Respite (PG)
Posted to house_wilson
Title: Respite
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Words: 943
Summary: Wilson reflects.
Notes: Thank you to daisylily and fallen_arazil for the speedy beta. There is a sequel to this fic: Resolution.
Wilson was in pretty heavy denial about why he cheated on his wives, but he knows exactly why he cheats on House.
It’s not like he didn’t go into this relationship with his eyes wide open. He had over ten years of friendship and several bouts of cohabitation with House under his belt; he was not naïve. But it’s the day-to-day that grinds. The never-ending, never-changing present, in which it’s always Wilson’s turn.
Cooking, cleaning, shopping, laundry, bills - it all falls to Wilson. He put up a fight at first, determined not to be the “wife.” But really there’s no hope; if Wilson doesn’t see to it, it doesn’t get done.
They make good money, of course, between them, and it’s not like he doesn’t have help. There’s a twice-weekly maid, a once-weekly chef and takeout, pickup/dropoff service for the laundry, and the groceries are delivered. Still, it’s Wilson that has to arrange it all, manage it all, and fill in the gaps in between. It’s Wilson that has to pick the underwear up off the floor, and wipe the crumbs off the counter, and move the shoes so House doesn’t trip.
House picks up beer, if he thinks of it, and sends Wilson out if he doesn’t.
Sometimes Wilson wants to scream, “I have a job too, you know! In fact, I spend more hours working at my job than you do at yours.” But what would he get from that? House is well aware of Wilson’s job, and often, House is the one generating those extra hours, with real consults on critical cases and fake consults that are usually quite fun but completely ruin the flow of his day.
For example, Wilson’s a fan of handjobs, loves them, but when he’s finally managed to get that fantastic radiation oncologist from Sloan-Kettering on the phone, the one PPTH has been chasing for months, the one who’d make a great deputy department head and take some of the administrative burden off Wilson - the fingers disconnecting the line are not welcome, no matter where they intend to go next.
It’s not like Wilson didn’t sign up for this, like he didn’t know. But there’s knowing, and there’s experiencing, and the experiencing just sometimes gets to be too much.
He’s taken to lurking on Internet forums for working mothers, just to hear the war stories of other people who are there, who are overwhelmed, who know what he’s going through. Those forums have also, incidentally, become his favorite hunting grounds for people with whom to cheat on House. He never talks to them there, only lurks, except for that one week that he was Penny from Pittsburgh with the rebellious preteen named Conner and the twins Ashlyn and Chloe, but that got way too weird, and he’s really, honestly never wanted to be the wife.
He did want to have kids, when he was younger, and he’s even once or twice thought about bringing the topic up with House, but then he thinks, that’s three lives I’d have to run and it gets too exhausting to make it any further than the back of his mind.
So even though he’s got no kids, he lurks on the working mother forums to hear the stories and not feel so alone, and then he follows the smartest of the women over to other, more general interest forums and introduces himself there. He’s usually Neil on the Internet, a name he’s always admired, though he can’t really remember why. One time he was Greg, and that was particularly embarrassing when it slipped past his lips inadvertently during sex, but better to be a complete narcissist than a craven AC/DC cheater, he supposes.
Of the working mothers, Amy’s been his favorite so far. She was so damn bright, so literate and articulate, and enragingly stifled as a full-time homemaker and part-time wage slave. He met her in Boston one weekend, when she had a “gals’ weekend away” and he had an actual seminar on alternative theories in oncology research. It’s a good thing he’s a fast reader, because he missed every last one of the lectures, and had to read everything on the plane ride home in case House wanted to discuss anything that had been covered. So then, of course, House didn’t; he just bitched about screwing something up on TiVo and how the new laundry service wasn’t working out worth a damn. Not that House had any ideas about other laundries they could try. Wilson had begged off with a headache that night for the first time in his life.
There are good days of course, a whole hell of a lot of them. Nobody in the world makes Wilson feel the way House does, and he’s certain, most days, that he’s finally got his true bashert, his soul mate.
It’s just that it takes so much to keep their lives running, and it’s Wilson on the treadmill, Wilson as the ringmaster, the lion tamer, the juggler with way too many balls in the air. G-d has infinite capacity but Wilson doesn’t, and he just gets so damn tired of doing it all and never being the one that’s taken care of.
It’s like he tells the family members of his patients: What you’re doing is demanding, and it’s easy to forget your own well being as you become so involved with meeting your loved one’s needs. You need time off to relieve stress and prevent burnout. By taking respite where you can find it, you’ll be able to shoulder your responsibilities with as much strength and love as possible.
That’s the theory he’s working under, anyway.
Title: Respite
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Words: 943
Summary: Wilson reflects.
Notes: Thank you to daisylily and fallen_arazil for the speedy beta. There is a sequel to this fic: Resolution.
Wilson was in pretty heavy denial about why he cheated on his wives, but he knows exactly why he cheats on House.
It’s not like he didn’t go into this relationship with his eyes wide open. He had over ten years of friendship and several bouts of cohabitation with House under his belt; he was not naïve. But it’s the day-to-day that grinds. The never-ending, never-changing present, in which it’s always Wilson’s turn.
Cooking, cleaning, shopping, laundry, bills - it all falls to Wilson. He put up a fight at first, determined not to be the “wife.” But really there’s no hope; if Wilson doesn’t see to it, it doesn’t get done.
They make good money, of course, between them, and it’s not like he doesn’t have help. There’s a twice-weekly maid, a once-weekly chef and takeout, pickup/dropoff service for the laundry, and the groceries are delivered. Still, it’s Wilson that has to arrange it all, manage it all, and fill in the gaps in between. It’s Wilson that has to pick the underwear up off the floor, and wipe the crumbs off the counter, and move the shoes so House doesn’t trip.
House picks up beer, if he thinks of it, and sends Wilson out if he doesn’t.
Sometimes Wilson wants to scream, “I have a job too, you know! In fact, I spend more hours working at my job than you do at yours.” But what would he get from that? House is well aware of Wilson’s job, and often, House is the one generating those extra hours, with real consults on critical cases and fake consults that are usually quite fun but completely ruin the flow of his day.
For example, Wilson’s a fan of handjobs, loves them, but when he’s finally managed to get that fantastic radiation oncologist from Sloan-Kettering on the phone, the one PPTH has been chasing for months, the one who’d make a great deputy department head and take some of the administrative burden off Wilson - the fingers disconnecting the line are not welcome, no matter where they intend to go next.
It’s not like Wilson didn’t sign up for this, like he didn’t know. But there’s knowing, and there’s experiencing, and the experiencing just sometimes gets to be too much.
He’s taken to lurking on Internet forums for working mothers, just to hear the war stories of other people who are there, who are overwhelmed, who know what he’s going through. Those forums have also, incidentally, become his favorite hunting grounds for people with whom to cheat on House. He never talks to them there, only lurks, except for that one week that he was Penny from Pittsburgh with the rebellious preteen named Conner and the twins Ashlyn and Chloe, but that got way too weird, and he’s really, honestly never wanted to be the wife.
He did want to have kids, when he was younger, and he’s even once or twice thought about bringing the topic up with House, but then he thinks, that’s three lives I’d have to run and it gets too exhausting to make it any further than the back of his mind.
So even though he’s got no kids, he lurks on the working mother forums to hear the stories and not feel so alone, and then he follows the smartest of the women over to other, more general interest forums and introduces himself there. He’s usually Neil on the Internet, a name he’s always admired, though he can’t really remember why. One time he was Greg, and that was particularly embarrassing when it slipped past his lips inadvertently during sex, but better to be a complete narcissist than a craven AC/DC cheater, he supposes.
Of the working mothers, Amy’s been his favorite so far. She was so damn bright, so literate and articulate, and enragingly stifled as a full-time homemaker and part-time wage slave. He met her in Boston one weekend, when she had a “gals’ weekend away” and he had an actual seminar on alternative theories in oncology research. It’s a good thing he’s a fast reader, because he missed every last one of the lectures, and had to read everything on the plane ride home in case House wanted to discuss anything that had been covered. So then, of course, House didn’t; he just bitched about screwing something up on TiVo and how the new laundry service wasn’t working out worth a damn. Not that House had any ideas about other laundries they could try. Wilson had begged off with a headache that night for the first time in his life.
There are good days of course, a whole hell of a lot of them. Nobody in the world makes Wilson feel the way House does, and he’s certain, most days, that he’s finally got his true bashert, his soul mate.
It’s just that it takes so much to keep their lives running, and it’s Wilson on the treadmill, Wilson as the ringmaster, the lion tamer, the juggler with way too many balls in the air. G-d has infinite capacity but Wilson doesn’t, and he just gets so damn tired of doing it all and never being the one that’s taken care of.
It’s like he tells the family members of his patients: What you’re doing is demanding, and it’s easy to forget your own well being as you become so involved with meeting your loved one’s needs. You need time off to relieve stress and prevent burnout. By taking respite where you can find it, you’ll be able to shoulder your responsibilities with as much strength and love as possible.
That’s the theory he’s working under, anyway.