ext_46076 (
knitty-woman.livejournal.com) wrote in
sick_wilson2012-06-13 05:25 pm
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
Entry tags:
Fic: Positive (H/W friendship)
Fic: Positive
Genre: Gen, H/W friendship, with implied m/m sex (no slash).
Author:
knitty_woman
Rating: PG-13, for language and adult situations.
Summary: Wilson's sick. House finds out. Angst.
Words: Under 600
Disclaimers: This is a transformative work based on characters created by David Shore and others. No monetary profit is intended or sought.
A/N: Many thanks to
blackmare, who read my first draft on the heels of her terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day and nonetheless made generous, helpful comments. It's expanded, and hopefully improved, since then. Thanks also to
damigella for some useful suggestions. Any flaws, of course, remain my own.
Inspired by the Six Word Stories challenge for this year's Camp Sick Wilson. My story has many words, but only six per line.
Positive. Wilson's never appreciated the irony.
“HIV's no longer a death sentence.”
The counselor urges a support network.
Wilson considers. Telling House isn't....advisable.
He joins a gym, researches treatments.
Takes meds, goes back on antidepressants.
Poker, porn, no beer (“Zoloft, remember?”)
No unscheduled exams or stealth bloodlettings.
House seems oblivious; Wilson is relieved.
He's gotten good at keeping secrets.
One night, gaze averted, House asks.
“When were you gonna tell me?”
“House, what part of 'medical privacy'...”
“About the gay sex, you moron!”
Wilson stops breathing, closes his eyes.
This is the conversation he's dreaded.
He stands, paces nervously. “I'm not...”
“The facts weren't hard to find.
Your calendar says 'M,' not 'Michael'.
Credit charges from a certain bookstore.
Bars I've never had the pleasure...”
“Congratulations. You've outed me. Happy now?”
“Happier if you'd told me yourself.”
House chuckles darkly. “You're a coward.”
Wilson twists. “You wouldn't be? Asshole.”
“I'm not afraid of the truth.”
“And what truth would that be?"
House stands now, exasperated. “Our truth.”
Wilson squints, tilts his head, puzzled.
“I don't swing your way, Wilson....”
Wilson rolls his eyes. “God forbid.”
“...so you're afraid I'll leave. Idiot.
You've always been a fucking cliché.
You have terrible taste in women.
Men can only be an improvement.
And AIDS is so last century.
Your diagnosis is boring. You aren't.”
Wilson's gapes, hands and voice raised.
“I'm glad my--situation-- amuses you!
And what happens when it doesn't?
When—not if – I get sicker?
When I'm dying? When I'm—boring?
And what if people think you're --
You'll go....” He gestures, words failing.
House sighs heavily, his cane tapping.
“Just because you're gay now, Wilson,..”
And it begins, thinks Wilson wearily.
“...doesn't mean things will be different.
You'll do stupid things, I'll mock.
You'll keep secrets, I'll uncover them.
You'll nag me, I'll ignore you.
We'll hang out, watch TIVO, bitch.
People don't change. We won't change.”
Wilson sighs, angry still, but thawing.
“At least your arrogance hasn't changed.
Got any more words of wisdom?”
House looks thoughtful, pulls his lip.
“If the condom's split, you must....shit.”
Wilson can't help himself. He laughs.
“That was pathetic. You're slipping, House.”
House smirks. Mission accomplished, however clumsily.
His cane gently taps Wilson's shin.
“Bros before bros. Deal with it.”
Wilson's tempted. 'Not dealing' hasn't worked.
He's exchanged one closet for another.
He's been lonely. Not any more.
His eyes grow moist. “House, I...”
House grimaces. “Please don't cry. Ever.
We're not the kids from 'Glee'.”
Wilson grins. He's in familiar territory.
Then he remembers. He sobers, pensive.
“There's no cure for HIV, House.
I'm fine now, but some day?
I'll need meds, probably palliative care.
I'll need...you, for however long.”
House's head dips, and he exhales.
"You know the disease is manageable.
You'll probably live longer than me."
A long silence. “My clock's ticking.
But mi vida es su vida.”
Wilson breathes, hopeful. “Are you sure?”
House looks up, eyes steady. “Positive.”
Genre: Gen, H/W friendship, with implied m/m sex (no slash).
Author:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Rating: PG-13, for language and adult situations.
Summary: Wilson's sick. House finds out. Angst.
Words: Under 600
Disclaimers: This is a transformative work based on characters created by David Shore and others. No monetary profit is intended or sought.
A/N: Many thanks to
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Inspired by the Six Word Stories challenge for this year's Camp Sick Wilson. My story has many words, but only six per line.
Positive. Wilson's never appreciated the irony.
“HIV's no longer a death sentence.”
The counselor urges a support network.
Wilson considers. Telling House isn't....advisable.
He joins a gym, researches treatments.
Takes meds, goes back on antidepressants.
Poker, porn, no beer (“Zoloft, remember?”)
No unscheduled exams or stealth bloodlettings.
House seems oblivious; Wilson is relieved.
He's gotten good at keeping secrets.
One night, gaze averted, House asks.
“When were you gonna tell me?”
“House, what part of 'medical privacy'...”
“About the gay sex, you moron!”
Wilson stops breathing, closes his eyes.
This is the conversation he's dreaded.
He stands, paces nervously. “I'm not...”
“The facts weren't hard to find.
Your calendar says 'M,' not 'Michael'.
Credit charges from a certain bookstore.
Bars I've never had the pleasure...”
“Congratulations. You've outed me. Happy now?”
“Happier if you'd told me yourself.”
House chuckles darkly. “You're a coward.”
Wilson twists. “You wouldn't be? Asshole.”
“I'm not afraid of the truth.”
“And what truth would that be?"
House stands now, exasperated. “Our truth.”
Wilson squints, tilts his head, puzzled.
“I don't swing your way, Wilson....”
Wilson rolls his eyes. “God forbid.”
“...so you're afraid I'll leave. Idiot.
You've always been a fucking cliché.
You have terrible taste in women.
Men can only be an improvement.
And AIDS is so last century.
Your diagnosis is boring. You aren't.”
Wilson's gapes, hands and voice raised.
“I'm glad my--situation-- amuses you!
And what happens when it doesn't?
When—not if – I get sicker?
When I'm dying? When I'm—boring?
And what if people think you're --
You'll go....” He gestures, words failing.
House sighs heavily, his cane tapping.
“Just because you're gay now, Wilson,..”
And it begins, thinks Wilson wearily.
“...doesn't mean things will be different.
You'll do stupid things, I'll mock.
You'll keep secrets, I'll uncover them.
You'll nag me, I'll ignore you.
We'll hang out, watch TIVO, bitch.
People don't change. We won't change.”
Wilson sighs, angry still, but thawing.
“At least your arrogance hasn't changed.
Got any more words of wisdom?”
House looks thoughtful, pulls his lip.
“If the condom's split, you must....shit.”
Wilson can't help himself. He laughs.
“That was pathetic. You're slipping, House.”
House smirks. Mission accomplished, however clumsily.
His cane gently taps Wilson's shin.
“Bros before bros. Deal with it.”
Wilson's tempted. 'Not dealing' hasn't worked.
He's exchanged one closet for another.
He's been lonely. Not any more.
His eyes grow moist. “House, I...”
House grimaces. “Please don't cry. Ever.
We're not the kids from 'Glee'.”
Wilson grins. He's in familiar territory.
Then he remembers. He sobers, pensive.
“There's no cure for HIV, House.
I'm fine now, but some day?
I'll need meds, probably palliative care.
I'll need...you, for however long.”
House's head dips, and he exhales.
"You know the disease is manageable.
You'll probably live longer than me."
A long silence. “My clock's ticking.
But mi vida es su vida.”
Wilson breathes, hopeful. “Are you sure?”
House looks up, eyes steady. “Positive.”
no subject
no subject
no subject
Brava!
no subject
Thank you again for commenting!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Thank you so much - I am humbled by the comments here from such fine writers, like you.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
“Bros before bros. Deal with it.”
Loved that line!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject