![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: West of the Fields
Title: West of the Fields
Author: Hannah
Fandom: House
Rating: PG
Notes: This is a sidestory to the Looking Glass verse, and follows Left of West. Title comes from the REM song by the same name.
When he called to arrange the meeting, they didn’t recognize Victory by name, but after he started to describe it, they knew exactly where he was talking about. They had the same place, too, but they called it Triumph where they came from.
He was the first one there, and wasn’t left waiting long. Punctuality was a big deal in their line of work. Enough of something shifted for him to know to look up the moment they walked in. Not something in the air, or the water; the same sort of something that hit the base of the brain when you saw the northern lights, or when someone with your voice picked up the phone after spending three nights in more and more confusing, lonely dreams. The two men made their way through the place, moving like they’d done this before, and from what he remembered after waking up, it’d happened once or twice. His doppelganger balanced on a cane of his own, and from the way they looked at each other’s, House knew they both knew it was equal parts disappointing and comforting this was one of the constants.
It wasn’t himself that was the problem, here. Not for him, the native. The dopp, the tourist, with his tagalong, that was the real problem. They’d barely sat down when he blurted out, “I dreamed about you.”
Wilson-not-Wilson hesitated before asking, “The me from here?”
“No, the you that’s here with us now. The you¬-you. The living you.”
Wilson glanced at House’s dopp. “Is that –”
“You poor bastard.”
Both House’s dopp and Wilson whipped their heads around to look at him, and then his dopp grinned. “You know, I keep telling him that, but it never seems to stick.”
“Who knows, maybe with two of you something’s finally going to get through to me.”
“If you’re anything like my Wilson was, it’ll take a miracle.”
“Miracles happen every day,” his dopp said. “We deal in them wholesale. Normal would impress me now. I know you’ve got burgers, but I haven’t had a beer since our last gig. Please tell me you’ve got it somewhere.”
There was one German import hidden down on the menu, right underneath to the absinthe, and House watched himself drink it with a horrible fascination. Wilson ordered a tasting flight of the house ciders, but just a typically-portioned lunch. Seeing him eat so slowly, and so little – seeing him eat what a typical person did, not someone with a metabolism like a son of grace, and even without wings and looking so old and so tired it was still Wilson – made House wonder what was wrong with him to put him off his appetite, just for a moment. He finished his own burger and watched his dopp drag a fry through a puddle of ketchup, neatly dividing it into two halves of a Red Sea, and waited until he had his mouth full of fried nightshade goodness to ask, “So you guys get dental with this gig of yours?”
“Dental, vision, everything’s covered,” Wilson said. He looked tired – he’d said they’d only been here for three nights now, but dead men’s dreams never lead to good rest. They had another day of surveying to go, basic recon, running through the jungles of the worlds to get the paths set up for the next set of tourists. House almost wished he didn’t know how they’d gotten the job. “But we’re on our own for life insurance.”
“I can almost see where they’re coming from with that.”
“The spousal benefits are nothing to sneeze at.”
“Sorry?”
“They’re good.”
“Oh.” Then the untranslatable idiom passed for the more interesting part of the sentence: “You have spousal benefits?”
His dopp glanced at Wilson and himself. “We never joked about getting married here?”
“No, we didn’t,” Wilson said quietly. He took another long gulp of cider, shaking his head. “God, the sooner we get out of here, the better.” House didn’t blame him; if dreamed about flying the way Wilson had, he’d want to get out as soon as he could, before it got too much to want to leave.
“I don’t see why you’d want to someplace that doesn’t have a Spock. There’s no Yoda, either. Not even a Gandalf.”
House smiled at his dopp and pulled out his camera, sliding through the gallery until he found one of Kutner entertaining one of their pediatric patients by hanging upside-down from his tail on the outdoor play structure. He’d have been one of Ganesh’s Mounts if his birth parents had gone back to India as soon as the blessing ultrasound came in. The two of them stared, and House held back another smile. “We make our own fun.”
Wilson glanced at the camera, then to his House. “What are we allowed to share, again?”
His dopp swallowed, then in the same tone House used when he wanted to change a subject, asked, “You don’t have cameras in your phones yet?”
Lunch didn’t last much longer after that. They were already cutting it close by meeting at all; doing it voluntarily cut down a lot of the side-effects, but there were still concerns about what not to say, how much to say, how much time was safe. And because they were running out of everything, they had to stop before they didn’t have anything. House paid in cash, to let them get a good look at what hard currency was like here and see it in use for their report on the place, one more data point they didn’t need but could call on later.
Asking to come along and see what else was the same was far beyond the pale, but he knew this wasn’t. “Hey, Wilson,” catching his eye.
“Yes, House?”
“It’s – it was good to see you.” This wasn’t a chance most people got, and he didn’t even need to say much. “Good-bye, Wilson.”
Wilson smiled, just like he’d dreamed once years ago. “Good-bye, House.”
Author: Hannah
Fandom: House
Rating: PG
Notes: This is a sidestory to the Looking Glass verse, and follows Left of West. Title comes from the REM song by the same name.
When he called to arrange the meeting, they didn’t recognize Victory by name, but after he started to describe it, they knew exactly where he was talking about. They had the same place, too, but they called it Triumph where they came from.
He was the first one there, and wasn’t left waiting long. Punctuality was a big deal in their line of work. Enough of something shifted for him to know to look up the moment they walked in. Not something in the air, or the water; the same sort of something that hit the base of the brain when you saw the northern lights, or when someone with your voice picked up the phone after spending three nights in more and more confusing, lonely dreams. The two men made their way through the place, moving like they’d done this before, and from what he remembered after waking up, it’d happened once or twice. His doppelganger balanced on a cane of his own, and from the way they looked at each other’s, House knew they both knew it was equal parts disappointing and comforting this was one of the constants.
It wasn’t himself that was the problem, here. Not for him, the native. The dopp, the tourist, with his tagalong, that was the real problem. They’d barely sat down when he blurted out, “I dreamed about you.”
Wilson-not-Wilson hesitated before asking, “The me from here?”
“No, the you that’s here with us now. The you¬-you. The living you.”
Wilson glanced at House’s dopp. “Is that –”
“You poor bastard.”
Both House’s dopp and Wilson whipped their heads around to look at him, and then his dopp grinned. “You know, I keep telling him that, but it never seems to stick.”
“Who knows, maybe with two of you something’s finally going to get through to me.”
“If you’re anything like my Wilson was, it’ll take a miracle.”
“Miracles happen every day,” his dopp said. “We deal in them wholesale. Normal would impress me now. I know you’ve got burgers, but I haven’t had a beer since our last gig. Please tell me you’ve got it somewhere.”
There was one German import hidden down on the menu, right underneath to the absinthe, and House watched himself drink it with a horrible fascination. Wilson ordered a tasting flight of the house ciders, but just a typically-portioned lunch. Seeing him eat so slowly, and so little – seeing him eat what a typical person did, not someone with a metabolism like a son of grace, and even without wings and looking so old and so tired it was still Wilson – made House wonder what was wrong with him to put him off his appetite, just for a moment. He finished his own burger and watched his dopp drag a fry through a puddle of ketchup, neatly dividing it into two halves of a Red Sea, and waited until he had his mouth full of fried nightshade goodness to ask, “So you guys get dental with this gig of yours?”
“Dental, vision, everything’s covered,” Wilson said. He looked tired – he’d said they’d only been here for three nights now, but dead men’s dreams never lead to good rest. They had another day of surveying to go, basic recon, running through the jungles of the worlds to get the paths set up for the next set of tourists. House almost wished he didn’t know how they’d gotten the job. “But we’re on our own for life insurance.”
“I can almost see where they’re coming from with that.”
“The spousal benefits are nothing to sneeze at.”
“Sorry?”
“They’re good.”
“Oh.” Then the untranslatable idiom passed for the more interesting part of the sentence: “You have spousal benefits?”
His dopp glanced at Wilson and himself. “We never joked about getting married here?”
“No, we didn’t,” Wilson said quietly. He took another long gulp of cider, shaking his head. “God, the sooner we get out of here, the better.” House didn’t blame him; if dreamed about flying the way Wilson had, he’d want to get out as soon as he could, before it got too much to want to leave.
“I don’t see why you’d want to someplace that doesn’t have a Spock. There’s no Yoda, either. Not even a Gandalf.”
House smiled at his dopp and pulled out his camera, sliding through the gallery until he found one of Kutner entertaining one of their pediatric patients by hanging upside-down from his tail on the outdoor play structure. He’d have been one of Ganesh’s Mounts if his birth parents had gone back to India as soon as the blessing ultrasound came in. The two of them stared, and House held back another smile. “We make our own fun.”
Wilson glanced at the camera, then to his House. “What are we allowed to share, again?”
His dopp swallowed, then in the same tone House used when he wanted to change a subject, asked, “You don’t have cameras in your phones yet?”
Lunch didn’t last much longer after that. They were already cutting it close by meeting at all; doing it voluntarily cut down a lot of the side-effects, but there were still concerns about what not to say, how much to say, how much time was safe. And because they were running out of everything, they had to stop before they didn’t have anything. House paid in cash, to let them get a good look at what hard currency was like here and see it in use for their report on the place, one more data point they didn’t need but could call on later.
Asking to come along and see what else was the same was far beyond the pale, but he knew this wasn’t. “Hey, Wilson,” catching his eye.
“Yes, House?”
“It’s – it was good to see you.” This wasn’t a chance most people got, and he didn’t even need to say much. “Good-bye, Wilson.”
Wilson smiled, just like he’d dreamed once years ago. “Good-bye, House.”
no subject
no subject
no subject
Wilson, dreaming of flight, and both Houses dreaming, most likely, of the Wilson the other one knows. Kutner with a monkey's tail is so strangely, surprisingly right. His sense of play -- it just fits.
And the goodbye they never got, in this House's world. My heart breaks so much for the House left behind, although perhaps there's some comfort for him in these visits.
I wonder how long before he finds a Station and vanishes from this place. Or if he ever does.
no subject
This House has a good life here, and since his Wilson left the way he was supposed to, now that he's got a finalized sense of closure he's going to stay. But that wouldn't preclude him from being the occasional tourist.
no subject
All of this is gorgeous, but that line about dead men's dreams is pure gold. So lovely and so terribly sad.
no subject
no subject
no subject