Control. -Not closed!-
The infamous BMW:
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In the beginning, when he’d first gotten his license, driving had represented freedom. He was no longer reliant upon anyone to get him from point A to point B and that was an independence which James Wilson guarded fiercely from day one.
But gradually, driving had become something else.
It had taken Wilson until his junior year in college to truly appreciate what that ‘something’ else was.
Control.
In the car, behind the wheel he was finally in control. He wasn’t reliant upon the mercurial whims of his mother, he wasn’t responsible for the safety of his brothers, he wasn’t fighting with his father or fighting to work his way into med school. For the moments when he was in the car, he was in control and nothing could happen to him that he wasn’t directly responsible for.
It was a heady sense of relief for the stressed out young man and he’d nurtured it from that day forward, going so far as to spend what extra money he made on professional driving schools. He’d learned how to handle a variety of vehicles in a variety of situations and even now, he went back to the driving school sponsored by BMW to keep up his certification.
It was also why he drove the BMW. Despite what House had accused him off back when he’d bought the car, he’d kitted it out, nose to tail with every factory modification BMW’s expansive racing labs had to offer. In truth, the BMW was just this side of street legal even though it looked perfectly normal. It was only when you peeked under the hood or got a good look at the suspension that a person realized just how unique the low slung sports coupe was.
And it was a good thing.
Because time and age had not mellowed James Wilson all that much, especially when he had a hell of a lot on his mind and was driving with his demons on board.
Chase had left earlier that morning, needing to get a jump on the paperwork which had exploded across his desk what with House’s new position and Wilson had decided that rather then spend a couple extra hours at home rattling around in a house which seemed more empty than usual, he’d take the long way to work. Loading up the BMW with the books and other material he was using in the investigation of Rowan’s case he’d left his house with a good hour and a half cushion to get to the hospital.
And hour and a half he was making the most of.
Even the BMW’s excellent aerodynamics could stop the wind from whistling through the open sunroof at these speeds. The speedometer holding steady at near 90MPH, Wilson maneuvered through the highway traffic with ease and confidence, going so far as to challenge himself to make holes and fit through openings, which most sane people would have left for the bugs to scoot through.
As always, his hands on the steering wheel and the gearshift, feet working the clutch and the accelerator -brakes were for wussies- gave Wilson that sense of control he occasionally needed to remind himself of to get through his day. There was so much on his plate over which he had only a nominal say and yet he felt the weight of the decisions he did make keenly.
First up was the situation with House and Vogler. It frustrated Wilson to know that his best course of action was to keep his head low and stay out of the way. He realized he was rather holding his breath, waiting to see what was going to happen. Usually he had a good read on House but every so often even he couldn’t quite pick up which way his best friend was going to bolt.
It was the most out of control feeling Wilson could remember experiencing lately and it was making him edgy. Some of which he was attempting to work out here, on the road.
In front of him a large dump truck put on its brakes. The BMW could easily have stopped but the semi driving behind him was going to have no chance of braking in time to keep from smearing the Beemer in between itself and the dump truck. A quick glance in his review mirror confirmed that the semi was sliding into the middle lane, so a quick flick of his wrist sent the BMW hurtling up the left hand shoulder, semi and car blasting past startled dump truck and converging back into the left hand lane on the far side.
Total control, the whole way.
Taking a breath and shivering off the slight adrenaline rush the near collision had sent pushing through his veins Wilson grinned and pushed down on the accelerator. He was using the semi behind him as a sort of barometer. As long as it kept up with him chances were New Jersey’s finest were off chasing other law breakers.
Settling back in the bucket leather seat, the oncologist began to weave his way through traffic, letting the tight motion of the car pushing him back against the seat, the seatbelt tight across his chest and lap. Besides House, his mind was chewing on starting Kai’s treatments and how best to support his young patient through the rigors of the chemo. Not only physically, because Kai was going to need that intensely, but also emotionally and mentally. A situation which was ultimately up to Kai himself but which Wilson couldn’t help feeling responsible for.
Then there was Rowan…as both a patient and also Rowan and Robert as a personal land mine. Hopkins was effectively cutting him loose on this one, it was sink or swim time a position which Wilson hadn’t been in, in quite this manner in a long time. Added into the professional risk was the personal one. If he failed Robert in this….
It was a gamble all around but that just made him more determined to win it.
A foolish mindset to get into, especially vs a killer like stage 3-4 lung cancer but a mindset Wilson needed to hang on to in order to make it through this. Still, cancer never listened to you and so control over the situation was a mere illusion. All he could do was pull as much knowledge as possible to his fingertips and be ready to battle a foe he’d been facing down his entire life.
In front of him, a car swerved into his lane causing the oncologist to bite off a curse as he downshifted sharply, the tacometer’s needle slamming into the red as the BMW’s engine growled in defiance of the sudden deceleration. His right foot almost came across to the brake but at the last second the narrow channel of an off ramp opened up on his right and Wilson gunned the engine back up as he swung around the slower vehicle in front of him. Using the off ramp as an extra lane, gravel spitting from big tires as he threaded the needle and leapt back onto the highway, Wilson sighed and steered for the left hand lane once more.
Then, there were more personnel situations. Helene and Benson, two people who he could only help to a certain extent and then needed to step back and let them find their own way. Sometimes, being hands off…seeing a situation and not being able to attempt to resolve it was the most stressful situation of all, a sensation of being on a roller coaster ride, being invested in the outcome but having no say or control in the direction the train was traveling.
Unlike this hour in the car, when total control was at his fingertips.
Oh, he drove like a maniac because that was what he did best. He enjoyed the sensation of speed and power and was arrogant enough to have confidence in his ability to command the powerful car he handled. Wilson tried to channel his own arrogance into his driving, to keep it away from his doctoring. Confidence was a necessity in an oncologist but arrogance was off putting and so, the Head of Oncology tried to give himself little outlets to keep his own mind sharp and in focus. To keep a handle on what he could and could not control and to learn when and where to step back.
The off ramp which would lead him to PP-TH was coming up, rapidly and there was four lanes of traffic to cross. Wilson knew he should start working his way over but he waited…and waited…and waited, until he was 500 feet short of the exit, at 93MPH….then he turned the wheel.