The Hilson Files: Operation Redemption
The Hilson Files: Operation Redemption
Author's Note: So, I've been pretty vocal about not hating this season's finale of House (there are so many people that are supposedly tuning out forever that I feel like I gotta cheerlead for my favorite show). It's not as though I don't see where everyone is coming from - I do. But whereas a lot of the audience seems to think that this particular instance makes House irredeemable, I simply don't think that's true. Okay, so the man is a nut job. But he was high and depressed, and while that doesn't make it okay, I do think it sets up for a possible redemption next season. So what I challenged myself to do is see if it can be fixed. Without excuses and without it turning out to be a dream/hallucination, can House still be likable? I don't know, but I gotta try. That's just how I deal. Also, I mixed in a little murder just for fun. And who doesn't want to see House and WIlson channel their inner Holmes and Watson?
Disclaimer: I don't own House. If I did, he definitely wouldn't have driven through any walls this season. Just because I didn't hate the finale doesn't mean it's anything close to what I would have done.
The first thing she notices when she enters the diner is how quiet it is. There's a grand total of two other patrons inside, and both of the men stare at their menus in front of them without any real interest. She notices that they don't say a word, though they sit together, and she wonders, like she always does, if one day that will be her and Henry. Well, if he ever gets promoted from boyfriend to husband. And, of course, in her current situation that isn't likely to happen any time soon.
But then, that's the reason that she's meeting the doctor at this hole-in-the-wall diner. Well, part of the reason. Because, yes, the word divorce has been on her mind a lot lately, but she's always thought herself to be a bit psychic, and lately she's been very anxious each time her husband's name has crossed her mind. Her mother had taught her from a very young age that she needed to listen to her instincts, and obey what they dictated. Which is why, when she'd woken up in a panicked sweat, she had immediately she reached for the phone and dialed a number that she had never called before.
She takes a seat at the table nearest to the door, and draws her own plastic menu up to her face. She took those self-defense classes a couple of years ago, before coming to the States, but that doesn't mean that she wants to employ them here, now, in the middle of the night, when she's supposed to be meeting -
There's the soft chime of a bell when the door swings open, and then he's standing in front of her looking confused, exhausted, and a little nervous. He rakes a hand through his long brown locks, and once again she is pretty sure she can sort of see what her husband clearly adores about this man. He is definitely charming, she remembers that from their first meeting; and her husband had told her that he's the head of his department, so he's obviously intelligent. And yes, side by side on paper they seem like they shouldn't even like each other, but her husband had once told her that there was much more to "the Wilson" than meets the eye.
She gives him as bright a smile as she can muster, and it appears to have its desired effect - after all, he does sit down, and even that had seemed iffy when they'd spoken over the phone.
"Do you want something to drink," he asks, and she shakes her head.
For a moment neither speaks, and she uses the time to inspect Dr. Wilson more fully. It's been a very long time since she's seen him, and when she catches sight of his casted wrist she inhales sharply. He doesn't stop her from reaching across the table and taking it into her small hands. She slowly turns it over and is hit with wave of such remorse that she immediately knows who must have caused it. She looks up and meets his eyes.
"My husband did this," she says and it's not a question.
Dr. Wilson gently withdraws his arm and drops his gaze. "Yeah."
She wants to tell him that she's sorry, that Greg would never actually try to hurt him, him least of all, but she knows the Wilson has parroted back those same words to others in the past, and isn't likely to believe them now. Nevertheless she can't stop herself from whispering, "Does it hurt?"
She watches his jaw clench, the lines of his face harden. "Not so much anymore," he mutters. "It happened a little over a week ago."
He does seem angry, but she reminds herself that Greg mentioned before that Dr. Wilson is always angry with him, but that it doesn't mean anything.
Seconds tick by and he doesn't prompt her, or act impatient while she searches for the right words, which she appreciates. She supposes that it's the oncologist in him, years of practice at listening to patients' concerns.
When she looks up she tries to convey with her expression what it's taken for her to get to this point. Just five days ago Greg had texted her with specific instructions to keep her distance from his best friend, saying that he was pretty sure Wilson wouldn't want anything to do with him now anyway. But that had been before he'd stopped answering her calls and e-mails, and she'd known what her mother would say if she thought her daughter was ignoring her Second Sight.
"Dr. Wilson," she begins softly. "I need your help." His eyes flicker, but otherwise he gives no indication that he's even heard her. But he doesn't tell her to stop, so she fights for her voice again. "I haven't been able to get in touch with my husband in a while."
He chews thoughtfully on his lower lip, and she can see the concern behind his brown eyes, mixed with latent fury that clearly hasn't been accessed in a couple of days. She feels so sympathetic that she wishes she didn't have to ask him, but who else can she call?. Her boyfriend isn't exactly known for upstanding behavior, and he hadn't understood when she'd tried to tell him that she felt responsible for Greg's safe-keeping.
"I heard he left the country," Dr. WIlson eventually answers, and his lips twitch, almost as though it's a little funny for him to be saying that about his friend. But then his eyes move to his cast and he frowns deeply. "Honestly, Dominika, I don't really think-"
"I know what I'm asking," she interrupts, because she can't even fathom what she'll do if he refuses. "I don't know . . . He didn't tell me what happened. But I know something did. Something bad." He doesn't deny it. "But Greg is a good man."
Dr. Wilson gives a disbelieving scoff, then, as though feeling a guilty, he sighs. "What do you want me to do?"
She steels herself for whatever his reaction will be, then replies, "Would you go look for him?"
He nods shortly to himself, as though he's been expecting this all along (and he probably has). He adjusts in his seat, crosses his arms over his chest, uncrosses them, looks at the menu, the floor, anywhere but at her. Finally he pulls something folded out of his pocket, and wordlessly passes it to her.
She stares at the front of the postcard, the picture of a sandy beach, and a couple holding up their drinks, mid-toast. At the bottom it says, in flowing cursive, Wish you were here. She turns it over, but Greg's penmanship is nowhere to be found.
"Got it yesterday," Dr. Wilson tells her, and when she meets his eyes again, her heart flips over because she can't miss the tears forming there. He blinks quickly. "Look at the top right corner."
She does as he requests, and sees, in lettering so small that she might have missed it entirely, "The St. Regis Bora Bora Resort."
"He's in Tahiti," Dr. Wilson says quietly and then he shrugs. "What can I say? I'm a masochist."
She's not exactly sure what that word means, but she gets the impression that it's a slight against her husband. Considering how much Dr. Wilson clearly loves him, she decides that he probably deserves it. And Dr. Wilson does love him, of that she's sure, no matter what happened between them. "You will help me," she attempts to clarify.
He scratches the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. I'll go find House."
She feels the relief fill her right away. Whatever trouble Greg is in, she knows that Dr. WIlson won't abandon him. They'll handle it together. She bestows him with her biggest smile of gratitude and before she can stop herself, she's on her feet, wrapping her arms around him. "Thank you, Dr. Wilson!"
It takes a moment for him to return her embrace, but when he does, he does so warmly. "I can't promise anything."
"I know," she says, and of course she does, but she also knows that Greg was right when he told her he'd never had a friend like Dr. Wilson before. If anyone can bring him back, it's the man hugging her.
Chapter Two