quotable_muse Application: Wizard of Oz quote
optimism || 615 words || k+
"After all, tomorrow is another day." - The Wizard of Oz
His cell phone was turned off. So were all of the lights. The main office door was locked, along with the one leading out to the balcony. The desk phone lay on its side next to its cradle so any incoming calls would be forwarded directly to the voicemail inbox. It had been a horrendously long day so far and James Wilson had no desire to interact with other people for the rest of it. He knew he was going to have to -- there were still patients to see before office hours were up, after all -- but he had a free hour now and he was going to take advantage of it by completely isolating himself.
He was sitting at his desk with his elbows resting on it, his face buried in his hands as he tried very hard not to think about anything at all when he heard a tapping on the balcony door. Tapping was the wrong word; if House -- because who the hell else would (or could) it be? -- knocked any harder, the glass would threaten to crack. Wilson ignored it anyway. After a couple of minutes, silence replaced the pounding and when he looked up the would-be intruder had disappeared. Wilson could hardly believe it had been that easy.
Which really showed how well he knew his friend. A few minutes later another noise reached his ears: a faint rattling from the general vicinity of the knob of the other door. It sounded like someone was attempting to pick the lock. Sure enough, the door swung open and House limped in with a mangled paper clip between his fingers.
Wilson eyed him wearily. "What, you mean you don't have a tool specifically for picking locks?" he asked. "Or is it just out on assignment?" He flinched as the paper clip sailed through the air to bounce off his forehead before falling to the desk.
"I like kickin' it old-school," House replied, flopping onto the sofa and propping up his bad leg.
Wilson pressed his face into his hands again, hoping against all hope that maybe House would take the hint, get a clue and just disappear. "Of course you do."
"Did you see what Cuddy's wearing today?"
"No. I haven't even talked to her. Unlike some people, she hasn't bothered me at all."
There was a slight pause. Wilson could hear the scowl in House's voice when he spoke. It was the scowl that always surfaced when he thought someone was ruining his fun. "What the hell's the problem, Jimmy? You're not wearing enough black and your hair's too symmetrical for that attitude."
"Look, it's been a really hard day, House. I have an hour with nothing scheduled and I just want to be left alone to waste it in peace."
Saying things like that almost never worked on House but for some reason it did this time. Wilson heard him hoisting himself up off the sofa and hobbling toward the door. "Parties suck without guests. Even pity parties," he sneered. "You should invite the rest of the oncology department. Nobody else around here cured cancer today, either. You can all cry about it together."
Wilson didn't rise to the bait. He just grunted in acknowledgment and waited, not looking up, until he heard the door shut behind House as he left. Then he sat back in his chair, leaning his head against the headrest, and stared up at the ceiling. House wasn't wrong. This was a pity party. But in an hour it would be over and Wilson would be back to work, acting like his normal self.
And even if today didn't get any better, there was always tomorrow.
"After all, tomorrow is another day." - The Wizard of Oz
His cell phone was turned off. So were all of the lights. The main office door was locked, along with the one leading out to the balcony. The desk phone lay on its side next to its cradle so any incoming calls would be forwarded directly to the voicemail inbox. It had been a horrendously long day so far and James Wilson had no desire to interact with other people for the rest of it. He knew he was going to have to -- there were still patients to see before office hours were up, after all -- but he had a free hour now and he was going to take advantage of it by completely isolating himself.
He was sitting at his desk with his elbows resting on it, his face buried in his hands as he tried very hard not to think about anything at all when he heard a tapping on the balcony door. Tapping was the wrong word; if House -- because who the hell else would (or could) it be? -- knocked any harder, the glass would threaten to crack. Wilson ignored it anyway. After a couple of minutes, silence replaced the pounding and when he looked up the would-be intruder had disappeared. Wilson could hardly believe it had been that easy.
Which really showed how well he knew his friend. A few minutes later another noise reached his ears: a faint rattling from the general vicinity of the knob of the other door. It sounded like someone was attempting to pick the lock. Sure enough, the door swung open and House limped in with a mangled paper clip between his fingers.
Wilson eyed him wearily. "What, you mean you don't have a tool specifically for picking locks?" he asked. "Or is it just out on assignment?" He flinched as the paper clip sailed through the air to bounce off his forehead before falling to the desk.
"I like kickin' it old-school," House replied, flopping onto the sofa and propping up his bad leg.
Wilson pressed his face into his hands again, hoping against all hope that maybe House would take the hint, get a clue and just disappear. "Of course you do."
"Did you see what Cuddy's wearing today?"
"No. I haven't even talked to her. Unlike some people, she hasn't bothered me at all."
There was a slight pause. Wilson could hear the scowl in House's voice when he spoke. It was the scowl that always surfaced when he thought someone was ruining his fun. "What the hell's the problem, Jimmy? You're not wearing enough black and your hair's too symmetrical for that attitude."
"Look, it's been a really hard day, House. I have an hour with nothing scheduled and I just want to be left alone to waste it in peace."
Saying things like that almost never worked on House but for some reason it did this time. Wilson heard him hoisting himself up off the sofa and hobbling toward the door. "Parties suck without guests. Even pity parties," he sneered. "You should invite the rest of the oncology department. Nobody else around here cured cancer today, either. You can all cry about it together."
Wilson didn't rise to the bait. He just grunted in acknowledgment and waited, not looking up, until he heard the door shut behind House as he left. Then he sat back in his chair, leaning his head against the headrest, and stared up at the ceiling. House wasn't wrong. This was a pity party. But in an hour it would be over and Wilson would be back to work, acting like his normal self.
And even if today didn't get any better, there was always tomorrow.