Fic: A Letter Home
Title: A Letter Home
Author: Nemesis (Nems)
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: R
Warnings: None, really.
Summary: Written for the get_house_laid prompt 042. House/Wilson -- Wilson's parents find out, not in the way Wilson would have liked to tell them.
Disclaimer: Oh, come on. Does anyone actually bother reading this? Hoping for some amusement, perhaps? The real amusement is beyond the lj-cut. I thought up lovely stuff for you to read beyond there, and you're reading this drivel instead.
A/N: Beta-ed by my wonderfully patient and *helpful* wives, Brit and Cris. Fic was written for Cris, who read about three different stories for this prompt before I settled on this one.
Dr. House would like to take this time and space to remind you that "puppies shouldn't be kicked, Chase is a whore, and reviews are love." Dr. Wilson would like to add, "Favorite lines are much appreciated, I'm told." Nems likes reviews, they keep him writing lots and lots!
Esther Wilson opened the small package. A plain, white envelope marked Mother and Father lay on top of a stack of photos.
Esther opened the envelope and read, “Dear Mother and Father,
“Everything’s okay over here. I know I haven’t written much in the past few months, but it’s been very hectic. My job’s been demanding more of my time than it usually has, and with one thing and another, I’ve always put off writing this letter until I could fully devote the time and attention that a letter to you deserves.
“I wish I could tell you stories, but it’s been pretty much the same old, same old over here. I go to work, some days I even manage to go home again, and then I go to work again.”
Here he answered some questions Esther had asked in a previous letter.
“You asked for some recent pictures of me in your last letter, so I’ve included a few. The backs of all the pictures are labeled with the date, the place, and the people in the picture. I hope you like them.
“Love,
“James.”
Esther put the letter down and picked up the photos. The first one was of James, his head bent down as he wrote something. There was a serious look on his face. Behind him were books, awards, gifts from patients, and drawings from the pediatric oncology ward.
Esther flipped it over. In James’ firm, precise handwriting it read, “Me in my office, May 17.”
The next picture was of James laughing, his head thrown back, and of another man, chuckling. The other man was as tall as James, maybe a little taller, with blue eyes, stubble, and a cane. Esther vaguely remembered him from somewhere. James had probably introduced him once and she’d forgotten. They were in another office. This one had at least as many books as James’ did, but it also had a lot more toys lying around and no drawings.
“May 21, Dr. Gregory House and me, in his office. I’ve introduced you to him before - he’s one of my closest friends. He’s also one of the best doctors in the state.”
Ah, that’s right. Esther remembered him now. Horrifically arrogant and rude, but James clearly respected him.
The next picture was of James, hands in his lab coat’s pockets, a thoughtful look on his face. He was listening to three doctors. One of them was a black man with short hair. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was scowling. The other man was white, with blonde hair and an earnest expression. The woman was pretty, young, with brown hair. She was rolling her eyes. They were in a glass office with a glass table and a whiteboard full of extremely messy handwriting.
“June 13. Left to right: me, Dr. Eric Foreman, Dr. Robert Chase, and Dr. Allison Cameron. They all work for Dr. House. We’re in the outer office of the Diagnostics Departments (House’s department).”
Most of the pictures were like that. James at work, usually talking to some doctors. They were good pictures of him, and Esther wondered who took them.
She put down a picture of James walking with one of his cancer patients (a small kid, too, Esther noted with sadness) and nearly dropped the stack.
It was another picture of House and James, but they were… kissing. And not a chaste brush of the cheeks, but a proper lip-lock. Esther rather fancied she saw a tongue. She blinked rapidly and tried to figure out what the hell it was. A joke? A mistake? James hadn’t mentioned anything like that in his letter. House’s hand was cupping James’ cheek, his thumb clearly rubbing tenderly. They were on a couch, bookshelves behind them, filled to the brim with books. Books and journals lay about them, cluttering up the ground.
Esther flipped it over with some trepidation. In a completely different handwriting, similar to the messy scrawl on the whiteboard, only a little neater, it read, “James and Greg in their apartment, July 4.”
Their apartment.
Well, maybe they were roommates of a sort and this was a weird Fourth of July joke or tradition. Or maybe House put it in just to prank her.
The next picture was worse. James’ shirt hung open and House’s shirt was lying abandoned somewhere on the ground. James’ arms were wrapped around House, and House’s left arm was stroking Wilson’s back. His right hand was clutching his cane, keeping his balance. They were kissing again, or maybe still. They were in a kitchen now.
“James and Greg, their apartment, July 17.”
Clearly not a prank. Esther swallowed, wondering if she should continue looking through the pictures or throw them all to the ground and call her son, demanding an explanation. Well. Nothing risque yet.
She revised that as she looked at the next picture. House was sprawled on the sofa, no shirt, no pants, his cane lying on the ground next to them. James was on his knees and his head was in House’s lap. And this time, Esther was quite sure she saw James’ tongue. And House’s… well. Yes. House’s hand was entangled in James’s hair, and his head was thrown back.
She blinked a few times, wondering what it would say when she turned it over. “James and Greg, their apartment, July 19.”
Right. Okay.
She looked at the next picture and nearly shrieked. House was kneeling on a bed in his birthday suit, his hands clutching the headboard and his weight clearly off his right leg. James was behind him, equally naked, his hands on House’s hips. He was… apparently he was fucking House. Esther blinked rapidly and flushed red.
“James and Greg, their apartment, August 1.”
Why did they have pictures of this anyway? Esther wondered, quickly shoving the picture aside.
Underneath it was another picture of James and House, but this time, they were both fully clothed. In tuxes, no less. Both of them had a rose pinned to their lapels. House and James were holding hands, beaming at their friends.
“James and Greg at their wedding, Town Hall, September 3.”
Esther smiled against her will. She was annoyed at whoever had included those dirty pictures (really, a very nasty idea), but this was sweet. And James had mentioned absolutely none of this in his letter. She frowned. She’d have to have a serious talk about not mentioning things like this to her.
The next picture was of just their hands, House placing a ring on James’ finger. A gold ring already rested on House’s left ring finger.
“James and Greg at their wedding, the exchanging of the rings, Town Hall, September 3.”
The last picture of was James and House getting in a car, waving to the couple dozen people there. James was laughing and House had a broad smile on his face.
“The big send-off. September 3.”
There was a note, too. “I thought you might like a few wedding pictures, too. James hadn’t included them when he was preparing the photos. - Greg House.”
Esther smiled. He seemed like a nice man, after all. Even if the dirty pictures were his doing.
***
“Greg, I can’t find two of our pictures. The exchanging of the rings one and the one where we’re standing side-by-side. I was going to have it professionally copied and framed so that I could put it on our desk.” Wilson was rummaging through drawers, frustrated that the pictures weren’t where he had left them. This drawer seemed to have all of House’s old or extra videogame controllers.
“Your mom has them,” House answered distractedly, watching the monster truck rally. “Don’t worry, I have a copy in my office. I can lend them to you for copying and framing.”
There was a loud crash as Wilson dropped one of House’s controllers.
“Who has them?”
“Your mom. I sent her a few pictures of us, since you omitted not only pictures but also any mention of our wedding.”
Wilson got a sudden, crazy idea and rushed off. He returned, clutching a set of photographs. “Greg…” he began, “Four of our… special pictures are missing.”
“Yeah. Your mom has those too.”
--End
A/N: This fic now has a fic commentary! (Where I talk about the process of writing the fic). It's right HERE
Author: Nemesis (Nems)
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: R
Warnings: None, really.
Summary: Written for the get_house_laid prompt 042. House/Wilson -- Wilson's parents find out, not in the way Wilson would have liked to tell them.
Disclaimer: Oh, come on. Does anyone actually bother reading this? Hoping for some amusement, perhaps? The real amusement is beyond the lj-cut. I thought up lovely stuff for you to read beyond there, and you're reading this drivel instead.
A/N: Beta-ed by my wonderfully patient and *helpful* wives, Brit and Cris. Fic was written for Cris, who read about three different stories for this prompt before I settled on this one.
Dr. House would like to take this time and space to remind you that "puppies shouldn't be kicked, Chase is a whore, and reviews are love." Dr. Wilson would like to add, "Favorite lines are much appreciated, I'm told." Nems likes reviews, they keep him writing lots and lots!
Esther Wilson opened the small package. A plain, white envelope marked Mother and Father lay on top of a stack of photos.
Esther opened the envelope and read, “Dear Mother and Father,
“Everything’s okay over here. I know I haven’t written much in the past few months, but it’s been very hectic. My job’s been demanding more of my time than it usually has, and with one thing and another, I’ve always put off writing this letter until I could fully devote the time and attention that a letter to you deserves.
“I wish I could tell you stories, but it’s been pretty much the same old, same old over here. I go to work, some days I even manage to go home again, and then I go to work again.”
Here he answered some questions Esther had asked in a previous letter.
“You asked for some recent pictures of me in your last letter, so I’ve included a few. The backs of all the pictures are labeled with the date, the place, and the people in the picture. I hope you like them.
“Love,
“James.”
Esther put the letter down and picked up the photos. The first one was of James, his head bent down as he wrote something. There was a serious look on his face. Behind him were books, awards, gifts from patients, and drawings from the pediatric oncology ward.
Esther flipped it over. In James’ firm, precise handwriting it read, “Me in my office, May 17.”
The next picture was of James laughing, his head thrown back, and of another man, chuckling. The other man was as tall as James, maybe a little taller, with blue eyes, stubble, and a cane. Esther vaguely remembered him from somewhere. James had probably introduced him once and she’d forgotten. They were in another office. This one had at least as many books as James’ did, but it also had a lot more toys lying around and no drawings.
“May 21, Dr. Gregory House and me, in his office. I’ve introduced you to him before - he’s one of my closest friends. He’s also one of the best doctors in the state.”
Ah, that’s right. Esther remembered him now. Horrifically arrogant and rude, but James clearly respected him.
The next picture was of James, hands in his lab coat’s pockets, a thoughtful look on his face. He was listening to three doctors. One of them was a black man with short hair. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was scowling. The other man was white, with blonde hair and an earnest expression. The woman was pretty, young, with brown hair. She was rolling her eyes. They were in a glass office with a glass table and a whiteboard full of extremely messy handwriting.
“June 13. Left to right: me, Dr. Eric Foreman, Dr. Robert Chase, and Dr. Allison Cameron. They all work for Dr. House. We’re in the outer office of the Diagnostics Departments (House’s department).”
Most of the pictures were like that. James at work, usually talking to some doctors. They were good pictures of him, and Esther wondered who took them.
She put down a picture of James walking with one of his cancer patients (a small kid, too, Esther noted with sadness) and nearly dropped the stack.
It was another picture of House and James, but they were… kissing. And not a chaste brush of the cheeks, but a proper lip-lock. Esther rather fancied she saw a tongue. She blinked rapidly and tried to figure out what the hell it was. A joke? A mistake? James hadn’t mentioned anything like that in his letter. House’s hand was cupping James’ cheek, his thumb clearly rubbing tenderly. They were on a couch, bookshelves behind them, filled to the brim with books. Books and journals lay about them, cluttering up the ground.
Esther flipped it over with some trepidation. In a completely different handwriting, similar to the messy scrawl on the whiteboard, only a little neater, it read, “James and Greg in their apartment, July 4.”
Their apartment.
Well, maybe they were roommates of a sort and this was a weird Fourth of July joke or tradition. Or maybe House put it in just to prank her.
The next picture was worse. James’ shirt hung open and House’s shirt was lying abandoned somewhere on the ground. James’ arms were wrapped around House, and House’s left arm was stroking Wilson’s back. His right hand was clutching his cane, keeping his balance. They were kissing again, or maybe still. They were in a kitchen now.
“James and Greg, their apartment, July 17.”
Clearly not a prank. Esther swallowed, wondering if she should continue looking through the pictures or throw them all to the ground and call her son, demanding an explanation. Well. Nothing risque yet.
She revised that as she looked at the next picture. House was sprawled on the sofa, no shirt, no pants, his cane lying on the ground next to them. James was on his knees and his head was in House’s lap. And this time, Esther was quite sure she saw James’ tongue. And House’s… well. Yes. House’s hand was entangled in James’s hair, and his head was thrown back.
She blinked a few times, wondering what it would say when she turned it over. “James and Greg, their apartment, July 19.”
Right. Okay.
She looked at the next picture and nearly shrieked. House was kneeling on a bed in his birthday suit, his hands clutching the headboard and his weight clearly off his right leg. James was behind him, equally naked, his hands on House’s hips. He was… apparently he was fucking House. Esther blinked rapidly and flushed red.
“James and Greg, their apartment, August 1.”
Why did they have pictures of this anyway? Esther wondered, quickly shoving the picture aside.
Underneath it was another picture of James and House, but this time, they were both fully clothed. In tuxes, no less. Both of them had a rose pinned to their lapels. House and James were holding hands, beaming at their friends.
“James and Greg at their wedding, Town Hall, September 3.”
Esther smiled against her will. She was annoyed at whoever had included those dirty pictures (really, a very nasty idea), but this was sweet. And James had mentioned absolutely none of this in his letter. She frowned. She’d have to have a serious talk about not mentioning things like this to her.
The next picture was of just their hands, House placing a ring on James’ finger. A gold ring already rested on House’s left ring finger.
“James and Greg at their wedding, the exchanging of the rings, Town Hall, September 3.”
The last picture of was James and House getting in a car, waving to the couple dozen people there. James was laughing and House had a broad smile on his face.
“The big send-off. September 3.”
There was a note, too. “I thought you might like a few wedding pictures, too. James hadn’t included them when he was preparing the photos. - Greg House.”
Esther smiled. He seemed like a nice man, after all. Even if the dirty pictures were his doing.
***
“Greg, I can’t find two of our pictures. The exchanging of the rings one and the one where we’re standing side-by-side. I was going to have it professionally copied and framed so that I could put it on our desk.” Wilson was rummaging through drawers, frustrated that the pictures weren’t where he had left them. This drawer seemed to have all of House’s old or extra videogame controllers.
“Your mom has them,” House answered distractedly, watching the monster truck rally. “Don’t worry, I have a copy in my office. I can lend them to you for copying and framing.”
There was a loud crash as Wilson dropped one of House’s controllers.
“Who has them?”
“Your mom. I sent her a few pictures of us, since you omitted not only pictures but also any mention of our wedding.”
Wilson got a sudden, crazy idea and rushed off. He returned, clutching a set of photographs. “Greg…” he began, “Four of our… special pictures are missing.”
“Yeah. Your mom has those too.”
--End
A/N: This fic now has a fic commentary! (Where I talk about the process of writing the fic). It's right HERE