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James Wilson had a tough day today.
Actually, it's not unpredictable. The oncology department is a fine line between life and death. Some of the patients survived, but also, some of them don't get lucky to stay alive.
And, James Wilson is the guard of that line. At least he feels like he is.
He kept replaying in his head the phrase House said to him "You're afraid of losing people. Admit it." He knows but deep down he just couldn't admit that. But today, he had to accept that fact.
3 patients died today, and he was ought to deliver news to 2 patients that they have limited time to live.
It's basically his job description. He had to deliver the bad news most of the time, and he is an expert in that field. He knows what will be the reaction when they know they are going to die. It's like visualizing the five stages of grief — all at once.
But today, it didn't go well with one patient.
"You have one month to live."
"So...you're saying...that I'm going to die?"
"Unfortunately, yes. " There's a subtle sympathy in Wilson’s voice, "I'm sorry, Rebecca. "
There's a moment of silence. Then Rebecca spoke.
"Don't be sorry, doctor. It's not like this was up to you. Will I be in pain?" She said without looking at him.
"We can manage the pain, with medications. "
"What's the point of wasting all of these meds if I'm eventually dying?" She sighed.
"Rebecca, I understand that you're upset-"
"I think you don't understand, or you'll understand." She finally looked at him, "I can say you have plenty of experiences of telling your patients that they're dying. Or even better, watching them die. But you're not the one who is going to see the end very soon." Rebecca says, with her cold voice.
"You're right. But you should-"
"I don’t need pain medications, doctor. Thank you, anyway. You can discharge me. I want to die in my place, and this is my final choice."
Wilson couldn't spell a single word after her objection. He didn't see any tears in her eyes. Not even a sight of being afraid, too. Some people are afraid to die because they are going to be alone, or some people enjoyed their last days because that is the moment they ended up being alive. Wilson saw nothing in Rebecca's face. It's like she was aware of her fate a long time ago. She knows what death is.
Now, it's almost 9 pm, or 10? Doesn't matter. Wilson is sitting in his office, doing a mental autopsy of what happened today. Sure, he's seen plenty of deaths, near-death, people are falling apart, his best friend tried to commit suicide. Enough trauma, enough for a lifetime. Every gift he keeps of a dead patient, is a reminder of no matter how hard he tries, he's always going to lose. Is he slowly becoming a graveyard of hopes? His job is being a guard of between life and death ; yet he hasn't crossed that line. It's not that he never thought about, it just never occurred to him to take action. The truth of not knowing death is killing him. Truth is, he was afraid.
He was afraid of losing people. Still, he had three divorces, then Amber's death, and House is... being House. He is depressed, which also means he has to tie himself up. He needs to finally let go.
"Maybe I won't be afraid anymore if I lose myself just a little."
His eyes found a bottle of oxycodone on his desk. It was the pain medicine Rebecca refused to take. He opened the bottle cap, took and swallowed one pill, two pills, three pills...
Oh. He took more than...how many pills he took? His head is getting dizzy, ringing in ears, feeling cold...
His head slumped upon his desk. Suddenly everything stops, and the world change into a color of pitch black.
_
"Wilson, I'm hungry. Let's get some dinner-"
House shoved the door open. But his voice died in his throat.
Wilson’s head is down on his desk. Is he sleeping? No. He sleeps on the couch, if he gets tired.
"Wake up, Jimmy. This isn't funny."
House took a closer look. Something is wrong. Wilson’s skin doesn't look like a normal breathing person. His skin is blue. More accurately, a terrifying shade of indigo.
"Wilson!"
House dropped his cane, grabbed Wilson’s shoulders, head lolled back, pressed two fingers to the carotid. Slowed heart rate, bradycardia, hypoxia.
He found a bottle of oxycodone, it was laying on the ground, as evidence of what-Wilson-did-to-himself. Half of its pills are missing.
His mind goes blank. For a second, the realization hits him hard. Then his body moved, trained response taking over. He moved Wilson’s body, completely forgot about his own bad leg, laid him down on the floor. Checked his pulse again. Nothing, possible cardiac arrest.
"Code blue! Need a crash cart here!" He started chest compressions. Wilson’s ribs creaked under his palms. "Dammit. Breathe, you idiot!" Wilson didn't answer, just leaked a small trail of saliva from the corner of his mouth.
"Wilson, stay with me. Wilson!"
He doesn't quite remember what happened next. How his team rushed through the door, how he managed to tell what happened. Electrodes go on, Wilson’s body jumped under the paddles, heart starts beating, then they wheeled the gurney out. Everything seems kind of blurred.
He is still sitting on the floor, hands are shaking, his bad leg is screaming in pain now, lack of adrenaline rush is now showing symptoms in his body.
There's no puzzle to be solved, there's no differential diagnosis. Overdose is medically boring to him. But why Wilson? He seems...okay, mentally stable. He's the one who picks up the pieces House left behind.
He needs an answer. Not knowing bothers him, but right now he's not bothered. He feels...rather empty. Like he knows how it feels if Wilson is gone.
Does Wilson felt the same way when House attempted to do pathetic experiment on himself to get over his own life's mediocrity?
_
Wilson was stabilized, pumped full of charcoal and antidote, moved to a room in the ICU. House sat in the corner, watching the monitor, as a proof that Wilson is alive, and listening to the constant symphony of beeps and hisses. Wilson looked small in the bed, surrounded by tubes, swallowed by white sheets and the continuous sound of a ventilator.
He stayed all night. The next morning, Wilson's eyes opened. His gaze found House.
The nurses showed up, they pulled the tube. Wilson coughed a little that ended in a groan.
"House."
"Yap, it's me. None of your ex-wives showed up. Apparently, I'm the one who stayed here all night."
"Why?" Wilson whispered.
"Why I stayed? 'Cause I'm the one who steals your lunch, your money, your time. Or 'Why am I alive' 'cause Chase is surprisingly good at his job. Or 'why did you do it' – nope, that's the question you're about to answer. "
"It bothers you, doesn't it? Not finding a proper answer. "
"No, it annoys me. They are different."
"I just... wanted to... see." Wilson's eyes were glassy.
"What?"
"I wanted to see what happens if I cross the line. I spend my whole life being a guard, everyday I comfort dying people, but I've never seen the end."
"So you took an oath for not being a hypocritical fraud?" House snapped. "Listen, people are usually hypocrites, they just don't like it when they acknowledge about it."
Wilson turned his head away from House, looking up at the ceiling, "You were right. "
"I'm always right. But about what?"
"I...um, I'm afraid of losing people. But I've never been able to keep anybody. So I thought–"
"So you thought losing yourself will make you feel better. Well, you're in the hospital bed. Not me."
"But you've done that too, House. You've nearly killed yourself three times. Why can't I?"
House stood up, he limped heavily as he moved to the side of the bed. He leaned over the railing, forcing Wilson to look at him.
"Because...you're my only friend, Wilson. I don't know how I can cope without you."
"Well, I said it before as 'you're an idiot'."
"Ah...yes! You're an idiot!" House yelled, but there's mocking tone in his voice, as he moved back to his chair. "I had to break your at least three ribs, and my leg is killing me!"
Wilson looked at House, a sad smile in the corner of his lips. "You really did CPR on me?"
"I was mostly just hitting you because I was mad at you."
"Your bedside manner is terrible."
"And you're being a terrible patient." House smirked, "See? we're a perfect match made in hell."
Wilson chuckled, then coughed, his throat was dry. House reached over and held a cup of water with a straw to his lips. Wilson took a sip, then settled back into the pillow.
"So..you've got what you wanted to see?" House asked.
"Yeah."
"Did you see the line?"
"Cold, silence, dark."
"Welcome to the club. Never do this again."
"I had... a patient yesterday, her name is Rebecca. When I told her she has one month, she looked at me as if she knew death, she had seen death. I felt like if I couldn't see what she saw, I’d never be able to look another patient in the eye again." Wilson let out a breath that was half-sob, half-laugh, "But it's funny, the idea of losing me almost caught me, because I mostly saw you in her."
"I'm sorry." House muttered, not directly looking, his hands are shaking a little.
"You were scared, weren't you? when you found me?"
"No, I was annoyed. That I have to find someone new. Who'd want a miserable, misanthrope, crippled jerk as their best friend? You're the only one who made this poor choice."
"House, don't. "
House stared at him. The silence stretched, for a few seconds, then he decided to break the silence.
"Life's pretty boring without you, Wilson."
"Why? You have your team, Cuddy-"
"They are not you."
"So you love me more than anyone? Or is it just because I tried to almost kill myself?"
"Why can't it be both?"
Wilson didn't answer, he felt the exhaustion pulling him down again, his eyes are almost fluttering shut.
"Go to sleep, Wilson, your brain is tired. You don't need to be an emotional martyr to prove every point."
Wilson closed his eyes, his voice is almost whispering, "You don't have to be an obsessive jerk to prove every point, either."
House sat there, watching Wilson fall asleep. He didn't go back to his office, or his flat. He is watching the monitor that keeps showing Wilson's heart rate graph, as the confirmation of Wilson didn't cross the line.
It's not easy to stop thinking about crossing the line, after all happens in the past, all questionable choices Wilson made, as well as being the 'emotionally stable oncologist'. The ghosts of his past won't leave him overnight. House got his answer, but not the one he was expecting before. He loves Wilson, In the most dysfunctional, messed-up way possible. He realized the line between life and death is also the line between love and loss.