Title: Bounce
Author: Amanda
Feedback: sweety167yahoo.ca
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I'm not really sure who owns House M.D., but I know it's not me.
Spoilers/Continuity: Words and Deeds
Pairing: Wilson/House
Summary: Follow the bouncing ball.
Completed: February 3, 2007
Notes: This is for earlwyn. I know everything is better with boy-kissing, but this is as far as I could get my first time out with them.
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
The little rubber ball flings its body against the glass wall, than hurls itself back to the hand that sent it away in the first place. A cycle, a drive…a compulsion.
Foreman stuck his head into the office just that morning, giving me that 'how do you stand him' look. Sympathy without the compassion. Ridicule without the punch line.
It's that one question; everyone asks it, everyone wants to know. No one can see how –after all the lying and back-stabbing, bickering and silence – we can be friends. Let alone see why we still are. The man is sitting in a rehab program that he doesn't want to be in, partly because I betrayed him into it. And yet, I still make it a point to visit him every day. He calls me in the middle of the night with random observances. I find myself sitting in his office for hours.
It's tricky to put into words.
I just give Foreman my best little-boy shrug. It's easier than explaining. Circular arguments don't get you anywhere. And I don't really understand it; I can't expect Foreman to. Or anyone else really.
It's complicated.
And he seemed to accept that. Maybe expect it? Besides, he has more important things to do than worry about wayward doctors.
Bouncebounce. Bouncebounce. Bouncebounce.
The grey and red ball hits the floor, the wall, than comes back. It's drawn back. It has to come back, even though it knows I'll only throw it away again.
Why does it always come back? Because it has to. It has a need to. Hell, maybe it even likes to.
A glutton for punishment.
The door swings open and Cameron comes into the office, unsure, uncomfortable with finding me in House's seat while he's in rehab. Something about that unnerves her. Unsettles her. But there's something about it that makes me feel more comfortable, calmer. Centred.
She stands there with her arms crossed and has no idea what to do, where to look or what to say. She settles on the ball in my hand.
"How do you deal with…" she searches for the right words to encompass everything. A series of things run through her eyes, but none of them touch her face. She's been learning well. Adapting. But she settles with, "being friends with him?"
It's obvious she means House. It's obvious that's not exactly the question she wants to ask. But she's grasping at straws here, and trying to be tactful.
Ah, the question. The one with no right answer, and with no right way to ask. It's loaded, but easy to avoid with the right quip or gesture.
It's harder to be honest.
"Being friends with him is easy," I toss the ball at her as I stand – in her surprise she fumbles slightly. Waiting for the other shoe to drop?
I walk to the door; I shouldn't be sitting in here all day anyway. I turn back to see her staring down at the ball in her hand; "It's loving him that's hard."
I hear the dull bounce as she places the ball back on his desk where it belongs as I leave.
End.
