Houseficlet: Wilson Agonistes
May. 26th, 2011 08:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nightdog_barksTitle: Wilson Agonistes
Author:nightdog_barks
Characters: Wilson, Cuddy, Taub, the one who isn't there. Gen.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: Yes, for episode 7.23, "Moving On."
Summary: Life, after all, does go on. 509 words.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never will.
Author Notes: "Agonistes" is a Greek word, meaning "the struggler." More information can be found about it here. Cut-text is from the Talking Heads song Road to Nowhere.
Beta: My intrepid First Readers, with especial thanks toblackmare.
Wilson Agonistes
For weeks afterward, Wilson finds himself looking over his shoulder. There's no need; nobody's seen House, nobody wants to see House, and if Wilson is honest with himself (and who else is there to be honest with these days?) he doesn't want to see House. And if he begins to think he wants to see House, his right wrist reminds him that no, he really doesn't.
One day he says it to Cuddy.
"I don't want to see him," he says. "Why would I want to see him?"
Cuddy doesn't look around. She's been busy these past few weeks, arguing with the insurance companies, fending off reporters, splitting her time between Princeton-Plainsboro and North Memorial. "There are no Jews in Minneapolis," he'd told her, but she'd just shaken her head. "I need to get away," she'd said. "I can't live here anymore."
"None of us want to see him," Cuddy says. "I certainly don't." Now she does look at him, runs an appraising eye over his form until Wilson feels as if he's being inspected for something, measured for a new suit. "How are you holding up?" she says.
"I'm good," Wilson says quickly. "I'm ... good."
"That's good," Cuddy says, and goes back to putting the blue folders in the blue folders pile.
Wilson watches for a moment, and when it's clear she's not going to say anything else, he goes back to his office.
"Do you know where he is?"
"No," Wilson says. "And I don't want to know."
"But if you did know, you'd tell the cops, right?"
Wilson sighs and puts down his pen. Taub doesn't move from his position by the open door.
"We've been through this before," Wilson says.
"You know ... some of his stuff disappeared. From his office."
"Yes," Wilson says. "I heard." House's office is, of course, empty these days. Every day. Word has it Foreman will be occupying it soon.
"His ball," Taub says. "His spare cane. His -- "
"And you're telling me this because ... "
"No reason," Taub says. He shrugs, a quick up-and-down followed by a smile. "I'll just be ... getting back now."
Wilson waits a long time before he slides open his own top desk drawer. A chicken feather, lipstick-red, drifts free. Wilson watches it settle to the floor.
Six months go by. A year.
Wilson gets an engraved card in the mail, a simple announcement hidden beneath a square of tissue paper. On the back a handwritten note --
There are Jews in Minneapolis!
Wilson sets the card aside and goes online to order a wedding present. For the happy couple, he types. Best wishes, Dr. James Wilson. He gazes at the glowing screen for a long moment, then presses Submit.
He wonders if he'll ever find out what happened to House. If one day he'll receive another card in the mail, a picture postcard from somewhere far away, with no name or message, but only Wilson's address, scrawled in that familiar right hand.
Of course he won't.
That shit only happens in the movies.
~ fin
Author:
nightdog_barks Characters: Wilson, Cuddy, Taub, the one who isn't there. Gen.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: Yes, for episode 7.23, "Moving On."
Summary: Life, after all, does go on. 509 words.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never will.
Author Notes: "Agonistes" is a Greek word, meaning "the struggler." More information can be found about it here. Cut-text is from the Talking Heads song Road to Nowhere.
Beta: My intrepid First Readers, with especial thanks to
blackmare.Wilson Agonistes
For weeks afterward, Wilson finds himself looking over his shoulder. There's no need; nobody's seen House, nobody wants to see House, and if Wilson is honest with himself (and who else is there to be honest with these days?) he doesn't want to see House. And if he begins to think he wants to see House, his right wrist reminds him that no, he really doesn't.
One day he says it to Cuddy.
"I don't want to see him," he says. "Why would I want to see him?"
Cuddy doesn't look around. She's been busy these past few weeks, arguing with the insurance companies, fending off reporters, splitting her time between Princeton-Plainsboro and North Memorial. "There are no Jews in Minneapolis," he'd told her, but she'd just shaken her head. "I need to get away," she'd said. "I can't live here anymore."
"None of us want to see him," Cuddy says. "I certainly don't." Now she does look at him, runs an appraising eye over his form until Wilson feels as if he's being inspected for something, measured for a new suit. "How are you holding up?" she says.
"I'm good," Wilson says quickly. "I'm ... good."
"That's good," Cuddy says, and goes back to putting the blue folders in the blue folders pile.
Wilson watches for a moment, and when it's clear she's not going to say anything else, he goes back to his office.
"Do you know where he is?"
"No," Wilson says. "And I don't want to know."
"But if you did know, you'd tell the cops, right?"
Wilson sighs and puts down his pen. Taub doesn't move from his position by the open door.
"We've been through this before," Wilson says.
"You know ... some of his stuff disappeared. From his office."
"Yes," Wilson says. "I heard." House's office is, of course, empty these days. Every day. Word has it Foreman will be occupying it soon.
"His ball," Taub says. "His spare cane. His -- "
"And you're telling me this because ... "
"No reason," Taub says. He shrugs, a quick up-and-down followed by a smile. "I'll just be ... getting back now."
Wilson waits a long time before he slides open his own top desk drawer. A chicken feather, lipstick-red, drifts free. Wilson watches it settle to the floor.
Six months go by. A year.
Wilson gets an engraved card in the mail, a simple announcement hidden beneath a square of tissue paper. On the back a handwritten note --
There are Jews in Minneapolis!
Wilson sets the card aside and goes online to order a wedding present. For the happy couple, he types. Best wishes, Dr. James Wilson. He gazes at the glowing screen for a long moment, then presses Submit.
He wonders if he'll ever find out what happened to House. If one day he'll receive another card in the mail, a picture postcard from somewhere far away, with no name or message, but only Wilson's address, scrawled in that familiar right hand.
Of course he won't.
That shit only happens in the movies.
~ fin
no subject
Date: 2011-05-27 02:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-28 10:54 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2011-05-27 03:25 am (UTC)Heh! He pissed me off and I don't want to see him, either. Poor Wilson...again.
I think it would be a grand twist in the tv story line if House went to prison and got to practice his craft in the prison infirmary.
I wish I knew how to write like you all. (sigh)
There would be a prison riot (or something) at which time the warden would fall over from some mystery ailment and only House would be available to figure him/her out while all the chaos was happening. No Wilson, no Cuddy, no team...just House alone and 'maybe' some medics. That's all that comes to mind, for now. I hope somebody writes this. haha...
Oh, and there are Jews just about everywhere. hee
no subject
Date: 2011-05-28 10:55 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2011-05-28 11:30 pm (UTC)It was totally my pleasure. hee
I'm interested in seeing what they come up with. I hope it's not something that seems desperate or stupid.
We'll find out soon enough, I guess.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-27 06:08 am (UTC)Sorry for the deleted comment, wrong reply button.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-28 10:56 pm (UTC)Thank you,
no subject
Date: 2011-05-28 01:55 am (UTC)For the benefit of anyone reading: all I actually did here was provide the name of a large Minneapolis hospital. Which was relatively easy since I'd been there to have my severed thumb tendon repaired.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-28 11:00 pm (UTC)Eeeee, I love that! :-D
And you did more than provide North Memorial. You saw that confusing postcard-address line. *g*