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Fathers and Sons
by gena
"How 'bout a rotary saw?"
Wilson squeezed his eyes shut for a moment then turned to face House. "And just what about my father suggests rotary saw to you? He's a corporate lawyer and the last thing he built was in 1979 - a birdhouse for our garden. It collapsed and killed an entire family of sparrows. Oh, the humanity."
"It's a typical dad gift, " House pointed out, whacking the side of the box with his cane. "I see whole episodic commercials for these. Smiling dads, grinning kids, bluebirds, sunshine. I'm telling you, Wilson, if you were any kind of son you would get the old man power tools."
Wilson shook his head and walked away. He figured with the crowds he could get away without much trouble, and maybe have a chance to find a gift for his father without House's insanity tainting it. He calculated wrong, apparently even modern day shoppers felt sorry for disabled people. Of course if they had known House they never would have stepped aside, they would have tripped him and possibly gone through his pockets. The distinctive tap of his cane made Wilson glance over his shoulder and if it hadn't been for the obvious look of pain on his face Wilson told himself he would have kept going. "Let's get something to drink," he suggested once House had caught up.
"Something blue," House said. Wilson sighed and headed for one of the stalls called Fruit 4 All. Five minutes later he found House sitting at a table overlooking the floor below. He had his chin resting on the handle of his cane, his sharp eyes scanning the crowds scurrying along on their errands. Wilson felt a familiar wash of fondness; House could spend hours observing people with an intensity that bordered on obsession and still be clueless about them.
"Diagnosing the masses now?" He placed a blueberry smoothie in front of House and watched his eyes light up. House really was an overgrown child, he delighted in hedonistic pleasures and food was one of his favorites.
"Acute stupidity," House said, slurping his tongue along the side of his glass to catch the drips then sucking on the straw until his cheeks were concave.
"How do you know the kid that made that washed his hands before he touched your glass?"
House stuck out his now blue tongue, "Faith in my fellow humans. 's a nice trait, you should try it."
"Uh-huh," Wilson said. He sipped his own strawberry drink a little less enthusiastically and a lot less nosily but enjoyed House's display. "I think I'll get my dad a gift certificate."
House scowled. "Whimp. Nothing says "I'm too lazy to brave the hordes" like a gift certificate."
"Look, House," Wilson snapped, "do you want to spend another three hours wandering around here looking for a gift or do you want to go home?"
"Not my dad who'll be disappointed," House said, looking away. He sat back, gaze purposely following a group of young women in short skirts. Wilson stabbed the frosty pink of his smoothie and brooded. Sure House could goad him into wasting hours shopping for something and he wouldn't even send his own father a card.
"He taught me how to sail when I was ten," Wilson said, still poking at his drink. "His father had worked on ships when he was a boy and my dad fell in love with the ocean." Out of the corner of his eye he could see House turning back towards him, head tilted as he listened. "I think those were the happiest days of his life, teaching me. Don and Sam never liked sailing, they wanted to hang out with their friends."
"But you didn't have any," House pointed out because House knew him much too well.
"Once we set a course we could sail for hours, just watching the sky, the water, just - being together." He sighed. Those days seemed so long ago, so much had changed since then; he'd forgotten he wanted to be a pirate and gone to medical school. His father was no longer the captain, he wore a suit and carried a briefcase. He'd never understood where the years went and how life could entice you away from your dreams with other dreams. He wouldn't trade his career for anything but there was something to be said about a tall ship and a star to guide her by even now. Wilson allowed himself a smile and looked up at House. He saw a flicker of something like envy in those blue eyes. "Your dad ever take you flying?"
House busied himself with chasing the last of his blueberry smoothie, the resounding noise enough to draw looks from an elderly couple a few tables away. Wilson was rather surprised House didn't treat them to a view of his blue tongue. "Nope. I don't like heights and I get motion sick."
"They have pills for that,' Wilson said, "and I know you like pills."
House frowned. "He told me I didn't have what it took to be a pilot. I wasn't enough like him." House looked down at the floor for a long moment before meeting Wilson's gaze. "It's better to know the truth early and not get stupid ideas about setting World Records for being the first kid to fly around the world." Wilson regarded his friend but House looked away, asking, "Now, are you ready to go?"
Wilson nodded. He followed House to the escalator and down to the lower level. He wasn't really paying attention to where they were going until House stopped and pointed with his cane. It was a small store with models in the windows. His gaze played over the cars and trains and there towards the back he saw a graceful model of a sailing ship. It was perfect. He grinned at House who gave him a innocent shrug.
On the way out to the car, his package tucked safely under his arm, Wilson reached out and put a hand on House's arm. "Will you come with me to my parent's house?"
House stopped and looked at him. "I've got nothing better to do," he admitted but Wilson saw a glimmer of pleasure in his eyes.
"Are you - going to get your dad anything?"
"I'm giving him what he wants right now," House said and got into his car, leaving Wilson standing there. He couldn't help feeling sorry that House could help him find the perfect gift for his father and still believe that his own father wouldn't want to hear from him. Time changed everything and all he could hope was that someday John House would see his son for the man he was and that House would see his father in the same light.
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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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