(no subject)
TITLE: Salvation 5
AUTHOR: dragynflies
PAIRING: Allison/House, Wilson/OC
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY:
You are turning into one of those idiot fathers with the wallet that has the drop out picture holder, and you show your children off to anyone who will give you enough time to spit out their names and ages.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don’t sue.
The next two weeks seem to take forever, but you can’t forget Allison’s worried face and that makes cutting back on the Vicodin easier. You work on taking it when your leg starts to hurt, instead of as a preventative, and you slowly realize that you really don’t need to take as much as you think you do. You have more important things to worry about, and Blythe’s rapid-fire snark and Nathan’s toothy smile are constant reminders of those things.
Finally, they take Allison off the medication and three hours after that, she goes into labor. She is 34 weeks along, and beyond ready to have the baby. You are there for this one, and you get to hold her hand while she pushes, and feed her ice chips and smooth her hair back from her forehead. You want to be completely in the moment, even as she whimpers and clutches your hand, because this is your child, and you get to be here for her entire life.
Seven hour later, Emma Grace House is born and you watch with amazed eyes, because she is beautiful. She’s so tiny…was Blythe this tiny?
They take her away sooner than you’d like, but she’s breathing well and the doctor comes in to reassure you both that Emma will be home soon, she just needs some time in the NICU to help her lungs grow and make sure she is doing well.
You go down to Wilson’s office and tell him to go see “The newest House.” Ten minutes later he finds you in Allison’s room, a huge smile on his face.
“Emma Grace?” he asks, thrilled, and you nod.
“James is sort of a weird name for a girl,” you shrug, “Hope Emily and your mom are close enough.” Had Emma been a boy, you would have used his name - after all, you have your own little namesake running around in the Wilson house.
The next day, you take time off work and come in to pick up Allison. The corner of your bedroom has been set up for Emma- you really do need to move, you think - but Allison seems delighted as she looks over the basinet and the little dresser that you and Blythe have stocked with clothes.
The house is strangely empty without Emma, even though she’s never been there. Having Allison home is wonderful, but it still feels like something is missing. The basinet has sat empty in the corner for two weeks, but now it’s really empty and when you look at it all you can picture is your little girl in her plastic incubator at the hospital.
Eleven days later, Emma comes home and everything seems a hundred times better.
Blythe is an amazing big sister, jumping in with both feet; holding, and feeding Emma with a calm grace that reminds you so much of her mother. She helps Nathan hold Emma’s little head, and sets a pillow in his lap so he can help feed the baby also. She’s only seven, but she seems so grown up with Nathan and Emma. Allison is careful that Blythe doesn’t turn into Emma’s nanny, but you love watching your three kids together. You hope they always love each other this much.
Blythe’s 8th birthday is three days after Emma is home, and you can already tell that June and July are going to be whirlwind months, because somehow the kids’ birthdays have lined up almost exactly two weeks apart, starting with Nathan, then Emma, and then Blythe.
Blythe gets her first medical journal and her first lab coat for her birthday; presents from Uncle James and Auntie Emily. She wants to be a pediatrician, and she reads books like they’re going out of style. At eight, she is smarter than the majority of her class (and most of the kids in middle school, but Blythe won’t let you brag). She often joins the older students for reading and math. She spends an hour a day in the first grade classroom, helping the children through Dr. Seuss book, her voice patient even when the children struggle.
She is the most amazing combination of you and Allison and you suspect one day, she’s going to rock the world.
Neither Blythe nor Nathan slept through the night until they were three months old, or so Allison tells you as she pours her fourth cup of coffee in the morning. She’s trying so hard to breastfeed, but she has to get out of bed every time the baby cries. You tell her just to put Emma in bed with the two of you for a little while and Allison looks ashamed.
“What? Co-sleeping is supposed to be -“ you start to explain, because you’ve read all the books this time and you know all the different parenting techniques; you even bought a sling for Allison to carry Emma in.
“We can’t co-sleep because of the Vicodin,” Allison mumbles, “because it makes you sleep too heavily. It’s fine; Emma will start sleeping through the night soon…it’s okay if I take longer to come back to work, I’ll talk to my boss.”
“Oh,” you say, and you stand up, leaning on your cane. You can’t quit the Vicodin - you really aren’t addicted anymore, you just need it because of the pain. You thought the battle was losing your emotional dependence on it, but it looks like your pain management is causing problems too, “Well, maybe I could sleep on the couch for awhile, and you and Emma can -“
“Greg,” Allison sighs, meeting your eyes over her coffee cup, “Stop it. It’s not your fault, and it’s fine. Nathan did the same thing to me, you remember.”
You do remember the day she showed up at your apartment with Nathan, looking like she hadn’t slept for a month. You realize then that poor Allison has done all the work for all three children, at least while they were tiny, and you kick yourself.
“Why don’t we start Emma on bottles?” you offer, “and then I can get up with her. If I don’t wake up when she cries, just wake me up. . .you’ll get a little more sleep that way?”
Allison’s eyes soften and she smiles at you, “It’s alright, honestly. You have to work, it makes more sense for me to get up with her. But thank you,” she says, smiling, “you’re welcome to watch her when you get home from work.”
You laugh, because Emma is all you watch when you get home from work. You are turning into one of those idiot fathers with the wallet that has the drop out picture holder, and you show your children off to anyone who will give you enough time to spit out their names and ages.
The only person worse than you is Wilson, and you think part of it is because the two of you never expected this; this family that honestly, neither of you deserve.
You try for one fun night a week, the nine of you crammed into your house, and you love to watch the kids. You and Wilson play cards at the table, Allison and Emily sit with the babies, Nathan and Gregory chase Blythe around the house.
“Uncle Jimmy,” she says one night, panting from running away from the boys and their little foam guns, “This is not fair.” She places her hands on her hips and points, “Gregory is almost the same age as Nathan. Isabel is almost the same age as Emma. Where is MY friend?”
Wilson laughs, and pulls Blythe onto his lap. For all her big words and intelligent, your daughter is still the smallest child in her class. What she lacks in high she makes up in snark, and you think that’s probably a good trade.
“I didn’t meet Aunt Emily fast enough,” he tells her, handing her his cards, “You wanna help me beat Daddy at Poker?”
Blythe squeals and tucks herself closer to Wilson, laying her back against his chest and listening as he whispers and points at cards, explaining the rules of the game.
“Should eight year olds be learning how to play poker?” you mumble at Allison fifteen minutes later.
”You’re only mad because she’s winning,” she laughs, and turns to Blythe, “Good girl.”
After the card game, you all head out into the backyard for fireworks. You missed the 4th of July, what with Allison being in the hospital and you being a moron, so you’re making up for it now. Blythe gets her revenge and chases Nathan and Gregory with her sparkler, but you can see her holding back and letting them escape.
“You know, it would be nice if at least one of our children got my mean streak,” you tease, just as Nathan turns around and tackles Blythe. You startle for a moment, but the sparkler has burned out, and no one caught fire.
“There, happy now?” Allison says, snickering as Blythe shouts dramatically for help, “If he were any more yours, he’d have a cane.”
You laugh and scoop up Emma in your arms, kissing her nose. She is tiny - she wasn’t even supposed to be here for another three weeks -- but she fits just right in your arms, like she was supposed to be yours.
“Sorry you were born into a family of loonies,” you tell her, tickling her stomach. She kicks her feet and you swear that she smiles at you, no matter how many times Allison tells you it’s just gas. You really don’t care, because you know.
Wilson finishes the burgers and you hand out plates and pass around a bag of chips, and as you settle down in a chair with Emma in one arm and your supper in the other, you think you could probably do this for the rest of your life.
AUTHOR: dragynflies
PAIRING: Allison/House, Wilson/OC
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY:
You are turning into one of those idiot fathers with the wallet that has the drop out picture holder, and you show your children off to anyone who will give you enough time to spit out their names and ages.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don’t sue.
The next two weeks seem to take forever, but you can’t forget Allison’s worried face and that makes cutting back on the Vicodin easier. You work on taking it when your leg starts to hurt, instead of as a preventative, and you slowly realize that you really don’t need to take as much as you think you do. You have more important things to worry about, and Blythe’s rapid-fire snark and Nathan’s toothy smile are constant reminders of those things.
Finally, they take Allison off the medication and three hours after that, she goes into labor. She is 34 weeks along, and beyond ready to have the baby. You are there for this one, and you get to hold her hand while she pushes, and feed her ice chips and smooth her hair back from her forehead. You want to be completely in the moment, even as she whimpers and clutches your hand, because this is your child, and you get to be here for her entire life.
Seven hour later, Emma Grace House is born and you watch with amazed eyes, because she is beautiful. She’s so tiny…was Blythe this tiny?
They take her away sooner than you’d like, but she’s breathing well and the doctor comes in to reassure you both that Emma will be home soon, she just needs some time in the NICU to help her lungs grow and make sure she is doing well.
You go down to Wilson’s office and tell him to go see “The newest House.” Ten minutes later he finds you in Allison’s room, a huge smile on his face.
“Emma Grace?” he asks, thrilled, and you nod.
“James is sort of a weird name for a girl,” you shrug, “Hope Emily and your mom are close enough.” Had Emma been a boy, you would have used his name - after all, you have your own little namesake running around in the Wilson house.
The next day, you take time off work and come in to pick up Allison. The corner of your bedroom has been set up for Emma- you really do need to move, you think - but Allison seems delighted as she looks over the basinet and the little dresser that you and Blythe have stocked with clothes.
The house is strangely empty without Emma, even though she’s never been there. Having Allison home is wonderful, but it still feels like something is missing. The basinet has sat empty in the corner for two weeks, but now it’s really empty and when you look at it all you can picture is your little girl in her plastic incubator at the hospital.
Eleven days later, Emma comes home and everything seems a hundred times better.
Blythe is an amazing big sister, jumping in with both feet; holding, and feeding Emma with a calm grace that reminds you so much of her mother. She helps Nathan hold Emma’s little head, and sets a pillow in his lap so he can help feed the baby also. She’s only seven, but she seems so grown up with Nathan and Emma. Allison is careful that Blythe doesn’t turn into Emma’s nanny, but you love watching your three kids together. You hope they always love each other this much.
Blythe’s 8th birthday is three days after Emma is home, and you can already tell that June and July are going to be whirlwind months, because somehow the kids’ birthdays have lined up almost exactly two weeks apart, starting with Nathan, then Emma, and then Blythe.
Blythe gets her first medical journal and her first lab coat for her birthday; presents from Uncle James and Auntie Emily. She wants to be a pediatrician, and she reads books like they’re going out of style. At eight, she is smarter than the majority of her class (and most of the kids in middle school, but Blythe won’t let you brag). She often joins the older students for reading and math. She spends an hour a day in the first grade classroom, helping the children through Dr. Seuss book, her voice patient even when the children struggle.
She is the most amazing combination of you and Allison and you suspect one day, she’s going to rock the world.
Neither Blythe nor Nathan slept through the night until they were three months old, or so Allison tells you as she pours her fourth cup of coffee in the morning. She’s trying so hard to breastfeed, but she has to get out of bed every time the baby cries. You tell her just to put Emma in bed with the two of you for a little while and Allison looks ashamed.
“What? Co-sleeping is supposed to be -“ you start to explain, because you’ve read all the books this time and you know all the different parenting techniques; you even bought a sling for Allison to carry Emma in.
“We can’t co-sleep because of the Vicodin,” Allison mumbles, “because it makes you sleep too heavily. It’s fine; Emma will start sleeping through the night soon…it’s okay if I take longer to come back to work, I’ll talk to my boss.”
“Oh,” you say, and you stand up, leaning on your cane. You can’t quit the Vicodin - you really aren’t addicted anymore, you just need it because of the pain. You thought the battle was losing your emotional dependence on it, but it looks like your pain management is causing problems too, “Well, maybe I could sleep on the couch for awhile, and you and Emma can -“
“Greg,” Allison sighs, meeting your eyes over her coffee cup, “Stop it. It’s not your fault, and it’s fine. Nathan did the same thing to me, you remember.”
You do remember the day she showed up at your apartment with Nathan, looking like she hadn’t slept for a month. You realize then that poor Allison has done all the work for all three children, at least while they were tiny, and you kick yourself.
“Why don’t we start Emma on bottles?” you offer, “and then I can get up with her. If I don’t wake up when she cries, just wake me up. . .you’ll get a little more sleep that way?”
Allison’s eyes soften and she smiles at you, “It’s alright, honestly. You have to work, it makes more sense for me to get up with her. But thank you,” she says, smiling, “you’re welcome to watch her when you get home from work.”
You laugh, because Emma is all you watch when you get home from work. You are turning into one of those idiot fathers with the wallet that has the drop out picture holder, and you show your children off to anyone who will give you enough time to spit out their names and ages.
The only person worse than you is Wilson, and you think part of it is because the two of you never expected this; this family that honestly, neither of you deserve.
You try for one fun night a week, the nine of you crammed into your house, and you love to watch the kids. You and Wilson play cards at the table, Allison and Emily sit with the babies, Nathan and Gregory chase Blythe around the house.
“Uncle Jimmy,” she says one night, panting from running away from the boys and their little foam guns, “This is not fair.” She places her hands on her hips and points, “Gregory is almost the same age as Nathan. Isabel is almost the same age as Emma. Where is MY friend?”
Wilson laughs, and pulls Blythe onto his lap. For all her big words and intelligent, your daughter is still the smallest child in her class. What she lacks in high she makes up in snark, and you think that’s probably a good trade.
“I didn’t meet Aunt Emily fast enough,” he tells her, handing her his cards, “You wanna help me beat Daddy at Poker?”
Blythe squeals and tucks herself closer to Wilson, laying her back against his chest and listening as he whispers and points at cards, explaining the rules of the game.
“Should eight year olds be learning how to play poker?” you mumble at Allison fifteen minutes later.
”You’re only mad because she’s winning,” she laughs, and turns to Blythe, “Good girl.”
After the card game, you all head out into the backyard for fireworks. You missed the 4th of July, what with Allison being in the hospital and you being a moron, so you’re making up for it now. Blythe gets her revenge and chases Nathan and Gregory with her sparkler, but you can see her holding back and letting them escape.
“You know, it would be nice if at least one of our children got my mean streak,” you tease, just as Nathan turns around and tackles Blythe. You startle for a moment, but the sparkler has burned out, and no one caught fire.
“There, happy now?” Allison says, snickering as Blythe shouts dramatically for help, “If he were any more yours, he’d have a cane.”
You laugh and scoop up Emma in your arms, kissing her nose. She is tiny - she wasn’t even supposed to be here for another three weeks -- but she fits just right in your arms, like she was supposed to be yours.
“Sorry you were born into a family of loonies,” you tell her, tickling her stomach. She kicks her feet and you swear that she smiles at you, no matter how many times Allison tells you it’s just gas. You really don’t care, because you know.
Wilson finishes the burgers and you hand out plates and pass around a bag of chips, and as you settle down in a chair with Emma in one arm and your supper in the other, you think you could probably do this for the rest of your life.