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Simply Touching
by Adrienne S.
Simply Touching
House could still feel the impossibly tiny fingers of Emma's
baby. He'd touched parts of people that most other people never
even dreamed of - kidneys, livers, pancreases (pancreii?) - but
never had fetal fingers curling around his own. It was one of
those moments when he realised just what a miracle life was.
Not that it made his life any better, or that touching his finger
had made little Whatever-His-Name-Was any better, but it was a
moment nonetheless.
And it made the thought of going away anywhere a bit of a moot
point. Wherever he went, it wouldn't change the fact that there
were damn few people who would curl their fingers around his,
reaching out. He might as well stay home and save the
aggravation on his leg.
He was still musing on what had potential to bypass maudlin and
go straight to pathos, when his front door opened quietly. He
glanced over, knowing who it had to be. Wilson was the only one
who had a key and he had hidden the spare more carefully after
Cameron and Chase had searched his apartment.
"I thought you'd gone," Wilson commented, stepping in and taking
off his jacket.
"You were planning to rob me blind while I was gone?" House
asked idly, not really caring why Wilson was here. His mind was
still locked on those infinitesimal fingers.
"Well, not yet," Wilson replied. "I was going to use your bed
for wild orgies and drink up all your liquor first. Then I was
going to take everything of value. Starting with my DVD player."
House merely nodded, and accepted the beer Wilson handed him
without looking.
"Are you even listening to me?" Wilson demanded, as he sat down
and loosened his tie. "Figures. Nobody listens to me. Cuddy
came into my office asking for advice and went ahead and did what
she wanted anyway. Rather like you do. Maybe people thank me
for giving them a terminal prognosis because they aren't actually
listening. Foreman probably waylays them on the way in and tells
them to say thanks because it costs you ten bucks when they do."
"Hm?" House blinked at Wilson, as if he hadn't heard a word. He
had; he always listened when Wilson talked, but the look on
Wilson's face was priceless.
"See. You don't listen. Nobody listens," Wilson complained,
slumping down.
"That's because you're boring," House replied, taking a drink.
"Seriously, though. What are you doing here?"
"You asked me to feed Steve while you were gone. I do actually
listen when you talk to me, even if the reverse isn't true."
"If Cuddy had listened to me, that kid would be dead now."
"She got lucky," Wilson said quietly.
"You always say it's luck when somebody pulls off something like
this."
"That's because it is," Wilson said seriously. "Yes, you have
skill and genius and tenacity on your side, but there's always
the luck factor. You'll win most of the time because you're
beyond good at what you do. Fortune favours the bold and all
that. But there's always an element of luck, good or bad, in
medicine. Cuddy had the good fortune of you and your team
finding a way to make it happen."
"Good thing she didn't listen to you, then."
"She didn't listen to you, either."
"She should have."
"Listened to me?"
"No, listened to me. Nobody listens to you, remember?" House
said, with a smirk. "I was right. The fact that she saved the
kid and the mom doesn't change that. She got lucky."
"I just said that," Wilson protested, then sighed. "Yeah, yeah,
I know. Nobody listens to me."
"If I promise to listen to you, would you shut up?"
Wilson responded with only a soft sigh and started watching the
nature documentary on Galapagos tortoises. When it ended, House
turned the TV off and looked at his friend, wondering if Wilson
would curl his fingers around his, blindly seeking connection.
Or if he would, if Wilson reached out.
"You were never actually going anywhere, were you?" Wilson
asked, into the silence.
"Nope."
"So why did you ask me to come over and feed Steve?"
"So I wouldn't have to move my butt off the couch," House replied
easily. "And while you were at it, you might be persuaded to
feed me, too."
Wilson gave him a dark look and got up to go into the kitchen.
House heard the fridge open and close, but Wilson was gone too
long to just be getting them more beer.
"What are you doing in there, Wilson? Molesting my rat?"
"You did ask me to feed the little fella," Wilson replied calmly.
House heard the rattle of the food and the snick of the cage door
being opened and grinned to himself. God, Wilson needed to get a
life.
"Well, you fed Steve," House said, as Wilson came back in a sat
down. "Where's my food?"
Wilson reached over with a clenched fist and dropped a handful of
rat pellets on House's lap. With a flourish, he topped it with a
small slice of melon.
House wanted to glare, but he had walked into that one. He just
didn't think Wilson would go for the cheap shot.
"Since you knew I'd come over and feed your rat, I assume that
you don't object to me knowing where you are or hanging out with
you?"
"Sure." House shrugged. "It's not like I listen to you or
anything."
Wilson made a face at him.
"I could rat you out."
"You just said nobody listens to you, so I'm perfectly safe."
"Oh, give it a rest, House," Wilson snapped.
"You started it."
"And now I'm ending it," Wilson said firmly. "Chase told me
about your metaphor earlier about the German trains. He still
wants to know what the Jews represent." House recognised this as
a firm change of subject and an opportunity to gossip about Chase
and Cameron.
"Many things, but nothing involving trains," House replied. "For
some reason, Jews and German trains don't mix well. Haven't for
about sixty odd years. Funny, yes?"
"Funny? No," Wilson said disapprovingly.
"Well, what is funny is catching Cameron and Chase in the
janitor's closet," House said. "And seeing Cuddy's face when I
told her."
"You actually caught them?" Wilson chuckled. "You told me they
were doing it, but you didn't say you'd caught them red handed."
"Well, not so much red handed as red cheeked. Chase, anyway.
He's cute when he blushes. Cameron, on the other hand, was
perfectly composed. Shameless hussy."
"Well, she did ask you out on a date."
"You make that sound so sordid."
"A date with you? Can't think of what would make me think of you
and sordid in the same sentence."
"Not listening again."
"Good thing I like the sound of my own voice, then."
"I haven't said anything to either of them since I caught them,"
House continued. "It's driving Cameron nuts."
"Which is why you're doing it."
"Well, yeah," House agreed. "She's going to hurt him."
"I think they'll end up hurting each other," Wilson said softly.
"I didn't think you'd care."
"In one sense, I don't. They're supposedly adults and should
know better. They both think they can do this and just walk
away, no hard feelings," House said. "On the other hand, how can
you touch someone and not have it affect you?"
"You can't," Wilson replied, equally softly. "What happened
today?"
House wanted to ask how Wilson knew something had happened, but
somehow Wilson always knew. Nobody but the surgeon and Cuddy had
seen the tiny fingers touch his, and they would not have said
anything to Wilson, but still, he knew.
"A helpless being reached out to me," House said quietly.
"It was pure instinct, to want to touch, to connect with another
living being. We're born with it, yet we don't do it often
enough, or for the right reasons."
"We learn not to. It hurts to reach out and be rebuffed," Wilson
replied and House felt a sense of shame.
House hesitated, then slowly stretched his hand out to his
closest friend. If he were honest with himself, he had to admit
that he had rebuffed Wilson's hand reaching out to him too often
to be sure that he would not be rebuffed in return.
Wilson did not hesitate. He closed the gap between their hands,
his large fingers touching exactly where those tiny fingers had
touched him earlier.
And he felt the same sense of awe. That two people could reach
out and find each other was a miracle, and a moment. As he
looked into Wilson's eyes, crinkled in a boyish grin, he knew
that Wilson felt the same.
END
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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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