Author's Note: Months ago, I used part of this story as the first chapter for a longer House/PJ story. I scratched the idea because of my own lack of enthusiasm. This is set in the fifth season, and if you liked Kutner, you'll know exactly which episode I'm talking about. This is just a one-shot, because I like House and I like Will Solace and I like my OC. Please review!
"Whose the kid?
"He's a new resident. And my new protege." Wilson announces.
The oncology wing at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was as slow as molasses, no major emergencies plaguing this November Monday. The three men stand in the center of the hallway, one leaning on a cane, one standing indignantly, and one standing with cautious confidence. The latter has heard stories of the man with the cane, and despite his impulsiveness, he decides it is safer if he kept his mouth shut. It is his first day, after all.
"Since when do you have a protege?" The cane man seems outraged, for reasons the new guy won't understand until later. The most prominent reason was that the caned man is just an asshole.
"Since this morning." Wilson smirks. The newbie has decided that he likes his mentor. He sees no fear in the older man's eyes when facing the asshole.
"Nobody ever tells me anything." The asshole grumbles.
"Are we still on for lunch, House?" Wilson asks as the caned man limps away.
"Yes," Is the snarled answer. House disappears around a corner, no doubt lumbering back to his office to watch soap operas.
"Hmm." Says the new guy.
"No need to worry about him, Will." Wilson says, his eyes still pointed in House's wake. "He's harmless."
Will Solace says nothing. He is not so sure.
"Dr. Wilson." A nurse calls to him from the station to their right. "Mr. Rowe in room 1024 is asking to see you."
"I'll be right there." He motions for Will to follow. Before they enter the room, though, he pulls him aside.
"What'd they tell you in med school about the effects of chemotherapy on the body?"
"Other than the fact that it's basically a poison?"
Wilson sighs. "Just, brace yourself."
Will nods. He knows what he's getting himself into, going into oncology. Strange how the son of the Greek God of healing would be attracted to terminal diseases. He doesn't expect to heal the cancer patients—he knows he doesn't have the kind of power that would take—but he feels like he could do good here, trying to help people with the pain, with the mental aspects. Violet attributes this to his characteristic nice guy attitude.
The man in the centrally placed bed is as Will expects him to be. Pale, hairless, frail beyond belief. Wilson takes the seat next to his bed, the only seat not taken up by relatives. Will reaches for the chart at the end of the bed.
After a moment, he looks up with carefully concealed shock on his young features. This frail, shell of a human being is only forty two years old.
A blonde woman sits by his bed, appearing to be in her forties as well. To her left is a young girl, probably eleven. Will looks back at the chart, to see the man has Schwannoma neurofibrosarcoma, with an operable tumor on his spine. Chemo failed to shrink it, and at this point no surgeon in their right mind will touch it. Now, there's nothing to be done but stock up the morphine and wait.
"How are you feeling?" Wilson asks, and Will thinks this is a useless question, though he knows it's necessary.
"Oh, you know, the usual." Rowe smiles, despite everything. Probably for his daughter.
Wilson makes small talk with him, but it's easy, not superficial, like he sees some doctors talk to terminal patients. Will realizes then how lucky he is to have the head of the department looking out for him.
"Whose the new guy?" Rowe asks, smiling at Will.
"Oh, sorry, this is Dr. Solace." Wilson explains. "He's the newest edition to the oncology department."
"Good to meet you." Rowe says.
"And you as well."
Wilson, it seems, can talk to every patient about their lives outside of their cancer. They go from room to room, introducing Will and checking in on each of the patients. Wilson can pull it out some unique fact about every single one of them, and formulate a conversation starting question to boot. Will just looks on in awe, after checking each of the dismal charts. He reminds himself to not get discouraged. This is why he's here. To get good at what Wilson has mastered. To help people. Maybe it's a naïve view of the medical field, but he's happy to delude himself if it makes him a better person.
They leave the oncology ward an hour later.
"Everything okay?" Wilson asks him. "You look pale."
"Yeah, I'm fine." He replies quietly.
Wilson squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. "You'll get used to it. Be able to look past the illness and at the people."
He nods, and they continue their tour of the hospital.
They go to the clinic, lobby and food court, then move to the various labs and the O.R.s. He shows him the ICU and ER, then each wing devoted to the various departments. They come to diagnostics last, which he figures Wilson is doing for his benefit.
House is nowhere to be seen, thank the gods. He's heard nurses and doctors and patients alike talking about the notorious Dr. House from the moment he walked through the front doors this morning. Finding that his mentor is best friends with this man was enough to make even Will cringe, and he considers himself a pretty optimistic guy.
Three fellows are in the glass conference room. Two of them are grabbing their coats, a dark skinned man and a tall woman, while a third, shorter man with a large nose is snatching up a file from the table.
"Hey," Wilson greets the two as they exit the room.
"Hi." The woman smiles warmly.
"This is the new resident." Wilson says. "Will Solace, meet doctors Hadley and Foreman."
"Call me Thirteen." The woman, Dr. Hadley, says. He doesn't ask why the strange nick name.
He shakes hands with Dr. Foreman, who seems less inviting, but not hostile.
"And this is Dr. Taub." Wilson motions to the shorter man as he leaves the conference room. Taub waves and smiles, but rushes off quickly.
"Where's Kutner?" Wilson asks. Will assumes this is the fourth fellow.
"We're actually going to find him." Thirteen explains.
Wilson wishes the good luck, and Will hurriedly follows as they move on.
"It's lunchtime." Wilson remarks. "Join me?"
"Sure." He sure as hell doesn't want to eat lunch alone.
The cafeteria is half full, a gentle hum of voices filling the air. They join the line in front of the counter. A few paces in front of them, an Australian man and a blonde woman are giggling about something. Wilson introduces them as Chase and Cameron, in surgery and ER respectively.
To his horror, Wilson leads him over to join House at a table by the window.
House glances at them both, frowning, then returns to his cheeseburger.
"Good to see you too." Wilson says. Will follows suit as the other man takes a seat.
"You seem to have a shadow." House remarks, taking a bite from his burger.
"No, really?" Wilson replies. Will resists the urge to ask the inevitable question, how are you friends with this guy? Instead, he simply twitches his fingers and tries to focus on getting the letters on the menu to stay in place. Though still present, his dyslexia has become more controlled with age.
"If you want, my masseuse has an excellent book on ridding the body of evil mooching spirits." House aims a pointed look at Will.
Will sighs inwardly. This is going to be a long meal.
m m m
Immediately following lunch, the intimidating Dr. Cuddy sentences him to clinic duty, and by the time he's done with that, he has to race down for his ER rounds. No thirty six hour shift on his first day, but he doesn't see his locker till eight thirty nonetheless.
His feet are dragging with exhaustion when he grabs the lock, reminding himself of the combination. That's when he hears it. His first instinct, is as always, to reach for the nearest available weapon. In the mortal world, he is without bow and arrows, which puts him on edge to begin with. He was a year round camper until he went to college, so the mortal world is a foreign beast. At twenty six, he and Violet still visit annually, but now only to see friends. Once you build a life based on the assumption that you're a normal human, a life away from camp, there's not much left in the familiar valley. Except maybe a slight relief as you enter it's magical protection. The release of a muscle you didn't know you had tensed.
He soon realizes the sound isn't a threat. It's someone crying, softly, on the other side of the locker bank. He debates leaving them in peace, but the need to help overcomes him quickly. A few steps and the source is in view.
He's surprised to see Dr. Hadley, or Thirteen, wiping her eyes quickly as she sees him approach.
"Sorry...I thought I was alone." She grabs for her bag and tries to make a break for it. He blocks her before she can race off.
"What's wrong?" he asks, with genuine concern.
"It's nothing, don't worry about it." She replies shortly, and looks past him at the door.
"I wanna help." he says, leaving all subtly behind.
She gives him a slightly condescending smile, despite the tears still evident on her cheeks. "Trust me, you can't."
She pushes past him, and he deflates, wandering back towards his locker. He could cry himself, the kind of things he's seen today in oncology, combined with his utter exhaustion. He feels completely overwhelmed.
Wilson appears soon after she's left.
"Good first day?" He asks, mirroring Will's own tired posture. Or at least, he assumes it's exhaustion.
"I think so." The younger man replies.
"Well, I think you did well. Most new residents don't take oncology too well. You chose the right field." He smiles morosely. "And you seem to have an aptitude for medicine in general, which is good."
Will smiles to himself. He passed his classes in med school with flying colors, falling into the rhythms of medical procedures without thinking. He attributes this to his father.
"But, unfortunately, if you get too good, House might try to steal you away for his own team, if you prove yourself worthy of diagnostics."
Will shudders at the thought. He's a pretty happy guy, but House does seem to have a rather soul-crushing effect on people.
He pulls on a couple coats and then bids Wilson farewell in the parking lot.
The roads are slick with freshly fallen snow on the way back home.
He painfully walks up the three stories to their small apartment, ignoring the once white walls and the creaking stairs. He unlocks the door marked 3A.
Violet is standing at the kitchen counter, salting a hard boiled egg while she cranes her neck to watch the Daily Show with Jon Stewart, playing in the adjoining room. Her red hair is pulled back in a pony tail, glasses sliding down her face.
"Hey." She calls to him as he hangs up his coat. "How's your day?"
"Good," he says. "But fucking hard."
"You know you like it."
"Yeah," He smiles slowly. "I do."