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Rooftop
by Lunagrrl74
James is smoking on the roof. Near dusk, in the early days of December, the wind is heavy, damp and cold.
He huddles in his wool, silk lined Burberry coat and smokes.
In the west, the sun shines, a sullen lump of red coal.
"Ah, so, this is where the very important, very busy chief of oncology can be found?"
Greg is suddenly there, standing behind him. Before James turns around he plants a smile on his face.
"You should have a bell."
"Thank you."
James inhales and exhales a thin trail of smoke.
"And smoking." Greg' tone is sardonic, it's a little different from sarcastic or pitying, or `god spare me from these fools.'
"So?" James answers. He sounds like a whining ten-year old to himself.
"Surely, you have enough to share with the class?"
James chuckles and shakes another cigarette out of his "monthly" pack, then passes it over to Greg. He flicks the lighter and cups Greg's hands to light it. The wind's a bitch, Greg is steady on his legs and cane and James doesn't want to upset the balance.
"So, why the sulking?" Greg asks, on an exhale of smoke.
"I'm not sulking. A thirty-eight year old man does not sulk!"
"You're sulking. You're on the roof, you're smoking. You haven't answered my pages in an hour!"
James turns away, facing the wind. "You are so self-centered."
Greg is a warm presence behind him. "All human beings are, it's a healthy trait, it ensures survival of the organism and the species." He take a long draw off his cigarette and drops it onto the roof, grinds it out with his good foot.
"I'm not sulking." James protests, weakly, because in his heart, he knows that he is , indeed, sulking.
"I just needed some me time."
"Me time?"
James takes a few steps forward, his cigarette forgotten as he waves his arms around. The wind slaps him damply, it feels like death.
"My patients die by the second of the things I diagnose. " He waves his arms around. His coat flaps in the wind like the wings of the angel of death.
Greg steps forward and grabs his wrist. "Careful. You don't want to get blown off the building."
James slumps, all his energy gone. Greg's hand, on his wrist, is warm. He is taking James' pulse..
James looks from the fingers wrapped around his wrist and then to Greg's eyes.
"Who died today?" Greg asks, keeping his fingers on the pulse point.
Doctors deal with death on a daily basis. Preventing suffering and putting off death is the job description.
James tries to shake it off. "I'm an oncologist, I'm used to it."
Greg just nods. "Was it the ten year old?"
James flinches. "The ten year old, with the brain tumor, you mean?"
His tone is bitter and he doesn't care and he is glad that Greg doesn't try to humanize the patient by saying his name. James feels quite humanized enough at the moment.
"yes.
"The ten year old with the brain tumor died this morning."
"That's too bad," Greg tells him.
Quietly, like he means it.
James leans back against the ledge, all the fight gone out of him. "yeah, it is."
Greg takes his fingers away from James' wrist. He shivers in the wind, already missing the heat of Greg's fingers. "How is it?" he can't resist asking.
"You're still alive." Greg tells him. He turns to walk back to the stairwell. "Come on," he says, his head turned back over his shoulder, "I'll buy you a drink and tell you about my shitty day."
With a sigh, James gets up from the ledge and follows him inside. Behind him the earth turns imperceptibly and the sun slips beneath the horizon.
Darkness follows light, as it always has.
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 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.
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