So Relied Upon (6/6)-Enough
Oct. 25th, 2006 07:25 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
toolazytowork.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
house_wilson_ghcTitle: So Relied Upon (5/6)---Enough
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
toolazytowork aka radiosweetheart
Characters: James Wilson, Greg House
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: Some things can't be fixed.
Disclaimer: And though I've tried I just can't hide, my eyes are edged with tears. I don't own Wilson or House or anything lucrative like that.
Summary: James looks for his brother. House finds James. We wander in the general direction of PPTH as we know it.
Author's Note: Thanks tojadesfire2808 for the excellent beta-ing. Any errors you might spot are due to my napping through Grade 6 English.
**And here's the last chapter. Thanks to everyone that's been following along since the beginning or that joined in somewhere along the line. The feedback and concrit have been much appreciated. Grazie.**
x-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
housefic. Since I'd been meaning to do that since the first chapter but got distracted by several shiny objects...Oooh! Pretty.
Scattered Pictures-1
Dust Out the Demons Inside-2
Welcome to the Jungle-3
Night Moves-4
Stay-5
“I heard from Tom.” Laura Wilson sounded as if she was bracing herself for an uncomfortable conversation.
“Really,” James responded. He hadn’t had much to say to his brother in the last few years. Not since Tom had skipped town, leaving Maggie alone to pick up the pieces of her life after their baby had died.
“He called from a 609 number.”
“That narrows it down to just under half the state. If he wanted to talk to me, he would’ve called. I’m in the book.”
“Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
“Mom, the last time I saw him he made it pretty clear what he thinks of me,” he said.
“That was a long time ago. Things have changed. He might listen to you now.”
“Things have changed. You mean I screwed things up with Maggie too,” he thought.
He couldn’t say no to his mother. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. “I’ll try. Did he give you any idea where he is?”
“No, he didn’t, but I think he’s in Princeton. I have a feeling.”
His duties at the hospital left him little time to go on a wild-goose chase. James sighed. “If I do this, please, don’t get your hopes up. You know how he is.”
“You always do the right thing, Jimmy.”
“I know.”
*************************************************************************************
The late autumn air was filled with the sweet smell of rotting leaves. He’d been visiting flop house motels and boarding houses, the sort of places where Tom had been known to stay. None of the people he’d spoken with had seen anyone matching his brother’s description. He’d known there was one last place he could look, and he’d put it off as long as he could. Every town of any size had a place that’s the last stop before a person fell of the grid for the last time. Fear of finding his brother there had kept him from looking in the most likely spot.
Tom was standing in a doorway, a cigarette cupped in his gloved hand. He took a drink of rotgut vodka and passed the plastic bottle to his left. James stepped closer, trying to place himself in his brother’s line of sight.
“Can I bum a smoke?”
Tom stopped speaking and looked at his brother. “You don’t smoke,” he said.
“How would you know?” James asked.
Tom flipped the top up on the cigarette pack and shook the box so that a cigarette slid forward. James took one and placed it between his lips. “A light?” he asked.
One of the other men pulled out a pack of matches and struck it against the brick wall. The match ignited, illuminating the faces of the men. James leaned towards the flame, inhaled the smoke and fought the urge to cough. It had been years since he had had a cigarette.
Tom stared at his brother while James did his best to look comfortable.
“Why are you here?” Tom asked.
“Mom wanted me to find you,” James said. He wanted to turn back the clock to a time when he still adored his brother and Tom still acted like he cared about anyone but himself. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee or something.”
“I don’t want coffee or something.”
“Tom, I’m not here for me. I’m here for Mom. You remember her? Sweet woman, loves you despite all the shit you pull, forgives you for being an asshole? Probably the last person on earth to think you’re still a decent guy? Any of that ring a bell?”
The other doorway inhabitants scattered.
“You did your part. You found the wayward brother.” Tom paced around, waving his hands as he spoke. “The family will be so proud!” His voice had increased in volume until it resembled a roar. “Tried to return me to the loving fold of my family,” Tom stopped. He spoke softly, “I refused. You can leave with a clear conscience.”
“What happened to you?” James looked at his brother. Tom’s eyes were dark and sunken. He was thin. His muscles twitched; he looked poised for an attack.
Tom laughed, “Nothing.”
James reached out towards his brother; “It doesn’t have to be like this.” Tom ignored the outstretched hand.
“You told me I didn’t have the family fucked-up award in the bag.” He took a long drag from the cigarette and waited for James to react. “Remember that? You know what happened. I can tell by looking at you. What happened to you?”
He had been prepared for many questions, but he didn’t have that answer at the ready. “I grew up, Tom. I learned that I can’t just go around acting out everything I feel. A novel idea, I know.”
The truth wasn’t that simple. There was a lot more to the balancing act of internal emotions and external appearances, but he didn’t feel he owed Tom more of an explanation than that.
“God, you’re such an amazing person. I envy you.” Tom scowled.
“You won’t let anyone help you. I don’t know why we keep trying.”
“Just leave.”
James stubbed the smoldering filter out under the toe of his shoe. “Anything you want me to tell Mom?”
“Tell her,” Tom stopped for a second, “you didn’t find me.”
“I wish I hadn’t,” said James as he walked back toward his car.
*************************************************************************************
His shifts at the hospital occupied his days. After work he took to driving through the area where he had last seen Tom. More times than he cared to admit he had parked his car and walked through the streets and alleys with hopes of catching sight of his brother. It was hard to sleep, so he had taken to sneaking a few minutes at work whenever and wherever he could. The hospital had a surprising number of unoccupied rooms.
“Mr. Jenkins, did you borrow, and then destroy, this gentleman’s lawn mower?”
Opening his eyes, he shifted carefully on the bed in an attempt to make out the source of the accusation.
“Don’t get up on my account.” The speaker was leaning against the side of the bed watching television.
James turned his head toward the voice. The man sat with his long legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes never left the screen.
“I must’ve dozed off,” James said.
“I’ve been here for two hours.”
James looked first at the odd individual and then to the TV. An episode of Judge Judy was nearing a verdict. “Should I be concerned?”
“Have a Twinkie.” The man offered the pack. At a loss, James pulled out a cake and took a bite. “If I mention you were here I’d have to admit I was here to see you here. And then I might have to find a new way to spend my afternoons.”
James raised his eyebrows and bit his lip as he attempted to figure out how he entered into that equation. He was fairly sure he didn’t. “Right,” he said as he stood up. “So, I’ll be going.”
“Before the verdict? Come on, Mr. Jenkins is totally going to have to pay for that lawn mower.” He popped the last of the Twinkie into his mouth.
“I should probably get back to work,” James pushed the curtain aside and started to leave.
“See you around, Wilson.”
He was wearing his hospital ID badge, two hours was plenty of time to read it. “Sure, Dr…?”
“House,” the other man said.
“House,” James repeated.
*****************************************************************************************
“I’d avoid the coleslaw.”
James was standing in the cafeteria queue. Nearly a week had passed since he had been caught sleeping on the job.
“What?” he looked up as he spoke. “Oh, Dr. House. Hi.”
“Really, why so formal? After what you said the other day?” House tilted his head and gave James a crestfallen, wide-eyed look. The sort of look James would have interpreted as flirtatious if it came from a woman.
“What did I say?” Replaying the brief conversation in his head yielded no answers.
They continued to move forward and fill their trays.
“Come home with me, please,” House said in a pleading tone. “Don’t just give up.” He reached under the sneeze guard for a slice of chocolate cake.
“Is that supposed to be me?” James asked.
House nodded.
They were standing in front of the cashier. “Together or separate?” she asked.
“Together.”
“What? I’m not….” James said.
“That’ll be $9.75,” said the cashier.
“Fine,” he pulled a ten from his wallet and paid for their lunches. He shot House an angry look. “I don’t even know you. Why am I buying your lunch?”
“You’re just that nice,” House answered as he sat down at a table.
“I’m not nice.” James sat down on the other side of the table and started to eat his lunch.
“Prove it,” House reached across the table and helped himself to a French fry.
James blinked and shook his head. House appeared to be dissecting his sandwich. His attention was focused on finding stray pieces of onion hiding in the slices of lunchmeat. James pushed the ketchup packs off of his tray and brought his fist down on them so that the contents shot forward in a bright arc. That was probably the most childish thing he had done since the Reagan administration, maybe even Carter.
The impact of ketchup on blazer sent House tipping back in his chair. He looked down at the stain. “It’s dry clean only, you know.”
“I bought your lunch.” He covered his mouth to hide his smile. “We’re even.”
“We’re not even” House wiped at the red stains, smearing the ketchup into the fibers of his jacket. “It’s on.”
James leaned back in his chair and looked at House. “I think I need to decide if I want to get to know you before we start declaring jihads.”
House stopped grinding in the stain and gave James what might have been a smile. “I don’t generally ‘get to know’ people.”
“I’ve heard that rumor. So, you’re just tormenting me for sport? I asked around, everyone pretty much thinks you’re a bastard.”
“And ‘everyone’” the air quotes were obvious in his voice, “says you’d qualify for sainthood if it weren’t for the two failed marriages.”
“One failed marriage! He stood up, pushed his tray forward, and nearly tripped over his chair as he turned to leave. “And we agreed to split up!”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much!” yelled House as James walked out of the cafeteria.
As he walked down the hallway, he tried to ignore the nagging pressure in his chest. He stepped into the men’s room and tried to compose himself. The cold, white ceramic tile walls of the restroom began to close in on him. How could he let someone he barely knew get to him like this? House hadn’t even done anything. He wasn’t going to let his emotions take control.
His legs were weak. He held onto the sink for support. The mirror reflected his red face and shaking shoulders. Even with the knowledge that it was just a panic attack he didn’t feel any better. No one says just insulin shock.
House chose that moment to walk into the bathroom. James gritted his teeth and turned away. His hand slipped off the edge of the sink and his knees buckled, but he remained upright.
House glanced up as he walked around the sink towards the urinal. James’ pupils were dilated and his knuckles were white from gripping the sink. It didn’t take a genius to diagnose the situation.
“You’re going to be fine,” House said in a professional tone.
He nodded. “Soon, I think” he sputtered.
House dispensed a handful of paper towels. He turned on the water and placed the towels under the tap. “Here,” he said, shoving the dripping paper towards the other man.
He pressed the wet towels to his forehead. House placed a tentative hand on James’ shoulder. It felt unnatural for both of them, but neither pulled away. He closed his eyes and let his head fall forward. He stood there for a minute, until his heart rate slowed and his face stopped feeling flushed. “Thanks,” he said.
House raised an eyebrow; “You owe me big time.”
Their eyes met. James smiled, “It is so on.”
Author:
toolazytowork aka radiosweetheartCharacters: James Wilson, Greg House
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: Some things can't be fixed.
Disclaimer: And though I've tried I just can't hide, my eyes are edged with tears. I don't own Wilson or House or anything lucrative like that.
Summary: James looks for his brother. House finds James. We wander in the general direction of PPTH as we know it.
Author's Note: Thanks to
jadesfire2808 for the excellent beta-ing. Any errors you might spot are due to my napping through Grade 6 English. **And here's the last chapter. Thanks to everyone that's been following along since the beginning or that joined in somewhere along the line. The feedback and concrit have been much appreciated. Grazie.**
x-posted to
housefic. Since I'd been meaning to do that since the first chapter but got distracted by several shiny objects...Oooh! Pretty.“I heard from Tom.” Laura Wilson sounded as if she was bracing herself for an uncomfortable conversation.
“Really,” James responded. He hadn’t had much to say to his brother in the last few years. Not since Tom had skipped town, leaving Maggie alone to pick up the pieces of her life after their baby had died.
“He called from a 609 number.”
“That narrows it down to just under half the state. If he wanted to talk to me, he would’ve called. I’m in the book.”
“Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
“Mom, the last time I saw him he made it pretty clear what he thinks of me,” he said.
“That was a long time ago. Things have changed. He might listen to you now.”
“Things have changed. You mean I screwed things up with Maggie too,” he thought.
He couldn’t say no to his mother. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. “I’ll try. Did he give you any idea where he is?”
“No, he didn’t, but I think he’s in Princeton. I have a feeling.”
His duties at the hospital left him little time to go on a wild-goose chase. James sighed. “If I do this, please, don’t get your hopes up. You know how he is.”
“You always do the right thing, Jimmy.”
“I know.”
*************************************************************************************
The late autumn air was filled with the sweet smell of rotting leaves. He’d been visiting flop house motels and boarding houses, the sort of places where Tom had been known to stay. None of the people he’d spoken with had seen anyone matching his brother’s description. He’d known there was one last place he could look, and he’d put it off as long as he could. Every town of any size had a place that’s the last stop before a person fell of the grid for the last time. Fear of finding his brother there had kept him from looking in the most likely spot.
Tom was standing in a doorway, a cigarette cupped in his gloved hand. He took a drink of rotgut vodka and passed the plastic bottle to his left. James stepped closer, trying to place himself in his brother’s line of sight.
“Can I bum a smoke?”
Tom stopped speaking and looked at his brother. “You don’t smoke,” he said.
“How would you know?” James asked.
Tom flipped the top up on the cigarette pack and shook the box so that a cigarette slid forward. James took one and placed it between his lips. “A light?” he asked.
One of the other men pulled out a pack of matches and struck it against the brick wall. The match ignited, illuminating the faces of the men. James leaned towards the flame, inhaled the smoke and fought the urge to cough. It had been years since he had had a cigarette.
Tom stared at his brother while James did his best to look comfortable.
“Why are you here?” Tom asked.
“Mom wanted me to find you,” James said. He wanted to turn back the clock to a time when he still adored his brother and Tom still acted like he cared about anyone but himself. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee or something.”
“I don’t want coffee or something.”
“Tom, I’m not here for me. I’m here for Mom. You remember her? Sweet woman, loves you despite all the shit you pull, forgives you for being an asshole? Probably the last person on earth to think you’re still a decent guy? Any of that ring a bell?”
The other doorway inhabitants scattered.
“You did your part. You found the wayward brother.” Tom paced around, waving his hands as he spoke. “The family will be so proud!” His voice had increased in volume until it resembled a roar. “Tried to return me to the loving fold of my family,” Tom stopped. He spoke softly, “I refused. You can leave with a clear conscience.”
“What happened to you?” James looked at his brother. Tom’s eyes were dark and sunken. He was thin. His muscles twitched; he looked poised for an attack.
Tom laughed, “Nothing.”
James reached out towards his brother; “It doesn’t have to be like this.” Tom ignored the outstretched hand.
“You told me I didn’t have the family fucked-up award in the bag.” He took a long drag from the cigarette and waited for James to react. “Remember that? You know what happened. I can tell by looking at you. What happened to you?”
He had been prepared for many questions, but he didn’t have that answer at the ready. “I grew up, Tom. I learned that I can’t just go around acting out everything I feel. A novel idea, I know.”
The truth wasn’t that simple. There was a lot more to the balancing act of internal emotions and external appearances, but he didn’t feel he owed Tom more of an explanation than that.
“God, you’re such an amazing person. I envy you.” Tom scowled.
“You won’t let anyone help you. I don’t know why we keep trying.”
“Just leave.”
James stubbed the smoldering filter out under the toe of his shoe. “Anything you want me to tell Mom?”
“Tell her,” Tom stopped for a second, “you didn’t find me.”
“I wish I hadn’t,” said James as he walked back toward his car.
*************************************************************************************
His shifts at the hospital occupied his days. After work he took to driving through the area where he had last seen Tom. More times than he cared to admit he had parked his car and walked through the streets and alleys with hopes of catching sight of his brother. It was hard to sleep, so he had taken to sneaking a few minutes at work whenever and wherever he could. The hospital had a surprising number of unoccupied rooms.
“Mr. Jenkins, did you borrow, and then destroy, this gentleman’s lawn mower?”
Opening his eyes, he shifted carefully on the bed in an attempt to make out the source of the accusation.
“Don’t get up on my account.” The speaker was leaning against the side of the bed watching television.
James turned his head toward the voice. The man sat with his long legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes never left the screen.
“I must’ve dozed off,” James said.
“I’ve been here for two hours.”
James looked first at the odd individual and then to the TV. An episode of Judge Judy was nearing a verdict. “Should I be concerned?”
“Have a Twinkie.” The man offered the pack. At a loss, James pulled out a cake and took a bite. “If I mention you were here I’d have to admit I was here to see you here. And then I might have to find a new way to spend my afternoons.”
James raised his eyebrows and bit his lip as he attempted to figure out how he entered into that equation. He was fairly sure he didn’t. “Right,” he said as he stood up. “So, I’ll be going.”
“Before the verdict? Come on, Mr. Jenkins is totally going to have to pay for that lawn mower.” He popped the last of the Twinkie into his mouth.
“I should probably get back to work,” James pushed the curtain aside and started to leave.
“See you around, Wilson.”
He was wearing his hospital ID badge, two hours was plenty of time to read it. “Sure, Dr…?”
“House,” the other man said.
“House,” James repeated.
*****************************************************************************************
“I’d avoid the coleslaw.”
James was standing in the cafeteria queue. Nearly a week had passed since he had been caught sleeping on the job.
“What?” he looked up as he spoke. “Oh, Dr. House. Hi.”
“Really, why so formal? After what you said the other day?” House tilted his head and gave James a crestfallen, wide-eyed look. The sort of look James would have interpreted as flirtatious if it came from a woman.
“What did I say?” Replaying the brief conversation in his head yielded no answers.
They continued to move forward and fill their trays.
“Come home with me, please,” House said in a pleading tone. “Don’t just give up.” He reached under the sneeze guard for a slice of chocolate cake.
“Is that supposed to be me?” James asked.
House nodded.
They were standing in front of the cashier. “Together or separate?” she asked.
“Together.”
“What? I’m not….” James said.
“That’ll be $9.75,” said the cashier.
“Fine,” he pulled a ten from his wallet and paid for their lunches. He shot House an angry look. “I don’t even know you. Why am I buying your lunch?”
“You’re just that nice,” House answered as he sat down at a table.
“I’m not nice.” James sat down on the other side of the table and started to eat his lunch.
“Prove it,” House reached across the table and helped himself to a French fry.
James blinked and shook his head. House appeared to be dissecting his sandwich. His attention was focused on finding stray pieces of onion hiding in the slices of lunchmeat. James pushed the ketchup packs off of his tray and brought his fist down on them so that the contents shot forward in a bright arc. That was probably the most childish thing he had done since the Reagan administration, maybe even Carter.
The impact of ketchup on blazer sent House tipping back in his chair. He looked down at the stain. “It’s dry clean only, you know.”
“I bought your lunch.” He covered his mouth to hide his smile. “We’re even.”
“We’re not even” House wiped at the red stains, smearing the ketchup into the fibers of his jacket. “It’s on.”
James leaned back in his chair and looked at House. “I think I need to decide if I want to get to know you before we start declaring jihads.”
House stopped grinding in the stain and gave James what might have been a smile. “I don’t generally ‘get to know’ people.”
“I’ve heard that rumor. So, you’re just tormenting me for sport? I asked around, everyone pretty much thinks you’re a bastard.”
“And ‘everyone’” the air quotes were obvious in his voice, “says you’d qualify for sainthood if it weren’t for the two failed marriages.”
“One failed marriage! He stood up, pushed his tray forward, and nearly tripped over his chair as he turned to leave. “And we agreed to split up!”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much!” yelled House as James walked out of the cafeteria.
As he walked down the hallway, he tried to ignore the nagging pressure in his chest. He stepped into the men’s room and tried to compose himself. The cold, white ceramic tile walls of the restroom began to close in on him. How could he let someone he barely knew get to him like this? House hadn’t even done anything. He wasn’t going to let his emotions take control.
His legs were weak. He held onto the sink for support. The mirror reflected his red face and shaking shoulders. Even with the knowledge that it was just a panic attack he didn’t feel any better. No one says just insulin shock.
House chose that moment to walk into the bathroom. James gritted his teeth and turned away. His hand slipped off the edge of the sink and his knees buckled, but he remained upright.
House glanced up as he walked around the sink towards the urinal. James’ pupils were dilated and his knuckles were white from gripping the sink. It didn’t take a genius to diagnose the situation.
“You’re going to be fine,” House said in a professional tone.
He nodded. “Soon, I think” he sputtered.
House dispensed a handful of paper towels. He turned on the water and placed the towels under the tap. “Here,” he said, shoving the dripping paper towards the other man.
He pressed the wet towels to his forehead. House placed a tentative hand on James’ shoulder. It felt unnatural for both of them, but neither pulled away. He closed his eyes and let his head fall forward. He stood there for a minute, until his heart rate slowed and his face stopped feeling flushed. “Thanks,” he said.
House raised an eyebrow; “You owe me big time.”
Their eyes met. James smiled, “It is so on.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-25 07:02 pm (UTC)That all changed with this final installment--I LOVE the way House and Wilson meet and interact. More importantly, in your writing I can actually see how their relationship has been a saving grace for Wilson, where usually even in very sympathetic fics, the friendship seems somewhat one-sided (i.e., what Wilson gets out of the relationship is simply needing to be needed).
Thanks. It really did brighten my day to read something so beautifully written and ultimately poignant.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-25 07:38 pm (UTC)H/W are like yin and yang--not all dark or all light. They need each other for balance.
Sometimes it seems like life tends to bounce from sadness to euphoria. (There I go quoting Billy Joel again).
no subject
Date: 2006-10-26 02:15 am (UTC)“I think I need to decide if I want to get to know you before we start declaring jihads.”
Yes, so them.
House raised an eyebrow; “You owe me big time.”
Their eyes met. James smiled, “It is so on.”
Love the last two lines!
no subject
Date: 2006-10-26 02:36 am (UTC)In my fanwanking mind most of what House does re:Wilson is meant to be helpful. What he thinks is best for Wilson has just changed from actually helping to outwardly tormenting.
I'm glad you liked it. Thanks for all the good words.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-26 11:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-26 02:03 pm (UTC)Snark and sympathy: the brief description of a group therapy session for people with anti-social disorder.
Danke.