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Entry tags:
- angst,
- drama,
- fanfic,
- friendship,
- h/w,
- sick!wilson
Four Divorces And A Funeral - 4
Drabble Prologue
Chapter 1, warnings, and stuff.
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
"How did it go?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your date, you moron. Weren't you having dinner with the new radiology assistant? The fake blonde with the fake tits?"
Wilson closed his laptop, put his elbows on the table and his forehead in his hands.
"House, it's almost midnight. I don't want to discuss my private life with you, and in particular not now."
House eyed him with suspicion. He was definitely hiding something.
"Wilson, it's been three months since the end of the trial, and Mendelsohn's stuck in until 2030. Yet you're still working part time and still waking up in the night shouting and crying. You've gained back only a fraction of the weight you lost, and I had expected to find a stethoscope on the doorknob tonight, not you reading The New York Review of Books. That's why I came back so late."
"It's none of your damn business. I'm off to bed."
_____
The next day by late afternoon all the hospital knew that Dr James Wilson, former Oncology Head, had left Sheila Thompson waiting for him in a French restaurant for twenty minutes before calling her cell to say he was too sick to leave home.
_____
It was a sunny Sunday morning, and they had just finished breakfast. That is, House had eaten eggs and bacon, while Wilson hadn't yet finished his bowl of diet cereals and skimmed milk. He claimed to be careful about his health, but House wasn't so sure.
Their living together was really not so good for Wilson, who had been taking care of House long enough and clearly needed to go back to his life and privacy: hopefully the pantypeeling days would come back as well.
"Have you started planning when you'll be moving out?"
"What do you mean?"
Wilson snapped out of his wordless contemplation of soggy granola, looking worried.
"I finally got rid of the anklet, so I imagine you'll want go back to the condo. I can manage to take care of myself."
"Well, I can't very well do so right now. It's rented out until the end of the year." He paused briefly. "If I'm in your way I can move to a hotel."
"No, of course not, I'm happy to have you here. I just thought a bit of privacy would do you good."
"Speaking of which, I need a shower."
House sighed as he heard the bathroom door close. Were it for him, Wilson need never leave. Living together had been a huge help, both from a practical side and as a way to get used to normality again. Chatting in front of the television, beer in hand, had reminded him of the time before prison, and helped him forget the anklet.
He looked down at where it used to be. Six months. He would remember the feeling for the rest of his life, probably, and who knows how long it would be before he felt really free to go anywhere other than PPTH. Before he felt free.
The day of the anklet removal, the previous Wednesday, Park and Adams had organized a surprise dinner at House's favorite steakhouse in Atlantic City (funded, he suspected, by Adams) and even Foreman had been there, happy and relaxed, to inform him that he was reinstated with his previous income, although without tenure. If House was willing to take a pay cut the hospital might find matching funds to pay one or possibly even two team members, if one of them accepted a low income.
Wilson had excused himself, pleading a headache, and indeed he had looked suffering as he waived House goodbye. In fact, he couldn't remember seeing him happy for a very, very long time now, and he only got out to work and buy groceries.
House decided to forget his worries and switched on the TV. Wilson just needed to get his own place back. No couch could be as good as a bed.
_____
It was Adams who had had the right intuition, but it had been Park's prompt reaction that had saved the patient's life. House smiled as he slowly walked the last steps to his own door, tired but satisfied with himself and his team. He had expected to need an all-nighter, and here he was barely later than usual.
He hadn't called Wilson to inform him of the change of plans - he was curious to see what he did when alone. There was something really weird going on; his mood had darkened further instead of improving since the trial's happy conclusion. He turned the key in the lock, and exclaimed cheerfully "Honey! I'm hooooome!" while stepping in.
The lights were on, everything was clean and tidy as he had gotten used to since Wilson moved in. There was a covered dish on the table, probably his dinner, but no one in sight. Maybe the bathroom? Indeed, the bathroom's light was on. He knocked.
"Wilson! You'd never believe it! It was lupus this time!"
The silence lengthened, and House got worried. He tried the bathroom door, and found it locked. "Wilson! Everything fine?"
He counted to ten, then limped to the kitchen. He came back with a butter knife, which he used to open the bathroom door. The smell hit him one split second before he saw the body floating in the reddish liquid that filled the bathtub.
Chapter 1, warnings, and stuff.
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
"How did it go?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your date, you moron. Weren't you having dinner with the new radiology assistant? The fake blonde with the fake tits?"
Wilson closed his laptop, put his elbows on the table and his forehead in his hands.
"House, it's almost midnight. I don't want to discuss my private life with you, and in particular not now."
House eyed him with suspicion. He was definitely hiding something.
"Wilson, it's been three months since the end of the trial, and Mendelsohn's stuck in until 2030. Yet you're still working part time and still waking up in the night shouting and crying. You've gained back only a fraction of the weight you lost, and I had expected to find a stethoscope on the doorknob tonight, not you reading The New York Review of Books. That's why I came back so late."
"It's none of your damn business. I'm off to bed."
_____
The next day by late afternoon all the hospital knew that Dr James Wilson, former Oncology Head, had left Sheila Thompson waiting for him in a French restaurant for twenty minutes before calling her cell to say he was too sick to leave home.
_____
It was a sunny Sunday morning, and they had just finished breakfast. That is, House had eaten eggs and bacon, while Wilson hadn't yet finished his bowl of diet cereals and skimmed milk. He claimed to be careful about his health, but House wasn't so sure.
Their living together was really not so good for Wilson, who had been taking care of House long enough and clearly needed to go back to his life and privacy: hopefully the pantypeeling days would come back as well.
"Have you started planning when you'll be moving out?"
"What do you mean?"
Wilson snapped out of his wordless contemplation of soggy granola, looking worried.
"I finally got rid of the anklet, so I imagine you'll want go back to the condo. I can manage to take care of myself."
"Well, I can't very well do so right now. It's rented out until the end of the year." He paused briefly. "If I'm in your way I can move to a hotel."
"No, of course not, I'm happy to have you here. I just thought a bit of privacy would do you good."
"Speaking of which, I need a shower."
House sighed as he heard the bathroom door close. Were it for him, Wilson need never leave. Living together had been a huge help, both from a practical side and as a way to get used to normality again. Chatting in front of the television, beer in hand, had reminded him of the time before prison, and helped him forget the anklet.
He looked down at where it used to be. Six months. He would remember the feeling for the rest of his life, probably, and who knows how long it would be before he felt really free to go anywhere other than PPTH. Before he felt free.
The day of the anklet removal, the previous Wednesday, Park and Adams had organized a surprise dinner at House's favorite steakhouse in Atlantic City (funded, he suspected, by Adams) and even Foreman had been there, happy and relaxed, to inform him that he was reinstated with his previous income, although without tenure. If House was willing to take a pay cut the hospital might find matching funds to pay one or possibly even two team members, if one of them accepted a low income.
Wilson had excused himself, pleading a headache, and indeed he had looked suffering as he waived House goodbye. In fact, he couldn't remember seeing him happy for a very, very long time now, and he only got out to work and buy groceries.
House decided to forget his worries and switched on the TV. Wilson just needed to get his own place back. No couch could be as good as a bed.
_____
It was Adams who had had the right intuition, but it had been Park's prompt reaction that had saved the patient's life. House smiled as he slowly walked the last steps to his own door, tired but satisfied with himself and his team. He had expected to need an all-nighter, and here he was barely later than usual.
He hadn't called Wilson to inform him of the change of plans - he was curious to see what he did when alone. There was something really weird going on; his mood had darkened further instead of improving since the trial's happy conclusion. He turned the key in the lock, and exclaimed cheerfully "Honey! I'm hooooome!" while stepping in.
The lights were on, everything was clean and tidy as he had gotten used to since Wilson moved in. There was a covered dish on the table, probably his dinner, but no one in sight. Maybe the bathroom? Indeed, the bathroom's light was on. He knocked.
"Wilson! You'd never believe it! It was lupus this time!"
The silence lengthened, and House got worried. He tried the bathroom door, and found it locked. "Wilson! Everything fine?"
He counted to ten, then limped to the kitchen. He came back with a butter knife, which he used to open the bathroom door. The smell hit him one split second before he saw the body floating in the reddish liquid that filled the bathtub.
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And House definitely needed a party! Also because it will be a while before he can feel happy again (I am so evil).
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Glad you like it, and from here on things are getting better.
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I love it!
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Thank you for the unwavering support!
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I am already taking time I don't have, unfortunately. Sorry about that.
Let's make a deal: you write something and I promise I'll be more careful with the next fic?
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Actually I have no right to criticize you in any way, forgive me. Im just venting my own frustrations on a proxy...you.
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You on the other hand ARE an awesomely gifted writer and raisonneuse, but so long as I don't have your address I cannot come and physically kick your butt, which I am sometimes really tempted to do when I read how you denigrate yourself.
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Thank you for the insightful comment.
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Btw, just noticed your current music was "lack of twins," too cute lol. My cousin just had identical twins at the beginning of the summer so I can't wait to see the boys crawling about come Christmas lol.
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If your cousin's twins are as smart as mine they may not be crawling yet at Christmas. One of mine never moved in any way until he started walking in his fifteen month of life (he has not stopped running since, LOL).
Thanks for reading and commenting!
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I actually find writing about suicide therapeutical, especially suicide motivated by inability to do properly the work one is trained for followed by finding a way out through therapy. I want to believe in therapy. I need to.