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Title: Keep On Tryin'
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: Poor House. I just tortured him in this chapter.
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: Poor House. I just tortured him in this chapter.
T
House sighed, curled on his bed, his aching leg draining all his energy.
He jumped, as someone sat on the bed next to him.
“Hi,” said Michaels, grinning, “you still keep your spare key in the same place as during residency.”
House groaned, rolling his eyes.
“Why are you here?”
“To make sure you weren’t planning on killing yourself and said your leg hurt as an excuse so nobody would come looking for you.”
House sighed, “oh.”
Michaels held up a plastic bag, “and I brought food.”
House rolled his eyes, “liar. You don't bring food for dead people.”
Michaels laughed, “Yes, I lied. If I wanted to make sure you were alive I would have called first. Why do you live in a place with a flight of steps out front?”
“Because it was the first decent place I found and I needed an address before my stuff shipped.”
“Ah,” Michaels looked him over, “can you stand?”
House shook his head.
“Kay.”
House watched him head out into the kitchen, sighing quietly to himself.
“Why didn’t you threaten to tell?” asked Michaels, coming in with the food.
House looked up at Michaels, confused.
“What?”
“When I laid out the conditions for hiring you. You had a huge bargaining piece, and you didn’t use it.”
House sighed, looking away.
“You wouldn’t have believed me. If I’d actually said it, you would have known I was bluffing.”
Michaels looked at him, “bluffing?”
House blinked, turning back to face him.
“You seriously think I would do that?”
“Dude… you’re *you*.”
House snorted, taking the plate Michaels handed him.
“I… don’t do that. I was there when you came out, I saw how people reacted, what you had to go through. I know how hard you worked to get where you are, and I know how much you want to stay there. I might have no regard for most things, but I’m not gonna destroy that.”
Michaels looked at him for a long time.
“You’ve changed, House. You’ve really changed.”
House looked at him, blinking.
“How?”
“I think you’ve actually grown up. You’re still a juvenile asshole, but… ” Michaels shook his head, digging in.
A while passed in companionable silence, as the two ate.
House sighed, putting down his fork.
“Am... am I... do I even deserve him?”
Michaels looked at him, blinking. Then he frowned.
“He doesn't deserve you. You deserve better than him.”
House snorted.
Michaels shook his head, “I'm serious, Greg. You have a facade of not caring, but I know you only have it because you care too much. You're hurt too easily. But he... he has a facade of caring, but from what I've seen, he really doesn't.”
House shook his head, “he cares. He forces himself to care. He thinks that if he cares enough, he can make up for the bad things in his life.”
“Maybe you deserve someone who doesn't have to force themselves to care about you.”
House laughed, harshly, “like who? Like you said, I'm a juvenile asshole. The only reason anyone would care about what happened to me is they're insane, they're my mother, they want my medical skills, they want me as a verbal sparring partner, or they're forcing themselves to care about someone nobody else cares about because it makes them feel better.”
“Or they genuinely like who you are.”
House laughed again.
“Who the hell would like *me*?”
Michaels swallowed, “maybe if you looked, you wouldn't have far to search.”
House just shook his head and turned back to his food.
‘Did… something happen to House? He didn’t show up at my lunch two days in a row… um… and I… just, is he ok?
-James Wilson’
‘His leg was bad, couldn’t come to work either. Don’t worry—I’m sure he’ll be there today.
-John Michaels’
Thirteen sighed, walking into Foreman’s office.
“Here.”
He looked at the envelope.
Then at her.
“If you’re quitting because of the Huntington’s….don’t.”
She stared at him, “House told you… how did he even know it was positive?!”
Foreman shrugged, “I didn’t want to ask. I was guessing it was probably illegal.”
“But… why are you telling me not to quit?”
“Because you’ve got a chance to do what you obviously really want to do. Don’t ruin it because of something that may not happen for years.”
She shook her head, “I don’t want to doubt myself.”
“You don’t have to.”
She looked at Foreman, sharply.
“If the initial symptoms are physical, it’ll be easy. If they’re emotional, I’ll tell you something’s going on.”
“Why? Why are you saying this stuff? Why do you care if I quit?”
“Because we need you to stay.”
She blinked.
Then she walked out of his office, a confused look on her face.
He smirked a little to himself.
Guess House had won the bet….
‘Thirteen tried to quit. You were right, saying it made her think.
-Eric Foreman’
‘Better pay up, then.
-House’
‘Check’s in the mail, and it isn’t all about money.
-Eric Foreman’
‘You’re right. Some of it’s about sex. Actually all of it’s about sex, money just leads to sex.
-House’
‘That’s why you’re following Wilson? Ick, I did not need to know that!
-Eric Foreman’
‘Ha, ha. Very funny.
-House’
Wilson looked up from his lunch, as the now-familiar lurching sound of House’s gait approached.
“Go away, House,” he said, without turning around.
“’cause that’s worked so well for the last week?”
Wilson sighed, turning.
Then he frowned.
House was pale—really pale.
He didn’t look like his leg was hurting him….
“Hey… you look like you’re gonna pass out…” said Wilson, frowning.
House swallowed, “I’m…”
His legs crumple beneath him, and he ended up kneeling on the concrete, swaying.
“Does anything hurt?” asked Wilson, going into doctor mode. House or not, he was definitely sick.
“Abdomen. Can’t place it exactly…” he mumbled, blinking the sweat out of his eyes.
Then he pushed Wilson out of the way, and threw up.
Wilson stared at the black goo resembling coffee grounds.
Then he stood, looked for Tim, who was already sprinting towards the hospital, then knelt again, placing his hand on House’s shoulder, bracing him.
“Apparently dry-swallowing tons of ibuprophin is more immediately harmful to your health than dry-swallowing tons of narcotics.”
Wilson bit his lip, as House threw up again.
“You were taking ibuprophin? This much ibuprophin?”
House wiped his mouth on his sleeve, left arm clenched around his stomach.
“Marian Chang’s idea. John’s condition when he *ah*… hired me. Not Chang’s *agh!*”
Wilson gripped him around the shoulders, holding up as he clenched around his middle.
“Fault… know how… dehydrated… doctor—” “stop talking.”
House stopped, then threw up for a third time.
He was starting to go limp, slumping against the younger doctor.
“Hurts…” he mumbled, eyes only half open now.
Tim arrived with two nurses and a stretcher, they lifted House onto it, started to hurry away.
Wilson gripped House’s thin, long-fingered hand, stopping the gurney.
“Why?”
House looked up at him, hazily.
“Miss you,” he mumbled, “hurts.”
Wilson closed his eyes, as the gurney was rushed away to the emergency room.
Tim put a hand on his shoulder.
“Thought he was a doctor. Should know better than to take ibuprophin on an empty stomach. Guess he’s just self-destructive, huh?”
Wilson looked at him.
“He’s insane, is what he is.”
Tim shook his head doubtfully.
“I don’t think so. I think he just misses you. A lot. I wish I had someone that’d miss me that much….”
House groaned softly, opening his eyes as a hand rested on his shoulder.
“Hey buddy,” said Michaels, squeezing the shoulder his hand was resting on, “any pain?”
“Yeah. In my head. Every time you open your mouth.”
Michaels laughed.
“Well that’s nice….”
House rolled his eyes, taking the cup of ice chips Michaels held out to him.
“I assume it was a perforated ulcer….”
“Three perforated ulcers.”
“Ah.”
“You didn’t notice any pain?”
House shrugged, “yeah, but it’s not like I’m eating all that well.”
Michaels sighed, shaking his head.
“And you’re supposed to be a diagnostician… moron.”
House smirked.
“I have to get back to work…” said Michaels, looking vaguely unhappy about the prospect, “call if they release you today, I’ll pick you up. Otherwise I'll be back around six.”
House nodded tiredly.
Michaels left, passing Wilson in the hallway without a word, a disgusted expression on his face.
Wilson swallowed, as the gray eyes met his, holding a surprising amount of anger.
Then he turned, as the footsteps returned, and a hand rested on his shoulder.
“Wilson,” started Michaels, sighing, “do you have any idea how much it would take for him to even say that he misses someone, much less do all this?”
Wilson sighed, nodding.
“When we were in residency, there was definitely some love-hate stuff going on. But the love part outweighed the hate. He could never bring himself to say the wor— what’s with the look?”
“House likes guys?” asked Wilson, voice an octave higher than usual.
Michaels sighed a little to himself.
“It’s complicated. I don’t know as a general rule, it could have been an exception. I don’t know, you should ask him. But seriously, James.”
“You don’t get it, do you? It doesn’t matter who he is, who he’s changed himself into. I still just can’t stand to see his face.”
House sighed, as the nurse took his arm, helping him out of bed.
He was so exhausted, he could barely move…
No sleep at all, his usual insomnia, combined with the noise and motion of the hospital, and the extra pain from the ulcers and falling, had kept him up all night.
The woman grunted as he slipped, putting her arm around his back to brace him.
Two flashes of Amber under his arm.
He shook his head, the woman stopped.
“Are you ok?”
He nodded.
She continued helping him forward.
House sighed, sitting down on the bench.
He was still tired, but less so than a few days ago.
Sleeping in his own bed had helped with that, he supposed.
Unfortunately…
He either needed to sell his apartment in Princeton, or get a roommate here—or ask Michaels for a raise, but the guy had already hired him when it was so obviously a short-term deal one way or the other, House didn’t want to push it.
House sighed, curled on his bed, his aching leg draining all his energy.
He jumped, as someone sat on the bed next to him.
“Hi,” said Michaels, grinning, “you still keep your spare key in the same place as during residency.”
House groaned, rolling his eyes.
“Why are you here?”
“To make sure you weren’t planning on killing yourself and said your leg hurt as an excuse so nobody would come looking for you.”
House sighed, “oh.”
Michaels held up a plastic bag, “and I brought food.”
House rolled his eyes, “liar. You don't bring food for dead people.”
Michaels laughed, “Yes, I lied. If I wanted to make sure you were alive I would have called first. Why do you live in a place with a flight of steps out front?”
“Because it was the first decent place I found and I needed an address before my stuff shipped.”
“Ah,” Michaels looked him over, “can you stand?”
House shook his head.
“Kay.”
House watched him head out into the kitchen, sighing quietly to himself.
“Why didn’t you threaten to tell?” asked Michaels, coming in with the food.
House looked up at Michaels, confused.
“What?”
“When I laid out the conditions for hiring you. You had a huge bargaining piece, and you didn’t use it.”
House sighed, looking away.
“You wouldn’t have believed me. If I’d actually said it, you would have known I was bluffing.”
Michaels looked at him, “bluffing?”
House blinked, turning back to face him.
“You seriously think I would do that?”
“Dude… you’re *you*.”
House snorted, taking the plate Michaels handed him.
“I… don’t do that. I was there when you came out, I saw how people reacted, what you had to go through. I know how hard you worked to get where you are, and I know how much you want to stay there. I might have no regard for most things, but I’m not gonna destroy that.”
Michaels looked at him for a long time.
“You’ve changed, House. You’ve really changed.”
House looked at him, blinking.
“How?”
“I think you’ve actually grown up. You’re still a juvenile asshole, but… ” Michaels shook his head, digging in.
A while passed in companionable silence, as the two ate.
House sighed, putting down his fork.
“Am... am I... do I even deserve him?”
Michaels looked at him, blinking. Then he frowned.
“He doesn't deserve you. You deserve better than him.”
House snorted.
Michaels shook his head, “I'm serious, Greg. You have a facade of not caring, but I know you only have it because you care too much. You're hurt too easily. But he... he has a facade of caring, but from what I've seen, he really doesn't.”
House shook his head, “he cares. He forces himself to care. He thinks that if he cares enough, he can make up for the bad things in his life.”
“Maybe you deserve someone who doesn't have to force themselves to care about you.”
House laughed, harshly, “like who? Like you said, I'm a juvenile asshole. The only reason anyone would care about what happened to me is they're insane, they're my mother, they want my medical skills, they want me as a verbal sparring partner, or they're forcing themselves to care about someone nobody else cares about because it makes them feel better.”
“Or they genuinely like who you are.”
House laughed again.
“Who the hell would like *me*?”
Michaels swallowed, “maybe if you looked, you wouldn't have far to search.”
House just shook his head and turned back to his food.
‘Did… something happen to House? He didn’t show up at my lunch two days in a row… um… and I… just, is he ok?
-James Wilson’
‘His leg was bad, couldn’t come to work either. Don’t worry—I’m sure he’ll be there today.
-John Michaels’
Thirteen sighed, walking into Foreman’s office.
“Here.”
He looked at the envelope.
Then at her.
“If you’re quitting because of the Huntington’s….don’t.”
She stared at him, “House told you… how did he even know it was positive?!”
Foreman shrugged, “I didn’t want to ask. I was guessing it was probably illegal.”
“But… why are you telling me not to quit?”
“Because you’ve got a chance to do what you obviously really want to do. Don’t ruin it because of something that may not happen for years.”
She shook her head, “I don’t want to doubt myself.”
“You don’t have to.”
She looked at Foreman, sharply.
“If the initial symptoms are physical, it’ll be easy. If they’re emotional, I’ll tell you something’s going on.”
“Why? Why are you saying this stuff? Why do you care if I quit?”
“Because we need you to stay.”
She blinked.
Then she walked out of his office, a confused look on her face.
He smirked a little to himself.
Guess House had won the bet….
‘Thirteen tried to quit. You were right, saying it made her think.
-Eric Foreman’
‘Better pay up, then.
-House’
‘Check’s in the mail, and it isn’t all about money.
-Eric Foreman’
‘You’re right. Some of it’s about sex. Actually all of it’s about sex, money just leads to sex.
-House’
‘That’s why you’re following Wilson? Ick, I did not need to know that!
-Eric Foreman’
‘Ha, ha. Very funny.
-House’
Wilson looked up from his lunch, as the now-familiar lurching sound of House’s gait approached.
“Go away, House,” he said, without turning around.
“’cause that’s worked so well for the last week?”
Wilson sighed, turning.
Then he frowned.
House was pale—really pale.
He didn’t look like his leg was hurting him….
“Hey… you look like you’re gonna pass out…” said Wilson, frowning.
House swallowed, “I’m…”
His legs crumple beneath him, and he ended up kneeling on the concrete, swaying.
“Does anything hurt?” asked Wilson, going into doctor mode. House or not, he was definitely sick.
“Abdomen. Can’t place it exactly…” he mumbled, blinking the sweat out of his eyes.
Then he pushed Wilson out of the way, and threw up.
Wilson stared at the black goo resembling coffee grounds.
Then he stood, looked for Tim, who was already sprinting towards the hospital, then knelt again, placing his hand on House’s shoulder, bracing him.
“Apparently dry-swallowing tons of ibuprophin is more immediately harmful to your health than dry-swallowing tons of narcotics.”
Wilson bit his lip, as House threw up again.
“You were taking ibuprophin? This much ibuprophin?”
House wiped his mouth on his sleeve, left arm clenched around his stomach.
“Marian Chang’s idea. John’s condition when he *ah*… hired me. Not Chang’s *agh!*”
Wilson gripped him around the shoulders, holding up as he clenched around his middle.
“Fault… know how… dehydrated… doctor—” “stop talking.”
House stopped, then threw up for a third time.
He was starting to go limp, slumping against the younger doctor.
“Hurts…” he mumbled, eyes only half open now.
Tim arrived with two nurses and a stretcher, they lifted House onto it, started to hurry away.
Wilson gripped House’s thin, long-fingered hand, stopping the gurney.
“Why?”
House looked up at him, hazily.
“Miss you,” he mumbled, “hurts.”
Wilson closed his eyes, as the gurney was rushed away to the emergency room.
Tim put a hand on his shoulder.
“Thought he was a doctor. Should know better than to take ibuprophin on an empty stomach. Guess he’s just self-destructive, huh?”
Wilson looked at him.
“He’s insane, is what he is.”
Tim shook his head doubtfully.
“I don’t think so. I think he just misses you. A lot. I wish I had someone that’d miss me that much….”
House groaned softly, opening his eyes as a hand rested on his shoulder.
“Hey buddy,” said Michaels, squeezing the shoulder his hand was resting on, “any pain?”
“Yeah. In my head. Every time you open your mouth.”
Michaels laughed.
“Well that’s nice….”
House rolled his eyes, taking the cup of ice chips Michaels held out to him.
“I assume it was a perforated ulcer….”
“Three perforated ulcers.”
“Ah.”
“You didn’t notice any pain?”
House shrugged, “yeah, but it’s not like I’m eating all that well.”
Michaels sighed, shaking his head.
“And you’re supposed to be a diagnostician… moron.”
House smirked.
“I have to get back to work…” said Michaels, looking vaguely unhappy about the prospect, “call if they release you today, I’ll pick you up. Otherwise I'll be back around six.”
House nodded tiredly.
Michaels left, passing Wilson in the hallway without a word, a disgusted expression on his face.
Wilson swallowed, as the gray eyes met his, holding a surprising amount of anger.
Then he turned, as the footsteps returned, and a hand rested on his shoulder.
“Wilson,” started Michaels, sighing, “do you have any idea how much it would take for him to even say that he misses someone, much less do all this?”
Wilson sighed, nodding.
“When we were in residency, there was definitely some love-hate stuff going on. But the love part outweighed the hate. He could never bring himself to say the wor— what’s with the look?”
“House likes guys?” asked Wilson, voice an octave higher than usual.
Michaels sighed a little to himself.
“It’s complicated. I don’t know as a general rule, it could have been an exception. I don’t know, you should ask him. But seriously, James.”
“You don’t get it, do you? It doesn’t matter who he is, who he’s changed himself into. I still just can’t stand to see his face.”
House sighed, as the nurse took his arm, helping him out of bed.
He was so exhausted, he could barely move…
No sleep at all, his usual insomnia, combined with the noise and motion of the hospital, and the extra pain from the ulcers and falling, had kept him up all night.
The woman grunted as he slipped, putting her arm around his back to brace him.
Two flashes of Amber under his arm.
He shook his head, the woman stopped.
“Are you ok?”
He nodded.
She continued helping him forward.
House sighed, sitting down on the bench.
He was still tired, but less so than a few days ago.
Sleeping in his own bed had helped with that, he supposed.
Unfortunately…
He either needed to sell his apartment in Princeton, or get a roommate here—or ask Michaels for a raise, but the guy had already hired him when it was so obviously a short-term deal one way or the other, House didn’t want to push it.
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From: (Anonymous)
Awesome
This outstanding. I'm hoping he dumps wilson and takes the new guy home. Wilson's a dick.
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Re: Awesome
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Can't wait to find out what happens next. :)
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On a separate note. It's *Ibuprofen*
From: (Anonymous)
Poor House!
I'm curious why you made Michaels stealth. Keeping my own editorializing out of it, I can just say it's a big decision, controversial even in our own community. I'm not even sure it's maintainable for someone who's not completely anonymous, much less head of a department at a hospital. Or even necessary; I know a fair number of docs who transitioned & are out about it. So I find that an interesting choice on your part.
Keening looking forward to more!
Thaniel
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This isn't really important, but ibuprofen is almost as likely to cause ulcers even when you take it with food. Ibuprofen is acidic, so it can cause some stomach irritation - that's why they say to take it with food. The part that really causes the ulcers is a secondary mechanism.
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But, what the hell. I'm just picking on a very minor point. Your fics rock! I really enjoy reading them, and the most important part of fics isn't the medical details, its the story, and you rock at that. woot for you. hooray!
xox