The Unglued Egg - PG
Greetings!
Many, many thanks go to pwcorgigirl for emergency beta-ing way above and beyond the call. She busted her butt to get these stories beta-ed for me at the last minute, and I want to acknowledge that effort, and my immense appreciation of same, even though my life melted immediately thereafter and these aren't being posted until now.
Also thanks go to keeperofstars , for being understanding about the aforementioned melting.
Hopefully the tale is worth the wait.
Title: The Unglued Egg
Author: Katrina Hawke
Prompt: Wilson’s self-loathing: why he’s really on anti-depressants.
(Here's some more - this was the Prompt that Would Not Leave My Muse Alone - and therefore she would not leave me alone until they were all written down.)
Rating: PG for heavy thoughts
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Wilson, offstage cameos by House, Stacy, Tritter / Gen
Warnings: rated PG for heavy thoughts, possible spoilage for minor bits of background trivia
Disclaimer: House M.D. and all related characters are the property of Shore Z, Bad Hat Harry, Fox, etc.
This particular variation on a theme belonging to others is mine.
Summary: Wilson muses on the shattered remnants of his life and what it will take to put the pieces back together again.
Enjoy!
-Katrina
The Unglued Egg
He’s been sliding towards this abyss for years. A thousand little mistakes have magnified themselves into a shattered whole. And now Wilson has been forced to admit that he can’t go it alone.
Although, like the one he has criticized the most, the one who brought things to a head all unknowing, he has chosen to find his companionship through pharmaceuticals, rather than personal connection. He’s been forced to acknowledge his own hypocrisy, if only to himself, and the admission is like bitter gall against his tongue.
Somehow, with all his abilities to talk, he’d lost the knack for listening, and that’s where the fall into the abyss truly began. He didn’t listen to House when the pain returned after the shooting, after the ketamine. He assumed - always the worst thing one can do - that when House shut up, it meant he’d been right and the pain was all in House’s head. He’d wanted the blissful idyll to continue so much that he’d refused to see the significance of what was happening right in front of him.
It’s when the loud ones become quiet that you need most to listen. He’d forgotten that for a fatal moment. Unexpected quiet holds an answer, but the misery of yet another failed marriage made him overlook it.
He’d been wrong and House’s response had been wrong as well. Two wrongs don’t make a right, but sometimes they mark the beginning of a road. In this case, that road was twisted with loss and mourning and anger and betrayal. That failure to communicate was just the last too-sharp turn around the bend.
But then neither he nor House had ever been that good at talking seriously about such things. They both were so guarded that the first lies they ever told were to themselves.
It could be argued, Wilson realizes, that the road didn’t actually begin there. Much earlier, seeds were planted that have recently borne their poisoned fruit.
The first seed, the first betrayal, was by Stacy during the infarction. Who was right and who was wrong? They’d never know now. The only thing they do know is that, ultimately, Stacy wasn’t strong enough to be what House needed, then or later. And Wilson can’t forgive her for that.
The second was by himself after the ketamine. There is no excuse for what he did, but there is explanation. Surrounded by death on a daily basis, is it truly any wonder that he denied the reality of what was happening? He can acknowledge now that his need for a happy ending was so great that he overlooked the truth of the situation - that through no fault of House’s own, the happy ending just wasn’t meant to be. So, he left his friend in pain, with no escape from either the pain of his leg or the pain of a friend’s betrayal.
He can’t forgive himself for that.
The third was by House, when he stole from him. Not little things, like food and money, but big things: his name, his prescription, his life.
Did House realize the magnitude of his action when he stole that piece of paper, forged his best friend’s name? Wilson likes to think House did because somehow it makes the pain of what happened afterward more bearable. He’s tried to forgive House for Tritter, but finds that he cannot, any more than House can ultimately forgive him.
But there is more, even further back. If one were to dig deeper, one would find that the true beginnings began with Wilson’s beginnings.
He’s always been the good son. Or rather, he had been, until one discussion eleven years ago forever altered his status. He committed the cardinal sin of siding with his brother rather than his parents, and for that he is forever condemned. And while he has tried to convince himself that he doesn’t care, he knows he’s lying.
So ever since he has been searching in vain for the magic spell to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again - the shattered disasters that are his family, his patients, House… himself. But the pieces always fall apart again, no matter how hard he tries. It all slides helplessly through his fingers to fall to the ground in a never-ending cycle of loss and pain.
The antidepressants help stop the loop, as does the talking that reveals his true need and the utter impossibility of his vision. Maybe he’ll be one of the lucky ones, who breaks the chains of his own making. Maybe.
Or maybe not. It’s too soon to tell. There’s a lot of forgiveness to find and give first, a lot of bridges to be mended, if such is even possible by now.
He’s learning to live with this uncertainty, just as he’s had to learn to live with so many others. The only thing he can do is try. But some days he wonders if the results are worth the cost. And if there is enough glue in this world to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
Many, many thanks go to pwcorgigirl for emergency beta-ing way above and beyond the call. She busted her butt to get these stories beta-ed for me at the last minute, and I want to acknowledge that effort, and my immense appreciation of same, even though my life melted immediately thereafter and these aren't being posted until now.
Also thanks go to keeperofstars , for being understanding about the aforementioned melting.
Hopefully the tale is worth the wait.
Title: The Unglued Egg
Author: Katrina Hawke
Prompt: Wilson’s self-loathing: why he’s really on anti-depressants.
(Here's some more - this was the Prompt that Would Not Leave My Muse Alone - and therefore she would not leave me alone until they were all written down.)
Rating: PG for heavy thoughts
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Wilson, offstage cameos by House, Stacy, Tritter / Gen
Warnings: rated PG for heavy thoughts, possible spoilage for minor bits of background trivia
Disclaimer: House M.D. and all related characters are the property of Shore Z, Bad Hat Harry, Fox, etc.
This particular variation on a theme belonging to others is mine.
Summary: Wilson muses on the shattered remnants of his life and what it will take to put the pieces back together again.
Enjoy!
-Katrina
The Unglued Egg
He’s been sliding towards this abyss for years. A thousand little mistakes have magnified themselves into a shattered whole. And now Wilson has been forced to admit that he can’t go it alone.
Although, like the one he has criticized the most, the one who brought things to a head all unknowing, he has chosen to find his companionship through pharmaceuticals, rather than personal connection. He’s been forced to acknowledge his own hypocrisy, if only to himself, and the admission is like bitter gall against his tongue.
Somehow, with all his abilities to talk, he’d lost the knack for listening, and that’s where the fall into the abyss truly began. He didn’t listen to House when the pain returned after the shooting, after the ketamine. He assumed - always the worst thing one can do - that when House shut up, it meant he’d been right and the pain was all in House’s head. He’d wanted the blissful idyll to continue so much that he’d refused to see the significance of what was happening right in front of him.
It’s when the loud ones become quiet that you need most to listen. He’d forgotten that for a fatal moment. Unexpected quiet holds an answer, but the misery of yet another failed marriage made him overlook it.
He’d been wrong and House’s response had been wrong as well. Two wrongs don’t make a right, but sometimes they mark the beginning of a road. In this case, that road was twisted with loss and mourning and anger and betrayal. That failure to communicate was just the last too-sharp turn around the bend.
But then neither he nor House had ever been that good at talking seriously about such things. They both were so guarded that the first lies they ever told were to themselves.
It could be argued, Wilson realizes, that the road didn’t actually begin there. Much earlier, seeds were planted that have recently borne their poisoned fruit.
The first seed, the first betrayal, was by Stacy during the infarction. Who was right and who was wrong? They’d never know now. The only thing they do know is that, ultimately, Stacy wasn’t strong enough to be what House needed, then or later. And Wilson can’t forgive her for that.
The second was by himself after the ketamine. There is no excuse for what he did, but there is explanation. Surrounded by death on a daily basis, is it truly any wonder that he denied the reality of what was happening? He can acknowledge now that his need for a happy ending was so great that he overlooked the truth of the situation - that through no fault of House’s own, the happy ending just wasn’t meant to be. So, he left his friend in pain, with no escape from either the pain of his leg or the pain of a friend’s betrayal.
He can’t forgive himself for that.
The third was by House, when he stole from him. Not little things, like food and money, but big things: his name, his prescription, his life.
Did House realize the magnitude of his action when he stole that piece of paper, forged his best friend’s name? Wilson likes to think House did because somehow it makes the pain of what happened afterward more bearable. He’s tried to forgive House for Tritter, but finds that he cannot, any more than House can ultimately forgive him.
But there is more, even further back. If one were to dig deeper, one would find that the true beginnings began with Wilson’s beginnings.
He’s always been the good son. Or rather, he had been, until one discussion eleven years ago forever altered his status. He committed the cardinal sin of siding with his brother rather than his parents, and for that he is forever condemned. And while he has tried to convince himself that he doesn’t care, he knows he’s lying.
So ever since he has been searching in vain for the magic spell to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again - the shattered disasters that are his family, his patients, House… himself. But the pieces always fall apart again, no matter how hard he tries. It all slides helplessly through his fingers to fall to the ground in a never-ending cycle of loss and pain.
The antidepressants help stop the loop, as does the talking that reveals his true need and the utter impossibility of his vision. Maybe he’ll be one of the lucky ones, who breaks the chains of his own making. Maybe.
Or maybe not. It’s too soon to tell. There’s a lot of forgiveness to find and give first, a lot of bridges to be mended, if such is even possible by now.
He’s learning to live with this uncertainty, just as he’s had to learn to live with so many others. The only thing he can do is try. But some days he wonders if the results are worth the cost. And if there is enough glue in this world to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.