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Cats' Corners: the little HOUSE in the woods....
Where House is NEVER safe...
The More Things Change... Chapter THIRTY-ONE 
9th-Jun-2007 07:06 am
desktop pic surgery
Summary:  Wilson is given an unexpected opportunity to prove his friendship to House.  This story is my own attempt to make sense of the unsettling disruption of the House-Wilson dynamic in Season 3, so mention is made of many of the S3 plotlines and character development.  House-Wilson-Cuddy angst, hurt/comfort, introspection--my usual gig.  ;)  x-posted
Rating:  PG

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three 
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen 
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty


IMPORTANT A/N:  I must “halt proceedings”, briefly, at this point, to offer a tremendous thanks to [info]blackmare_9.  Since Chapter 27, she’s been suddenly, involuntarily, and unexpectedly thrust into the role of sole first reader (didn’t do it on purpose—my other first reader apparently grew tired of the story), and she’s cheerfully stepped up to the plate, made time to comment, criticize, praise, and encourage, despite her own hectic life and even her own writing projects.  And there are… just not enough words to convey how very much that sacrifice means to me; friends like her are priceless.  Were it not for her, I would’ve had to halt proceedings for real after chapter 26, for an indeterminate amount of time.  SOOO, a hearty round of applause for  [info]blackmare_9, please!  mjf 

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE:  SIGHT

 

Wilson’s just finished eating dinner with Cuddy when Cameron shows up.  It’s the first time she’s come here since she’d accused Wilson of torturing House, and he isn’t terribly happy to see her; it’s early evening, the unit is quieting down, House seems comfortable.  Wilson had been planning on some uninterrupted time for correspondence and then an hour of TV with House—their current version of a quiet night at home.

 

Cameron approaches the bed; she’s holding a syringe.  Wilson moves to block her access to House, and puts a hand on her arm to stop her; his eyes are cold.

 

“What’s that?” he asks.  His posture makes it clear that Cameron’s overstepped her bounds, and Cameron is insulted.

 

Watching Wilson standing so protectively over House, Cuddy’s reminded suddenly of a fierce soldier on the battlefield, standing guard over a mortally wounded comrade, a soldier suddenly reduced to the tender young boy he really is, fighting against impossible odds for his dying brother.

 

“Dr. Cameron,” Cuddy intervenes, “Dr. Wilson will be questioning everything you do; get used to it.  He’s the closest thing we have to House right now; you’re not to begin any new treatment without checking with him first.” 

 

Cameron nods her grudging understanding, and turns to Wilson.  “I’m sorry; I should have asked you.  It’s Neupogen.  I’ve researched its use in House’s situation, and I think it might help his immune system depression.”

 

Wilson frowns.  “We use it for chemo patients all the time—increases the white count, lets ‘em continue chemotherapy, cuts down on chances of infection.  But I’ve never heard of it being used to counteract the effects of prednisone.”

 

“It’s not been widely studied,” Cameron admits.  “But the risks are minimal, and it could really help.”  She hands Wilson the syringe.

 

Wilson examines the syringe thoughtfully, then nods and looks at Cameron.  “Thank you.  You’re right; won’t hurt him, and it could help.  I’ll let him know what’s going on, and why.  You don’t need to stay; I’ll administer it.”  Wilson turns his back on Cameron, effectively dismissing her.

 

Cameron looks to Cuddy for help; Cuddy says nothing, simply inclines her head towards the door.

 

Once Cameron has left, Wilson approaches the bed.  “House, Cameron thinks we might be able to boost your immune system with Neupogen.  I’m willing to give it a try.  Worst side effect might be bone pain, but you’re getting Dilaudid so that shouldn’t be a problem for you.” 

 

As Wilson speaks, he locates a site on House’s left arm for the subcutaneous injection.  Once he’s swabbed the site, he says, “Okay, quick pinch here, then we’re done.”  He gives the injection swiftly, then presses gently on the area.  He continues speaking quietly to House.  “Only thing I’ve heard patients complain about is soreness at the site, and they tell me a little pressure helps with that, so I’ll just hold on here for a minute.”

 

“You’re very good with him,” Cuddy observes quietly.

 

“Never know how much he’s aware of,” Wilson says sadly.  “Ironic, isn’t it?  I wait ‘til he probably can’t hear me to start treating him like a human being.  Maybe if I’d shown a little compassion months ago, a lot of things could’ve been avoided.  Talk about locking the barn door….”

 

Cuddy joins Wilson at the bedside.  “You told me yourself that it won’t do him any good now to wallow in the mistakes we made in the past.  All we can do is try to make it up to him—and that’s exactly what you’re doing.  Give yourself a little credit, okay?”

 

“Credit, for finally doing the right thing?  Doesn’t work that way.  No bonus points for doing too late what I should’ve been doing all along.  You know when I blew it?  Long time ago.  His first week back at work, when he came to me and told me he was in pain. And I… laughed at him.  Really; I laughed, told him he’d taken so much Vicodin he couldn’t even recognize the normal aches and pains of middle age.”

 

“But that was probably the truth!” Cuddy interjects.

 

“We’ll never know.  And the reason we’ll never know is, I let the window close.  Hell, it didn’t just close, it slammed shut.  Told you back then that we had a small window of time when he might be healthy enough to change.  What I didn’t realize was, House was giving me a window, too.  And I consciously closed it—locked it and threw away the key.  And then… I drew the blinds over it!”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“When House showed up in my office.  He didn’t come in there as a friend; he actually presented himself as a patient—a frightened patient.  Didn’t make any jokes; wasn’t at all casual.  Hell—he wouldn’t even look at me!  When I asked him how bad the pain was, know what he said?  Said, ‘Bad enough that I’m telling you.’  If one of my oncology patients had come in, scared that his cancer had returned, and I’d laughed in his face, my practice wouldn’t last very long—I wouldn’t deserve to have a practice.”

 

“But it’s understandable that you wouldn’t know how to react; House had never come to you as a patient before.”

 

“And that only makes my behavior more inexcusable.  There he was, giving me that opportunity to help him medically.  Doing what I’d been after him for years to do, actually talking seriously about his condition.  I laugh, blow off his concerns, wave my prescription pad at him and make sure he sees me put it away.  What I did to him, it was… cruel.”

 

Cuddy realizes that there’s nothing she can say; Wilson’s right—his treatment of House may have been the catalyst for all that followed.

 

“The worst thing about all that,” Wilson continues, “is that he is my friend.  I’m sure he figured that one way or another I’d support him, deal with his fears, his concerns.  If not as a physician, then at least as his best friend.  I lost the patient; almost lost the friend, too.”  Wilson gazes at House.  “Still might.”

 

“Did it ever occur to you,” Cuddy says thoughtfully, “that it was your caring and concern that made you act as you did?  It’s a perfectly normal reaction for us to want the people we love not to be suffering.  Maybe you just… weren’t ready to face it, that despite the treatment, nothing had changed for him.  That’s certainly understandable.”

 

Wilson’s not about to let himself off the hook that easily.  “Maybe he wasn’t ready to face it either—but he didn’t have that choice.  I was blinding myself to the reality of his situation; I was being pretty damned selfish, wasn’t I?  Cuddy, I need to ask you something; I’d like an honest answer.”

 

“I’ll do my best,” she promises.

 

“I… had a nightmare.  Forced me to take a look at a few things.  But I  want to know.  Am I still in denial?  Have I done the wrong thing?  Am I still being selfish?”

 

Cuddy thinks for quite a while before she answers.  “I don’t think so, not based on all that you’ve told me.  Because… if you’d followed your heart months ago, when all this started, I think you’d have just naturally made the right decisions.  Same for me.  But what we did was… we punished House, for the misbehavior of his body.  In the last few days, though, it’s been different.  This crisis has stripped away right and wrong.  What it’s left you with is… an inability to do anything except follow your own instincts.  There’s no denial now, no good versus bad, no personal agendas.  All you’ve got to go on is… what’s true.  And House—well, he values honesty above all else.  So….”

 

Wilson, a newfound peace in his eyes, finishes the thought.  “So as long as I don’t lose sight of the truth, I’m doing the right thing for him.”  Wilson nods; that’s comfort, reassurance enough for right now—it’ll have to be.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Thoughts 
9th-Jun-2007 08:55 pm (UTC)
I've been waiting for someone to bring up that lovely scene in the first part of season 3. I think that was the point where I first wanted to strangle Wilson.

you and me both (and writing it out for the story brought up my murderous feelings all over again).

Just curious what happened to sending Cameron to the witch doctor? *tries to look innocent.*

i do believe we've seen the last of her--no guarantees, muses being a bit unpredictable--but as of now, i've no plans to deal with her again, between now and the end. YAY!!

9th-Jun-2007 09:17 pm (UTC)
you and me both (and writing it out for the story brought up my murderous feelings all over again).

I'm just glad you are one of the sensible people who get angry at that scene instead of saying how it was for the "betterment of House" and how "House is imagining all this pain." (Trust me, I've heard it. My friends and I back home had to keep each other from biting off those people's heads.)That is like someone telling me that I don't need prozac because the pain I feel is what everyone else feels and I'm just making a bigger deal of it then it actually is. *grrr! Takes a deep breath* That is not even getting into my body's ability to become tolerant to the prozac dosage and pain killer dosage within days. *shakes head and sighs* People either are really ignorant about all these things or the just don't want to know. (I'm leaning towards a combination of the two.)

As for no more Cameron, that's good. Can we still plan of ways to get rid of her for good though. I'm telling you at the very end of the story you should kill her or something. It will make everyone happy in the long run. *tries to outrun the Cameron lovers.*
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9th-Jun-2007 09:51 pm (UTC)
I was planning on asking you to kill her the next time

except that right now i'm directing my murderous impulses at poor, dear WILSON (see below)! HELP!!

(tryingtofindmyhappyplacetryingtofindmyhappyplacetryingtofindmyhappyplace)
9th-Jun-2007 10:01 pm (UTC)
No killing Wilson. That's forbidden. That would make House very angry at you because he cares for the man. Hell, I think he was the only one not angry at Wilson when everyone found out he was the Judas. (Maybe that was only my perception.)

I offer you coffee to calm down. http://www.thewarfields.com/img/Cooking/Coffee/MarinisMocha.jpg

Remember fan fiction allows us to correct Wilson's.... flaws of judgment. (Once I get my butt in gear I'll be contributing to that correction of flaws or at least to denialiville.) We are making a happy place for us to run and hide in. And the best part is we get to play there all summer.

Here is another coffee. I figure two should make you happy.
http://static.flickr.com/37/87242951_a40d3d2b2f.jpg
9th-Jun-2007 10:06 pm (UTC)
We are making a happy place for us to run and hide in. And the best part is we get to play there all summer.

keep reminding me of this... all summer.

this one http://www.thewarfields.com/img/Cooking/Coffee/MarinisMocha.jpg was the one that saved wilson's life. for now.... ;)

9th-Jun-2007 11:08 pm (UTC)
Hehehehe. That one has saved his life with me quite a few times. There are a few others, but I couldn't find them quickly online. If I had had my camera and it hadn't been so late here, you might have had a few other appetizing coffees to keep Wilson's life safe and sound. *grins* I'll have to do that later this week maybe next. It'll give me something to do other then research for papers and try to write more for my story.

I will keep reminding you all summer. Just give me a hint, like "I need a frozen mocha" or something like that and I'll remind you! ;<) Have a good night and give my best wishes to the others posting here. *nods downward* Matka protegela.
9th-Jun-2007 11:32 pm (UTC)
Matka protegela

even google couldn't help me out with the above... care to translate?

and i do wish you kids would quit teasing me with mention of other stories! i've mentioned this one or three or ten times, i know, but i can't read anything when actively writing, as it screws with my (incredibly temperamental voices. so what happens? suddenly all my favorite authors get busy too--only you guys can, apparently, read and write at the same time, which is so honestly blithering unfair--and then you tease me with it! HA! news alert: The sequel to 'The More Things Change' will be delayed, as KidsNurse needs to catch up on all the great stuff she's missing out on!
10th-Jun-2007 12:00 am (UTC)
Matka: (Polish)mother. reference to the Virgin Mary or the Goddess.
Protegela: (Spanish command)protege from protegar- to protect
la- the (feminine) or she/her. (In this case her)

I wasn't teasing. I was mentioning how I need to get going. I have a problem, I like to read instead of writing. I need to write. I have a story I've supposed to have done for 5 months. Its not done. I have another I've promised to a friend. (Yeah, I have to spend an hour at a coffee shop to get myself to write a paragraph) Actually my reward other then the coffee is to read one of your chapters. But I promise, I'll mem any good stories and you can steal off my page okay? (Okay the stories I really like. If I memed them all I'd be in trouble.) I'll keep my woes about writing to myself. ;<) I promise I'll be good. Pinky swear! :<P
10th-Jun-2007 12:18 am (UTC)
thanks for the translation--i really like it, will remember it.

i'm flattered that my story falls under 'reward' status! :) and oh, yes--i'd definitely appreciate the memming thing!!

i adore going to coffee shops to write; it's my favorite thing to do in the whole world. problem is, last year florida enacted an 'indoor clean air' statute--no more smoking in restaurants (or pretty much anywhere else for that matter). i don't smoke in my house, either, but it's a lot different to leave the laptop and go ten steps out my front door to have a cigarette than it is to risk leaving the laptop, grabbing my cane, working my way through the tables, going outside, smoking, and praying both that the laptop is still there upon my return and that i can maneuver myself, my leg, and the cane safely around the crowds. and when i'm writing, i must smoke. period. so coffee shops are but a pleasant memory for me... sigh.
10th-Jun-2007 01:19 am (UTC)
Thank you. Matka is one of the very few words I know from my family's native tongue and I've always thought of spanish as a very beautiful language. (It beats out French in my mind. My french roomie wasn't too pleased when I informed her of that.

The meming thing is done. I've been doing it for a while now, just in case Anything came up I really liked.

Going to coffee shops and writing is one of my favorite past times. When I'm back at home or at my home university I do my homework and type there all the time. It is homey for me. Here I have to use a notebook b/c I don't want to mess around carrying an adapter and converter in my bag. (A two mile walk may not sound like a big for most able bodied people *rolls her eyes at the term* but we are dealing with my baby here. My laptop is my pride and joy and I don't want any of those mean city people bumping into it.)

*Laughs* I voted for that law in Ohio. Actually half my friends from high school who smoke voted for that law. (We really made some smokers mad where I'm from.) Mostly they did it b/c they had friends like me who did smoke, had watched too many friends suffer as smoking related diseases took family members (My class was not very lucky when it came to people dying) or b/c of people like me who are allergic to smoke. I understand the worry about leaving your laptop at a coffee shop though. If I need to go get something or use the loo, the lap top goes in a bag and comes with me. (I'm paranoid here in a foreign country, where my laptop is my only connection to my home.)

As for the cane thing, I understand about that too a little. My Nana has really bad arthritis, (actually so does my mom, the knees too. I have had arthritis since I was four with some disease no one has figured out that leaves my legs occassionally so stiff I can't walk for a few hours)horrible knees,completely damaged feet, is blind in one eye and is going blind in the other. She has to lean on me to get around when I'm home and she refuses to use anything for help. She's probably the person I'd admire the most though. Here is a women who is 79 going on 80, refuses to be beaten down by her own body, pain meds are ineffective. (Yep, its a pattern in my family. We adapt way to easily to medication. *chuckles softly*)Yet she still goes out. Granted it takes some cajoling on my part sometimes, but I've gotten her to use a wheelchair to go to the zoo. She, my mom, and a friend who has a tumor which keeps growing in her knee reducing her to using crutches because the pain get so bad are examples of people I'd admire the most.

God I didn't even realize how long I went on for. I'm sorry, I tend to ramble when I'm tired. I hope you have an excellent night. Namarie. (farwell, Quenya, high elvish. Before you ask I was and still kind of am a Tolkien fanatic.)
10th-Jun-2007 01:36 am (UTC)
oh, i actually voted for the statute myself--i don't think the wait staff should be forced to smoke in the course of simply doing their jobs! and i wish i could quit; oddly, the opioids make that far more difficult--on a given day, an increase in my smoking correlates with the amount of pain medication i need. i once read an explanation of the physiology behind that, and was glad to find out that the increased "need" for smoking wasn't psychological.

as to the arthritis--i empathize. i was diagnosed at age eight with osteoarthritis (the kind normally seen only in the elderly). that was 40 years ago, so (as you can guess) it's much worse now--and sometimes actually causes more problems and pain than the leg itself!

i've got a Nana too! she turned 100 on 27 february, and walks two miles a day, and has a mind far sharper than mine! she's amazing, and i've got a lot of admiration for her as well. she came here from italy at age 19. she never went further than 8th grade in school, yet she's one of the most educated people i know.

never read tolkien--only sci-fi i like is star trek (and only the original), although i do occasionally enjoy a good harlan ellison short story.

and now i've babbled my way right past my (hoped for) 9:30pm bedtime! you have a lovely evening as well!!
10th-Jun-2007 05:59 am (UTC)
Anonymous
Now you've done it, I'd been good about just reading your comments but you got me with your sci-fi comment. I've only been reading the stuff since I was 6 (that's 51 yrs that I've been hooked folks) and was reading Heinlein & Asimov when I was seven. First read Tolkien (and still reread his stuff periodically) when I was 10. I have debated endlessly with a person I know about the differences between SF and sci-fi/fantasy (and there is one). The last time the Navy moved me when I transferred there were over 20 boxes of books among my household goods and 19 of them were SF. My book collection began before I left my parents house. When I initially moved out I took one suitcase of clothing, one box of dishes, etc. and 6 boxes of books. I do read other stuff, it's just that almost everything I keep is SF. At times in my past I've been so desperate for reading material that I have routinely read labels on soup cans and cereal boxes.

To bring this back to your story, I'm so far managing to satisfy my craving for new reading material and simultaneously satisfy my wanting new House stories at the same time. If it wasn't for you and the other fic writers I'd have been reduced to soup cans some time ago. I have to ration my purchasing of new books since I'd have to find bigger living quarters to accommodate more books.
10th-Jun-2007 11:52 am (UTC)
have to laugh--my mother tells me i taught myself to read (at age 3) from the backs of cereal boxes; she maintains that that's the reason i use (and pronounce) big words so well (pyridoxine hydrochloride, anyone?) ;)

my own "secret vice" is True Crime--Ann Rule rules!
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