Fic: "Wilson's Coat" Day 5 of 30 Days and Nights of House Chase
Wilson’s Coat
By Sagga Bott
House, Chase, Wilson
Summary: In the aftermath of Wilson’s mysterious illness, House and Chase come to terms with the end of another brief era in their relationship. And maybe begin a new one.
Rated G
Wilson was getting better. Relief was palpable in the hospital. People were even hating House less, though House seemed determined to make sure that it didn’t last.
“I should have figured it out earlier.”
“How?”
House gave him a glare.
“You’re the one who said it. I’m just wondering.”
House looked back to the poor view out the window. The shape of the hospital, the position of the windows and the position of the rooms didn’t lend themselves well to beautiful vantages of setting suns or vibrant thunder storms. The chair behind Wilson’s desk and the view out his window, case and point.
“The elevated ESR was a dead give away.”
“Yeah, for twenty other disorders and ailments we had to get through before we got to this one.”
House ducked his head and tapped a pattern of a beat against the edge of the chair between his spread legs. He knew that was true. He’d always known because he prided himself on being that sharp. The madness in his methods wasn’t just a way to amuse himself, though this case had been anything but, it was just his way. Wilson knew that. Didn’t always like it. Chase knew that. Seemed to find it amusing and awing as much as he found it scary.
Having Chase seated across from him in the seat he usually occupied was poignant enough to etch how out of place this situation was. The notion was made worse by his own ass were Wilson’s should have been.
Chase closed the journal he’d found lying on the desk. And said carefully, without a hint of uncertainty, “I know what makes this different. I understand that. But you already know everything you want me to tell you.”
Nobody could have known.
There’s nothing more that could have been done.
You did the best you could.
This isn’t your fault.
“Wilson’s just another patient. Just another person.”
Wilson wasn’t dead.
“And Wilson’s not dead.”
It tickled House in a familiar way when Chase sounded like his thoughts. A smile emerged strong enough to pull a corner of his mouth up briefly.
“He’s going to be antagonizing you in no time. You did your job, you helped a friend.”
“But he’s still the one that had to suffer through it.” Separating it from the lint that was probably more nutritious, House retrieved a white pill from the bottom of his pocket, needing to ease his own suffering.
As House tipped his head back and swallowed the pill Chase spoke. “Friendship hurts in many ways.” When his head was level again Chase was giving him a calm but pointed look.
Timing, the kid had learnt timing.
Chase reopened the journal and went back to perusing the text. “So are you done? I’m hungry.”
Tact was still lacking. Patience and insight were there. House still wasn’t sure whether he was surprised at that or not. Leaning back in the cushioned chair he went back to his study of the shades of the evening sky at a glancing angle. He wasn’t ready to be moved yet. Wilson knew better than to try when he wasn’t ready, so Chase remained quiet, constant, occupied.
*****************************
The brooding thoughts continued up the stairs and into his apartment. Thoughts about House, worries about House, the futility of House -it trapped his mind in loops, frustrated his meagre calm and cool and tired him in one way the case itself hadn’t managed to.
Wholly tired with no hyperbole his coat came off and was hung neatly with his others in the closet. Chase then tossed himself on the couch.
He had his cable bill to pay. It was late so the extra fees were already incurred. A couple more days wouldn’t due him any further financial harm. Maybe he’d wait and see how long the cable company would wait before cutting off his service. He smirked to himself and made a mental note to transfer the money in the morning.
The mundane had never been so introspective a concept. The mundane put him back in his life, back in his character. His role as House’s Wilson was left at the door.
Cameron and Foreman had expected it to be bad too. How could it be anything else with Wilson as their patient? House seemed to take it in stride and the case started normally. Foreman had been relieved. Cameron had been suspicious. Chase had been full of dread.
Diagnostics was always a slippery slope. One false move could send both you and the patient crashing and the maniac in charge only left you feeling worse even if he made the situation better. What Chase had dreaded was that without Wilson House could no longer ride that slope with the ease he usually did.
He’d been wrong in a way. He was wrong like that a lot, so it was a familiar feeling. But being ‘wrong in a way’, meant being right in another.
House had cruised along in the first stretch. The second had been harder. The third had been painful. Yet, he didn’t falter. There was never a misstep in the method. His logic was as sound as ever. It was the madness, the characteristic wit and wild of House’s brand of medicine that was shaken, even when the man was a pillar of confidence.
What was a trek down a snow covered mountain with a board or two attached to your feet if there was no wind, no speed, no risk? House hadn’t lost his bite. It had been sharper than ever. It was the control that they’d seen. The measure of predictability that made Cameron roll her eyes rather than make her eyes water. House had lashed out. The hue only slightly tinged with a touch of real malice that wasn’t usually there unless he was in pain. Cameron and Foreman tried to help him but House didn’t need Cameron or Foreman and he sent them off with their good intentions on the pavement and their tails between their legs. They hadn’t tried again. Chase didn’t even bother. Why try what had already failed twice?
Instead he slipped on an ill-fitting role and stepped into the line of fire. He could appreciate then the big shoes Wilson filled. It was a complicated man that Wilson balanced and for his apparent simplicity, his interaction with House hinted at a depth of character that went beyond a bright and talented specialist.
They’d often wondered -the three diagnostics fellows -what House had been like before his infarction. Chase thought House had been pretty much the same. One man didn’t build up the type of poor publicity that House had in only seven years. Some people could but House did have a day job. What they didn’t often wonder was what House was like before Wilson.
Now it felt like an era to Chase -House B.W. It felt almost more important than the limp.
It could have been Stacy who started it but she had gone and Wilson continued it. It was what he, Foreman and Cameron had been introduced to and were familiar with but perhaps not what House had always been. Quieter, Chase imagined, but no less opinionated or rude. Duller because the sharper thorns of his personality had not been discovered by others yet. Lonelier, because weren’t we all before we found the other person that stood next to you and made you nod because they fit into everything important, and where they didn’t you reluctantly compromised.
Wilson kept House as they knew him. House didn’t look the type to continue with human contact were it not for Wilson. For the sake of the status quo at first and at late for House’s sake Chase had become House’s Wilson -truly a thankless job.
He didn’t imagine that House didn’t know immediately what he’d been trying to do. The first few exchanges were harsh and Chase had to give himself space to find a way to react that wouldn’t leave House on the floor with a bruised jaw and him with an ache in his hand and heart. Eventually, though, he must have passed muster or House became that desperate.
The living wall sessions had to be his favourite. House would talk. House would ask a question. Chase would answer. House would continue on like he hadn’t heard. He didn’t know all his lines yet and scenes began stilted and slow until the repartee was second nature.
Seventeen days he’d been playing a part written for someone else. Twenty two days Wilson had been hospitalized. The first five they’d all managed without the role. Now Chase had to give it up. Wilson was being released tomorrow. He and House had gone out in what had been some kind of celebration. Never mind that the person being celebrated was absent. He was there in spirit and when House closed his eyes he heard his words.
The jazz lounge in his memory would mark the transition. Smooth notes over rigid tones and swaying beats, he knew some but House knew more. He was also cheap with praise so if he said the group that night was good, then Chase felt better for being so impressed with and enjoyed so much each set.
And now he was home. He was waiting for the moment he felt like moving on. Tired as he was he fell asleep before it came.
*****************************
“Better view out here.”
“Yeah it is.”
It was evening again. The sun had ducked behind the horizon leaving a thin rim of pink and orange. It was a little colder than usual spring days today. Hopefully it made the view that little bit more vibrant, otherwise they were sitting there watching a scene that could be seen the exact same way again on another, warmer day.
“Wilson’s almost ready. You coming?”
“No.”
House didn’t take his eyes from the skyline. “So I guess this is good-bye.” He smiled at the chuckle he’d elicited.
“I guess so.”
“There are other places to sit and brood.”
“This place was closest. And I’m not brooding. I’m lamenting a loss.”
“No more being Wilson to my House.”
“No more Wilson to your House, or House to my Wilson. I’m lamenting that.”
*****************************
A month later his phone rang. Not a strange occurrence. He gave a standard answer with no question asked.
“What?”
“Hey, Chase. How are you doing?”
“Doctor Wilson?...I’m fine.” Chase’s brows drew together. He couldn’t imagine why Wilson would be calling him.
“We’re going back to the Blues Pit. You coming?” Wilson sounded his usual self, just a touch exasperated but his present company could easily explain that.
“Yes, he’s coming!” Chase heard House’s voice in the background.
“Uh…sure.”
“Good get down here!” House again. Before Chase can ask whether House meant get down to his place or get to the lounge because they’re already there, a car horn sounded, repeatedly. The pattern could only be House.
“House, stop that!” Sounded like Wilson was the one driving and House was just being himself. “Please hurry, Chase,” Wilson pleaded.
Chase smiled. “Just let me grab a coat.”
The End
By Sagga Bott
House, Chase, Wilson
Summary: In the aftermath of Wilson’s mysterious illness, House and Chase come to terms with the end of another brief era in their relationship. And maybe begin a new one.
Rated G
Wilson was getting better. Relief was palpable in the hospital. People were even hating House less, though House seemed determined to make sure that it didn’t last.
“I should have figured it out earlier.”
“How?”
House gave him a glare.
“You’re the one who said it. I’m just wondering.”
House looked back to the poor view out the window. The shape of the hospital, the position of the windows and the position of the rooms didn’t lend themselves well to beautiful vantages of setting suns or vibrant thunder storms. The chair behind Wilson’s desk and the view out his window, case and point.
“The elevated ESR was a dead give away.”
“Yeah, for twenty other disorders and ailments we had to get through before we got to this one.”
House ducked his head and tapped a pattern of a beat against the edge of the chair between his spread legs. He knew that was true. He’d always known because he prided himself on being that sharp. The madness in his methods wasn’t just a way to amuse himself, though this case had been anything but, it was just his way. Wilson knew that. Didn’t always like it. Chase knew that. Seemed to find it amusing and awing as much as he found it scary.
Having Chase seated across from him in the seat he usually occupied was poignant enough to etch how out of place this situation was. The notion was made worse by his own ass were Wilson’s should have been.
Chase closed the journal he’d found lying on the desk. And said carefully, without a hint of uncertainty, “I know what makes this different. I understand that. But you already know everything you want me to tell you.”
Nobody could have known.
There’s nothing more that could have been done.
You did the best you could.
This isn’t your fault.
“Wilson’s just another patient. Just another person.”
Wilson wasn’t dead.
“And Wilson’s not dead.”
It tickled House in a familiar way when Chase sounded like his thoughts. A smile emerged strong enough to pull a corner of his mouth up briefly.
“He’s going to be antagonizing you in no time. You did your job, you helped a friend.”
“But he’s still the one that had to suffer through it.” Separating it from the lint that was probably more nutritious, House retrieved a white pill from the bottom of his pocket, needing to ease his own suffering.
As House tipped his head back and swallowed the pill Chase spoke. “Friendship hurts in many ways.” When his head was level again Chase was giving him a calm but pointed look.
Timing, the kid had learnt timing.
Chase reopened the journal and went back to perusing the text. “So are you done? I’m hungry.”
Tact was still lacking. Patience and insight were there. House still wasn’t sure whether he was surprised at that or not. Leaning back in the cushioned chair he went back to his study of the shades of the evening sky at a glancing angle. He wasn’t ready to be moved yet. Wilson knew better than to try when he wasn’t ready, so Chase remained quiet, constant, occupied.
*****************************
The brooding thoughts continued up the stairs and into his apartment. Thoughts about House, worries about House, the futility of House -it trapped his mind in loops, frustrated his meagre calm and cool and tired him in one way the case itself hadn’t managed to.
Wholly tired with no hyperbole his coat came off and was hung neatly with his others in the closet. Chase then tossed himself on the couch.
He had his cable bill to pay. It was late so the extra fees were already incurred. A couple more days wouldn’t due him any further financial harm. Maybe he’d wait and see how long the cable company would wait before cutting off his service. He smirked to himself and made a mental note to transfer the money in the morning.
The mundane had never been so introspective a concept. The mundane put him back in his life, back in his character. His role as House’s Wilson was left at the door.
Cameron and Foreman had expected it to be bad too. How could it be anything else with Wilson as their patient? House seemed to take it in stride and the case started normally. Foreman had been relieved. Cameron had been suspicious. Chase had been full of dread.
Diagnostics was always a slippery slope. One false move could send both you and the patient crashing and the maniac in charge only left you feeling worse even if he made the situation better. What Chase had dreaded was that without Wilson House could no longer ride that slope with the ease he usually did.
He’d been wrong in a way. He was wrong like that a lot, so it was a familiar feeling. But being ‘wrong in a way’, meant being right in another.
House had cruised along in the first stretch. The second had been harder. The third had been painful. Yet, he didn’t falter. There was never a misstep in the method. His logic was as sound as ever. It was the madness, the characteristic wit and wild of House’s brand of medicine that was shaken, even when the man was a pillar of confidence.
What was a trek down a snow covered mountain with a board or two attached to your feet if there was no wind, no speed, no risk? House hadn’t lost his bite. It had been sharper than ever. It was the control that they’d seen. The measure of predictability that made Cameron roll her eyes rather than make her eyes water. House had lashed out. The hue only slightly tinged with a touch of real malice that wasn’t usually there unless he was in pain. Cameron and Foreman tried to help him but House didn’t need Cameron or Foreman and he sent them off with their good intentions on the pavement and their tails between their legs. They hadn’t tried again. Chase didn’t even bother. Why try what had already failed twice?
Instead he slipped on an ill-fitting role and stepped into the line of fire. He could appreciate then the big shoes Wilson filled. It was a complicated man that Wilson balanced and for his apparent simplicity, his interaction with House hinted at a depth of character that went beyond a bright and talented specialist.
They’d often wondered -the three diagnostics fellows -what House had been like before his infarction. Chase thought House had been pretty much the same. One man didn’t build up the type of poor publicity that House had in only seven years. Some people could but House did have a day job. What they didn’t often wonder was what House was like before Wilson.
Now it felt like an era to Chase -House B.W. It felt almost more important than the limp.
It could have been Stacy who started it but she had gone and Wilson continued it. It was what he, Foreman and Cameron had been introduced to and were familiar with but perhaps not what House had always been. Quieter, Chase imagined, but no less opinionated or rude. Duller because the sharper thorns of his personality had not been discovered by others yet. Lonelier, because weren’t we all before we found the other person that stood next to you and made you nod because they fit into everything important, and where they didn’t you reluctantly compromised.
Wilson kept House as they knew him. House didn’t look the type to continue with human contact were it not for Wilson. For the sake of the status quo at first and at late for House’s sake Chase had become House’s Wilson -truly a thankless job.
He didn’t imagine that House didn’t know immediately what he’d been trying to do. The first few exchanges were harsh and Chase had to give himself space to find a way to react that wouldn’t leave House on the floor with a bruised jaw and him with an ache in his hand and heart. Eventually, though, he must have passed muster or House became that desperate.
The living wall sessions had to be his favourite. House would talk. House would ask a question. Chase would answer. House would continue on like he hadn’t heard. He didn’t know all his lines yet and scenes began stilted and slow until the repartee was second nature.
Seventeen days he’d been playing a part written for someone else. Twenty two days Wilson had been hospitalized. The first five they’d all managed without the role. Now Chase had to give it up. Wilson was being released tomorrow. He and House had gone out in what had been some kind of celebration. Never mind that the person being celebrated was absent. He was there in spirit and when House closed his eyes he heard his words.
The jazz lounge in his memory would mark the transition. Smooth notes over rigid tones and swaying beats, he knew some but House knew more. He was also cheap with praise so if he said the group that night was good, then Chase felt better for being so impressed with and enjoyed so much each set.
And now he was home. He was waiting for the moment he felt like moving on. Tired as he was he fell asleep before it came.
*****************************
“Better view out here.”
“Yeah it is.”
It was evening again. The sun had ducked behind the horizon leaving a thin rim of pink and orange. It was a little colder than usual spring days today. Hopefully it made the view that little bit more vibrant, otherwise they were sitting there watching a scene that could be seen the exact same way again on another, warmer day.
“Wilson’s almost ready. You coming?”
“No.”
House didn’t take his eyes from the skyline. “So I guess this is good-bye.” He smiled at the chuckle he’d elicited.
“I guess so.”
“There are other places to sit and brood.”
“This place was closest. And I’m not brooding. I’m lamenting a loss.”
“No more being Wilson to my House.”
“No more Wilson to your House, or House to my Wilson. I’m lamenting that.”
*****************************
A month later his phone rang. Not a strange occurrence. He gave a standard answer with no question asked.
“What?”
“Hey, Chase. How are you doing?”
“Doctor Wilson?...I’m fine.” Chase’s brows drew together. He couldn’t imagine why Wilson would be calling him.
“We’re going back to the Blues Pit. You coming?” Wilson sounded his usual self, just a touch exasperated but his present company could easily explain that.
“Yes, he’s coming!” Chase heard House’s voice in the background.
“Uh…sure.”
“Good get down here!” House again. Before Chase can ask whether House meant get down to his place or get to the lounge because they’re already there, a car horn sounded, repeatedly. The pattern could only be House.
“House, stop that!” Sounded like Wilson was the one driving and House was just being himself. “Please hurry, Chase,” Wilson pleaded.
Chase smiled. “Just let me grab a coat.”
The End