Chaptered Fic: (De)Constructed Life: Does Not
Title: (De)Constructed Life
Author: Squeeka Cuomo
Rating: PG
Characters: Wilson
Part: 2/5
Author Notes: Originally written for fraternizing (Prompt: “Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation.” - Charlotte Bronte) and alphabetasoup (D is for Disappointed).
Warnings: N/A
Summary: “Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation.” - Charlotte Bronte
Does Not
Despite the fact that he was standing next to a bench, James Wilson pressed his weight into the wall behind him. Relishing the feel of the molding cutting into the rough cotton of his scrubs, he traced the patterns in the grey carpet with his eyes. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, the intern inhaled, his mind on the breath that was traveling through his lungs. Focusing on the sensation, he forced his ribs to expand until they ached before forcing the breath back out through his nose.
Refusing to open his eyes, Jimmy began to rub at the back of his neck. It was something that he’d seen his father do countless times, and it was one of many traits the Wilson boys had inherited from their parents.
James always found it amazing that even if he were standing in a room full of strangers blindfolded, he would still be able to tell when Robert was near him. The man always seemed to bring a feeling of home that ambushed senses and pushed them into nostalgic overload. From the wafting smell of their mother’s preferred detergent to the warmth of his body, Bobby always managed to remind James of their childhood. Standing in the sterile corridor, James didn’t need to open his eyes to know that his brother was next to him.
Staring into the inky darkness of his closed eyelids, the young man couldn’t help but see the terror in her eyes and hear the last gasp of life that slipped from her chapped lips.
Smiling bitterly to himself, the young man slowly opened his eyes and was met with a mirror reflection of his own. Robert had taken the seat next to where he was standing and was staring up at him, waiting. Just… waiting.
“I know that look.”
“One of my patients died today.” The words came out with a bitter chuckle, sounding painful and forced. The hand that had been massaging his neck moved away from the tense muscles. He slipped from one of his father’s favorite actions to his mother’s as he squeezed the bridge of his nose. “She died and… there was nothing I could do.”
The look of expectation in the older Wilson’s eyes slipped away and was replaced by a dark shade of understanding. They both knew the day would come sooner of later whether James liked it or not. He was a doctor, and death came with the job.
They’d discussed it countless times, and every time Jimmy had said he could handle it. Deep down however, Robert knew that when it finally did happen, it would hit his younger brother hard. For years he’d been telling his baby brother that he wasn’t Superman, and sadly the day had finally come when he would have to admit it to himself. “James, you knew that thi-”
“I don’t know if I can do this, Robert.” Looking down at his brother, he could feel the thing he’d been fighting since the child’s monitor had slipped from a steady beeping to one flat, toneless sound. The telltale ache of childhood that always meant tears were on the way began to tear at the back his throat, threatening to over power him. In an effort to keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks, James gritted his teeth and squeezed the bridge of his nose even more tightly than before.
Pushing himself to his full height, Robert reached out one strong hand and placed it gently between his brother’s slumped shoulders. “Jimmy, you were born to do this. Remember when you first told me that you were going to be a doctor? I believed you. I knew that you would see that dream through and that you’d be amazing.” With his hand still placed firmly upon his baby brother’s back, the older Wilson felt his brother’s shoulders begin to shake as James slumped forward even more. “You can do this. I know you can.”
The tear that finally managed to escape slipped softly over James’s cheek, burning a salty path in the soft skin. He didn’t stand up straighter or look at his brother as the betrayal of his emotions kissed the curve of his chin. “How?”
Pressing his palm into the trembling muscles, Robert leaned against the wall next to his brother. The middle Wilson lowered his voice much like their mother did when she was soothing one of her boys. “It won’t be easy, but you will. You’ll dwell on this for weeks, picking it apart until you discover all the answers. When you’re done, you’ll know what to say to people in their time of dying.”
The feeling of helplessness that had invaded his veins like a slow-acting poison continued to flood his senses, numbing his fingertips and heart. While his brother’s words washed over him, James watched as the crystalline tear slipped from his chin and fell, splashing gently on the light blue material of his pants.
“That may seem kind of sick, but I promise, it’s a gift. It’s one you’ve always had.” Searching his brother’s profile Robert wasn’t surprised when James’s head snapped up, his disappointed eyes searching his own for an explanation. Sighing gently, Robert refused to pull his hand away despite the fact that his brother’s shoulders were taut with anger. “James, you’ve always known what to say. No matter what, you always seem to have some sort of answer. Or some words of wisdom. Trust me.”
Looking into his older brother eyes, James Wilson knew that he was right. As sad as it was to think that his gift in life would be to ease his patients into their deaths, he knew that he would be able too. After all, he wanted to help the people that needed him even if that need became nothing more than a few gentle words before passing on.
The look of resignation that slowly seeped into the soft brown irises of James’s eyes broke Robert’s heart. He knew that this was his brother’s calling, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to shield him from the death that was sure to pervade his future. Pulling back his hand, the middle Wilson adjusted the collar of the future doctor’s scrubs. “So, you going to buy me lunch or what?”
Cillian Chase’s Chart
- Originally written for fraternizing (Prompt: “Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation.” - Charlotte Bronte)
- Also written for alphabetasoup (D is for Disappointed)
- As always, thank you Quack. If it weren’t for your wonderful beta-ing, I probably would not be writing fan fic.
Previous Chapters
Chapter 1: Constructed Life
Author: Squeeka Cuomo
Rating: PG
Characters: Wilson
Part: 2/5
Author Notes: Originally written for fraternizing (Prompt: “Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation.” - Charlotte Bronte) and alphabetasoup (D is for Disappointed).
Warnings: N/A
Summary: “Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation.” - Charlotte Bronte
Does Not
Despite the fact that he was standing next to a bench, James Wilson pressed his weight into the wall behind him. Relishing the feel of the molding cutting into the rough cotton of his scrubs, he traced the patterns in the grey carpet with his eyes. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, the intern inhaled, his mind on the breath that was traveling through his lungs. Focusing on the sensation, he forced his ribs to expand until they ached before forcing the breath back out through his nose.
Refusing to open his eyes, Jimmy began to rub at the back of his neck. It was something that he’d seen his father do countless times, and it was one of many traits the Wilson boys had inherited from their parents.
James always found it amazing that even if he were standing in a room full of strangers blindfolded, he would still be able to tell when Robert was near him. The man always seemed to bring a feeling of home that ambushed senses and pushed them into nostalgic overload. From the wafting smell of their mother’s preferred detergent to the warmth of his body, Bobby always managed to remind James of their childhood. Standing in the sterile corridor, James didn’t need to open his eyes to know that his brother was next to him.
Staring into the inky darkness of his closed eyelids, the young man couldn’t help but see the terror in her eyes and hear the last gasp of life that slipped from her chapped lips.
Smiling bitterly to himself, the young man slowly opened his eyes and was met with a mirror reflection of his own. Robert had taken the seat next to where he was standing and was staring up at him, waiting. Just… waiting.
“I know that look.”
“One of my patients died today.” The words came out with a bitter chuckle, sounding painful and forced. The hand that had been massaging his neck moved away from the tense muscles. He slipped from one of his father’s favorite actions to his mother’s as he squeezed the bridge of his nose. “She died and… there was nothing I could do.”
The look of expectation in the older Wilson’s eyes slipped away and was replaced by a dark shade of understanding. They both knew the day would come sooner of later whether James liked it or not. He was a doctor, and death came with the job.
They’d discussed it countless times, and every time Jimmy had said he could handle it. Deep down however, Robert knew that when it finally did happen, it would hit his younger brother hard. For years he’d been telling his baby brother that he wasn’t Superman, and sadly the day had finally come when he would have to admit it to himself. “James, you knew that thi-”
“I don’t know if I can do this, Robert.” Looking down at his brother, he could feel the thing he’d been fighting since the child’s monitor had slipped from a steady beeping to one flat, toneless sound. The telltale ache of childhood that always meant tears were on the way began to tear at the back his throat, threatening to over power him. In an effort to keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks, James gritted his teeth and squeezed the bridge of his nose even more tightly than before.
Pushing himself to his full height, Robert reached out one strong hand and placed it gently between his brother’s slumped shoulders. “Jimmy, you were born to do this. Remember when you first told me that you were going to be a doctor? I believed you. I knew that you would see that dream through and that you’d be amazing.” With his hand still placed firmly upon his baby brother’s back, the older Wilson felt his brother’s shoulders begin to shake as James slumped forward even more. “You can do this. I know you can.”
The tear that finally managed to escape slipped softly over James’s cheek, burning a salty path in the soft skin. He didn’t stand up straighter or look at his brother as the betrayal of his emotions kissed the curve of his chin. “How?”
Pressing his palm into the trembling muscles, Robert leaned against the wall next to his brother. The middle Wilson lowered his voice much like their mother did when she was soothing one of her boys. “It won’t be easy, but you will. You’ll dwell on this for weeks, picking it apart until you discover all the answers. When you’re done, you’ll know what to say to people in their time of dying.”
The feeling of helplessness that had invaded his veins like a slow-acting poison continued to flood his senses, numbing his fingertips and heart. While his brother’s words washed over him, James watched as the crystalline tear slipped from his chin and fell, splashing gently on the light blue material of his pants.
“That may seem kind of sick, but I promise, it’s a gift. It’s one you’ve always had.” Searching his brother’s profile Robert wasn’t surprised when James’s head snapped up, his disappointed eyes searching his own for an explanation. Sighing gently, Robert refused to pull his hand away despite the fact that his brother’s shoulders were taut with anger. “James, you’ve always known what to say. No matter what, you always seem to have some sort of answer. Or some words of wisdom. Trust me.”
Looking into his older brother eyes, James Wilson knew that he was right. As sad as it was to think that his gift in life would be to ease his patients into their deaths, he knew that he would be able too. After all, he wanted to help the people that needed him even if that need became nothing more than a few gentle words before passing on.
The look of resignation that slowly seeped into the soft brown irises of James’s eyes broke Robert’s heart. He knew that this was his brother’s calling, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to shield him from the death that was sure to pervade his future. Pulling back his hand, the middle Wilson adjusted the collar of the future doctor’s scrubs. “So, you going to buy me lunch or what?”
Cillian Chase’s Chart
- Originally written for fraternizing (Prompt: “Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation.” - Charlotte Bronte)
- Also written for alphabetasoup (D is for Disappointed)
- As always, thank you Quack. If it weren’t for your wonderful beta-ing, I probably would not be writing fan fic.
Previous Chapters
Chapter 1: Constructed Life