Author's Note: I'm trying, you guys, I'm trying! On a good note, school is out in five weeks and then I have a few weeks until summer school. (Yea?) So I'll be able to devote a little more time to this fic then. One year down, nine more to go (sob). I'm insane, I know, but hopefully one day I can stop the insanity.
I know its gotten dark lately, and on a personal note, I find it easy to create the drama and then very hard to write myself out of it. This has been a mainly House/Cameron fic for the most part. I infused the Wilson/Cuddy part in because of two reasons. One was because it gets House and Wilson involved with House and Cameron. The other was to prove that Wilson is just as bad as House is emotionally, and just doesn't realize it.
Now I don't hate either the Cuddy or the Wilson characters on the show. I enjoy them in small doses. I have made their bad traits really stand out in my fic, and I would never expect them to ever take this slant in the show. But I never thought I would see House fake cancer, either, so maybe everyone on the show is not entirely what he or she seems to be, after all they piecemeal out background information on this show. I sometimes know more about the person standing beside me in line at the checkout then about these characters I've been watching for three years. My advice is to be open to what fic writers such as myself do write, because you never know when they will throw you a curve.
Chapter 38
Foreman sat at his desk in Cuddy's old office like he had for the past month. To say that he was buried under paperwork would be lying; it was just stacked in very tall piles all around him. The board hadn't been kidding when they had told him he would just be thrown in, he thought he might have gotten a life jacket or an oar at least to keep him afloat, but no such luck. He couldn't complain so far, though. It was his dream job, really. He stayed in there all day, going over all the administrative duties of the interim Chief of Staff, and he got all the glory with almost no repercussions for anything that went on around him.
Lisa had been quite thorough in her planning. Everyday when he booted up her computer little electronic post-its appeared all over the screen reminding him of this or of that. He began the habit of having the secretary continue this habit every morning so that he was kept well informed. She had everything meticulously filed under headings that made sense to him so he kept her system. Her desk was neatly organized and everything easily located.
Forman decided to start taking some of the paperwork home with him to keep up better with the constant flow of incoming files.
He sighed and looked at the one short pile on his desk. House's stack. The man never filed paperwork much less handed anything to him. His hours in the clinic were lagging again and he was much less skilled in getting House to take a case. He looked at the stack next to the House stack, so tall that it was the tallest pile on his desk, of letters and printed emails of desperate people wanting the great Dr. House to look at them, their grandma, cousin, sister, daughter, next door neighbor, well, you get the gist. Determinedly, Foreman grabbed both stacks and headed for an impromptu appearance at House's office. He sighed in the elevator as the doors shut him in. These things never do go well, when House is involved.
MDMDMDMDMMDMDMDMMDMDMMDHouse sat in his chair tossing his tennis ball around when Foreman awkwardly stumbled into his office, butt first, his arms filled to the brim and papers threatening to spill out all over the floor. He desperately hurried over to the desk and plopped all of the materials he carried onto the once clean surface.
House went for his cane to sweep the offending documents onto the floor but realized, a moment too late, that he didn't have his cane with him that day. The minute he wasted on finding his cane allowed for the other two ducklings to come into the office to see what their fellow colleague was up to.
"I'll make a deal with you. No more clinic hours for you, as long as I'm interim Chief of Staff, if you go through this stack every week and find at least one patient to take on. Them you have to submit you paperwork to me at the end of the week, who you turned down, who you referred to other doctors, and who you just ignored. I don't care if you do or if they do it," he nodded his head in Cameron's and Chase's direction, "but if you make this stack go away, no clinic hours." With that he stood tall in front of House's desk and folded his arms across his chest, confidante that he'd made a solid deal.
House's eyebrow quirked up and he settled back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. A twisted smile lit his lips and he spoke in a condescending tone to his 'boss.' "What makes you think I'm going to do anything? You have no real authority over me."
Foreman stood speechless as he realized how right House was. He was given no real authority over anybody. His only job was to keep the paperwork from coming out of Lisa's door and choking up the hallways. He found himself caught. Torn between wanting the real job, and needing to keep the status quo so that he could hold onto his current position. His arms relaxed at his sides as he tried to come up with anything to keep his foot in the door.
House leaned forward and placed his folded hands on the desk, easing his elbows up one and then the other. Cameron and Chase stood be the door and watched what was going on. In fact, Chase sort of stood behind Cameron, whether it was for protection or some other reason we may never know. Cameron folded her arms and glared at her husband. House had no qualms with ignoring his wife. And Foreman began to sweat. House's smile got wider, looking less and less like a smile by the second.
"Eventually, you'll get bored," he started with, suddenly bringing his arms up and approaching the desk. House merely looked up at his oldest duckling as he came near. "And you'll need to answer a puzzle. Most likely that puzzle is hidden in there." He pointed to the offending stack. "And YOU don't even have to do anything. They," he pointed to the other ducklings, "will want to do something eventually, so they will probably want to do this, because if they don't have to do your lapsed clinic duty, they will be more receptive to scut work." He reasoned as he put his hands in his pockets, nervously waiting for House's reaction.
House sat back for a moment, thinking it over, and then unexpectantly called out, "Cameron, take these and sort through them." He motioned to the pile. Cameron walked up and soundlessly picked up the pile, pages floating to the earth all around her, and whisked off to her desk. Chase picked up the loose pages and followed her out to where she sorted out a stack for him and a stack for her.
"I'm only doing this because I am bored, and because I don't want clinic duty." House told him in a flat voice, deceptively calm. "But I hold all rights to change this little arrangement at any time." He cautioned him. Foreman nodded and left, he knew when to stop with House.
MDMDMDMMDMDMDMMDMD
Wilson stood in his bathroom, blow-drying his hair. He applied mouse and combed a final time through. There, every hair is in place! And then he stopped.
The comb stopped midair, and the other hand stopped somewhere between his ear and mouth. And he looked at himself and saw himself for the first time in a long time.
Broken.
He could almost see the shatters in the glass, the pieces of himself falling away, blowing away. He could see that nothing was left of himself, not really, just this hollow shell that had come to be known as Jimmy Wilson.
Shattered.
He healed people from cancer and watched them die from cancer day after day. At first, the ones he became close to, tore his heart out when they died. Leaving little bits of him crumbling in the wake of their departure. Now he gets money from House for every person he can get to say, 'Thank you!" when he tells them their family member is no more. A wall is erected, a purpose. A façade.
Crumbling.
His hand shakes as it touches his face. Boyish looks. How does that happen with all the stress that should cause lines and character to develop? His divorces, his patients, the affairs, and the death of friends and family? His brother?
Apathy.
The complete lack of feeling. The companionate doctor was a study wall of crumbling rock, and he was more shocked by it than anybody else.
He fell to his knees and felt sick. All the feelings from so many years pounded down on him like so many droplets of rain in a summer storm. Lightning and thunder crashed behind his eyes and the floodgates opened.
He sobbed uncontrollably, on his knees, on his bathroom floor for his very lost soul.