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sick_wilson2016-12-14 07:47 pm
mnstrtruckslash.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2016-12-14 07:47 pm
A Leg to Stand on Chapter Two
Title: A Leg to Stand On (Chapter Two of Three maybe Four)
Summary: I’ve been rewatching season 7 and cringing. So I changed things up a bit. Hose’s surgeon makes a logical decision and amputates. Wilson, still depressed over losing Sam (and House), is left to pick up the pieces. Without his right leg, House can’t drive a car. So no jail. Cuddy will probably still leave but I’m not sure. Right now it’s a close friendship piece but everything is leading up to slash. Oh, and I’m messing with the timeline. It’s mid October in this chapter.
Rating: PG for mild swearing and drug use but overall pretty mild. I might change it later.
Chapter One
“It took me a year to believe it was over.
It took me two more to get over the loss.
I took a beating when you wrote me those letters,
And every time I remembered the taste of your
lipgloss,” Steven Page and Ed Roberts
“Do you really give this garbage to people every day?” House asked, spitting a large, sticky gob of vomit into the emesis basin. A single, silky stand clung to his lip. Chemo hadn’t been easy for him. I patted Greg on the arm. “Do you have any clue what it feels like?”
“Yeah, a pretty good idea,” I replied. “Hence the additional pain meds you’re on.” He nodded. “Speaking of, how is your leg?”
“Probably not too good. It’s been in a landfill for the last two months. My stump, however, is no longer swollen. Surgical scars are healing. Minimal pain aside from phantom sensations, which are pretty rare.”
“If you tell me the next time it happens, I can give you a massage,” I told him.
“Why Jimmy!” He let let out a playful gasp.
“It’s a legitimate treatment for pain,” I exclaimed. Greg burped in my face. “Offer rescinded.”
“You’re too nice to let me suffer.”
“Are you done?” I asked, taking the basin to clean it. Greg got that annoying glint in his eyes.
“Actually, I wanna get a few more bites before you wrap that up.” We both laughed. “Tastes better than your crappy soup.”
“Anosmia is a serious symptom. If you’re telling the truth, we have to go to the hospital,” I called to him. Unlike everything else, life with House came so naturally. It was almost like the last year and a half had never happened..
“You know,” House started to say, then hiccuped loudly. “Sorry.” I raced into the den. “I swear I didn’t do this on purpose.” In my absence Greg had vomited all over himself.
“I know. You would have taken off your favorite t-shirt if it was intentional.” His sweaty face broke into a chapped smile. “I’ll help you into the tub.”
“Cold,” he whimpered. Greg’s eye started to tear up. “God, what is wrong with me? I’m not even upset. Why can’t I stop crying?”
“It’s because of your hormonal imbalance, which is a side effect of the chemo. And seriously, let’s get you cleaned up before the stain sets in and I have to get rid of the shirt. House ripped his shirt off and tossed it at me. “You are one nasty cripple.”
After his bath, Greg and I threw on some sweats. Things may have looked normal to an outsider but we were both still adjusting. Not to mention my depression over Sam. House slept on the king-sized mattress in his room. He probably could have managed alone and God knows I should have let him try.
I just couldn’t do it. I put a cot in the room and had been sleeping there since he moved back in. Between my anxieties, and his desperate desire for company, this was our best bet.
There was a massive snow storm that night. The temperature plummeted to negative 20 (Fahrenheit!) 40 mile an hour winds howled outside my window. Several feet of snow blanket the neighborhood.
I woke up just before midnight. All the lights and electronics were off. The streets pitch black. Dead. My skin was covered in goosepimples. Greg shivered: pretending to be asleep. I curled up tighter beneath my covers. If you’re not going to complain, neither should I, I thought.
“Wilson I can hear your teeth chattering from here,” he groaned. “Looks like the storm knocked out power to the whole city.”
“It’s really coming down. I doubt we’ll get it back before morning,” I explained, pointing out the window.
“Pretty cold myself,” he admitted. “We could try piling on the blankets. Or, we can keep each other warm. In my bed.”
“It’s late, House and I’m too tired to play whatever game this is,” I said with a sigh.
“I’m cold and exhausted. Just wanna sleep. Shut up and get in bed,” he ordered. I obeyed, cuddling up against him. “Are you really so lonely?” He yawned. “Cuddy and I were together almost a year. You and Sam only dated for, like, four months.”
“I am taking this too seriously. It’s not like she was the first person I ever loved, only to have her betray my trust and make it impossible for me to completely trust other people,” I mocked. “Oh wait, she did. TWICE.”
“You mean like Cuddy and me but without the ten years of working side by side while pining for her,” he snipped back.
“Yes, because your grieving method works so well,” I mocked.
“By the way, Wilson, your feet are freezing!”
“That goes double for you, which is particularly annoying since you have half as many toes as me.” A moment passed. I think we were both a little shocked. I hadn’t made fun of his leg since the surgery. House and I taunted each other over everything. It was (is) our thing. But I had been afraid of his reaction. I didn’t want to be the one to push him over the edge. Finally he chuckled.
“About time. Oh and we only need to be kind of close to stay warm. Spooning is overkill. If you’re this desperate, about half my socks are useless now. We can split them 50-50.”
“Shut up and go to bed!” I moaned. House nodded, closing his eyes. We soon fell asleep and before I knew it, morning had come.
Summary: I’ve been rewatching season 7 and cringing. So I changed things up a bit. Hose’s surgeon makes a logical decision and amputates. Wilson, still depressed over losing Sam (and House), is left to pick up the pieces. Without his right leg, House can’t drive a car. So no jail. Cuddy will probably still leave but I’m not sure. Right now it’s a close friendship piece but everything is leading up to slash. Oh, and I’m messing with the timeline. It’s mid October in this chapter.
Rating: PG for mild swearing and drug use but overall pretty mild. I might change it later.
Chapter One
“It took me a year to believe it was over.
It took me two more to get over the loss.
I took a beating when you wrote me those letters,
And every time I remembered the taste of your
lipgloss,” Steven Page and Ed Roberts
“Do you really give this garbage to people every day?” House asked, spitting a large, sticky gob of vomit into the emesis basin. A single, silky stand clung to his lip. Chemo hadn’t been easy for him. I patted Greg on the arm. “Do you have any clue what it feels like?”
“Yeah, a pretty good idea,” I replied. “Hence the additional pain meds you’re on.” He nodded. “Speaking of, how is your leg?”
“Probably not too good. It’s been in a landfill for the last two months. My stump, however, is no longer swollen. Surgical scars are healing. Minimal pain aside from phantom sensations, which are pretty rare.”
“If you tell me the next time it happens, I can give you a massage,” I told him.
“Why Jimmy!” He let let out a playful gasp.
“It’s a legitimate treatment for pain,” I exclaimed. Greg burped in my face. “Offer rescinded.”
“You’re too nice to let me suffer.”
“Are you done?” I asked, taking the basin to clean it. Greg got that annoying glint in his eyes.
“Actually, I wanna get a few more bites before you wrap that up.” We both laughed. “Tastes better than your crappy soup.”
“Anosmia is a serious symptom. If you’re telling the truth, we have to go to the hospital,” I called to him. Unlike everything else, life with House came so naturally. It was almost like the last year and a half had never happened..
“You know,” House started to say, then hiccuped loudly. “Sorry.” I raced into the den. “I swear I didn’t do this on purpose.” In my absence Greg had vomited all over himself.
“I know. You would have taken off your favorite t-shirt if it was intentional.” His sweaty face broke into a chapped smile. “I’ll help you into the tub.”
“Cold,” he whimpered. Greg’s eye started to tear up. “God, what is wrong with me? I’m not even upset. Why can’t I stop crying?”
“It’s because of your hormonal imbalance, which is a side effect of the chemo. And seriously, let’s get you cleaned up before the stain sets in and I have to get rid of the shirt. House ripped his shirt off and tossed it at me. “You are one nasty cripple.”
After his bath, Greg and I threw on some sweats. Things may have looked normal to an outsider but we were both still adjusting. Not to mention my depression over Sam. House slept on the king-sized mattress in his room. He probably could have managed alone and God knows I should have let him try.
I just couldn’t do it. I put a cot in the room and had been sleeping there since he moved back in. Between my anxieties, and his desperate desire for company, this was our best bet.
There was a massive snow storm that night. The temperature plummeted to negative 20 (Fahrenheit!) 40 mile an hour winds howled outside my window. Several feet of snow blanket the neighborhood.
I woke up just before midnight. All the lights and electronics were off. The streets pitch black. Dead. My skin was covered in goosepimples. Greg shivered: pretending to be asleep. I curled up tighter beneath my covers. If you’re not going to complain, neither should I, I thought.
“Wilson I can hear your teeth chattering from here,” he groaned. “Looks like the storm knocked out power to the whole city.”
“It’s really coming down. I doubt we’ll get it back before morning,” I explained, pointing out the window.
“Pretty cold myself,” he admitted. “We could try piling on the blankets. Or, we can keep each other warm. In my bed.”
“It’s late, House and I’m too tired to play whatever game this is,” I said with a sigh.
“I’m cold and exhausted. Just wanna sleep. Shut up and get in bed,” he ordered. I obeyed, cuddling up against him. “Are you really so lonely?” He yawned. “Cuddy and I were together almost a year. You and Sam only dated for, like, four months.”
“I am taking this too seriously. It’s not like she was the first person I ever loved, only to have her betray my trust and make it impossible for me to completely trust other people,” I mocked. “Oh wait, she did. TWICE.”
“You mean like Cuddy and me but without the ten years of working side by side while pining for her,” he snipped back.
“Yes, because your grieving method works so well,” I mocked.
“By the way, Wilson, your feet are freezing!”
“That goes double for you, which is particularly annoying since you have half as many toes as me.” A moment passed. I think we were both a little shocked. I hadn’t made fun of his leg since the surgery. House and I taunted each other over everything. It was (is) our thing. But I had been afraid of his reaction. I didn’t want to be the one to push him over the edge. Finally he chuckled.
“About time. Oh and we only need to be kind of close to stay warm. Spooning is overkill. If you’re this desperate, about half my socks are useless now. We can split them 50-50.”
“Shut up and go to bed!” I moaned. House nodded, closing his eyes. We soon fell asleep and before I knew it, morning had come.