The Boy Next Door CH7
Author: resm
Pairing: None. House-Wilson strong friendship
Disclaimer: do not own
Summary: House trying to adjust to a regressive Wilson after misc. accident
Unbeta'd so please forgive me. Hopefully not too OOC
This is largely inspired by / borrowed from a clip of one of RSL's film's (Boys Next Door) which you can find here:
www.youtube.com/watch
Previous chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six
~ Chapter 7 ~
Cuddy looks up from her computer monitor and fixes House with an already-resigned stare before he even continues through the door to argue his case, “What do you want? And make it quick,” she pauses, her brow furrowing slightly when she realises Wilson's at his tail. “Is everything okay?”
“Just peachy,” House concurs. “He's wanted to play with you all day. Boy's getting tired of my company, isn't that right, pal?” he explains, already pushing Wilson into one of Cuddy's plush chairs. “It's... okay if I leave him here, right?” he stamps the foot of his cane down twice into the carpet, “This is the Mother Superior's room, yes?”
“House,” Cuddy hisses. Her eyes flicker briefly at Wilson and so she smiles reassuringly at him then stands up and moves around her desk, her hand trailing over his shoulder as she brushes by him to glare daggers at House. “What do you think you're doing?”
“Offloading him,” House doesn't soften the situation. He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out his beloved PSP. “Don't worry, you shouldn't get any trouble out of him. He's practically toilet-trained and everything!”
“He's not a dog and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't tease him as though he were,” she deadpans.
Wilson twists around in the chair, his arm now draping over the backrest as he looks up at them, and his eyes marvel at the sight of House's handheld console, “Here you go, buddy,” House extends it to him but then retracts his hand just as quickly, holding it barely out of Wilson's eager reach, “But you break it, and I'll break one of your legs. Understood?”
“Mm,” he promises, opening and closing his hand much the same way he did when he was itching for his ten dollars.
“In fact, I'll break both of 'em.”
“Look, you have-” sighing impatiently, Cuddy snatches the PSP from House herself and shoves it into Wilson's hand. “You have two options and him spending his time playing your stupid video games in my office is certainly not one of them.”
House clears his throat firmly, “James, turn around in that chair and mind your own damn business. Concentrate on your game, it's not like you don't need the practice.” Wilson dutifully starts up the PSP. “And play it quietly. Volume off.”
“If you still feel that he can't be in the apartment without supervision,” Cuddy continues when she's convinced that Wilson has suitably tuned out the goings-on around him, “then I suggest-”
“It was you who told me to check up on him this morning. You also said it wouldn't be a problem if he hung out here from time to time. I haven't done anything that you haven't asked: I checked on him, now I'm letting him hang out.”
“Take some time off,” Cuddy instructs slowly with an empathetic tilt of the head.
“I did,” House grinds out between clenched teeth.
“Take as long as you need. As he needs,” she hesitantly touches his arm. “You can still be reachable over the phone. The team can manage, House. That's why you hired them.”
“What's my other option?”
She sighs, removing her hand to flap her whole arm against her side as if in resignation, “I don't remove you totally from the case, but I put Foreman in charge indefinitely. He'll oversee everything until you've-”
“What more do you expect here?”
“Until you've had time to adjust.”
“Tell me. Seriously,” he snaps, “Tell me how to suck less at this whole babysitting crap.”
“House-”
“That's really what this is all about, isn't it? It has nothing to do with me handling the case. You just don't think I can handle Wilson.”
“Do you think you can handle him?”
Wilson, so wilfully trying to ignore them, finally turns around. House is now flamboyantly flailing a hand in his direction, “Why don't you go ahead and ask him yourself?”
“Well, you know, he is due a review for social services. Now's as good a time as any,” Cuddy warns defensively and folds her arms for some sort of emphasis.
“Because you're the expert, right Mommy? Am I required to meet the same criteria you did to prove my worth; just dump the little bastard wherever the hell I please so long as I hook up a webcam? I could even get picture-on-picture for my office computer. That works for you, doesn't it? Kinda justifies putting your work first. If I did that, you wouldn't need to worry about the hospital or his paperwork.”
“You asshole,” she struggles to keep the building resentment and disappointment from her voice. House watches mutely as she shakes her head and turns away from him to catch Wilson's reaction, when he himself can't bring himself to look at the other man.
“You should probably know that Peter Wilson arrives in tomorrow night. Parents were just off the phone.”
House nods once at this and then opens his mouth to take back what he had said. He plucks up the courage to slide his gaze from Cuddy to Wilson and then back again, but that's the extent of it, “Well then,” he says almost disdainfully, “I guess I'll go grab my bag and if the team need me, they can call. Give me five minutes, Jimmy.”
Cuddy, now standing closer to Wilson, says nothing until House leaves the office. She drops her hand onto his shoulder again and feels him trembling beneath her, “Aw, hey. Hey James. Look, no, look at me.”
Even as she palms the side of his face, he refuses to. Instead, he favours the PSP in his shaking hands and his eyes are cast downwards, his chin unmoveable from his chest, “He - he just gets...” Cuddy pets her fingers through his hair fondly with the hand formerly on his shoulder and then gently moves it to his back so that she may massage him in concentric circles. “Angry with me. But - but - but don't be mad at him 'cause so do I.”
“He's worried about you,” she deflects, not wanting to discuss with him the issue of whatever she may or may not feel towards his friend, “He's not angry.”
“Oh, boy, he can get angry,” Wilson argues softly. “And being worried, being dis - disappointed, that's just anger for wimps. So you're angry too. You're just afraid to show it.”
“James...”
“But this... this isn't me. You think I'm me? I'm not me.” A single, solitary tear spills down onto his cheek, flushed rouge with shame. Cuddy brings her lips down to the crown of his head and kisses him softly and he wonders over the memory of her even crouching beside the chair to begin with.
“You shouldn't say things like that,” she tells him, but only because she can't stand listening to his reality. And she knows she's being selfish but the truth is when she goes to bed at night, praying to the God she only has a vague relationship with, cuddling up next to Lucas and trying to tell herself he's not merely some consolation prize, she likes to entertain the idea that Wilson's doing well.
“But I think them.”
She sighs into his hair at how young his voice sounds just then. And she can't stop herself when her arms suddenly snake around him. He leans into her ever so slightly and she can still feel him shaking. And she considers the possibility that his onset shaking, ever since the accident, extends into sleep.
There are nights, too, when she's in bed and can't convince herself that he's doing well. Because she knows, deep down, that House isn't doing well. She can't clear her mind of either of them. Can't get to sleep, and thinks about them both a few miles away tucked up in their own respective beds and resting. She doesn't even know if they do rest, she has a feeling House probably doesn't judging by the increased leg pain he's been downplaying.
And Wilson's shaking... this constant twitching, especially when he's agitated... he has about as little control over his own body as he does his mind when he's frightened or frustrated. Maybe he tosses and turns long through the night; maybe the back-up stash of sedatives House keeps for when Wilson's being particularly difficult really is the only thing that can manage to still him.
“Do you want to see your brother?” Cuddy breaks away from him, trying, again, to change the subject and it doesn't take much to distract him. “Your mother was hoping Friday. Just in the apartment. Nothing fancy. Your father won't be there or anything. Just Peter.”
“I don't,” he makes a noise in the base of his throat and expels a loud breath.
“You don't what, James?”
“Want him to see me,” he smiles a little sombrely, almost proud that he manages to express himself adequately for once. “I'd love... to see him but not... not...”
“I know what you mean.”
“Are you going to be with me?”
“Do you want me to? If it's just in the apartment, you'll still have House. He's going to be taking some personal time off. But if you want the extra numbers, I can hang around if that's what it'll take to make you feel better.”
He looks unsure for a moment, as if she's put him on the spot even though it was him who had brought the matter up, “Uh...” Sighing again, he fiddles with the PSP left forgotten in his lap and nods slowly, with a definite lack of confidence about him, “Yes.”
“You're sweet,” she pats his bandaged hand. “And we're taking this off before Peter arrives to see it, aren't we?”
“Yes,” he agrees and pulls it against his stomach protectively and then tucks it under the hem of his shirt, “But not - not now!”
“Jimmy.”
Wilson breaks round in the chair and Cuddy straightens up and neatens out her skirt a little as House stands outside the office door, propping one of the double-doors open with the tip of his cane. His backpack is slung over his shoulder and he's holding his laptop against his left side.
“Cuddy - uh, Lisa, said she's coming to our place for Peter,” Wilson informs with a grin, “Isn't that something?”
“That's really something, champ,” House says unenthusiastically, waiting for Wilson to bypass him into the main foyer of the hospital. He locks eyes with Cuddy for a moment and then looks away pointedly, staring, instead at a spot on the wall just behind her, “Thanks for minding him.”
“House...”
“He appreciates your company.”
“I don't have to be there if it's going to be awkward for you,” she tries to apologise. “But he asked and-”
“It's fine. You should be there.”
Cuddy smiles reluctantly at him, not entirely sure how she's supposed to feel or act around him. She's distantly aware that she's meant to be pissed at him, but Wilson seems to have recovered and it's not like House hasn't said horrible things to them in the past. His eyes drift over her anxious face and he sighs with finality before moving off. She can already hear him scolding Wilson for running on ahead by the time the door closes in his absence.
Curiosity gets the better of her and she comes forward a step to peer out and see the commotion. And Wilson probably had literally run ahead because the handle of House's cane is now hooked around the younger man's elbow, holding him in place, while several nurses bend to pick up the files and documents scattered across the floor that he must have knocked over in his haste for the great outdoors.
She can't help the beginnings of a smile twisting slowly into a fully-fledged grin and by the time House hobbles out of the hospital's automatic front doors with poor James acting as the thorn in his side, a burst of genuine laughter escapes her lips. And she decides that she's really rather looking forward to getting to spend time with them on Friday - however awkward for all of them.
Chapter Eight