|
|
Post by indiansfan01 on Jan 22, 2009 21:25:35 GMT -7
Wilson had just gotten back to his office after the emergency call that had pulled him away from talking with Dr. Fraser. He thought about going back to talk to her but decided against it, figuring that she probably had more important things to do...like go and visit House. He realized what an awful mistake he had made in even bringing up his name. Oh, well. There was nothing he could do to fix it.
He opened his door, flicked on the light switch, and closed the door behind him. He sat down at his desk and looked at the rather huge pile of paperwork he had stacked on the side. Normally he would never allow himself to fall that far behind in paperwork but, ever since Amber died, his life had taken a downward spiral.
Wilson let out a small sigh and picked up the first piece of paper. No sense in putting it off any longer. He picked up his pen and got to work.
|
|
|
|
Post by Dr. Gregory House on Jan 23, 2009 15:58:26 GMT -7
House hopped the low wall separating their terraces and offices. He decided that Wilson hadn't suffered enough and needed to be bugged more. He was very willing to oblige, and very willing to deny that he had been avoiding Wilson. He'd not do something so plebian. He faced his troubles head on, behind a nice cloud of vicodin. Maybe it was time to let Wilson apologize and make up with him. House had been the one to risk brain damage for the man's girl, (even though it turned out that what he remembered was something that could not have saved her.) Maybe he could con Wilson into giving him some cash too, so he could go watch the stripper down her drinks and hit on him some more.
He tried to open the door but it was locked. He rapped loudly, hoping to startle Wilson from his paperwork he loved so much. Wilson loved to be inconvenienced, House was convinced, and never let it be said that House didn't provide. He shivered; it was dang cold out here. Wilson was taking his sweet time to open the door. Of course, House didn't believe in allowing for mere mortals time to move around the desk and walk to the door. Oh no, he expected gratification of the instant kind.
|
|
|
|
Post by indiansfan01 on Jan 23, 2009 16:09:45 GMT -7
Wilson was literally lost in his paperwork. He didn't know how much time had passed but his pile was only half as big as it was when he started. He was just signing his name at the bottom of a piece of paper when he was startled by the rapping at his door. His usually smooth signature was destroyed when he jumped a little at the unexpected noise. He put his pen down and got up from his desk, knowing it can be only one person on the other side of the door.
He opened up his door and let out a small, frustrated sigh. "I'm busy, House. Please come bother me some other time."
|
|
|
|
Post by Dr. Gregory House on Jan 23, 2009 16:38:39 GMT -7
House shoved past Wilson, his breath steaming from the cold air, "tough cakes, Wilson. You're only doing paperwork. I thought you were a doctor, not a pencil pusher."
House made himself at home on the couch, stretching out his bad leg. "I'm bored. In between mind games at the moment; got to think of something to top the Dying Singing Thesbian. Oh, she was good." House grinned, "should have taped Taub's and Kutner's expressions when she "woke up." It was priceless, but a lesson they have learned and learned well." He rubbed at his leg, then picked up his cane to distract his mind from the pulsing ache. Spinning the cane in his hand, he eyed Wilson with a considering expression, as though the other man was an enigma to be understood, a mystery to unravel.
|
|
|
|
Post by indiansfan01 on Jan 23, 2009 20:41:49 GMT -7
Wilson only made a half-hearted attempt to keep House from getting into his office. He brought up his left hand to rub his temple and shut his door. House was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. He glanced at his shrinking pile of paperwork and then back at House. "If you came here just to talk about your most recent exploits--" Wilson didn't know what else to call them. "--I don't have time for this....I don't have time for you."
Wilson sat back down at his desk and picked up another form to fill out, thinking maybe if he ignored House he would go away and knowing at the same time that that was just wishful thinking on his part.
|
|
|
|
Post by Dr. Gregory House on Jan 23, 2009 21:41:31 GMT -7
House was stung, but he immediately hid any sign that Wilson's words hurt. He didn't want to be the first to break, so he was here to force Wilson to do it. Wilson may have had said goodbye to Cutthroat Bitch, may have come back to work because he thought he was okay with her death, but Wilson hadn't even started making a dent in his guilt, in his regrets, in his grief.
He watched Wilson doing his paperwork, pushing the pen around, burying the spectra that was his dead girlfriend under busy work and denial. He laid the cane down across his legs and used a hand to rub at his withered thigh where muscle used to be. Pain flared, and unable to stand it, he took another vicodin and popped it dry. He half laid there, waiting for the pain to fade to a more manageable volume. As he laid there, he wondered how much punishment Wilson was willing to take from him. If the other man even recognized it. Not allowing him to have Thirteen when he had requested her services had been a power play, a subtle knock down in their game. Wilson hadn't reacted predictably, to which he could only blame Cutthroat Bitch for her own power play in teaching Wilson to stop being a door mat. Wilson hadn't exactly taken it lying down, but he hadn't exactly fought back either. Death had interrupted her plan, sent everything she had set up for Wilson down the tubes.
House refused to take the blame for that. She had decided to take those pills. He didn't make her get on the bus, or pick him up. If it had been Wilson, they would have been in the car. Nowhere near the bus accident. House squeezed his hand on the cane, drawing himself out of his spiraling thoughts. No use wondering over what ifs? He had to make a new plan, salvage what remnants of his relationship with Wilson there was, without appearing to be the needy one. It went without saying, he needed Wilson. Needed to get Wilson back on track, but he also needed to make Wilson run through the hoops, needed to know if he could trust him.
He watched Wilson doing his paperwork, a tired, frustrated and confused man. He wasn't sure which of them that last thought was directed at.
|
|
|
|
Post by indiansfan01 on Jan 23, 2009 21:58:54 GMT -7
Wilson found his eyes wandering down to the desk drawer where he had just placed Amber's picture earlier this morning. Deep down inside, he knew that her death really wasn't House's fault, but, then again, if House hadn't gotten drunk in the first place none of this would have happened...and, then again, if Wilson had been at home he would've gone to pick up House and none of it would've happened. In short, he could just as easily pin the fault on himself for Amber's death as easily as he could pin it on House.
There was no use pondering on those thoughts, though. Amber was dead. There was nothing he could to change that. Was it worth throwing out a decades-long friendship? Of course not. But Wilson didn't want to cave in first. Amber had taught him how to not be House's little, loyal lap dog any longer. And, in honor of her memory, Wilson wasn't going to give in to House so easily....as hard as that was going to be.
The silence was almost too much to take. He placed the paper he was currently working on off to the side and placed the pen on top of it. He interlaced his fingers together and set them on the top of his desk. Looking over at House, he asked, "What do you want?" Wilson knew that House wanted him to give in but he was going to act oblivious to that fact.
|
|
|
|
Post by Dr. Gregory House on Jan 24, 2009 8:56:33 GMT -7
And the doctor was in, House thought dryly to himself as he watched Wilson prepare himself at his desk, asked that direct question. Oh, what did he want?
"If I had a dollar for everyone who asked me that..." House drawled. His answers were widely different each time. He considered how best to answer this one. It was Wilson after all. "What I want..." he paused. He had been flippant with Cuddy, flirtatious with Angel. Brutally honest when Cameron had asked long ago. He wouldn't be doing Wilson any favours if he revealed exactly what he wanted.
He sighed, running a hand over his face. Everything was such a mess now, but House never admitted defeat.
"I want to believe six impossible things before breakfast," House said slowly, "I want the last decade to not have happened. I want to be broken, because broken things can be fixed. I want to be able to say this to you, instead of in my imagination." House looked at Wilson who had been staring at him, waiting with that Wilson patented patience and caring, while House had been lost in his thoughts. Regrets are expectations that were never fulfilled.
Instead, he said, "I want two hundred dollars. Did you see the new head of cardiology? Meow, what a minx!" And around, around we go, riding the sick, sick carousel, House thought.
|
|
|
|
Post by indiansfan01 on Jan 24, 2009 9:17:37 GMT -7
He figured House would say something stupid like that, so Wilson wasn't surprised in the least bit. He was going to stick as close to the subject of House's real reason for this visit and try to keep him on that path if he tried diverging from it....an almost impossible task when it came to House.
"I didn't notice," he replied. "I'm not exactly interested in women right now." Wilson paused and then added, "...or men," realizing how wrong his previous words had sounded. He kept his eyes fixed on House as he continued speaking. "I mean, it does take some time to get over the death of loved ones. Of course you wouldn't know because you seem incapable of loving anyone."
Wilson had to be cruel to be kind. That was the only way he thought he could get through to House.
|
|
|
|
Post by Dr. Gregory House on Jan 24, 2009 10:41:40 GMT -7
House imitated a buzzer, "wrong! You may not be interested in a warm body to screw right now, but don't say you didn't notice the smokin' hot lady that you oh, so thoughtfully warned her off me. If you thought that wasn't a transparent maneuver on your part; casting aspersions on my womanizing or just in general treatment of people, and if you thought that would stop anyone from talking to me, buddy, you clearly don't know the meaning of curiosity." He paused, realizing that maybe Wilson warned her off so that she would become curious and investigate, thus starting a relationship with the cantankerous old cripple... Wilson couldn't be that sneaky, could he? Nah.
Also, there was that tiny little issue that Wilson had to be cleared up on, namely House's ability to love. "That's a little harsh, don't you think? I mean, I do love my Tivo. As for whether or not I'm incapable of loving anyone, I'm working my way up to it. I mean, Stacy did slam me down hard. Twice. Every relationship I've had since then has pretty much failed," he was referring here, to Cameron. Also Cuddy, but he was sure it was just the hormones she had been taking talking. The woman had wanted a baby. At that point, she had as much interest in a lamp as she did House. "Maybe it's just the way the world works."
|
|
|
|
Post by indiansfan01 on Jan 24, 2009 10:56:11 GMT -7
House had just confirmed for Wilson that he had made a huge mistake in telling Dr. Fraser to stay away from him. "Number one, yes, I did notice her but have no intention of sleeping with her. Number two, I should have kept my big mouth shut and let Dr. Fraser find out on her own what an ass you can be. And, number three, we're not buddies," he said, emphasizing the last word. He wanted to fix their relationship as much as House did but couldn't let him know that.
Wilson let out a small chuckle. House thought he had a rough love life...Well, try getting divorced three times and having your latest girlfriend die because your supposed friend had a little too much fun. "You're one messed up man, House," he commented, although the same could be said about himself.
|
|
|
|
Post by Dr. Gregory House on Jan 24, 2009 12:14:44 GMT -7
House smirked, a little smug that he had induced a bit of the lively old Wilson back, even for a moment. It was only a temporary fix, but House was willing to work at it. At least until the next big stupid thing he decided to do to assuage his boredom and his curiosity as to how far he could push his friendship with Wilson. But first, to restore their friendship. "Bit like the pot calling the kettle black," he snarked back, ignoring the buddies comment. "That can't be good karma."
He stood, leaning on his cane casually. Looking around the office, he made a note to break in when Wilson wasn't here to snoop some. Maybe there was some clue or piece of knowledge regarding Wilson he didn't already have in his vast amount of stores. Or maybe his pager would go off and he'd have another mysterious case to solve. He paused, waiting. Right then, focus is on Wilson. What's eating James Wilson? Their friendship couldn't dissolve because of that one tiny little incident. Not when House had done so much worse. Not when Wilson had done so much worse. Their twisted screwed up friendship had survived everything. It had to survive this.
|
|
|
|
Post by indiansfan01 on Jan 24, 2009 12:31:29 GMT -7
Wilson rolled his eyes at House's comment. Leave it to House to say something like that. Wilson remained quiet, thinking that that remark didn't deserve a reply. Instead, he stood up and walked over to House. The bad times they had had together definitely outweighed the good times, and yet they had remained friends through it all. That fact in itself almost guaranteed that they were destined to get through the most recent bad times.
Wilson knew that House was never going to give in first, and he knew that if he didn't they'd keep on going around in circles, which would never fix anything. Besides, Wilson had forty bucks riding on talking to House, and he couldn't very well get House to listen to him if they weren't friends. "I know why you came here," he said, admitting the obvious. "I think we should talk...have a serious conversation for once." Wilson sat down on his couch and waited for House to do the same.
|
|
|
|
Post by Dr. Gregory House on Jan 24, 2009 14:31:59 GMT -7
"Uh oh," House muttered. A serious conversation? Those never ended well. What was he thinking? He had hoped to achieve their friendship's status quo back, but certainly not by having a heart to heart conversation. Those were for sissies. He needed more time to think of some kind of ploy to trick Wilson back into being his friend again.
He wasn't really seeing a way out of this conversation.
"Talk. Right." House relented. He took a hobble-step, cane thudding on the carpet dully. He whacked his cane against Wilson's leg. "Shove over, man, you're hogging the couch."
|
|
|
|
Post by indiansfan01 on Jan 24, 2009 14:39:14 GMT -7
Wilson moved over a foot or two. The fact that House was sitting down was a start, but Wilson didn't know where to go from there. There were so many things the two of them could---and need to---talk about. He looked over at House and broke the silence. "I want you to know that I don't blame you for Amber's death." He was sure House already knew that. Wilson just picked that as an arbitrary starting point. "Even if you hadn't hired that PI to spy on me, I would have come back here eventually."
|
|
