Fic: No Little Charity, Epilogue
Title: No Little Charity
Author: perspi
Rating: PG-13, for swearing
Word Count: 946
Pairing: House/Wilson friendship
Summary: It was an old ritual, old magic from before the world had rational explanations and cold science. Cold science had failed House; Wilson had nothing left to try but this.
Relates to Episodes: Through "Informed Consent." Includes pwcorgigirl's The Necessary Angel as canon.
Disclaimer: House MD was created by David Shore and not me. Thus, I own nothing.
Notes: Thanks go the best friends-list ever, for all their helpful concrit, encouraging comments and sticking with me through everything. I dedicate this fic to you; it wouldn't have happened otherwise. Written for karaokegal's Come as You Aren't Halloween Fic Party. This is AU, for just a *little* magic, and is a multi-chaptered, novella-length story. Includes a bonus track written by![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
blackmare_9 (thanks for letting me include it here).
Comments and concrit always welcome.
Chapter 1: Exchanges
Chapter 2: Impossible
Chapter 3: Pills and Pop-Tarts
Chapter 4: Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Chapter 5: Karma
Chapter 6: Bruised and Battered
Chapter 7: House Hunting
Chapter 8: Want
Chapter 9: Resolution
Epilogue: Beginnings
Wilson was the first to look away, to look down at the steaming mug House held out. His voice was thick as he whispered, "I can't. This—"
"Isn't yours."
"It's not yours, either. Not anymore."
House shook his head. "Maybe not. But you need to give it back."
Wilson looked at the cane leaning against the arm of the couch. How could he willingly give this back, knowing what House would suffer? He shivered a little as a new question arose. Would he have taken it, had he known what it was like?
House squeezed Wilson's fingers between his own. "You've walked your mile. It's time."
Wilson looked up, meeting House's eyes again.
"Besides, I'm sick of your fancy French shoes."
Wilson found himself smiling, and something flopped over in his belly. He reached for the mug's handle. "I'm going to hold you to your promises, you know."
As Wilson took his first sip, House gently disentangled their fingers and shifted from the coffee table to the couch. "You won't have to," he murmured as he settled himself next to Wilson.
"Well, this is familiar," House grumbled, rubbing the callus on his right palm with his left thumb. He shifted his feet on the coffee table and looked over at Wilson, who was setting the empty mug on the end table. "Done?"
"Yeah," Wilson replied and looked back at House. "How do you feel?"
House's eyes narrowed. "This is a test, isn't it?"
Wilson rubbed his palms down his legs to his knees. "You could think of it that way, or you could turn off the analyzing and just tell me."
House looked down at his own legs, one with a familiar dip in the denim. He was going to have to learn to talk about it sometime. "It... doesn't feel too bad. Achy. But I haven't tried to move yet."
"The Vicodin should be kicking in by now, too."
House nodded. He hadn't had Vicodin in months; he could feel the single pill he'd taken working as well as three used to, before.
As Wilson leaned forward to get up off the couch, House grabbed his wrist. "Can I trust you not to do this again?"
"You mean, can you trust me to cook for you?" He looked over at House, then leaned a bit in his direction. He said quietly, "I don't know if I could."
House searched Wilson's face, then nodded and let go of his wrist. "I'm no good at being support personnel anyway."
"Tell me about it." Wilson got up from the couch and took his mug to the kitchen.
"Was I that bad?" House shouted after him.
Wilson stopped in the kitchen door and leaned on the frame. "No, you really weren't." They shared a smile. "Now what?" Wilson asked as he came back into the room.
"I think we should walk to my place."
"You. Want to go for a walk."
House shrugged. "I've got better porn."
Wilson snapped his fingers and pointed at House. "I knew it! You stole it when you moved my stuff!" House grinned back at him. "You told me I must have lost it, or Julie swiped it!"
"What can I say? It was going to waste here." House shifted his feet off the coffee table, moving carefully so as not to disturb what was only a mild twinge in his thigh. "Maybe I just want to walk a bit."
Wilson picked up the cane from where it rested against the couch and offered it to House, who shook his head. "It's too short, remember? That's why I gave it to you in the first place."
Hefting the cane in both hands, Wilson contemplated the thing that had been his near-constant companion. He looked over at the fireplace, where a row of nails had been driven into the mantel by the previous owner. Wilson wouldn't need them for Christmas stockings, but he decided he'd use them for something else.
He walked over to the fireplace and laid the cane across the nails, resting it like a trophy. He looked back to see House watching him intently, and he nodded. Not like either of them would need the reminder, but Wilson thought it deserved to be showcased.
"I'll be right back," Wilson said and disappeared into his bedroom. He returned carrying the silver-handled dress cane. "Remember I borrowed this for the benefit last month? I didn't bother to cut it down."
House suppressed a smile and held out his hand. He'd always liked that cane. Maybe he'd start using it more often, make Fridays a little more pimp. "Let's go, then."
They were halfway down the first block when House stopped and turned to Wilson. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
House waved his cane in the space between them. "Walk around me like I'm fragile. You never used to."
Wilson spread his hands in apology, not really sure what he was apologizing for. "That was before I knew."
"Well, get over it." House turned and hobbled away.
Wilson caught up to him easily and puzzled over exactly what House had meant while they walked. Midway through the second block Wilson said, "What did you—"
"Shut up if you're going to walk with me. I'm trying to enjoy the night air."
Wilson chuckled and shook his head. "Ah, the delicate scent of truck exhaust."
House sniffed in a long breath. "Smells like rain."
Wilson could smell it, too, mingling with exhaust and lawn and concrete. He ducked his head in agreement and kept walking.
By the time they reached House's block, they were walking shoulder to shoulder. House didn't bother to hide his smile.
Author: perspi
Rating: PG-13, for swearing
Word Count: 946
Pairing: House/Wilson friendship
Summary: It was an old ritual, old magic from before the world had rational explanations and cold science. Cold science had failed House; Wilson had nothing left to try but this.
Relates to Episodes: Through "Informed Consent." Includes pwcorgigirl's The Necessary Angel as canon.
Disclaimer: House MD was created by David Shore and not me. Thus, I own nothing.
Notes: Thanks go the best friends-list ever, for all their helpful concrit, encouraging comments and sticking with me through everything. I dedicate this fic to you; it wouldn't have happened otherwise. Written for karaokegal's Come as You Aren't Halloween Fic Party. This is AU, for just a *little* magic, and is a multi-chaptered, novella-length story. Includes a bonus track written by
blackmare_9 (thanks for letting me include it here).Comments and concrit always welcome.
Chapter 1: Exchanges
Chapter 2: Impossible
Chapter 3: Pills and Pop-Tarts
Chapter 4: Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Chapter 5: Karma
Chapter 6: Bruised and Battered
Chapter 7: House Hunting
Chapter 8: Want
Chapter 9: Resolution
Epilogue: Beginnings
Wilson was the first to look away, to look down at the steaming mug House held out. His voice was thick as he whispered, "I can't. This—"
"Isn't yours."
"It's not yours, either. Not anymore."
House shook his head. "Maybe not. But you need to give it back."
Wilson looked at the cane leaning against the arm of the couch. How could he willingly give this back, knowing what House would suffer? He shivered a little as a new question arose. Would he have taken it, had he known what it was like?
House squeezed Wilson's fingers between his own. "You've walked your mile. It's time."
Wilson looked up, meeting House's eyes again.
"Besides, I'm sick of your fancy French shoes."
Wilson found himself smiling, and something flopped over in his belly. He reached for the mug's handle. "I'm going to hold you to your promises, you know."
As Wilson took his first sip, House gently disentangled their fingers and shifted from the coffee table to the couch. "You won't have to," he murmured as he settled himself next to Wilson.
"Well, this is familiar," House grumbled, rubbing the callus on his right palm with his left thumb. He shifted his feet on the coffee table and looked over at Wilson, who was setting the empty mug on the end table. "Done?"
"Yeah," Wilson replied and looked back at House. "How do you feel?"
House's eyes narrowed. "This is a test, isn't it?"
Wilson rubbed his palms down his legs to his knees. "You could think of it that way, or you could turn off the analyzing and just tell me."
House looked down at his own legs, one with a familiar dip in the denim. He was going to have to learn to talk about it sometime. "It... doesn't feel too bad. Achy. But I haven't tried to move yet."
"The Vicodin should be kicking in by now, too."
House nodded. He hadn't had Vicodin in months; he could feel the single pill he'd taken working as well as three used to, before.
As Wilson leaned forward to get up off the couch, House grabbed his wrist. "Can I trust you not to do this again?"
"You mean, can you trust me to cook for you?" He looked over at House, then leaned a bit in his direction. He said quietly, "I don't know if I could."
House searched Wilson's face, then nodded and let go of his wrist. "I'm no good at being support personnel anyway."
"Tell me about it." Wilson got up from the couch and took his mug to the kitchen.
"Was I that bad?" House shouted after him.
Wilson stopped in the kitchen door and leaned on the frame. "No, you really weren't." They shared a smile. "Now what?" Wilson asked as he came back into the room.
"I think we should walk to my place."
"You. Want to go for a walk."
House shrugged. "I've got better porn."
Wilson snapped his fingers and pointed at House. "I knew it! You stole it when you moved my stuff!" House grinned back at him. "You told me I must have lost it, or Julie swiped it!"
"What can I say? It was going to waste here." House shifted his feet off the coffee table, moving carefully so as not to disturb what was only a mild twinge in his thigh. "Maybe I just want to walk a bit."
Wilson picked up the cane from where it rested against the couch and offered it to House, who shook his head. "It's too short, remember? That's why I gave it to you in the first place."
Hefting the cane in both hands, Wilson contemplated the thing that had been his near-constant companion. He looked over at the fireplace, where a row of nails had been driven into the mantel by the previous owner. Wilson wouldn't need them for Christmas stockings, but he decided he'd use them for something else.
He walked over to the fireplace and laid the cane across the nails, resting it like a trophy. He looked back to see House watching him intently, and he nodded. Not like either of them would need the reminder, but Wilson thought it deserved to be showcased.
"I'll be right back," Wilson said and disappeared into his bedroom. He returned carrying the silver-handled dress cane. "Remember I borrowed this for the benefit last month? I didn't bother to cut it down."
House suppressed a smile and held out his hand. He'd always liked that cane. Maybe he'd start using it more often, make Fridays a little more pimp. "Let's go, then."
They were halfway down the first block when House stopped and turned to Wilson. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
House waved his cane in the space between them. "Walk around me like I'm fragile. You never used to."
Wilson spread his hands in apology, not really sure what he was apologizing for. "That was before I knew."
"Well, get over it." House turned and hobbled away.
Wilson caught up to him easily and puzzled over exactly what House had meant while they walked. Midway through the second block Wilson said, "What did you—"
"Shut up if you're going to walk with me. I'm trying to enjoy the night air."
Wilson chuckled and shook his head. "Ah, the delicate scent of truck exhaust."
House sniffed in a long breath. "Smells like rain."
Wilson could smell it, too, mingling with exhaust and lawn and concrete. He ducked his head in agreement and kept walking.
By the time they reached House's block, they were walking shoulder to shoulder. House didn't bother to hide his smile.
~~The End~~
Two months had passed before Wilson could bear to touch the garden gnome by the fireplace.
He hated the thing, because every time he looked at it he knew just how far he might have fallen, had his friend not insisted on catching him. And he loved the thing, because it reminded him that the friend he had known had never gone away. That in the end, Greg House, Grand Champion Selfish Bastard, had made one choice that told Wilson everything.
Those two thoughts buzzed around the squat concrete figure like hornets, keeping Wilson's hands at bay.
He would look at it and shake his head. Not what he says, but what he does. Oh, House.
It was a Sunday afternoon and he was in the middle of doing the dishes when he decided, at last, that something had to be done. He'd been scrubbing pots and glancing at it, remembering the Gnome Trail that had led him to this new apartment, when it occurred to him that he just never knew when House would choose to play another game. If House kidnapped the damn gnome again, he'd find It. The reaction—well, with House you just couldn't predict. Maybe nothing, maybe anger, maybe just a sense of regret that wouldn't do either of them any good. Despite the hot dishwater on his hands and the steam in his face, Wilson froze. There were a few things House didn't need to know.
So he dried his hands and braced himself. House wouldn't be at the hospital right now; he could dispose of the drug in the incinerator without getting caught. Mentally swatting away the phantom hornets of love and hate, he reached for the gnome, hefting it gently, and started in confusion when something metallic fell out onto the bricks. It was a chisel.
Wilson began laughing weakly. He really should have known. House found everything.
The inside of the gnome had been carefully altered. He had an idea of when House might've done it; there'd been an opportunity when Wilson was at a conference shortly after—it was still hard to think about that day. And yet he was smiling now.
Two grooves had been carved into the thick cement sides of the gnome's interior. It was done perfectly, which didn't surprise Wilson a bit. House had made just enough room to slide the case of a CD in there, and then he had tucked the chisel in alongside it and replaced it just so. The black leather bag, Wilson's secret, was gone. Wilson would find out later what House might have done with it.
Taking a breath, he plucked the musical offering from its hiding place, and tried to decide whether to laugh or cry. He settled on laughing, again, because this was a joke, the kind only House would pull. The name of the band was Morphine; the disc was titled Cure For Pain.
Shockingly (or maybe not), it turned out to be good.
At sunset on Monday, with two kazoos to play Taps and their camera phones in hand to record the occasion, they had a little ceremony. Together they pitched the gnome off the hospital balcony.
The Jealous Lover bynightdog_writes (Companion piece)
Transference bydominus_trinus (Companion poem)
Two months had passed before Wilson could bear to touch the garden gnome by the fireplace.
He hated the thing, because every time he looked at it he knew just how far he might have fallen, had his friend not insisted on catching him. And he loved the thing, because it reminded him that the friend he had known had never gone away. That in the end, Greg House, Grand Champion Selfish Bastard, had made one choice that told Wilson everything.
Those two thoughts buzzed around the squat concrete figure like hornets, keeping Wilson's hands at bay.
He would look at it and shake his head. Not what he says, but what he does. Oh, House.
It was a Sunday afternoon and he was in the middle of doing the dishes when he decided, at last, that something had to be done. He'd been scrubbing pots and glancing at it, remembering the Gnome Trail that had led him to this new apartment, when it occurred to him that he just never knew when House would choose to play another game. If House kidnapped the damn gnome again, he'd find It. The reaction—well, with House you just couldn't predict. Maybe nothing, maybe anger, maybe just a sense of regret that wouldn't do either of them any good. Despite the hot dishwater on his hands and the steam in his face, Wilson froze. There were a few things House didn't need to know.
So he dried his hands and braced himself. House wouldn't be at the hospital right now; he could dispose of the drug in the incinerator without getting caught. Mentally swatting away the phantom hornets of love and hate, he reached for the gnome, hefting it gently, and started in confusion when something metallic fell out onto the bricks. It was a chisel.
Wilson began laughing weakly. He really should have known. House found everything.
The inside of the gnome had been carefully altered. He had an idea of when House might've done it; there'd been an opportunity when Wilson was at a conference shortly after—it was still hard to think about that day. And yet he was smiling now.
Two grooves had been carved into the thick cement sides of the gnome's interior. It was done perfectly, which didn't surprise Wilson a bit. House had made just enough room to slide the case of a CD in there, and then he had tucked the chisel in alongside it and replaced it just so. The black leather bag, Wilson's secret, was gone. Wilson would find out later what House might have done with it.
Taking a breath, he plucked the musical offering from its hiding place, and tried to decide whether to laugh or cry. He settled on laughing, again, because this was a joke, the kind only House would pull. The name of the band was Morphine; the disc was titled Cure For Pain.
Shockingly (or maybe not), it turned out to be good.
At sunset on Monday, with two kazoos to play Taps and their camera phones in hand to record the occasion, they had a little ceremony. Together they pitched the gnome off the hospital balcony.
The Jealous Lover by
nightdog_writes (Companion piece)Transference by
dominus_trinus (Companion poem)
-blue
We both thank you!
Wilson's hanging the cane is a great touch. And his saying, "I don't know if I could," is also perfect.
Thank you so much for this story.
(And thanks to your last chapter, I find myself singing along to "Somebody to Love." xD)
Wilson had to admit, somehow, that there's very few of us who would willingly take on something like that, if we knew what we were getting into!
Thanks for persevering with me! I'll miss you guys camping out here, too.
Aww, yay!! I'm so happy!!! I love this so much. Perfect....absolutely perfect.
Thank you!
Bravissima!! You get a bajillion gold stars! *showers you with stars*
And might I add that I ADORE that Kermit icon of yours. I'm such a Muppet freak.
I'm out of words about Perspi's story, which I've just re-read in its whole, and found stuff I loved and hadn't noticed the first time 'round. Such a nice thing when a story gets better the second time you go through it.
:-)
Mare
And I deeply appreciate blackmare's willingness to share her crazy Houseland perfection bonus fic. It is of the awesome. :)
And throwing the gnome off the balcony. I hope it hit someone on its way down. *g*
It was just too perfect, to have House replace the drug with the music. I'd never have tried such a stunt except that I could easily see that band being the kind of thing House would like, all dark and smoky and sexy. I wondered how long it would be before we heard from someone else who knew them.
do you have more fic on you LJ?
Interesting you should ask! I just got done with a year-in-review post, with all the fic I wrote last year. It's here, if you'd like, and thanks for reading!
(Anonymous)
And I'm so grateful to blackmare for that little bonus fic, I cannot tell you.
And blackmare's bonus fic was just icing on the cake!
Love how their walking is featured. From House's observations in the last part, they're back to their synchronicity.
Lovely ending, and the bonus track was nice. It's definitely something House would do.
I'm kinda sad this is over, but glad that I can print it all out and read whenever I like. I do you'll write more creative novellas like these, it's simply amazing.
Plot bunnies: I have this image in my head where they have matching canes (maybe Wilson really was in a car accident or something), and are terrorizing the hospital together. I also wish I could see what you could do with a body switch, I have a strange fascination for those. That would be even more crazy, but I bet you could make it work. I have to wonder how and if they could pull off being each other, and it could be used to explore how well they really know each other.
I'm content tho. :pets perspi's lovely fic: Always lookig forward to more stuff from you. :D
I'm glad you like the title for the epilogue! I debated, but it really is a new beginning for both of them.
I don't know that I'll get bit with bunnies for more novella-length stories, but you are doing your darnedest, I see! :) A body-switch story could indeed be interesting (they're common and potentially tired in sci-fi, which is another favorite genre of mine, but maybe, just maybe...). Ahhhh! THE BUNNIES! How could you let them loose like that?
*grins*
That was a lovely ending, coming around full circle, but with a much better appreciation of each other. Sigh. This is by far the longest story I've read that wasn't actually slash, but the friendship was wonderful. Of course this has been mem'd like mad. I just know there are all sorts of subtle things I missed.
And I enjoyed the bonus fic as well,
I'm also very humbly pleased that you stuck with the whole thing, even though I was pretty adamant that it not be slash. I am going to try my hand at some slash, though, in response to one of my f-listers giving me a prompt for it. *nervous*
And the bonus track was just great, loved the gnome humor. :)
And I cannot thank blackmare enough for that great bonus fic!
It will be sad to leave the camping ground, but maybe next time a new fic will bring us running back again.
The French shoe line by House was inspired, and it is good to see even in the most serious situation, they can still make each other laugh. The true love of friendship sometimes shines even brighter without the distraction of slash (that said, H/W is love!), and this story is an excellent example of that.
The CD is perfect, and flying gnome is such a House Wilson thing to do, maybe we will see it in canon one day.
Thank you very much for the ride.
julorean has already released some plotbunnies for another long fic, but I'm trying to keep them contained for now. I can't handle another adventure like this just yet. (and my next set of tasks is a group of prompted fics, so keep an eye out! I'm even trying my hand at slash!)
Thank you so much for sticking with me. And big kudos to blackmare for that great bonus fic!
Maybe he'd start using it more often, make Fridays a little more pimp.
That would be awesome. Especially if he really did.
Thank you for writing this! And a shoutout to blackmare.
Best wishes for the sprog.
Thanks for the lovely comment! I agree, he should use the dress cane more often. :)
I think I'll have to get my hands on one of these CDs. :) Thank you for reading!
And yes, I probably will be writing more H/W. I love those guys, and they are VERY fun to write. :)
Anyway, Bravo and love and many other sugary things.
And big thanks and bravo to blackmare for the bonus track. I hadn't thought beyond my epilogue, and she tied off that loose end with the morphine so nicely.
(Anonymous)
Just fantastic. Mem'd because to not would be so wrong.