Cutting (PG-13)
Posted to house_wilson
Title: Cutting
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Words: 784
Summary: Midquel for My Fathers' Son. Jack’s not always an angel.
Hey, what took you so long? And why does Jack look like his head was attacked by a retarded squirrel with tiny blunt hedge clippers?
You know how he doesn’t like haircuts?
Yes.
I discovered this afternoon that he really, really doesn’t like haircuts. Jack, go play in your room.
He seems fine now.
He’s not getting his hair cut now.
Was he really that bad, or was the hair cutter just incompetent?
She was the owner of the shop. Did her absolute best. It was all Jack. He was…. worse than you can imagine.
I can’t -
A screaming fit from the second his name was called until the moment I pulled my wallet out to pay.
Well, if he -
Screaming, House. Rising to the decibel level of planes taking off. I’m not exaggerating. Every single person in the place was looking at us; they must’ve thought I was torturing him.
You can’t take him to your beauty salon; you’ve got to go to one of those kid places where they know how to handle him. Let him watch a video or something.
It’s a unisex stylist, and we didn’t go there. We went to a kids’ salon, with cartoon pictures on the wall, and video games, and personal TVs, and none of it helped one damn bit.
You should’ve taken his favorite toys for distraction.
Legos, and cars, and Mr. Bear, and a brand new Penny in Pigtails sticker book, and the salon’s remote controlled helicopter and plastic soldiers… none of it helped.
You hate him playing with war toys.
I would’ve let him have an unloaded gun if it would’ve calmed him down. I had to get in the chair with him and physically hold him in place.
Is that why it looks like a Tortoiseshell Persian exploded on you? Next time you can bring some snacks, little treats he doesn’t normally get.
I had Wheat Thins, Goldfish, mini rice cakes -
Mini rice cakes are not a treat! No wonder he yelled.
Marshmallows, gummy bears, and Cheetos.
Seriously? I thought you thought the orange dust was toxic.
It is. I was desperate. I let one of the stylists buy him a Coke.
No.
Yes. He wouldn’t close his mouth enough to suck on the straw. It was agony, the whole experience. Next time I’m going to get up in the middle of the night and shave his head while he sleeps and be done with it.
You’re not balding our son.
OK, Mr. Sensitive. A buzz cut, then. I can’t handle another trip to the salon.
A buzz cut? No. Flashback central. If it was all that traumatic to you, you weeping wuss, let his hair grow for a while until he matures out of the phobia.
You’ve got a solution for everything, don’t you? Fine.
Hey, why are you walking funny? Are you cheating on me? Getting something on the down low?
How could I possibly go any lower down than we are? We’re already so low we’re in the damn sub-basement.
Wow, somebody pissed in your cornflakes.
I’m walking “funny” because I wrenched my knee when my leg was wrapped around your son, trying to hold down a screaming tornado.
You shouldn’t have had to do that. You could’ve -
And you know what he was sobbing? In between the inarticulate howls of rage? “Daddy,” that’s what he was saying. “Daddy loves me; Daddy wouldn’t hurt me.” The stylists thought he was trying to reassure himself, and the whole time he’s calling out for you and stabbing my fucking heart.
He didn’t mean it that way.
You have no clue how he meant it. You weren’t there.
It doesn’t take two of us to run an errand like that.
You wouldn’t know; you never run them.
Hey, when you were recovering, I -
We should both be there for things like this. He needs both of us.
You do fine.
I do fine.
That’s what I said.
Yes, I know. I am echoing your sentence in a scoffing manner because you don’t fucking know! You don’t know what I go through; you don’t know what it’s like.
When you were -
When I was! When I was! I’m so sick of hearing about that, and all the wonderful things you did for Jack.
Hey, I -
I almost hit him today, House. I was this close to raising my hand and smacking my son.
But you didn’t.
As far as you know.
Wilson.
I needed you there, House. We should’ve been there as a family.
We’ll make Marjorie take him next time. Sneak it into her nanny contract under “other duties as assigned.”
Yeah. Whatever.
Wilson?
*slam*
Title: Cutting
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Words: 784
Summary: Midquel for My Fathers' Son. Jack’s not always an angel.
Hey, what took you so long? And why does Jack look like his head was attacked by a retarded squirrel with tiny blunt hedge clippers?
You know how he doesn’t like haircuts?
Yes.
I discovered this afternoon that he really, really doesn’t like haircuts. Jack, go play in your room.
He seems fine now.
He’s not getting his hair cut now.
Was he really that bad, or was the hair cutter just incompetent?
She was the owner of the shop. Did her absolute best. It was all Jack. He was…. worse than you can imagine.
I can’t -
A screaming fit from the second his name was called until the moment I pulled my wallet out to pay.
Well, if he -
Screaming, House. Rising to the decibel level of planes taking off. I’m not exaggerating. Every single person in the place was looking at us; they must’ve thought I was torturing him.
You can’t take him to your beauty salon; you’ve got to go to one of those kid places where they know how to handle him. Let him watch a video or something.
It’s a unisex stylist, and we didn’t go there. We went to a kids’ salon, with cartoon pictures on the wall, and video games, and personal TVs, and none of it helped one damn bit.
You should’ve taken his favorite toys for distraction.
Legos, and cars, and Mr. Bear, and a brand new Penny in Pigtails sticker book, and the salon’s remote controlled helicopter and plastic soldiers… none of it helped.
You hate him playing with war toys.
I would’ve let him have an unloaded gun if it would’ve calmed him down. I had to get in the chair with him and physically hold him in place.
Is that why it looks like a Tortoiseshell Persian exploded on you? Next time you can bring some snacks, little treats he doesn’t normally get.
I had Wheat Thins, Goldfish, mini rice cakes -
Mini rice cakes are not a treat! No wonder he yelled.
Marshmallows, gummy bears, and Cheetos.
Seriously? I thought you thought the orange dust was toxic.
It is. I was desperate. I let one of the stylists buy him a Coke.
No.
Yes. He wouldn’t close his mouth enough to suck on the straw. It was agony, the whole experience. Next time I’m going to get up in the middle of the night and shave his head while he sleeps and be done with it.
You’re not balding our son.
OK, Mr. Sensitive. A buzz cut, then. I can’t handle another trip to the salon.
A buzz cut? No. Flashback central. If it was all that traumatic to you, you weeping wuss, let his hair grow for a while until he matures out of the phobia.
You’ve got a solution for everything, don’t you? Fine.
Hey, why are you walking funny? Are you cheating on me? Getting something on the down low?
How could I possibly go any lower down than we are? We’re already so low we’re in the damn sub-basement.
Wow, somebody pissed in your cornflakes.
I’m walking “funny” because I wrenched my knee when my leg was wrapped around your son, trying to hold down a screaming tornado.
You shouldn’t have had to do that. You could’ve -
And you know what he was sobbing? In between the inarticulate howls of rage? “Daddy,” that’s what he was saying. “Daddy loves me; Daddy wouldn’t hurt me.” The stylists thought he was trying to reassure himself, and the whole time he’s calling out for you and stabbing my fucking heart.
He didn’t mean it that way.
You have no clue how he meant it. You weren’t there.
It doesn’t take two of us to run an errand like that.
You wouldn’t know; you never run them.
Hey, when you were recovering, I -
We should both be there for things like this. He needs both of us.
You do fine.
I do fine.
That’s what I said.
Yes, I know. I am echoing your sentence in a scoffing manner because you don’t fucking know! You don’t know what I go through; you don’t know what it’s like.
When you were -
When I was! When I was! I’m so sick of hearing about that, and all the wonderful things you did for Jack.
Hey, I -
I almost hit him today, House. I was this close to raising my hand and smacking my son.
But you didn’t.
As far as you know.
Wilson.
I needed you there, House. We should’ve been there as a family.
We’ll make Marjorie take him next time. Sneak it into her nanny contract under “other duties as assigned.”
Yeah. Whatever.
Wilson?
*slam*