(no subject)
Tuesday, August 23rd, 2005 02:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
evila_elfWell, after eating some cotton candy and musing on how it was 'discovered,' I have decided to put up the second chapter to my House fic :) It is pretty long too!
The Calm Before the Storm Part 1
And
PART 2
House sits at his desk, feet upon its cluttered surface. He idly taps his cane against the floor and stares at the clock, eyes unblinking. Wilson had undergone a whole slew of tests several hours ago, and was then sent home. The tests are being processed as he sits around, unable to do anything except his clinical duties, which he is still refusing to do, wishing that there is a better excuse to avoid the clinic other than the poor health of his friend.
A tap on his door detracts his attention. Cuddy. She opens the door and pokes her head in, surprised that House is hiding in his office for a change. “Phone call. Line 3.” As she is leaving, she can hear papers being moved around as Dr. House looks for his phone. Before she rounds the corner, she hears the tap clop, tap clop of a fast moving Gregory House.
House doesn’t give her time to reprimand him as he limps past, but he does say, “It’s Wilson. He wants me to come over.” Then he is gone.
She hopes that all the bright young doctor has is a bad strain of the flu. For both their sakes. But things are never that easy…
***
He has a hard time not breaking any speeding laws, and it seems like it takes forever before he finally pulls up in front of the nice little home. House parks in the space where Julie’s car normally sits. He knocks and several long moments pass before Wilson answers the door.
Wilson looks horrible. His ever-present smile seems strained as he steps aside for his friend to enter. “You normally aren’t off for another 15 minutes. They let you out early?”
“Nope.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to escape Cuddy’s clutches. I was going to take a shower.” He motions over his shoulder in the general direction of the bathroom.
House desperately wants to ask what is wrong. To demand what is wrong. To check for a fever to explain the color on Wilson’s cheeks. Something serious is wrong: Wilson seems so calm. Too calm. The calm before the storm. “Well don’t let me stop you!” he says instead, his voice more animated than normal as he waves Wilson to the bathroom with a swish of his hand. He wants to know, but is terrified of the answer.
Unsure, Wilson hesitates.
“I’ll still be here. Reading.” He picks up one of the magazines littering the coffee table and frowns at the cover. “Looking at pictures,” he corrects himself, then he wrinkles his nose at the boring medical magazine and takes another look at the table to see if something better catches his eye. Not sensing movement, he glares at Wilson.
The waiting has to be killing him. Wilson winces as he walks into the bathroom. He wonders if House is just stalling, not wanting to hear the information any more than he himself wants to offer it.
House tosses the magazine back on the table and folds his hands behind his head. And worries.
The hot shower feels every bit as good as he hoped it would. The feathery spray relaxing him. Distracting him. He turns up the temperature, the hot water nearly scalding his skin. But he doesn’t care and leans into the spray.
When Wilson finally shuts off the water, he is dizzy from the heat and the bathroom is filled with steam. He struggles into an overlarge robe and stumbles to the sink, dripping water in his wake. Using a dry washcloth, he wipes the mirror clean and peers at his reflection. With a shaky hand, he runs it through his hair. House is outside his door. Waiting for news that he hasn’t even officially told himself yet.
“You are going to die,” Wilson says to his image, trying the words on for size and having them spoken back to him. Mesmerized, he watches the man before him repeat the words. “You are going to die,” he says again. His heart hammers in his ears and he can’t take it anymore. Something inside him snaps and he turns and runs from the bathroom, the heat, fear, and nausea too much for him. “I am going to die…”
House looks up, startled as the bathroom door slams open.
“I am going to die!” Wilson screams, on the verge of hysteria.
The heart-wrenching yells spurs House to his feet and he limps over to his friend, not sure if Wilson even knows he is there. “James?” he says like one would to a scared child who has a dangerous weapon.
Wilson shakes, his eyes wide. He wants to focus, but—just—can’t. His body won’t let him. Is this what a mental breakdown feels like? He knows it is stupid, and tells himself such, his shaking hands clenching into shaking fists.
House drops his cane with a loud clatter and grabs Wilson by the robe, giving him a hard shake. “Look at me,” he demands. “You-are-not-going-to-die,” he emphasizes each word with a small shake.
Wilson finally blinks, trying to focus on the pale color of House’s shirt. He takes a breath, then another, trying to steady his frayed nerves. “I,” he tries to speak, but that is as much as he can force out of his shaking lips.
Who is holding who up is hard to tell as the moments pass. House finally releases his fingers from the soft cloth that had bunched up under his grip, and bends down to retrieve his discarded cane. “Are you going to fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle here for me?” he speaks in a calm voice that he isn’t sure belongs to himself.
The oncologist rubs a hand through his damp hair and over his eyes before stumbling over to sit on the couch, House following a few paces behind. “Remember our many conversations about irony?” Wilson says, thumb and forefinger rubbing his eyes, head tilted towards his lap. “This one takes the cake.” He sighs and looks at his friend, seeing him clearly for the first time since he went into the shower. “I have cancer. It—it’s bad. Liver. Shit,” he mumbles the last word, wondering where his tact had gone.
House watches with a feeling of detachment. The detachment had always helped him in the past from getting too close to his patients. But this wasn’t a patient. It was his friend. His only friend. A comforting gesture is needed here. A pat on a shoulder, an ‘I’m sorry.’ Anything. Instead, House switches to doctor mode before he could stop himself, by passing the comfort and wanting the facts. “How bad?”
“Stage 3.”
Enjoy :)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 05:30 am (UTC)<:3D~
no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 01:17 pm (UTC)Maybe next time I am feeling bored I shall stick up a thing or two there. I do tend to forget it's existance though :P
no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 11:15 pm (UTC)...When you started writing this fic I did not realize it was going to strike such a--oh gosh. Well, I'm glad you updated (do it more often, dammit). I sort of can't think of anything other to say then ".......", but good. Please go on.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-24 03:51 am (UTC)I will try to get another part up...sometime :P
Maybe next I should tease you with a fic I am writing where Wilson gives House a kitten :D
no subject
Date: 2005-08-24 02:58 pm (UTC)Never mind, it doesn't matter. The kitten fic must be shared with the world. I'll start a petition.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-24 08:02 pm (UTC)*hides ficcy behind back*
*Looks innocent*
Should I...should I....hmmm...
....
....Well...I think I am feeling a tad generous *evil grin*
*scurries off to LJ update thingy*
no subject
Date: 2006-01-13 06:12 pm (UTC)LOL... I thought of a lumbering Horse.. which but with 3 legs ;) Nice way to illustrate his movement.
Unsure, Wilson hesitates.
Is it wrong that I felt Wilson longing to have House 'help' him. I know, I know.. he is SICK.. but just a tinge.
House tosses the magazine back on the table and folds his hands behind his head. And worries.
*hugs House* simple line that really brings the emotion forward.
House looks up, startled as the bathroom door slams open.
“I am going to die!” Wilson screams, on the verge of hysteria.
*hugs Wilson* I like how you built this from a Whisper to a scream, that mirrored his realization. *you better fix him *glares**
The detachment had always helped him in the past from getting too close to his patients. But this wasn’t a patient. It was his friend. His only friend. A comforting gesture is needed here. A pat on a shoulder, an ‘I’m sorry.’ Anything. Instead, House switches to doctor mode before he could stop himself, by passing the comfort and wanting the facts. “How bad?”
GREAT.. This is nice how you work through House's struggle to be a friend, but the stress is too much and he goes someplace safe.
I am nervous 1 more chap - I hope Wilson is OK...
no subject
Date: 2006-01-13 09:45 pm (UTC)This is one of my fav. incomplete fics. I've written quite a bit on it, but, well, it just sucks. I put it down for a bit, and since then there have been like 5 other 'Wilson has cancer' stories, 2 written a Hell of a lot better than I can ever do.
Now you have me thinking about this. I DO have up to chapter 4 typed up...after I get the last 2 parts of The Present and a little side fic I am writing for a RL friend posted, I might try to work on this one a bit more.
Oh and *still sends jealous glares towards you*
no subject
Date: 2006-01-13 09:50 pm (UTC)You better make him get better and House can make him laugh.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-13 10:02 pm (UTC)I'll see what I can do about posting some more...eventually. No guarantees for what happens though *evil grin*
no subject
Date: 2006-01-13 10:07 pm (UTC)LOL - I totally get that - I had not 'published' anything on my big fic for 6 months... sometimes it is hard to find the path.
Maybe tomorrow the death glare will be off me :)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-13 10:51 pm (UTC)Hopefully. Takes a lot of energy keeping the DG 'pulsing' 24/7
Ya get a chance to see the extra scenes from that site?
no subject
Date: 2006-01-13 11:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-13 11:27 pm (UTC)http://www.peterweircave.com/dps/extras/index.html
no subject
Date: 2011-07-08 05:13 pm (UTC)