Thanks for the feedback, guys! It helps a ton. xo
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The first thing Georgia was aware of was the electronic beeping of a handheld video game. She opened her eyes carefully, coming face-to-sneaker with the pair of Nikes propped on the side of her bed.
There was a pinging sound as the game paused, the shoes disappeared, then House appeared in her vision. Some idiot had given him bright green bubble gum, and he was popping it loudly. "Boy, when you're pissed at a guy, you don't hold back."
"Huh?" Her head was throbbing, she realized.
"Wilson. I know the guy took off on you, but throwing him into traffic is pretty hardcore."
Georgia's eye widened. "What?"
House rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen. You hit your head when you fell, you have a light concussion. I know it's not bad enough for any memory loss."
She started struggling to sit up, pushing herself onto her elbows and wincing as she felt that they were scraped raw from landing on the sidewalk. She had the blanket halfway off when a firm hand on her shoulder eased her back down. "You stand up right now, you'll regret it."
Too weak to really resist, Georgia allowed herself to recline back to the pillow. "I remember arguing, hearing a scream and hitting the ground. What happened?" She swallowed hard, "How's...?"
"Daddy?" House supplied petulantly.
"House, stop antagonizing her." A female voice came from the doorway, and Georgia looked up, startled, to see Dr. Cuddy lingering there with her arms crossed. She gave a tentative smile and took a few steps inside. "It wasn't a direct impact. He didn't get run over so much as get bounced off the right fender."
"Which was probably pretty funny looking, if you can be objective about it," House piped in.
Georgia closed her eyes. "For the love of God, will someone just tell me."
"Two fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder. Pretty decent bruising, but overall nothing worse than a standard car accident." Cuddy gave her a tentative smile. "He'll be fine."
There was an awkward silence where Georgia assumed she was supposed to ask if she could see him, or cry, or do something daughterly. Instead, she lay numbly, wishing both of her visitors would get out so she could think.
"There was some concern," Cuddy spoke up again, sounding reluctant. "About the nature of the accident. There was only one witness, and she said...she implied, that the two of you were arguing."
Georgia heart caught in her throat. "It was an accident. We were arguing, but it was raining, it happened so fast -"
Cuddy held up a hand. "Wilson denied everything. He said it was his fault, that things escalated because of him." Cuddy looked at her carefully. "He doesn't blame you, Georgia."
"Maybe not for this," She muttered.
Cuddy looked confused, but didn't press. She reached over and patted the girl's hand somewhat uncertainly. "I'll let you rest." Halfway to the door, she paused and glanced and House, "You, too."
"You're not the boss of me." His eyes didn't leave Georgia's, and she shifted uncomfortably.
"Actually, that's exactly what I am. Leave her alone, or I'll do more than boss you."
House's gaze flicked up at that. "Promise?"
Cuddy rolled her eyes, opening the door to let herself out, "I mean it."
Once the door closed, he leaned forward again and drumming his fingers on his knees intently. "So what really happened out there? You finally came clean, he couldn't handle it?"
"No," Georgia said bitterly, "He just managed to out himself as an insensitive ass, that's all."
"Interesting." House sat back, stretching his good leg out in front of him. "Not usual feedback for Wilson. Usually he's too sensitive, grossly sensitive. Occasionally, he's so sensitive he changes gender."
"He's a jerk."
"He's a pussycat."
"Minus the 'cat'."
House chuckled at that, but his gaze was still boring into her in that disconcerting way he had. "You're going to have to forgive him sometime."
Georgia sighed and broke eye contact. "He doesn't deserve it."
"How do you know? It's not like you've been around."
"He didn't want me around."
"Maybe he did."
"He didn't."
"Jesus Christ, you're stubborn. Are you his kid or mine?"
She took a breath, shutting her eyes against the fluorescent lights. "He gave up on seeing me. He made excuses and justified it and never called or wrote. How do you do that? Birthdays, Christmases...I used to wonder if he was sad, or if he was out having a good time. Now I know."
"No, you don't," House said quietly. The room darkened, and Georgia opened her eyes a little. He moved away from the light switch and stood at the foot of her bed. "Your birthday is August twenty-eighth, isn't it?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Is that supposed to impress me? You've read my medical history, you know when my birthday is."
"You think I memorize the birthday of every Tom, Dick and Hooker that comes into the clinic?"
"Then what's your point?"
"August twenty-eighth, Wilson disappears. Does it every year I've known him, and for a long time it was the only secret he managed to keep from me. I stole his date book, I hacked his email, nothing. Drove me insane." House smirked to himself. "Two years ago, I've all but given up, and I find him when I'm not even looking. He goes to the pediatric cancer ward. On personal time. He sits with emaciated, hairless little kids, reads them stories, and grieves." He eyes cut at her in the dim light. "For you."
Georgia swallowed hard, trying very hard not be affected. "You dimmed the lights just for effect, right?"
He didn't answer, and she shook her head slowly,"You don't know that he does that because of me."
"Right. I'm sure it's just an amazing coincidence."
"You're the one in everyone's business, why didn't you ever ask?"
"Funny thing. The more people know you're trying to figure them out, the more they hide."
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Somehow, Wilson knew it was night. He didn't quite know how he knew it until his vision cleared and he realized that he was staring at a dark window, streetlights twinkling right at the level of his second floor window.
His neck was stiff, his left side hurt like hell, and his jaw felt bruised. He remembered the accident then, and wondered how long he'd been out, wondered where Georgia was, wondered if someone had taken his car back to the garage... His thoughts were interrupted when heard movement to his right and turned his head slowly. Georgia stood there, looking small and uncertain, her honey blonde hair illuminated by the night light. There was a wound on her forehead, creeping down toward her temple, and he frowned upon seeing it.
"Are you okay?" His voice was raspy, and he coughed a little to clear his throat. She didn't answer, just looked at him with her lips pressed together tightly, staring. His heart thumped, and he swallowed hard again. "Hey...I'm sorry about -"
"Shut up."
He blinked in surprise. Was it possible she was still angry now? Before he had too much time to contemplate it, he felt her hand creep into his, and when he looked up at her, tears were slipping down her face.
"You volunteered in the kid's oncology ward on my birthdays," She choked out, and he found himself internally cursing and thanking House at the same time. She had said it as a statement, not a question, but when his silenced confirmed it, she cried harder.
Wilson stayed quiet, squeezing her hand until he could feel the silver rings she wore on two of her fingers.
"You sat with them," She hitched out, her eyes big and brown and hurt. "And you missed me?"
His own eyes prickled at the edges, and he nodded tightly, using her hand to draw her closer, pulling her down to kiss her forehead. She went limp for a moment, resting her head on his shoulder, then pulled back slightly when his fingers touched the gash on her forehead gingerly. Looking at his expression, she suddenly knew exactly what he was remembering.
"I was six. I wanted to play doctor, so you took me to a real first aid class."
He smiled. "When they talked about butterfly stitches, you thought they said butterfly kisses."
"And I used them on everything after that. You, me, Mom, the dog, the crack in the windshield of your car." Georgia laughed. "In college, I used them to hang posters so I wouldn't ruin the walls with thumbtacks and lose my security deposit."
"I called you Stitch for a while because of that obsession."
"I remember."
He stroked her hand with his thumb, and she pulled back and pointed at him. "You can't just get run down by a Buick whenever you want to make up with me."
"Is that what this is? Making up?"
Georgia hesitated. Making up was harder than simple forgiveness. It was coming clean about her whole life; Mom, her night job, everything. Making up meant the possibility of losing everything very soon after getting it all back.
She shrugged, giving up to the giant question mark. "This can be giving it a try."
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Any and all thoughts are welcome. :)
