Promise
Title: Promise Rating: PG-13
Pairings: House/Wilson established
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Major character death
Summary: Wilson has a promise to fulfill.
It started off with him forgetting the symptoms of his patients. He used to be able to recite the symptoms off-hand without referring to the file or whiteboard.
Then he started misplacing the cane and the car keys. Once, he left the cane in the patient’s room, and sent the team to scour the entire hospital for it.
He missed clinic duty a few times, but that always happened so they didn’t think much of it. Perhaps they should have noticed that he wasn’t even trying to actively avoid it. He just… forgot about it.
He started missing appointments and meetings. He would page the team to meet, but forget about it the next moment, leaving them bewildered in the conference room. Wilson would arrange to meet him for lunch in two hours, and then would find that he had eaten already.
“I was hungry.”
“I told you we were going to grab lunch together!”
“Really? It must have slipped my mind.”
And then there were the few times when he couldn’t remember the diseases, and had to refer to the textbooks to refresh his memory. It was only the team who used the textbooks - he usually had it all in his mind.
It was Foreman who finally approached Wilson. The neurologist, of course.
“Something’s wrong.”
~~~
House was sitting in the recliner, and Wilson on the ottoman when Foreman broke to them the results of the test.
Wilson found himself reaching for House’s hand, and squeezing it. For once, House didn’t shy away from the physical contact.
As Wilson sat trying to absorb the news, he gradually realized that his fingers were starting to feel numb. And he realized that House was holding on so tight like he was afraid he would drift away if he ever let go.
~~~
Of course Cuddy cried when they told her. Actually, Wilson told her. House just stood mutely next to him, still holding on tightly.
~~~
That night, Wilson swept up all the broken glass, and pick up all the books that lay scattered on the floor.
He wasn’t angry at the mess.
He felt his lips trembling and eyes burning as he picked up the shattered remains of all the plates and bowls. The tears came for real when he picked up the medical textbooks and antique medical texts, and rearranged them on the shelf. He couldn't get the thought that one day, House wouldn't even be able to read and understand those texts as easily as he did now, out of his head.
It was an hour later that he climbed into bed. House was facing the wall, away from him. Wilson knew he wasn’t asleep.
Wilson lay on his back, looking at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry.” A mumble.
Wilson turned towards House, and shifted himself closer to him. He reached over, and let his arm come to rest on House’s waist.
Hours passed, but neither of them slept.
It was nearly dawn when House turned around. His arm crept around Wilson’s waist, and he leaned in towards Wilson. Wilson didn’t say anything when he felt his tee growing damp. He didn’t even cry. He’d had his turn.
He couldn't even imagine how frightening the prospect was for House. To lose the only thing he could trust fully. His intelligence, his mind. His body had betrayed him once already with the infarction. Now, it looked like his mind was betraying him, giving up on him too.
He tightened his hold on House.
~~~
“I will forget you one day.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
“It’s not. Don’t say it is.”
“But I will still remember you. I'll remember for both of us."
“That’s not enough.”
~~~
It wasn’t easy watching House’s name being scraped off the door, and being replaced with Foreman’s. And watching the transformation of the office. Foreman preferred a comfy, overstuffed armchair over a recliner. He shifted the bookshelf to the other wall.
Wilson brought home the ancient TV, the recliner and ottoman, and House’s various knick-knacks.
News spread fast that the Head of Diagnostics of PPTH was retiring. The world’s best diagnostician. There was speculation, of course. After all, he was still far from the official retirement age. And no one thought he would retire early. They thought he would work till he physically no longer could.
No one thought about the mentally.
The phone rang off the hook, and Cuddy was left to field questions from everyone, ranging from the WHO, to editors of magazines and newsletters circulated in the medical community; former fellows, to fellow hospital administrators.
There was even a short article in the local newspaper. And in medical journals and newsletters were long articles about House’s life and career.
Board certified with double specialty… expelled from Hopkins… misdiagnosed infarction that left him crippled… withdrew from medical community for three years… re-emerged when the Diagnostics Department at PPTH was created… attracted patients from all over the country… “cured the incurable”…
There were also the thank-you letters and cards that came streaming in from former patients.
Thank you for saving my life… Thank you for giving me the chance to go to college… Thank you for enabling me to lead a normal life… Without you, our family wouldn’t be complete right now… Thank you, Dr House…
House said he didn’t care for all of them, but Wilson kept them in a large box. One day, House would want to try and remember, and he would want to read it.
~~~
“Promise me.”
“I can’t.”
“You must.”
~~~
Wilson came home one day to find House missing from the apartment. He dialed House’s cell. It rang from somewhere in the house. Wilson rummaged through the entire apartment before finding it in the dresser, next to House's socks.
Wilson spent the next one and a half hours driving around before he finally found a familiar figure seated at a bus-stop. He was clutching his coat tight around him, and looking down at his Nikes.
Wilson sat down next to him. He kept his tone light, erasing all traces of the anxiety and fear that had gripped his heart just a few moments ago.
“Waiting for the bus?”
House didn’t reply. He wrapped his arms around himself, and shivered imperceptibly. The autumn wind blew down the empty road, sending leaves dancing through the air.
He finally raised his head to look at Wilson.
“I don’t know how to get home.”
~~~
Wilson was breaking the news to a mother of two young children that she had stage three ovarian cancer when the phone rang. He ignored it.
About five minutes later, Chase came knocking on his door.
“I’m with a patient.”
Chase had his cellphone in his hand. “You really should take this call.” He sounded professional, but Wilson could see the worry in his eyes. It’s House, mouthed Chase.
Wilson immediately stood up, and apologizing profusely to Mrs Pooler, he grabbed the phone from Chase.
“House?”
“Wilson?” His voice was trembling. “I fell and my leg hurts and I don’t know where my Vicodin are.”
“Okay. Okay, give me half an hour and I’ll be home, okay?”
Wilson couldn’t focus on Mrs Pooler after that. After leaving instructions for his secretary to cancel all his following appointments, he rushed out the hospital and headed home.
He found House curled up on the bed, hands gripping his thigh so tight his knuckles were white and shaking.
Wilson gave the pills he had picked up from the pharmacy to House, and after they’d kicked in, coaxed House to take a shower and change out from his sweat-soaked clothes. He noted that House had trouble unbuttoning his shirt and pants now. Wilson’s hands were trembling as he helped House unbutton his clothes. He examined House for any injuries from the fall. Those bruises were from the fall four days ago… That cut is from when he dropped the glass last week and tried to clean it up… He kept track of everything.
He was preparing dinner when he found the pills in the refrigerator, next to the plate of pancakes that he had told House to eat for lunch.
~~~
“I don’t want you to have to wipe my ass for me, or do the most basic of stuff for me!”
“I don’t mind.”
“I mind! And that’s why you must do it!”
“I can’t... You’re being selfish, House. You can’t make me do this.”
"I don't want you to take care of me for the next ten years, handling a drooling idiot who can't even feed himself. I'm being selfish?"
"You can't expect me to live with it... I don't think I can. I can't promise you."
~~~
Wilson woke to find the space next to him on the bed empty. He could hear a faint rhythmic thumping coming from the living room.
He dragged himself out of bed, and found House seated on the couch. He was staring at the wall, and bouncing his ball on the ground.
On the wall were a list of symptoms.
Clot in lungs
Fever
Cardiac arrest
Cannot understand words
Wilson stared at the list of symptoms on the wall. The terms pulmonary embolism, cardiac arrest, and aphasia had obviously eluded House.
“Wilson. I think he has a tumor.”
“It’s three in the morning, House. Come back to bed."
“My patient is going to die.”
It took half an hour of coaxing before Wilson could lead him back to bed again.
“You just want to get me back into bed with you.” House smirked as they lay down facing each other. “If my patient dies I’m telling Cuddy that it’s your fault.”
Wilson leaned over and kissed him tenderly. Wilson snuck his arms around his best friend, and placed his head right next to House's chest, listening to the thud-thud of his heart, knowing that House was slowly drifting away from him like a ship that had no anchor.
~~~
There were good days and bad days.
Good days were when House was almost fully with him. They would exchange snarks and barbs so quick and fast, so much like the past. Sometimes, Wilson couldn't keep up. And they would watch the soaps and House would still be able to tell him the current story arc just 10min into the show.
Bad days were when House woke up in the mornings after Wilson had left, and went to work like usual. Nurse Brenda would page Wilson when she saw House walk in. Bad days were when they had huge arguments about House not needing Wilson to do anything for him despite the fact that he couldn’t button his own buttons anymore, nor remember how to use the microwave. Or when House insisted on trying to solve a case of a long-healed patient, and calling the team.
And the bad days were increasing in frequency.
~~~
“You promised, Wilson.”
“I…”
“You promised. So you must do it. Don’t be selfish.”
~~~
Wilson woke one day to the sound of harsh breathing.
He blinked. House was next to him in bed, trembling, almost shaking, panting.
“House? What’s wrong?” Wilson immediately ran to House’s side of the bed, and crouched down in front of House. House’s hands were wrapped around his right thigh.
House opened his eyes.
“W-Wilson?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s Stacy? Why are you sleeping next to me?”
Wilson inhaled sharply. “She’s… She’s away in Washington for a meeting.”
“My leg hurts. It hurts bad. Why does it hurt?”
“I…”
House seemed to slowly become aware of the fact that there was a gaping crater in his thigh. He frantically pawed at his thigh despite the sharp pangs of pain it elicited.
“What happened? What happened, Wilson?” House was shouting now. “What’s wrong with my leg!” He tried to stand up but the pain was too great, and he flopped back onto the bed, groaning.
Wilson drew up some morphine, and as House succumbed to the pain relief, he muttered sleepily something about getting his leg checked because it didn’t feel like a muscle cramp.
Wilson disposed of the needle in the jar of sharps. He sat down at the dining table, buried his face in his hands, and cried.
~~~
One day that House woke up, and asked him, “Who are you?”
That was when Wilson knew the time for him to fulfill his promise was approaching.
Then one day there was silence, because House wasn’t talking anymore. His eyes were blank. He realized that it was time to let go, and time to fulfill his promise. There were now going to be too many bad days, and too few good days.
He prepared the morphine, and as he lay next to House on the bed, embracing him, he swore he saw that spark of life in House’s eyes for a moment. He swore that House was here with him. He swore the tears streaming down House’s face were not the automatic emotional response that those afflicted with Alzheimer’s would have to the look of despair he knew was on his own face.
No, the tears were of gratitude, love, and realization that he was going to be set free. Wilson swore by that. He believed it.
He pushed the needle in. As House’s breathing slowed, Wilson embraced him, never letting go. And he swore he felt House embrace him back.
Wilson knew.
Wilson knew that as House’s breathing slowed and he was set free, he left lucid and mentally alive.
~~~
“You have to promise, Wilson. I don’t want to be a shell, just existing in this world.”
“I can’t kill you, House.”
“You can. If you can do it for your cancer patients, giving them more morphine than they need, why can’t you do it for me?”
“Because…”
“Don’t be selfish.”
“But I love you.”
“Then you will set me free.”