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Pairing: House+Wilson past
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: spoliers for s4 finale
Summary: Wilson left, House let him go. Foreman doesn't like that idea, and convinces House to go after Wilson. Who moved to North Vancouver. Canada.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Notes: When it comes to Michaels, everything you're thinking I might be indicating, is probably true.
“House.”
House looked up—Michaels, his short height not limiting his intimidation in the slightest.
“What?” asked House, frowning.
It had been a while since anyone but Wilson glared at him like that.
Michaels answered by poking him in the thigh.
House crumpled.
“That.”
House glared up at him, panting.
“Better be careful, or I’ll be looking up your pants.”
John Michaels rolled his eyes.
"I *am* wearing underwear, House."
House smirked weakly, as Michaels gave him a hand up.
“I know you weren’t getting along with Smith. That’s fine. But you need to see a *different* person, instead of *no* person. Ok?”
House sighed, nodding.
Cuddy blinked, as she looked at the email she had just received from House.
‘Insurance=pain in you know where that isn’t the thigh. Need referral. Chang, North Vancouver Presbyterian.
-House’
Then she smiled to herself.
‘I’ll write one up and fax it.
-Lisa Cuddy’
Chase sighed, head in his hands.
He had hated House when he was here.
So why did he miss him so much, now?
Wilson yawned, leaning back in his office chair as he read through the description of a new trial.
His phone rang, he glanced at the caller ID.
He picked it up, pressed talk, and hung up.
This repeated over and over and over.
When was House going to get it?
“Damn, House,” said Chang, as he dropped his pants, “you need some serious PT.”
House sighed, climbing miserably up onto the table.
“Thanks.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling the board out so he could stretch his leg out on it.
Just straightening it produced a heavy wince of pain.
She sighed.
This wasn’t going to be fun—for either of them, but especially House.
Twenty minutes later, House was curled on the exam table, panting, hands clenched on his thigh.
“Nerve or muscle?”
“Both,” he ground out, tensing even farther.
She took a syringe our of a drawer, carefully pushing it into his arm.
“I’m gonna give you some different equipment,” she said, grasping his wrist to measure his pulse.
He struggled to sit up, but she pushed him back down.
“House, I think Michaels told you that you had to comply, right?”
He closed his eyes, nodding miserably.
“They come in different colors,” she said, hoping to get him talking again.
He looked at her.
“Not a wheelchair?”
She shook her head.
He sighed, relived.
Michaels sighed, as House came over, supporting himself on an elbow crutch instead of a cane.
“Pain worse?”
House shook his head, “Chang’s idea. Less stress equals less pain. Also, less acetaminophen, more ibuprophin equals less cirrhosis.”
Michaels nodded.
“It working?”
House thought for a moment.
Then he nodded.
“Yeah.”
Michaels smiled.
House started to go past him, but caught the crutch on the corner of the nurses's station.
Michaels caught him around the chest, keeping him from falling.
House swallowed. Michaels was warm.
Michaels set him back on his feet, and house was pretty sure he detected a slight blush there.
House shook his head, and limped off to do the job he hated in the zipcode he so desperately wanted to be in.
“Come on, people. Need ideas here.”
Taub sighed.
“We don’t know, Foreman. Call House, maybe he’ll have an idea.”
Foreman, standing at the whiteboard with his back to the team, sighed.
“House has enough on his mind without us calling him every time we can’t get the answer right away.”
“It’s irresponsible to let our patient get sicker just because you’re being stubborn! We’re not using all our resources!” said Taub, loudly.
Foreman rested his hand against the board, then took at deep breath and turned around.
“House isn’t our resource anymore. Everything that matters to him is where he is, and despite the fact that he’s still bored out of his mind, he chose Wilson over his job. Not even that, he chose the vague, unlikely, almost impossible hope of Wilson, over his job. Let him go after what he wants.”
Kutner made a face that showed he was none-to-pleased with Foreman’s speech.
“Guys…” said Thirteen, sighing and standing up, walking over next to Foreman, “like it or not… House isn’t House anymore. He’s shattered, and he’s just hanging around in this world because of a string of hope that keeps slamming doors in his face. When that string breaks, we don’t want to be hanging on, ‘cause we’ll get pulled down along with him.”
“So you’re saying we should just give up?!” yelled Kutner, angrier than anyone had ever seen him before.
Foreman sighed, “yes. Because there’s nothing we can do. For House, anyway. For our *patient*….”
House leaned over his toilet, hurriedly stuffing his fingers down his throat.
The most of the pills he had just swallowed came up, along with the brandy.
He should tell Chang non-acetaminophen narcotics weren’t such a good idea, since the temptation to overdose was stronger without the unpleasant effects.
But….
If he gave up, he didn’t want to have to suffer anymore than he already had.
He could feel the buzz starting to take effect—he hadn’t managed to bring up all the pills.
Michaels wouldn’t be happy when he called in the morning, wondering why House was late.
But right now, House was a little too stoned to care, as he slid off the toilet, onto the floor.
Damn.
Wilson hurriedly scrambled his papers together, apologizing profusely to the man he had just crashed into, who had sprawled on the floor and wasn’t getting up.
He finally looked at the person, worried he had hurt them.
House.
Clean-shaven.
In a suit.
With a tie.
A red tie.
With a small print.
That looked very familiar.
An elbow crutch that had clattered to the floor lying next to him.
“Why are you all dressed up? And here?” asked Wilson, before he could stop himself.
House sighed.
“I’ve got an appointment, and then I have to go to some stupid speech Michaels wants me to be at.”
Wilson blinked.
“Who’s the appointment with?”
“Marian Chang.”
Wilson blinked.
But she was…
“You’re seeing a pain management specialist?” he asked, voice cracking.
House nodded.
“Why?”
“Michaels. It was a condition when he hired me.”
“And you didn’t fight it?”
House shrugged, slowly working his way to his feet.
“You know why I didn’t fight it,” he said, hollowly, grunting as he slipped and landed back on his butt.
Wilson offered him a hand.
He took it, Wilson pulled him up.
House stumbled, ending up knocking into Wilson’s shoulder.
Wilson caught him, sighing.
House didn’t pull away.
And didn’t pull away.
And didn’t pull away.
And didn’t pull away.
Wilson sighed again, gently pushing him off.
House was looking solidly at the floor, eyes overbright.
Wilson placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t want you to suffer, House. I just… can’t stand to look at you.”
House looked at him.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got a blindfold somewhere,” he offered weakly.
Wilson shook his head, walking on past his former best friend.
House stood there, eyes closed, for a long time.
“House?” asked a voice to his left, and he looked.
Chang, probably on the way to the room he was supposed to be in right now.
“What happened? Can you walk?”
He nodded, closing his eyes again.
“Ran into Wilson. Literally,” he mumbled.
Chang sighed.
“I’ll meet you in the exam room, then. And by the way, there’s a bathroom just around the corner, that way,” she pointed, “if you—”
She broke off as he hurried in that direction.
Then she sighed, shaking her head.
She wished she could fix that kind of pain as well….
“It’s weird,” said Chase, setting down his menu as the three sat at a booth, “when House was here, I hated him, and avoided him. As soon as he’s gone, my brain decides for forget all the crap and miss him.”
Cameron smiled, “you know that’s not it, Chase.”
“That’s how it often works, Cameron,” said Foreman, blinking.
She shook her head.
“If Chase had PTSD, he wouldn’t find that odd.”
“Fine,” said Chase, “what’s your explanation?”
“That all the crap is superficial compared to the proof of just how human he is the effect Wilson leaving had on him. And what lengths he’s going to to get Wilson back.”
Foreman snorted, Cameron looked at him, frowning.
He shook his head.
“Only you would say it that way, Cam.”
She laughed.
Foreman looked out the window, as Chase and Cameron continued talking.
He…
He wondered if he would go that far.
He wondered if he was even capable of caring about someone being in his life as much as a man he had thought was a misanthropic bastard through and through.
Actually…
He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to care about someone that much.
Seeing just what it did to House when that kind of connection broke.
Wilson sighed, resting his head against the door after looking out through the peephole.
He walked away, doing his best to ignore the steady knocking.
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From: (Anonymous)
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I agree completely.
*quietly 'ships Michaels/House*
*looks at writer pleadingly for hope for my newest 'ship*
I absolutely adore this fic. :D
I love Michaels quite enormously. :P
*waits patiently for next part*
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that is exactly what michaels is. he's the only stable person in the entire story, to tell the truth.
From: (Anonymous)
OMC, Mmmm
(quietly praying for House/Michaels, as well)
From: (Anonymous)
Praise, with a caveat
Just one thing. I'm an FTM; and if the "thing" about Michaels is that he's trans, I guaran-fuckin'-tee that he would NOT say about himself, "There's nothing up there." We don't talk that way about ourselves, we don't think that way about ourselves. We get enough of that sort of thing from others, TYVM. If this isn't where you're headed w/this, I withdraw my comment. It's just that it sent a chill down my back, just to think that anyone, much less a transman, would say that, b/c we have quite actually been killed for less. Just a bit pf perspective...
Thaniel
Used to have an LJ but Dog only knows what the damn password is
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Re: Praise, with a caveat
From: (Anonymous)
Re: Praise, with a caveat
On an unrelated, purely carnal & admittedly subjective note, Michaels would be a fool not to get w/House if he had half a chance. Just sayin'.
Thaniel
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