Drabble #28--Friday
Drabble #28-Friday
Rating: G
Warning: kid!fic (part of the Church-verse); mentions of character death; OC
Word Count: 680 words
A/N: Previous drabbles can always be found at simple__stuff, my fic journal.
Whose idea was it to raise the kid? Cuddy's, we all agree, but there were hints and noises made to that effect long before she ever started thinking about it. It sure as hell wasn't coming from me. Agreeing to father a child and agreeing to be a father to a child are two very different animals.
I can see now, how sly he was, how gently manipulative; I don't remember him ever saying the words aloud. He wasn't surprised at all when I came to him with the idea, barely missing a beat in between the "Really?", the "Are you sure?", and the "Yes."
His idea in the first place, really, and I had thought at the time that it was one of Wilson's patented plans to tie me to this life, after a misguided attempt at leaving said life. Upon further inspection, I wonder if his plan was completely altruistic; most of Jimmy's plans are rooted in love, but he's not above profiting from them, either.
Perhaps some part of Wilson had always wanted a child; three wives, no offspring, even though he spent a lot of free time with his pediatric patients, even though he had been, by all accounts, an excellent big brother. There has always been something mothering and nurturing and bossy about Jimmy, wanting to love you and feed you and manage you until you're happy and round and he's marginally less miserable.
Because he is. He always was. We got that about each other on a molecular level, creating a friendship that consisted mostly of enjoying wallowing in each other's misery.
Then came Church. After that, nothing was ever the same.
........................................................
"That isn't what I meant at all!"
"Isn't it? There's a disconnect, Jimmy, and if that isn't it, then please tell me what it is. I've lost one parent, I can't afford to lose another."
"You won't lose me, not if you don't want to."
"Dammit, I'm not House. I don't always get...sometimes, you have to spell things out for me."
"I...is that what I've been doing?"
"Expecting me to know because House would? I don't know. It seems that way."
"I haven't thought about it. It's not intentional. I'm so used to..."
"You two had something special, something unique. It's gone now, and that's sad, but it's not the only thing."
"I know. I know that. Do you think I want to lose you? Don't you think that the idea scares the hell out of me?"
"How would I know? You won't talk to me."
"I can't talk...it's hard for me to talk to anyone. Not just you. It's...hard...difficult."
"Talking?"
"Living."
........................................................
He's remarkably well-adjusted, considering. Were we perfect parents? Absolutely not; just ask his therapist.
We tried; well, Wilson tried, and I had my moments. If I was interested, if I could be bothered, then I imparted what knowledge and skills I could. I like to think I did a better job than my father, but I'm not sure if that's true.
You would think there'd be more answers on this side, wouldn't you?
It doesn't matter. My time with Church is done. For good, for bad, my influence is mostly over. Direct influence, anyway. I suppose I'll always have an effect on him, just as my father and mother still have an effect on me.
As a parent, Cuddy is useless (and I say that with affection), and I am dead, which leaves us only Wilson. Of the three of us, he is the one I'd most prefer to be stuck with.
If I know my son, then he feels exactly the same way. He should; Wilson did my job and Cuddy's more often than not.
Wish I could tell him, I can see the guilt tearing at him from here. It's between them, surrounding them, tearing them apart. What can I do? What can I say? I'm just the dead guy.
It's not my fault.
(to be continued)
Rating: G
Warning: kid!fic (part of the Church-verse); mentions of character death; OC
Word Count: 680 words
A/N: Previous drabbles can always be found at simple__stuff, my fic journal.
Whose idea was it to raise the kid? Cuddy's, we all agree, but there were hints and noises made to that effect long before she ever started thinking about it. It sure as hell wasn't coming from me. Agreeing to father a child and agreeing to be a father to a child are two very different animals.
I can see now, how sly he was, how gently manipulative; I don't remember him ever saying the words aloud. He wasn't surprised at all when I came to him with the idea, barely missing a beat in between the "Really?", the "Are you sure?", and the "Yes."
His idea in the first place, really, and I had thought at the time that it was one of Wilson's patented plans to tie me to this life, after a misguided attempt at leaving said life. Upon further inspection, I wonder if his plan was completely altruistic; most of Jimmy's plans are rooted in love, but he's not above profiting from them, either.
Perhaps some part of Wilson had always wanted a child; three wives, no offspring, even though he spent a lot of free time with his pediatric patients, even though he had been, by all accounts, an excellent big brother. There has always been something mothering and nurturing and bossy about Jimmy, wanting to love you and feed you and manage you until you're happy and round and he's marginally less miserable.
Because he is. He always was. We got that about each other on a molecular level, creating a friendship that consisted mostly of enjoying wallowing in each other's misery.
Then came Church. After that, nothing was ever the same.
........................................................
"That isn't what I meant at all!"
"Isn't it? There's a disconnect, Jimmy, and if that isn't it, then please tell me what it is. I've lost one parent, I can't afford to lose another."
"You won't lose me, not if you don't want to."
"Dammit, I'm not House. I don't always get...sometimes, you have to spell things out for me."
"I...is that what I've been doing?"
"Expecting me to know because House would? I don't know. It seems that way."
"I haven't thought about it. It's not intentional. I'm so used to..."
"You two had something special, something unique. It's gone now, and that's sad, but it's not the only thing."
"I know. I know that. Do you think I want to lose you? Don't you think that the idea scares the hell out of me?"
"How would I know? You won't talk to me."
"I can't talk...it's hard for me to talk to anyone. Not just you. It's...hard...difficult."
"Talking?"
"Living."
........................................................
He's remarkably well-adjusted, considering. Were we perfect parents? Absolutely not; just ask his therapist.
We tried; well, Wilson tried, and I had my moments. If I was interested, if I could be bothered, then I imparted what knowledge and skills I could. I like to think I did a better job than my father, but I'm not sure if that's true.
You would think there'd be more answers on this side, wouldn't you?
It doesn't matter. My time with Church is done. For good, for bad, my influence is mostly over. Direct influence, anyway. I suppose I'll always have an effect on him, just as my father and mother still have an effect on me.
As a parent, Cuddy is useless (and I say that with affection), and I am dead, which leaves us only Wilson. Of the three of us, he is the one I'd most prefer to be stuck with.
If I know my son, then he feels exactly the same way. He should; Wilson did my job and Cuddy's more often than not.
Wish I could tell him, I can see the guilt tearing at him from here. It's between them, surrounding them, tearing them apart. What can I do? What can I say? I'm just the dead guy.
It's not my fault.
(to be continued)