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Cancer. Wilson knew it when he saw it, worked with it, worked to eradicate it, he knew its devastation as well as he knew himself. Better even. But this. Having it live in him, his mirror trying every day to kill him, try to take him away from his family. It was breaking his brain just thinking about it. There had been nights House had to pick him up off the floor crying because the chemo had knocked him so far off his ass he couldn’t even see straight. It was killing him. Again. And he knew it. Here and now he laid awake at night and could practically feel his cells decaying under his skin. It was late when he sat up on the edge of the bed and quietly tried to stifle a sob. He bit his fist, started to get up to try to not wake his husband but despite his best efforts he felt a hand on his shoulder and a quick squeeze.
Sleepily House sat up and asked, “Hey, what’s the matter?”
Wilson tried to wave him off but his eyes burned, House’s hand was on his bare back, warm, real, alive. The cool of his wedding ring, warming right at the base of his neck, fingers on his pulse at his neck. He wanted it so badly to be comforting.
“Talk to me Wilson, what’s going on?”
“House-I’m dying. That’s the fucking matter.”
House reached around to wrap his arms around Wilson’s bare torso, and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. His affection sent him spiraling over the edge. He couldn’t choke back the tears anymore, he turned over to lay down and press his face into his husband’s shirt. He screamed, he sobbed, all of it burst out of him like an atomic bomb detonated in his chest.
“I’m not ready, I can’t leave you. I can’t leave Max. I can’t do this House- I can’t. I just can’t! ” He gasped through shallow, teary breaths. House just held him tighter, letting him cry, cooing gentle affirmations when he seemed to calm down enough to be receptive.
“You’re not alone. I’ve got you. We’re going to get through this.”
Wilson snapped his head up to look at him, his cloudy brown eyes streaked with painful red, “How do you know that? How the fuck can we possibly get through this?”
House held his face in his hands, “Because I know you. I know us. We are going to get through this because we have to get through this. Did it before- didn’t we.”
Wilson crumpled in his arms, House could count on one hand the amount of times he’d have to carry him and since the diagnosis that number had doubled. He felt helpless, of anything it could’ve been of all the illnesses and maladies in the world the universe had to pull the cruelest prank imaginable. And on the person who least deserves it. It made him mad. More than mad. Somewhere above the feeling he slept and every morning he woke up and tasted a new flavor of fury on his tongue. A rage the likes he had never seen in himself before had taken residence in his blood and burned behind his eyes. But for Wilson he could keep it under wraps, bear anything. Even this.
Somewhere between the crying and the screaming Wilson nodded off. House took care not to wake him as he tucked him into bed and kissed the top of his head. He crept out of the shared bedroom to peek into their son’s room. Fast asleep. He silently thanked any deity out there that he missed Wilson’s total meltdown. There would be time enough to tell him, but tonight House was glad Max didn’t have to see his father this way. Leaving his family to sleep he sat at the piano alone. A quiet jazz piece he’d heard some nights ago stirred under his fingers. If he had the words or the voice he would’ve sung a couple bars. But not tonight. Tonight the music and the whiskey would have to do. Tomorrow he would pick himself and his family up and press on.