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Wilson was sitting behind his desk at home, a place he didn’t find himself regularly. It was a place where he worked on his paperwork when House was being too annoying at the hospital. And yes, House had been particularly infuriating the last couple of days, even more than usual and Wilson had grown tired of the man’s attitude towards life – and him, to a lesser extent. He had told House, more or less, that he had been hurt by one of his last comments before he had stormed out to leave the diagnostician behind in his own office, gawping at him with his mouth wide open.
And the best was, Wilson hadn’t even cared. He had recently started feeling worse and worse. So bad, in fact, that he was now walking to his cupboard and stared at the box which held his gun. Suddenly, he wasn’t the thirty-something successful oncologist, but his insecure eighteen year old self. His self who had only started med school a couple of months ago and who was already drowning in work. But mostly his self who had found himself in a similar situation and who had been ready to give up. Just like he was now. But the difference between him and his younger self was that now, he was much surer of his case. The last argument with House had just been the last drop. He grabbed his gun and slowly moved it up to the side of his head. He was counting down to pull the trigger when there was banging on the door. Wilson knew that there was only one person who’d be here right now. House.
“Go away!” The oncologist shouted as he resumed counting down.
But the banging didn’t stop and he sighed deeply before putting the gun down and walking to the door. He pulled it open to reveal – like he had predicted – House.
“Don’t do it.”
That was all the diagnostician said. And it frustrated Wilson. He turned his back and returned to his own office and stared at the gun.
“Don’t do it, Jimmy.” House had limped after him, obviously determined to stop the oncologist of doing something stupid.
“You have nothing to say over my life, Gregory. This is my choice and now leave me before I force you to.” He grabbed the gun again and pointed it at the diagnostician.
House eyes widened as he took a few steps back. “James, think about it, please. Think about your friends, your patients. Think about me.”
Wilson snorted at that last comment. “You? You made it perfectly clear that you don’t want me in your life. Now leave. Me. Alone.”
House rolled his eyes. “God, you’re boring. Use your brains, Wilson. I have one friend, and only one, and I would like to keep him with me a bit longer. Why else would I be here, trying to stop you from doing anything stupid?”
Wilson squeezed the gun tightly to hide the shaking of his hand.
“James, I don’t want to lose you, so please, put the gun down. If this is all my fault, then sorry. I’m sorry that I’m an insensitive bastard, I’m sorry that I hurt you and maybe drove you to this. But please… please don’t do this. Please don’t leave me because I have no idea what I’d do without you…”
Wilson threw the gun on the ground as tears appeared in his eyes. House moved his cane and kicked the gun as far from the oncologist as possible.
“I just want this feeling to be gone, House.” Wilson was softly sobbing now. Tears were running down his cheeks and House couldn’t help himself but step closer and wrap his arms around the oncologist.
“James Evan Wilson.” Normally, the diagnostician would make fun of the man’s middle name, but now was not the time. “Are you giving up?”
“I gave up the moment I left the hospital.” Wilson whispered, only slightly whimpering at the use of his middle name.
“James, please don’t kill yourself. I… What would Cuddy say?” House was just saying random things to keep Wilson talking and busy and maybe also because he was simply speechless. He should have seen this coming, he should have seen the signs. He was the man’s best friend! How had he missed all of this? Then House suddenly remembered the accident with the antidepressants a couple of weeks ago. How did Wilson get those? Like he had said back then, you needed to see a psychiatrist to get those. How had the oncologist managed to keep this all from him?
In his arms, Wilson had calmed down enough to move away from him and look at the diagnostician with a cold look. The tears had stopped coming and he simply nodded.
“Take the gun and leave, House, please, before I do anything I’ll regret later.”
House nodded, realizing that this was probably the best. He grabbed the gun from the floor and limped to the door. He was almost out of the flat when he heard a soft whisper from the oncologist.
“Thank you. For saving me.”
House smiled. You’re welcome.