Quiet.
For the most part, Wilson was making a conscious effort to follow Pearce’s advice and maintain a low profile. When Will had contacted him, canceling lunch with McKay the oncologist had lifted a brow but simply adjusted his plans accordingly and headed out to meet with Rowan. Everything had gone normal on that front, polite… achingly polite… vitals were good, blood drawn for analysis at the hospital, pleasantries had been exchanged and Wilson had headed back to home base.
Rounds, office, rounds. That was the schedule Wilson kept to settling in his office for a little overtime work with paperwork and papers in general, starting the one on Kai and also reviewing meticulous notes in regards to Rowan’s case. Miss Frell was also added to the list of concerns…as was Cameron.
Wilson stayed in his office till about seven and then packed himself up. Since he hadn’t heard from Will, he was going to go ahead on home, even if it might be hours before Chase showed up but tonight he took work home with him. Budget items, which needed his review, personnel files, patient files…the usual collection.
The trip to the underground garage was uneventful as was the trip home, though tonight when he stopped by the video store to return the movies, he also stepped into the small Italian place a few doors down and ordered himself some twice baked spaghetti and a salad.
Man could not live on popcorn alone!
Deciding against another movie, the oncologist headed for the brownstone and unloaded himself dinner and the paperwork. As he walked to his house, he chuckled a little to himself, thinking how…well… average the day had been. Well…technically speaking anyway.
Putting his dinner in the oven to keep it warm, Wilson decided to indulge himself in a relaxing shower. Flipping on the music, Sting once more he headed up the stairs disrobing along the way. Sometimes he did his best thinking in the shower, especially when it came to matters, which involved his friends.
Given the amount of stuff he had to think about, well he about turned into a prune before he finally surfaced but the tension in his shoulders had left him and so he just grabbed down a pair of Tylenol, rather then one of the heavy duty Ibu squirreled away in this medicine cabinet. Slouching his way into a T-shirt and cut-off shorts Wilson headed back downstairs to attend to his dinner.
His answering machine had five messages on it and though he had a bad feeling about what he was going to hear, he hit the button and listened to three messages of his mother begging him to call her and two messages from other sources. Standing at his counter, cutting down the garlic bread, which had come with his meal, Wilson tried to make himself ignore his mother’s pleas. He knew if he got on the phone with her, it would be a good two hours before he managed to get off and another good 4 hours after that before he calmed down and honestly, he didn’t want the stress. Not for himself and not for Robert.
So dinner in hand, a glass of wine added to the mix because Italian food screamed for red wine, the oncologist retired to the front room, which he used as his study. Pushing the long coffee table that he tended to use as his desk towards the sofa, Wilson squiggled in between the table and the couch, plopping himself on the floor.
Dinner? - Check
Pager? - Check
Phone? - Check
Remote for CD player? - Check
Work? - Check
Turning the music up, jamming a little to Brand New Day James settled in to his quiet evening.
Rounds, office, rounds. That was the schedule Wilson kept to settling in his office for a little overtime work with paperwork and papers in general, starting the one on Kai and also reviewing meticulous notes in regards to Rowan’s case. Miss Frell was also added to the list of concerns…as was Cameron.
Wilson stayed in his office till about seven and then packed himself up. Since he hadn’t heard from Will, he was going to go ahead on home, even if it might be hours before Chase showed up but tonight he took work home with him. Budget items, which needed his review, personnel files, patient files…the usual collection.
The trip to the underground garage was uneventful as was the trip home, though tonight when he stopped by the video store to return the movies, he also stepped into the small Italian place a few doors down and ordered himself some twice baked spaghetti and a salad.
Man could not live on popcorn alone!
Deciding against another movie, the oncologist headed for the brownstone and unloaded himself dinner and the paperwork. As he walked to his house, he chuckled a little to himself, thinking how…well… average the day had been. Well…technically speaking anyway.
Putting his dinner in the oven to keep it warm, Wilson decided to indulge himself in a relaxing shower. Flipping on the music, Sting once more he headed up the stairs disrobing along the way. Sometimes he did his best thinking in the shower, especially when it came to matters, which involved his friends.
Given the amount of stuff he had to think about, well he about turned into a prune before he finally surfaced but the tension in his shoulders had left him and so he just grabbed down a pair of Tylenol, rather then one of the heavy duty Ibu squirreled away in this medicine cabinet. Slouching his way into a T-shirt and cut-off shorts Wilson headed back downstairs to attend to his dinner.
His answering machine had five messages on it and though he had a bad feeling about what he was going to hear, he hit the button and listened to three messages of his mother begging him to call her and two messages from other sources. Standing at his counter, cutting down the garlic bread, which had come with his meal, Wilson tried to make himself ignore his mother’s pleas. He knew if he got on the phone with her, it would be a good two hours before he managed to get off and another good 4 hours after that before he calmed down and honestly, he didn’t want the stress. Not for himself and not for Robert.
So dinner in hand, a glass of wine added to the mix because Italian food screamed for red wine, the oncologist retired to the front room, which he used as his study. Pushing the long coffee table that he tended to use as his desk towards the sofa, Wilson squiggled in between the table and the couch, plopping himself on the floor.
Dinner? - Check
Pager? - Check
Phone? - Check
Remote for CD player? - Check
Work? - Check
Turning the music up, jamming a little to Brand New Day James settled in to his quiet evening.