Burn Therapy
TITLE: Burn Therapy
PROMPT: 78.) Wilson burns himself cooking
CHARACTERS: Wilson, Foreman
GENRE: Angst
SPOILERS: Finding Judas, Merry Little Christmas, Resignation
SUMMARY: A Missing Scene in Merry Little Christmas. Wilson has a conversation with Foreman that leads to his decision to leave House on Christmas morning.
BETA: Unbeta’d. All mistakes are mine.
DISCLAIMER: I am not responsible for the creation of House, Foreman, or Wilson. I own nothing.
“I didn’t come to you for guidance counseling,” Wilson snapped at Foreman.
“All the same,” Foreman answered as he wrapped a bandage carefully around Wilson’s arm. Wilson looked away. He was a man who liked order and neatness. The ugly discoloration of his arm - red and blistering - stood out starkly, like a warning beacon he would just as soon have ignored.
“You’re being bullied and harassed.”
“By Tritter,” Wilson said carefully. He wondered if the exhaustion that he felt was that consumed his entire being was evident in his voice. He had lied to Foreman when the man had asked if he’d been on any medication. He’d been consuming sleeping pills in increasing doses in the week before he’d betrayed House to Tritter. He grimaced. House would have liked that lie.
It hadn’t felt like betrayal at the time. It had felt suspiciously like relief. He may have called himself Judas as he stepped through Tritter’s office door, but he couldn’t deny that he had felt light for the first time in weeks. The grayness that had overshadowed the world had dissipated as he confessed everything to Tritter.
It hadn’t felt like betrayal, but betrayal was what it amounted to now. He might have been reaching for a way to help House, for a last-ditch attempt to save the friend that he cared about desperately, but Cameron certainly thought he’d been acting for selfish reasons. So did House himself and everyone else who mattered.
“I’m being harassed by Tritter,” Wilson insisted.
“You have no money.” Foreman continued to speak in a firm, placating voice as though Wilson hadn’t spoken.
“You can’t treat your patients properly because you can’t write prescriptions. If I didn’t know that the only thing between you and House was an old friendship between colleagues, I’d have to call it an abusive relationship.”
“Stop,” Wilson said firmly.
“You came to me,” Foreman pointed out as he finished wrapping the bandage. “You obviously didn’t want to see someone who’d be sympathetic to House’s cause.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Wilson said sharply as he stood to go.
“Wilson,” said Foreman. “All I’m saying is, cut yourself some slack. I know you’re the man’s friend, but this taken a toll on all of us. You shouldn’t have to be any different.”
“I am different,” Wilson said. He rubbed a hand over his eyes as he spoke. “Out of all of you, I’m the one person that House might actually - ”
“How much listening has House done lately?” Foreman asked.
Wilson started with a quick retort, then stopped short as scenes from the last few weeks blurred together in his mind. He lowered himself back onto the operating table.
“He didn’t take the deal,” he confessed.
“What deal?” Foreman asked, perplexed.
“I worked out a deal,” Wilson whispered. “With Tritter. And he didn’t take it.” He rested his palms on his knees. His legs were jelly underneath his hands. He finally became aware of the thousand small tremors rippling through his muscles and nerve endings. He wondered if this final betrayal of his body had building quietly all week or if finally admitting the impossibility of his situation, the impossibility of saving the man he had long considered his closest friend had knocked the strength from him in a single blow. His decision to go to Tritter had been as much about finding a way to help House as it had been about saving his own skin.
“How did you burn your hand?” Foreman asked.
“I was making dinner,” Wilson said.
“I thought you lived in a hotel room,” Foreman said.
“I went over to my ex’s place,” Wilson answered, half-wondering why he was confessing all this to Foreman.
“I wanted to do something nice for her. For House.” He wondered if that was really true or if he had simply been desperate to re-visit some version of normalcy.
“You invited House over to eat with one of you ex-wives?” Foreman’s voice was incredulous and Wilson couldn’t quite suppress a wry smile.
The night had been had been a nightmare. He’d been thinking of nothing but Tritter the entire time while House spent the evening ignoring him and baiting his ex-wife obnoxiously in the next room. He dropped the pot of boiling water as House had brought his cane down - loudly - on the expensive dining room table, no doubt endangering many of his ex-wife’s glass figurines as he did so.
“And House did the bandage?” Foreman asked.
“What?” Wilson looked up. For a moment, he’d forgotten Foreman’s presence in the room.
“I said: House did the bandage,” Foreman repeated. “He did a good job. For all he bitches about clinic duty - ”
“I did it,” Wilson interrupted, his voice rising and the full weight of defeat crashing down upon his shoulders. “I did it. The bandage, dinner, the dishes, the table setting - ” His voice trailed off with the list. “House didn’t even notice. He was there in the same House with me and he didn’t even notice ”
Wilson tugged absentmindedly on the bandage that covered the splotchy red of his scalded arm. It had taken all of his fraying willpower to get to dinner and he had never been more relieved to see House go.
When Wilson finally glanced up at Foreman, he was scribbling a note on a prescription pad.
“What’s that?” Wilson asked.
“Antidepressants,” Foreman answered.
“Oh, come on, Foreman, I’m exhausted. I’m not depressed.” He wondered when the truth had started to sound so wrong in his own ears.
“I’d like you to try these out,” Foreman continued. “Get the prescription filled, that’s all I ask.”
“How will you know if I - ”
“I’ll tell Cuddy,” said Foreman. “She’ll keep close enough tabs on you to know if you’ve got the meds or not. If you don’t like them, you can go off them in a week, for all I care.” He tore off the prescription pad and handed it to Wilson. Wilson took it and stood.
“About the other thing,” Foreman said suddenly. Wilson’s hand rested on the doorknob, but he didn’t turn the handle.
“Maybe you’ve given House enough chances,” Foreman said. “You’ve stuck with House for longer than anyone. He can’t question you’re loyalty and he shouldn’t keep abusing it.”
“I’m not leaving House,” Wilson said as he stepped through the door.
“I’m just saying,” Foreman called after him. House already knows that everybody lies. Maybe it’s time for him to learn that people can leave him, too.”
PROMPT: 78.) Wilson burns himself cooking
CHARACTERS: Wilson, Foreman
GENRE: Angst
SPOILERS: Finding Judas, Merry Little Christmas, Resignation
SUMMARY: A Missing Scene in Merry Little Christmas. Wilson has a conversation with Foreman that leads to his decision to leave House on Christmas morning.
BETA: Unbeta’d. All mistakes are mine.
DISCLAIMER: I am not responsible for the creation of House, Foreman, or Wilson. I own nothing.
“I didn’t come to you for guidance counseling,” Wilson snapped at Foreman.
“All the same,” Foreman answered as he wrapped a bandage carefully around Wilson’s arm. Wilson looked away. He was a man who liked order and neatness. The ugly discoloration of his arm - red and blistering - stood out starkly, like a warning beacon he would just as soon have ignored.
“You’re being bullied and harassed.”
“By Tritter,” Wilson said carefully. He wondered if the exhaustion that he felt was that consumed his entire being was evident in his voice. He had lied to Foreman when the man had asked if he’d been on any medication. He’d been consuming sleeping pills in increasing doses in the week before he’d betrayed House to Tritter. He grimaced. House would have liked that lie.
It hadn’t felt like betrayal at the time. It had felt suspiciously like relief. He may have called himself Judas as he stepped through Tritter’s office door, but he couldn’t deny that he had felt light for the first time in weeks. The grayness that had overshadowed the world had dissipated as he confessed everything to Tritter.
It hadn’t felt like betrayal, but betrayal was what it amounted to now. He might have been reaching for a way to help House, for a last-ditch attempt to save the friend that he cared about desperately, but Cameron certainly thought he’d been acting for selfish reasons. So did House himself and everyone else who mattered.
“I’m being harassed by Tritter,” Wilson insisted.
“You have no money.” Foreman continued to speak in a firm, placating voice as though Wilson hadn’t spoken.
“You can’t treat your patients properly because you can’t write prescriptions. If I didn’t know that the only thing between you and House was an old friendship between colleagues, I’d have to call it an abusive relationship.”
“Stop,” Wilson said firmly.
“You came to me,” Foreman pointed out as he finished wrapping the bandage. “You obviously didn’t want to see someone who’d be sympathetic to House’s cause.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Wilson said sharply as he stood to go.
“Wilson,” said Foreman. “All I’m saying is, cut yourself some slack. I know you’re the man’s friend, but this taken a toll on all of us. You shouldn’t have to be any different.”
“I am different,” Wilson said. He rubbed a hand over his eyes as he spoke. “Out of all of you, I’m the one person that House might actually - ”
“How much listening has House done lately?” Foreman asked.
Wilson started with a quick retort, then stopped short as scenes from the last few weeks blurred together in his mind. He lowered himself back onto the operating table.
“He didn’t take the deal,” he confessed.
“What deal?” Foreman asked, perplexed.
“I worked out a deal,” Wilson whispered. “With Tritter. And he didn’t take it.” He rested his palms on his knees. His legs were jelly underneath his hands. He finally became aware of the thousand small tremors rippling through his muscles and nerve endings. He wondered if this final betrayal of his body had building quietly all week or if finally admitting the impossibility of his situation, the impossibility of saving the man he had long considered his closest friend had knocked the strength from him in a single blow. His decision to go to Tritter had been as much about finding a way to help House as it had been about saving his own skin.
“How did you burn your hand?” Foreman asked.
“I was making dinner,” Wilson said.
“I thought you lived in a hotel room,” Foreman said.
“I went over to my ex’s place,” Wilson answered, half-wondering why he was confessing all this to Foreman.
“I wanted to do something nice for her. For House.” He wondered if that was really true or if he had simply been desperate to re-visit some version of normalcy.
“You invited House over to eat with one of you ex-wives?” Foreman’s voice was incredulous and Wilson couldn’t quite suppress a wry smile.
The night had been had been a nightmare. He’d been thinking of nothing but Tritter the entire time while House spent the evening ignoring him and baiting his ex-wife obnoxiously in the next room. He dropped the pot of boiling water as House had brought his cane down - loudly - on the expensive dining room table, no doubt endangering many of his ex-wife’s glass figurines as he did so.
“And House did the bandage?” Foreman asked.
“What?” Wilson looked up. For a moment, he’d forgotten Foreman’s presence in the room.
“I said: House did the bandage,” Foreman repeated. “He did a good job. For all he bitches about clinic duty - ”
“I did it,” Wilson interrupted, his voice rising and the full weight of defeat crashing down upon his shoulders. “I did it. The bandage, dinner, the dishes, the table setting - ” His voice trailed off with the list. “House didn’t even notice. He was there in the same House with me and he didn’t even notice ”
Wilson tugged absentmindedly on the bandage that covered the splotchy red of his scalded arm. It had taken all of his fraying willpower to get to dinner and he had never been more relieved to see House go.
When Wilson finally glanced up at Foreman, he was scribbling a note on a prescription pad.
“What’s that?” Wilson asked.
“Antidepressants,” Foreman answered.
“Oh, come on, Foreman, I’m exhausted. I’m not depressed.” He wondered when the truth had started to sound so wrong in his own ears.
“I’d like you to try these out,” Foreman continued. “Get the prescription filled, that’s all I ask.”
“How will you know if I - ”
“I’ll tell Cuddy,” said Foreman. “She’ll keep close enough tabs on you to know if you’ve got the meds or not. If you don’t like them, you can go off them in a week, for all I care.” He tore off the prescription pad and handed it to Wilson. Wilson took it and stood.
“About the other thing,” Foreman said suddenly. Wilson’s hand rested on the doorknob, but he didn’t turn the handle.
“Maybe you’ve given House enough chances,” Foreman said. “You’ve stuck with House for longer than anyone. He can’t question you’re loyalty and he shouldn’t keep abusing it.”
“I’m not leaving House,” Wilson said as he stepped through the door.
“I’m just saying,” Foreman called after him. House already knows that everybody lies. Maybe it’s time for him to learn that people can leave him, too.”