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Everyday Superheroes
by gena
Everyday Superheroes.......
James Wilson pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes, and rested his elbows on the desk. The day's events seemed to bear down on his shoulders like two massive hands, causing a dull throb of pain that echoed through his head. In a string of horrible days, this one had been the worst and he really wanted to go home but his body lacked the energy to make his wish come true. He'd busied himself all day in an attempt to avoid thinking about the past - about what today really was but now there was nothing to distract him from memories he didn't want to face. A sound drew his attention to the balcony, a flash of lightning showing him the concrete pathway wasn't deserted even though the clock on his wall said it was after 10PM. A fond smile crept over his weary features, brushing back some of the hopelessness that had a way of seeping in at the edges of his resolve. He pushed his chair back and joined the man standing out there looking up at the stormy sky.
"Hey," he said quietly.
House gave him a quick glance before returning his attention to the night sky. "You think Superman ever gets struck by lightning?"
Wilson settled a hip on the separating wall and thought about it. "Well, he's faster than a speeding bullet so I'd think he could dodge it."
"But he's not faster than lightning," House said seriously. "The Flash could avoid lightning, but I don't think Superman could."
"Then I guess he should just be like the rest of us," Wilson said, "and get out of the storm." He waited until House met his gaze then indicated the office behind him. "I'll make you a cup of cocoa."
House's lined face lit up, eyes sparkling at the prospect of hot cocoa. "Why don't you bring the stuff to my office," he said. "I'm in the middle of something."
"A differential for Superheroes?" Wilson teased but dutifully headed to his office. He gathered the hot chocolate mix, a stash of mini marshmallows, and a packet of cookies he kept for those long afternoons. When he got to the Diagnostic Medicine conference room he was surprised to find House sitting in the darkened office, staring not at the whiteboard and some long list of mysterious symptoms but at a tattered photo lying on the conference room table. Wilson set the cookies on the table and busied himself with the drinks. He could hear the distracted thump of House's cane, a sound that always indicated deep thought and one he never tired of hearing. There was something reassuring and comfortable about House pondering the unknown, it made Wilson believe the world would always spin on its axis and the sun would come up in the morning. "What's that?" He asked and placed a steaming cup of cocoa in front of House.
"Not sure," House said. He shoved it across to Wilson. It was one of those old square photos, the colors losing some of their vitality over the years but the image still sharp enough to cut.
"You stole this from my office!" Wilson accused.
"Stealing has such a negative connotation," House said, plucking the photo from his fingers and resuming his intent study.
"Yes, and it's frowned upon among friends." Wilson pointed out. "You could have just asked about it."
House shot him a skeptical look, "Where's the fun in that? So, this is what the long-lost brother looks like."
"In 1979, otherwise no," Wilson said.
"Why was it on your desk?"
"And by "on my desk" you mean in an envelope tucked inside a book which was under a dozen files, right?" Wilson sipped his cocoa, and stared at the dark sky outside the conference room. "You think the Invisible Man gets wet when it rains?"
House followed the line of Wilson's gaze and with a pensive twist of his lips shook his head. "It doesn't matter, does it? We can't see if he's wet and he won't come and tell us he's drowning."
"Sometimes people can't tell you when they're drowning."
"I have a better question." House waited until Wilson was looking at him with that unblinking stare that resembled nothing so much as a cobra about to strike, "What's today?" Wilson shook his head, but the wary expression in his eyes said he knew what answer House wanted. "You had this on your desk - ," he waved Wilson's protest away with the photo, "when your normal choice of dcor runs to tear-soaked bunnies and water-logged canoes. You didn't have it out to look out, but just there to remind you of something specifically about today." He leaned forward, chin on his cane as his gaze bore into Wilson, "What is today?"
Wilson sighed, shaking his head but opening his mouth. "Today is John's birthday. He would - he is 41 - today." House didn't respond, just kept staring at Wilson until Wilson said. "You should have a cane like Daredevil's, that thing is amazing."
"It's not the cane," House said, leering at Wilson, "It's how you use it." They sat in silence for a full five minutes before House spoke again. "I think it depends on how the Invisible Man is invisible. If somehow it's just the light bending around his form, not being absorbed by his clothes, his body, then I think he'd be a drown rat. On the other hand, if his existence is simply out of sync with our world then I doubt he'd be feeling anything." Wilson nodded slowly. House held the photo out. "Where was this taken - a cave?"
Wilson laughed. "A fort. Our fort," he said. "Every year, the night of one of our birthdays, we'd use every blanket and pillow in our room and build this elaborate fort. The three of us would stay up all night, talking, laughing, playing with whatever toys we got, telling ghost stories." He took the photo back. "This was the last time we did it."
House remained silent; the only noise the gentle tap of his chin on the wooden handle of his cane. Wilson shrugged, ready to put it all behind him as maudlin reaction to the date, but House surprised him by getting to his feet. Without a word he limped from the room, his stride purposeful, his expression almost determined. Wilson was long use to his friend's odd moods and habits and merely turned his attention back to the window and the storm now breaking overhead. It wasn't until he heard the familiar uneven step that he realized House had come back.
"Here."
Wilson turned and froze.
House stood in the doorway, a bundle of pillows and blankets tucked under his left arm. "Come on," he said, motioning with the rapidly slipping pile, "Need a little help here." Wilson gaped at him, only moving when it became apparent House couldn't keep his grip on the pile much longer.
"This is insane," Wilson said.
"I know. Cuddy's going to pop her buttons," House said proudly. "I'll finally get to see the source of her mutant powers!" He moved around the table, pulling out chairs then directed Wilson to toss the blankets over the top and let them hang down on the sides. Once he was satisfied with the results, House threw the pillows into their makeshift fort and looked at Wilson expectantly.
"You can't really be serious," Wilson said but he was grinning ear to ear.
"I can be on occasion." With a bit of an effort House maneuvered himself into the fort, propping his head on his hand and regarding Wilson. "Don't forget the supplies."
"Heaven forbid." Wilson grabbed the cookies, a few sodas out of the fridge and the photo, then crawled in beside House. They ate cookies in companionable silence. "Thanks," Wilson said and slipped the photo back into his shirt pocket with a silent prayer that the Invisible Man was somewhere out of the storm.
"So," House said, eyebrows waggling, "who's got the bigger sock down his pants -Spiderman or Batman?"
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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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