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Can I Call You James?
by Teyla
AN: Thanks to TLI for the beta!
"Can I call you James?"
Wilson looks at the woman across from him. She's young - younger than him, anyway - and has beautiful reddish-blonde hair. Her eyes have this weird thing going on, like they can't decide whether to be blue or green or grey, and she has a nice smile. It's not all that surprising that he ended up having lunch with her. She's smart and funny, too.
He almost wants to tell her, no, please, don't call me James. "Sure," he says, smiling at her.
She continues to talk, but Wilson's mind is elsewhere. He's thinking about his name, James Evan Wilson. Not a particularly remarkable name - not John Smith, but not Tiberius van der Ghast, either. There's the thing about the initials, which he admittedly never noticed until House pointed it out to him in one of their first conversations. Other than that, it's a name that goes well with his normal face, his normal haircut and his normal job.
Before he met House, he'd been James to his friends and family, Wilson to his colleagues, and the nice doctor with the pretty smile to his patients. Then House had barged into his life, and the issue of his name had turned into a complicated science. The family still calls him James, which is the way he likes it. However, since he met House, he's not so sure about what friends should call him.
House doesn't call him James. Wilson doesn't want him to. James, that's for the people who see his pretty smile, his normal hair-cut and his lab-coat. House calls him Wilson. Or, on rare occasions, he calls him Jimmy, which he hasn't been called since he had a pre-teenage shouting match with his mom about the issue. No one calls the great James Wilson "Jimmy". Except that with House, Jimmy is okay. Wilson can be Jimmy to House, he likes being Jimmy to House from time to time. It makes him feel like he's fourteen again, and twenty years after the end of puberty, James Wilson realizes that being fourteen is not such a bad thing.
Jimmy Wilson, that's not the well-adjusted, secure doctor with the pretty smile and the lab-coat. Jimmy Wilson, that's the guy who drives a Volvo because his first wife, who he has been divorced from for over ten years, said it was a good car. It's the guy who really, genuinely likes the taste of broccoli and doesn't eat it just because it's healthy. Jimmy Wilson loves to sprawl on House's living room couch, drink beer and watch a ton of bad movies in rapid succession, and - even though this is something he will never tell House - he likes cooking for House, because House is the only one who ever really gives him the feeling that the gesture is being appreciated. In short, Jimmy Wilson is the guy James Wilson becomes when he sheds the skin of the pretty doctor with the nice smile.
But if that's so, then why, he asks himself, why is it that he's only Jimmy Wilson to House? He should be Jimmy Wilson to everybody except patients and colleagues. He should have been Jimmy Wilson to his wives, and if the woman across from him is going to be his next girlfriend, she probably shouldn't start calling him James.
Wilson flinches as his pager goes off. He smiles apologetically and checks the display. It reads: 911 BORED!
A broad smile starts to spread on his face, but he stops it before the woman across from him can see it. He looks up, displaying his most worried expression. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding like he's genuinely sorry to cut short the conversation. "I'm going to have to take this."
"Of course!" she says, nodding. "Don't let me keep you, James. I know how busy you are."
He answers her smile, and hopes that she will figure that it only looks as fake as it feels because his mind is being occupied by the alleged emergency.
As he walks away, he pretends not to notice the slightly wistful look she is giving him. He does feel a little relieved, though. This way, at least he saves himself another painful break-up.
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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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