| |
Metaphors
by gena fisher
Metaphors.............
The edge of the cardboard box dug into his hip as James Wilson struggled to unlock his car door. Books, papers, plaques, the stupid mug Greg had given him on his last birthday, everything a reminder of what he'd lost, shifted wildly, threatening to crash to the ground around him. Wilson made a desperate grab but too late, the box slipped from his hands and fell, papers scattering, the plaque shattering beyond repair. Only the garish mug remained, a small chip in the handle but virtually unharmed. Wilson stared down at the mess and felt a bubble of hysterical laughter form in his gut. Sucking in a deep breath, he clamped a hand over his mouth, desperate to forestall this breakdown.
"Oh here, let me help." One of the nurses, one he knew on sight but not by name, bent, helping him pick up the pieces of his life. Wilson managed a faint thank you and got the car unlocked. He threw it all in the backseat, taking pleasure in the hideous mess. Yes, a fitting metaphor for his life - a carefully organized existence reduced to useless trash. James climbed behind the wheel and twisted the key in the ignition and in that moment reality crashed over him like an ocean swell. House's `vette sat directly opposite his car, it's gleaming red paintjob and shiny chrome grill mocking the pain he was drowning in. For one irrational second Wilson pictured flinging himself on the corvette, using his keys to scratch his anger onto that cherry red paint. SELFISH. ARROGANT. BASTARD. He could do that right across the hood, easily.
"Shit," Wilson muttered to himself, shoved the gearshift into drive and left the parking garage. He drove for an hour, not really with any destination in mind, just letting the night air blow through his hair and the lights streak across his field of vision. He finally turned for home when he reached the outskirts of town and his arms ached from the tight hold he had on the steering wheel. He pulled into his own garage and got out. Home. It should be a refuge, he knew that. He should feel safe, and happy here but those were missing. He felt alone and adrift, like a stranger walking into a place where everyone else knew each other. Wilson impulsively reached back into the car and withdrew the birthday mug. He clutched it, the chipped surface biting into his finger but the pain brought a kind of comfort with it, he knew how to handle pain it was what he did.
Julie and her sister were sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and laughing. Cindy glanced up when he entered the room, her sweet, round face automatically creasing with dislike. She'd been a pretty bridesmaid and after one too many drinks James had made the innocent mistake of telling her just how attractive she was. Since then Cindy's visits tended to be awkward and strained and when she left Julie became moody and sullen. "What's that, honey?" Julie asked. Wilson looked down at the cup still clutched in his hand. Greg's present. He remembered how solemn Greg had been when he presented him with the box. "Befitting your freakishly boyish looks, Dorian." House had somehow managed to get one of his baby pictures, probably from his mother, and had it printed on the mug under the words WORLD'S SEXIEST DOCTOR. "Jim? Honey? What's wrong?"
Wilson looked up. Julie's grey eyes locked with his and he could see concern quickly turn to a kind of suspicious dread. He didn't want to have this discussion, not in front of Cindy but before he could stop himself, Wilson said, "I resigned." The words hung in the air for nearly a minute and then Cindy made a dismissive sound and Julie's eyes narrowed.
"You resigned? From the hospital?"
"Cindy, could you leave us -"
"Oh no," Julie said, trapping her sister's hand with hers. "No, I have no secrets from Cindy."
"Whatever." Wilson went to the refrigerator and got himself a beer. He thought about pouring it into the coffee mug but settled for just staring at his own childish face as he downed half the can. Jimmy. He'd always been Jimmy to his family. Never any trouble, always obedient, shy, smart, invisible. Not anything like Bill, his oldest brother, the one his dad took to work with him, grooming in his own image. And not like Michael, the baby of the family, the one his mother would sacrificed anything for, the one who broke her heart. James could remember telling his mom he'd like to be a doctor and the pleased smile she'd worn when she told his father. For days he had been important, worth their attention and praise and then Michael had gotten into trouble and Bill had been promoted and he had been ignored once again. Why didn't he matter?
"Jim! Jim, are you even listening," Julie's voice cut though his memories like a knife. "I've got the decorator coming on Monday. What am I suppose to do? Josef is the biggest gossip in Princeton and when he finds out I'll be ruined! God, I can't believe you. And how am I suppose to face the women on my committees? Ninety percent of them are doctor's wives. Damnit James." Her voice rose in pitch, becoming a shrill buzz that James knew would split his skull at any moment. "Why did you resign? This has something to do with House, doesn't it?" She turned to her sister, "I knew it. Jim's always been blind when it comes to that man. He's a user. Jim is always looking out for him and what does he get in return? Nothing."
"You don't know anything about -" Wilson started but Julie cut him off again.
"Tell me House wasn't behind this," she snapped. "You know Vogler wanted him out. I told you not to get involved. I told you he'd take you down with him!"
"Who is this House?" Cindy asked.
"Dr. Gregory House is a arrogant bastard. He was suppose to make a speech to placate the new chairman of the hospital board and he made a mockery of it. He flaunted his sense of self importance in the man's face just because he can. Honestly Jim, why can't you just let House alone. He's not worth it, no one can stand the man and now he's cost you your job."
"Great," Cindy said, "now you're the wife of a disgraced doctor. I warned you after the wedding it was a mistake."
"Shut the hell up!" James shouted. The beer can in his fist spewed like a fountain when he slammed it onto the counter. "Shut your mouth, Cindy. This is none of your business!"
"You can't talk to my sister like that!" Julie shouted. Wilson stared at the two of them. Julie and Cindy. Sisters, wearing twin expressions of indignation and outrage. He realized he'd made a mistake coming home. He didn't belong here. Wilson turned on his heel, heading towards the door. "Run back to him!" Julie shouted. "Go ahead, Jim. You love him more than you've ever loved me." Something crashed against the wall beside him, tiny bits of ceramic hit his arm. James looked down to see the shattered imagine of his own face. A tiny laugh escaped at the sight, this was his night for metaphors.
It was almost 2AM when he stopped the car but there was a small light burning up on the third floor. Wilson parked his car and sat in it for nearly a half hour. Julie didn't understand. Hell, he didn't really understand either. He couldn't not be a doctor, it wasn't just his career it was who he was, but he was also Greg's friend and he had a moral obligation to protect House because House had no idea how to do it himself. House would never change, he couldn't. It wasn't in his nature to go against what he felt was right because it was right. He'd know that about his friend from the first days of their meeting. House always stayed true to the code of ethics he'd set for himself and did whatever it called for, be it lie to a transplant committee, or fuck up a speech, or shrink a tumor. Wilson couldn't stay mad at House and he couldn't blame him for not being Vogler's little toadie. If he was going to be furious with anyone it should be with himself. House was House, no more, no less. Feeling somewhat better, Wilson climbed out of his car and went into the building. The door opened on his second knock.
"You're not here to yell at me, are you?" House asked, not meeting James' eyes.
"I already did that."
"Yeah, you did," House said quietly, "the kind of tongue lashing the folks back in Alabama would be proud to call their own. Of course there was a lot less tongue than I'd expect from you." Wilson moved inside, shutting the door behind him. Small sconces on either side of the fireplace cast deep shadows around House's apartment and the place smelled of cigar smoke. Every flat surface was cluttered with books and magazines or obscure medical references, evidence of House's insatiable curiosity and persistent insomnia. Wilson collapsed on the couch, and looked back at House still standing by the door. House's natural state was one of arrogance and disdain for others but he could look as contrite as a mischievous little boy caught trying to flush the cat down the toilet when he wanted to. He had large, deep set expressive eyes and when he put his mind to it he could make anyone want to hug him. Bone weary, Wilson regarded his old friend in silence, he wasn't in the mood to let House off the hook as easily as that gaze demanded. House shifted, placing both hands on his cane and leaning forward, looking older than he had at the hospital. "I thought you'd be here earlier," he said. "Julie's called three times so far."
Wilson heaved a sigh. "What did she say?"
House transferred his cane to his right hand, wedging it against his hip and bending his right knee in the familiar stance he took when he planned on standing for a while. "Well, she was either wishing me luck or telling me I was a dumb fuck. Now, since I've never had sex with this Mrs. Wilson I'm assuming she knows I bought a lottery ticket."
"Ha, ha." Wilson waited.
House still didn't move. He stood beside the door, chewing his bottom lip and looking as if he had something to say. James knew he could out wait House, his life had pretty much turned to shit because he valued House's friendship and respected his abilities when no one else could see their worth and he needed to know it hadn't been for nothing. Finally House took a deep breath, blowing it out in a sigh. "I know - how much you love being Head of Oncology. I think when you got the position it was the happiest I've ever seen you." He paused, taking another deep breath as he steeled himself to say, "I'm sorry, James. I'm - sorry."
Wilson closed his eyes and shook his head. "Julie is furious. My getting sacked is going to ruin her life. Seems she has the decorator coming Monday and my jobless status will soon be the talk of the town."
House's expression twisted, half annoyance, half chagrin but he said, "Damn. You won't be welcome at Home Depot anymore."
Wilson, struggling to maintain his resolve not to let House jolly him out of feeling sorry for himself, tried not to smile. This was what he needed. "No more late night strolls through hardware. I'll probably become a brilliant but bitter recluse hiding behind my piano."
"Already been done," House said. He finally moved, limping heavily across the room and lowering himself onto the couch beside Wilson. His left leg was warm against Wilson's. "Maybe you could become a brilliant but bitter recluse hiding behind a French Horn." He tipped his cane against the coffee table, turning to face Wilson but carefully avoiding his eyes. Everything about him bespoke nervousness, something Wilson rarely saw in his friend. James let himself really look at House, at his unshaven face, his wrinkled clothes, the rock tshirt peeking out from under his dress shirt and had to squeeze his eyes shut against the sting of emotion he felt for the man. No one else had ever made him feel the way Greg House did and the fact scared him to death.
"We could - we could take our show on the road," Wilson said and heard his own voice crack for the second time that night. House didn't make a sarcastic remark, instead, the warmth along James' leg intensified as House put his arm around Wilson's shoulders and pulled him tight. He didn't want to cry, that would be embarrassing for both them, but suddenly it all seemed too much.
"I never mattered much to anyone," House said very quietly. His voice rumbled through James, and in the still and darkness of the night it felt like the one safe place in the world. "I never really had friends. I guess I'm not easy to like."
"Understatement," Wilson whispered.
House's rich chuckle gusted through his hair. "That's why I couldn't believe it when you, the Golden Boy of Oncology, loved and adored by the masses, turned out to have as warped an outlook on life as I do. You're my only friend, James, you know that." The pressure around Wilson's shoulders tightened as House went on, "And I know how much your career means to you, so what you did for me tonight-" He broke off, and Wilson heard the beating heart beneath his ear begin to race, "means - everything."
James raised his face, looking into the hypnotic blue eyes. "I'd do it again," he said. House nodded, shame written clearly across his face. "I mean it," Wilson said.
"I know," House said, "and what you should hate me for is - I'd let you. Vogler doesn't care about people like you do. He doesn't even care about finding out the truth like I do. He cares about one thing - profit, about turning his 100 million into 200 million." Anger snapped in House's blue eyes. "I know you said he came in here wanting his money to help people but on his terms with his resources. He's a bully, Jimmy and he's not going to stop until he proves he's calling all the shots and that means getting rid of everyone he can't control."
"Like you," Wilson said and put his head down onto House's shoulder again. He felt Greg nod and then the lightest of sensations brush across his hair.
"And you," House whispered. James put his arm across House's chest, embracing him as best he could seated on the couch. Julie wouldn't have stood for him "mauling" her like that, she was always on her way to some committee meeting or other and didn't want to be mussed or she had just returned from some social function and was too tired for more than a kiss on the cheek. Wilson missed physical contact with another human for the sake of comfort. His job provided ample opportunity to touch others but not in a way that really provided consolation to either party. To patients he was the harbinger of their nightmare and his attempts at solace were often tinged with a kind of guilt and awkward pity. To find himself nestled against his best friend, being held in a tender embrace, felt alien and exciting all at once. House usually avoided close contact with others; Wilson suspected it was a holdover from the early days after his infarction, defense against being knocked down. But then again, House had never been a touchy-feely kind of guy, he was more the prickly natured loner with an emphasis on prick.
Maybe he could change that, House owed him. Wilson drew back looking House square in the eye. "Kiss me," he ordered. House blinked twice then released him, fumbling for his cane and heaving himself to his feet as quickly as he could.
"James, com'on, you're messed up," House scrubbed a hand over his face and stared at the tips of his shoes. "I'll make up the bed in the spare room," he said, turning towards the hallway. James reacted without thought, he leap to his feet and seized House by the elbow. Greg stumbled, catching himself with his free hand on the piano before he could fall. "What the hell do you want from me? I screwed up your life now I should let you screw me?"
"Confident, aren't you?" Wilson said. "I just wanted a kiss, but if you're offering....."
"This isn't a game," House shouted. "God, James, I can't kiss you!"
Wilson thought for a second his heart really had stopped beating. The sense of emptiness, the dead weight inside his chest, could only be caused by its cessation. "I'm sorry, House," he whispered, withdrawing his hand from where he'd been clutching Greg's arm. "I better go." He turned away, not sure where it was he could go. He had several credit cards with him, some cash, he could get a hotel room for the night and think about where he might spend the rest of his life tomorrow.
"If I kissed you," House said quietly, "I'd never be able to stop." Wilson paused, not sure he'd even heard the softly spoken words. "It matters - this matters." There was the sound of House's uneven step and then James felt a strong arm wrap around his waist and soft lips press against the nape of his neck. The sensation went straight to his groin, boomeranging though him to wring a moan from his throat. When he'd stood in front of House, and told him how much he cared somewhere deep inside him, James knew he'd longed for the same declaration, knowing House couldn't give it because House wouldn't be the man he loved if he could. But now, now he knew that it hadn't all be in vain, he could give, he was good at giving, and House would accept what he offered and repay in his own way. James relaxed and allowed himself a smile. "You know me, you know how I am and somehow," House gave a disbelieving laugh, "You accept me anyway. I can't promise you that you're first in my life but you're in the top two, no, three," House said slowly and Wilson could picture him scrunching his face into a thoughtful scowl, "top five for sure."
James turned in the embrace, finding the scowl he expected but also blue eyes filled with desire and longing. "I know. I'll be in line after your career, the Stones, General Hospital, Resident Evil 4, and Lindsey Lohan."
"Oh, before Lindsey Lohan," House assured him. He couldn't promise House he'd be first either, they were both too much alike in that respect. He loved what he did, but somewhere along the way he'd come to love his friend and House would understand the complicated tangle two such powerful loves could exert on a man. Wilson let his gaze drift down to House's mouth, the source of so much annoyance. Their first real kiss had a rich, mellow feel, as if it had waited just out of sight for years and years and then found them when they least expected it. James tilted his head up, searching for another kiss when the first one finally dissolved directly into his heart. As he did the phone began to ring. He could hear Julie's angry voice. `I hope you're happy, Greg. I hope this is exactly what you wanted!'
"I think it's exactly what we both wanted," Wilson said, "Exactly."
House took his hand, "Come on. I need to lie down and I haven't finished repaying your kindness yet."
"I doubt if you'll ever be able to repay me," James said, "I'm a very kind person."
"Then I better get started."
Wilson shut the bedroom door, silencing Julie for good. A fitting metaphor for the rest of his life, he hoped.
Please post a comment on this story.
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 Fox Television, 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.
|
|
|