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“Greg, the pain meds, and whatever else you’re doing….is slowly killing you.”
House sat in silence for nearly a minute, then burst out laughing. “Looks like I’m not the only thing slowly dying here, when your hair seems to be in a similar state. Yikes.”
The doctor sitting across the desk from House slowly moved a hand through his thinning hair, fear lighting his face. House wanted to laugh again. What a quack.
He stood, leaning on his cane for support. “I would thank you for your time, but I think your time is expendable enough to waste. Bye.” He walked out, limping a bit more than usual on his cane.
As he walked through the doors of the hospital’s clinic into the bright sunlight, he scoffed. Was the secrecy of coming to this low-down hospital really worth it at the expense of the service given? But…..he shuddered at being at the mercy of anyone at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, when 99.9% of the staff couldn’t stand him. More like 100% of them hate me, he amended. Can’t blame them.
He couldn’t take the risk of going to any nearby ones either. Being seen at any hospital in the surrounding area would send the hospital employees giggling about like schoolgirls with a crush, and then he would have to come clean about why he went.
The vicodin bottle in his pocket bumped against his side with every step he took. He paused and took it out. The pills clattered in their container, a comforting sound, always coming before the sweet release of pain he experienced whenever he took one. Impossible that this, his lifeblood, would be the one to kill him. What that idiot doctor apparently didn’t learn in med school was that painkillers aren’t slow killers, they kill with an overdose. So how the hell were these killing him? It made no sense. That doctor was just a hoax, trying to steal hard-earned money from the poor saps who would even venture out to see this out-of-the-way doctor. This hospital was right on the cusp of a highway, for God’s sake. How could inhaling this air be healthy?
His leg ached with a familiar pulse, soon to grow into an unstoppable throb. The wind blew, making him sway, making the pills clatter once more, inviting him. What a quack doctor.
He pocketed the pills and made his way to the bus stop.
Walking through the halls of the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, House felt again in his element. This was his domain, and he was the God of it. Fingers inadvertently flexing, his eyes moved back and forth, assessing the mix of patients, families, and doctors moving like fish through seaweed to various places. He was home. Though he tried to tell himself he was looking for signs of future special patients, who he was really looking for was -
“House!” Wilson ran up beside him, hair frazzled as if he had run his hand through it. House smirked at the sight of him, but then frowned, remembering the doctor earlier today. Those final words he had said. Shaking that memory out of his mind, he turned to Wilson. “Trouble with that mother of the food poisoning patient again?”
Wilson chuckled, then ran his hands through his hair, as he had probably done earlier before. “She just refuses to believe a simple shot can cure him, and now we have to keep him here while someone else needs that bed more. Honestly, these anti-vaxxers stress me out.” He then looked towards House, inquisitive. “How did you tell that I talked to her when you knew I didn’t even agree to be on the case?”
House smirked. “Well, you’re a bleeding heart, so you wouldn’t pass on a chance to help someone get out of their suffering. No matter what you say. As well….”
Leaning over, he flattened Wilson’s hair to its normal look. “…..well, I’ve noticed whenever you’re stressed out, you run a hand through your hair like so. A psychological thing.” His fingers strayed on one of the hairs in the front of Wilson’s head, slowly pushing it back. Wilson looked up at him expectantly, waiting for this part of House’s little show to be finished. Though the longer House’s fingers stayed, the more Wilson began to fidget, eyes doing anything but looking at House. A touch of red appeared on his cheeks, and slowly grew. Though it was obvious the moment should have ended a while ago, House admitted touching Wilson felt so comforting he couldn’t pull away.
Then the words from the doctor hit him suddenly, like a bullet. House inadvertently recoiled back, body tensing. The tips of his fingers burned where they had touched Wilson and ached, mourning the feel of his soft hair. Noticing House’s reaction, Wilson blinked several times, then looked like he was in pain, like a wounded puppy. He opened his mouth, but before he could, House turned away.
“Your hair looks great now. Thanks to me, of course. You can pay back this great favour by annoying that mother more. I’ll be in my office.”
He limped away, while Wilson looked after him, various emotions fighting for dominance on his lonely face.
The office door opened with a familiar slam. House sighed and put his face in his hands, trailing them down his face. Cuddy was here.
“Can you tell me why exactly you decided to waltz in today 2 hours late, then hole up in your office when you should be working at the clinic?” She tapped a finger against the constant clipboard she kept in her right hand. “I mean, skipping out on work doing god knows what is one thing, but if you’re coming to work, you should be ... .well…working.”
House let out a dramatic sigh. “First of all, how ableist of you to assume everyone can waltz. Bum leg, remember?” His leg throbbed in response. He grit his teeth. “Secondly, I am working. On a very important case, in fact.”
Cuddy raised an eyebrow. “House, watching an episode of General Hospital does not count as ‘working on a case’.”
House shut off the TV. “Well, let’s say I’m trying to figure out what disease…..” he squinted at the TV. “....Molly Malariah has. My guess is….. Malaria? No, that’s too obscure.”
Now it was Cuddy’s turn to let out a dramatic exhale. “House, just do your job, for the love of god. Or else….” -She let out another big sigh- “You’re getting fired. For real this time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go do MY job.”
House grinned sarcastically. As she threw open the door once more, he called out - “You know you can’t fire little old me!”
She let the door slam shut. The office was quiet. House could swear he could hear the throbbing of his leg. Finally, after more moments of deliberation, he opened his drawer, took the bottle, and poured the vicodin into the palm of his hand. That idiot highway doctor didn’t know anything. He popped the pills into his mouth, closing his eyes as he savoured the feeling of the immediate release from his pain. His body relaxed, the warmth travelling through his body, sealing the pain from his leg.
Upon the noise from yet another visitor to his office, he opened one eye, then flinched in his chair, quickly sitting up as Wilson stared at him with pity. House quickly stashed the pills in the drawer. “Well? What is it?” he snapped.
Wilson pointed at the drawer. “I thought…you were trying to quit that.”
House rolled his eyes. “Wilson, if I remember correctly, when I did try and quit, you’re the one who gave them back to me again. Don’t fly at me now when I have some.” He stood, leaning on his cane for support. His breath caught when he looked at Wilson’s somber eyes. “Really, Wilson. I’m fine. It’s not like I can die from-” House shook his head. “Honestly. Anyway, right now I’m being forced to work by the great Empress Cuddy, so if you would move out of the doorway so I could limp on through that would be excellent.”
“House,” Wilson touched his arm. “You know if you need anything, or someone to talk to, I’m right here.” House made the mistake of looking into Wilson’s burning gaze, so full of concern and the inexplicable emotion of love that he felt himself collapse inside. “Wilson, I’m-”
Suddenly, a blaring siren went off. “CODE BLUE. I REPEAT, THIS IS A CODE BLUE. ALL DOCTORS TO..”
The hospital alarm flashed and yelled, obscuring House’s words. Wilson stared at House’s mouth, trying to decipher what he was saying, but it was nigh impossible. When the alarm ended, House felt drained. He looked at Wilson.
Eyes creasing as if he were squinting, he asked, “House, what did you say?”
Those five words made him crack, and realize the foolishness of what he was about to do. Wilson wouldn’t be of any help. He would just freak out. Make House go cold turkey on the vicodin. Blame him for using too much. Mock him, brag to him that he attempted to stop him before and how right he was to do it.
Wilson didn’t understand how hard it was not to take the escape of the Vicodin, or even what a chronic injury felt like. And even if House were to somehow explain it all, he didn’t want to see those pitying eyes, looking at him as if looking at something that was broken.
House took a breath, and let out a gust of air that he hoped sounded like a sarcastic chuckle. “A bunch of nonsense. Really, I know that you’re there for me, and the rest of the whole talk. Yadda yadda. Move.” He gently used his cane to nudge Wilson from the doorway. “Thanks, I guess. Bye.”
He walked down the hall to the elevator to the first floor. Maybe it was a good thing the vicodin was killing him. Maybe he wanted it to. He popped another, feeling the warmth again. Though it didn’t solve the ache in his heart at the thought of Wilson’s burning eyes, and his sad resignation when House pushed him away yet again.
Damn it, it’s getting worse somehow, House thought as he awoke again to painful coughing. The clock read 3:15am, and the moon was shining bright through the curtains, illuminating the empty vodka bottle and glass on his bedside table. The coughing racked his entire body, driving deep knives into his throat, and agitating his already burning leg. He grabbed the vicodin bottle and water, and as soon as the coughing was done he immediately took a pill and washed it down.
The original reason he had gone to see that doctor was for this late-night coughing, which had been happening every night the past few weeks. Of course, that doctor gave nothing of value in ways of a diagnosis, (Except for that shitty parlour trick he called an answer, House thought) so the coughing continued. He grimaced at the echo of the doctor’s words, and felt the vicodin making his way down his throat. Slowly killing him. Riiight.
Finding it impossible to sleep, he hopped out of his bedroom to his dining table, and sipped his water. Tapping his fingers on the wood, he gazed at the other chair across from him. House swore he could smell Chinese food in the air, and hear Wilson’s charming laugh. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, House let the memory envelop him in bliss his Vicodin could only hope to give.
It was Christmastime, and House had never expected to have company. In fact, he prided himself on being a Grinch/Scrooge-like character, and scoffed at the idea of the consumeristic holiday. Planning to hole himself up with some crap TV until the hospital inevitably called with a crisis, House didn’t think the night would be any different than the next.
But there sat Wilson, his presence immediately brightening up the dimly-lit room. He finished his noodles with a slurp and sat back with a sigh. Strange feelings aroused in House, things he hadn’t felt in a while, and he turned away. Wilson looked up curiously. “House?”
In an attempt to hide the heat on his face, House stood up and limped over to the piano. He trailed his finger across the keys, deciding what piece to play. “Hey, Wilson. Isn’t it nice to spend this very special, very holy day, with your favourite,” he put on a sardonic tone, “bro?”
Wilson sighed. “House, I’m Jewish. You know that. I don’t celebrate Christmas, so this really isn’t a special day for me. So it doesn’t really matter who exactly I spend it with. Though, I guess I’m pleased to know I’m…..bro status with you?”
House scoffed, ignoring the last part. “I’m sure your wife would disagree. How is she doing, anyway?”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “You know we aren’t exactly getting along on the best terms right now.” He gathered the remnants of the food, and put it in the trash.
“So what, am I just a convenient hiding place for you? Or…..” he paused. “Are you just keeping the old lonely man company on God’s glorious holiday? I can’t exactly see any other reason why you would willingly hang out with lil ol’ me. You may be Jewish, but I would say this is a very Christian sentiment. Be….” -he almost spat the word- “kind to thy neighbour or whatever, especially on this…holy….fucking day.”
Though he filled the words with an arrogant, brusque tone, he didn’t want to admit he was afraid. Had Wilson just come to fulfill some sort of inner civic duty, or to hide out from his wife? As soon as he walked in the door, Wilson was all smiles and chatter. There was no other reason why he would be that way, if not to hide the fact his wife didn't want him, or…do a good deed. To fix something, the way he tried to fix all his patients last year. But some things weren’t fixable, the way that cancer ravages the body, the way that even Wilson wasn’t able to fix the too far gone.
He tried to tell himself he didn’t care about any of it, that all that mattered was that he got a free dinner from Wilson, but….
With a few quick steps, Wilson walked over to the piano. He placed one hand on each of House’s shoulders and leaned over. Hot breath grazed his left ear as Wilson sighed. House went rigid, holding his breath, not wanting to do anything to break the moment. After what felt like years, Wilson started to speak.
“House, I do hope you realize that I actually came for you, not for any other hidden motive you’ve concocted in your head because you believe it’s impossible for someone to care about you otherwise. Honestly, sometimes you’re not some mysterious doctor genius, though you probably think you are. Sometimes, I can read you as clear as an IV bag.”
House slightly turned his head towards Wilson in shock, blinking quickly, as if to hold back tears. For once, he was too stumped to think of a clever joking comeback to Wilson’s heartfelt words.
Shifting, Wilson spoke again. “Well, I suppose you can say the same about me. And everyone. I bet everyone is as clear as an IV bag to you.”
This broke House out of his funk. “What is it with you and IV bag metaphors?” he whispered, then turned to a more seductive tone. “Have you been getting up to….no good with those bags? Some passionate lovemaking happening in storage room B?”
Wilson flattened his mouth into a line. “Yup, there we go. Normal House.” He straighted, and clapped him once on each of his shoulders simultaneously, letting go of the awkwardness and tension previously floating in the air.
House lamented the loss of Wilson’s hands from his shoulders as Wilson walked back to the dining table. Scraping a chair across the hardwood floor, he placed it beside House. Leaning on one side of the piano, his eyes gazed at House’s fingers frozen over the keys. “I’m sure your fingers are talented in more ways than dissection and surgery. Would you play me a song?”
House stood from his seat, warmth from the memory overpowering that of the vicodin, that of the pain. Striding over to his piano, he played the familiar melody, that of Clair de lune, imagining himself living that day over again.
The somber tune filled the otherwise empty apartment, pouring into all the cracks, bringing warmth, bringing Wilson. Closing his eyes, House could almost swear that Wilson was beside him once more, smiling and listening. Watching his fingers move from note to note. Admiring him. On that day, there was no hospital and no hurt. There was only Wilson, and House, merging in the melody, becoming one.
But when the final notes rang out and House opened his eyes, the reality of his situation came to mind. An empty apartment, dark and dirty. The constant throb of his leg. Wilson, though broken up with his first wife, was already engaged to another.
Then the vicodin. His escape, now his prison, now his executioner. House slammed down on the keys of the piano, the jarring noise breaking him free from the final dregs of the agonizing recollection. Standing up, he stalked over to the dining table, took the cup with water, and smashed it against the wall. The glass shards rained down to the floor, the water slowly trickling down.
The pain was intolerable. Grabbing the pill bottle, he didn’t think twice before gulping down three more pills. Who cared if he lived or died? Wilson had moved onto new horizons. Cuddy, Cameron, Chase, and Foreman only lauded him for his work at the hospital, which he needed the vicodin in order to do. He scoffed. Him dying would save more lives. And really, what life was this? He limped over to bed, his pain all but gone, and collapsed into the sheets.
It was around that time that the vicodin stopped working.
Coughing, House had to pause his epic mysterious-diagnosis-for-patient speech. Foreman and Chase looked bored, while Cameron was mildly concerned.
“House, this is probably the second time you’ve stopped your ...dissertation…on the patient’s condition. You know this is a hospital, right? If you’re sick, go home. “ Foreman looked to his comrades for support. “And this case isn’t that difficult. It’s a benign tumor causing side effects.”
Chase leaned over. “No, if you would only look closer at the X-ray, you would see-”
Cameron sighed loudly. “Come on Chase, let it go, it’s not-”
They started arguing, their voices filling the glass office. House tried to catch his breath from coughing to yell over them and assert his dominance, but gave up. He slammed his cane into the whiteboard, knocking it over. At the loud noise, the three quickly stopped talking, and stared at him.
“Now,” -he wheezed- “You’ll find that a tumor is active, but moving at a ... .slowly ... growing pace…seems benign ....compare the two X-rays.” A sudden blast of pain blinded him, making the room sway and turn white.
House grit his teeth. If he were to faint again, he needed to leave. Quickly. He turned to leave. “Get it done.”
He collapsed in the chair in his office. The hurt was overwhelming. His hands shook the bottle, making the pills dance inside. One broke off from the circle and leaped into his hand. He swallowed.
It just felt like a cold vitamin going down his throat, the warmth non apparent. His body was racked with more pain, and he slid off his chair, curling into the fetal position on the floor. Why didn’t the Vicodin work?! He thought, pain making sparks in his vision. That doctor only said that I would just die from it, not that it would just suddenly stop working. Overcome with pain, House closed his eyes and rolled under his desk, where it was darker.
Suddenly, the door slammed open, and footsteps filled the room. “House?!?”
Wilson was breathing heavily, as if he had run all the way up the stairs from his office. Obscured by the desk, House couldn’t see his expression, but he bet it was that sorrowful anxiety face he always seemed to wear. With a characteristic annoyed loud sigh, House called out “I’m here. Under the desk.”
Wilson came around, moving the chair out of the way. He inhaled quickly in shock. “House!! What happened to you?!?”
He knelt down, already in doctor mode. He touched House’s back, trying to assess his condition. He felt his back bloom with heat, and focused on the feeling, trying to ignore the ever growing pain.
“House, can you hear me?” Wilson rolled House over to face him. He did look anxious, but intensely panicked. His eyes searched House’s, pleading written all over his face. House glared at Wilson and he rolled his eyes. “Of course I can hear you dingbat, how would I have responded to you when you initially came in if I couldn’t??”
Wilson let out a relieved sigh. “I see your charming wit hasn’t been hurt. Are you in pain?? Why did you fall??”
“I just felt like taking a little nap. Under my desk is the darkest and might I say most comfy place in the entire hospital. Why don’t you come take a look yourself?” House grimaced, and leaned on his arm to try and stand. As if lying as a lion in wait, pain gnawed at his entire body and with a cry he fell back down. He groaned like a dying animal as he feebly clutched his leg where the burn was emitting from.
“I’ve seen enough,” Wilson choked out in fear. He turned his head to face the entrance of the office where the door hung ajar. “We need a crash cart in here, stat!”
Looking at Wilson suddenly was as if House was looking through the wrong end of a telescope. House slowly reached for Wilson, but his arm failed him at the last moment. Wilson flinched as if he had noticed the slight breeze and immediately swiveled to face House. His face was full of such concern and pain that House’s eyes teared up. After today he was never going to see that level of care for him again.
“Wilson,” House winced. The tunnel sharpened, closed around the world until he only saw Wilson. “I’m-” he hesitated. There was too much to explain, to say before they all found out and the world would crack House’s foundations. There was only one thing he could say. One word to encapsulate and atone for all the lies House had told.
“I’m sorry-”
And with that final syllable uttered the world shut House’s lights off, plunging him into an unmovable darkness.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
With every passing second the steady beat nudged House’s brain. What was first a gentle hum spurring him further into sleep became an iron hot poker of intensity, sending pulsating messages to his brain to awaken. With a groan sprung from the depths of his soul, House relented and opened his eyes.
Wilson stood in the corner of the room as if afraid to be near his bed. His head was in his hands. His chest rose and fell rapidly, faster than the beeps. A sense of terror ran through House at the sight, an adrenaline boost that made the beeping noise pick up in tempo. Wilson’s head snapped up as House quickly closed his eyes again.
“I wonder who will be present to watch my grand revival?” House licked his lips. “I predict that…..Cameron, Chase, Foreman, Wilson, and the enchanting Cuddy are here by my bedside, nursing me to health again.” House slowly opened one eye, drawing out the performance. “Awh shoot, it’s just the whiny Wilson here to nag.”
Wilson inadvertently stepped forward, pulled by House’s words like a string. His face was as pale as a sheet and was trembling in the wind. “House. This is not the time. You….you knew-”
“I knew….well, I know a lot of things. For instance,” - House pointed a finger at the heart monitor - “I know this thing is too damn loud. Prevents a patient from getting his beauty sleep. Did I know that? Well, I know now, so you can count that too.”
Wilson began shaking his head slowly, staring at the floor like an abyss had opened beneath him. “You knew that you were dying. And you didn’t tell anyone.”
House lowered his hand and let it fall on the hospital bed with a thunk. “Wilson. I’m not dying! Just because I fell unconscious doesn’t mean I’m dying, any doctor worth their salt would know that.”
“There you go! You’re lying again!” With a sarcastic scoff, Wilson threw down House’s patient record on his bed. “You were diagnosed with the condition that is killing you months ago.” Wilson then paced across the room, with a mocking tilt to his melodic voice. House inhaled heavily. His heart started to beat faster, the tension in the room accentuated by the ever-growing beeps. “The simple cure? Stop the vicodin. But you couldn’t even do that!! And now look at you. Dying, alone in your hospital bed.” He turned to face House with tears glistening in his beautiful brown eyes. “You were right when you said everybody lies. You lie most of all, House. I would be a fool not to know that. But why….why did you have to lie about this?”
“Wilson, that doctor was a moron and an idiot. He wanted me to stop the vicodin, but I- I couldn't!” House shifted, looking out the window. “Vicodin helps me do my work. And without my work….what value do I have? No one likes me. I don’t do anything meaningful. My life essentially has little to no purpose outside of-”
“House, your life has more value and worth to me than you could possibly imagine.”
Tears streamed down Wilson’s face as he gazed upon House. He shook, realizing that he could very possibly never see the man before him. Never again would he hear his kind words, see his soft eyes, feel his gentle touch. He was the only one that cared enough about House to wait for him to wake up, to come at Christmas and the immeasurable other times he had been there while everyone had turned away. The longing piano he had played for Wilson sang in the air, using House’s heartbeats as a perfect metronome. House blinked back tears he didn’t realize he was growing himself. “Wilson-”
“No, no, no. Don’t say any more. I can’t handle any more of your deflection designed as humor. I need-” he struggled to inhale- “I need to say something more, before you’re hauled away for tests and before you slowly fade.” Wilson walked over to House’s left side of the bed, sitting on the corner. He took House’s shaking hand in his own.
“House. I have loved you ever since our first meeting, and I will love you far beyond our last. I didn’t really know what this feeling was - if it was just admiration for your abilities, or just the simple desire to be your friend. And then you had your wife and I didn’t know if you could reciprocate and- it just got so confusing.” He sighed. “I tried to bury it all in my own life and romance but I never could forget you. Ever. If anything, I do know one thing for certain.”
He placed House’s hand on his heart. “No matter what, I’ll be here for you. No matter the trials you’ll face in the upcoming years, because it’s a slim margin for you to survive, I’ll live them with you at your side. It’s fine if….” He clenched House’s hand. “If you push me away, if you lie about your pain, if you can’t or don’t want me there to see you fall. Since that’s your defensive mechanism, I assume that’s what you’ll do anyway. But I don’t care. I’ll always be there for you.”
Through his hand, House felt Wilson’s heart thrum with a conviction he had never felt before. House’s life had been filled with misery, and meeting Wilson was like discovering the light and warmth of the sun for the first time. Now here was that same sun, beating and shining just for him.
With the extent of his sickly strength, he pulled Wilson towards him and cupped his face. “Wilson….thank you.”
House pressed his lips to Wilson’s and they embraced, warmth filling House’s soul, pushing away the pain that lingered. House’s hand raised to Wilson’s hair and began to tenderly brush his hands through it. Wilson laughed, the memory of that day flooding his mind as he buried his face in House’s chest. No matter what they would go through, they would always be together, House and Wilson against the world.