Fic: Bus Stop
Bus Stop
by Topaz Eyes
Pairing: Wilson, Kutner, Amber, gen
Rating: PG-13 (mentions suicide)
Summary: "Can't drink real-world beer now. Which sorta sucks 'cause I miss my Sleeman Cream Ale. Bud After-Light just doesn't cut it."
Disclaimer: Owned by David Shore et al. Sadly I am neither et nor al.
Word Count: 1441
Notes: Written for Kutner Fest at kutner_love. No specific prompt used. Spoilers from 5 x 20, "A Simple Explanation," to the end of the season. Thank you so much hannahrorlove and karaokegal for reading this and making it better. Brilliance is theirs, gaffes are mine.
After Kutner rapped on the door to House's apartment, it didn't take long for Wilson to come and open it. Wilson was wearing jeans and McGill sweatshirt, hair mussed; he clutched a half-full bottle of beer. He looked confused--his eyes glassy, like he'd had a few--but he smiled in greeting.
"Hello, how can I help--?" Wilson's eyes widened and his jaw dropped as if he'd seen a ghost. "Kutner?"
Which, Kutner supposed, was entirely appropriate, since that was exactly what Wilson was seeing. "Hey, Dr. Wilson," he said. "How's it going?"
Wilson grabbed the door and leaned on it heavily; it took a minute of blinking and gaping, a fish flopping in air, until he grasped the question and could answer normally. "I--it's going well. How about you? How are you doing?"
"I'm doing okay, thanks." Kutner shrugged and nodded towards the living room. "Can I come in?"
Kutner heard Wilson mutter to himself, "God, I must be drunker than I thought." Then Wilson shook his head as if to clear it and stepped back, holding the door open to let him pass.
Kutner entered and looked around, impressed, as Wilson shut the door. "So this is what House's pad looks like from the inside. Sweet." He stopped at the baby grand and gave a low whistle. "Is that a Steinway? Awesome. My piano teacher never had one of those. I wish I'd kept up my lessons but I stopped after a couple years."
Wilson spoke up behind him. "So--do you want a beer?"
Kutner turned and held up a six-pack. "Brought my own. Can't drink real-world beer now. Which sorta sucks 'cause I miss my Sleeman Cream Ale. Bud After-Light just doesn't cut it."
Wilson grinned. "Beer in the afterlife. That's--strangely comforting to know."
"There are some comforts to it, yeah."
They rounded the couch and sat down at opposite ends. Wilson swung his bare feet onto the coffee table. Kutner mimicked his movement, crossing his ankles. Now that he was used to not wearing shoes all the time, it felt surreal seeing the living bare-footed.
"What are you doing here?" Wilson asked.
"Had some unfinished business to take care of," Kutner said. "You were on the list." Kutner tipped the can back, swallowed, and let out a soft belch.
"You're making the rounds?"
Kutner licked his lips, tasted the hops' bitterness. "Making amends, yeah." Kutner stared at a far corner. "Something I need to do. Tell you though, I'm not looking forward to seeing Taub."
"You may also want to avoid House for now. He's seeing enough ghosts these days."
Kutner nodded; he'd figured the same thing, but was glad for the confirmation. They raised their drinks, bottle and can, and drank. It was strange to be drinking with Wilson, living and ghost side-by-side; but at the same time it felt like being with an old friend, him and Wilson, two guys kicking back and drinking beer on a rainy spring evening. Except for the whole him-being-dead thing, of course.
"Didn't you realize House would go off the deep end when you shot yourself?"
He started at the harshness of Wilson's voice breaking the silence. Wilson stared straight ahead; Kutner couldn't help notice the simmering--not frustration, not sadness...but resignation beneath the surface. Well, this was why he was here. "I was more concerned about what I was feeling at the time."
"Of course you were." A fleeting redness, like embarrassment, crossed Wilson's face. He swallowed another mouthful. "He spent weeks trying to figure out why you did it."
"Yeah, I bet he was relentless," Kutner agreed. They shared a wry chuckle before he eyed Wilson closely. "Do you blame me?"
Wilson looked at him, his eyes dark and piercing. "Yes. In a way. Your suicide was the tipping point for his breakdown. House saw a big part of himself in you, though he'd never admit it. I think he admired you, for overcoming your past in a way he never could his." He sighed and took a long pull of beer. "So I think, after you died, he thought on some level, if you couldn't handle it, how could he hope to? He started seeing Amber, just to cope. Though if it hadn't been you, it would have been something else sooner or later. I ought to thank you for finally convincing him he needs help."
"Wow. Seeing Amber. Guy's big on guilt, isn't he."
Wilson snorted; it didn't quite make it to a laugh. "And water is wet."
"But he's getting the help he needs. That's a good thing, right?"
"Yes, it is. Though I wish--but I'm just talking to a figment of my imagination." Wilson rose, and wobbled on his feet. "A figment of my very drunk imagination." Again he laughed without mirth and saluted Kutner. "I'll be back if I don't check myself into Mayfield first." He listed to the bathroom.
Kutner swallowed another mouthful of beer, listened to Wilson peeing in the toilet, finished the can and put it back in the ring (easier to carry), and thought about nothing except how to word what he had to say next. In a minute he heard the toilet flush and the water run in the sink. In another minute, Wilson appeared again, just a little unsteady as he returned to the couch and plopped himself down. He lifted the bottle from the coffee table and drained the dregs. He belched loudly, pressing on his stomach, and Kutner grinned. Two guys drinking beer.
At length, Wilson twisted the empty bottle in his hands, took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "I--we--should have seen something was up a long time ago. We took you for granted, assumed you were okay. We figured that you would always be there. And we were wrong."
Kutner reached out, touched his shoulder. Wilson turned his head to stare at Kutner's hand on his arm. "Look, I'm sorry for what happened too. I wish I'd done things differently, like letting you know what was going on."
His hand fell away, and their gazes met. After a minute, Wilson said softly, "You didn't fail us, Kutner--we failed you." He then looked away, his mouth twitching.
"I'm just glad House has a friend like you to look out for him."
Wilson nodded, and with that Kutner knew they were okay. After a short silence, Wilson looked up, his dark eyes now unfocused in sleepy inebriation. "I still have your book of short stories you lent me. What do you want me to do with the last one?"
Yeah, that's right, he'd forgotten--he bounced to his feet, thrilled that Wilson still remembered. "It'd be great if you'd finish it."
"Did you ever figure out why Pokemon lose their abilities when they're flung--?"
"Energy imbalance. Which also explains why the trainers can't wake up."
"And anyone from the 4-D world would gain extra powers in the 3-D world."
"Yep."
"Sounds simple enough." Wilson yawned and slumped down into the cushions. In less than a minute Wilson was snoring, his head lolling back. Kutner smiled outright. Amber was right, hiding his visits in the guise of drunkenness or dreams--or drunken dreams--worked well.
"You are such a geek."
Speak of the devil. "And a happy hello to you, too." He looked up and grinned at her where she stood in the middle of the room with her arms crossed.
"Pokemon? I'm not surprised at that coming from you, but Wilson? How the hell did you rope him into that?"
"Before I died I told him he could read it to his patients after I finished it. Pokemon's all the rage in the pediatric crowd. "
"Figures." She sat on the edge of the couch and nodded toward Wilson. "How's he doing?"
"Holding it together."
Amber nodded in agreement. "Wilson's a survivor. Compared to some of the crap he's had to take, House at the funny farm is a walk in the park." She reached down, stroked Wilson's cheek.
Kutner watched as Wilson, in his sleep, pressed into Amber's palm. He felt a twinge; he'd always be attracted to her, a little. But, they were friends now, and that was enough. He looked at the clock on the mantel. "Gotta visit Taub now," he said with a sigh. "Assuming he'll want to talk to me. Though I wouldn't blame him if he doesn't."
Amber looked up at him. "Good luck with that," she said.
"Yeah, thanks." Kutner rose and picked up the six-pack, swinging it in his hand. "See you back at the bus."
by Topaz Eyes
Pairing: Wilson, Kutner, Amber, gen
Rating: PG-13 (mentions suicide)
Summary: "Can't drink real-world beer now. Which sorta sucks 'cause I miss my Sleeman Cream Ale. Bud After-Light just doesn't cut it."
Disclaimer: Owned by David Shore et al. Sadly I am neither et nor al.
Word Count: 1441
Notes: Written for Kutner Fest at kutner_love. No specific prompt used. Spoilers from 5 x 20, "A Simple Explanation," to the end of the season. Thank you so much hannahrorlove and karaokegal for reading this and making it better. Brilliance is theirs, gaffes are mine.
After Kutner rapped on the door to House's apartment, it didn't take long for Wilson to come and open it. Wilson was wearing jeans and McGill sweatshirt, hair mussed; he clutched a half-full bottle of beer. He looked confused--his eyes glassy, like he'd had a few--but he smiled in greeting.
"Hello, how can I help--?" Wilson's eyes widened and his jaw dropped as if he'd seen a ghost. "Kutner?"
Which, Kutner supposed, was entirely appropriate, since that was exactly what Wilson was seeing. "Hey, Dr. Wilson," he said. "How's it going?"
Wilson grabbed the door and leaned on it heavily; it took a minute of blinking and gaping, a fish flopping in air, until he grasped the question and could answer normally. "I--it's going well. How about you? How are you doing?"
"I'm doing okay, thanks." Kutner shrugged and nodded towards the living room. "Can I come in?"
Kutner heard Wilson mutter to himself, "God, I must be drunker than I thought." Then Wilson shook his head as if to clear it and stepped back, holding the door open to let him pass.
Kutner entered and looked around, impressed, as Wilson shut the door. "So this is what House's pad looks like from the inside. Sweet." He stopped at the baby grand and gave a low whistle. "Is that a Steinway? Awesome. My piano teacher never had one of those. I wish I'd kept up my lessons but I stopped after a couple years."
Wilson spoke up behind him. "So--do you want a beer?"
Kutner turned and held up a six-pack. "Brought my own. Can't drink real-world beer now. Which sorta sucks 'cause I miss my Sleeman Cream Ale. Bud After-Light just doesn't cut it."
Wilson grinned. "Beer in the afterlife. That's--strangely comforting to know."
"There are some comforts to it, yeah."
They rounded the couch and sat down at opposite ends. Wilson swung his bare feet onto the coffee table. Kutner mimicked his movement, crossing his ankles. Now that he was used to not wearing shoes all the time, it felt surreal seeing the living bare-footed.
"What are you doing here?" Wilson asked.
"Had some unfinished business to take care of," Kutner said. "You were on the list." Kutner tipped the can back, swallowed, and let out a soft belch.
"You're making the rounds?"
Kutner licked his lips, tasted the hops' bitterness. "Making amends, yeah." Kutner stared at a far corner. "Something I need to do. Tell you though, I'm not looking forward to seeing Taub."
"You may also want to avoid House for now. He's seeing enough ghosts these days."
Kutner nodded; he'd figured the same thing, but was glad for the confirmation. They raised their drinks, bottle and can, and drank. It was strange to be drinking with Wilson, living and ghost side-by-side; but at the same time it felt like being with an old friend, him and Wilson, two guys kicking back and drinking beer on a rainy spring evening. Except for the whole him-being-dead thing, of course.
"Didn't you realize House would go off the deep end when you shot yourself?"
He started at the harshness of Wilson's voice breaking the silence. Wilson stared straight ahead; Kutner couldn't help notice the simmering--not frustration, not sadness...but resignation beneath the surface. Well, this was why he was here. "I was more concerned about what I was feeling at the time."
"Of course you were." A fleeting redness, like embarrassment, crossed Wilson's face. He swallowed another mouthful. "He spent weeks trying to figure out why you did it."
"Yeah, I bet he was relentless," Kutner agreed. They shared a wry chuckle before he eyed Wilson closely. "Do you blame me?"
Wilson looked at him, his eyes dark and piercing. "Yes. In a way. Your suicide was the tipping point for his breakdown. House saw a big part of himself in you, though he'd never admit it. I think he admired you, for overcoming your past in a way he never could his." He sighed and took a long pull of beer. "So I think, after you died, he thought on some level, if you couldn't handle it, how could he hope to? He started seeing Amber, just to cope. Though if it hadn't been you, it would have been something else sooner or later. I ought to thank you for finally convincing him he needs help."
"Wow. Seeing Amber. Guy's big on guilt, isn't he."
Wilson snorted; it didn't quite make it to a laugh. "And water is wet."
"But he's getting the help he needs. That's a good thing, right?"
"Yes, it is. Though I wish--but I'm just talking to a figment of my imagination." Wilson rose, and wobbled on his feet. "A figment of my very drunk imagination." Again he laughed without mirth and saluted Kutner. "I'll be back if I don't check myself into Mayfield first." He listed to the bathroom.
Kutner swallowed another mouthful of beer, listened to Wilson peeing in the toilet, finished the can and put it back in the ring (easier to carry), and thought about nothing except how to word what he had to say next. In a minute he heard the toilet flush and the water run in the sink. In another minute, Wilson appeared again, just a little unsteady as he returned to the couch and plopped himself down. He lifted the bottle from the coffee table and drained the dregs. He belched loudly, pressing on his stomach, and Kutner grinned. Two guys drinking beer.
At length, Wilson twisted the empty bottle in his hands, took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "I--we--should have seen something was up a long time ago. We took you for granted, assumed you were okay. We figured that you would always be there. And we were wrong."
Kutner reached out, touched his shoulder. Wilson turned his head to stare at Kutner's hand on his arm. "Look, I'm sorry for what happened too. I wish I'd done things differently, like letting you know what was going on."
His hand fell away, and their gazes met. After a minute, Wilson said softly, "You didn't fail us, Kutner--we failed you." He then looked away, his mouth twitching.
"I'm just glad House has a friend like you to look out for him."
Wilson nodded, and with that Kutner knew they were okay. After a short silence, Wilson looked up, his dark eyes now unfocused in sleepy inebriation. "I still have your book of short stories you lent me. What do you want me to do with the last one?"
Yeah, that's right, he'd forgotten--he bounced to his feet, thrilled that Wilson still remembered. "It'd be great if you'd finish it."
"Did you ever figure out why Pokemon lose their abilities when they're flung--?"
"Energy imbalance. Which also explains why the trainers can't wake up."
"And anyone from the 4-D world would gain extra powers in the 3-D world."
"Yep."
"Sounds simple enough." Wilson yawned and slumped down into the cushions. In less than a minute Wilson was snoring, his head lolling back. Kutner smiled outright. Amber was right, hiding his visits in the guise of drunkenness or dreams--or drunken dreams--worked well.
"You are such a geek."
Speak of the devil. "And a happy hello to you, too." He looked up and grinned at her where she stood in the middle of the room with her arms crossed.
"Pokemon? I'm not surprised at that coming from you, but Wilson? How the hell did you rope him into that?"
"Before I died I told him he could read it to his patients after I finished it. Pokemon's all the rage in the pediatric crowd. "
"Figures." She sat on the edge of the couch and nodded toward Wilson. "How's he doing?"
"Holding it together."
Amber nodded in agreement. "Wilson's a survivor. Compared to some of the crap he's had to take, House at the funny farm is a walk in the park." She reached down, stroked Wilson's cheek.
Kutner watched as Wilson, in his sleep, pressed into Amber's palm. He felt a twinge; he'd always be attracted to her, a little. But, they were friends now, and that was enough. He looked at the clock on the mantel. "Gotta visit Taub now," he said with a sigh. "Assuming he'll want to talk to me. Though I wouldn't blame him if he doesn't."
Amber looked up at him. "Good luck with that," she said.
"Yeah, thanks." Kutner rose and picked up the six-pack, swinging it in his hand. "See you back at the bus."