Chapter Text
The bright sunlight flirting through the scratched curtains of his room, burning his half open eyes.
House managed to sit on the edge of the bed, eyes still not completely open. He had a big headache,
Like every morning actually.
He drank himself to sleep every night since…. Since Wilson’s death.
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It was seven months ago.
After living the best moments of their life and then retire in a small cottage near the Mexican border, Wilson had left this world in pain peacefully.
After that, House was lost.
He couldn’t go back to practice medicine
Couldn’t join anybody
Couldn’t go back to his old apartment.
He was stuck. And Wilson’s dead
But he didn’t regret his choice, Wilson deserved his happy ending so much.
He tough about pulling the plug like his best friend did.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
So he doubled the vicodine doses and spent his money in cheep alcohol bottles.
To numb his misery
To forget Wilson was gone for ever
House decided to leave the cottage
Too much memories.
He’s gone, get over it
He left the USA for a small village somewhere in South America (he'snot really sure to where he is), to avoid any problems with the authority.
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House rubbed his head as he drank a glass of water at his washbasin in the bathroom of his dirty apartment.
He observed his reflection on the cracked mirror. He didn’t recognise himself.
There’s no dr House anymore
House was in a pathetic state, dark circles, bad shaved - thanks to the rusted razor - , red eyes from the lake of sleep and substance abuse.
He also had lost weight during the past month. His clothes and skin always looked dirty even if he showered. The small city, if you can call a bunch of old house and a supermarket lost in the middle of nowhere a city, he lived in alway felt dirty, dusted.
House heavily limped back in his bedroom to pit some clothes on. Here, no way to but a blazer or a shirt, only a t-shirt. Most of people wear short.
But you don’t wear short when you have an ugly disgusting, he wants to throw up scar on your left tight.
So House wears an old T-shirt,a jeans and sunglasses for his hangover.
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-“ House, I know you’re avoiding the subject but… what are you going to do after…. You know…”
They were sitting in their freshly bought cottage, avoiding each other gaze.
-“ Why do you even care, you won’t be there to see it.”
House painfully got up and search for his vicodine bottle,
even if he knew it was in his pocket.
Anything to avoid Wilson’s gaze.
-“ House…”
Later in the evening he told Wilson he would surely end it right after him if he feels like a coward he had enough guts
Cause,
-“ living is meaningless if you’re aren’t there to make it bearable”
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Door closed, not locked nobody can stole you when you already lost everything , House left the small apartment in the suffocating weather.
It felt like a day during the summer break when he was eight, no problem, just bright sun and lazy laugh.
House wasn’t eight anymore,
He would never be anymore.
House was half dead,
His missing half being buried under a grave at James Wilson’s name.
Honestly he didn’t feel sad or happy, not angry or peaceful nor depressed or exited. He didn’t feel anything at all, numbed by all the narcotics and cheap whisky.
House made his way to city’s hospital. It was a big, for a small city like this one, building with three floors and only one entrance. It was the biggest medical structure in miles so it was alway crowded with patients
With medical enigma,
The only thing that kept House sober for more than thirty minutes.
So the crippled man passed the double door like every morning since almost 2 months.
His first stop was his “boss” office, the man’s name was Alejandro,
Or maybe Antonio.
People don’t care about name here.
Perfect for a dead man. House just had to name a few bones and they believed him about being a good doctor.
The best damn doctor.
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-“ Am I a good person ?”
Wilson ignored him, eyes in the shining night sky, beer in the right hand.
-“ Wilson?”
House insisted before finally getting his best friend attention.
-“ ‘sorry, I thought you were talking to the tree out there”
House laughed, something sharp, honest. It wasn’t even funny but with Wilson sweet voice everything was.
-“ just answer the damn question idiot.”
Wilson chuckled, and continued to annoy House cause that’s something he does like nobody else.
-“ Well it depend of what you call a good person and-“
House rolled his eyes, damn how he loved that idiot.
-“ I thought it was my job to make everything harder-“
House stopped mid sentence looking at Wilson who’s trying to not laugh, but he doesn’t last long when House got into a belly laugh.
-“ don’t dare making any nasty comments about what I just said Jim”
House only uses that nickname when he is was happy.
-“ I think… I think being a good person resides in how you treat people. If you’re always tiptoeing around everyone, lying for them to feel good but never saying what you truly think, never exposing what you really are, it’s just hypocrisy. But If you split your sharp truth at everyone’s face, you’re indeed honest to your self but you hurt others, that just makes you egoistic. No for me, being a good person is to have a good equilibrium between those two, what you think and what you say. Even if you won’t admit it, you’re doing it pretty well. With all the things, the truth you told around yourself you made all the person you care about better doctor, better person. Yet you could be a bit more kind but that does the job, you comment on people and it hurt the right amount to make them think and not leave any scars. You was right in the end, the most important things is the truth.
They never brought the subject back,
They never had the time to.
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After a short discussion with Julio ( yeah that was definitely the man name ) House brought himself to consult room three.
Consult’s case here are harder than in his hospital Princeton cause they don’t have any medical stuff to do the test, challenging House to get creative to cure and test the diseases.
So he begin to work,
Patient after patient.
Between a runny nose, a breast cancer he should ask Wilson’s opinion and a cut finger, House headache faded a bit and he managed to focus on something else than his pain. Puzzle help to dull the edge but barely,
So he takes another two vicodine
After his patient left the room, he had a bad trip, Julio pass the door.
-“ dr Doe can i talk to you a minute ?”
Without waiting for any answer, the man let himself in, lying against the door’s wall.
The man looked preoccupied, fidgeting his fingers.
-“ there’s a man… in my office asking for a doctor named Gregory House, he said the guy had cane and looked just like you so-“
House’s blood ran cold, nobody is supposed to know he’s alive, absolutely nobody.
-“ I told him that well, we had a guy fitting the description but his name was Neil Doe but you know we can really discuss with a guy like that and-“
Greg wasn’t listening anymore, heart pounding into his chest, he didn’t make a move. Any rational thought escaping his mind.
-“… so, yeah he wants to see you.”
Nobody knows Gregory House is alive.