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sick_wilson2011-03-31 10:52 pm
all-things413.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2011-03-31 10:52 pm
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Recovering Faith, Ch3
Author's note: Hey y'all, mmorgan317 is having LJ internet problems, so I'm going to be posting the next chapters for Recovering Faith until farther notice. Enjoy chapter three.
Chapter 3:
They boys sat on House’s couch Friday evening enjoying a cold beer while watching Emeril Live per Wilson’s request. House had grumbled about Wilson’s choice but in all honesty, he didn’t mind watching the show – he enjoyed laughing at the guy.
It was the night before the move and the only things that weren’t packed were the TV, Cable box and bed linens. They’d ordered take out since their dishes and pantry goods were already packed and in truth neither of them felt like cooking.
House sat on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table while Wilson lay on his side, curled up against the diagnostician’s side with his foot on a throw pillow and a toweled bag of frozen peas on top.
As it turned out, it was harder to keep Wilson off his feet than House had originally thought and today was only the first day. He inwardly groaned when he realized jut how hard tomorrow was going to be. Thankfully they’d hired movers but Wilson was an OCD Micromanager so trying to keep him sitting while instructing the movers where to put everything was going to be a chore House didn’t know if he was up for.
Getting Wilson to the hospital this morning for work had been difficult. Wilson could barely put weight on his foot but House didn’t have an extra cane or crutches to help so he’d been left with trying anyways. House had managed to talk the oncologist into staying in the car while he went and grabbed some crutches but barely.
Unfortunately while on his way to get said crutches, House had run into Cuddy and was bombarded by several accusing questions. He understood her suspicion and it was only his telling her that this was his father’s fault then actually allowing her to see the anger he felt at the whole thing that she finally relented, allowing him to get the instruments to a very anxious Wilson.
Both Cuddy and House had insisted that Wilson allow them to perform an X-Ray and MRI to make sure that House’s diagnosis was in fact correct and that it was just a badly bruised bone. The tests had taken no more than an hour but being kept from doing his job had done nothing but annoyed the injured man leading to him shutting himself in his office for the rest of the day, emerging only to do whatever patient rounds that wouldn’t allow his assistant to do.
Normally Wilson liked doing the patient rounds. Often it was his favorite part of the day except on busy days. While the days were often busy, Wilson tried to make sure he saw all of his patients that were currently in-hospital. On the days when he couldn’t, the oncologist was grateful that he could count on Sascha to cover for him. She’d developed a working relationship with many of them so they didn’t mind seeing her on occasions however there were a few that would only see Wilson. Of course, they’d felt bad that they made the pained man come down to see them once they’d actually saw the oncologist but he’d managed to brush off their concern and focus on his patient’s needs with practiced ease.
By the end of the day Wilson was exhausted from the extra exercise of crutching himself around the hospital and keeping his temper, which had grown the more the day had stretched on, in check. His foot throbbed in angry annoyance and his arm wasn’t too happy about being used as much as it had been either.
When he and House arrived at home, Wilson collapsed on the couch sprawling out over it until his friend grumbled for him to sit up so he could join. Before House joined him however, he grabbed the frozen peas then the throw pillow that was on the couch to carefully place them over and under Wilson’s foot. With the exception of getting up to get dinner and the beer, neither House nor Wilson had moved since.
The phone rang, interrupting one of Emeril’s well-known ‘Bam’s. House grabbed his cell phone, which lay on the armchair of the couch, then checked the caller ID before answering, “Hi Mom.”
Wilson’s ears perked up in curiosity but he tried to act like his attention was still focused on the TV. He wondered why House’s mother was calling so soon seeing as they had lonely left yesterday. The oncologist resigned himself to not finding out unless his friend wanted him to know.
House was just as interested by the phone call as Wilson was but, whereas Wilson’s curiosity was out of sheer inquisitiveness, House’s was wary of the true reason. His mother had never been one to call this much knowing her son wasn’t that desperate to speak to her so when she called after only departing House’s company twenty-four hours before, the diagnostician was on full alert.
“Hi Greg.” Blythe greeted her son cheerily. “How’s James?”
House’s head cocked to the right slightly, “He’s fine.” Why? He asked silently.
“Really? I thought I noticed him limping yesterday evening.” Blythe answered in a ‘Really, are you sure?’ kind of voice.
Shit! House didn’t know how to respond to that. His mother was a human lie detector and could sniff out a lie from hundreds, maybe even thousands of miles away when it came to her son. He knew he couldn’t lie to her but he really didn’t want to tell her the truth unless she already knew.
“I had an interesting conversation with your father last night,” she prompted, her voice becoming tight and restrained when she said ‘interesting’.
“Okay,” House started waiting for her to finish.
“He told me about the conversation he’d had with James and given how tight-lipped you’re being you know what I’m talking about.” She informed.
“It wasn’t a conversation, it was a threat.” House growled, surprising both his mother and Wilson with how angry he sounded.
Though she knew he couldn’t see it, Blythe nodded. It was one of the few things Gregory had gotten from her – the compulsory urge to nod rather than acknowledge something. “Yes, I’m sorry about that. I would have asked him to help me rather than you if I’d known.”
“No you wouldn’t.” House answered with out maliciousness, “You were trying to get Dad and I away from each other like normal. You didn’t know what he’d do when we left.” But I did – a voice in his head supplied.
Blythe heard the unsaid comment crystal clear and her heart ached for her son. She knew that John wasn’t exactly the easiest man to get along with, especially if you were his son and growing up with him, but she didn’t know exactly what all went on in her home. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. “Is James alright?” She asked again knowing that a change in subject was in order.
House paused before he answered. Though it hadn’t come through the phone at all, he could hear the pleading tone in her question almost begging him to tell her that no damage had been done to his friend. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that. Sure there was no permanent damage done to Wilson but there was still damage. House wasn’t foolish enough to consider pain and job hindrances nothing not to mention the potential harm it could have had on Wilson’s psyche or the still precarious trust they were building together.
“He’ll be fine. Four weeks on crutches and he’ll be good as new.” House quipped trying to keep his tone light.
Wilson’s attention was automatically drawn from the TV by House’s admission. Sure the statement had made it sound like he really was fine but Wilson knew that if he could hear the tone of concern and anger in his friend’s voice, Blythe certainly could too. He continued listening, this time not bothering to hide that he was eavesdropping. House shifted the phone to his other ear to make listening in easier on Wilson.
“Four weeks? But I thought John had twisted his arm, why does James need crutches and won’t they be hard on his arm?” Blythe questioned, concerned. Obviously her husband didn’t tell her everything which she will be having a conversation with him about when she’s done.
“Apparently Dad left out the part where Wilson had been holding on to a very heavy marble cutting board at the time which landed hard on his foot.” House snarked into the phone while growing steadily more angry at his mother’s naïveté and his father altogether.
Blythe gasped in surprise and her cheeks blushed crimson with shame and anger. “Is he alright?” She asked again, reminding herself of a broken record.
“He bruised the cuneiform and metatarsal bones in his foot pretty badly but otherwise yes.” House answered, slowly starting to squirm with the directness of this conversation. His mother already knew more than any of his team did and the pair considered them family more than their own parents.
“I’m so sorry Greg. Please tell James that too.” She requested as a mixture of emotions toyed with her heart like a cat with a mouse.
She felt sympathy and pity for James Wilson – he didn’t deserve the pain he was in and it was her husband’s (and essentially hers as well) fault. She was angry at her husband for trying so damn hard to break something up when it was so obviously good for her son. She was even angrier at him for merely using words on Gregory while he actually used force on his boyfriend. Not that she wants him to use force on another human being but if he’s going to do it she’s sure that Gregory would prefer it be used on him rather than his friend.
“How’s his arm?” She asked praying that John hadn’t done any more damage.
“Just bruised, it’ll be fine in a couple more days.” House answered lightly.
While he wasn’t comfortable with the entire conversation either Wilson put a soothing hand on his friend’s thigh and lightly massaged it, hoping to provide a sense of support. He was shocked that Blythe was calling about THIS of all things. He could hear the worry, concern and sympathy in her voice and it made his stomach churn acidly.
Not only did he not want it, some small, beaten voice in his head whispered that he didn’t deserve it. The voice that had slowly grown stronger and silenced the other voice quickly argued that while, logically, it may be not be true that he didn’t deserve it he certainly didn’t need it. Sure he didn’t deserve John House’s aggression towards him just because he was with the man’s son but he wasn’t about to whimper, complain or hide because he got it either.
“Well, that’s good at least.” Blythe answered sounding genuinely relieved. “Anyways, I just wanted to call and check on James. I’ll leave you two alone. I have a conversation to have with your father anyways.”
House visibly shivered at the icy tone in his mother’s voice. In all honesty he was impressed that his mother was starting to grow a backbone and his heart swelled with pride when he realized that it was because of what his father had done to Wilson.
While his father had never physically left a mark on House while he was growing up, the diagnostician was very familiar with his brand of punishment and it wasn’t something that Child Services would approve of let alone a mother. Yet his mother had always turned a blind eye, pretending that everything in her home was fine and picture perfect.
It saddened him a little to realize that the feeling of, one can only assume, protectiveness that his mother was currently feeling hadn’t been inspired or felt for her son but her son’s friend. True, it was hard NOT to feel protective of Wilson once you met him and it was hard TO feel protective of House but still, somewhere in him a voice whispered that it should have been felt before he grew up.
“Good bye mom.” House told her while he relaxed a little under Wilson’s expert hands.
“Good night Gregory and tell James that I’m so sorry and Happy Thanksgiving.” She responded politely yet genuinely before hanging up.
“Well, that was interesting.” House commented knowing that Wilson had heard the entire thing.
“Yeah,” Wilson conceded with a shrug. He really didn’t know what to make of the whole thing so he expertly changed the subject. “We should go to bed. The movers are coming early tomorrow.”
Stiffly Wilson sat up on the couch, his middle-aged body reminding him to start gently stretching before expecting it to make sudden moves, and removed the now lightly chilled bag of peas from his foot. The swelling had gone down and it was numb but Wilson knew it wouldn’t last. Unfortunately for anybody who has had one, bone bruises took awhile to heal and were quite painful.
“How’s your foot?” House asked with a nod in that direction.
“It’s fine.” Wilson answered as he stood up and limped off into the kitchen carrying the bag of peas in one hand and some of the empty take-out containers in the other.
House scoffed, “In other words, it hurts but since it’s numb it feels fine for right now.” He cast a glance toward his friend who was now making his way back into the living room. “You’re supposed to be using crutches.” He scolded.
“I know but I could’ve very well clean up and crutch around at the same time now could I?” Wilson asked a little petulantly.
“You aren’t going to be cleaning up. Sit down while I do it.” House commanded as he gently pulled Wilson back down onto the couch. Okay, so he actually landed on House’s lap and amazingly managed to avoid putting pressure on the older man’s ruined thigh but that’s exactly where House wanted him.
The diagnostician leaned down giving his lover a deep, breathtaking kiss. Wilson managed to lean into it even more, still keeping weight of House’s thigh, and opened his mouth to give the scruffy doctor’s tongue access.
They played tongue wrestling for awhile but both men eventually needed to breathe which ended the session. House slid out from under the oncologist and continued what Wilson started with cleaning up.
Once the take out containers were in the trash, the beer bottles in the recycling and the coffee table cleaned, the boys went to bed trying to prepare themselves for the busy day they had ahead of them.
To Be Continued...
Here's Ch1: http://mmorgan317.livejournal.com/16003.html
Here's Ch2: http://mmorgan317.livejournal.com/16628.html
Chapter 3:
They boys sat on House’s couch Friday evening enjoying a cold beer while watching Emeril Live per Wilson’s request. House had grumbled about Wilson’s choice but in all honesty, he didn’t mind watching the show – he enjoyed laughing at the guy.
It was the night before the move and the only things that weren’t packed were the TV, Cable box and bed linens. They’d ordered take out since their dishes and pantry goods were already packed and in truth neither of them felt like cooking.
House sat on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table while Wilson lay on his side, curled up against the diagnostician’s side with his foot on a throw pillow and a toweled bag of frozen peas on top.
As it turned out, it was harder to keep Wilson off his feet than House had originally thought and today was only the first day. He inwardly groaned when he realized jut how hard tomorrow was going to be. Thankfully they’d hired movers but Wilson was an OCD Micromanager so trying to keep him sitting while instructing the movers where to put everything was going to be a chore House didn’t know if he was up for.
Getting Wilson to the hospital this morning for work had been difficult. Wilson could barely put weight on his foot but House didn’t have an extra cane or crutches to help so he’d been left with trying anyways. House had managed to talk the oncologist into staying in the car while he went and grabbed some crutches but barely.
Unfortunately while on his way to get said crutches, House had run into Cuddy and was bombarded by several accusing questions. He understood her suspicion and it was only his telling her that this was his father’s fault then actually allowing her to see the anger he felt at the whole thing that she finally relented, allowing him to get the instruments to a very anxious Wilson.
Both Cuddy and House had insisted that Wilson allow them to perform an X-Ray and MRI to make sure that House’s diagnosis was in fact correct and that it was just a badly bruised bone. The tests had taken no more than an hour but being kept from doing his job had done nothing but annoyed the injured man leading to him shutting himself in his office for the rest of the day, emerging only to do whatever patient rounds that wouldn’t allow his assistant to do.
Normally Wilson liked doing the patient rounds. Often it was his favorite part of the day except on busy days. While the days were often busy, Wilson tried to make sure he saw all of his patients that were currently in-hospital. On the days when he couldn’t, the oncologist was grateful that he could count on Sascha to cover for him. She’d developed a working relationship with many of them so they didn’t mind seeing her on occasions however there were a few that would only see Wilson. Of course, they’d felt bad that they made the pained man come down to see them once they’d actually saw the oncologist but he’d managed to brush off their concern and focus on his patient’s needs with practiced ease.
By the end of the day Wilson was exhausted from the extra exercise of crutching himself around the hospital and keeping his temper, which had grown the more the day had stretched on, in check. His foot throbbed in angry annoyance and his arm wasn’t too happy about being used as much as it had been either.
When he and House arrived at home, Wilson collapsed on the couch sprawling out over it until his friend grumbled for him to sit up so he could join. Before House joined him however, he grabbed the frozen peas then the throw pillow that was on the couch to carefully place them over and under Wilson’s foot. With the exception of getting up to get dinner and the beer, neither House nor Wilson had moved since.
The phone rang, interrupting one of Emeril’s well-known ‘Bam’s. House grabbed his cell phone, which lay on the armchair of the couch, then checked the caller ID before answering, “Hi Mom.”
Wilson’s ears perked up in curiosity but he tried to act like his attention was still focused on the TV. He wondered why House’s mother was calling so soon seeing as they had lonely left yesterday. The oncologist resigned himself to not finding out unless his friend wanted him to know.
House was just as interested by the phone call as Wilson was but, whereas Wilson’s curiosity was out of sheer inquisitiveness, House’s was wary of the true reason. His mother had never been one to call this much knowing her son wasn’t that desperate to speak to her so when she called after only departing House’s company twenty-four hours before, the diagnostician was on full alert.
“Hi Greg.” Blythe greeted her son cheerily. “How’s James?”
House’s head cocked to the right slightly, “He’s fine.” Why? He asked silently.
“Really? I thought I noticed him limping yesterday evening.” Blythe answered in a ‘Really, are you sure?’ kind of voice.
Shit! House didn’t know how to respond to that. His mother was a human lie detector and could sniff out a lie from hundreds, maybe even thousands of miles away when it came to her son. He knew he couldn’t lie to her but he really didn’t want to tell her the truth unless she already knew.
“I had an interesting conversation with your father last night,” she prompted, her voice becoming tight and restrained when she said ‘interesting’.
“Okay,” House started waiting for her to finish.
“He told me about the conversation he’d had with James and given how tight-lipped you’re being you know what I’m talking about.” She informed.
“It wasn’t a conversation, it was a threat.” House growled, surprising both his mother and Wilson with how angry he sounded.
Though she knew he couldn’t see it, Blythe nodded. It was one of the few things Gregory had gotten from her – the compulsory urge to nod rather than acknowledge something. “Yes, I’m sorry about that. I would have asked him to help me rather than you if I’d known.”
“No you wouldn’t.” House answered with out maliciousness, “You were trying to get Dad and I away from each other like normal. You didn’t know what he’d do when we left.” But I did – a voice in his head supplied.
Blythe heard the unsaid comment crystal clear and her heart ached for her son. She knew that John wasn’t exactly the easiest man to get along with, especially if you were his son and growing up with him, but she didn’t know exactly what all went on in her home. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. “Is James alright?” She asked again knowing that a change in subject was in order.
House paused before he answered. Though it hadn’t come through the phone at all, he could hear the pleading tone in her question almost begging him to tell her that no damage had been done to his friend. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that. Sure there was no permanent damage done to Wilson but there was still damage. House wasn’t foolish enough to consider pain and job hindrances nothing not to mention the potential harm it could have had on Wilson’s psyche or the still precarious trust they were building together.
“He’ll be fine. Four weeks on crutches and he’ll be good as new.” House quipped trying to keep his tone light.
Wilson’s attention was automatically drawn from the TV by House’s admission. Sure the statement had made it sound like he really was fine but Wilson knew that if he could hear the tone of concern and anger in his friend’s voice, Blythe certainly could too. He continued listening, this time not bothering to hide that he was eavesdropping. House shifted the phone to his other ear to make listening in easier on Wilson.
“Four weeks? But I thought John had twisted his arm, why does James need crutches and won’t they be hard on his arm?” Blythe questioned, concerned. Obviously her husband didn’t tell her everything which she will be having a conversation with him about when she’s done.
“Apparently Dad left out the part where Wilson had been holding on to a very heavy marble cutting board at the time which landed hard on his foot.” House snarked into the phone while growing steadily more angry at his mother’s naïveté and his father altogether.
Blythe gasped in surprise and her cheeks blushed crimson with shame and anger. “Is he alright?” She asked again, reminding herself of a broken record.
“He bruised the cuneiform and metatarsal bones in his foot pretty badly but otherwise yes.” House answered, slowly starting to squirm with the directness of this conversation. His mother already knew more than any of his team did and the pair considered them family more than their own parents.
“I’m so sorry Greg. Please tell James that too.” She requested as a mixture of emotions toyed with her heart like a cat with a mouse.
She felt sympathy and pity for James Wilson – he didn’t deserve the pain he was in and it was her husband’s (and essentially hers as well) fault. She was angry at her husband for trying so damn hard to break something up when it was so obviously good for her son. She was even angrier at him for merely using words on Gregory while he actually used force on his boyfriend. Not that she wants him to use force on another human being but if he’s going to do it she’s sure that Gregory would prefer it be used on him rather than his friend.
“How’s his arm?” She asked praying that John hadn’t done any more damage.
“Just bruised, it’ll be fine in a couple more days.” House answered lightly.
While he wasn’t comfortable with the entire conversation either Wilson put a soothing hand on his friend’s thigh and lightly massaged it, hoping to provide a sense of support. He was shocked that Blythe was calling about THIS of all things. He could hear the worry, concern and sympathy in her voice and it made his stomach churn acidly.
Not only did he not want it, some small, beaten voice in his head whispered that he didn’t deserve it. The voice that had slowly grown stronger and silenced the other voice quickly argued that while, logically, it may be not be true that he didn’t deserve it he certainly didn’t need it. Sure he didn’t deserve John House’s aggression towards him just because he was with the man’s son but he wasn’t about to whimper, complain or hide because he got it either.
“Well, that’s good at least.” Blythe answered sounding genuinely relieved. “Anyways, I just wanted to call and check on James. I’ll leave you two alone. I have a conversation to have with your father anyways.”
House visibly shivered at the icy tone in his mother’s voice. In all honesty he was impressed that his mother was starting to grow a backbone and his heart swelled with pride when he realized that it was because of what his father had done to Wilson.
While his father had never physically left a mark on House while he was growing up, the diagnostician was very familiar with his brand of punishment and it wasn’t something that Child Services would approve of let alone a mother. Yet his mother had always turned a blind eye, pretending that everything in her home was fine and picture perfect.
It saddened him a little to realize that the feeling of, one can only assume, protectiveness that his mother was currently feeling hadn’t been inspired or felt for her son but her son’s friend. True, it was hard NOT to feel protective of Wilson once you met him and it was hard TO feel protective of House but still, somewhere in him a voice whispered that it should have been felt before he grew up.
“Good bye mom.” House told her while he relaxed a little under Wilson’s expert hands.
“Good night Gregory and tell James that I’m so sorry and Happy Thanksgiving.” She responded politely yet genuinely before hanging up.
“Well, that was interesting.” House commented knowing that Wilson had heard the entire thing.
“Yeah,” Wilson conceded with a shrug. He really didn’t know what to make of the whole thing so he expertly changed the subject. “We should go to bed. The movers are coming early tomorrow.”
Stiffly Wilson sat up on the couch, his middle-aged body reminding him to start gently stretching before expecting it to make sudden moves, and removed the now lightly chilled bag of peas from his foot. The swelling had gone down and it was numb but Wilson knew it wouldn’t last. Unfortunately for anybody who has had one, bone bruises took awhile to heal and were quite painful.
“How’s your foot?” House asked with a nod in that direction.
“It’s fine.” Wilson answered as he stood up and limped off into the kitchen carrying the bag of peas in one hand and some of the empty take-out containers in the other.
House scoffed, “In other words, it hurts but since it’s numb it feels fine for right now.” He cast a glance toward his friend who was now making his way back into the living room. “You’re supposed to be using crutches.” He scolded.
“I know but I could’ve very well clean up and crutch around at the same time now could I?” Wilson asked a little petulantly.
“You aren’t going to be cleaning up. Sit down while I do it.” House commanded as he gently pulled Wilson back down onto the couch. Okay, so he actually landed on House’s lap and amazingly managed to avoid putting pressure on the older man’s ruined thigh but that’s exactly where House wanted him.
The diagnostician leaned down giving his lover a deep, breathtaking kiss. Wilson managed to lean into it even more, still keeping weight of House’s thigh, and opened his mouth to give the scruffy doctor’s tongue access.
They played tongue wrestling for awhile but both men eventually needed to breathe which ended the session. House slid out from under the oncologist and continued what Wilson started with cleaning up.
Once the take out containers were in the trash, the beer bottles in the recycling and the coffee table cleaned, the boys went to bed trying to prepare themselves for the busy day they had ahead of them.
To Be Continued...
Here's Ch1: http://mmorgan317.livejournal.com/16003.html
Here's Ch2: http://mmorgan317.livejournal.com/16628.html