Chapter Text
It had been nearly two whole months since he was shot. Two months since he had received the ketamine treatment. And so far, it was working smoothly.
It took a while for him to get used to the idea of being able to walk normally without a persistent limp; it felt weird to not use his cane, but he didn’t miss it one bit.
He had craved to feel no pain, he had wanted to feel like this ever since he had woken up that fateful day with a chunk of his thigh missing whilst he lay in a dull hospital bed, tears streaming down his cheeks as he had screamed at Stacy, his then girlfriend, for going against his medical wishes.
He resented her for it for a long time.
He had gotten into running laps in the local park daily in the morning, the sharp breeze against his face as the wind pushed against him made him feel invincible. He hadn’t felt so free in so long, something he missed feeling.
But it seems that nothing can stay perfect, especially for him.
House had gotten dressed in his running gear, having finished tying the laces of his trainers as he carefully stood up from the floor. He let out a sharp, sudden wince at the deep tinge circulating in his leg.
He furrowed his eyebrows, his gaze shifting to his leg with a frustrated look slowly building up over time. House poked his cheek with his tongue as he tried to ignore the dull familiar pain settling in his leg.
He proceeded to walk down the hallway to his front door but his leg antagonising became worse with each single step, feeling shaky and unstable like he could collapse at any moment. He sighed, stopping in his steps and looking over at the front door that seemed so far away. The hallway seems much longer than it is.
He was nowhere near the front door yet, he wasn’t even that far from where he started walking, but the pain had become so bad within seconds that it became unbearable to even move.
He contemplated his next steps before limping to the cupboard and shoving it open. His gaze instantly set upon the golf clubs shoved in a basket where his cane was also haphazardly placed.
His gaze remained on the cane for several more moments before he slammed it shut, refusing to accept that he might have to use it.
House stepped away from the cupboard and limped over to his bedroom to change out of his clothes and into his jeans and ruffled buttoned shirt. He looked at himself for a moment in his mirror, tilting his head to the side as he took in his appearance.
He already looked worn and tired and he had barely done anything. However, one thing hadn’t changed, and that was the persistent pain remaining in his leg.
House hastily grabbed his backpack and slung it over one shoulder, limping to the front door with his key in one hand. He took a singular, almost longing glance at the cupboard before shaking his head to himself in refusal before shutting the door as he left. He wasn’t going to give in so easily.
Not today.
-
Every day it repeated. He opened that same cupboard every day, sparing a longing look at the cane before slamming it shut, refusing to give in to the damn temptation. He wasn’t going to let it dictate him after having tasted that freedom he had longed to experience after so long of feeling suffocated and trapped with the constant feeling of never-ending pain.
House was currently sitting in his office, playing with his oversized tennis ball in his hand. He leaned his head back against the chair, pursing his lips in boredom. The fellows had left an hour previous, leaving him in his lonesome in the office.
He heard the distinct sound of footsteps before Wilson appeared at the door before pushing it open to let himself inside, steadily walking over to House at his desk. He sits down at the spare chair in front of the desk, leaning into it comfortably.
House felt his lips tug at the sides of his mouth, particularly because of the sight of his boyfriend. When it was later in the day and most doctors had gone home, Wilson tended to get rid of his ugly tie and undo a few buttons of his shirt, showing his clavicles off to the older man.
Wilson seemed amused at the evident reaction from House, tilting his head to the side as he too admired the state of him. They were similar in many ways, House thought to himself.
“Need something?” House responds after a long unspoken moment of eye contact, fraught with something Wilson doesn’t know the name of.
“You haven’t come to bother me in almost two hours. I was starting to think that you finally died.” Wilson spoke with a quirk of his upper lip.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” House says, holding tighter onto the ball in his hand and shifting his gaze to fixate on the ball rather than Wilson.
Wilson hums curiously, a casual sort of agreement, and says, “I could finally get some peace and quiet around here.”
House’s other hand flexed against the arm of the chair, gripping it tight to the point where his knuckles had turned white, holding himself back from revealing what was truly going on. The last thing he wanted was sympathy from Wilson, feeling bad that the ketamine treatment might not be working after all.
He felt like he was being played, a carrot dangling in front of him as if to taunt ‘Hey, you want no leg pain? Here you go, but it’s coming at a cost; it’s not permanent.’
“So, why didn’t you come to my office at all? Or page me for a pointless consult, or send a pigeon with a note for heaven's sake.”
House hums nonchalantly, shoving his tennis ball into the drawer and lifting his legs onto the desk and crossing his arms across his chest firmly. “I had things to do.” He finally decides on it after a few prolonged moments of silence.
Wilson glances over him, office chair swaying, the game boy near his computer where the main menu music was continuously playing.
House doesn’t say anything, tonguing his cheek to contemplate over his words. If he should even tell the truth. That never seemed to work in the past when he did.
He wants to look away. Sometimes, looking at Wilson hurts because he questions why Wilson has stuck with him after everything that they’ve gone through. Sometimes he questions why he puts Wilson through all this, straying him along. The constant ups and downs, the highs and the more persistent lows.
He knew ever since the ketamine treatment, that Wilson had been extremely hopeful that maybe this meant House could change for the better. And for a time, House thought that to be true.
Wilson furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes curiously shifting over his boyfriend. He could tell Wilson was analysing him. “Is this about your leg?” He asked, his gaze turning soft and those god damn puppy eyes always had an effect on him.
House resisted the urge to scoff before lifting his legs off the desk and sitting up to grab his blazer wrapped around the back of his chair to slide it on. He stood up a little far too fast for his liking, a sharp tinge in his leg circulating when he stood straight.
Wilson took notice, recognising the nearly concealed tremor in House’s face. He shifted his gaze downwards towards his leg and noticed House’s hand twitching, seemingly twitching at the urge to grab it, rub and soothe the muscle to get rid of the pain.
House poked his cheek with his tongue, forcing himself to walk without the limp so that it wouldn’t cause more concern. Times like this, he wished he had that god forbidden cane. “I’m fine, just muscle cramps from running this morning.” He lied, walking past Wilson who was slowly rising from his chair and onto his feet.
House felt his leg tremble with each step he took, biting back the curse building on his tongue, but before he could even reach the door, his leg suddenly cramped and caused him to topple down to the floor with a yelp.
Wilson widened his eyes, quickly moving to his side to help him stand up, his wide and innocent eyes searching the look on House’s face, noticing the strands of hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his eyebrows furrowed deeply. Before House could even argue that he was fine, Wilson spoke up, “House, you’re not okay. Don’t even try to say it when I’ve just seen you fall. It’s back, isn’t it? The pain’s back.”
House grumbled, looking down at Wilson and biting the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from saying something that he might regret later. “Nope. Everything’s fine and dandy, Wilson. In fact, I’ve never felt better.”
Wilson huffed with frustration, the urge to help him rising. “No, you’re not fine. If your leg is starting to hurt, then you need to tell me. I want to help you feel better, House. And denying it won’t make anything better. It’ll just make things worse, you know that.”
House resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Wilson, regaining his balance and dusting down the creases in his jeans. House decides to ignore the words, no matter how sweet and meaningful that they may be. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s in pain, he wants to hold onto that sense of freedom for as long as possible.
He doesn't want his leg to hurt anymore. He doesn’t want to be in pain anymore.
He doesn’t want to hurt.
He feels as if he’s drowning underwater, unable to escape the consequence of the ketamine treatment reaching up to him. Of course, he couldn’t have a happy and positive outcome, could he? Life is a bitch after all. It sure loves to make him suffer.
He could hear Wilson's voice but everything drowned out the noise— grabbing his backpack from the chair in the conference room and shoving the door open to leave the office itself.
House could hear distant footsteps following behind him, Wilson’s voice echoing at the back of his mind. A distinct and quiet ‘House, please,’ and ‘House, stop,’ escaping his partner’s lips but House refused to turn around, instead pressing the elevator button, entering once the doors opened.
Wilson quickly entered and stood besides him as he looked solemnly at his boyfriend, who looked as if he was in another dimension. He was zoned out so far that he couldn’t even register the doors opening to the ground floor of the hospital.
He stepped out, his legs suddenly shaky and heavy with each step towards the entrance of the hospital. Wilson huffed, overwhelmingly concerned and unsure as to what to do.
Wilson grasped onto House’s wrist once they had walked towards the handicapped parking spot where his motorbike selfishly took the whole space. “House, don’t. You’re not in the right state to drive home on your own. Just— let me drive you back. Please.”
House contemplated before darting his gaze towards his boyfriend, noticing the worried look plastered across the younger man’s face. “I’m fine, Wilson. Peachy.” He mumbled, not trusting himself to speak any louder in case he yelled. He hated the look on Wilson’s face whenever he yelled, looking like a puppy that had been kicked.
But nothing could compare to the look on Wilson’s face right now.
His eyebrows furrowed, his lips shifted downwards into a saddened frown, his round brown eyes glossed over and his slender fingers still curled tightly around House’s wrist as if he was afraid that if he let go, something much worse would happen and he wouldn’t be there to help House. He wouldn’t be there to protect him, to save him.
“You’re not fine! You fell, House. You fell because you’re starting to get your pain back, aren’t you?” Wilson exclaimed, his voice slightly raising and almost startling those lingering outside of the entrance due to the sudden frustration of the oncologist.
House rolled his eyes and decided to leave the question unanswered, no doubt Wilson had already figured out the answer himself, gently shoving his hand off as he grabbed his keys from his blazer and stepped closer to mount his motorbike, turning the key in the slot to switch the engine on, a gruelling grumble following soon after.
He took one last look at his boyfriend who was still standing there hopelessly before turning back to face the motorbike and began to drive off back to his apartment complex. A deep pan of hurt swirled around in his insides, his chest tightening uncomfortably and the same scolding pain resuming in his leg but he ignored it.
The longer he ignored it, the longer he could be in the illusion that the treatment was working.
—
The sound of the alarm blared loudly, sounding more like a fire alarm than a regular alarm clock. House grumbled tiredly, his arm stretching out of the duvet covers to pat the bedside table until he touched what felt like the alarm clock and slammed his hand on the button to turn it off. He did not need that first thing in the morning.
House yawned, slowly sitting up on the bed. His gaze instantly peered over to the empty side of the bed that was kept tidy and neat unlike his. The bedside table contained multiple medical journals and an empty mug from the night previous. No doubt having leftover residue of milk in it.
Whereas his was messy with his glasses, a random tie of Wilson’s from a fun night of theirs, and instead of medical journals, his were lesbian sex novels.
He used to make fun of Wilson for drinking warm milk before bed, and well.. Let’s just say he started to really like Wilson’s milk after that.
House felt his gaze soften, despite the yearning in his chest to be close to his partner. Wilson had left for work a few hours previously, always being one of the first doctors to arrive at the hospital at eight in the morning.
House never understood why he wanted to be in so early, compared to the times that he typically arrived being much closer to the afternoon than the early morning.
House looked over at the clock to check the time, his shoulders sagging in frustration at the fact that he had to leave soon. He stiffly climbed out of bed, his hand instantly coming to his thigh to help himself stand up.
He had limped to the bathroom, applied the toothpaste on his toothbrush and began to clean his teeth. He peered upwards to his own reflection, noticing how the red lines around his eyes were becoming more prominent with each day; with regards to how the leg pain had started to gradually get worse.
He slumped forward tiredly, his whole body aching and fighting for Vicodin. But he didn’t want to give in to the temptation so easily, because it means he’s failed miserably in recovering.
He sometimes believes that he was never meant to recover. This was life’s way of treating him so poorly for being an abrasive, miserable, misanthropic bastard to everyone he came into contact with. But if he was being truly honest with himself, he would never change that. That’s who he is.
He left the bathroom moments later, the grip around his thigh tightening as he attempted to get dressed into clean clothes, but even then he struggled to slide his jeans on when his leg was refusing to cooperate. Why did it have to be a bad pain day today?
House grabbed his long coat and slid it on, grabbing his backpack and walking down the hallway towards the front door. But like clockwork, he stopped in his steps; seemingly in the same trance he had found himself in whenever he looked at the cupboard.
He sighed, his chest tightening uncomfortably as he walked over to the cupboard and swung it open quickly. And there it was. His cane. He reached for it from the basket full of golf equipment and clubs. His nimble fingers slowly stroked over the polished wood of the cane, biting the inside of his cheek bitterly.
He ultimately decided against it, shoving the cane back in its original spot and shoving the door closed almost too aggressively as he made his way to the front door, fiddling with the keys as he exited his apartment.
He decided to walk to Princeton-Plainsboro today, considering it wasn’t that far from his apartment; remembering from the times he ran from the park to the hospital on multiple occasions. He always relished in the surprised looks of Cuddy and Wilson at the sight of him in a sweaty old t-shirt and running shorts walking into the hospital.
But as he stepped out into the cold New-Jersey weather, he longed to be able to run again. At least he would be able to forget the pain for even five minutes. Five minutes he could only wish for, five minutes of painless freedom that he would never get.
House felt his leg ache even more as he walked, arriving at the hospital closer to one-pm, nearly two-three hours later than he usually would arrive.
He grimaced at the shooting tremor alongside his leg as he winced, shoving the entrance door open and walking past the reception area where Cuddy was standing, presumably signing something.
Cuddy hurriedly gave the papers to the attending nurse and smiled gratefully before rushing over to walk by House’s side to the elevator and pressing the button for him. She leaned in slightly with a worried look enhancing her attractive features. “You’re limping, House.”
“Oh, really? I couldn’t say that I noticed.” He said dully, exchanging an annoyed expression with his boss. Cuddy bit her lip, entering the elevator with House once the doors slid open.
“Is the pain starting to come back? I could always get you an appointment for physiotherapy to help you manage it.” She asked, her curious eyes shifting over House’s worn and exhausted appearance.
House poked his cheek with his tongue, stepping out of the elevator when it arrived at the fourth floor. “I really wish people would stop asking me that.”
Cuddy tilted her head, stepping out after a moment and looked up at his face, her gaze shifting slowly over his features like she was trying to figure out if he was on Vicodin again or something ridiculous like oxycodone. It wouldn’t be the first time, of course; considering his track history with drugs.
“You’re in pain, House. You don’t hide it nearly as well as you think you do. You’re like an open book sometimes.” She said with a sigh, her gaze shifting into concern and sympathy.
House scoffed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he shoved past her to walk towards his office, where the fellows were on their lunch break or working elsewhere like the ER considering it was one in the afternoon by now.
He sighed at the tranquillity, slamming the door shut behind him and limping over to his chair, tossing his backpack mindlessly to the floor to rest by his desk. He relaxed into his chair and closed his eyes, but the relaxing feeling wouldn’t last long.
He grumbled in annoyance under his breath when he heard the sound of the door opening not even moments after he had comfortably sat down. He peeled his eyes open to notice Wilson standing there with his hands resting against his hips. His signature pose that never failed to drive House insane.
Wilson sighed, his gaze softening when he recognised the look plastered so clearly of pain across his partner’s face. He stepped closer, grabbing something from his pocket and shoving it on House’s desk. Vicodin. The familiar orange bottle with his lovely happy pills contained inside.
“Take them, House.” Was all that escaped Wilson’s lips.
House arched an eyebrow, looking up at Wilson’s round brown eyes with concealed surprise. “Oh, now you’re willingly giving me drugs?” He snarked.
Wilson huffed, despite the corners of his lips twitching at House’s antics. “Just take them. You need them, House.”
“No.”
“No?”
“You heard that right, Jimmy. I’m not taking them because I’m not in pain. I’m fine.” House mumbled, looking down at the familiar pill bottle for a second too long. The temptation to simply grab it and down several pills was overwhelming.
Wilson sucked in a breath, walking around the desk to House’s chair and resting his hand on the arm of the chair, essentially hovering over House. The older man’s lips quivered into a curious grin as he looked up at Wilson. “What? Are you going to punch me again?”
“You know I’m not going to do that, baby. I’m just… curious as to why you’re not taking Vicodin. You usually do when your pain gets this bad.” Wilson exclaimed curiously, looking down at the gaps between them both before using his other hand to stroke his hand across House’s cheek, his fingers scraping along the grey stubble decorating his cheeks.
“That’s because I’m not in pain, Wilson. But if you so desperately want me to take the damn pills, then you’ll have to try a lot harder than that.” House said finally, almost leaning into the caress of the warm palm pressing against his cheek. The touch is so overwhelmingly comforting for him.
Wilson rolled his eyes playfully, leaned closer to press a chaste peck against the corner of his lips, feeling his jaw brush against the stubble on House’s chin. “Just go home. I’m sure Cuddy will understand when I explain it to her.” He started, the fingers against his cheek travelling to thumb at his lower lip. “I’ll be home at four, if I manage to finish my paperwork. Could you order takeout for us?”
House simply nodded, part of him too tired to argue but also a part of him wanting to give up on this tough act he had built recently regarding his pain. Why was it so hard to tell the truth to him?
Wilson simply smiled, stroking his cheek once more and pressing a kiss to his forehead before walking smoothly out of the diagnostic office, leaving House alone with his troublesome thoughts.
House leaned his head back and looked over at the clock barely having reached two in the afternoon and yet he was already leaving to return home yet again. That suffocating place served as a permanent reminder in the back of House’s head that he would soon have to succumb to the pain and surrender by taking whatever he could get his hands on to numb it even the slightest.
He really wanted to feel numb from all the pain right now.
When he had arrived home after walking all the way back from the hospital, he shoved his backpack to the floor in the living room and limped less gracefully to the bathroom, shoving the door open and gripping onto the sink for balance.
He looked up at the mirror and shoved it to reveal the hole in the wall where he had kept secret-secret stashes of Vicodin prescriptions for when he desperately needed them. And god did he need them now.
He reached for an orange pill bottle and quickly situated the mirror back in position on the wall to conceal the hole. He looked down at the pill bottle in his trembling hand, poking his cheek with his tongue as he contemplated over his limited options.
Option one: Take the pills and be pain free for the rest of the night.
Option two: Refuse to take the pills to not succumb to the temptation.
And, Option three: Overdose. How optimistic of him.
House tongued his cheek bitterly, uncapping the lid of the Vicodin bottle and staring down at the dozen white pills his mouth was nearly salivating to down. To get rid of his tortuous pain that he wanted to be done with so badly. But did he want to give in that easily to it? He wasn’t sure.
House stumbles backwards from the sink to sit himself down on the tiled floor, his back pressing uncomfortably against the sharp edges of the bathtub. His head tilting down to look at the mesmerising bottle, his eyes glossing over at the wanton need to down them all within one go. He would be pain free within minutes. But would he be free?
House tilted the bottle downwards and poured several pills into his hand for closer inspection, biting his lower chapped lip in contemplation. Should he?
His head instantly darted up when he heard the sound of keys jangling at the front door.
WIlson’s home.
He widened his eyes, darting them around the bathroom as to what to do. But it was pointless because Wilson would find him sitting there in his lonesome anyway. With the damn pills in hand.
Wilson hummed quietly to himself, seemingly in his own world. Shame his good mood would be ruined so soon. Wilson curiously looked around the living room and saw that House wasn’t in there on the sofa like usual. And the lack of takeout boxes gave it away far too fast that something was up.
“House?” He spoke out into the hollow apartment, scratching the back of his dark brown hair in confusion, walking down the hallway where he had noticed the bathroom door was swung open. And there he was.
House was there, sitting on the bathroom floor with the distinguishable pills in one hand that wouldn’t stop shaking. As he stepped closer, his gaze caught the sight of House’s eyes glossing over and watering uncontrollably.
His round eyes widened almost immediately at the sight, instantly getting down on his knees to be at his side on the bathroom floor. His throat suddenly felt dry. “Did you take any, House?” He asked, biting his lower lip and watching the way the older man’s gaze repeatedly shifted between the pills and Wilson before shaking his head.
House let out an uncharacteristically whimper that refused to stay in any longer, his blue eyes widened even further impossibly. “I was going to take the whole bottle, but then— then I couldn’t. I can’t, Wilson. I can’t—” He said through laboured breaths.
Wilson’s gaze instantly softened as he grabbed a hold of the back of House’s head and brought it close to him to rest against his chest. His fingers stroked through the thin strands of grey hair.
Wilson let out a sigh, continuing to curl his fingers around the older man’s hair. “It’s okay, just… It’s okay.” He said with difficulty, he so badly wanted to help House but he wasn’t sure how to. He wanted him to be okay but was he ever?
House always had the tendency to hide how he was feeling, but after being around him for nearly two decades, he had come to recognise if House was hiding or not.
This was the first time he had seen House break down so openly and so vulnerably since the infarction half a decade ago. It hurt so much to see him like this. Some people underestimated the amount of pain that he had to endure every day, chronic pain was no joke.
House lifted his head reluctantly from the oncologist's chest and looked up at Wilson, his bright blue eyes staring deeply into Wilson’s own brown eyes. “Come on, I think you should have an early night, baby. You deserve some rest.”
House sighed, his shoulders sagging forward as he managed to get up from the bathroom floor, his legs trembling with heaviness as he rose from the floor. “I don’t need rest, Wilson. I just…” He gulped, wiping the remaining tears that kept strolling down his cheeks. He hated being vulnerable. The last time he was this.. emotional certainly didn’t end well.
And by that, he means he was left outside all night in the winter weather to sleep because ‘boy’s shouldn’t cry.’
Wilson’s gaze softened, standing up almost too quickly to wrap his arm around House’s slender waist to support him as he limped to the living room. House winced at the sudden pain running along his leg, he really regretted not taking the pills now.
Wilson sat down on the sofa and let the older man sit facing him so that his legs reluctantly rested across his lap; his hand automatically settled on House’s thigh and caressing the muscle carefully with a gentle touch. “Do you want to.. Tell me when this pain started?”
“No.” House started, noticing the intrigued stare from the younger man before continuing, “But I know that I have to.”
Wilson’s lips curled into a small yet comforting smile that silently encouraged him to continue. “I don’t think the ketamine treatment is working anymore. I’ve.. I thought it was fucking muscle pain from all the running I’ve been doing lately the past two months, but it’s not like that. It’s.. unbearable, Wilson.”
“It’s okay to accept defeat sometimes, House. It’s a miracle that it worked for so long, and I know that it might feel like you’re giving up but you’re not. You just.. Need to find another way, a better way, to help deal with the pain.” Wilson answers truthfully, his wide eyes looking down at his hand on House’s thigh, stroking his thumb along the jean material slowly.
“I am giving up, Wilson. I’m so— I hate this so fucking much. I hate that it made me believe that everything would go back to how it used to, when I wasn’t fucking miserable with everything. But now I’m just stuck with it. I wake up in pain, sometimes it gets the point where I think about ending it all, you know? I’ve lost count how many times I’ve tried to end it. And no– don’t give me a sympathetic look. I’m fine.”
Wilson sighed, looking up to notice that the older man was already staring at him intently, his blue eyes highlighted with red rims around them, glossed over with tears of excruciating pain. “Baby, you’re not fine. You know you’re not fine. It’s— I don’t want you to resort to taking insane amounts of Vicodin again. It’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous? And yet you were the one who prescribed it for me.” He scoffed.
“House.” Wilson warned, his tone bordering on an edgy twist. “You know that I just want you to be okay.”
“Well, it’s not that easy.”
Wilson sighed, his eyes glossing over with sympathy for his partner. “We’ll find a way, I promise. Just.. at least use your cane, it’s painful to see you hurting when you try to walk normally without limping.”
House bit the inside of his cheek and nodded in response, his words in his throat bubbling and slowing down. He winced as he lifted his leg from Wilson’s lap in order to sit closer to him, uncharacteristically like him to do in the first place.
Wilson smiled softly and pressed a chaste kiss to House’s temple, wrapping his arm around his waist comfortably and keeping his face pressed against House’s head, sighing as he breathed in the scent of coconut 3 in 1 body wash that made his heart grow fond.
He hoped that everything would be okay.
Another day.
Another day of pain. Endless suffering.
He doesn’t think he can take it anymore.
He doesn’t think he can even handle it.
House woke up midday, his eyes instantly drawn to the empty, vacant side of the bed where Wilson would be, had he not been at work today.
Part of him was kind of glad that he wasn’t here, otherwise he’d have stopped him from doing what he was planning to.
He stirred his gaze away quickly to prevent certain thoughts flooding to the front of his mind. He sat up on the bed, his band t-shirt wrinkled due to his deep slumber and his pyjama trousers hanging low over his hips.
He sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and no doubt looking far worse than he did yesterday or the days previous.
The pain really came to bite him in the ass, huh.
He reached for his cane that was propped up against his bedside table and gripped it so tight to the point that his knuckles had turned eerily white.
He grunted as he managed to stand up from the bed, not bothering to tidy it as Wilson had usually done that most mornings whereas House preferred to leave things as they were.
He limped into the hallway and opened the very same cupboard that had liked to taunt him that his pain relief was temporary all along. And he finally decided to give in to the temptation.
The temptation being that lovely, dear orange pill bottle.
He grabbed his trainer from the shoe rack hung against the back of the door and shook it until a bottle of pills landed in his hands. He placed the shoe back and closed the cupboard door, stumbling into the kitchen to grab himself the bottle of bourbon from the top cupboard.
He went into the living room with one plan set in place in his mind. He uncapped the lid of the Vicodin bottle and poured the remaining of the bottle into his hand. He stared down at the familiar white pills and tilted his head back whilst downing them all without a second thought. He grabbed the bottle of bourbon and twisted the cap open and drank several large gulps of the alcohol before hastily placing it back on the coffee table.
He furrowed his eyebrows, the sharp taste of Vicodin and bourbon lingering at the back of his throat. House rubbed a hand down the side of his face, feeling a sense of calmness erupting inside of him. Everything was so.. Quiet. Peaceful, even. His leg didn’t hurt. He couldn’t even feel his leg at all. He was glad.
At least it will be over now.
He grunted, his head tilting down towards his increasingly tightening grip on the handle of his cane, but before he could even register anything further, he suddenly lost balance and tumbled back into the sofa, his back hitting the soft cushions and his cane dropping to the floor with a loud, echoing thud.
House tilted his head back against the back of the sofa, his gaze hazing over as his surroundings of the apartment started to darken. He could hear himself groan out into the room but he felt so distant at the same time. It was like a disconnection to reality, to what really just happened, to what he’s just done to himself.
He blinked but it only darkened with each blink, furrowing his eyebrows deeply as he let out a wheezing breath as everything around him slowly faded to black.
Black.
The smell of a strong antiseptic invaded his senses almost as soon as he woke up. He let out a quiet groan, his eyes slowly opening to gather his new surroundings. He lifted his head slightly despite the pain throbbing throughout his entire body, he’s never felt so weak before.
Oh.
He was in hospital.
Which means.. Wilson must have come home and found him.
Fuck.
House turned his head and saw Wilson with his arms resting on the hospital bed and his face hidden in the depths of them. He was still in his work clothes, his tie withdrawn and a few buttons undone revealing his undershirt. His hair was unkempt and messy, unlike his usual self, looking slightly greasy. Which meant.. It’s been a few days at most now. And Wilson hadn’t left his side once.
House sighed, a tight feeling circulating in his chest as his hand shakily reached out to stroke the strands of Wilson’s dark brown hair. He must not have been in a deep sleep as he almost immediately sat up, revealing his sleep-stricken deprived appearance. God, he looked almost as bad as House presumably did.
Wilson’s round eyes instantly glossed over with tears, widening by a fraction as he instantly stood up to move closer to him and cradle his face in his palms. His eyes shifted over his face repeatedly, as if doubting that House was now awake. Did he think he wouldn’t? He thought at the back of his mind.
“You idiot..” Wilson murmured, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, a small smile appearing in relief. His thumb stroking along the messy grey stubble decorating his cheeks. House huffs tiredly, a worn curl of his lips looking more like a grimace rather than a smile. “You’re such an idiot, House. I’m— You’re–” Wilson stumbled, a shaky breath escaping his reddened lips from biting them incessantly.
House softened his gaze and rested his hand against one of Wilson’s pressed against his cheek, uncharacteristically like him to do but he knew in that moment he had to provide comfort to him. It was the least he could do after trying to end it all, right?
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m still alive and kicking.” House grumbled, his voice raspy from not having spoken for days, stroking his thumb over Wilson’s soft hand.
Wilson rolled his eyes, the small smile remaining in place almost as if it were a permanent reaction to seeing House. “You’re comforting me when you’re the one in a god damn hospital bed, House. Are you– Are you okay? That’s stupid, forget that—” He rambled, his worried gaze shifting over his face once again.
House sighed, deciding to give up from hiding anything any longer. He couldn’t let himself or Wilson suffer any more now. “I..” He started, unsure of how to word it. “I don’t think I’m okay. I just– I’m sorry for all of this, it’s my fault. I was being so fucking selfish to think I could just end it all and leave you alone. There were other ways that I could have dealt with the pain, but no, I thought ending it all would be much easier, when it would complicate things further. And I knew I shouldn’t have put you through that. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry–” House didn’t even register that there were tears streaming down his pale, sickly cheeks until Wilson withdrew his hands to wipe them from his cheeks.
“Baby, please–” Wilson almost whimpered, his thumbs pressing into the softness of his cheeks as he looked pleadingly, desperately into House’s blue eyes that burned so bright, even in such a low state they remained as bright as ever. Wilson liked to think of it as a sign that his soul wasn’t ready to go just yet, that he was alive as ever.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, I should have recognised this earlier—”
“Don’t.” House licked over his chapped lips before continuing, “Don’t put the blame on yourself. You know far too well that I do some pretty fucked up shit without thinking about others, you know that I put myself before others. I’m selfish, Wilson. I’m fucked up in the head.”
Wilson sighed, shifting to sit on the side of the bed and facing House, his hands dangling in his lap restlessly as he fidgeted with them.
It felt like they were in their own world despite the glass doors meaning that anyone could see them. If he looked for longer, he swore he could see Cuddy lingering by with the fellows. Cameron’s face looked scared, but she seemed more relieved when she realised House was now awake. Chase’s eyes were wide, almost innocent like in a way, perhaps scared that he could have died, he doesn’t know. And Foreman had a tight expression, seemingly trying to keep it all hidden in a way that he himself was far too familiar with. In many ways, Foreman was just like him trying to hide it all behind a mask of indifference.
“House, you’re not fucked up,” Is what brings House back to reality, to his Wilson.
House raised a curious eyebrow, tilting his head to the side against the pillow. “Oh? So, you don’t think I’m a selfish, manipulative bastard who thinks only of himself?” He tested.
Wilson resisted the urge to roll his eyes, despite the fond smile settling on his face. “You are that, trust me, but I don’t care. You know that I’m fucked up too, and yet you never left my side. So, why should I think you’re far worse than me and leave you? You don’t deserve that, baby.”
House’s curious gaze shifted into something unfamiliar. Love, he thinks.
“I’ll always be by your side, you know I’m not letting you go without a fight.”
House snorted, “You’d probably punch me again if I tried to.”
“Too right I will.”
The air felt less suffocating now, peaceful and calm.
All because of Wilson.
Who knew love could do that to you?
“What am I going to do, though?”
“Well. What do you usually do after something like this happens, House?” Wilson’s gaze turned curious.
House shrugged, shifting his gaze away from Wilson and to the ceiling. “Watch prescription passion and lay on you to suffocate you, usually. Or jerking off usually helps.”
Wilson’s eyes twinkled brightly, his lips shifting into that familiar grin that House felt drawn to immediately like a magnet ever since that first night in New Orleans back in 1991. He looked so youthful when he smiled. God, he was so in love with Wilson.
“You could always find a hobby or something, cooking, maybe?” Wilson inquired, watching how the older man’s gaze remained dead set on him with a warm look. He’d do anything to wake up to that look any day.
“I’ll figure something out. I usually do. I just.. I don’t want to go back to Vicodin.”
Wilson’s eyes widened impossibly huge like a cartoon character at the casual remark. He said it as if he was talking about the weather. Something so normal.
“Wait, really? You mean it this time? You’re not going to give up after a week?”
“I mean it this time, I promise.”
Wilson’s grin shifted into a loving smile, standing up to lay on the more empty side of the bed and curled into House’s warm embrace, his arm settling across the older man’s stomach. “I’ll help you. Maybe you could move in with me, just so– you know, I could.. Keep an eye on you.”
House’s eyebrow quivered, his head tilting down to look at Wilson propped on the bed beside him. “Is this your way of asking me to move in with you? You didn’t need to make a reason, Jimmy. You know I’d have said yes regardless. That means I have more chances to annoy the crap out of you.” He snarked.
Wilson hit his chest lightly, smiling against the pillow. “Dick.” He mumbled, sounding slightly muffled against it. “Yes, I’m asking you to move in with me.”
“This is so us, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, you think?”
“Asking me to move in after I tried to overdose on Vicodin.”
“House, I don’t think we could even be considered normal with the shit you pull. It’s pretty on point for us.”
House grinned wide, ruffling Wilson’s unkempt hair with his hand. “Wow, you stink. Take a shower, would you?”
“You dick! I haven’t had time to shower lately, I’ve been by your side for the past week–” Wilson huffed against the pillow again, his hand resting against House’s chest comfortably like it belonged there.
“Actually, don’t shower. I’m quite liking your smell. All sweaty and musky, it’s really turning me on, Wilson.”
“Right. Sure it does, House. It’s not like you smell any better.” Wilson spoke with a teasing grin appearing.
“I bet you’ve secretly jerked off to it, haven’t you?” House said with an equal grin to his. Wilson rolled his eyes fondly, his fingers tracing along the hospital gown.
“You caught me.” Wilson teased, looking up at House’s eyes and noticing that his gaze was already on him. Full of love.
Who knew something like this could bring them closer?