Spur-of-the-moment fic.
House, Wilson/wives, Wilson/Amber
PG for vague adult themes
1116 words
The first Mrs. Dr. James Wilson was small and slight with ash-blonde hair that brushed her shoulders and clear blue eyes that seemed to take up her whole face. Tricia had dated Wilson at Columbia; she’d been an English major who went to work for Random House after graduation. He’d gone to Montreal for med school, and that had almost been the end of that. But he came back four years later; they were both older and wiser, and love had conquered all. They’d gotten married in a big Catholic ceremony, the handsome young doctor and his perfect new bride. The divorce papers were signed a month before their third anniversary, the clear blue eyes surprisingly free of tears. She’d cried enough over him, and now it was time to end it.
The second Mrs. Dr. James Wilson was vulnerable and adorable, her dark hair wildly curly and her brown eyes practically capable of carrying on a conversation. Bonnie was a young woman, only twenty-three to Wilson’s thirty, once an aspiring actress, but she’d more or less given up on that and was working as a waitress in a diner. She’d fallen in love with the way he’d taken care of her, and he’d fallen in love with how much she’d needed him. The wedding had been in a Presbyterian church, rather appropriate since he’d just started working for Princeton. He’d assured all his family that this one would last; that he and Tricia had been too young when they fell in love and too idealistic when they got married. Now he was an adult; he was thirty years old; he was prepared for a marriage. This one had only lasted twenty-two months. His friends were starting to notice a pattern.
The third Mrs. Dr. James Wilson was the woman he’d left the second Mrs. Wilson for. Julie was lusciously, exotically beautiful, three significant years older than his adorable but childish wife. Her long auburn hair came down in smooth, gentle waves; her hazel eyes made mysterious sexy promises. She was taller than tiny Tricia or girlish Bonnie. This woman was intelligent, which Bonnie hadn’t really been; adventurous, which placid Tricia hadn’t been; successful, which neither the careful copy editor nor the out-of-luck actress had been. She was also admitted to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital with two broken legs, the result of an unfortunate car accident. She’d met the rising star of an oncologist when she was wheeled into Radiology, and despite all the warnings that his past had been, he’d fallen in love almost immediately. The fact that he’d been married…well, he’d had two affairs while with Tricia, and he’d already cheated on Bonnie once. The wedding had been an old-fashioned Episcopal ceremony. He’d looked into her eyes and promised to worship her with his body and endow her with all his worldly goods. Their marriage had been his longest; nearly five years elapsed before Julie finally told him that she’d found someone new.
He had meant it each time, meant it with his whole heart and soul. Wilson loved women. He loved the way they kissed him when he came home. He loved the way they curled up with him in bed. He loved the look of sweet happiness in their eyes when he did something nice. He loved the feel of their arms coming around his neck, holding him close. He really did want a wife, too; he wanted a woman in his life to be with him forever, a woman he could take care of and who might one day take care of him. He just…hadn’t found her yet. And the women were starting to back away from him. A man who’d been divorced three times before his fortieth birthday wasn’t all that appealing, no matter how handsome, charming, rich, and successful he was.
He didn’t actually pay alimony to all three women. Bonnie had been the first to renounce it; she got her realtor’s license a year after their divorce and was fully independent for the first time in her life. Tricia remarried the same year and renounced her boyish, cheating ex-husband’s money. Julie left him, and he gave her the house in the settlement, so there really wasn’t a good argument for spousal support. He gave it anyway; he made almost half a million a year, so it wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford to take care of her.
Had she lived, Amber Volakis might well have become the fourth Mrs. Dr. James Wilson. She was eight years younger than he, the largest age gap yet, but at least she cleared thirty, something none of his brides had before the wedding. She was very tall, nearly as tall as he, with great legs, thick, shoulder length blonde hair, and an absolutely perfect mouth. She didn’t have Tricia’s china-doll beauty, Bonnie’s baby-doll beauty, or Julie’s Barbie-doll beauty; in fact, in most settings she wasn’t even beautiful, despite her proper features and obvious assets.
She also didn’t need him. She didn’t have a lot of money, but her job paid more than a fellowship with House would’ve, and she was certainly able to support herself. She could take care of herself and even sometimes took care of him, and it was actually a lot nicer than he’d thought it would be. He wondered if she would have taken his name. He had a nice name; at least he had that going for him. Woodrow Wilson had been one of Princeton’s most successful presidents, and then governor of New Jersey, so in the circles James Wilson moved in, it was also a respected name.
Dr. and Mrs. James Wilson (Patricia), he wrote. It was how all the formal invitations he and his wife-of-the-moment had received, had read. It had looked right each time before.
Dr. and Mrs. James Wilson (Bonnie).
Dr. and Mrs. James Wilson (Julie).
Dr. and Mrs. James Wilson (Amber).
It didn’t look quite right that way, probably at least in part because Amber was a doctor, too, and hardworking and proud of her job and not the sort of woman who’d want to be passed off as just Dr. James Wilson’s wife (probably the sort of woman who hung around their Princeton townhouse and decorated, thrown dinner parties, or whatever it was that well-off housewives with no kids did for fun).
He stared morosely at the picture of the two of them, at the video image of her laughing on the couch and him, awkward and unnerved but in love.
It didn’t matter whether she would or would not have been Mrs. Dr. James Wilson. Thanks to House, the bus, the truck, and the flu, she never could be.
PG for vague adult themes
1116 words
The first Mrs. Dr. James Wilson was small and slight with ash-blonde hair that brushed her shoulders and clear blue eyes that seemed to take up her whole face. Tricia had dated Wilson at Columbia; she’d been an English major who went to work for Random House after graduation. He’d gone to Montreal for med school, and that had almost been the end of that. But he came back four years later; they were both older and wiser, and love had conquered all. They’d gotten married in a big Catholic ceremony, the handsome young doctor and his perfect new bride. The divorce papers were signed a month before their third anniversary, the clear blue eyes surprisingly free of tears. She’d cried enough over him, and now it was time to end it.
The second Mrs. Dr. James Wilson was vulnerable and adorable, her dark hair wildly curly and her brown eyes practically capable of carrying on a conversation. Bonnie was a young woman, only twenty-three to Wilson’s thirty, once an aspiring actress, but she’d more or less given up on that and was working as a waitress in a diner. She’d fallen in love with the way he’d taken care of her, and he’d fallen in love with how much she’d needed him. The wedding had been in a Presbyterian church, rather appropriate since he’d just started working for Princeton. He’d assured all his family that this one would last; that he and Tricia had been too young when they fell in love and too idealistic when they got married. Now he was an adult; he was thirty years old; he was prepared for a marriage. This one had only lasted twenty-two months. His friends were starting to notice a pattern.
The third Mrs. Dr. James Wilson was the woman he’d left the second Mrs. Wilson for. Julie was lusciously, exotically beautiful, three significant years older than his adorable but childish wife. Her long auburn hair came down in smooth, gentle waves; her hazel eyes made mysterious sexy promises. She was taller than tiny Tricia or girlish Bonnie. This woman was intelligent, which Bonnie hadn’t really been; adventurous, which placid Tricia hadn’t been; successful, which neither the careful copy editor nor the out-of-luck actress had been. She was also admitted to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital with two broken legs, the result of an unfortunate car accident. She’d met the rising star of an oncologist when she was wheeled into Radiology, and despite all the warnings that his past had been, he’d fallen in love almost immediately. The fact that he’d been married…well, he’d had two affairs while with Tricia, and he’d already cheated on Bonnie once. The wedding had been an old-fashioned Episcopal ceremony. He’d looked into her eyes and promised to worship her with his body and endow her with all his worldly goods. Their marriage had been his longest; nearly five years elapsed before Julie finally told him that she’d found someone new.
He had meant it each time, meant it with his whole heart and soul. Wilson loved women. He loved the way they kissed him when he came home. He loved the way they curled up with him in bed. He loved the look of sweet happiness in their eyes when he did something nice. He loved the feel of their arms coming around his neck, holding him close. He really did want a wife, too; he wanted a woman in his life to be with him forever, a woman he could take care of and who might one day take care of him. He just…hadn’t found her yet. And the women were starting to back away from him. A man who’d been divorced three times before his fortieth birthday wasn’t all that appealing, no matter how handsome, charming, rich, and successful he was.
He didn’t actually pay alimony to all three women. Bonnie had been the first to renounce it; she got her realtor’s license a year after their divorce and was fully independent for the first time in her life. Tricia remarried the same year and renounced her boyish, cheating ex-husband’s money. Julie left him, and he gave her the house in the settlement, so there really wasn’t a good argument for spousal support. He gave it anyway; he made almost half a million a year, so it wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford to take care of her.
Had she lived, Amber Volakis might well have become the fourth Mrs. Dr. James Wilson. She was eight years younger than he, the largest age gap yet, but at least she cleared thirty, something none of his brides had before the wedding. She was very tall, nearly as tall as he, with great legs, thick, shoulder length blonde hair, and an absolutely perfect mouth. She didn’t have Tricia’s china-doll beauty, Bonnie’s baby-doll beauty, or Julie’s Barbie-doll beauty; in fact, in most settings she wasn’t even beautiful, despite her proper features and obvious assets.
She also didn’t need him. She didn’t have a lot of money, but her job paid more than a fellowship with House would’ve, and she was certainly able to support herself. She could take care of herself and even sometimes took care of him, and it was actually a lot nicer than he’d thought it would be. He wondered if she would have taken his name. He had a nice name; at least he had that going for him. Woodrow Wilson had been one of Princeton’s most successful presidents, and then governor of New Jersey, so in the circles James Wilson moved in, it was also a respected name.
Dr. and Mrs. James Wilson (Patricia), he wrote. It was how all the formal invitations he and his wife-of-the-moment had received, had read. It had looked right each time before.
Dr. and Mrs. James Wilson (Bonnie).
Dr. and Mrs. James Wilson (Julie).
Dr. and Mrs. James Wilson (Amber).
It didn’t look quite right that way, probably at least in part because Amber was a doctor, too, and hardworking and proud of her job and not the sort of woman who’d want to be passed off as just Dr. James Wilson’s wife (probably the sort of woman who hung around their Princeton townhouse and decorated, thrown dinner parties, or whatever it was that well-off housewives with no kids did for fun).
He stared morosely at the picture of the two of them, at the video image of her laughing on the couch and him, awkward and unnerved but in love.
It didn’t matter whether she would or would not have been Mrs. Dr. James Wilson. Thanks to House, the bus, the truck, and the flu, she never could be.