Rational Principle Part IX

[geelady.livejournal.com]

Rational Principle

 

Part VIII

 

By G. Waldo (formerly GeeLady)

 

Rating: NC-17 Adult.

 

 

Summary: WARNING! AU. Mentions of SLAVERY.  This story will eventually be H/W, also. Senator/Doctor James Wilson owns House - who is an unfortunate member of the Worker Caste. Violence, politic-speak, adult situations, language, and maybe a few other things I'm not sure about yet.

 

Disclaimer: Not mine...blah, blah, blah - though a fantasy never hurt anyone.

 

This story is in response to a Plot Bunny prompt by LUMI. I bow humbly before you! Thank you for the excellent idea. I hope the resulting fic' meets with your approval.

 

 

KEEP in mind this is the regular New Jersey that changes harshly. Unlike as in Gone With the World, where cannon normal becomes abnormal, in this AU, House and Wilson are born into a non-cannon AU, and then it changes. Hmmm, not sure that makes sense.

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

“We’re going to need lab equipment you know.” House reminded him as he parked the limo into its cozy, extra-long three car garage.

 

“I know. I have a work-shop.”

 

“A work-shop?” Greg asked him as he turned off the engine. “You have a work-shop lab?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So if you show me this lab, in it I’ll find a DNA Sequencer?”

 

“Correct.”

 

“And an incubator?”

 

“Um huh.”

 

“A Rocker? A Hemacytometer? Refractometer ? An eight-key Differential Counter?”

 

“I’m a senator.”

 

“Spoken like a true pork barrel pig.” Greg did not open the door for his employer, an extra stipulation he had made when agreeing to the job. He only opened the door for him when they were out in public, and then only if he wasn’t mad at his boss-lover.

 

Wilson opened his own door and climbed out.

 

“Why haven’t I seen this lab’?” Greg asked. “I’m sure I’ve snooped through every corner of this mausoleum”

 

“That’s because it’s in my basement behind a secured door which is behind a bookshelf.”

 

“What’r you trying to be – a secret agent?”

 

“No.” Wilson didn’t know if he should tell Greg the real reason or not. He wasn’t in the mood for a socio-philosophical discussion. “I set it up for Reggie, so he could run lab tests on aban – on workers. The regular hospitals won’t use their resources unless the worker is in an adoptive state.”

 

“What a nice country you’ve set up, senator.”

 

Greg often resorted to the political moniker whenever he found himself in profound disagreement with the workings of Wilson’s political office, which was almost always. But even he didn’t seem in the mood for an argument and, much to Wilson’s relief, dropped it at that. Greg was clearly more anxious to get to work before the samples degraded than to exchange heated words. “Show me the way, doc’.”

 

 

 

After several hours, and then days, waiting for results, all that was left was to wait for the cultures to mature. The “days” part, Wilson knew well enough. Diagnostics was not a one night only performance.

 

“Anything?” Wilson asked after a haggard Greg abandoned his efforts at the laboratory work, appearing in the kitchen for a well earned lunch and coffee. A late Sunday afternoon meal of vegetable soup and sandwiches. Greg had been at it since Thursday night.

 

Greg shook his head and nibbled unenthusiastically at the mock chicken sandwich. “Nothing conclusive.”

 

That was disappointing. “No idea at all?”

 

“I need her family medical history. I need to talk to her.”

 

“No chance in hell.”

 

“Then I need you to talk to her, in detail. You were just in her hospital room on Thursday, why didn’t you talk to her then?”

 

“I was busy stealing her body parts for you. Thank god she didn’t wake up.”

 

“Well go back and, this time, talk too.”

 

“I’m not her physician.”

 

“Have you even tried? Maybe she hates her regular doctor. Maybe you could arrange for her to hate him and hire you?”

 

Wilson sipped his soup, shaking his head. “And how, I am afraid to ask, in the hell am I supposed to do that?”

 

“Forge a prescription in her doctor’s name for something that has an unpleasant side-effect – only temporarily of course.”

 

“Right,” Wilson nodded, pretending to take the idea seriously for a moment, “I could break into his office – which is in the White House – break into his desk, practise signing his name until perfected, write President Osuna a weeks’ ‘script for Vanadyl Sulfate, while evading a small army of heavily armed Security. Oh! – and then sit back and wait for the president to run into my waiting, welcoming arms. Brilliant!” Wilson threw Greg a long look of irritation. “All that will do is get an innocent doctor fired and me arrested. The president will have a green tongue, and I’ll be in jail.”

 

“So I’m not a detail man.” House pushed his bowl away. “Let’s hear your bright idea.”

 

Wilson thought about it. He hadn’t actually taken Osuna up on her invitation to tea. He still felt bad about that, and she had reminded him more than once. Maybe now was the right time? “I’ll go have a cup of tea with her.”

 

Greg looked at him like he was kidding. “She’s in the hospital.”

 

“I’ll call her assistant to find out when she’s going home, and we’ll have tea.”

 

“Fine. While you’re at it, I need another sample of her urine. Fresh, this time.” Before Wilson could protest on just how, Greg added “Figure it out. Distract her after she takes a pee or something.”

 

“Or something. So in other words, try to get it from the toilet. What about contaminants?”

 

“It’s all we got.”

 

“What if she doesn’t go pee while I’m there.”

 

“She’s getting old, she’ll go pee.”

 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“How do you know she’ll invite you to tea? How well do you know the president anyway?”

 

“Well enough to steal body parts it would seem. So well enough to drink tea with her, I guess.”

 

“You’re a weird guy, Wilson.”

 

 

President Osuna was delighted with her favourite senator’s idea of tea. “I’m delighted that, finally, you are coming to tea.” Had been her gently reproving words to him via her assistant’s over-the-phone quote.

 

Wilson felt the tiny sting of her good mannered reprimand for taking so long to accept her invitation. Honestly, at the time he had thought she was being merely polite. What president has time to sip tea with some back-bencher politician? Apparently, this president made the time, and Wilson was soon being escorted to President Osuna’s private living rooms in the White House. He was a long way from home, but she soon helped him feel at ease by asking about his work. His non-political work.

 

“I-I’m surprised you remembered that, Missus President.” He stuttered.

 

“Your work with the homeless is a good work, James, yet you seem reluctant to speak of it.”

 

“Well, it was only once or twice. Time restraints, you know.” He smiled sheepishly. Of course the president of the Union would understand already about time restraints. She was the busiest woman in the world.

 

“Of course, but anything worth-while takes time and energy. How has your friend been faring? Reginald, was it?”

 

“Reggie, yes. He’s well.” Wilson hadn’t had much time to keep up with Reggie’s activities of late. He was far too busy in his own personal life since then. “He still volunteers at the shelter –which makes me wonder, Missus President – “

 

“- please call me Katsu.”

 

“Er, yes, of course, Katsu.” It felt strange on his lips. But he didn’t wish to displease her. “Do you for-see any change in the current state of Rational Principle? It seems we are wasting the talents of so many who were unfortunate enough to be consigned to the status of Worker – which is almost no status of any kind.” Had he said that correctly? Had it come across smoothly enough? Was he being too forward? Osuna was quiet for a moment, and he was terrified that he had blown the whole thing before it had begun.

 

“Well,’ she said, obviously giving it serious consideration. Osuna rarely gave anything less than her full attention. The woman was a mental power-house. “I agree with you. So many lost so much. I must admit that when Rational Principle came through, my family was in a position to be shielded from it.”

 

Good thing, too. Wilson couldn’t imagine a Union with anyone else in power.

 

“But what do we do with eight billion to feed but not the land to place them? Do we grant everyone freedom again? To live where they wish? To grow and eat only for themselves? To work and birth, and expand the population even more? How will we save them when the resources finally run out? As it is, most food operations are struggling. The weather is against us, and has been for years.”

 

Yes, climate change. A natural, normal thing that had occurred repeatedly for eons. But never had it occurred with eight billion humans depending on the planet for food and space, and that planet unable to provide it. Never before had significant numbers of humans existed to have felt the impact of it. Climate change was a thing that animals, plants, insects - life – had learned to adapt to, again and again. Modern man had taken up conquering, not adaption. Modern man wanted instead of needed; desired unnecessary things instead of instinctively hungering for those simple elements that sustained him. People, the elite and workers alike, all needed the same things: food, shelter, clothing, warmth. But both also desired property, money, even luxury.

 

Earth could no longer answer that call.

 

“It is a perplexing problem, James. It is disheartening, even depressing.” Osuna said.

 

Yes, depressing. The equator was too hot, the poles melting away faster and faster. Antarctica was losing its shield of ice, the frozen, barren dead tundra beneath exposed now to the harsh, freezing, drying winter winds. Everywhere it was either too wet to grow food, or too dry; too cold, or too hot; too windswept, or too waterlogged.

 

The only relatively empty, still somewhat healthy space on the planet now was the very harsh northern countries. The old Siberia, the Old Canada, the old tip of Alaska, places where, if you were on your own with no Union to place and supply you, no families to take you in, no material supports of any kind, life sat on the sharp-iced edge almost every moment. Though the Inuit had survived there for thousands of years, the north allowed no mistakes. You had to be almost super human to live there. And, some said, foolishly courageous. A freedom-flighter. Freedom-Flighters, it was said, had a death wish.

 

“I understand.” Wilson was hoping to have gathered some new ideas from Osuna; things perhaps she was herself thinking about; ways to improve the lives of billions. But, as intelligent and generous; as kind a woman as she was; she was a realist. She understood only too well the limits of even her power to effect change for the better.

 

Osuna excused herself and stood. Wilson watched her walk the many feet toward her private ladies room. Now was his chance, but how was he to “distract” her, so that she would exit the bathroom without flushing, and so that he could enter? Osuna was the very height of good breeding and social graces, she would never deem to allow someone to use her private washroom without flushing the toilet, washing, and straightening the towels afterward up to boot.

Suddenly it occurred to him to simply ask her for the sample. Why resort to subterfuge when the truth might just do? Besides, he could think of no other possible way to get what he wanted. She was almost at the door. “Missus president...”

 

She turned. “Yes, James? Is the tea gone cold? I could have more brought in.”

 

Wilson took a silent breath of courage and stood, walking to her. He stood very close with a grave look of gentle concern on his face. He reached out and took one of her hands. He knew it was bold, it could backfire easily. But it was this or nothing. “I am very concerned about your health, and I know this is out-of-line, intrusive, perhaps, but please hear me out before you say no.” He took a second breath to calm his nerves. Affecting his very best caring doctors’ face, he plunged ahead. “I am certain that you are in very good hands with your current physician. In fact, I have every confidence that he is an excellent man but..,” He shook his head a little out of his own craziness for even trying this. Fortunately, Osuna took it as an expression of great worry. “..It would ease my mind greatly to reassure myself that your health is not in any danger.” He looked into her eyes. Wilson himself knew he had sweet, soothing, melting brown eyes and he used their full power. “I would like the opportunity to confirm your own doctor’s prognosis - unofficially of course. This would in no way reflect on him. If you choose, he need not even know about my concerns. This is something I am behoved to keep between only us. If you’ll let me.”

 

Osuna looked back, and he could see the effect his words were already having on her. Even kind, old ladies were often bewitched by good looking younger doctors. “Well, I don’t know...I mean, what you need for me to do. James?”

 

Still using his first name, that was good. “Simply provide me with a urine sample. I could confirm that your health is fine, and it would bring my worry to an end.” Leave the easing of his worries up to her. She could hardly resist such an endearing request.

 

“Well, I suppose,...but how..?”

 

Wilson walked to the bar near where they sat with tea and scones, retrieved a paper-wrapped, plastic cup from a tray where some were stacked besides paper-wrapped lead crystal glasses. He unwrapped one plastic cup and handed it to her. Please. Mid-stream. I only need a few ounces.”

 

She took the cup with uncertain hands.

 

“This is very kind of you, Missus Osuna, to indulge my concerns that is.” He made sure not to lay it on too thickly but added. “I’m afraid I can’t help but be a worrier, especially about a friend.”  

 

Osuna took the plastic cup. “Well, if you feel that strongly about it, I suppose I ought not to refuse.” She entered the washroom, closing the door after her.

 

Once she had finished, she handed the cup, which she had been careful to wrap up in two layers of paper towel, to Wilson and retook her seat. He thanked her and set the cup aside, down by his briefcase so as to not forget it.

 

Osuna sighed. She looked haggard. An un-comely state James was shocked not to have noticed at first. But Osuna was one to keep a stiff upper lip. “Now I feel I must ask: are you really feeling better, Katsu? I heard you were hospitalized for a few days.” I was actually there. Wilson felt it prudent not to mention that small fact. Nor the tiny samples he had stolen from off her very personal person, including urine.

 

“My doctor believes it’ll pass.”

 

Well-worn, useless talk from a man who had no idea why his president was unwell. “Perhaps I could be of help? Beyond satisfying my own worries, I mean. I’m curious. Did he take a family history? Medically I mean?”

 

“Oh, yes.”

 

Wilson was afraid she was going to offer nothing further but then she continued. “Diabetes on my mother’s side. And I’ve always had a bit of thyroid myself.” She poured a third cup of tea for herself.

 

“Hyper or hypo?” Wilson cleared his throat. “Over or under-active?”

 

“Oh, over. I’ve always had difficulty maintaining my weight. But I have pills for that.”

 

Iodine. A simple treatment. “What about other symptoms? You seem fatigued. Hyperthyroid would hardly be indicated.” He ought to be more careful how he phrased things. For all he knew, Osuna adored her current physician.

 

“Dry skin, and some leg pain.” She smiled. “I’m getting old, doctor Wilson. It’s no surprise things aren’t working as well as they used to. My doctor hospitalized me because I had a bit of a cold, and because he’s as much of a worrier as you I suspect. Run all the tests you like on my, er, sample, but I am sure I’m fine.”

 

She was only sixty or so, hardly ready for the nursing home. “Of course.” He assured her with a small smile that he was not worried, but it was a lie. He was worried, even if he didn’t think there was anything substantial to worry about just yet. “Sometimes, though, things can seem innocuous, when they aren’t.”

 

“Oh. I understand, James. Senator Monroe for example...”

 

They spent the remainder of the relaxing afternoon tea discussing politics.

 

 

 

“Osuna needs kidney and liver scans. Biopsies would be even better.”

 

Wilson stopped kissing him, and Greg kept talking. Wilson knew he had the question all over his face. “What was wrong with her urine?” Why else would Greg want her kidneys and liver checked out?  “What are you not telling me?”

 

“She complained of leg pain.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I found proteins in her urine.”

 

Wilson didn’t like the sound of that though it wasn’t conclusive of anything yet. “Kidney disease?”

 

“Or something where that is a symptom of.”

 

“Shit.” But how to ask for a biopsy? “A blood sample ought to do.”

 

“An image would be better.”

 

Wilson stared down at this unusual man who was his house-guest, employee and lover. Illegal- all three. “One thing at a time.” He kissed Greg again to shut him up, rolled over on top of him, and turned out the light.

 

Time for some home-grown treatment of the bedroom variety.

 

XXXXX

 

tbc

 

 

 

Comments

[jezziejay.livejournal.com]

Still loving this - and how soon you updated! Kinda curious to know how House feels about the blossoming relationship with Wilson. IE - more soon. Please!

[sara-tsuzuki.livejournal.com]

YAY UPDATE!!!!!!!!!!!! *runs to read*

[sara-tsuzuki.livejournal.com]

Very interesting facts about this AU! The climate change, the need of the Rational Principle...And of course the bit of smex in the end n___________n Love this so much!!!!!