Duped-chapter 6
Title: Duped
Author: Fayding_fast
Chapter: 6/6
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em
Wordcount: 3523
Spoilers: Minor for Sex Kills
Warning: None
Rating: PG
September 3rd 2012, 09:40 hrs
"You're been so quiet today," House said apprehensively - his fingers lightly raking through the boy's hair. The whisper ruptured the peaceful silence like a siren.
"I'm tired," the child murmured. Recumbent on House's couch, head pillowed on House's left thigh, he faced away from House and hadn't moved in half an hour. "I'm too tired to think."
"Why are you tired?" House asked to keep the child talking; he'd feared that the boy might be so withdrawn, he wouldn't even speak. "Didn't you get much sleep last night?"
"I didn't sleep at all," Peter replied and stifling a yawn, he slipped his hands beneath his pale cheek. "I was awake all night long."
"Why was that?" House persevered and pressed the back of his hand against the child's forehead. "Weren't you well?"
"I felt very well," Peter answered him wearily. "I was just worrying."
"Is that right?" House said. "Have you mentioned this to your daddy?" He could have bitten off his tongue when he felt the child flinch.
Peter studied the books on the shelves across the room. He liked books. He wondered if House would read one to him if he brought some of his over. "He's......" His voice broke and the child blinked. He'd have to try to reply to that query in a minute. Instead, he mentally composed a short list of his favorite tales. Perhaps, House would like to read the one about the polar bear that hated the cold; he could see House laughing about that. "He said that he's busy, and I shouldn't pester him when he's trying to get ready for work." Peter sighed softly, reminded anew about how deeply his father's impatience with him had hurt. Still, at least he'd managed to answer House's question, and in all honesty, he felt a little better - a fraction more at ease - now that his friend knew the truth. He closed his eyes. God, he was tired.
Busy? House's free hand clenched into a fist, as he felt the tension radiating from the spare frame, and he remembered the dark smudges under the child's eyes. Couldn't Mr. Talbot set aside a few minutes in his busy schedule to listen to the troubles of his son? His lips compressed into a thin, disapproving line, but he was wise enough to keep his own counsel. Not only would it upset the child if he delivered a scathing diatribe against the boy's father, but it would also be hypocritical in the extreme. Because he'd behaved just as reprehensibly himself. Maybe I'm going through something, that I need to have an actual conversation about? Yes, he certainly hadn't thought twice about turning his own back on Wilson, when the man had been close to tears and pleading for a chance to talk to him.
Was it any wonder then, that the child was feeling so desolate - so lost? House squeezed the boy's shoulder gently, in wordless apology - the gesture belated but nonetheless heartfelt and fueled by honest regret.
Slowly, by degrees, Peter unwound - calmed by his friend's proximity and strength. He didn't know how he could have survived the last few weeks, if it hadn't been for House; the child simply worshiped him.
After a while, House spoke again. "I'd like to help you out, if I can," he said. "How many worries do you have?"
"I've got a lot, House," Peter said mournfully.
"That's all right; how many?"
Peter turned over so that he was lying on his back. He started totaling them up until he ran out of fingers. "Can I borrow your hand for a minute, House?" When House accommodated him, he continued counting. "I make it twelve," he said at length.
"You have twelve major concerns at the moment?"
Peter nodded miserably, in confirmation. "I'm afraid so," he said.
"That is a hell of a lot." House placed his hand once more on the exhausted child's hair. "Sit up for a minute."
Peter dutifully shifted.
House stood up and stretched, then disappeared into the kitchen. "How many worries do you think I have?" he called out.
Peter waited tolerantly for his friend to reappear. "Four million and three?" he guessed uncertainly; he really had no idea.
"Good Lord!" House said, imagining, for a moment, what his life would be like if he really did have that many. It didn't bear thinking about. He limped back into the living room carrying a notebook and a pen. "You're not even close." He sat back down on the sofa. "At this current time, I have no worries at all."
Peter stared at him in shock. "None at all?" he questioned in genuine astonishment. "How have you managed that?"
"My life's just a breeze," House said jauntily. "Now, taking into account that friends are supposed to share all of their problems, does it seem right to you that you have a dozen more worries than me?"
Peter frowned. When House put it that way..... "No, not really," he said.
"Fair enough. What would normally happen, is that two friends would divide the problems up between them. In this particular case, that would be six each."
"I guess that will be okay," Peter agreed, somewhat ambivalently.
"However," House carried on, "it's a rule that the oldest person in the friendship has to take on more problems than the younger one."
Arranging a cushion behind him, to make himself more comfortable, Peter looked a bit doubtful. "I've never heard of that rule," he said.
"It's a golden rule," House explained. "That means that it's sacred. It should never be broken. So, am I older than you or younger?"
Peter hesitated; he didn't want to insult his friend.
"I'm older," House said, answering his own query.
"Well...... yes, you are, but....."
"Much older," House continued and pulled a face; boy, was he beginning to feel it. "That means that I have to take on your share of problems as well as my own."
Peter didn't reply. House's comments had disturbed him on some fundamental level. He sat motionless - his gaze tracking across the deeply creased surface of his friend's face.
House raised a questioning brow at the scrutiny. "What?" he said.
You don't look old, though, the child thought to himself loyally. To Peter's eyes, House didn't appear to have aged at all. You have a wonderful face, House. It's quite beautiful.
House fidgeted.
Realizing that he was staring and making House feel uncomfortable, Peter looked away. "So, how many problems do you have now, House?" he asked. He'd lost track.
House's discomfiture started to fade. "All of them," he said.
"That doesn't make any sense," Peter said, thoroughly bewildered. "Now you won't be able to sleep, either."
"I'll sleep like a baby," House assured him. "Now, tell me what's bothering you, and I'll write everything down in a list." He sat up straighter, pen at the ready. "Shoot," he said. "I'll have your troubles sorted out in no time."
Peter thought that, sometimes, House was too confident for his own good. "You haven't heard them yet," he warned gloomily.
*
Having solved most of the problems to the child's satisfaction, House regarded the last four on the list. "All right," he said. "When I take you back, tonight, we'll stop off on the way to buy some more of your Minty Zing toothpaste....."
"Plus whitening," Peter reminded him. As he'd watched House cross more and more problems from the list, he'd become increasingly animated. He bared his teeth at House to demonstrate how they gleamed.
House shaded his eyes with his hand. "My God, they're dazzling," he said. "We'll buy a tube of Minty Zing toothpaste with added whitening. Then, when I drop you off home, I'll check under your bed and in your closet to make sure there are no monsters lurking about."
"You're incredibly brave, House," Peter said, looking at his friend with unadulterated admiration.
If only that was so, House thought wistfully. He continued to study the remaining issues. "That leaves the spider on your bedroom ceiling," he said, suppressing a shudder. "How big is it?" He'd never admit to being arachnophobic, but he certainly wasn't excessively fond of the sinister creatures; they gave him the creeps.
"It's enormous, House," Peter said fearfully, cowering down against the arm of the sofa. "I was sure he was gonna have me for breakfast."
"What is this sucker - a ten foot tarantula?" House asked.
"I don't know what he is," Peter said, looking exceptionally pitiful, "but I do know he hates me. I could hear him gnashing his fangs when he glared down at me." He and House stared at each other in mutual fright.
"Does your daddy mind spiders?" Surely, it wouldn't hurt the man to do something to help his son.
"My daddy said I should leave the spider in peace but then the spider isn't hanging over his bed, waiting to rip him to shreds, is it?"
"No," House said faintly. He swallowed a vicodin. "It isn't. Okay, after I've searched your bedroom for monsters, I'll get the spider out of the room for you," he promised recklessly. "How does that sound?"
"What about the cobwebs? Could you get rid of them at the same time, House?"
"Don't push your luck." As Peter's face fell, he relented; he just didn't know how to say 'no' to this child. He threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine, I'll run a vacuum cleaner over the ceiling as well."
"That would be really great, House," Peter said, smiling in relief.
Smiling back at him, House crossed off three more worries which left number one on the list. He looked at his friend and shook his head ruefully. "I don't think I can solve this last problem, can I?"
"No, House," the child agreed, without a trace of recrimination in his tone. "I know that I'm going to worry about you forever. But you've very sweetly helped me with all of the others."
"You don't have to worry about me," House assured him. "Look at me. Do you honestly believe that I'm unable to take care of myself?"
There was a long silence whilst the gray eyes stared back at him appraisingly. The evaluation concluded with Peter cupping his hands together and lifting them entreatingly towards his friend. "You'd better pass that problem back, House," the boy said.
*
September 4th 2012, 18:00 hrs
"So, who is he? Why are you spending so much time with him?" Billy looked resentfully at the smaller boy. They were both drawing pictures of cars, and Peter's was distinctly better than his.
Attention still on his sketchbook as he skillfully added the finishing touches to his picture, Peter's mouth quirked into a smile. "He's my best friend," he said. "He's helping my daddy to look after me."
"I thought I was your best friend."
Peter looked over at him, surprised. "You're not," he said gently, with his trademark honesty. "I like you, Billy, but you're not House. He's very dear to me. I love him."
Billy looked back down at his sketch, hiding eyes as hard as flint. Half heartedly, he started sketching in a road. An impression of clouds. Some trees.
Peter regarded him silently, not liking the frosty atmosphere between them. "Billy?" he said.
Billy's hand lashed out and knocked Peter's orange juice flying - the majority of it spilling onto Peter's sketchbook, soaking through the pages and leaving them in one unholy, sodden mess. "I'm sorry," he said instantly. "How clumsy."
Peter jerked his book off of the table, hoping to salvage some of his drawings, but he could tell it was too late - they were ruined. All that work... all that time spent on them and for nothing. He fought back tears. "It's okay," he said, breath hitching and held the dripping book to his stomach. "It was an accident." He searched the older boy's face. "It was, wasn't it?"
"Of course it was. I'm so sorry, Petey."
Peter nodded dully. He went over to the window and waited quietly for his father to arrive to pick him up.
*
September 4th 2012, 18:00 hrs
House loitered until he heard the invitation to enter and then stepped into Lee's office.
Lee was just packing some paperwork into his briefcase. He smiled broadly at House. "Hi," he said.
Seeing that his friend was happy, House smiled himself. "Hi. I can see that you've had a good day."
"One of the best," Lee answered. "How often do you get to tell two patients in one afternoon that they've been given the all clear?"
House grinned at him, leaning heavily on his cane. "Not that often, I'll bet," he said.
Lee picked up his coat. "You about ready to leave? Want to come with me and down a few beers to celebrate?"
That sounded like a plan. House nodded, and both men walked towards the door. "As you were the one to ask me, you buying?"
"I'll buy my fair share, yeah."
House pouted. Lee was laying down boundaries, and he wasn't convinced that he liked it.
Lee smiled internally at House's expression and lightly punched his arm. "Come on, my friend, let's get out of here." He took one last look around the room, switched off the light and locked the office up behind them.
*
September 8th 2012, 13:50 hrs
House and Peter were trying to assemble together a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle picturing a Christmas scene. "Do you still wish I was Wilson, or do you like me better now?" Peter asked out of the blue. Perched on top of several colorful booster cushions, he was seated just high enough to manage the task in hand.
House eyed him thoughtfully. Was this another question posed because of the child's endless quest for reassurance? He delayed replying by attempting to fit yet another piece onto the top of the chimney he was concentrating on and failed miserably. Where the hell was that bit? "That's a very difficult question to answer," he said slowly.
Peter was working on the horse and carriage segment of the picture and was making considerable progress. "Why is that?" he said.
"The relationship I have with you now, is totally dissimilar to the one I had with you before," House said. "There's just no comparison." That part there - that looked quite promising. He lifted it up and tried it, but no, that wasn't right either. He squinted. Or was it?
Peter almost jumped out of his skin when House whacked the next bit hard, trying to ram it into place. He rolled his eyes. The piece House was searching for was just to the right of House's elbow, if he only took the time to look properly. Should he point that out, or would that spoil his friend's enjoyment? He was in two minds. "But surely, I haven't changed much," he said, "have I?"
House shrugged his shoulders to alleviate the tension. "Yes, you have," he said. "Well, no, you haven't. Well, yes..." He broke off at the increasingly confused look on Peter's face and crossed both arms on the table. "Let's start again," he suggested.
Peter nodded agreeably. "Okay," he said. "House, do you still wish I was Wilson, or do you like me better now?" He chewed his bottom lip nervously whilst he waited for House's reply.
House stared at the puzzle reflectively. "You have to understand that you're a very different person now, compared to how you were six years ago," he began. "Let me try to define what I mean. Yes, in a few ways, you're exactly the same. You've kept some of your old interests... you're highly intelligent... patient.... you care about others too much, and you still have the ability to charm the birds out of the trees." He grimaced. "It's really sickening."
Peter chuckled in delight at the feigned disgust on House's face.
House smiled at him and then became serious again. "But you also have your own distinct personality, too. You're frighteningly direct... more affectionate.... your sense of humor isn't as sophisticated or biting as it was before, and the most important difference is that you're now a child. Consequently, I relate to you on an entirely new level."
Peter was fascinated. "How have you changed, House?" he asked.
"You've taught me how to be a nicer friend," House said bluntly. And that would hardly be difficult, he thought dolefully. "You've shown me how important it is to actually put something back into the friendship, instead of selfishly taking all of the time."
"So, we're closer friends now, House?" Peter questioned.
Closer? House's mind traveled back to the very first time he had encountered Wilson.
Wilson had been sitting on a stool at the bar, when House had walked up to stand beside him. House had glanced at him cursorily after ordering his drink, then thoughtfully met his gaze again. The growing blush on the other man's face had filled him with scorn. Pint in hand, he turned to leave. "'Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee,'" he warbled jeeringly and deliberately jolted the stranger, as he roughly shouldered past.
Wilson spilled half of his beer onto the counter. He raised his glass to House's reflection in a mock toast. "Jarringly off key," he commented quietly. "But hey.... Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sandra. I'm James Wilson."
The sarcasm ensnared him. So, the lamb had claws; House was impressed. He halted.... looked back and saw in the mirror that Wilson had already shrugged off their encounter. It was vexing. He defiantly retraced his steps back to the bar and slid onto the stool, next to the other man. Wilson regarded him coolly, and, this time, when he met House's gaze, there wasn't a trace of the former bashfulness in his demeanor. House suppressed a shiver. "And dangerous?" he probed.
Wilson lifted his chin, taken off guard. For a moment, terrible sadness crossed the boyish face, unbidden.
House's brows drew together in a frown. What the......?
Recovering, Wilson's gaze drifted over the other man, almost absently, before returning to House's face. Suddenly relaxing, Wilson put down his beer, leaned closer to House and offered his hand. The blossoming humor in the dark eyes sent House's perceptions reeling again. "Oh, profoundly," he said and grinned.
Indeed.
House swallowed at the recollection of that fortuitous meeting and thought that, perhaps, each interaction he'd ever had with Wilson had been colored by the same dizzying confusion he'd experienced in that bar. Wilson had mystified him, throwing off so many conflicting signals, House's head had been perpetually spinning. Their relationship had never been boring, but still........
His mind jumped from memory to memory: the eternal concern. The banter. The impassioned arguments. The way his friend had lounged provocatively against walls.... doors - sprawled on his couch - and always, with that gentle, self mocking laughter in his eyes that had kept House at a distance. Afraid. Up until the night of that fateful test, he just hadn't been sure.
House looked back at the young boy. "We enjoyed an extraordinary friendship when you were here before," he said. "We were incredibly close, and I trusted you absolutely, in a way that I've never trusted another." He paused. "But that doesn't mean that we didn't have our share of problems. Jealousy, bitterness, misunderstandings, fear..... they all played a fairly large part in damaging our friendship to some degree." His head bowed down low over the jigsaw.
If House could have that time with Wilson back again, then the man that Peter had seen in those photographs wouldn't need to paste on bright, convincing but insincere smiles. No, the smiles, captured by the camera, would all be wider and they'd be genuine. House would make sure of that.
Peter watched as House tried, again, to complete the chimney.
"Someone once said that we used to be like two halves of a whole," House said, thinking aloud. "But we weren't. Not exactly."
"Like the two pieces of jigsaw you're trying to force together there, House?"
House started guiltily. He laughed. "Yeah, precisely like that."
"But then I returned," Peter said. Leaning over to pick up the correct piece of jigsaw with delicate fingers, he knocked House's hand away and slotted the elusive piece easily into the puzzle. He looked up at House, and the two locked gazes. Peter smiled shyly, his face glowing.
House smiled back at him, wryly. "Well, what do you know - a perfect fit," he said.
The end.
Extract from 'Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee' taken from the movie 'Grease', © 1978 Paramount Pictures
Sequel: Tinderbox chapter 1
Author: Fayding_fast
Chapter: 6/6
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em
Wordcount: 3523
Spoilers: Minor for Sex Kills
Warning: None
Rating: PG
September 3rd 2012, 09:40 hrs
"You're been so quiet today," House said apprehensively - his fingers lightly raking through the boy's hair. The whisper ruptured the peaceful silence like a siren.
"I'm tired," the child murmured. Recumbent on House's couch, head pillowed on House's left thigh, he faced away from House and hadn't moved in half an hour. "I'm too tired to think."
"Why are you tired?" House asked to keep the child talking; he'd feared that the boy might be so withdrawn, he wouldn't even speak. "Didn't you get much sleep last night?"
"I didn't sleep at all," Peter replied and stifling a yawn, he slipped his hands beneath his pale cheek. "I was awake all night long."
"Why was that?" House persevered and pressed the back of his hand against the child's forehead. "Weren't you well?"
"I felt very well," Peter answered him wearily. "I was just worrying."
"Is that right?" House said. "Have you mentioned this to your daddy?" He could have bitten off his tongue when he felt the child flinch.
Peter studied the books on the shelves across the room. He liked books. He wondered if House would read one to him if he brought some of his over. "He's......" His voice broke and the child blinked. He'd have to try to reply to that query in a minute. Instead, he mentally composed a short list of his favorite tales. Perhaps, House would like to read the one about the polar bear that hated the cold; he could see House laughing about that. "He said that he's busy, and I shouldn't pester him when he's trying to get ready for work." Peter sighed softly, reminded anew about how deeply his father's impatience with him had hurt. Still, at least he'd managed to answer House's question, and in all honesty, he felt a little better - a fraction more at ease - now that his friend knew the truth. He closed his eyes. God, he was tired.
Busy? House's free hand clenched into a fist, as he felt the tension radiating from the spare frame, and he remembered the dark smudges under the child's eyes. Couldn't Mr. Talbot set aside a few minutes in his busy schedule to listen to the troubles of his son? His lips compressed into a thin, disapproving line, but he was wise enough to keep his own counsel. Not only would it upset the child if he delivered a scathing diatribe against the boy's father, but it would also be hypocritical in the extreme. Because he'd behaved just as reprehensibly himself. Maybe I'm going through something, that I need to have an actual conversation about? Yes, he certainly hadn't thought twice about turning his own back on Wilson, when the man had been close to tears and pleading for a chance to talk to him.
Was it any wonder then, that the child was feeling so desolate - so lost? House squeezed the boy's shoulder gently, in wordless apology - the gesture belated but nonetheless heartfelt and fueled by honest regret.
Slowly, by degrees, Peter unwound - calmed by his friend's proximity and strength. He didn't know how he could have survived the last few weeks, if it hadn't been for House; the child simply worshiped him.
After a while, House spoke again. "I'd like to help you out, if I can," he said. "How many worries do you have?"
"I've got a lot, House," Peter said mournfully.
"That's all right; how many?"
Peter turned over so that he was lying on his back. He started totaling them up until he ran out of fingers. "Can I borrow your hand for a minute, House?" When House accommodated him, he continued counting. "I make it twelve," he said at length.
"You have twelve major concerns at the moment?"
Peter nodded miserably, in confirmation. "I'm afraid so," he said.
"That is a hell of a lot." House placed his hand once more on the exhausted child's hair. "Sit up for a minute."
Peter dutifully shifted.
House stood up and stretched, then disappeared into the kitchen. "How many worries do you think I have?" he called out.
Peter waited tolerantly for his friend to reappear. "Four million and three?" he guessed uncertainly; he really had no idea.
"Good Lord!" House said, imagining, for a moment, what his life would be like if he really did have that many. It didn't bear thinking about. He limped back into the living room carrying a notebook and a pen. "You're not even close." He sat back down on the sofa. "At this current time, I have no worries at all."
Peter stared at him in shock. "None at all?" he questioned in genuine astonishment. "How have you managed that?"
"My life's just a breeze," House said jauntily. "Now, taking into account that friends are supposed to share all of their problems, does it seem right to you that you have a dozen more worries than me?"
Peter frowned. When House put it that way..... "No, not really," he said.
"Fair enough. What would normally happen, is that two friends would divide the problems up between them. In this particular case, that would be six each."
"I guess that will be okay," Peter agreed, somewhat ambivalently.
"However," House carried on, "it's a rule that the oldest person in the friendship has to take on more problems than the younger one."
Arranging a cushion behind him, to make himself more comfortable, Peter looked a bit doubtful. "I've never heard of that rule," he said.
"It's a golden rule," House explained. "That means that it's sacred. It should never be broken. So, am I older than you or younger?"
Peter hesitated; he didn't want to insult his friend.
"I'm older," House said, answering his own query.
"Well...... yes, you are, but....."
"Much older," House continued and pulled a face; boy, was he beginning to feel it. "That means that I have to take on your share of problems as well as my own."
Peter didn't reply. House's comments had disturbed him on some fundamental level. He sat motionless - his gaze tracking across the deeply creased surface of his friend's face.
House raised a questioning brow at the scrutiny. "What?" he said.
You don't look old, though, the child thought to himself loyally. To Peter's eyes, House didn't appear to have aged at all. You have a wonderful face, House. It's quite beautiful.
House fidgeted.
Realizing that he was staring and making House feel uncomfortable, Peter looked away. "So, how many problems do you have now, House?" he asked. He'd lost track.
House's discomfiture started to fade. "All of them," he said.
"That doesn't make any sense," Peter said, thoroughly bewildered. "Now you won't be able to sleep, either."
"I'll sleep like a baby," House assured him. "Now, tell me what's bothering you, and I'll write everything down in a list." He sat up straighter, pen at the ready. "Shoot," he said. "I'll have your troubles sorted out in no time."
Peter thought that, sometimes, House was too confident for his own good. "You haven't heard them yet," he warned gloomily.
*
Having solved most of the problems to the child's satisfaction, House regarded the last four on the list. "All right," he said. "When I take you back, tonight, we'll stop off on the way to buy some more of your Minty Zing toothpaste....."
"Plus whitening," Peter reminded him. As he'd watched House cross more and more problems from the list, he'd become increasingly animated. He bared his teeth at House to demonstrate how they gleamed.
House shaded his eyes with his hand. "My God, they're dazzling," he said. "We'll buy a tube of Minty Zing toothpaste with added whitening. Then, when I drop you off home, I'll check under your bed and in your closet to make sure there are no monsters lurking about."
"You're incredibly brave, House," Peter said, looking at his friend with unadulterated admiration.
If only that was so, House thought wistfully. He continued to study the remaining issues. "That leaves the spider on your bedroom ceiling," he said, suppressing a shudder. "How big is it?" He'd never admit to being arachnophobic, but he certainly wasn't excessively fond of the sinister creatures; they gave him the creeps.
"It's enormous, House," Peter said fearfully, cowering down against the arm of the sofa. "I was sure he was gonna have me for breakfast."
"What is this sucker - a ten foot tarantula?" House asked.
"I don't know what he is," Peter said, looking exceptionally pitiful, "but I do know he hates me. I could hear him gnashing his fangs when he glared down at me." He and House stared at each other in mutual fright.
"Does your daddy mind spiders?" Surely, it wouldn't hurt the man to do something to help his son.
"My daddy said I should leave the spider in peace but then the spider isn't hanging over his bed, waiting to rip him to shreds, is it?"
"No," House said faintly. He swallowed a vicodin. "It isn't. Okay, after I've searched your bedroom for monsters, I'll get the spider out of the room for you," he promised recklessly. "How does that sound?"
"What about the cobwebs? Could you get rid of them at the same time, House?"
"Don't push your luck." As Peter's face fell, he relented; he just didn't know how to say 'no' to this child. He threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine, I'll run a vacuum cleaner over the ceiling as well."
"That would be really great, House," Peter said, smiling in relief.
Smiling back at him, House crossed off three more worries which left number one on the list. He looked at his friend and shook his head ruefully. "I don't think I can solve this last problem, can I?"
"No, House," the child agreed, without a trace of recrimination in his tone. "I know that I'm going to worry about you forever. But you've very sweetly helped me with all of the others."
"You don't have to worry about me," House assured him. "Look at me. Do you honestly believe that I'm unable to take care of myself?"
There was a long silence whilst the gray eyes stared back at him appraisingly. The evaluation concluded with Peter cupping his hands together and lifting them entreatingly towards his friend. "You'd better pass that problem back, House," the boy said.
*
September 4th 2012, 18:00 hrs
"So, who is he? Why are you spending so much time with him?" Billy looked resentfully at the smaller boy. They were both drawing pictures of cars, and Peter's was distinctly better than his.
Attention still on his sketchbook as he skillfully added the finishing touches to his picture, Peter's mouth quirked into a smile. "He's my best friend," he said. "He's helping my daddy to look after me."
"I thought I was your best friend."
Peter looked over at him, surprised. "You're not," he said gently, with his trademark honesty. "I like you, Billy, but you're not House. He's very dear to me. I love him."
Billy looked back down at his sketch, hiding eyes as hard as flint. Half heartedly, he started sketching in a road. An impression of clouds. Some trees.
Peter regarded him silently, not liking the frosty atmosphere between them. "Billy?" he said.
Billy's hand lashed out and knocked Peter's orange juice flying - the majority of it spilling onto Peter's sketchbook, soaking through the pages and leaving them in one unholy, sodden mess. "I'm sorry," he said instantly. "How clumsy."
Peter jerked his book off of the table, hoping to salvage some of his drawings, but he could tell it was too late - they were ruined. All that work... all that time spent on them and for nothing. He fought back tears. "It's okay," he said, breath hitching and held the dripping book to his stomach. "It was an accident." He searched the older boy's face. "It was, wasn't it?"
"Of course it was. I'm so sorry, Petey."
Peter nodded dully. He went over to the window and waited quietly for his father to arrive to pick him up.
*
September 4th 2012, 18:00 hrs
House loitered until he heard the invitation to enter and then stepped into Lee's office.
Lee was just packing some paperwork into his briefcase. He smiled broadly at House. "Hi," he said.
Seeing that his friend was happy, House smiled himself. "Hi. I can see that you've had a good day."
"One of the best," Lee answered. "How often do you get to tell two patients in one afternoon that they've been given the all clear?"
House grinned at him, leaning heavily on his cane. "Not that often, I'll bet," he said.
Lee picked up his coat. "You about ready to leave? Want to come with me and down a few beers to celebrate?"
That sounded like a plan. House nodded, and both men walked towards the door. "As you were the one to ask me, you buying?"
"I'll buy my fair share, yeah."
House pouted. Lee was laying down boundaries, and he wasn't convinced that he liked it.
Lee smiled internally at House's expression and lightly punched his arm. "Come on, my friend, let's get out of here." He took one last look around the room, switched off the light and locked the office up behind them.
*
September 8th 2012, 13:50 hrs
House and Peter were trying to assemble together a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle picturing a Christmas scene. "Do you still wish I was Wilson, or do you like me better now?" Peter asked out of the blue. Perched on top of several colorful booster cushions, he was seated just high enough to manage the task in hand.
House eyed him thoughtfully. Was this another question posed because of the child's endless quest for reassurance? He delayed replying by attempting to fit yet another piece onto the top of the chimney he was concentrating on and failed miserably. Where the hell was that bit? "That's a very difficult question to answer," he said slowly.
Peter was working on the horse and carriage segment of the picture and was making considerable progress. "Why is that?" he said.
"The relationship I have with you now, is totally dissimilar to the one I had with you before," House said. "There's just no comparison." That part there - that looked quite promising. He lifted it up and tried it, but no, that wasn't right either. He squinted. Or was it?
Peter almost jumped out of his skin when House whacked the next bit hard, trying to ram it into place. He rolled his eyes. The piece House was searching for was just to the right of House's elbow, if he only took the time to look properly. Should he point that out, or would that spoil his friend's enjoyment? He was in two minds. "But surely, I haven't changed much," he said, "have I?"
House shrugged his shoulders to alleviate the tension. "Yes, you have," he said. "Well, no, you haven't. Well, yes..." He broke off at the increasingly confused look on Peter's face and crossed both arms on the table. "Let's start again," he suggested.
Peter nodded agreeably. "Okay," he said. "House, do you still wish I was Wilson, or do you like me better now?" He chewed his bottom lip nervously whilst he waited for House's reply.
House stared at the puzzle reflectively. "You have to understand that you're a very different person now, compared to how you were six years ago," he began. "Let me try to define what I mean. Yes, in a few ways, you're exactly the same. You've kept some of your old interests... you're highly intelligent... patient.... you care about others too much, and you still have the ability to charm the birds out of the trees." He grimaced. "It's really sickening."
Peter chuckled in delight at the feigned disgust on House's face.
House smiled at him and then became serious again. "But you also have your own distinct personality, too. You're frighteningly direct... more affectionate.... your sense of humor isn't as sophisticated or biting as it was before, and the most important difference is that you're now a child. Consequently, I relate to you on an entirely new level."
Peter was fascinated. "How have you changed, House?" he asked.
"You've taught me how to be a nicer friend," House said bluntly. And that would hardly be difficult, he thought dolefully. "You've shown me how important it is to actually put something back into the friendship, instead of selfishly taking all of the time."
"So, we're closer friends now, House?" Peter questioned.
Closer? House's mind traveled back to the very first time he had encountered Wilson.
Wilson had been sitting on a stool at the bar, when House had walked up to stand beside him. House had glanced at him cursorily after ordering his drink, then thoughtfully met his gaze again. The growing blush on the other man's face had filled him with scorn. Pint in hand, he turned to leave. "'Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee,'" he warbled jeeringly and deliberately jolted the stranger, as he roughly shouldered past.
Wilson spilled half of his beer onto the counter. He raised his glass to House's reflection in a mock toast. "Jarringly off key," he commented quietly. "But hey.... Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sandra. I'm James Wilson."
The sarcasm ensnared him. So, the lamb had claws; House was impressed. He halted.... looked back and saw in the mirror that Wilson had already shrugged off their encounter. It was vexing. He defiantly retraced his steps back to the bar and slid onto the stool, next to the other man. Wilson regarded him coolly, and, this time, when he met House's gaze, there wasn't a trace of the former bashfulness in his demeanor. House suppressed a shiver. "And dangerous?" he probed.
Wilson lifted his chin, taken off guard. For a moment, terrible sadness crossed the boyish face, unbidden.
House's brows drew together in a frown. What the......?
Recovering, Wilson's gaze drifted over the other man, almost absently, before returning to House's face. Suddenly relaxing, Wilson put down his beer, leaned closer to House and offered his hand. The blossoming humor in the dark eyes sent House's perceptions reeling again. "Oh, profoundly," he said and grinned.
Indeed.
House swallowed at the recollection of that fortuitous meeting and thought that, perhaps, each interaction he'd ever had with Wilson had been colored by the same dizzying confusion he'd experienced in that bar. Wilson had mystified him, throwing off so many conflicting signals, House's head had been perpetually spinning. Their relationship had never been boring, but still........
His mind jumped from memory to memory: the eternal concern. The banter. The impassioned arguments. The way his friend had lounged provocatively against walls.... doors - sprawled on his couch - and always, with that gentle, self mocking laughter in his eyes that had kept House at a distance. Afraid. Up until the night of that fateful test, he just hadn't been sure.
House looked back at the young boy. "We enjoyed an extraordinary friendship when you were here before," he said. "We were incredibly close, and I trusted you absolutely, in a way that I've never trusted another." He paused. "But that doesn't mean that we didn't have our share of problems. Jealousy, bitterness, misunderstandings, fear..... they all played a fairly large part in damaging our friendship to some degree." His head bowed down low over the jigsaw.
If House could have that time with Wilson back again, then the man that Peter had seen in those photographs wouldn't need to paste on bright, convincing but insincere smiles. No, the smiles, captured by the camera, would all be wider and they'd be genuine. House would make sure of that.
Peter watched as House tried, again, to complete the chimney.
"Someone once said that we used to be like two halves of a whole," House said, thinking aloud. "But we weren't. Not exactly."
"Like the two pieces of jigsaw you're trying to force together there, House?"
House started guiltily. He laughed. "Yeah, precisely like that."
"But then I returned," Peter said. Leaning over to pick up the correct piece of jigsaw with delicate fingers, he knocked House's hand away and slotted the elusive piece easily into the puzzle. He looked up at House, and the two locked gazes. Peter smiled shyly, his face glowing.
House smiled back at him, wryly. "Well, what do you know - a perfect fit," he said.
The end.
Extract from 'Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee' taken from the movie 'Grease', © 1978 Paramount Pictures
Sequel: Tinderbox chapter 1