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Entry tags:
No Children, 8/16, PG13
Title: No Children (part 8 of 16)
Author: Lola Lauriestein
Rating: PG13-R for language, occasional sex references!
Pairing: Cuddy/OMC, House/Cuddy, House, Cuddy, Wilson friendship.
Spoilers: Everything up to Wilson's Heart, takes place not long after.
Disclaimer: not-not-mine, House et al belong to David Shore, Fox etc. The song "No Children" is by The Mountain Goats, they are awesome and you should check them out.
Summary: Cuddy has a new boyfriend, House has a problem and Wilson is grieving. As matters go from bad to worse, will they be able to help each other as they once did? Friendships under strain and tough decisions ahoy. Special alert: This part has some Wilson, and a little bit of Cameron to boot!
With thanks to my awesome beta,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lucyvanflick! I'm really overwhelmed with the response to this fic so far, and am basically dancing around the room like an eejit every time I read a nice comment, so thank you very much!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
“I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow
I hope it bleeds all day long”
James Wilson could do nothing to control the reflexive shudder that passed through him every time he approached the sliding doors of Princeton-Plainsboro. He’d told grieving families a thousand times that time healed all wounds, but his memories of Amber had lost none of their paralyzing sharpness in the months since her death. The only respite was in keeping himself busy. For entire minutes at a stretch, he could focus on something else, almost forget that he had held her in his arms and watched the life ebb away from her.
He steeled himself for the walk through the lobby, his resolve faltering as he saw Allison Cameron striding towards him. As much as her compassion and understanding had helped him during these dark weeks, it could also expose his raw emotions a little too easily, leaving him vulnerable at the worst possible times.
“Wilson! How are you?”
He made a face, but followed up with his best attempt at a friendly smile. He didn’t trust himself to start talking until he knew what she was after.
“Do you know where House is? This is the third day he hasn’t been in, and Foreman is pestering me in the ER again because the new fellows are ignoring him and playing foosball. I can’t find Cuddy either. The nurses are saying she just marched out yesterday and didn’t tell anyone when she’d be back.”
She looked at him searchingly, her blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail - the more demanding role in the ER left her with less time for fussing over her appearance.
“I haven’t spoken to him. Damn, does that mean Adler is in charge? It takes him a week just to return a phone call. We won’t be able to get anything done around here.”
Cameron looked at him quizzically; she had never had to worry about what happened without Cuddy during her fellowship. It seemed life was definitely more complicated when you had your own department to run. Wilson made to continue his stroll to the elevators but pulled up short.
“Wait a minute, day before yesterday, Cuddy called me asking if House had been to ask me for a consult, even though she knows we hardly see each other these days. You don’t think one of them is ill, do you? Because I can’t see anything short of death or dismemberment getting Cuddy out of this place. She’s cancelled three out of her last four vacations, for God’s sake. ”
They stared at each other in shock for a moment, before Cameron decided to show off the skills she had honed under House.
“You take Cuddy’s office, Wilson, and I’ll take House’s. If you flirt some information out of the clinic nurses, I’ll have a crack at this Adler guy. Somewhere in this hospital we’ll get our answer.”
At that she turned on her heel and stalked off to the elevator, determined to begin her fourth floor treasure hunt. Wilson rubbed his hand through his hair, sighing at the prospect of what Cuddy would do to him for snooping. Then, with his first genuine grin in a long time, he felt the familiar thrill of being caught up in a scheme; he’d just have to make sure he didn’t get caught.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Cuddy re-entered the room she was adamantly not referring to as “their” bedroom. Having taken her time over her appearance, she expected him to be ready by the time she was done with hair and makeup. To her frustration, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, without shoes, his tie strung out between his hands. Last night they had awkwardly shared that bed, their only contact coming at around 4am when he rolled over and wrapped an arm around her. As soon as the sun had risen, she had extricated herself from his loose grip and run a deep bath for herself.
Now the 10am service was looming on the near horizon and Cuddy didn’t have to grow up in this family to know that a lack of punctuality would go down like a lead balloon. Grabbing the tie a little roughly from his hands, she briskly turned his collar up and began to fix it for him, hoping it would help to re-engage the autopilot he had been functioning on earlier.
House looked up at her with a baleful expression.
“Where did you learn to do that?” He asked with surprise.
“We wore ties with our school uniforms. Shut. Up. Plus, I have had boyfriends now and then.”
House looked away again, the brief spark of interest extinguished by the “b” word.
She bent slightly, resting her hand on his good leg.
“House, I know that today isn’t going to be easy, but we need to get moving, ok? Just get through the next hour or so and then you can be left alone as much as you want.”
Grudgingly, he completed his routine of getting dressed, and they headed for the living room where the rest of the family had gathered. John House was in the company of his two brothers and four strapping nephews, all of whom were in military uniform, save for one in a light gray suit. He looked quite familiar, and Cuddy supposed he was the cousin who played football. At least one member of the family was in some kind of team, judging by the photos scattered around the house. His build certainly suggested that he did something pretty heavy duty for a living. Two older women sat primly on the sofa, aunts of his, she supposed, though she couldn’t quite keep straight what family he had on each side. She knew from the flurry of phone calls the previous evening that some family members were going to meet them at the church.
He reached for her hand as they approached the waiting black cars, the rough, dry skin of his long fingers easily enveloping her own. There was an agitation coursing through his fingers, one she thought nothing of at first. When they waited at the church entrance for the coffin to be taken from the hearse, he almost broke her fingers with the sudden pressure in his hand. Cuddy was about to voice a rather pointed complaint when she saw what he was staring at and stopped.
The solid pine box was being lifted on to the shoulders of his father, uncles and cousins, and she realized his agony at not being able to pay that one final respect to his mother. It was strange; she was usually so preoccupied with all the things he could still get up to do that she almost forgot the very real limitations of his disability. Riding yet another wave of guilt, she tried to remind herself that she had done the right thing all those years ago, unable to look at him again as they slowly made their way to the pews.
Not a word passed between them at the church or the graveside. But after he took his turn to throw the symbolic handful of earth into the grave, his first action on returning to her side was to press his arm around her waist. For a moment, he buried his head in her thick curls, shielding the tears that were threatening to spill. All she could think to do in return was stroke his back in the hope that it might soothe him.
The hardest part of the day done with, she began to relax slightly as they made their slow and steady progress back to the car. They were riding alone, the numbers not dividing evenly and so they were the spare two in the smallest of the cars that the funeral home provided. As Cuddy eased herself into the backseat, she carefully smoothed out her simple black dress. She was pleased that she had looked her best for the occasion; the appreciative glances from male members of the congregation had been as flattering as they were inappropriate. Still, if it meant House felt a little less awkward around his family by having a token girlfriend on his arm, then she was happy to do it.
A sudden thump on the roof of the car startled her, and after a moment she realized it must be House’s hand that had made it. Swearing quietly, he at last lowered himself into the seat next to her, barking a sharp “go” at the patiently waiting driver. She expected more of the silent treatment, but when she risked a quick look at him, she was shocked to be caught in the iciest of his blue glares.
“Why the hell are you here, Cuddy? Sleeping in my bed, letting me take your hand, screwing with me. I must have been pretty out of it to let you bring your pity parade up here. I don’t need you, not for this or anything else, and I don’t know why you came here uninvited. I’ll drop you back at the house then you can get your things and go back to Princeton.”
The venom in his voice hit her harder than any punch ever could. Just as she thought she was getting through to him, helping him in some small way, he turned on her. Maybe he was embarrassed at how vulnerable he had been, but what had she said or done to make him think she would take advantage of that? Well, apart from one harmless kiss…
“House, I know that you’re upset. You don’t have to lash out at me.”
She was calm and conciliatory, sure that whatever he said was caused by his strained emotional state.
“Well, you shouldn’t have come here. Trying to make your real boyfriend jealous? Or just hoping you could find some leverage to use over me next time I refuse to do clinic duty?”
She slapped him, purely out of reflex. He didn’t even flinch, such was his rage.
“Is that what you think of me? That I’m some kind of cold bitch who would use death to get an advantage?”
He shrugged off her complaint, instructing the driver to take them back to his parents’ house rather than the post-funeral lunch at the VFW hall.
“I’ll wait for you to pack, and lock up after you. I’ll be back at the hospital when I feel like it.”
Cuddy was set to simmer, her hurt and anger bubbling merrily under the surface. She was determined not to rise to the bait any further. She would be the mature one who made allowances for his grief. He would slink into her office in a few days with a non-apology and a crack about her cleavage and they’d recover much as they ever did. Ignoring him, she stared out of the window until the short journey ended, absent-mindedly running her thumb over the fingers that stung from hitting him.
They arrived at the house and Cuddy strode towards the door, showing no patience for his slower progress. Tapping her foot impatiently, she burst through the door as soon as he unlocked it and barreled into the bedroom, throwing her things roughly into bags without care for how they landed.
How dare he accuse her of something so horrible? Why couldn’t he take her compassion at face value? Stubborn bastard, so ready to believe the worst in people that he couldn’t accept friendship when it was offered. No wonder Wilson had finally had enough; nothing you could give him was ever enough. She’d made every concession for the extenuating circumstances, but sometimes it just boiled down to the fact that House was a selfish prick.
He watched impassively from the porch as she bundled her possessions into the trunk of the car, made no move to help or to take back his previous comments. She cursed him under her breath and realized she’d be pulling over at the first convenient spot to repack her suitcase and stop her expensive clothes from being completely ruined.
Cuddy turned as she opened the driver’s door, attempting to catch his eye one last time and give him the chance to change his mind. House’s gaze remained resolutely fixed to the floor, and so she got into the car with a deep sigh. One step forward, a huge jump back; nothing would ever change with them.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Cameron had definitely improved her sprinting speed during her time in the ER, because when she rushed into Cuddy’s office, the momentum almost carried her straight into the desk. Wilson almost went backwards through the window with fright and the unexpected interruption, and they both laughed gently as they tried to catch their breath.
“Sorry, Wilson, but I’ve got something here you need to see.” Cameron gasped, all traces of a smile leaving her face.
A printed email from Dr. Finnan, regarding patient: House, B. Wilson shook his head as he handed Cameron the file he had unearthed in Cuddy’s desk drawer. Cameron skimmed the contents with a deepening frown, finishing with an “oh God,” as she sank into the visitor’s chair.
Wilson broke the uneasy silence.
“I can’t believe he didn’t come to me. I know things are weird, but it’s cancer for God’s sake! That’s my damn job.”
“Wilson, I think he might actually have been protecting you. You were grieving, you’d just had a big loss of your own; maybe he didn’t want to put you through it.”
The oncologist considered Cameron’s supposition, almost sure that it was just her rosy-tinted view of House informing it. A part of him--the same part that admitted on lonelier nights that he missed having a beer with House and watching the game--wanted it to be true. He knew that if he did find out the reason, it would probably be a lot more twisted than anything resembling consideration for others. He raised his eyebrows in response, motioning for Cameron to return the file to him.
As soon as she did, she grabbed the cell phone from her pocket and dialed the number she was reading from her email printout.
“Dr. Finnan, please. This is Dr. Cameron from Princeton-Plainsboro.”
Wilson leaned back in Cuddy’s chair, impressed by Cameron’s business-like manner and the short range of questions that got her all the answers in just a minute or two. He felt distinctly less relaxed when she ended the call and shared the news with tears forming in her eyes.
Damn it, House, he thought, why did you have to go through this alone?
Chapter 9
Author: Lola Lauriestein
Rating: PG13-R for language, occasional sex references!
Pairing: Cuddy/OMC, House/Cuddy, House, Cuddy, Wilson friendship.
Spoilers: Everything up to Wilson's Heart, takes place not long after.
Disclaimer: not-not-mine, House et al belong to David Shore, Fox etc. The song "No Children" is by The Mountain Goats, they are awesome and you should check them out.
Summary: Cuddy has a new boyfriend, House has a problem and Wilson is grieving. As matters go from bad to worse, will they be able to help each other as they once did? Friendships under strain and tough decisions ahoy. Special alert: This part has some Wilson, and a little bit of Cameron to boot!
With thanks to my awesome beta,
lucyvanflick! I'm really overwhelmed with the response to this fic so far, and am basically dancing around the room like an eejit every time I read a nice comment, so thank you very much!Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
“I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow
I hope it bleeds all day long”
James Wilson could do nothing to control the reflexive shudder that passed through him every time he approached the sliding doors of Princeton-Plainsboro. He’d told grieving families a thousand times that time healed all wounds, but his memories of Amber had lost none of their paralyzing sharpness in the months since her death. The only respite was in keeping himself busy. For entire minutes at a stretch, he could focus on something else, almost forget that he had held her in his arms and watched the life ebb away from her.
He steeled himself for the walk through the lobby, his resolve faltering as he saw Allison Cameron striding towards him. As much as her compassion and understanding had helped him during these dark weeks, it could also expose his raw emotions a little too easily, leaving him vulnerable at the worst possible times.
“Wilson! How are you?”
He made a face, but followed up with his best attempt at a friendly smile. He didn’t trust himself to start talking until he knew what she was after.
“Do you know where House is? This is the third day he hasn’t been in, and Foreman is pestering me in the ER again because the new fellows are ignoring him and playing foosball. I can’t find Cuddy either. The nurses are saying she just marched out yesterday and didn’t tell anyone when she’d be back.”
She looked at him searchingly, her blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail - the more demanding role in the ER left her with less time for fussing over her appearance.
“I haven’t spoken to him. Damn, does that mean Adler is in charge? It takes him a week just to return a phone call. We won’t be able to get anything done around here.”
Cameron looked at him quizzically; she had never had to worry about what happened without Cuddy during her fellowship. It seemed life was definitely more complicated when you had your own department to run. Wilson made to continue his stroll to the elevators but pulled up short.
“Wait a minute, day before yesterday, Cuddy called me asking if House had been to ask me for a consult, even though she knows we hardly see each other these days. You don’t think one of them is ill, do you? Because I can’t see anything short of death or dismemberment getting Cuddy out of this place. She’s cancelled three out of her last four vacations, for God’s sake. ”
They stared at each other in shock for a moment, before Cameron decided to show off the skills she had honed under House.
“You take Cuddy’s office, Wilson, and I’ll take House’s. If you flirt some information out of the clinic nurses, I’ll have a crack at this Adler guy. Somewhere in this hospital we’ll get our answer.”
At that she turned on her heel and stalked off to the elevator, determined to begin her fourth floor treasure hunt. Wilson rubbed his hand through his hair, sighing at the prospect of what Cuddy would do to him for snooping. Then, with his first genuine grin in a long time, he felt the familiar thrill of being caught up in a scheme; he’d just have to make sure he didn’t get caught.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Cuddy re-entered the room she was adamantly not referring to as “their” bedroom. Having taken her time over her appearance, she expected him to be ready by the time she was done with hair and makeup. To her frustration, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, without shoes, his tie strung out between his hands. Last night they had awkwardly shared that bed, their only contact coming at around 4am when he rolled over and wrapped an arm around her. As soon as the sun had risen, she had extricated herself from his loose grip and run a deep bath for herself.
Now the 10am service was looming on the near horizon and Cuddy didn’t have to grow up in this family to know that a lack of punctuality would go down like a lead balloon. Grabbing the tie a little roughly from his hands, she briskly turned his collar up and began to fix it for him, hoping it would help to re-engage the autopilot he had been functioning on earlier.
House looked up at her with a baleful expression.
“Where did you learn to do that?” He asked with surprise.
“We wore ties with our school uniforms. Shut. Up. Plus, I have had boyfriends now and then.”
House looked away again, the brief spark of interest extinguished by the “b” word.
She bent slightly, resting her hand on his good leg.
“House, I know that today isn’t going to be easy, but we need to get moving, ok? Just get through the next hour or so and then you can be left alone as much as you want.”
Grudgingly, he completed his routine of getting dressed, and they headed for the living room where the rest of the family had gathered. John House was in the company of his two brothers and four strapping nephews, all of whom were in military uniform, save for one in a light gray suit. He looked quite familiar, and Cuddy supposed he was the cousin who played football. At least one member of the family was in some kind of team, judging by the photos scattered around the house. His build certainly suggested that he did something pretty heavy duty for a living. Two older women sat primly on the sofa, aunts of his, she supposed, though she couldn’t quite keep straight what family he had on each side. She knew from the flurry of phone calls the previous evening that some family members were going to meet them at the church.
He reached for her hand as they approached the waiting black cars, the rough, dry skin of his long fingers easily enveloping her own. There was an agitation coursing through his fingers, one she thought nothing of at first. When they waited at the church entrance for the coffin to be taken from the hearse, he almost broke her fingers with the sudden pressure in his hand. Cuddy was about to voice a rather pointed complaint when she saw what he was staring at and stopped.
The solid pine box was being lifted on to the shoulders of his father, uncles and cousins, and she realized his agony at not being able to pay that one final respect to his mother. It was strange; she was usually so preoccupied with all the things he could still get up to do that she almost forgot the very real limitations of his disability. Riding yet another wave of guilt, she tried to remind herself that she had done the right thing all those years ago, unable to look at him again as they slowly made their way to the pews.
Not a word passed between them at the church or the graveside. But after he took his turn to throw the symbolic handful of earth into the grave, his first action on returning to her side was to press his arm around her waist. For a moment, he buried his head in her thick curls, shielding the tears that were threatening to spill. All she could think to do in return was stroke his back in the hope that it might soothe him.
The hardest part of the day done with, she began to relax slightly as they made their slow and steady progress back to the car. They were riding alone, the numbers not dividing evenly and so they were the spare two in the smallest of the cars that the funeral home provided. As Cuddy eased herself into the backseat, she carefully smoothed out her simple black dress. She was pleased that she had looked her best for the occasion; the appreciative glances from male members of the congregation had been as flattering as they were inappropriate. Still, if it meant House felt a little less awkward around his family by having a token girlfriend on his arm, then she was happy to do it.
A sudden thump on the roof of the car startled her, and after a moment she realized it must be House’s hand that had made it. Swearing quietly, he at last lowered himself into the seat next to her, barking a sharp “go” at the patiently waiting driver. She expected more of the silent treatment, but when she risked a quick look at him, she was shocked to be caught in the iciest of his blue glares.
“Why the hell are you here, Cuddy? Sleeping in my bed, letting me take your hand, screwing with me. I must have been pretty out of it to let you bring your pity parade up here. I don’t need you, not for this or anything else, and I don’t know why you came here uninvited. I’ll drop you back at the house then you can get your things and go back to Princeton.”
The venom in his voice hit her harder than any punch ever could. Just as she thought she was getting through to him, helping him in some small way, he turned on her. Maybe he was embarrassed at how vulnerable he had been, but what had she said or done to make him think she would take advantage of that? Well, apart from one harmless kiss…
“House, I know that you’re upset. You don’t have to lash out at me.”
She was calm and conciliatory, sure that whatever he said was caused by his strained emotional state.
“Well, you shouldn’t have come here. Trying to make your real boyfriend jealous? Or just hoping you could find some leverage to use over me next time I refuse to do clinic duty?”
She slapped him, purely out of reflex. He didn’t even flinch, such was his rage.
“Is that what you think of me? That I’m some kind of cold bitch who would use death to get an advantage?”
He shrugged off her complaint, instructing the driver to take them back to his parents’ house rather than the post-funeral lunch at the VFW hall.
“I’ll wait for you to pack, and lock up after you. I’ll be back at the hospital when I feel like it.”
Cuddy was set to simmer, her hurt and anger bubbling merrily under the surface. She was determined not to rise to the bait any further. She would be the mature one who made allowances for his grief. He would slink into her office in a few days with a non-apology and a crack about her cleavage and they’d recover much as they ever did. Ignoring him, she stared out of the window until the short journey ended, absent-mindedly running her thumb over the fingers that stung from hitting him.
They arrived at the house and Cuddy strode towards the door, showing no patience for his slower progress. Tapping her foot impatiently, she burst through the door as soon as he unlocked it and barreled into the bedroom, throwing her things roughly into bags without care for how they landed.
How dare he accuse her of something so horrible? Why couldn’t he take her compassion at face value? Stubborn bastard, so ready to believe the worst in people that he couldn’t accept friendship when it was offered. No wonder Wilson had finally had enough; nothing you could give him was ever enough. She’d made every concession for the extenuating circumstances, but sometimes it just boiled down to the fact that House was a selfish prick.
He watched impassively from the porch as she bundled her possessions into the trunk of the car, made no move to help or to take back his previous comments. She cursed him under her breath and realized she’d be pulling over at the first convenient spot to repack her suitcase and stop her expensive clothes from being completely ruined.
Cuddy turned as she opened the driver’s door, attempting to catch his eye one last time and give him the chance to change his mind. House’s gaze remained resolutely fixed to the floor, and so she got into the car with a deep sigh. One step forward, a huge jump back; nothing would ever change with them.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Cameron had definitely improved her sprinting speed during her time in the ER, because when she rushed into Cuddy’s office, the momentum almost carried her straight into the desk. Wilson almost went backwards through the window with fright and the unexpected interruption, and they both laughed gently as they tried to catch their breath.
“Sorry, Wilson, but I’ve got something here you need to see.” Cameron gasped, all traces of a smile leaving her face.
A printed email from Dr. Finnan, regarding patient: House, B. Wilson shook his head as he handed Cameron the file he had unearthed in Cuddy’s desk drawer. Cameron skimmed the contents with a deepening frown, finishing with an “oh God,” as she sank into the visitor’s chair.
Wilson broke the uneasy silence.
“I can’t believe he didn’t come to me. I know things are weird, but it’s cancer for God’s sake! That’s my damn job.”
“Wilson, I think he might actually have been protecting you. You were grieving, you’d just had a big loss of your own; maybe he didn’t want to put you through it.”
The oncologist considered Cameron’s supposition, almost sure that it was just her rosy-tinted view of House informing it. A part of him--the same part that admitted on lonelier nights that he missed having a beer with House and watching the game--wanted it to be true. He knew that if he did find out the reason, it would probably be a lot more twisted than anything resembling consideration for others. He raised his eyebrows in response, motioning for Cameron to return the file to him.
As soon as she did, she grabbed the cell phone from her pocket and dialed the number she was reading from her email printout.
“Dr. Finnan, please. This is Dr. Cameron from Princeton-Plainsboro.”
Wilson leaned back in Cuddy’s chair, impressed by Cameron’s business-like manner and the short range of questions that got her all the answers in just a minute or two. He felt distinctly less relaxed when she ended the call and shared the news with tears forming in her eyes.
Damn it, House, he thought, why did you have to go through this alone?
Chapter 9
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Poor Cuddy, better for her to make it work with her boyfriend and forget about House.
Wilson letting Cameron being so nosy is a treason to both his friends and so out of character for him.
On the other hand, Wilson and House are grieving so I may accept their apologies and House's explanation! ^-^
Update very soon.
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Yaaaay :)
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Aww, I hope House and Wilson make up soon. But Wilson is wrong! House didn't exactly go through it alone, he had Cuddy! X)
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and as always this story continues to amaze me by its brillance
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And I love detective's Wilson & Cameron!
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I loved the bit with Wlson and Cameron.