(no subject)
Title: That Night One Year Ago
Fandom: House, M.D.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,330
Summary: A 'What-If' scenario from 'Under My Skin'. What if Wilson was the one to help House through his detox?
Betas:
cindy_lou_who8 for the initial read-over andarhh for fic "planning" (ala rp-ing)
Notes: Wilson's POV, I had actually written this the night of 'Under My Skin', but was too busy playing The World Ends With You to actually finish. No excuse on my part actually...
I didn't hear from House since he kicked me out of the differential due to Foreman's prying. The next time I heard from him was when I had gotten a text from Cuddy about his insulin-OD episode. Immediately after, House sent me a corresponding text insisting that he was completely fine; he had solved the case, and was off celebrating.
I left work with my mind on House's announcement of his latest problem. I had my doubts that House was hallucinating Kutner, the way he was so distraught and nervous I knew it had to have been something deeply personal. At the very most, I thought it may have been House's late father.
Suddenly, my cell phone rang taking me from my thoughts of House's hallucinations, but not from House himself. The reason being was that he was on he was on the other end of the call sounding shaken and foreign, a House that I thought didn't exist.
"Wilson...come get me."
---
Moments later I was driving House home in the rain. His breathing was panicked and his eyes where distant.
"So it's not MS or schizophrenia. All we have left now is-"
"She was there. She was singing."
"Who was there? She? You're not making sense."
House leaned back as he closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. "I wasn't seeing Kutner." He then looked at the back seat. "It's Amber."
I looked away from him surprised. "You lied? Why... Amber..."
House looked forward again as he kept his eyes shut, failing to answer.
"You need to get the vicodin out of your system."
House was silent for a moment and I was sure he thinking of a way to adamantly disagree with my suggestion. Instead he gave a slight nod of agreement. "Rehab will never work. I know the system, I know the tricks, and I know how to get around them."
I turned my eyes back onto the road, "So what are we going to do?"
"You have to make sure I detox."
"Me?" I blinked in surprise.
"I thought it'd be fair payback for my last attempt. This'll save you money on another tie."
I frowned, "That's not why I'm going to help you House. I...want what's best for you."
House snorted, "Bullshit, you just don't want to see me suffer."
I refused to respond to his statement for the fact that he was mostly right. We pulled up to House's apartment and the minute we were both inside and settled I immediately went searching through his things. Surprisingly enough House was close behind me willingly pointing out subtle spots and well-disguised hiding places.
A couple of hours later I was sure I had found enough vicodin to overstock the hospital's pharmacy. I assumed House must have tripled his stash since the last time his supply was infiltrated. By the time I returned to the living room, House was transformed into a shuddering, sweating, crying mess. I averted my gaze and headed into the kitchen.
As I prepared a drink for House's nausea and riffled through the cupboards and dishwasher for extra orange canisters, House raggedly called out my name, tears present in his voice. "Wilson, coffee canister. At the bottom..."
My hands curled up into fists at the sound of House's cries that he failed to keep hidden. My disbelief of his fearful self earlier was nothing compared to the witness of his lowest state of all. "I already cleaned it out. ...Thanks for telling me."
House shivered and continued his attempt to hold back his cries and expressions of pain as I came out of the kitchen and stood at the end of the couch. "Anywhere else I should know about?"
House closed his eyes in resignation and at first I believed my job was finished; however, a few minutes later House squinted his eyes past me as he glared at the air. He eventually replied to my inquiry, "Piano" he gasped, "Inside; under the lid."
I can barely hold back my surprise that House would reduce his sacred piano as a vicodin hiding spot. As I walked towards it, House began convulsing as a response to his pain. I quickly ran over and wordlessly grabbed his hand in an effort to lessen some of his burden; although it was more of a gesture to show him I was going to be here no matter how hard it was going to be.
---
The next night we found ourselves camping out in the bathroom. House was hugging the toilet bowl as he was talking about seemingly nothing and everything. I was unsure if he was speaking to me or just speaking.
"I need some more Gatorade. I feel so dehydrated." He whispered in a whining tone.
I finally found an opportunity to reply to House's seemingly random babbling. I was hesitant to leave him alone so I attempted to keep a conversation. "I'll make you some tea, it'll be better for you. Or ginger, it would help the nausea."
'He's sure to disagree,' I thought, 'he hates tea. He'll probably spend the next 20 minutes over the toxic qualities of tea or describe my idiocy in new detail. Most likely both.'
Instead of arguing with me however, House agreed much too easily. As I begun to leave I noticed his gaze travel to the other end of the bathroom.
"What are you looking at?"
"Nothing" House quickly answered. He then looked away, "Amber.. is sitting on the floor."
At that statement I allowed myself to get up and get House a glass of the tea I had brewed earlier. The revelation that House was seeing my dead girlfriend the entire time instead of his recent lost fellow was an ever-growing burden that I didn't realize was beginning to push me over the edge. It was something that I felt that needed to address but, in light of our current events, it probably wouldn't be the greatest of discussion topics. I tried to push away the questions popping into my mind like 'Why Amber?' or 'Why now?' as I headed back into the bathroom.
Just as I walked into the light of the doorway I saw House sprawled out on the ground reaching for something. Thinking quickly, I dropped the glass and snatched the pill away from House and moved to get rid of it. I then felt a strong pair of arms grab my legs attempting to pull me to the floor. At first my adrenaline-powered mind thought a burglar had somehow gotten into the apartment, but I soon realized that it was House running on the last of his energy and his base instincts. As soon as I flushed down the sole pill, I looked into his eyes and saw a shadow of pure anger. At that moment I truly was afraid of what was going to happen next.
In retrospect I felt like an idiot for taking House's blow without any sort of anticipation or defense. However, before I could recover, House was running on the little energy he had left to lunge at me desperately and claw at my shirt. I half-heard him yelling Amber's name and a string of curses and something about this entire thing being Amber’s and my fault. After that spectacle he had simply run out of energy and I was finally able to gain a bit of physical control over the situation.
We were both panting as I slumped down the wall effectively taking him with me.
House continued to glare at me through his bloodshot eyes, his anger towards me was impossible to not see. "Fuck you and your damn girlfriend. You both planned this, laughing at me behind my back or in my face, it’s all the same. I hope you two are getting your kinks out of this. Now just go home and screw already."
"This is just the detox speaking." I thought out loud.
"This is your fault for dying!" House yelled at his empty bathtub.
"It's not her fault." I tried to answer calmly.
"Of course it’s not. It's obvious whose fault it actually is. Why do you think she's here?"
"She's not here, House."
"Yes she is and it’s my fault." House's grip on my shirt loosened as he pulled himself away from me still panting. "This is probably wrong you know. This is all for nothing."
I shook my head, "We ruled out mental illness already. Besides anti-psych meds means forfeiting your medical license."
"Meds aren't the only option."
"Are you saying electro-shock therapy?! Do you know how risky that is? Cardiac arrest, seizure, death, brain death."
"Ha! Like that matters to you; hypocrite."
House's words confused me. "It does matter to me. Surprising how I don't want my best friend dead."
He scoffed, "My state of mind and body don't really seem to matter that much when it stands against your benefit."
"What are you...talking about...?” As I spoke the words the realization of what he was saying hit me full force. It's already been a year since the bus accident that changed our lives for the worse and it seemed that he remembered that event better than I did.
"If you recall I've already had a heart attack, skull fracture, and a seizure all for the sake of your dead and buried girlfriend who can't seem to leave my subconscious alone. If anything I'm already on the road to brain death because of the both of you."
"House, I..." I was caught completely off guard, I never thought about House's side that night. All that mattered was saving Amber, was keeping her alive. "It's wasn't because it was you House. I would have done anything to keep her alive."
House glared at me as he moved himself over to the wall opposite from the one I was leaning against. Almost like a cornered animal. "So the fact that it was me that was expendable had nothing to do with it?"
"You're not expendable. I thought you understood..."
" 'Understood?' 'Understood?' What the hell was there to understand Wilson!? That my already failing life was ok to lose at the chance of saving hers?" His voice cracked at the end of his questions, a fact I chose to ignore.
At some level I knew House was right, I knew he had the right to be mad, but as he tried to focus Amber's death on him I could not control my own impulses and anger. I scoffed at his questions. "And you thought it was fair that you walked away from that accident just fine while Amber, who didn't even have to pick you up at all, much less chase you onto that damn bus, ended up dying!?"
"You think a skull fracture is 'just fine'?"
"It sure compares a hell of a lot better to kidney damage and an impaled leg."
Our argument was interrupted for moment as House leaned towards the toilet and vomited, an action I wasn't entirely sure was coincidental or not. As he finished he returned to his wall refusing to look at me. "I'm sorry she died and you were left with me. I'm also sorry you were unable to get away from me despite the fact you really wanted to."
Those words stunned me silent for a moment as I processed our recent conversation enough to feel like a horrible traitor. "...That's... It's not like that."
House was no longer giving me any attention as his full focus was on his empty bathtub. His gaze was distant as if he was in another world. I remembered that gaze as it was the so similar to the one Daniel had so often in the past. That look always frightened me, it was as if he was looking into another world and, if I didn't do something to stop it, they both would be pulled into a world forever out of my grasp.
"House....House!"
House continued to stare at his bathtub, I was unsure if he was conversing with it or not. His head was cast downward as if he was resigning to another person's judgment. I was so afraid I reached out to him in the first way that popped into my head. I propelled myself closer to him and began rubbing his arm. "...It's not your fault she couldn't be saved."
My quick words seemed to be enough to shake him from his untouchable world and enough to stare at me in confusion. "...But you are saying it's my fault she died."
"I'm saying that everything that happened that night was not in your control. You're not responsible and you need to stop blaming yourself."
House laughed, but it was in an empty spirit and it lacked life. "Right, you can do the blaming for both of us."
His focus remained elsewhere as he spoke to me so I grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look at me. "I don't blame you at all. Not anymore at least. House, look at me."
House's eyes were full of defiance and frustration; it was more like he was staring at me instead of 'seeing' me. "I'm not leaving House. Not this time."
I managed to get his attention, but his focus was still elsewhere. Perhaps on the ghostly burdens manifested in his mind's eye or perhaps stuck in the past. Either way I saw this as my last chance. "House, I'm here. I'm here now, just me. No one else is here but me."
After a long moment of silence and hesitation on both our behalf’s, House eventually met my eyes with a connection I never thought I'd see again. The night had taken a toll on him, I noticed, as he leaned back, resting his head on the wall. As I helped him up and walked him to his room, I noticed that his features looked more relaxed. His hallucinations may be persistent, but it seemed we finally were on the right path towards recovery.