BDL #52 - House
Dec. 12th, 2005 08:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: Alanis
Author: Jaguar
Rating: PG
Fandom: House
Summary: Wilson makes an attempt.
Disclaimer: I went with a plotline that has nothing medical whatsoever because I'm lazy and didn't feel like researching something fun and medical. So nyah.
James Wilson was a cad and a bounder. He knew it well. He had been told so, repeatedly, and in language both fair and foul.
The first time he screwed up he was horrified at himself. He was, after all, generally a nice person. So how could he do this to a woman as wonderful, as beautiful as his beloved wife?
The second time he screwed up he started to get an inkling of what it was, but he still didn’t want to admit it to himself. Vainly, in sheer futility, he told himself it wasn’t him it was her, that she had driven him to it. The rationalization was weighted down by the complete lack of proof.
The third time he screwed up he didn’t even bother to deny it when she finally threw him onto the safety of Greg’s non-judgmental couch. He counted his friend’s ceiling whorls and wondered if it was worth it to try again.
“What do you mean, again, you idiot? You’ve never done this before.”
Greg muttered something at him that sounded like a ‘go to sleep’ but he ignored him. One hundred and thirty seven swirls later, or had some of those been the same? He finally got off the couch. Grabbed his jacket and left. He knew the way back by heart, by now, although it was the first time he’d driven it with a clear mind. Served him right to stand out in the cold, waiting. The door opened.
“I’m sorry.”
Author: Jaguar
Rating: PG
Fandom: House
Summary: Wilson makes an attempt.
Disclaimer: I went with a plotline that has nothing medical whatsoever because I'm lazy and didn't feel like researching something fun and medical. So nyah.
James Wilson was a cad and a bounder. He knew it well. He had been told so, repeatedly, and in language both fair and foul.
The first time he screwed up he was horrified at himself. He was, after all, generally a nice person. So how could he do this to a woman as wonderful, as beautiful as his beloved wife?
The second time he screwed up he started to get an inkling of what it was, but he still didn’t want to admit it to himself. Vainly, in sheer futility, he told himself it wasn’t him it was her, that she had driven him to it. The rationalization was weighted down by the complete lack of proof.
The third time he screwed up he didn’t even bother to deny it when she finally threw him onto the safety of Greg’s non-judgmental couch. He counted his friend’s ceiling whorls and wondered if it was worth it to try again.
“What do you mean, again, you idiot? You’ve never done this before.”
Greg muttered something at him that sounded like a ‘go to sleep’ but he ignored him. One hundred and thirty seven swirls later, or had some of those been the same? He finally got off the couch. Grabbed his jacket and left. He knew the way back by heart, by now, although it was the first time he’d driven it with a clear mind. Served him right to stand out in the cold, waiting. The door opened.
“I’m sorry.”