I know how to pick on you.
It was an image he'd seen so many times in his dreams that Wilson could recall the details to a terrifying extreme if asked.
House would be standing before the oncologist's desk, his arms extended as if daring Wilson to try and challenge him. As if he were saying, 'Go on, Jimmy, just try and match wits with me. You know I'll win.' The older man's hypnotic eyes would be dancing with excitement, because, of course, he, the sadist that he was, would enjoy the fight.
Those were the main details of what House looked like in a fight. But Wilson knew the minute ones just as well. He particularly hated whenever the diagnostician would chance an unsteady stance to point his cane at him in order to emphasize some point or other. It's not that he thought the man would fall. No, it just added to his obnoxious appearance. Then there was the fact that House always seemed to be the most alive and vibrant in the midst of conflict. The fact that his best friend could never be that alive when they were talking about unimportant things like tranny nurses always bothered Wilson. Sure, House was into those discussions, but, it just wasn't the same.
This was not to mention how the man's features, his rumpled hair and wrinkled t-shirts always seemed to be worse when they were arguing. It wasn't that they actually were. House certainly didn't take the time to muss up his hair more or roll around in his clothes before finding Wilson for an argument. On the best of days, these personal… style choices (if you could call them that) amused the oncologist. But during an argument, they bothered him like unclipped toenails in too short shoes.
Though the man hated fighting with his best friend, the thing he hated the most was that he could recall it with such clarity because it happened so often. It seemed like their friendship, while it did have its good points, was nothing more than a series of arguments.
You push me over the edge.
It was the same fight they always had. Nothing special or extraordinary. But today… Wilson just couldn't take it.
He couldn't handle the insults or the attacks on his personal life. He knew he was currently bordering on loser with his hotel home and lack of a life beyond House. The diagnostician had made all of that clear time and again. And he just didn't need to hear it again today. Any other day, week, or month would be fine.
But for whatever reason, he just couldn't handle it right now.
Normally, Wilson would have considered and weighed everything the other man had to say. He would have thought about the arguments and responded with a well thought out response. But as House stood before his desk waving his cane around, Wilson found that he wasn't hearing the words coming out of his best friend's mouth.
Instead of the well thought out diatribe, all Wilson heard was a jumble of sound. As he watched the man continually flourish his cane to emphasize his ravings, Wilson was reminded of the Charlie Brown cartoons he sometimes watched with his pediatric patients. On the show, whenever Charlie would go to school, you would never see his teacher. The teacher was simply an unintelligible voice that was a series of muffled variations of 'waah, waah, waah'.
Staring at House, all Wilson could hear was Charlie Brown's schoolteacher.
We cause so much agony.
Why did they always do this to each other?
It seemed like a fair question, but then again, it made it sound like they continually tortured one another. And that wasn't the case. Wilson didn't find ways to insult House like it was the most important part of his day. While House did do that, Wilson didn't usually care. Generally he could handle whatever the older man threw at him.
Perhaps he did have his own form of torture though. A torture that was more commonly known as Wilson's good advice anyway. After all, House generally seemed to react negatively when he tried to help him. But for all the yelling and the over rationalizing, the diagnostician generally came around in the end. Even if he didn't come to the exact same conclusion as Wilson, it was as approximation there of.
So while House generally came around to reason in the end, there were just so many hoops to jump through before they got there. And with the failed ketamine, Tritter, and the untimely dismissal of his fellows… Those hoops seemed to be getting higher and higher.
At a very alarming rate.
We can't seem to move ahead.
Wilson wasn't sure what House had said. He also wasn't exactly sure when the light in his brain that said 'that's it' lit up. The only thing that he did know for sure was that he'd had it, and it was time for a change.
Looking up from the papers on his desk, Wilson stared at House in wonderment as he grumbled on like Charlie Brown's teacher. He had absolutely no clue what was going on or what the fight was even about. All he knew was that he needed it to be over. Now.
"Well?" Gruffer than normal and filled with exasperation, House's voice cut through the oncologist's thoughts.
"Well what?" Pushing his chair away from the desk, the oncologist had the sudden desire to run away. Not from the situation at hand but instead, from his sad approximation of a life.
"Don't you have some brilliant retort that's going to make me see the error of my ways?" With his cane back on the ground in obvious disappointment, the man seemed poised to jump on whatever Wilson would say next.
"… No." His body couldn't stand it any longer, and before he knew it, Wilson found himself on his feet and heading towards the door.
As he walked past House on his way to freedom, he expected the man to say something. To have some sort of reaction. And of course, he did. But when the older man's voice hit his ears, he was surprised to find that it had once again returned to the unintelligible garbling of Charlie Brown's teacher.
Heading out of his office and down the hall, Dr. James Wilson had no idea where he was heading. He supposed he'd find out once he got there, and that was just fine with him. Right now, all that mattered was that he'd walked out on an argument with House. The diagnostician most likely wouldn't understand the personal significance of that. But for Wilson… it was huge.
He was going to get his life back together. And part of that was finding a different way to be friends with House.
Squeeka Cuomo's Notes
- Originally written for Round 2 of the lj community Wilson Fest (Prompt: House expects a lecture. Wilson doesn't give him one.)
- Also written for the lj community alphabetasoup (F is for Frustrated).
- The song lyrics are from "This is Such a Pity" by Weezer.
- I would like to dedicate this to Michelle. You're amazing and I hope you enjoy this. YAWP!
- Katie – How many different ways can I thank you and tell you you're a goddess? Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.