Fragmented Blues (The Empty Hotel Room Remix) [House, MD: James Wilson]

[flava-page.livejournal.com]

Title: Fragmented Blues (The Empty Hotel Room Remix)
Summary: Shake it off, get on with your night.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: House, MD
Warning: drug use
Original Title, Author: Jimmy Gets High Tonight by hilandmum
Note: Thanks to the people who let me irritate them with my whining. You know who you are.

"You have to see how far you can push before it breaks."

Key in the lock, push. Lights flickering on, briefcase down with a muffled thump to the floor. Hand across your face, massage your temples -- shove the headache back at bay, the quiet haunting you. The quiet keeping you sane.

A drink, a hard one, a drink that burns your throat as it goes down and makes your eyes tear. Sickly yellow liquid swirling in the glass, splashing up the sides and cascading down again. One more sip, drop the glass like it burns. Wonder if it will help. Know it won't.

Picture House, a glass in his hands. House, with a pill. Wonder if it helps him just as little. Hope, spitefully, that it does, then take it back in shame.

Shake it off, get on with your night.

Hands at your belt, familiar: yours. Try not to think of how long it's been since other hands have undressed you. Cool metal under your palms, leather sweeping over your fingers, dropping to the floor. A button slipping, a zipper sticking, then pants down, shirt following. A few steps over cold tile to the shower. Turn the dial as far into the red as it will go and step in.

Water running slick over your chest and stomach, a stomach softer than it had been and getting softer still. Close your eyes as the warmth tightens your chest. A clinical hand around yourself, a few quick jerks, dissatisfaction, and you turn off the water. Into the cold, past the mirror clowdy with steam.

A sigh, a pair of boxer shorts pulled quickly on, and you're sitting on the edge of the bed.

Distant guilt, the face of a dying patient, her pain. Silent accusation. Finger flicking the lighter anyway, joint to your lips with a shaking hand.

Inhale, cough. Think of the last time; wonder how you could have enjoyed it. Push back Cuddy's tears, her panic. Tritter's face, his belittling smirk. House's -- doesn't matter, just push back House. Deep breath, calming breath, relax back onto the bed. Don't think. Just don't think.

Music now, mellow, a song your father listened to playing softly in the background. Remember home, remember family and childhood, feel pride and shame at how far you've strayed. See the smiles of your wives, see Bonnie's tired eyes, the houses you've abandoned. Remember, but don't pine. Don't wallow, you're not pathetic.

Better now, the weight on your shoulders lifting. Don't think about the dead man hanging, or about alibis or loyalty or betrayal. Don't think about road trips or hoagies, or stupid, screwed up families. Especially don't think about stupid, screwed up friendships.

Think about last chances, think of ways out, of solutions. Think about Tritter leaving, about House apologizing, think about everything being all right. Think about your patients. Think about tumors, treatments, think about paperwork you haven't done. Think about Cuddy. Think about her pained expression, her hurt surprise, her --

No, stop. Stop thinking of that. Think of the way it used to be when it was all Stacy and card games and Cuddy's will triumphing. Just think about the music playing and nothing else at all.

Try to smile, fail. Sigh, lie back, close your eyes.

Go to sleep broken. Wake up in the morning, put yourself back together. Do it all again with a deep breath and hope.

"Maybe I don't want to push this 'til it breaks."

Comments

[zulu]

You know, I really enjoy your style, here, your use of fragments and commas, especially. The broken, jerky narrative fits so well with what Wilson's feeling, especially the way you've left out a lot of the subjects in the sentences: like Wilson isn't really there, isn't really performing these actions...I think it completely underscores his loneliness, and I love that you've used form to emphasize content. It works very well with the distancing second person POV, too. And the last line works so well, so hopelessly, with the framing dialogue. Awesome.

[bironic.livejournal.com]

Oh, depressed!Wilson -- one of my favorite Housefic genres. (I mean it.) This does a great job of both toning down and sharpening the angst of the original story. The short sentences really underscore his unhappiness/desperation. And -- *blink* -- you know, I don't tend to like first- or second-person POVs in fanfic, but I didn't even notice here until I saw the comment above. Huh. Good job there; it felt like the right voice for Wilson when he's feeling like this, which, sadly, I'd bet was quite often during the Tritter arc. Also, love the detail of him smoking one of those "medical" joints.

[deelaundry.livejournal.com]

"Fragmented Blues" is the perfect title for this. The staccato rhythym works well, as if frames are missing in a movie reel, as if Wilson's evening is skipping like an old record from one groove to the other. I'm not sure the show ever did enough justice to Wilson's loneliness and heartache during the Tritter arc (of course, it's not called Wilson MD, I know); with this fic I think you've brought that out ably. Excellent.

[topaz-eyes.livejournal.com]

Oh, poor Wilson. The sense of despair underlying his hope is so clear with the style you've chosen. Second person POV works well to show his misery at his situation. Well done, mystery remixer!

[bell]

Hmmmmm, yummy.

...Okay, maybe that's not the right response to a fic about Wilson's depression, but I can't help it, I have a weak spot for that particular theme/idea. And you wrote it so well!

My favorite part is where Wilson has what sounds like the least satisfying jerking off session ever. That might be because I have a dirty mind, but.

You capture his tiredness and that feeling of futility ("what's the point"?). Maybe House didn't want to break the friendship till it broke, but here it seems that Wilson himself is broken (but I'm sure he'll fix himself right up!).

[kassrachel.livejournal.com]

Beautiful.

Don't think about road trips or hoagies, or stupid, screwed up families. Especially don't think about stupid, screwed up friendships.


Oh, Wilson.

[purridot.livejournal.com]

I love the energy of this story! All those vividly sad thoughts swirling around, but never getting bogged down -- it just occurred to me that this may be the true trick to angst, which you've mastered as many don't. :-)