General Series, Prompts 6 And 34
Title: Shattering
Characters/Pairing: Wilson/Grace
Prompt: 006. Patient
Word Count: 990
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Spoilers for "House vs. God."
Author's Notes: I wrote this a month or so ago, so people may or may not have seen it before. I'm sorry if you have, but I've written something new, too, so enjoy. :)
It seems inevitable, that her ride wouldn't show up.
He's always struck by how fragile she looks (shouldn't this be old hat?), juxtaposed against the window, waiting. As if she'll crack if she steps outside and there isn't a friendly face to usher her into a warm vehicle.
He waits until his shift is done. A few more patients, none as... breakable (is that the word?) as she seems. House leaves. It gets dark, just a little.
Too dark, and he's afraid she'd disappear in some shadow.
He pretends that he's surprised to see her, waiting there. She's not forlorn, not abandoned, and not even weak, not really. She's just very much alone.
And so, he realizes, is he. (It isn't as much of a shock as it should be.)
The car seems warmer with two people in it.
*
She invites him in. Oh, he should say no. He should be a good doctor. He should go home and devise some cure for cancer so that she can be whole again.
He makes a mistake, sees the shadows under her eyes, and says "Yes."
When he doesn't think, the word "should" barely makes an appearance.
She offers him tea. There isn't any.
He shouldn't go and buy her groceries. But he can't cure cancer, and maybe if she eats something delicious, maybemaybemaybe she won't look like she'll break if he moves too quickly.
He still worries that she won't be breathing when he gets back.
*
He buys peppermint tea and honey. Sharp cheddar cheese and spinach and salami, garlic rolls and bowtie pasta. Good ice cream, creamy vanilla and chocolate syrup. Whipped creme.
He races around the store, movements just on this side of controlled. (Will she be okay?) He buys without rhyme or reason, without proper consideration of vitamins and minerals. He buys the things he would like to eat.
Perhaps they would tempt her to eat and go on eating?
When he brings the food to her apartment, she smiles. And he knows that no matter how good the food is, she will not abandon herself in taste.
But he is wrong -- it is after the tea and before the ice cream when she kisses him.
Oh oh oh. It is he who is shattering like china.
*
He does not expect to stay any longer. He stutters so, after she kisses him, and her eyes go so wide that he is worried her eyelids will roll back and only eyeballs will remain. (When did he become such a doctor, all the time?)
But she hands him a bowl of ice cream, piled with chocolate and whipped creme and their hands touch. And once again the "shoulds" vanish and he almost drops the bowl. He almost gets up.
In the moment of indecision, she falls into his lap. He is so worried, for a moment.
"Grace?" he asks.
His voice is not that of her doctor, guiding her towards overcoming her illness. His voice is lonely and afraid and broken. (What will happen if she shatters into a million pieces? Will he have anything left?)
"James." It is not a question. She knows what is going on; she is still fragile but her mind is crystal. She does not call him "Doctor."
She kisses him, again. And he is no longer her doctor. No.
He is a man in love with a woman he is going to lose. But he kisses her and holds her because he wants to have her, just for a moment.
*
He means to leave. Of course. He can't stay -- he has to go back home. (And explain to House where he was?) He keeps telling himself that he should go, but that doesn't work. She is soft and precious in his lap, kissing him. Fragile, but he can hold her so she doesn't break. That is the least he can do.
When they stop kissing, he makes her eat the ice cream. It's melted, but still it's sweet and cool and she smiles as she half-drinks it. He smiles back. It feels strange. Has he forgotten how to smile? He runs a thumb along her cheekbone. It sticks out too much. Still, it’s pretty in a tragic way. (Has she read Shakespeare?)
She asks him to talk about himself. He tells her about his work, his old schools. His family. (Not his ex-wives. Not his brother.) She watches him with wide eyes, as if he is so darling.
He makes to get up. Suddenly. What right has he to be here? It must be wrong, to kiss her, to hold her and tell her about himself, the things he always assumed were meaningful. (Are they still?)
When he moves, her eyes are startled. Like she's being jostled out of a dream.
"I have to go."
"Why?" She's only a little petulant. Mostly curious.
"Don't you... think this is wrong? I'm your doctor. I don't... want to confuse the issue, as it were."
"So you stopped being a person once you graduated med school? And I stopped being a person when I got sick?" Her face is white and she's trembling. Oh, this isn't fair. Now he just wants to hold her.
"No, but..."
She changes the subject.
"I had a dream when I was little," she says, taking his hand between two of hers, "to go to Florence. I don't speak Italian, but, you know, Florence is art and sunlight and cute little fountains. Renaissance. It's silly."
"Grace --" he says. He can't think of what to say next.
"You're going to say a good doctor thing now. Don't."
He kisses her, then, because all he can think of is chiaroscuro, the way she looked against the dark window in the waiting room. Precious and fragile and oh hell, he won't break her.
(He doesn't want to think he can.)
It is far too easy to stay.
Title: Drawing Pictures
Characters/Pairing: Julie Wilson
Prompt: 034. Not Enough
Word Count: 398
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Spoilers for "Sex Kills."
Author's Notes: I'm writing 50 stories about the general series, so expect every character and pairing. :) By the way, does it ever say what Julie Wilson actually does for a living? And while I'm writing this ridiculously long author's note, would anyone be interested in beta-ing for me? I would be happy to do some kind of exchange, if anyone is interested.
Julie Wilson draws pictures for a living. After her husband goes to work, she climbs back into bed. She sleeps for half an hour. Then she plans her pictures.
She illustrates children's books. It is important.
(Her husband saves lives. At first he thought her work was charming. Now she wonders if it's not enough.
But then, it is he who tells the children that they will die. She tries to enchant them.)
When she was first dating her husband, she would draw pictures on his skin. (The places the lab coat would hide.) He would leave them for weeks; they faded slowly.
One day, after they'd been married for a year or two, she realized that all of the pictures, even the most recent ones, had vanished. He had scoured them away with soap, without telling her.
Sometimes she wonders if it was the pictures or the man that she loved.
*
Julie Wilson, one day, wonders if perhaps the pictures aren't enough.
She goes to the hospital that day to take her husband lunch and he is talking to a pretty nurse, avoiding eye contact. (Her clothes are stained with paint.)
When he finally ends the conversation, he eyes the brown bagged lunch. (It is not enough, she realizes. Just a pastrami sandwich on rye bread and a bottle of water. An apple. Some chips.
She is not a gourmet chef. But they both know that this lunch, this moment, and somehow this woman, are not enough.
And his picture-less body, and all that is contained therein, is perhaps not enough for her, either.)
*
Julie Wilson receives a call that evening from an author. She's illustrating his book, a charming little story about bears and honey in a forest where no beasts threaten to consume innocent creatures. (The husband-bear thinks the wife-bear is more than enough.)
Her husband called half an hour ago. He will not be home until midnight.
The author has a velvet voice, deep and soothing. He asks how the pictures are going. He asks if he can see them. (He has no one at home with him.
Anything, for this charming man, is enough.)
She invites him over for the evening. Along with the pictures are glasses of red wine.
*
When her husband arrives much later than midnight, it is enough time to have fallen in love all over again.
Characters/Pairing: Wilson/Grace
Prompt: 006. Patient
Word Count: 990
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Spoilers for "House vs. God."
Author's Notes: I wrote this a month or so ago, so people may or may not have seen it before. I'm sorry if you have, but I've written something new, too, so enjoy. :)
It seems inevitable, that her ride wouldn't show up.
He's always struck by how fragile she looks (shouldn't this be old hat?), juxtaposed against the window, waiting. As if she'll crack if she steps outside and there isn't a friendly face to usher her into a warm vehicle.
He waits until his shift is done. A few more patients, none as... breakable (is that the word?) as she seems. House leaves. It gets dark, just a little.
Too dark, and he's afraid she'd disappear in some shadow.
He pretends that he's surprised to see her, waiting there. She's not forlorn, not abandoned, and not even weak, not really. She's just very much alone.
And so, he realizes, is he. (It isn't as much of a shock as it should be.)
The car seems warmer with two people in it.
*
She invites him in. Oh, he should say no. He should be a good doctor. He should go home and devise some cure for cancer so that she can be whole again.
He makes a mistake, sees the shadows under her eyes, and says "Yes."
When he doesn't think, the word "should" barely makes an appearance.
She offers him tea. There isn't any.
He shouldn't go and buy her groceries. But he can't cure cancer, and maybe if she eats something delicious, maybemaybemaybe she won't look like she'll break if he moves too quickly.
He still worries that she won't be breathing when he gets back.
*
He buys peppermint tea and honey. Sharp cheddar cheese and spinach and salami, garlic rolls and bowtie pasta. Good ice cream, creamy vanilla and chocolate syrup. Whipped creme.
He races around the store, movements just on this side of controlled. (Will she be okay?) He buys without rhyme or reason, without proper consideration of vitamins and minerals. He buys the things he would like to eat.
Perhaps they would tempt her to eat and go on eating?
When he brings the food to her apartment, she smiles. And he knows that no matter how good the food is, she will not abandon herself in taste.
But he is wrong -- it is after the tea and before the ice cream when she kisses him.
Oh oh oh. It is he who is shattering like china.
*
He does not expect to stay any longer. He stutters so, after she kisses him, and her eyes go so wide that he is worried her eyelids will roll back and only eyeballs will remain. (When did he become such a doctor, all the time?)
But she hands him a bowl of ice cream, piled with chocolate and whipped creme and their hands touch. And once again the "shoulds" vanish and he almost drops the bowl. He almost gets up.
In the moment of indecision, she falls into his lap. He is so worried, for a moment.
"Grace?" he asks.
His voice is not that of her doctor, guiding her towards overcoming her illness. His voice is lonely and afraid and broken. (What will happen if she shatters into a million pieces? Will he have anything left?)
"James." It is not a question. She knows what is going on; she is still fragile but her mind is crystal. She does not call him "Doctor."
She kisses him, again. And he is no longer her doctor. No.
He is a man in love with a woman he is going to lose. But he kisses her and holds her because he wants to have her, just for a moment.
*
He means to leave. Of course. He can't stay -- he has to go back home. (And explain to House where he was?) He keeps telling himself that he should go, but that doesn't work. She is soft and precious in his lap, kissing him. Fragile, but he can hold her so she doesn't break. That is the least he can do.
When they stop kissing, he makes her eat the ice cream. It's melted, but still it's sweet and cool and she smiles as she half-drinks it. He smiles back. It feels strange. Has he forgotten how to smile? He runs a thumb along her cheekbone. It sticks out too much. Still, it’s pretty in a tragic way. (Has she read Shakespeare?)
She asks him to talk about himself. He tells her about his work, his old schools. His family. (Not his ex-wives. Not his brother.) She watches him with wide eyes, as if he is so darling.
He makes to get up. Suddenly. What right has he to be here? It must be wrong, to kiss her, to hold her and tell her about himself, the things he always assumed were meaningful. (Are they still?)
When he moves, her eyes are startled. Like she's being jostled out of a dream.
"I have to go."
"Why?" She's only a little petulant. Mostly curious.
"Don't you... think this is wrong? I'm your doctor. I don't... want to confuse the issue, as it were."
"So you stopped being a person once you graduated med school? And I stopped being a person when I got sick?" Her face is white and she's trembling. Oh, this isn't fair. Now he just wants to hold her.
"No, but..."
She changes the subject.
"I had a dream when I was little," she says, taking his hand between two of hers, "to go to Florence. I don't speak Italian, but, you know, Florence is art and sunlight and cute little fountains. Renaissance. It's silly."
"Grace --" he says. He can't think of what to say next.
"You're going to say a good doctor thing now. Don't."
He kisses her, then, because all he can think of is chiaroscuro, the way she looked against the dark window in the waiting room. Precious and fragile and oh hell, he won't break her.
(He doesn't want to think he can.)
It is far too easy to stay.
Title: Drawing Pictures
Characters/Pairing: Julie Wilson
Prompt: 034. Not Enough
Word Count: 398
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Spoilers for "Sex Kills."
Author's Notes: I'm writing 50 stories about the general series, so expect every character and pairing. :) By the way, does it ever say what Julie Wilson actually does for a living? And while I'm writing this ridiculously long author's note, would anyone be interested in beta-ing for me? I would be happy to do some kind of exchange, if anyone is interested.
Julie Wilson draws pictures for a living. After her husband goes to work, she climbs back into bed. She sleeps for half an hour. Then she plans her pictures.
She illustrates children's books. It is important.
(Her husband saves lives. At first he thought her work was charming. Now she wonders if it's not enough.
But then, it is he who tells the children that they will die. She tries to enchant them.)
When she was first dating her husband, she would draw pictures on his skin. (The places the lab coat would hide.) He would leave them for weeks; they faded slowly.
One day, after they'd been married for a year or two, she realized that all of the pictures, even the most recent ones, had vanished. He had scoured them away with soap, without telling her.
Sometimes she wonders if it was the pictures or the man that she loved.
*
Julie Wilson, one day, wonders if perhaps the pictures aren't enough.
She goes to the hospital that day to take her husband lunch and he is talking to a pretty nurse, avoiding eye contact. (Her clothes are stained with paint.)
When he finally ends the conversation, he eyes the brown bagged lunch. (It is not enough, she realizes. Just a pastrami sandwich on rye bread and a bottle of water. An apple. Some chips.
She is not a gourmet chef. But they both know that this lunch, this moment, and somehow this woman, are not enough.
And his picture-less body, and all that is contained therein, is perhaps not enough for her, either.)
*
Julie Wilson receives a call that evening from an author. She's illustrating his book, a charming little story about bears and honey in a forest where no beasts threaten to consume innocent creatures. (The husband-bear thinks the wife-bear is more than enough.)
Her husband called half an hour ago. He will not be home until midnight.
The author has a velvet voice, deep and soothing. He asks how the pictures are going. He asks if he can see them. (He has no one at home with him.
Anything, for this charming man, is enough.)
She invites him over for the evening. Along with the pictures are glasses of red wine.
*
When her husband arrives much later than midnight, it is enough time to have fallen in love all over again.