Five Times James Wilson Crossed... (R)
Jun. 30th, 2008 08:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deelaundryPosted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
housefic and ppth_support
Title: Five Times James Wilson Crossed Someone's Mind, and One Time He Didn't
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: None (past Wilson relationships implied)
Rating: R for language
Words: 600
Notes: Spoilers through episode 4-16, “Wilson's Heart.” Thanks to Early Readers, particularly![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
phinnia and pwcorgigirl, for giving this a look-through. Inspired by the flashfic challenge on housefic_meta and by bammel.
Brendan grinned as he hauled his personal effects out the door. Who knew “malingering” was a terminable offense in the employee handbook? Eh, he’d make more money back in sales, anyway.
His dickwad boss hadn’t figured out half the things he’d done, either. The best had been in the clinic when he’d watched sports with the cranky doctor and his skinny doctor friend. Brendan had helped Skinny tease Cranky about some young hot doctor chick; such a hoot. After Cranky left, Skinny had slagged on Cranky’s work ethic, but Skinny’d stuck around for the whole rest of the game. Hilarious.
***
The Ponte alle Grazie was disappointingly modern, but her sister had insisted. “Your namesake, Grace, and easy for Henry to find.” Their directions-challenged cousin joined them fifteen minutes later with hugs and laughter.
“I heard there’s a James in your life,” he teased.
“Was,” her sister snapped. “He’s a son of a bitch.”
“Adele,” Grace chastised. “He’s a wonderful doctor.” She thought back on all the things she’d let James do for her, how easily he’d slipped past professional and marital boundaries into her bed.
As Henry tucked an arm around her, she added, “And a son of a bitch.”
***
The premarital counseling was Cliff’s idea. “I just think you’ve been through a lot, and we should make sure we’re on the same page about what marriage means. I want this to work, babe; I want to grow old with you.”
Fidgeting on the poorly padded guest chair, Julie looked away from Cliff and back down again at the “individual pre-counseling evaluation form” on her clipboard. Name, address, family history, and even personal characteristics had all been easy. Under reason for getting married, she didn’t see “so my ex-husband doesn’t think I’m a complete whore,” so she checked “love” instead.
***
The camera was on them, and House was watching. Damn. She should’ve anticipated it, if no one else, because it was something she would’ve done.
It wouldn’t stop her, though. They needed a CT scan to prove paraganglioma, diagnose the patient, and move on to the next round, and it was obvious that none of her “teammates” had the balls to make it happen, actual physiology of their gender notwithstanding. She was going to win this damn thing, conquer everything and everyone, until victory was in her grasp. She just needed – Wilson’s office was out across the balcony. Perfect escape.
***
Focused on driving, Lettie was only halfway listening as Keira gushed about the new sixth-grade substitute, “who’s a man, Mom! And a doctor. But he had this friend who got sick from pills and died, and he was too sad to stay in New Jersey, so he moved here and decided he wanted to help kids, and that’s why James is a substitute. He said to call him James, not Mr. Wilson; he’s so cool.”
Dots connected; the Subaru swerved; but James C. Wilson, Ph.D., turned out to be short, blond, and ten years too young to be Lettie’s ex-husband.
***
It hurt.
It hurt a whole fucking lot, and there was nothing anyone could do.
Cuddy’d been there: held his hand, talked, changed prescriptions, fiddled with dosages. Slept with him, in the literal sense. That’d helped, for a while – the warmth throughout the night and her strong hands dissolving knots in his shoulders and back, cherry bombs of referred pain.
She’d even offered to sleep with him in the figurative sense, and damn, she had the figure for it. If his flesh hadn’t been so fucking weak...
It hurt, and there was nothing left to solve, nothing left to win.
housefic and ppth_supportTitle: Five Times James Wilson Crossed Someone's Mind, and One Time He Didn't
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: None (past Wilson relationships implied)
Rating: R for language
Words: 600
Notes: Spoilers through episode 4-16, “Wilson's Heart.” Thanks to Early Readers, particularly
phinnia and pwcorgigirl, for giving this a look-through. Inspired by the flashfic challenge on housefic_meta and by bammel.Brendan grinned as he hauled his personal effects out the door. Who knew “malingering” was a terminable offense in the employee handbook? Eh, he’d make more money back in sales, anyway.
His dickwad boss hadn’t figured out half the things he’d done, either. The best had been in the clinic when he’d watched sports with the cranky doctor and his skinny doctor friend. Brendan had helped Skinny tease Cranky about some young hot doctor chick; such a hoot. After Cranky left, Skinny had slagged on Cranky’s work ethic, but Skinny’d stuck around for the whole rest of the game. Hilarious.
***
The Ponte alle Grazie was disappointingly modern, but her sister had insisted. “Your namesake, Grace, and easy for Henry to find.” Their directions-challenged cousin joined them fifteen minutes later with hugs and laughter.
“I heard there’s a James in your life,” he teased.
“Was,” her sister snapped. “He’s a son of a bitch.”
“Adele,” Grace chastised. “He’s a wonderful doctor.” She thought back on all the things she’d let James do for her, how easily he’d slipped past professional and marital boundaries into her bed.
As Henry tucked an arm around her, she added, “And a son of a bitch.”
***
The premarital counseling was Cliff’s idea. “I just think you’ve been through a lot, and we should make sure we’re on the same page about what marriage means. I want this to work, babe; I want to grow old with you.”
Fidgeting on the poorly padded guest chair, Julie looked away from Cliff and back down again at the “individual pre-counseling evaluation form” on her clipboard. Name, address, family history, and even personal characteristics had all been easy. Under reason for getting married, she didn’t see “so my ex-husband doesn’t think I’m a complete whore,” so she checked “love” instead.
***
The camera was on them, and House was watching. Damn. She should’ve anticipated it, if no one else, because it was something she would’ve done.
It wouldn’t stop her, though. They needed a CT scan to prove paraganglioma, diagnose the patient, and move on to the next round, and it was obvious that none of her “teammates” had the balls to make it happen, actual physiology of their gender notwithstanding. She was going to win this damn thing, conquer everything and everyone, until victory was in her grasp. She just needed – Wilson’s office was out across the balcony. Perfect escape.
***
Focused on driving, Lettie was only halfway listening as Keira gushed about the new sixth-grade substitute, “who’s a man, Mom! And a doctor. But he had this friend who got sick from pills and died, and he was too sad to stay in New Jersey, so he moved here and decided he wanted to help kids, and that’s why James is a substitute. He said to call him James, not Mr. Wilson; he’s so cool.”
Dots connected; the Subaru swerved; but James C. Wilson, Ph.D., turned out to be short, blond, and ten years too young to be Lettie’s ex-husband.
***
It hurt.
It hurt a whole fucking lot, and there was nothing anyone could do.
Cuddy’d been there: held his hand, talked, changed prescriptions, fiddled with dosages. Slept with him, in the literal sense. That’d helped, for a while – the warmth throughout the night and her strong hands dissolving knots in his shoulders and back, cherry bombs of referred pain.
She’d even offered to sleep with him in the figurative sense, and damn, she had the figure for it. If his flesh hadn’t been so fucking weak...
It hurt, and there was nothing left to solve, nothing left to win.