#quick fic

Grace didn't think that he would ever get to see another human again, so when Rocky and Adrien stop by to let him know that their scientists have made contact with a ship from Earth, he thinks that his old age has finally caught up to him and he is dreaming. He was surprised that a ship had made it all the way out to Erid in his lifetime. He was also a bit self-conscious, once they had established communications with the ship, about how long it took for him to remember English speech patterns, as he had slipped into a style of speech that more closely mimicked Eridian patterns and had to adjust to speaking with humans again. As it would turn out, this ship had been launched less than two years after the Beatles had landed. Stratt was, it would seem, moving things along as quickly as she had been when Grace knew her. She had had everything in order awaiting their return from Tau Ceti, never doubting that he would succeed. After the ships and probes had been sent out to deliver the taumeoba to the astrophage, her next priority was sending a ship to ‘meet the neighbors’. 

The following few days were a flurry of activity as the ship and Eridians made preparations to land and meet. Grace spent much of his time on the beach with Rocky. He was excited to see humans again, but nervous as well. Stratt had made good on her promise that no one would know of his cowardice. In fact, the crew of the ship spoke of him like he was some heroic figure, having sacrificed himself not once but twice for the inhabitants of two planets. This didn’t sit right with him, no matter how much Rocky tried to convince him that it was, in fact, a true statement. Rocky was also nervous; Grace had a life on Erid, he had Rocky and Adrien, had his classroom and students, but would Grace want to return to Earth? They had fixed the Hail Mary, and Grace had chosen to stay, but that was before there were other humans to remind him of Earth. Adrien, ever patient, sat with them and hummed soothingly, and watched as their mate and friend failed to sleep. 

Finally, the ship landed, protective domes had been constructed, and Grace was able to meet his first humans in decades. There were three, all young, although at his age, Grace supposed that everyone would seem young. They were all terribly excited to meet him. They had brought gifts; there were letters, cards, drawings and video logs. Some were from his old students telling him of their lives, of life on Earth as the Sun dimmed, of finding love in a world with an uncertain future, or how he had inspired them to do their part in trying to save their planet. There were some from total strangers, outpourings of gratitude for what he had done, videos of the world as it was when the ship had left, and gifts to remind him of home. There was very specifically no message from Stratt. He had learned from the crew that she was still alive and running the new taumeboa program. Grace still wasn’t sure how he felt about the woman who had set his life as it was now in motion. 

Finally, one of the women stepped forward with a trunk. She had introduced herself as Grace Abrams, and he had been embarrassed to learn during their first talks that she had been named after him. 

“You knew my father,” She said, setting down the crate in front of Grace’s wheelchair. Adrien had made one for him years ago, as his time in space and starvation on the way to Erid had made it hard for him to move around over the years. “He used to joke that I was his secondborn, because you and he had been fathers together before you left.” 

It took Grace a moment to remember those early days in the makeshift lab, but his memory was helped when she opened the lid of the trunk to reveal a scattering of sour Skittles packages. 

“Carl! You’re Carl’s daughter? Carl had a daughter?” 

“Yes, he and mom met shortly after you left on your mission. Mom wasn’t sure about having a family; she didn’t feel right bringing a child into the world when it may end before I got to adulthood, but dad had faith in you. He knew that if anyone would be able to find a way to save us, it’d be you. He was sorry that you didn’t get to spend more time together, but you left quite an impression on him; he never forgot you. He passed not long after the Beatles landed, but he packed this for you the day they did. He didn’t know about our mission, but he asked that if anyone ever went out to Erid, we take this with us, just in case. The Skittles may be a bit past their ‘good by’ date.” Grace, the elder, bent down to examine the contents, picking up a t-shirt with an orange cat wearing glasses and text asking for ‘A Moment of Science, Please’, and uncovering a note. ‘Time and space were short, so here’s all the things I couldn’t send with you the first time.’

  Adrien suggested that they take a break after that and give Grace some time to rest, knowing how their human friend was prone to leaking. Rocky stayed with Grace after the other humans were taken to speak with the science team and biodome team. There was much they wanted to learn from each other, and Grace really had needed more time to rest lately. Grace was quiet for a long time, just holding the shirt and note in his lap. Carl had had a kid and named it after him because he knew that Grace would succeed. Carl had packed him a care package, not knowing if he’d even be there to receive it. Carl had been the one to pack his things for the Mary. He had always wondered. He hadn’t had time to grab things before being whisked away to the aircraft carrier, and definitely hadn’t packed anything before being sedated and kidnapped, but there had been a bag for him on the Mary. Not that he had recognized most of the clothing, there had been a few things that were actually his, but most had been new and intriguing. He couldn’t imagine the man picking out science pun t-shirts for him, but apparently he had. 

“Grace go home, question?” Rocky asked, practically vibrating with anxiety. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah we should probably head home. This was a lot.” Grace said, placing the note and shirt back in the trunk. “Do you think someone can bring this stuff back to the dome? I think I’d like to go through some of the kids' letters and see what else Carl packed for me.”

“No. Grace go home to Earth, question?” 

In my interpretation, Hanahaki flowers grow inside the lungs and while the disease can be cured by reciprocated feelings, it’s rarely fatal and often resolves itself if the person sick with Hanahaki loses their romantic feelings for the object of their un-reciprocated love. It’s relatively uncommon, but reasonably well known since it’s a popular topic in a lot of romance media. The flowers often represent the object of affection in some way.

Content warning: Language, discussion of a potentially fatal illness.

Content warnings: A dildo, dick mould mention and uh, just. Just so much dick related talk. That's it, that's the whole topic of conversation. It's dicks all the way down, baby.

As an adult, though, I never go to waterparks anymore. Does anyone? Be honest. I know being nineteen and barely in college doesn’t really count as adulthood, but, even still, it’s been a decade since I’ve gotten to visit one. If I’m being honest, it feels a bit like a piece of me is missing, you know? Like I left the kid in me in a lazy river down the road and never bothered to pick it up. I don’t know, maybe it likes it there—that part of me, I mean. Floating down a lazy river for a decade? Doesn’t sound like the worst way to spend that time; it’d be better than how things are, at least, living in a world of walking and carrying, and then resting from days of walking and carrying. I guess that makes me jealous. That’s kinda silly.

Anyway, sorry, I’m being depressing for no reason.‘Cause guess what? I’m here! Look ma, I made it! Specifically, I made it to the Great Escape. In case that name doesn’t inspire either awe or mild disappointment in you, allow me to elucidate. The Great Escape is a grand theme park that nestles into the mountains near Lake George, the fount of envy for any driver going up Route 9, or even stretches of the I-87! They’ve got roller coasters and fair style rides, of course, but the water park toward the back is really why you come. Well, it’s why I come. This place used to be a Six Flags property, but I’m pretty sure they’re going out of business so now some other park conglomerate owns it. That’s kind of exciting, right? Maybe it’s how I worked up the strength to drag myself out here.

I’m standing on a stucco bridge that passes over Route 9, like the ones they have on the strip in Vegas. The Steamin’ Demon, a pretty impressive looking coaster with upside-down sections, looms over me, yellow and blue metal sparkling in the sun. A soft breeze rises up the side of the bridge before pouring over it, streaming past me. For late June, almost July, it’s really quite nice out. The summer has been hot as hell so far—hotter than all its predecessors and cooler than all its successors, as climate change normally goes—but today is nice. The sun’s rays pass through our crippled ozone only to land on me like a hug, a weighted blanket that squeezes me to comfort. It’s a welcome change to actually feel the thing, instead of watching it arch across the sky through my window day in and day out. Well, welcome in the moment; if you put me back behind that window and in that bed, there’s no way in hell I’d let you drag me out. Summertime can get a little rough.

Despite the ideal day, Great Escape doesn’t seem that busy. I pass through security and the ticket check in less than five minutes—aided by the wonderful apathy of a worker who doesn’t appear more than twelve years old—and, suddenly, I’m inside! It’s a bit odd: I’m almost certain that I’ve been here before, it being the biggest park that’s close to my hometown and all, but I don’t recognize any of it. The entrance seems to be themed to an old German or Dutch village, tall pointy houses housing a few shops that sell crap they found on AliExpress for double the price. Behind these, the park opens up a bit. Light gray concrete paths wind further into hills, rides and stands peppered throughout. There’s a river here, but it is not lazy. It is green and dirty and full of algae, although a miniature train passes a horde of children by it as if it’s some kind of attraction nonetheless. This is why I like my nature behind glass; algae doesn’t even grow in lazy rivers, or, at least, not quickly enough. I sneakily stick my tongue out as I cross the bridge that brings me over the green river and leads me to my beloved. Take that.

On the other side of the bridge, I see it. My eyes immediately lock onto the marvel before me and I am entranced. It is not looming like the Steamin’ Demon, nor repulsive like the green river, but marvelous still in its unassumedness. A few slides, a splash pool for the kids, a couple hot tubs, and, of course, a lazy river winding itself around the waterpark. It is an ouroboros, a snake eating its own tail, a creature of infinite beauty. The lazy river is a creature, you see. You can see it in how tubes and their passengers loop through it, carried by the lazy flow. It is at once the movement of breathing and of digestion, a sustaining thing native only to life. The new owners have decided to name it “Adventure River.” This is stupid—lazy rivers are meant to be lazy, not adventurous—but a quick glance around confirms that the adventure isn’t exactly present. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Quickly, I grab a clear inner-tube and dodge through children to get in the water. They’re congregating around the entrance—little shits that they are—because the water is apparently too cold to get in all the way. They are uncultured. How can they not understand that the cold water, which isn't even that cold by the way, is the perfect counterpart to the heat of the sun? Harmonies may sound odd when divorced from their melodies, but, together, they are much greater than the sum of their parts. Before I can lay back in my inner-tube, though, something catches my eye. A middle aged man without a swim shirt is sitting down in a hot tub a few dozen yards away. I watch his eyes lull and his posture waver, although only slightly. My mother always told me “don’t stay in a hot tub too long or you’ll get too comfortable and pass out.” This man is clearly playing with fire. Well, not my problem. I’m busy gettin’ lazy.

I sit back, and the river takes me away. I become part of the crowd of fattened tourists, weaving ourselves into one large mass. Don’t get me wrong: I’m just as fat as the rest of them. It feels good to finally feel the weight of my body lift off the ground, giving my femurs a well-earned break. No more walking and carrying. Until I have to get out, at least. That’s a thought for another time. The “Adventure River,” if we must refer to it by its government name, is entirely acceptable. It’s mostly made of a light blue concrete, formed in an oblong oval with some mild twists. The water isn’t particularly deep, which is annoying, but they have gone out of their way to vary the speeds and the textures of it—some mild rapids, a few waves. It’s a touch I don’t often see, and is appreciated. There’s a set of filters on the northern edge which keep the water clear. Assuming you aren’t min-maxxing runs—which you shouldn’t be doing—a trip around takes maybe ten minutes. The view isn’t impressive, or particularly inspiring, but it functions. In general, really, it functions. It scratches that itch that’s nagged at me for years. Seven and a half out of ten.

Soon, I’ve completed my first lap, and am at my first decision point. Around me I see slides and pools and fun—a waterpark to explore. But that’s not to say I’m not having fun right where I’m sat. And well, honestly, I’m not really sure I want to get up right now. The sun shines down on me like a heat lamp, oppressive, maybe, but regulating as well. I choose to stay, judging those who make a more cowardly choice from afar. Their exit sets me loose from the pack, leaving me a space in front of the next giant mass, alone to drift as I please. It’s a marked improvement. Here, alone, I am allowed to think. I float on the current, flowing through the route I now recognize, and close my eyes to be alone with myself. We’re a dynamic duo, me and myself—when neither of us are being dicks, that is. I think there’s something cultivating about the gentle river and how it cups me in its arms. It makes it easier to think. Easier to be alone. Perhaps that’s why I love them so much. A normal river could do this, sure, but not without slamming you into rocks. There’s no such threat here, and so thinking goes uninterrupted.

I open my eyes again, not quite ready to keep them closed yet. Beside me, another tube has broken loose from the pack, bumping against my own. The tube is empty—that’s probably how it caught up to me—aimlessly wandering infinitely through the river. Eventually someone will pick it up and put it back in the stock, but that may take a while. For some reason, when I see it, I’m struck with the idea of rapture. That the tube’s previous owner didn’t abandon it on purpose but simply disappeared, ascending to heaven and leaving their plastic ring behind. I know I need to stop sympathizing with objects, but that is kinda sad, no? I reach out to try to grab it, but being unwilling to move more than my arm, it slips from me.

There’s a splashing sound behind me, loud enough to get my head to turn. A member of the pack behind me stirs, eyes flicking back and forth like he’s looking for something. Whatever it was must not’ve been that important, though, because he too can’t be bothered to get up from his tube, and he ends the search quickly. Maybe he’ll find it next loop. I turn back to the river. The curve I soon reach has tall fake foliage on its wall that’s intended to block visitor view of the wavemaker that lays just behind it. When my eyes round that corner, though, something about the river has changed. Of the group of clustered bodies that’d conglomerated in front of me, fifteen or even twenty percent were missing, replaced only with empty inner-tubes. What? What happened to them? It’s only been a few seconds, right? My eyes flick to the remaining pack, only to find them uninterested and lazy, as any good lazy river goer should be. They’re calm. Suddenly I feel silly. That whole group looked pretty tired earlier, so I guess a few of them just got out to take a nap or find a chair. Cowards. Did I really think they got raptured? I blink, and, for a moment, my eyes don’t open.

Lap two finishes, and with it lap three, and with that lap four. Have I been here for forty minutes? Every time I pass the entry point, I watch coward after coward disembark, hanging their heads as they go. Still, the majority remains, adrift in an ecstasy only provided by the lazy river. I wonder if they feel the sparkles that dance along the top of the water or that their mind's eye is suddenly clearer or that they feel like they can breathe again for the first time in a month, like me. I know, at least, that they feel the weightlessness. They wouldn’t be here otherwise. Even the dead sea cannot provide a feeling of weightlessness like this. Here it is controlled and pristine and doubtless. No, this may be the only place in the world where doubt fades away. Self-doubt, sure, but also their doubt in me. I am without it now. We all are, I hope. My face itches, but I do not raise an arm to scratch at it.

Across the waves I can see a woman out of the corner of my eye. I’d be able to see her better if I could be bothered to tilt my neck, but it doesn’t really matter. She’s tired, I can see. Her irises are glassy and gray. The lids hang like guillotine blades ready to drop. I can see her chest and her stomach rise and fall with breaths far enough apart to mimic sleep. She closes her eyes, and disappears. I blink, though my eyes open immediately this time. Sure enough, she’s gone, replaced by a small pile of ash that quickly sinks into the water and is broken up and carried out through the vents. She… died? I mean, no—this isn’t what death looks like—but… I don’t think she’s coming back. I strain a hand in her direction, and it feels like I’m lifting a mountain. The appendage falls, splashing against crystal water. My eyes peak upward, neck barely able to lift an inch from its plush plastic rest. The man in the hot tub is slumped over, face in the scalding water.

"Pregnant?" Wilson frowned, baffled, "but we use condoms! And you're on the pill."

"These things happen all the same," Amber shrugged. "I know you're in shock, or whatever, but come on, you know this, you're a doctor for petes sake!"

"I know!" Wilson grumbled, "but still, we're always so careful..." he sighs, letting this go. "Ok, what's the plan now?"

"Have the baby, obviously," Amber rolls her eyes like this is obvious. "Become parents, all that! You're always saying how you wanted kids some day. Well, here one is! Aren't you happy?"

Wilson smiled tightly, "of course," he lied, through gritted teeth.

House laughs his ass off, "you're fucking screwed!" He wheezes heartily after Wilson drops the bombshell.

"Shut uuuuuuup!" Wilson whines, "what am I gonna do House?"

"Tell her you don't want the little paracist?" House offers, tossing his iconic ball back and forth against the wall of his office as he talks.

"I can't do that! I've yapped on and on about wanting to be a father some day to her."

"Mhm, to me and all! Course, we both know its bullshit. You couldn't want anything less then bloody fatherhood!" House remarks.

"That's not true!" Wilson lies, first and foremost, to himself. "It's just....a lot, is all."

"Uh huh," House says, with a coxed, unimpressed eyebrow. "Look, Wilson, either tell her you don’t want kids and that you're a lying liar who lies, oooooor, get stuck with a screaming, spewing, vomiting, shittng wild animal for the rest of your days. Your choice."

Wilson nibbles his lying lips anxiously, his stomach churning with the sickness of denial, "you're wrong House. I do want kids. I always have."

If lying could kill, Wilson would have dropped dead there and then.

"Isn’t it exciting?!" Amber is all a glow as she pulls Wilson excitedly around a Baby and Me shop. "Look how cute all the tiny clothes are!"

"Hmm," Wilson manages. It's been a few weeks since the big announcement. Amber is thrilled, and Wilson is pretending to be. To distract himself, he peers at a nearby price tag for a crib and gags, "that much?!"

Amber giggles pleasantly, "babies are expensive! I once read that from ages 0 to 18, the average child costs their parents a million dollars, did you know that? Oh! We have so much to do! We're going to need to start the baby their own college fund, we're both going to need to update our life insurances, move into a bigger place - ooh, James, honey, look at this pram! Only 800 dollars, down from 870! What a steal."

"How much?!" House laughs his ass off, again.

"Shut uuuuuuup," Wilson whines, again.

"You'll never be able to afford to buy me lunch again at this bloody rate!" House laughs. "You poor, pathetic soul you. But ya know what's worse then an empty wallet? The weight of crushing responsibility! Everything you do and say, everything you don't do or say, everything you do too much of or too little off will shape your kid forever. You'll never, ever be just Wilson again. Now, you're gonna be somebody's dad. Ya think Amber's gonna let you come over and get drunk at my place whenever you like while you leave her with a screaming kid? I don't think so!" House says all this with a smirk, almost like he knows exactly what's going to happen.

"It's just that.... I worry, about still being able to lead my own life," Wilson says, delicately.

"And by lead your own life, you mean fuck around with House," Amber tuts. "Look, you two can still have occasional boys nights, maybe once or twice a month to watch your monster trucks or bowl or whatever it is you two do together.:

"Twice a month?" Wilson frets, "I usually hang out with House every day."

Amber barks a laugh, "well there'll be no more of that once the baby comes. Plus, twice a month is if you're lucky! The baby might be sick or I might need your help. Once you're a parent, your life isn't your own anymore. You have to be 100% devoted me and to the baby. My mom didn't see her friends at all until I was school age, she just couldn't find the time. Seeing House might have to be reserved to work-only, possibly for months at a time! That's just what being a parent means."

Wilson swallows.

"Fuck that!" House says, swinging a golf club in his office, sending the golf ball flying across the carpet. "This is why I'm never having children."

"It wasn't exactly my idea!" Wilson protests. "She got pregnant on accident."

"You sure she didn't poke a few holes in your condoms just to do this on purpose? All it would take is an earring. Holes so small you wouldn't even notice," House offers.

"House," Wilson warns.

House throws up his hands in surrender, "just saying. Look, you're running out of time here dada. You have to tell her the truth."

Wilson's lips suck in tightly, as if physically holding back the truth as he attempts to smile. It looks murderous, "there's nothing to tell."

Amber is standing in front of the mirror when it happens, admiring her stomach. "Look!" She beams at Wilson, "I'm starting to show a little."

Finally, Wilson cracks. "I don't want this," he whispers.

"What?" Amber frowns, confused.

"I don't want kids. Ever," Wilson manages to meet her eyes. "I like the idea of fatherhood, but not the reality. I know I talked about wanting it, but...I never actually did. Still don't."

Amber’s glee drains, and then quickly morphs into anger, "this is House talking, isn't it?"

Wilson shakes his head, "no. I mean, House has said the same, but only because its true. He just...knows me too well." Wilson sighs, "I'm sorry Amber, but House is right. I'm a lying liar who lies. I just said that stuff about fatherhood because that's what you're supposed to say, its what I'm supposed to want. But I don't."

"What do you suggest?!" Amber snaps, "that I abort?"

Wilson holds back his real answer by saying, "its your choice."

"But you don't want the baby, for sure?"

"No. I don't."

"That means, if I do, and I keep the pregnancy, then that?" Amber demands. "You'll walk out on us?"

"I don't want it to come to that, no. I want us to stay together."

"Well I'm keeping my baby, and raising it! So how does that one work, James?! You'll still date me, but refuse to spend any time with your own child?! What am I supposed to tell our baby? 'I'm dating your dad but they don't want to see you?!' I can't do that!"

"And I can't be a father, its not in me," Wilson says.

"Then we obviously can't be together," Amber huffs, "but know this James Wilson; you're not off the hook. I expect massive child support checks off that big oncologist salary of yours for the next eighteen straight years, and I'm telling everyone that you walked out on your kid for no good reason! What will everyone say when the oh-so-nice Doctor Wilson is outed as someone who abandoned his child?! What will the baby think?! Are you ready to look an eighteen year old in the eye and explain to them that you simply didn't want them? You should be ashamed of yourself. You're scum, James. Actual, diabolical scum."

"Ouch," House says, as he passes Wilson a beer. "Harsh."

"What am I gonna do House?" Wilson asks, miserably. "Am I really going to abandon this kid? It'll grow up always feeling so regretted. Plus Amber will spend the rest of her life telling everybody how awful I am for walking out on her like this. My reputation will be ruined. Nobody will ever respect me again. Even patients won't want me to treat them. I've seen it happen to other doctors."

"So we'll change our names and move to Mexico," House says, plopping himself down on his sofa beside Wilson. "She won't find us there."

"House, I'm serious."

"So am I! You say the word and we'll start a new life, gaunteed. Ya wanna see the fake passports I have at the ready for us?"

Wilson scoffs, actually managing to feel somewhat better, "Ya know what, I believe they exist, because you're a lunatic."

"At least I'm not a father who went to get the milk," House shrugs.

Willow throws a cushion at him.

"Ouch!" House laughs, before shoving it back on Wilson. "Well if you're so smart, what's your plan?"

Wilson doesn't know - all he does know, is that he can't let Amber ruin his life like this.

"You really think this will help?" Amber asks, in the car, as the two drive to a remote cabin.

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said, and I realised we need to come together on this," Wilson says, "I think a weekend away is just what we need. We'll talk this out, properly. Figure out how to be a family."

Amber smiles, looking very self satisfied, "I knew you'd come around. You're a man who puts his reputation first, after all."

Wilson grips the steering wheel harder.

He was trying to talk her out of it. "Single motherhood is really hard work, and you're so young. You can find a better man to have a baby with."

"I'm having this baby James, with or without you," Amber confirms. "But I meant what I said. I'll chase you to the ends of the Earth if I have to. Wherever you go, whatever you do, however many job changes you take up, I'll be there, telling everybody exactly how much of a coward you are. So, the choice is yours. Step up, marry me like a good man would, and raise this child, or be haunted by me forever. I know which one I'd pick." She says, as she sits down on the bench at the peak of a breathtaking lookout point, atop a hill hike the two have just completed whilst they talked. Nobody and nothing but natural beauty surrounds them.

Wilson's teeth are set on edge, "I really can't change your mind on that?"

"Nope!" Amber grins. "Oh. Just look at you!" She giggles. "Poking holes in those condoms was truly the best decision of my life."

Wilson's face drains of colour, "what?" He whispers.

"Oh, your old so-called genius of a best friend didn't figure that one out?" Amber laughs, evilly. "I only started dating you to get back at House for firing me, to steal the whole thing he cares about, you!" She swings her legs happily as she sits. "And now, I've got you by the balls, forever, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

"WILSON!!" House yells, bursting into the hospital room as fast as his limp will carry him.

Wilson, bruised, bloodied, and still being washed by a nurse, sniffs through the dirt that covers him, "I've never been so happy to see you, you old bastard."

"Shit," House shakes his head in dismay, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "What the fuck happened?!"

"Oh House," Wilson says, tears beginning in his eyes, "Amber and I were hiking, trying to work things out, and she - she -" his voice wobbles. "She lost her balance and fell. I climbed down, as fast as I could, trying to reach her," he sniffs, showing the cuts on his hands from the sharp rocks he scaled, "but she was already dead by the time I got there. Her neck snapped. I lost her House, I lost her!" He launches into sobs.

"Fuck!" House breathes. "Jesus Christ Wilson!" He shakes his head in dismay. "It's ur," House struggles, "well I was gonna say 'its gonna be alright' but that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! I'm sorry Wilson, but I literally don't know what to do with this! So you tell me, what can I do?"

Wilson looks to the nurse, "can you leave us alone a minute?" He hiccups between sobs, before looking to House, "I know we've never hugged before, but -"

"Get here!" House interrupts, dragging Wilson into a bear hug. "Anything that helps, alright? If me dressing in drag and doing the hula helps, so fucking be it!"

Wilson shivels a laugh, his head on House’s shoulder, as the nurse quietly He puts down the cloth she was using to scrub the dirt off Wilson and hurries out of the room, leaving the completely alone in this private room.

The second the door clicks shut; the waterworks stop instantly.

"Phew, I thought she'd never leave," Wilson says, leaning out of the hug, smiling at House, "I really am glad to see you, ya know. This whole experience has shown me who it is I belong with, and that's you, you crazy cripple."

House, understandably, looks baffled, "um, Wilson? What the fuck? Are you in shock or something?" He asks, picking up Wilson’s wrist and checking his pulse.

"No," Wilson smiles. "I'm just happy to have gotten rid of my problems, forever."

House locks eyes with him, "gotten rid of?" He repeats, cautiously.

"Yeah," Wilson breathes like he's been holding his breath these past three and a half months - and he has. "Funny, how many problems one quick shove will take care of."

Even House, known evil genius, pales, "you mean you..?"

"Don't worry," Wilson interupt with a smile, "she won't be ruining my reputation or coming between us ever, ever again, and that's a promise, darling," he leans forward and kisses House gently upon the lips, "Now, about Mexico. You still got those fake passports ready?"

House looks horrified for only a minute longer, then relaxes into a smile, "you know that I do. How do you feel about the name Robert Sean Leonard for your new identity?"

[In the bookshop]

"The world's in trouble, Muriel!" Crowley shouts, stomping around angrily. "You have to take me to heaven so I can get Aziraphale!"

"You know I can't do that Mr. Crowley!" Muriel doesn't quite shout back, but panicking all the same. "Last time I took you to heaven I got in serious trouble."

[Cut to brown leather shoes traipsing along the squeaky floors of heaven.]

"Ah, Aziraphale," the Metatron speaks, causing the leather shoes to stop in their tracks. "Where are you headed? I thought we sent Michael to handle the sanctions in Hell." Forcing a smile, Aziraphale nods. "Yes, you're quite right," he answers quickly. "But it seems Muriel has sent me an SOS signal," he lies. "They're hosting the Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association Monthly Meeting tomorrow evening and are frantic to learn how to make proper tea."

The Metatron doesn't seem too convinced. "You and I both know that tea and meetings will be the least of anyone's worries tomorrow when we start Armageddon 2.0.”

"Right," Aziraphale nods, thinking of ways to make the lie more believable. "But Muriel, of course, is completely unaware of that. And I'm afraid it may raise suspicion if I leave her 'hanging' as the humans say."

That seems to satisfy the Metatron as he nods. "Very well, but promise me you won't make any visits -"

"I don't have the slightest idea where Crowley is," Aziraphale tells the truth that time, but he needs to start strategizing for his whereabouts now.

"Very good," the Metatron answers, but Aziraphale hardly listens as he quickens his pace to the elevator.

[Back at the bookshop]

"If I let you go back to heaven again, I'll be discorporated!" Muriel shrieks. They begin pacing around nervously. That, combined with Crowley's anger, is making everything more stressful.

"Muriel," Crowley hisses, pointing a finger at them. "This is bigger than you or me or anyone else. If my sources are right, Aziraphale is in danger. And if even a single blonde curl on his angelic head is harmed, I swear to someone, being discorporated will be the least of your worries, or anyone else for that matter!"

Muriel stops. "Is that a threat?" They ask, deadpanned.

Crowley pauses for a moment. "Being here on Earth has made you smarter, I don't care for it," he starts. "But yes, it's a threat!"

Muriel paces again in a panic. "I have been given specific instructions to keep you out of heaven!" They wave their arms dramatically.

"By who?" Crowley growls.

Lots of people, Muriel thinks to themselves. Metatron is very adamant about keeping Mr. Crowley away from Mr. Fell, not that Muriel agrees with that sentiment. But Mr. Fell is adamant about keeping Crowley out of harm's way (which includes heaven). They open their mouth to respond, but pause as they watch the windows of The Dirty Donkey flash with light, as if someone is coming from Heaven or Hell.

"Well?" Crowley's voice seethes behind her.

Muriel turns, forgetting all about the flash of light. "It doesn't matter, you cannot go back to heaven, Mr. Crowley!"

Crowley takes off his sunglasses and tucks them into his jacket. "I know this is a big ask of you, Muriel," he starts quietly. "But we're talking about the end of the world here."

Neither Muriel nor Crowley hears the sound of a key turning in the bookshop door.

"And I don't know what to do about it," Crowley continues, his voice breaking. "But I know that Aziraphale and I can figure it out."

Again, Muriel and Crowley miss the soft ring of the bell as the front door to the bookshop opens.

"But the crucial part of that plan," Crowley starts, looking directly at Muriel, "is that I have to reach him. Somehow."

Aziraphale stands in the doorway, watching Crowley give his speech while Muriel writhes in anxiety. He closes the door behind him, which seems to be the cue for both Crowley and Muriel to notice his presence.

"Oh, good, you're here," Aziraphale says cheerfully, looking directly at Crowley. "The hardest part of my plan is complete. Now we just need to figure out how to save the world."

He smiles as he waltzes up to the center of the bookshop. "Can we speak in the backroom, briefly?" Aziraphale looks to Crowley as he walks by. “Better hurry, as I believe the Metatron is sending someone or something to spy on me.”

Crowley turns his entire body to watch the angel walk by like they haven't spent the last three years not speaking to one another. "Right, ok," he laments, beginning to follow along.

"Can I come this time?" Muriel asks excitedly.

"No!" Both Crowley and Aziraphale turn to Muriel as they shout in unison.

“Oh for god sakes Constable Fraser would you come out with it already?!”

“ You should tend to that wound sir.”

“Fraser…It’s a paper cut.”

—

“Ray.Ray?Ray!”

“Hello Fraser, my buddies, my oh, bouncy bouncy.”

“Oh dear. He’s suffering delirium. Did you hit your head Ray?”

“Deli sounds really good Frase. I loves a good Rueben.”

“Judging from the trajectory and the speed with which you launched that motorcycle, you might have a concussion Ray.”

Three hours and one post hospital visit later they sat back at Ray’ s apartment. Fraser keeping him awake with a steady stream of light opera and wilderness tales that is keeping him from nodding off. Or passing out.

Outdated advice it turned out, to try to walk off or starve out the first 12 post head knocker, and Ray should’ve known or would have said, his own experience delivering them made him expert…But he had to admit, by the end Fraser’s rendition of Clair du Lune wasn’t that horrible.

—-

It felt like madness. Unreal. He found he couldn’t move. Had found himself plastered with his back to the wall, waiting for goon number 2 or 3 to finish him off. That would’ve been fine. Anything to end Armando’s horrible continued existence as well. What he found he couldn’t do, and so had to find the will to get up and crawl from this corridor after all, was let Benny die with him. It took him out of the shock, just enough to realize Benny was there in front of him. Register that he wasn’t gonna be bullet ridden unless they somehow also riddled their way through Fraser, who was covering him like an octopus. And to feel the pressure of the gun Fraser was thrusting into his hand, saying “Take it Ray! We’ve got to run for it.”

His eyes were wild and ice blue. There was blood between them. Not just from Ray’s own grazed ear dripping steady. Blood was on Fraser’s hands now too. Blood from the gun, the body, of Lorenzo the lucky. Not so lucky when trying to plug the rat aka the former Armando Langostini aka the former Ray Vecchio. Hadn’t counted apparently on a crack shot Mountie swinging in and knocking him off balance before he’d managed his double tap special.

Ray hadn’t counted that Fraser would ever be willing to kill someone. Fire a gun like that. He’d known Fraser having reasons and angers his own, but never, not in a million years, would he think or want Fraser to do this.….Not pick up the mafia’s own and round it back on them. No. No, he protects Benny. Not the other way round. That’s just how it is. That’s who he is. Who Ray is supposed to be.

He grips the gun firm and Fraser’s slackens in the same instant, releasing.

let's talk vacation! this turned into a mini-fic, more about planning a vacation than actually taking one, oops.

Maybe it's because they're both shift working job-obsessed weirdos, but it takes them a couple of years to stop and think, hey, wait, have we never been on vacation?

They're dropping by Maddie and Chim's place to water the plants and take in the mail while they're off at Disney with the kids and Buck says, "Hey, why have we never been on vacation together?"

"We literally went to Vegas two weeks ago," Tommy says.

"Yeah, for a weekend," Buck points out. "And you had to fly there and back, it wasn't exactly, you know, rest and relaxation."

Tommy's eyebrows go up in a familiar tease. "Yeah? You want a vacation where we sit by the pool and drink mimosas for a week?"

"I mean. That honestly sounds like hell," Buck admits. "But we could?"

Tommy shrugs. "We could also just take some leave and hang out?"

"That's not a vacation," Buck insists.

Another shrug. "Serves the same purpose."

Buck wants to argue, but honestly, now he's thinking about it, he doesn't think he's ever...actually taken a vacation in his entire adult life. Travelling doesn't really seem like it counts, and neither do the long weekends they've spent in places that are no more than a day's drive or a couple hours flight from LA. And, they realize, as they debate it all the way home, neither has Tommy.