A/N: Short chapter, but half of my free time today was taken up washing my dog. That is indeed a task of monumental proportions (125 pounds of Hates Baths). Tuesday isn't likely for an update; busy day. Maybe Wednesday or Friday.
(H/C)
For Wilson, it was a restless morning. He went to see Daniel first thing on arriving at the hospital, of course. His son was improving steadily, and Wilson tried to imagine that there was recognition in those chocolate eyes, so similar to his. In the next moment, he told himself mentally that that was ridiculous. Someday, someday soon, he promised fiercely, Daniel would recognize him, but to this point, he was far more likely to remember the NICU nurses. Wilson spent some time talking to the nurses himself, making sure everything was going smoothly medically.
He then hurried to his office in case Jensen wanted the first slot this morning, but the psychiatrist called him just after he got there to say it would be the afternoon. That meant Jensen would be talking to House this morning. Left with a totally free hour, Wilson divided his time between worrying about convincing Sandra he was sincere this time and worrying about what new could be wrong with House. He tried peering across the balcony a few times through the glass door, doing some subtle spying, but House wasn't at his desk. If he was in there with Jensen, he was on the other side of the office. Finally, at the fourth attempt, he did spot House, who looked tense, on edge about something, and who unfortunately also noticed him. House's glare pushed Wilson back to his desk to stay, but the charts were unopened. He wanted to check on his friend but didn't want to interrupt Jensen.
Eventually, he pulled out his cell phone and called Sandra to update her on Daniel. She appreciated the news, and that finally distracted him from pinballing mentally between his own and House's problems. They actually had a nice talk for a few minutes anticipating their son coming home and discussing what still needed doing logistically. There wasn't much yet undone, but Daniel had been an early arrival, after all. Wilson was startled when his first patient of the day knocked on the door, and he quickly ended the call and prepared to immerse himself in work, to be there for the patients. This new week, he vowed, would be completely different from the last. Last week was over.
That resolution was challenged immediately. His first patient of the day was a familiar one whom he'd been seeing for over a year. Unfortunately, she also had been seeing him for over a year, enough to feel connected by his trademark bedside manner, and she interrupted his greeting to ask anxiously, "Oh, Dr. Wilson, what on earth happened to you? Did somebody hit you?"
Wilson reached up toward the left side of his face, where the bruising was starting to fade but still visible. He'd tried to tell himself getting ready that morning that it wasn't that obvious anymore. So much for that theory. "I . . . walked into a door," he lied.
She wasn't buying it. "Now, Dr. Wilson, don't try to tell me that. I've walked into a few doors myself over the years, and that's not from a door. But who on earth would hit you?" She caught her breath as a new idea occurred to her. "Did you get mugged? I swear, the streets aren't safe anymore these days. Not like when I was a girl. I don't know what the world is coming to."
The oncologist tried to keep his pleasant smile on his face. "Really, it wasn't a big deal. It's already fading."
"Did they steal your money? Have you canceled your credit cards? Don't forget about your Social Security card, and you need to put an alert on your credit report immediately, too, so they'll know to watch for new accounts being opened. I read all about identity theft in an article last week."
"Mrs. Gibson, I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine. Really. Now, we need to talk about you. How have you been feeling lately?" Firmly, he wrenched the topic onto her case, and the appointment proceeded, but he had to go through the same initial ordeal with his next patient.
He survived his morning eventually, and he walked across to the diagnostics office as lunch time was approaching. House was at his desk, wearing his reading glasses, apparently dissecting some medical article on the internet. "Hey," Wilson greeted as he entered. "You look like you were just waiting for somebody to buy you lunch."
House grinned and sat back in his chair. "Good idea, but not today, I'm afraid. Cuddy is coming up in fifteen minutes after her current conference ends to have lunch with me and make sure in person I'm still alive." He looked at his watch. "You'd better be gone before she gets here if you want to avoid her. She might not totally kill you like last week, but she's not back to normal yet, either."
"Thanks for the warning." Wilson studied him, and House immediately tensed up, remembering the spying across the balcony from earlier. Wilson quickly jumped into the gap. "So, Cuddy's agreed to therapy."
"Yep. Actually starting it today; her first appointment is this afternoon. She's not back to herself yet, like I said, but at least now, she knows it and she's going to get help. She's going to be okay." He looked and sounded relieved.
"How did you manage that? You'd already tried talking to her, tricking her, bribing her, having others talk to her. So what was left?"
House's tension level immediately jumped by a factor of ten. "I . . . never mind. It worked. That's all that matters." Wilson looked at him, fighting both concern and curiosity, and House's tone had a rod of iron in it as he went on. "Leave it, Wilson."
The oncologist literally backed a step, spreading his hands disarmingly. "Okay, okay. None of my business anyway. I just hope you talked . . ." He quickly trailed off again. Full marks to Jensen for concluding there was something bothering House here, but whatever it was was clearly bigger than Wilson's friendly presence, at least in a 15-minute quick visit. He'd leave it for now but keep his ears open for the future and try to be there more gradually. "I went down to see Daniel this morning," he said, wrenching the subject onto a less-charged-for-House field.
House relaxed some. "So how's the sprog doing?" Wilson gave him the report in full medical detail, and they discussed a few timetable predictions. Wilson was no more informed when he left the office a few minutes later, but at least House wasn't a visible nerve anymore. He almost looked normal. Wilson hoped Jensen had earned his fees this morning.
Deep in thought, Wilson took the elevator down to get his solo lunch. Cuddy was waiting to get on in the lobby, and he nearly walked straight into her before noticing and freezing in his tracks. It was the first time since her scathing voicemail that they had actually been face to face, other than the brief, aborted rant in House's office Friday morning. He gulped.
Cuddy looked him up and down. He was the professional picture of a doctor, facial bruises aside, but he also looked like just now like a puppy caught peeing on the carpet. He had made a set of mistakes last week that still stunned her at their scope - but then, so had she. At least she hadn't voluntarily decided to walk out on her family in crisis, though she wondered how much damage she had done to them by so pointedly being there. Sandra obviously was choosing to forgive him, but Cuddy hoped it wouldn't be too easy. Wilson didn't deserve an easy road back. He needed a firm lesson in commitment if he was to have any future with his family. She still felt she really didn't deserve forgiveness either, but the open acceptance she was getting from House and the girls reassured her at the same time as she marveled at it. "I hope you realize how lucky you are," she said to Wilson, her voice low but intense, every word punctuated.
He nodded quickly, nervously, looking like a bobblehead oncologist. "I do," he replied, but his voice was tight and tense, more a squeak, not carrying the conviction he meant it to. Her eyes were uncomfortably direct.
She moved, breaking the spell, and abruptly pushed on past him, entering the elevator. Wilson let out a deep sigh, but her statement was still ringing in his ears as he headed for the cafeteria.
