one more purge
Untitled
Author: me
Rating: PG-13 I guess
Summary- short little fic I wrote on New Year's. About... well.. you guessed it. New Year's. Again... unbeta'd, unviewed by anyone else. So take your best shot. Thanks. I didn't end this one well... it probably needs one or two more sentences.
Wilson supposes that there are worse things. He’s here, after all. Surrounded by hundreds of people. There are bright shifting lights, a misty snow fall that leaves individual flakes on his jacket, music, and plenty of alcohol. He hasn’t had any. And Bonnie is practically ignoring him except to lean over with a drunken caress on his arm and thank him for driving her and her friends here. At least, he thinks that’s what she’s saying, but he can’t really hear her all that well. He’s not cold. He’s not alone in this crowd. He is not annoyed by the two drunks pushing against him. And he doesn’t wish he was in love. Life goes on and sure it didn’t work out between him and Bonnie. But she learned something, she has a life, he has his. They’re friends now, and friends do things for each other. When the ball drops, she kisses a stranger standing next to them.
New Year’s hasn’t been a big deal to Cuddy since halfway through her residency when she realized that it was going to be a long time until she to actually got celebrate one properly. She’d have to wait until she was settled, confident, until she had established herself and got the schedule she wanted and deserved. At that point, she’d imagined formal dresses, champagne, midnight kisses. But somehow getting to that point has diminished her chances of doing something with the time she deserves. Because there is nothing but the career now. So she sips a glass of wine, pulls the blanket closer around her waist to keep out the draft, and hopes 2008 will be a good year for the hospital.
Chase waits for her in the locker room at ten minutes to midnight, but she’s five minutes later than she said she would be. He’s impatient, a little frazzled after his last procedure, and he’s tired. He lays himself lengthwise on the bench, brings his hand over his eyes, and allows himself a moment’s peace. The bench’s hard exterior and narrow edges dig into him a little, but he’s drifts off for a anyway, imagining a diaphragm, a stomach, an entire peritoneum flooded with blood and infection. There could be complications, a misplaced suture, did he remove that last clamp? There is nothing more he could have done. Lately, Cameron’s the only one who assures him of this.
Cameron waits a moment, quietly throws her leg over the bench and looks down at her inadvertent confidant, her colleague, her lover. She sighs and it catches on a strand of his hair. He is all that she never really wanted. He’s too much of a suck-up and a little dorky, but he’s smart and handsome and persistent. He twitches at her nearness, opens his eyes, and looks up at her. His hands fall back and grip her around the waist, bringing them closer. She can smell him when she leans down- his fading cologne, antiseptic, soap, and the metallic tinge of blood and sweat. He’s been busy. She leans down, pushes her lips against his, invading, caressing. She can feel him smile around her. Her watch beeps the hour. It’s been a long time since she’s had this.
It isn’t that he’s desperate. It’s just that it’s hard. He has a career. His social circle consists of colleagues, not friends. He needs friends. He needs a girlfriend. That’s why he did it. The internet was just a good of place to meet people as the bar- if not better. This way, he sort of knows what he’s getting into. All the small talk is done. It’s the chemistry that’s left. She’s an accountant, beautiful, taller than him. It doesn’t bother Foreman. He buys her dinner, a few drinks, and by the time the ball drops in New York City, they’re under the covers and it doesn’t really matter that it’s a new year.
Another day, another dollar. Or it should be. Why the hell does anyone actually celebrate New Year’s anyway? Another year gone wrong. Another to come. House cautiously sips from the tumbler, careful not to allow the ice (or the glass) touch his swollen lip. Reign in the New Year. Fireworks at the last moment and a week’s suspension to boot. But he did save a life, cure an illness. No one ever forgets that because he does something that matters. Cuddy will cave day after tomorrow. It’s not how he lives his life or does his job, it’s the outcomes that leave a lasting imprint on the world. Last year, this year, two years from now- all the same.
Author: me
Rating: PG-13 I guess
Summary- short little fic I wrote on New Year's. About... well.. you guessed it. New Year's. Again... unbeta'd, unviewed by anyone else. So take your best shot. Thanks. I didn't end this one well... it probably needs one or two more sentences.
Wilson supposes that there are worse things. He’s here, after all. Surrounded by hundreds of people. There are bright shifting lights, a misty snow fall that leaves individual flakes on his jacket, music, and plenty of alcohol. He hasn’t had any. And Bonnie is practically ignoring him except to lean over with a drunken caress on his arm and thank him for driving her and her friends here. At least, he thinks that’s what she’s saying, but he can’t really hear her all that well. He’s not cold. He’s not alone in this crowd. He is not annoyed by the two drunks pushing against him. And he doesn’t wish he was in love. Life goes on and sure it didn’t work out between him and Bonnie. But she learned something, she has a life, he has his. They’re friends now, and friends do things for each other. When the ball drops, she kisses a stranger standing next to them.
New Year’s hasn’t been a big deal to Cuddy since halfway through her residency when she realized that it was going to be a long time until she to actually got celebrate one properly. She’d have to wait until she was settled, confident, until she had established herself and got the schedule she wanted and deserved. At that point, she’d imagined formal dresses, champagne, midnight kisses. But somehow getting to that point has diminished her chances of doing something with the time she deserves. Because there is nothing but the career now. So she sips a glass of wine, pulls the blanket closer around her waist to keep out the draft, and hopes 2008 will be a good year for the hospital.
Chase waits for her in the locker room at ten minutes to midnight, but she’s five minutes later than she said she would be. He’s impatient, a little frazzled after his last procedure, and he’s tired. He lays himself lengthwise on the bench, brings his hand over his eyes, and allows himself a moment’s peace. The bench’s hard exterior and narrow edges dig into him a little, but he’s drifts off for a anyway, imagining a diaphragm, a stomach, an entire peritoneum flooded with blood and infection. There could be complications, a misplaced suture, did he remove that last clamp? There is nothing more he could have done. Lately, Cameron’s the only one who assures him of this.
Cameron waits a moment, quietly throws her leg over the bench and looks down at her inadvertent confidant, her colleague, her lover. She sighs and it catches on a strand of his hair. He is all that she never really wanted. He’s too much of a suck-up and a little dorky, but he’s smart and handsome and persistent. He twitches at her nearness, opens his eyes, and looks up at her. His hands fall back and grip her around the waist, bringing them closer. She can smell him when she leans down- his fading cologne, antiseptic, soap, and the metallic tinge of blood and sweat. He’s been busy. She leans down, pushes her lips against his, invading, caressing. She can feel him smile around her. Her watch beeps the hour. It’s been a long time since she’s had this.
It isn’t that he’s desperate. It’s just that it’s hard. He has a career. His social circle consists of colleagues, not friends. He needs friends. He needs a girlfriend. That’s why he did it. The internet was just a good of place to meet people as the bar- if not better. This way, he sort of knows what he’s getting into. All the small talk is done. It’s the chemistry that’s left. She’s an accountant, beautiful, taller than him. It doesn’t bother Foreman. He buys her dinner, a few drinks, and by the time the ball drops in New York City, they’re under the covers and it doesn’t really matter that it’s a new year.
Another day, another dollar. Or it should be. Why the hell does anyone actually celebrate New Year’s anyway? Another year gone wrong. Another to come. House cautiously sips from the tumbler, careful not to allow the ice (or the glass) touch his swollen lip. Reign in the New Year. Fireworks at the last moment and a week’s suspension to boot. But he did save a life, cure an illness. No one ever forgets that because he does something that matters. Cuddy will cave day after tomorrow. It’s not how he lives his life or does his job, it’s the outcomes that leave a lasting imprint on the world. Last year, this year, two years from now- all the same.