The Crazy Misadventures Of The Callaway Brothers Pt6
Title: The Crazy Misadventures of the Callaway Brothers Pt6
Genre: Drama/Adventure/Friendship/Humor/Angst and pretty much anything in between as the chapters progress.
Characters/Pairing(s): G. House, J. Wilson/ Extreme Friendship
Spoilers/Warnings: post-series finale. Mild cursing, drug-use and adult situations. (In some chapters)
Summary: Wilson worries that his illness might be effecting House's wellbeing. House is convinced Wilson is not as prepared for future events as he claims to be.
-Pt 6-
"Thump… Thump… Thump…"
Wilson sat on a wooden chair next to House's bedside. He was throwing a small rubber ball, one of House's many acquired toys, against the wall.
"Thump… THUMP!" He slammed the ball a little louder. An action he soon regretted as he heard the couple from the room next-door squeal.
"Eh…" Came a small raspy grunt from House's direction.
"Good morning princess…" Wilson joked.
House blinked sleepily and looked at his watch, "It's 7:00am… Please tell me you're not dead yet, so I can kill you…"
"Get up!" Wilson stated energetically, giving House a slight push. "Get dressed, we've got plans…"
"Can't…" House replied dryly, "Leg hurts…"
"It hurts because you're depressed; you've been depressed ever since you made me get that last X-Ray… You need a distraction…" Wilson put on his motorcycle jacket and popped 3 pills in his mouth.
"Yeah… Because watching you pop increasing amounts of painkillers each morning is not depressing at all…" House croaked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"I would rather be high… Something you should know about…" Wilson retorted, "Now get up!"
House sighed, reluctantly pulling himself up from the bed, "Your lively energy is really putting a damper on my self-deprecation, d'you know that?"
"Obviously it's what I live for…" Wilson smiled. He was in a good mood and it was obvious the pills we're doing their job at keeping his cancer at bay.
"Can you at least share some of your happy pills with me?" House asked dryly, rubbing his thigh to get the message through to Wilson.
Wilson nodded and threw the orange pill bottle toward House. He turned around, minding his own business, and House knew this action served as an open invitation for him to take as many pills as he liked-and so he did.
…
" The Muscle Beach Annual Bodybuilding, Figure and Bikini Competition…"
House read the large sign out loud and turned to Wilson with a questioning look, "Seriously?"
Wilson folded his arms and smiled, "Thought you'd enjoy it…"
They were surrounded by an eclectic mix of female body builders and hot bikini models-all of which we're barely wearing anything and being extremely playful with the crowd. It was that strange mix of hot and disturbing that House could really get into and enjoy-like his obsession with spud guns, mud wrestling and monster trucks.
A local shop in front of the muscle gym had two models dressed in green nurse's uniforms. One of them was handing out pamphlets, the other was smiling and holding a big sign that said: "The Doctor Is In!"
House and Wilson exchanged looks.
"I'm on it…" Wilson said.
House was somewhat surprised at how easily Wilson was going along with this. Sure, as an oncologist, Wilson dealt with his fair share of medicinal marijuana, but he never smoked the stuff himself, or at least that's what he led House to believe.
A few minutes later Wilson walked out; smiling ear-to-ear and looking so happy House thought rainbows might shoot out of his nostrils.
"This was too easy…" Wilson said as he walked back to the bench where House was now sitting, gulping on frozen lemonade and watching the crowd.
"You're a terminal cancer patient and this is Stonersville USA… Don't act all surprised…" House took a sip from his lemonade, "And I'm still convinced you used to smoke the stuff back in PPTH with your patients and you just never cared to share…" he added bitterly.
"Well you're wrong. I haven't touched this stuff since I was in college…" Wilson surveyed the green nugget in his hand, giving it a good whiff before he placed it in a newly purchased glass pipe.
House gave Wilson a doubtful look.
"Alright!" Wilson rolled his eyes and planted the glass pipe on his lap, "Once in a while… When a patient would reach… y'know, the end…" he couldn't help but to gulp nervously, "I would sit and smoke one with them…"
House gave half a devious smile.
"Studies have shown that casual relaxed conversations make people feel better! They were more relaxed if I was relaxed too!" Wilson added defensively, fidgeting with the pipe.
"And you think you know who your friends are…" House faked his disapproval and grabbed the glass pipe from Wilson's hand.
...
"Fifty bucks says the brunette will falcon-punch the giant tranny before the 3d round is over…"
Wilson snorted, "Well, A. You don't have fifty bucks… B. That's not a tranny… This is a woman's muscle competition."
House shrugged, "Tranny doesn't care what this is…" House's eyes moved back to the stage, "Oh! Here, watch!"
Sure enough, an angry small muscular brunette turned around and kicked the tall blond muscle builder next to her right between the legs.
Wilson's jaw slacked in amazement as he realized the tall blond was in fact lying on the ground, nursing what could only be described as a "wounded sack."
House extended his hand in front of Wilson's face, "Pay up!"
Wilson, glassy eyed and very obviously stoned, chuckled, "No way… You said she would punch the tranny… She kicked her!"
"Him!" House corrected.
"Whatever… Still wrong…"
"I was right about Muscle-Babe actually being a Muscle-Bob!" House protested.
Wilson shrugged nonchalantly, "That wasn't the only parameter of the bet."
Rolling his eyes, House accepted defeat.
Wilson let out a weak chuckle. He was happy. For the moment being at least, he was pain free, he was still breathing and grateful for that. He remembered his conversation with Thirteen a few days before House's "funeral." ;
Wilson: Does it (dying) ever stop being surreal?
Thirteen: It'll stop, in about… five or six months… give or take, in your case.
And it still was surreal. Wilson wondered if it will ever truly register with him that someday he might not wake up. But for the time being, he was sure of one thing, House was taking this a lot harder then he was, and though he wouldn't admit it, his leg did the talking for him.
"House…" Wilson said, and House knew this was going to be serious because Wilson was using his real name, and looking at his feet and the weed was wearing off… So he did what every mature adult friend would do. He rolled his eyes and resorted to sarcasm:
"Oh god… No… You were doing so well with the drug sharing and the beach and the babes… Don't ruin it! Don't succumb to the dark side!"
"I already succumbed to the dark side… He's tall, has blue eyes, thinning hair and currently goes by the name of James Callaway, perhaps you know him…" Wilson shot back.
House scratched his head, "My hair's not thinning…"
"Yes it is…" Wilson said dryly, "Seriously, what are you going to do once I'm…"
"Don't…" House warned. Wilson noted that at that very moment House began to throw nervous glances at his leg.
"House I just…" Wilson was speaking softly, almost whispering, "I'm worried about you, I don't… I don't want you to fall apart. I need to know that…"
"That what?" House spat out, "That I'll be ok? That I will find myself in this world once you're gone, or some other dumb cliché? You want to be sure I move on? Make peace? What-Just tell me!"
After that, House couldn't take it anymore. His features contorted as he winced in pain and clutched his thigh muscle.
Wilson closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, "I just…" He said shakily, "I just want you to be okay, House… I want you to make peace with me dying… Like I did…"
To that, House reacted with a dark distorted chuckle, so soft and maniacal it made the hair on the back of Wilson's neck prick up.
"Like you did?" House croaked in a low gravelly voice, still doubled over his thigh, "You think you made peace with your death?" he looked at Wilson with haunting blue eyes.
Wilson nodded. Not daring to say another word.
House huffed, "You're not even close to accepting your own mortality… Your mind isn't even close to registering the fact that you're dying…"
Wilson was slightly annoyed by this statement, "Who are you to tell me what I…"
"Because it's true!" House yelled, "If you were even close to accepting what was going on here you would be terrified! You wouldn't be able to function!"
Wilson avoided House's gaze. He swore he heard a small breathy yelp of pain from House's direction.
"And that moment will come…" House's words were loaded, heavy and pained, "When the pills won't work… When you'll be in constant pain, sick and gasping for air… Your little chemo session will seem like a vacation compared to what will happen then…"
Wilson took in a nervous breath, "Why are you telling me this?"
House shrugged, "Because I don't want to think about what will happen then, and after…" He looked up at Wilson, who seemed pale and shocked, "And neither do you…"
Wilson lowered his gaze, processing House's words.
House attended to his aching thigh in silence. After a few moments he noticed a hand extended towards him-Wilson's hand. He accepted the offer and allowed his dying friend to help him to his feet.
…
House nursed a glass of whiskey in his hand as he sat alone at the bar in the Hotel lobby. Wilson checked them into an actual hotel and not just a dingy motel this time, and House had a suspicion that it might be an act of kindness towards him since Wilson noticed his worsening leg pain. In fact, he was sure that was the reason, in typical Caring-Wilson fashion, He couldn't even die without caring, House thought.
An old grand piano was standing at the furthest corner of the bar and House watched carefully as a young staff member sat in front of it.
The young guy began playing. House didn't recognize the tune-probably some new age radio trash. He did know that whatever it was being played, it was being played wrong.
House downed his drink, got up on his feet and drunkenly made his way towards the piano, wincing every time the youngster missed a note.
"Hey…" He proclaimed, causing the young piano player to look up over his head.
"Get up… you stink…" House slurred.
"I…eh… Sir you don't work here…" The youngster stuttered.
"Hey…" House lifted his cane so the boy could see it, "And I'm not afraid to use it now move… move…" he shooed the boy and took his spot in front of the piano.
He began playing some old blues tune. His eyes closed as he immersed himself in the rhythm, his bad leg tapping to the beat.
Wilson stood at the corner of the bar, just listening. He was supposed to meet House there for a drink, but he wouldn't dare disturb his friend now. So he just stood there and kept listening and watching. Finally, after playing a few different tunes, House stopped. He got up, and as abruptly as he came, stood face to face in front of the slack-jawed youngster, who was waiting patiently for House to be done.
"Now this is how you play the piano, you damn whippersnapper…" House growled, purposely trying to sound like a grumpy old man, smiling devilishly as he limped away.
Wilson couldn't help but laugh at how "typically House" all this was. Somehow, as he watched his friend walk away, he just knew that House was going to be alright.
Genre: Drama/Adventure/Friendship/Humor/Angst and pretty much anything in between as the chapters progress.
Characters/Pairing(s): G. House, J. Wilson/ Extreme Friendship
Spoilers/Warnings: post-series finale. Mild cursing, drug-use and adult situations. (In some chapters)
Summary: Wilson worries that his illness might be effecting House's wellbeing. House is convinced Wilson is not as prepared for future events as he claims to be.
-Pt 6-
"Thump… Thump… Thump…"
Wilson sat on a wooden chair next to House's bedside. He was throwing a small rubber ball, one of House's many acquired toys, against the wall.
"Thump… THUMP!" He slammed the ball a little louder. An action he soon regretted as he heard the couple from the room next-door squeal.
"Eh…" Came a small raspy grunt from House's direction.
"Good morning princess…" Wilson joked.
House blinked sleepily and looked at his watch, "It's 7:00am… Please tell me you're not dead yet, so I can kill you…"
"Get up!" Wilson stated energetically, giving House a slight push. "Get dressed, we've got plans…"
"Can't…" House replied dryly, "Leg hurts…"
"It hurts because you're depressed; you've been depressed ever since you made me get that last X-Ray… You need a distraction…" Wilson put on his motorcycle jacket and popped 3 pills in his mouth.
"Yeah… Because watching you pop increasing amounts of painkillers each morning is not depressing at all…" House croaked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"I would rather be high… Something you should know about…" Wilson retorted, "Now get up!"
House sighed, reluctantly pulling himself up from the bed, "Your lively energy is really putting a damper on my self-deprecation, d'you know that?"
"Obviously it's what I live for…" Wilson smiled. He was in a good mood and it was obvious the pills we're doing their job at keeping his cancer at bay.
"Can you at least share some of your happy pills with me?" House asked dryly, rubbing his thigh to get the message through to Wilson.
Wilson nodded and threw the orange pill bottle toward House. He turned around, minding his own business, and House knew this action served as an open invitation for him to take as many pills as he liked-and so he did.
…
" The Muscle Beach Annual Bodybuilding, Figure and Bikini Competition…"
House read the large sign out loud and turned to Wilson with a questioning look, "Seriously?"
Wilson folded his arms and smiled, "Thought you'd enjoy it…"
They were surrounded by an eclectic mix of female body builders and hot bikini models-all of which we're barely wearing anything and being extremely playful with the crowd. It was that strange mix of hot and disturbing that House could really get into and enjoy-like his obsession with spud guns, mud wrestling and monster trucks.
A local shop in front of the muscle gym had two models dressed in green nurse's uniforms. One of them was handing out pamphlets, the other was smiling and holding a big sign that said: "The Doctor Is In!"
House and Wilson exchanged looks.
"I'm on it…" Wilson said.
House was somewhat surprised at how easily Wilson was going along with this. Sure, as an oncologist, Wilson dealt with his fair share of medicinal marijuana, but he never smoked the stuff himself, or at least that's what he led House to believe.
A few minutes later Wilson walked out; smiling ear-to-ear and looking so happy House thought rainbows might shoot out of his nostrils.
"This was too easy…" Wilson said as he walked back to the bench where House was now sitting, gulping on frozen lemonade and watching the crowd.
"You're a terminal cancer patient and this is Stonersville USA… Don't act all surprised…" House took a sip from his lemonade, "And I'm still convinced you used to smoke the stuff back in PPTH with your patients and you just never cared to share…" he added bitterly.
"Well you're wrong. I haven't touched this stuff since I was in college…" Wilson surveyed the green nugget in his hand, giving it a good whiff before he placed it in a newly purchased glass pipe.
House gave Wilson a doubtful look.
"Alright!" Wilson rolled his eyes and planted the glass pipe on his lap, "Once in a while… When a patient would reach… y'know, the end…" he couldn't help but to gulp nervously, "I would sit and smoke one with them…"
House gave half a devious smile.
"Studies have shown that casual relaxed conversations make people feel better! They were more relaxed if I was relaxed too!" Wilson added defensively, fidgeting with the pipe.
"And you think you know who your friends are…" House faked his disapproval and grabbed the glass pipe from Wilson's hand.
...
"Fifty bucks says the brunette will falcon-punch the giant tranny before the 3d round is over…"
Wilson snorted, "Well, A. You don't have fifty bucks… B. That's not a tranny… This is a woman's muscle competition."
House shrugged, "Tranny doesn't care what this is…" House's eyes moved back to the stage, "Oh! Here, watch!"
Sure enough, an angry small muscular brunette turned around and kicked the tall blond muscle builder next to her right between the legs.
Wilson's jaw slacked in amazement as he realized the tall blond was in fact lying on the ground, nursing what could only be described as a "wounded sack."
House extended his hand in front of Wilson's face, "Pay up!"
Wilson, glassy eyed and very obviously stoned, chuckled, "No way… You said she would punch the tranny… She kicked her!"
"Him!" House corrected.
"Whatever… Still wrong…"
"I was right about Muscle-Babe actually being a Muscle-Bob!" House protested.
Wilson shrugged nonchalantly, "That wasn't the only parameter of the bet."
Rolling his eyes, House accepted defeat.
Wilson let out a weak chuckle. He was happy. For the moment being at least, he was pain free, he was still breathing and grateful for that. He remembered his conversation with Thirteen a few days before House's "funeral." ;
Wilson: Does it (dying) ever stop being surreal?
Thirteen: It'll stop, in about… five or six months… give or take, in your case.
And it still was surreal. Wilson wondered if it will ever truly register with him that someday he might not wake up. But for the time being, he was sure of one thing, House was taking this a lot harder then he was, and though he wouldn't admit it, his leg did the talking for him.
"House…" Wilson said, and House knew this was going to be serious because Wilson was using his real name, and looking at his feet and the weed was wearing off… So he did what every mature adult friend would do. He rolled his eyes and resorted to sarcasm:
"Oh god… No… You were doing so well with the drug sharing and the beach and the babes… Don't ruin it! Don't succumb to the dark side!"
"I already succumbed to the dark side… He's tall, has blue eyes, thinning hair and currently goes by the name of James Callaway, perhaps you know him…" Wilson shot back.
House scratched his head, "My hair's not thinning…"
"Yes it is…" Wilson said dryly, "Seriously, what are you going to do once I'm…"
"Don't…" House warned. Wilson noted that at that very moment House began to throw nervous glances at his leg.
"House I just…" Wilson was speaking softly, almost whispering, "I'm worried about you, I don't… I don't want you to fall apart. I need to know that…"
"That what?" House spat out, "That I'll be ok? That I will find myself in this world once you're gone, or some other dumb cliché? You want to be sure I move on? Make peace? What-Just tell me!"
After that, House couldn't take it anymore. His features contorted as he winced in pain and clutched his thigh muscle.
Wilson closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, "I just…" He said shakily, "I just want you to be okay, House… I want you to make peace with me dying… Like I did…"
To that, House reacted with a dark distorted chuckle, so soft and maniacal it made the hair on the back of Wilson's neck prick up.
"Like you did?" House croaked in a low gravelly voice, still doubled over his thigh, "You think you made peace with your death?" he looked at Wilson with haunting blue eyes.
Wilson nodded. Not daring to say another word.
House huffed, "You're not even close to accepting your own mortality… Your mind isn't even close to registering the fact that you're dying…"
Wilson was slightly annoyed by this statement, "Who are you to tell me what I…"
"Because it's true!" House yelled, "If you were even close to accepting what was going on here you would be terrified! You wouldn't be able to function!"
Wilson avoided House's gaze. He swore he heard a small breathy yelp of pain from House's direction.
"And that moment will come…" House's words were loaded, heavy and pained, "When the pills won't work… When you'll be in constant pain, sick and gasping for air… Your little chemo session will seem like a vacation compared to what will happen then…"
Wilson took in a nervous breath, "Why are you telling me this?"
House shrugged, "Because I don't want to think about what will happen then, and after…" He looked up at Wilson, who seemed pale and shocked, "And neither do you…"
Wilson lowered his gaze, processing House's words.
House attended to his aching thigh in silence. After a few moments he noticed a hand extended towards him-Wilson's hand. He accepted the offer and allowed his dying friend to help him to his feet.
…
House nursed a glass of whiskey in his hand as he sat alone at the bar in the Hotel lobby. Wilson checked them into an actual hotel and not just a dingy motel this time, and House had a suspicion that it might be an act of kindness towards him since Wilson noticed his worsening leg pain. In fact, he was sure that was the reason, in typical Caring-Wilson fashion, He couldn't even die without caring, House thought.
An old grand piano was standing at the furthest corner of the bar and House watched carefully as a young staff member sat in front of it.
The young guy began playing. House didn't recognize the tune-probably some new age radio trash. He did know that whatever it was being played, it was being played wrong.
House downed his drink, got up on his feet and drunkenly made his way towards the piano, wincing every time the youngster missed a note.
"Hey…" He proclaimed, causing the young piano player to look up over his head.
"Get up… you stink…" House slurred.
"I…eh… Sir you don't work here…" The youngster stuttered.
"Hey…" House lifted his cane so the boy could see it, "And I'm not afraid to use it now move… move…" he shooed the boy and took his spot in front of the piano.
He began playing some old blues tune. His eyes closed as he immersed himself in the rhythm, his bad leg tapping to the beat.
Wilson stood at the corner of the bar, just listening. He was supposed to meet House there for a drink, but he wouldn't dare disturb his friend now. So he just stood there and kept listening and watching. Finally, after playing a few different tunes, House stopped. He got up, and as abruptly as he came, stood face to face in front of the slack-jawed youngster, who was waiting patiently for House to be done.
"Now this is how you play the piano, you damn whippersnapper…" House growled, purposely trying to sound like a grumpy old man, smiling devilishly as he limped away.
Wilson couldn't help but laugh at how "typically House" all this was. Somehow, as he watched his friend walk away, he just knew that House was going to be alright.