity to do whatever he wanted or just relax. House had accepted this arrangement surprisingly easily, possibly because his therapist had explained that its main purpose was to keep Jimmy healthy and happy.
For the first couple of weeks Wilson had wondered how to fit such a busy schedule with his return to work, in the hope that he won his custody battle. His first thought was to give up his position as Head of Oncology and reduce his hours. Then he thought of going into private practice, and started enquiring about a group practice willing to allow him to work part-time. Then he stopped thinking about the issue at all, facing each day as it passed and ignoring the future.
They arrived in time to physical therapy, as they usually did. As Sophie dealt with House, Wilson sat quietly in a corner of the gym where his friend could see him, opened his daily planner, and started thinking. The custody audience would be in two weeks, and he pulled out the relevant to-do list. Stacy had found him an experienced lawyer willing to work on a very reduced fee, which he suspected meant that a number of people were chipping in to help.
He already had gotten both letters of support and agreements to testify by all relevant colleagues, plus all professionals currently treating House. Cuddy had even made him get letters from some members of the Board, testifying about the time when he had given up his job to save House's tenure during Vogler's time. And he had no worries about third-party experts’ evaluation on House's well being: careful pain management meant his liver values were better than they had ever been since the infarction. Of course it helped that House no longer drank like a sponge.
Still, it was going to be a fight: juries tended to side with the blood family. On top of that, there were enough people willing to suspect a sexual motivation on his part, based on rumors that had been coursing the halls of PPTH since shortly after his own arrival there. Unfortunately, there was no way to prove conclusively that such an interest didn't exist. Wilson successfully chased away from his mind the question whether it did, and then PT ended and it was time to care for House again.
After a quick lunch at a nearby diner they went back home. House took his medications and then put on his iPod: it was time for his daily massage. While his hands worked, Wilson remembered how soon after their moving in together, he had called Brandy, the escort-masseuse. How she had cried and said she wanted to remember House as he was. Wilson had then realized that here was yet another person having deeper feelings for his friend than would be reasonable, and didn't press. Instead, he met with her in a downtown hotel during his Jimmy-time. Brandy had been willing to do for him what she used to do for House, giving precise explanations and showing him how to move his hands and fingers, alerting him to unspoken signals from House's body. He paid her handsomely, but refused what she described as "happy ending". House fell asleep, as he often did during the massage. Wilson woke him up in time for the psychotherapy session.
****
"So, how was it today with Carmen?"
"It's always weird to be with her. First of all, because you're not there. And she asks the strangest questions. Sometimes they're too difficult. And sometimes...sometimes it's like there's something I ought to remember, I'm close to remembering, but I just barely don't. It's annoying."
"It's her job. Did she bring you again to your office?"
"Yes. I recognized what I had seen all the other times. And I played with my ball and my PSP. I got many more levels than last time."
"How about the books?"
"They're so difficult. Full of big words I don't understand. And some are even in languages I don't know. Was all of that really mine?"
"Yes, it was. You were very smart. You still are, only different."
"Jimmy, there's one thing I think I actually remembered today. You know the office near mine, the one which is always closed and dark?"
"Yes, I know which one." His heart started racing. He hoped House didn't notice.
"On the door it says James Wilson MD, Head of Oncology. That is...you, isn't it? Why doesn't it say Jimmy?"
"James is my official name. Some people I'm close to call me Jimmy."
"But then, why do you call me House? Shouldn't you call me Greggy, or something?"
"You...you never wanted to. You wanted me to call you House, so I did and do."
"I wonder why. There's one more thing I don't understand, too. I can't go back to my office because I am sick and my memory is gone. What about you? Shouldn't you be in that office and work? You're not sick."
Luckily Wilson had just finished talking to his own therapist, or he might have been unable to answer calmly enough. "I am on vacation now. This way I can care for you better. And soon a decision will be taken by wise people as who should keep caring for you. I asked it to be me, but your parents also want to do it themselves."
"If they're wise they'll let me stay with you. I'm not worried. But how will you be able to go back to work? Who will be with me?"
"After the decision is taken I will have some vacation left. We'll think of something then. In the meantime, how about Chinese takeout? You can choose what DVD to watch tonight."
*******
"Time for bed, House. Teeth brushing, pajamas, pee, and your medication is on the kitchen table."
"I'm ready now. Are you ready?"
"Yes. Do you want a story tonight?"
"No, I'm tired. Come here. You know I want to fall asleep in your arms."
Chapter 6