Apple (PG-13)
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, phinnia!
Posted to house_wilson and housefic
Title: Apple
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1131
Summary: When it's time, it's time.
Notes: Takes place today, but no spoilers for Season Five, Four, Three, or Two. Prequel to My Fathers’ Son. Written because I wanted to, but with the hope of pleasing phinnia on her birthday.
The first time Wilson pulled the slightly oversized plastic egg out of his pocket, he figured one of the young patients on the pediatric ward must have put it into his lab coat for reasons unknown.
The second time, pulling it from his suit coat pocket, he figured he’d stuck it there to take it back to the playroom and just forgotten about it.
The third time, he yanked it from his front pants pocket with House’s hand still around it.
“What are you up to?” Wilson whispered through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, you’re right,” House said in his typical tone of voice. “Behind the belt would be more accurate.”
“Wha - ah ah ah,” Wilson stammered as House’s thumb hooked over the edge of his waistband. “House!” He flailed against the octopus that House had suddenly become, the daring octopus that was willing to place tentacles on Wilson in a semi-public place, behind a closed but not locked door, in their workplace no less.
Wilson wasn’t opposed, exactly; he was merely flummoxed.
“There,” House said a moment later and stepped back, leaving Wilson alone and slightly aroused and completely and utterly confused.
With a plastic egg stuck between his stomach and his belt buckle.
“What the hell, House?”
“Just giving you the full experience.”
“The full experience of what? The moment your sanity said goodbye to the real world?”
He was reaching for the egg when House grabbed his wrist and stepped dangerously close again. “The full experience of hauling around a fetus at fifteen weeks, Ms. Jamie Evans.”
Crap. Caught.
Not that the high road had ever saved him before, but: “That is a private email account, House.”
“With the easiest password to guess ever, which is a clear invitation to identity thieves, and if you’re going to let any random scoundrel into your account -” House, who had stepped back and was lounging against the exam table, shouldn’t look that good being that smug; it was criminal. “- then of course you’d let me, your bestest buddy ever and the father of your child.”
“The password is a combination of the ICD-10 codes for breast cancer, lymphoid leukemia, and sarcoidosis.”
“See? Easy.”
House’s smirk deepened; Wilson realized that having his hands on his hips was making the fake bump on his waistline even more prominent. He yanked the plastic egg out and pegged it at House’s head. House caught it with a preternaturally fast grab.
“Deflections of neither the verbal nor physical kind will save you,” House gloated, that arrogant asshole, “from the fact that you are pretending to be a girl so that you can get emails each week educating you on your pregnancy.”
“Excuse me for wanting to feel connected to my kid. If they had similar emails for dads, I’d sign up for that, but they don’t, probably because assholes like you make normal guys like me feel embarrassed for wanting to be part of the process.”
“Part of the process? The fifteen father-to-be books, complete medical records from the surrogate’s every OB visit, and the CD with twelve minutes straight of nothing but fetal heartbeat... those aren’t enough?”
They weren’t enough, but Wilson had no idea how to explain it to House. No man was an island, but House sure tried his damnedest to be one. How could he understand the comfort Wilson felt in community, in the idea that others were going through the same thing, even if it wasn’t exactly the same thing?
“I,” he said, with no idea how he’d finish the sentence, but House rescued him with a smile - one that was mischievous and more than a little lewd.
“All of that is beside the point.”
“Hm.” Wilson crossed his arms, intrigued enough to ask, “And what is the point?”
“That if you’re going to pretend to be a girl, Ms. Evans, there are certainly more fun things to get from the internet than babycenter.com emails.”
“You -”
“Care package in a brown-paper wrapper should be on the doorstep when you get home. You can thank me by chucking the work clothes and having the present on instead by the time I get there.”
“As much as -”
“You can wear a robe, too, if you want. Otherwise, it might be a little chilly standing around in just a black lace garter belt and stockings.”
Wilson could feel the heat rising in his face. “As... interesting a picture as that makes -” He did his best to ignore House’s leer, and to dampen the reaction of his own body. “There’s absolutely no reason why you had to say it now, instead of waiting until we were both home.”
The amusement slid from House’s expression, and he shook his head. “Actually, there is a reason. You have to tell Cuddy.”
Wilson’s mind stumbled over that. “About the garter belt?”
“No, you dumbass.” House tossed the plastic egg back at Wilson. “About you adopting. While leaving me out of it.”
The egg, the baby, House in the closet, yeah. “With the amount of time I want to take off, it’s better to have all the details settled in the plan before I take it to Cuddy. I still want to -”
“Mishra’s about to file a discrimination complaint against you, according to the grapevine.”
“What?” Dr. Mishra was the rising star of his department: talented, driven, personable, beloved by patients, and admired by peers. Wilson had the utmost respect for her, and in fact had had to hold himself back from favoring her above others who also had potential but needed more coaching. “She’s unhappy? I can’t think of anything I’ve done. Oh, God, this is terrible.”
House was still lounging; Wilson swept by him in a long circuit of the exam room. What could have happened?
“She wanted that presentation slot at the Toronto conference in the fall, and you gave it to Goldstein.”
“His work needed more exposure.”
“Then when Kwan dropped out as a speaker at the November symposium, you gave it to Lieberman, even though Mishra has more experience in genetics.”
“Because I want her to be here, as Acting Department Head while I’m on leave, so I can get her promoted to Associate Chief of Oncology.”
“Which she doesn’t know, because you never told her, because you haven’t told Cuddy you’re adopting.”
Wilson sighed. He’d had his reasons for putting off the conversation with Cuddy, but angering his best doctor had never been part of the plan. House was right. This was the time.
“No more stalling, Ms. Evans,” continued House. “Go tell your boss you’ve got a bun in the oven.”
Smiling despite himself, Wilson stepped out of the exam room. He was going to be a father, and soon everyone in the hospital would know it.
Cool.
Posted to house_wilson and housefic
Title: Apple
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1131
Summary: When it's time, it's time.
Notes: Takes place today, but no spoilers for Season Five, Four, Three, or Two. Prequel to My Fathers’ Son. Written because I wanted to, but with the hope of pleasing phinnia on her birthday.
The first time Wilson pulled the slightly oversized plastic egg out of his pocket, he figured one of the young patients on the pediatric ward must have put it into his lab coat for reasons unknown.
The second time, pulling it from his suit coat pocket, he figured he’d stuck it there to take it back to the playroom and just forgotten about it.
The third time, he yanked it from his front pants pocket with House’s hand still around it.
“What are you up to?” Wilson whispered through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, you’re right,” House said in his typical tone of voice. “Behind the belt would be more accurate.”
“Wha - ah ah ah,” Wilson stammered as House’s thumb hooked over the edge of his waistband. “House!” He flailed against the octopus that House had suddenly become, the daring octopus that was willing to place tentacles on Wilson in a semi-public place, behind a closed but not locked door, in their workplace no less.
Wilson wasn’t opposed, exactly; he was merely flummoxed.
“There,” House said a moment later and stepped back, leaving Wilson alone and slightly aroused and completely and utterly confused.
With a plastic egg stuck between his stomach and his belt buckle.
“What the hell, House?”
“Just giving you the full experience.”
“The full experience of what? The moment your sanity said goodbye to the real world?”
He was reaching for the egg when House grabbed his wrist and stepped dangerously close again. “The full experience of hauling around a fetus at fifteen weeks, Ms. Jamie Evans.”
Crap. Caught.
Not that the high road had ever saved him before, but: “That is a private email account, House.”
“With the easiest password to guess ever, which is a clear invitation to identity thieves, and if you’re going to let any random scoundrel into your account -” House, who had stepped back and was lounging against the exam table, shouldn’t look that good being that smug; it was criminal. “- then of course you’d let me, your bestest buddy ever and the father of your child.”
“The password is a combination of the ICD-10 codes for breast cancer, lymphoid leukemia, and sarcoidosis.”
“See? Easy.”
House’s smirk deepened; Wilson realized that having his hands on his hips was making the fake bump on his waistline even more prominent. He yanked the plastic egg out and pegged it at House’s head. House caught it with a preternaturally fast grab.
“Deflections of neither the verbal nor physical kind will save you,” House gloated, that arrogant asshole, “from the fact that you are pretending to be a girl so that you can get emails each week educating you on your pregnancy.”
“Excuse me for wanting to feel connected to my kid. If they had similar emails for dads, I’d sign up for that, but they don’t, probably because assholes like you make normal guys like me feel embarrassed for wanting to be part of the process.”
“Part of the process? The fifteen father-to-be books, complete medical records from the surrogate’s every OB visit, and the CD with twelve minutes straight of nothing but fetal heartbeat... those aren’t enough?”
They weren’t enough, but Wilson had no idea how to explain it to House. No man was an island, but House sure tried his damnedest to be one. How could he understand the comfort Wilson felt in community, in the idea that others were going through the same thing, even if it wasn’t exactly the same thing?
“I,” he said, with no idea how he’d finish the sentence, but House rescued him with a smile - one that was mischievous and more than a little lewd.
“All of that is beside the point.”
“Hm.” Wilson crossed his arms, intrigued enough to ask, “And what is the point?”
“That if you’re going to pretend to be a girl, Ms. Evans, there are certainly more fun things to get from the internet than babycenter.com emails.”
“You -”
“Care package in a brown-paper wrapper should be on the doorstep when you get home. You can thank me by chucking the work clothes and having the present on instead by the time I get there.”
“As much as -”
“You can wear a robe, too, if you want. Otherwise, it might be a little chilly standing around in just a black lace garter belt and stockings.”
Wilson could feel the heat rising in his face. “As... interesting a picture as that makes -” He did his best to ignore House’s leer, and to dampen the reaction of his own body. “There’s absolutely no reason why you had to say it now, instead of waiting until we were both home.”
The amusement slid from House’s expression, and he shook his head. “Actually, there is a reason. You have to tell Cuddy.”
Wilson’s mind stumbled over that. “About the garter belt?”
“No, you dumbass.” House tossed the plastic egg back at Wilson. “About you adopting. While leaving me out of it.”
The egg, the baby, House in the closet, yeah. “With the amount of time I want to take off, it’s better to have all the details settled in the plan before I take it to Cuddy. I still want to -”
“Mishra’s about to file a discrimination complaint against you, according to the grapevine.”
“What?” Dr. Mishra was the rising star of his department: talented, driven, personable, beloved by patients, and admired by peers. Wilson had the utmost respect for her, and in fact had had to hold himself back from favoring her above others who also had potential but needed more coaching. “She’s unhappy? I can’t think of anything I’ve done. Oh, God, this is terrible.”
House was still lounging; Wilson swept by him in a long circuit of the exam room. What could have happened?
“She wanted that presentation slot at the Toronto conference in the fall, and you gave it to Goldstein.”
“His work needed more exposure.”
“Then when Kwan dropped out as a speaker at the November symposium, you gave it to Lieberman, even though Mishra has more experience in genetics.”
“Because I want her to be here, as Acting Department Head while I’m on leave, so I can get her promoted to Associate Chief of Oncology.”
“Which she doesn’t know, because you never told her, because you haven’t told Cuddy you’re adopting.”
Wilson sighed. He’d had his reasons for putting off the conversation with Cuddy, but angering his best doctor had never been part of the plan. House was right. This was the time.
“No more stalling, Ms. Evans,” continued House. “Go tell your boss you’ve got a bun in the oven.”
Smiling despite himself, Wilson stepped out of the exam room. He was going to be a father, and soon everyone in the hospital would know it.
Cool.