"The Wilson Manifesto"; House/Wilson Churchverse fic
Title: The Wilson Manifesto
Pairing: House/Wilson (established); Warning: kid!fic without the kid; dialogue only
A/N: Part of the Churchverse (previous installments at simple__stuff; Part of the timestamp meme; anj1290 asked for five days before Wilson's brain surgery here.
"Look, here's the life insurance papers, you'll need to call them, but don't worry about finding the numbers, I've got all the numbers you'll need written on the front of the folder, and then again on page one."
"Red? That's a bit morbid, Jimmy."
"Black would be morbid. Red is the color I was able to filch from my office. Don't tell Cuddy or I might meet an unfortunate accident while under the knife."
"Don't even joke."
"Who's joking? There'll be a ton of forms to fill out, and I doubt you know your own social security number, much less mine. All of that is on page two."
"What is this, the Wilson Manifesto?"
"No, it's the Wilson Checklist of Death. Shut up and pay attention. You shouldn't have a problem switching over my bank account, your name is already on it, and you and Church can decide what you want to do with his savings account. Personally, I'd prefer that you put his inheritance in a trust fund until he's at least 21, because he's about as responsible with money as you are."
"Damn, there goes our Las Vegas vacation. The poor hookers, how they will cry."
"Yes, yes, rending of garments, gnashing of teeth; you can celebrate my death here just as well. Escort services are on page three. I've circled my choices, I can do no more."
"Strippers at the funeral?"
"Glad you mentioned that. Page four has specific, detailed instructions on my funeral arrangements. Any and all deviation will be duly noted, and taken into account when I'm given my choice of hauntings."
"So that's a go for the strippers then?"
"Yeah, go ahead. Male and female, by the way, because if you gotta go..."
"...go with a smile."
"That's the plan. Here now, I'm not kidding about the seriousness of pages 5-11, that's all Church-related. I've given him his social security card but I'm sure he's lost it already. This is the number, but if he needs a hard copy, you'll have to go down to the offices with him. Do not, I repeat, do not, under any and all circumstances whatsoever, let him talk you into a car. Grief is no excuse for lax parenting."
"You've got an index for this compendium somewhere, I take it?"
"Oh god, should I have?"
"Apparently. Jimmy, stop a minute."
"House, I can't; just accept that. The will is in the fireproof box, along with birth certificates and all of the other important papers. The keys to it are on my key ring, but there are copies of all the keys in my desk at work. Speaking of which, I'd appreciate it if you'd notify my patients."
"All of them?"
"Of course not, just the ones I have listed here. Page....ah, page twelve. And call everyone on page thirteen, and let them know also. Oh, and this is my obituary here. If there are any House additions, be that Greg or Church, I will be most displeased."
"Even if it's mostly the truth? Posthumous flattery will get me..."
"Killed. Unpleasantly. I will enlist demon hordes, if necessary."
"You do realize that I have no intention of doing any of this, right?"
"If you're saying that out of some misguided assumption that your not being prepared will somehow keep me from dying, I wish you wouldn't. I need to know that you two will be alright."
"You can fill the Library of Congress ten thousand times over, but we still don't have a chance of being alright. If you...you just can't, okay. It's not an option. Get it out of your mind."
"This isn't like you. For once in your life, please be you when I need you to be you. Don't go being someone else on me right now, I can't handle it."
"Well, I can't handle...you know I can't. This is about as impossible at it comes."
"You don't have a choice. I know that you won't take care of yourself. But you had better get over it, in a hurry, because someone has to take care of that boy, and if I'm not here, that would be you."
"Cuddy..."
"Is not his father. She isn't even his mother, not really. If you think for a second that I'm going to die, and you can just fold up shop and call it a day, you've lost whatever's left of your mind."
"That was my plan."
"Your plans suck, remember? That's what I'm here for."
"And when...if..."
"Just...just read the damn manifesto. And when you get to the end of it..."
"Shotgun?"
"When you get to the end of it, you get drunk, get hungover, get sober, go hug our son, have a good cry while pretending not to, and then you go on with life. Rinse and repeat. Use daily. Do not ingest. Do not operate heavy machinery."
"Can you write that down for me, Doctor?"
"Page eighty-seven."
Pairing: House/Wilson (established); Warning: kid!fic without the kid; dialogue only
A/N: Part of the Churchverse (previous installments at simple__stuff; Part of the timestamp meme; anj1290 asked for five days before Wilson's brain surgery here.
"Look, here's the life insurance papers, you'll need to call them, but don't worry about finding the numbers, I've got all the numbers you'll need written on the front of the folder, and then again on page one."
"Red? That's a bit morbid, Jimmy."
"Black would be morbid. Red is the color I was able to filch from my office. Don't tell Cuddy or I might meet an unfortunate accident while under the knife."
"Don't even joke."
"Who's joking? There'll be a ton of forms to fill out, and I doubt you know your own social security number, much less mine. All of that is on page two."
"What is this, the Wilson Manifesto?"
"No, it's the Wilson Checklist of Death. Shut up and pay attention. You shouldn't have a problem switching over my bank account, your name is already on it, and you and Church can decide what you want to do with his savings account. Personally, I'd prefer that you put his inheritance in a trust fund until he's at least 21, because he's about as responsible with money as you are."
"Damn, there goes our Las Vegas vacation. The poor hookers, how they will cry."
"Yes, yes, rending of garments, gnashing of teeth; you can celebrate my death here just as well. Escort services are on page three. I've circled my choices, I can do no more."
"Strippers at the funeral?"
"Glad you mentioned that. Page four has specific, detailed instructions on my funeral arrangements. Any and all deviation will be duly noted, and taken into account when I'm given my choice of hauntings."
"So that's a go for the strippers then?"
"Yeah, go ahead. Male and female, by the way, because if you gotta go..."
"...go with a smile."
"That's the plan. Here now, I'm not kidding about the seriousness of pages 5-11, that's all Church-related. I've given him his social security card but I'm sure he's lost it already. This is the number, but if he needs a hard copy, you'll have to go down to the offices with him. Do not, I repeat, do not, under any and all circumstances whatsoever, let him talk you into a car. Grief is no excuse for lax parenting."
"You've got an index for this compendium somewhere, I take it?"
"Oh god, should I have?"
"Apparently. Jimmy, stop a minute."
"House, I can't; just accept that. The will is in the fireproof box, along with birth certificates and all of the other important papers. The keys to it are on my key ring, but there are copies of all the keys in my desk at work. Speaking of which, I'd appreciate it if you'd notify my patients."
"All of them?"
"Of course not, just the ones I have listed here. Page....ah, page twelve. And call everyone on page thirteen, and let them know also. Oh, and this is my obituary here. If there are any House additions, be that Greg or Church, I will be most displeased."
"Even if it's mostly the truth? Posthumous flattery will get me..."
"Killed. Unpleasantly. I will enlist demon hordes, if necessary."
"You do realize that I have no intention of doing any of this, right?"
"If you're saying that out of some misguided assumption that your not being prepared will somehow keep me from dying, I wish you wouldn't. I need to know that you two will be alright."
"You can fill the Library of Congress ten thousand times over, but we still don't have a chance of being alright. If you...you just can't, okay. It's not an option. Get it out of your mind."
"This isn't like you. For once in your life, please be you when I need you to be you. Don't go being someone else on me right now, I can't handle it."
"Well, I can't handle...you know I can't. This is about as impossible at it comes."
"You don't have a choice. I know that you won't take care of yourself. But you had better get over it, in a hurry, because someone has to take care of that boy, and if I'm not here, that would be you."
"Cuddy..."
"Is not his father. She isn't even his mother, not really. If you think for a second that I'm going to die, and you can just fold up shop and call it a day, you've lost whatever's left of your mind."
"That was my plan."
"Your plans suck, remember? That's what I'm here for."
"And when...if..."
"Just...just read the damn manifesto. And when you get to the end of it..."
"Shotgun?"
"When you get to the end of it, you get drunk, get hungover, get sober, go hug our son, have a good cry while pretending not to, and then you go on with life. Rinse and repeat. Use daily. Do not ingest. Do not operate heavy machinery."
"Can you write that down for me, Doctor?"
"Page eighty-seven."