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The Writing on the Wall - Part Seven
by Evilida
There are rules in friendship. To break the rules puts the whole relationship in jeopardy. In the friendship between Wilson and House, one of the most fundamental rules is that they never talked about their pasts or their families. Wilson was relentlessly interested in House - in his motivations and feelings and the workings of his brilliant mind - but he left House's past alone. Wilson knew that his childhood had been spent on military bases. He had met House's parents and knew that House and his father did not get along. He was aware of the broad outline of House's youth but was tactful enough not to enquire into the details. House was happy never to have to talk about the abuse his father had inflicted on him. He hated being vulnerable and despised being the object of other people's pity. House preferred that people think of him as an abrasive jerk rather than the crippled survivor of an unhappy childhood.
House in turn recognized Wilson's reticence about his own life. James Wilson gave the appearance of being a very an open person. He was always ready to listen, which made him popular. Friends and colleagues would confide their deepest hopes and fears to Wilson, usually receiving in return nothing more intimate than Wilson's opinions on the hospital cafeteria's new lunch offerings or the films of Alfred Hitchcock. House was too astute not to notice the well-practised conversational techniques Wilson used to deflect attention away from himself, but he was willing to play along most of the time. Besides House had long ago come to the conclusion that the secrets that people work so hard to hide are, in most cases, shocking and unforgivable only to the person doing the hiding - predictable and ordinary to everyone else.
Today, House was planning to break the rule. He had it all worked out. Rummaging through a large storage locker filled with the relics and mementos of his life ought to have made James Wilson nostalgic. He should have found a box containing old photographs or high school yearbooks which would launch him into childhood reminiscences. Then House could very gently steer the conversation toward Wilson's brother Roy. (Despite his usual gruff manner, House was capable of subtlety when it served his purposes.) Unfortunately, Wilson wasn't following House's script. Instead Wilson was focused on the immediate goal of finding usable household items for House's devastated apartment, and didn't seem to be thinking of his past at all.
It was easy to divide Wilson's furniture into the Bonnie and Julie periods. Bonnie had decorated according to the latest trends in the magazines she loved. The suburban house she shared with Wilson had, at different times, taken on the appearance of an English cottage, Tuscan villa, and Provencal farmhouse. At the time of their divorce, the decorating scheme had been "country casual" which meant lots of gingham and calico. Julie had different tastes. She wanted to impress. The furniture she had chosen was heavy and ponderous - slabs of dark polished wood that were better suited to the palace of some petty dictator than to House's apartment. In amongst the furniture were neatly taped and labelled cardboard boxes.
"I think this coffee table will do," Wilson said. He moved a couple of boxes to uncover it. It was from the Bonnie period and she had stencilled a picture of a red hen wearing a bonnet on the top. House grimaced when he saw it. "You can put a bowl of fruit over the chicken. I'll even lend you the bowl. I think Julie left me the bed from the spare bedroom. Oh, there's the headboard."
"It's huge and hideous," House said.
"It was one of Julie's less successful finds," Wilson agreed. "That's why I got to keep it. It's the only bed frame I have though. Do you need an armchair?"
"None of this is going to fit in your car anyway."
"I asked Cuddy if we could borrow her SUV. Chase and Foreman are going to come by with it in about fifteen minutes to help us move the furniture out."
No time for tact then.
"I spoke to your brother Michael," House said. "He told me about Roy."
"Why would you do that? He's my brother. "
"What Tritter said interested me, and all you would say was how terrific Roy was. I wanted to hear the real story."
"What I said was the real story! It doesn't matter anymore anyway. The police said he was cleared. He didn't wreck your apartment so you don't have to worry about him. It was just Tritter stirring up trouble. "
"I also heard the message that Roy left on your office phone."
"My messages are private! What else are you doing - steaming open my mail or bugging my hotel room?"
"You're not so fascinating that I'd spend my evenings listening to you watch Seinfeld. I just happened to be in your office when he left the message."
"What were you doing in my office when I wasn't there?"
"Hiding from a patient's father. He was a real jerk. You would have invited me in if you'd been there. Don't pretend you're angry at me just to change the subject. I want to talk about Roy. Didn't you tell me a couple of days ago that you wanted to talk about him?"
"That was before he was cleared. We don't have anything to talk about now."
"Yes, we do. Tritter's got a grudge against both of us now. If he catches you helping an escaped felon, you could go to jail. You could lose your license. "
"Since when have you cared about my license? You were pretty ready to destroy my practice a couple of months ago! Back off, House! I'm not going to talk to you about my brother. It's not any of your business."
"Michael said Roy hates his family. He said he particularly hates you."
"Mike's jealous. Roy and I were really close when we growing up and he felt excluded."
"He said Roy broke your arm."
"That's not true. It was an accident. I think I fell off the swings in the playground. I had a mild concussion so I can't really remember it very well. Everyone has always been so eager to think the worst of Roy because he had a drug problem. Having an addiction doesn't make him a bad person. You should know that."
"Was he high when you fell off the swings?"
"Of course not. All he was using was a little marijuana then. He didn't get into the hard stuff until later. Why are you being so judgemental? Have you been hanging around Cameron too much?"
House didn't want to admit that a movie of little Jimmy Wilson being beaten by his older brother had been playing in his head ever since Michael had mentioned his suspicions. He was predisposed to dislike someone who had hurt a defenceless child.
"Introduce him to me and let me form my own opinion then."
"I'm not bringing you along just to satisfy your curiosity, House. In any case, Tritter wants you worse than he wants me. It makes no sense for you to come along."
"Take me along or I'll telephone Tritter right now and let him know your brother is in the area."
"You wouldn't do that."
"I'd do it to protect you. I think Roy is manipulating you."
"Don't be so melodramatic. Here, take this box. It has dishes in it."
"What's on the dishes - bunny rabbits with bow ties or Julie's coat of arms in gold leaf?"
"They're actually my dishes from my college apartment and they're plain white - ivory actually."
"Very tasteful. Your wives should have let you do the decorating."
Wilson had his back to his friend and was attempting to retrieve a floor lamp. House put the box on top of a stack of other boxes, and touched Wilson's arm to make him turn around.
"Chase and Foreman are going to be along in a minute, and I'm not dropping the subject of Roy. If you don't want them to know about it, you can agree to let me see Roy now rather than having me wear you down gradually."
"Fine, you can come along - if I decide to see Roy and if he agrees."
Wilson heard the sound of a vehicle outside the storage locker and went to open the door for Chase and Foreman.
It was a beautiful Monday morning. Detective Tritter and Roy Wilson sat in Roy's car in the visitor's parking lot outside the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. They had a clear view of the staff parking lot.
"I need some money," Roy said. "With the parole thing hanging over my head, I can't get a job or apply for welfare. How am I supposed to live?"
"The same way you were living before I found you," Tritter said indifferently. "I've told you what you get at the end of the deal. Give me your brother and all your legal troubles disappear. That's all I'm offering for him. Get something on his boss, Lisa Cuddy, and there'll be something extra. "
"Jimmy should be easy but I don't know about his boss. That might be tricky."
"She isn't clean. I know she committed perjury. It's likely she's done other things that she wouldn't want anyone to know about."
"Yeah, but would Jimmy know about them? Would he tell me about them?"
"Well, your brother's my main focus at this point. Cuddy's the icing on the cake. If you can't help me, I'll get her another way. I'm surprised that you're so ready to give up on the reward, though, considering you're so intelligent and resourceful."
"Damn right I am. Jimmy's not sharp, not cunning, the way that I am. What's Cuddy like? And this House guy?"
"Stay away from House. It's better if you never meet him, but if you do, say as little as possible. Cuddy is difficult to read. I'm not sure what approach would work on her."
"She's a woman; I'm a man. That's one approach that usually works," said Roy.
Roy still saw himself as the handsome young man with a harem of giggling girlfriends. When he looked in the mirror, he did not see the hard, even brutal, face of an ex-con and long-term drug user. He hadn't noticed that the only women who showed any interest in him lately were hookers and alcoholics, who had lived hard lives and had low expectations. Tritter wondered whether his co-conspirator's vanity was going to be a problem.
"There's Dr. Wilson's car," Tritter said, pointing to a nondescript sedan with several years on it.
"If I had Jimmy's money, I'd buy something flashier," Roy said.
Tritter and Roy stepped out of Roy's car. Tritter moved into the shadow of an ivy-covered wall, where he could not easily be seen. Roy ran toward the staff parking lot. Jimmy was wearing a suit and tie and carrying a scuffed leather briefcase. He had put on a little weight during the past ten years, but he was still youthful in appearance. He hadn't spotted Roy yet. Roy was still fifty feet away and Jimmy was almost at the door. Roy wanted to intercept him before he entered the hospital.
Roy called out, "Jimmy! Jimmy, wait!", but Wilson did not turn his head. No one called him Jimmy any more except his immediate family, so he did not think the shouts were directed at him. Roy sprinted the last few yards and grabbed his brother's arm. Wilson turned around. He froze for a second, and then looked around nervously, checking for observers. He didn't see Tritter in the shadows.
"You shouldn't be here," Wilson said. "Someone will see you."
"Aren't you even going to say hello?" Roy complained.
" Look, it's not safe for you to be here with me. That policeman, Tritter, spoke to me about your parole violation. He knows I'm your brother. Actually, I'm the reason he's after you. He hates me, and he's coming after you just to get to me. "
"Why would he hate you?"
"He lost an important case because of me. He's got a grudge against me now."
"So I'm going to be sent back to prison because you pissed off a policeman. God, Jimmy, are you screwing me over again? I'm clean and sober, trying to get my life back in order and you're picking fights with cops. Next time, don't involve me in your shit!"
"I'm sorry that Tritter's after you. I never intentionally tried to involve you. How could I? I didn't know if you were alive or dead."
"Well, whose fault was that? You made it pretty clear that I wasn't part of the family anymore."
"I never said that."
"God, Jimmy, we haven't seen each other for ten years, and this is what you want to do - pick a fight?"
"I'm sorry, Roy. I'm really glad you're okay. I couldn't believe it when I heard your voice. It's just that we are both really screwed if anyone sees you. I think you should turn yourself in and get the parole violation problem squared away. I'll get you a good lawyer and he'll make you some sort of deal."
"So you create this Tritter problem, and your solution is for me to go back to prison. That's great!"
"That's not what I meant," Wilson protested. "We can't talk here and I've got to get to work. Give me your phone number and I'll call you later. We'll arrange to meet somewhere private. I can bring someone along to help you. His name's Gregory House and he's the Head of Diagnostic Medicine at the hospital. He's the one that Tritter was really after. The rest of us are just collateral targets."
"Why do you want him along? Is this some sort of trap?" Roy asked.
"No," Wilson said, although he looked nervous. "I just think he might be able to help. He knows about you already."
Tritter had told him to avoid House, but Roy was curious. He wanted to meet the person that the detective hated so much.
"Okay," he said. "Bring him along. I'll meet you in the food court of the Princeton Shopping Center at six o'clock. Just sit down and I'll find you. Bring some money. "
"I've got about a hundred dollars on me," Wilson said, getting his wallet out. "Take it and I'll go to the bank at lunch. How much do you need?"
"I need a lot. You cost me my job, remember? "
Tritter had not been pleased when Roy told him that he had agreed to meet House. When Tritter was angry, he didn't shout or gesticulate. His quiet voice just became harder and more deliberate and his eyes colder and more unforgiving. Roy hadn't let the detective intimidate him. The meeting was going ahead as planned.
It was already half past six. The food court wasn't very busy. There were a few shoppers having a last cup of coffee or a plate of fries to fortify them for the journey home. House and Wilson sat at one of the tables, drinking coffee. Wilson had ordered an extra cup for Roy, which was now stone cold. House regarded the people in the mall with the detached air of a visitor to the zoo, while Wilson tried to look inconspicuous while covertly scanning passersby for his brother and possible police officers. House saw Roy first and waved his cane to attract his attention. Wilson pulled down House's waving arm and glared at him.
Roy had been deliberately late, knowing the effect that waiting would have on his brother's nerves. He walked over to their table. House noticed that Roy didn't seem concerned about being seen in public. His pace was not hurried and he did not look around him nervously as Wilson was doing. Roy's attention was focused on House rather than his brother. He already knew what to say to make Jimmy feel guilty and inadequate, so that he would do whatever Roy wanted. House was an unknown quantity.
The Wilsons were not a demonstrative family. There were no hugs, not even a handshake. Roy just sat down at the table and Jimmy passed him his cold coffee. Jimmy introduced the two men to each other.
"Jimmy tells me that you're the one responsible for putting the police on my tail."
"No, they're on your tail because you committed whatever crime you committed to be sent to prison, and then when you got out you decided to violate your parole," House said.
"I had no choice. When I got out of prison, I was going straight, but my parole officer had friends in the drug trade. He was going to send me back to prison unless I dealt his drugs. It was the hard stuff too - heroin, crystal meth - really bad shit. I couldn't do that. Drugs ruined my life; I couldn't ruin someone else's that way. So I just skipped out on him."
"I'll get you a good lawyer," Jimmy said. "He'll tell your story to the parole board."
"Who's going to believe the word of an ex-con over a parole officer? Jimmy always wants to fix other people's problems his way," Roy said to House. "When I was on drugs, he wanted me to go to this expensive rehab centre he picked out. He had everything arranged without even asking me first. Expected me to drop everything and go to Camp Sunrise or whatever the place was called."
"I just wanted you to get off drugs; they were killing you."
"I'm not denying you had good intentions," Roy said, "but taking over another person's life isn't helping them. You're always manipulating people to get them to do what you want, and justifying it because it's for their own good. Why don't you ask me what you can do to help instead of taking over?"
"Fine. What can I do to help?"
"I'm not safe here with Tritter nosing around. I'm going to have to leave, but right now Tritter's probably got my name and photo at every bus depot and airport on the Eastern Seaboard. He's got my license plate number if I try to drive. I'm going to need a place to stay for a while, and then I'm going to need money to re-establish myself somewhere else. I figure New Mexico or Arizona. I've always liked the sun."
"Wilson can't put you up," House said. "He's living in a hotel, and having another man as an overnight guest might make the housekeeping staff talk, since his overnight guests are usually female."
"Why are you living in a hotel? Are you separated from Bonnie?"
"I'm divorced. I'm staying there temporarily," Wilson said. He didn't add that in this case temporarily meant for the better part of a year, nor did he mention that he had married and divorced another woman after Bonnie. "If I give you some money, you could find your own place. I've brought six hundred dollars. I had to go to three different bank machines to get it."
Wilson handed over the money. The mall was about to close. Food fair employees were lowering metal gates and wiping down counters. Roy got up to leave.
"This isn't enough. I'm going to need more."
Wilson nodded. He said, "Could I have your phone number? You'll let me know where you're staying?"
"Cellphones can be traced. When I need to get in touch, I'll phone you at the hospital."
Roy left without looking back or saying good-bye.
"You know you can't help him run away," House said. "If you can't convince him to turn himself in, you'll have to turn him in yourself."
"I thought you were a rebel and a non-conformist," Wilson said. "You've turned awfully law abiding suddenly."
"I'm supposed to be a rebel; you're not," House said. "You're supposed to be Mr. Normal and Well-Adjusted, remember? How could you be Mr. Normal and Well-Adjusted when you're in prison for helping him violate his parole? Prison changes a man. I should know; I watched Oz."
"I can't turn in my brother," Wilson said. "I won't do it, no matter what."
Roy and Tritter met in an unmarked police car a few blocks away. Tritter was still angry that Roy had agreed to see House, but he maintained his usual calm demeanour. Roy was cheerful and confident. He didn't like the way that the cop was blackmailing him, but he did enjoy what he was doing. Making Jimmy pay for turning his back on his own brother was going to be fun. He refused to let Tritter spoil his enjoyment.
"If Jimmy agrees to help me, will that be enough for you? Getting him for helping me break parole?"
"Not enough," Tritter said. "He still might get off. There are too many sympathetic judges and juries who think brotherly love is more important than justice."
"I thought staying with Jimmy was a good idea. I could have looked through his papers for incriminating evidence while he was at work."
"I've already searched the hotel room anyway. His cleaner let me in. She has a vivid imagination, and she's convinced he's a hit man or a white slaver. There wasn't anything personal there. He must have a storage locker or a safe deposit box somewhere; see if you can get the key."
"Maybe he is a white slaver," Jimmy joked. "That would explain all the wives."
Tritter didn't respond to his attempt at humour.
"I don't know why you were so worried about House. He didn't say much," Jimmy said.
"Don't underestimate him. He was watching you and making conclusions. You'd better hope that you didn't give anything away. If you spoiled everything by agreeing to see House, I'll drag you back to Rahway myself."
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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