First fic
Ok, so after years of just reading something finally kicked me to write...
Last episode of House left me upset, and a bit angry. I've seen this done before, plots making friends hiding things and the damaging their friendship beyond repair.... So, before that happens (never I hope) I thought to try and "fix" the things a bit...
This is my first fic ever, and it's unfortunately unbetaed. I would have really liked a beta and any comment would be appreciated.
Feel free to delete it if you find it really horrible. I just had to write it. If someone is going to read it that would be fantastic. And if this someone then doesn't run away in disgust and wants to leave a comment, that would be terrific!
WARNING: Spoilers for pretty much everything up to "Meaning" (just to be sure)
Disclaimer: I don't own House MD, or any character of the series and I'm definitely making no money out of this. I just own a stuffed rat and an old pc...
Title: Happy
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: G (for bad words. I never got the rating thing right...)
Word count: 2504
Summary: What happens after "Meaning"?
Walking stiffly towards the pharmacy he kept fidgeting with the prescription in his pocket. It felt almost hot and heavier than it should have. It was just a piece of paper, after all, right?
He had to choose a shop far from the hospital so to keep to a minimum any possible risk of James discovering of his little burglary.
Wilson was right, Cuddy was also, even his duckling were right: he had been acting on a hunch, a whim, no real medical reason for his actions, just the craving for something interesting to entertain himself.
But now that he felt no more pain he had no excuses in his need for distraction. And Cuddy was also right about needing the high: he was an addict and once an addict...
Each step he took House felt like he was nearing a cliff edge, knowing there would be no salvation nor coming back from that but powerless to stop.
A sudden image crossed his mind, 'I'm a fucking lemming', he thought, and started laughing hysterically.
But no, he had to be honest to himself at least. There was no unavoidable necessity, or invisible power driving him back into the dark abyss of self-destruction he had once hoped to escape.
He had really believed that with the pain gone and free from addiction he could be happy again, like before the infarction, like he had been with Stacy, and James, but it didn't felt this way.
He had started treating patients with kindness and caring, but it didn't make any difference, he didn't feel any happier. He felt nothing.
"It will take time to start feeling good" Wilson had said. But waiting had never been his strongest point. And now that he seemed to need less of his support his only friend was starting to be slipping away from his life...
He had been denied the high from solving the case, and maybe Cuddy was right in saying no, and now he was being denied also the chemical happiness from Vicodin. Physical pain was gone, but he felt as miserable as before and lonelier. But he wasn't supposed to, was he?
So he had stolen the prescription block from Wilson's desk and forged his signature. Fake prescription in hand, he finally approached the pharmacist behind the counter...
* * *
James had planned to spend his day off paying visit to a colleague who was in town for a conference that afternoon.
They had fixed an appointment for lunch at the hotel his friend was staying at, but he couldn't seem to find the note he'd had with the address. Then he remembered speaking with Thomas just before House bursting into his office. He recalled, now, writing a note on the back of the first prescription sheet of the block, willing to take it with him and then forgetting about it after the fight about the unnecessary Vicodin prescription.
So here he was, back in his office on his day off, hoping no one would come with some urgent matter to be attended that would trap him there for the rest of the day.
He went through the few prescription papers left but there was no sign of the missing note. He was sure he had it written on the back of the first sheet but he checked the others anyway.
Sitting at his desk James frowned trying to remember if he could have taken the note with him, after all. Then his eyes went to the window to the balcony: it was slightly ajar and quickly the frown dissolved into a stare of realization. A sudden fit of anger started building up in his chest and James all but stormed out of his office and to his car. He was going to have a long talk with House...
* * *
"36 Vicodin, capsule. Let me check" said the pharmacist, turning his back to House and walking to the far end of the shop.
While waiting House could feel his heart racing, in fear or anticipation he wouldn't know, and a bitter taste in his mouth. 'At least I won't care about solving puzzles anymore, and could be kind with patient just for the fun of seeing the dumb look on Cameron's face...'
But then a traitorous image of James' face formed in his mind. House tried to change the train of his thoughts, but it felt like two deep brown and very disappointed eyes were burning a hole into his very soul. He felt a weight settle in his stomach, thinking of how hurt and betrayed Wilson would feel...maybe this last abuse of his trust would end their friendship for good. The thought was unbearable, making him almost physically sick, and in that moment the chemist was back with the bottle of pills.
"Here you are", said the man,” that will be...
"Alan, Alan!" A woman's voice called from the back of the shop "come here, now! I need help!"
"If you will excuse me just for a moment, sir..." the man apologized and disappeared again behind the door.
House was left there, staring at the prescription and pills on the counter and then he raised his eyes to the glass door in front of him. For a fraction of second the image it mirrored was his old one, hunched over his cane, an untrustworthy miserable bastard. Was this his friends (his friend) had seen every day for the past seven years? Was this he was going back to? But this time it would be his full responsibility, with no possibility for forgiveness or redemption.
Then the picture was gone and all he could see was his usual self, no cane but miserable nonetheless.
When Alan got back to the counter the client and the prescription were gone, the only thing left was the full bottle of Vicodin.
* * *
The moment he got home House started packing. Few seconds later a very angry Wilson let himself in using his spare key.
He had imagined finding House already high, or drunk, or both, but not looking like he was trying to escape in a hurry.
"What were you thinking of doing?" he almost shouted.
House was startled; he hadn't heard the door opening and froze looking at James.
The two man stood staring at each other for a few moments, then House lowered his eyes and Wilson's started wandering around the room, resting on the half full knapsack.
"What were you thinking of doing?" Wilson repeated, calmer this time.
House still didn't speak and James took a few cautious steps towards his friend, as if he could bolt and run. Then, on the table, he saw one of his prescription sheet, torn into pieces, but still recognizable. Frowning he turned his eyes on House and softly asked one last time "What were you thinking of doing?"
House took a deep breath and sat on the nearby couch. He took his head into his hands and without looking at Wilson admitted "Apparently Cuddy was right. I still am an addict, I just want the rush. Whether from a case or from chemicals doesn't matter and this craving has impaired my judgement. If I cannot trust my judgment being based on medical reasons and not on willing to get high, I only have two choices. One, I try and get high some other way, and that's what I was going to do by forging a prescription. But might have as well been giving into alcohol or something else. But I've seen what I had become, to me and to you.... all of you, and I couldn't take it anymore, not now..." House's voice faded in a whisper and seemed like he wasn't going to add anything more.
Wilson sat beside him on the couch, gently resting a hand on his back and rubbing small circles. "But you didn't" he whispered
House was still resting his head into his hands, not speaking.
"You said - Wilson began- you said you had two choices...Which was the other one?"
House swallowed and raised his gaze on Wilson's face. His friend was shocked to see there were unshedded tears in his eyes, but then he started speaking again "The other choice...- his voice barely audible - if I wouldn't go back to how I was then I could no longer do this...being a doctor. Not here, not... And if I'm anyway bound to loose you... your friendship, better this way than from pity and disgust..." Then he quietly started crying.
Anger completely evaporated, Wilson softly assured "I could never feel disgusted by you and you're not going to loose me, no matter what. And...and you were right, by the way."
House looked at Wilson, confused. "You were right, about the patient, I mean. Cuddy gave him cortisol and he stood up and hugged hid wife."
"But...why she didn't tell me..."House sounded even more puzzled but also a bit angry.
"It was my idea" Wilson confessed "I thought you would start acting a bit less recklessly so..."
"So what? You thought it would be better for me not to know I was right, that I needed a lesson in humility, isn't it?" House was now shouting furious with Wilson " You always think to know better than me, about what is good for me, and so did Stacy. And look where that brought me! Seven years of misery and pain, all because of someone's idea of helping me! Do you think I didn’t know the detox bet was your idea? And now this..."
"I was trying to do the right thing- Wilson shouted back -because sometimes you seem unable to see what's really good, or healthy for you or you choose to ignore it on purpose!"
"And why would this be any of your concern?" House seethed "To satisfy your craving for feeling needed and helpful? You're an addict, then, not any better than me!"
"I.." Wilson stammered, "it's not it, it's..
"What! "
"I thought you could learn to live without the rush of adrenaline, without trying to destruct yourself in new ways, betting with patient's lives..."
"I never bet! I take risks, based on medical facts-"
"Like this last time?" now Wilson was getting angry, too.
"It fit! And had I given him cortisol-
"You would have cured him, healed him! Would that have you feel like God, wouldn't it? That's it, it is about power, about feeling in control of life and death...But what next time? You could kill someone! It's not a game, diagnose patients is not some kind of entertainment created for your leisure only!"
"I know it's not!-"
"But that's the way you act, like you're gambling, but with someone else's life! Just like Stacy did." Wilson concluded grimly.
House opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again. James was right, he needed the rush of adrenaline and he couldn't or wouldn't stop trying and getting it even if that meant killing a patient. This was worse than being a drug addict. This was something he had chosen to ignore for a very long time. And it had nothing to do with his leg, he had been this way even before the infarction. He had used recreational drugs and took up any kind of dangerous activity he could think of, from car racing to free climbing. Maybe that was the only way for him to feel alive. He knew he was going to destroy his own life sooner or later, but now he had to admit that he had started not giving a damn about taking other people with him.
House looked at Wilson, who had remained silent all along. He could read hurt in his friend's eyes and a bit of residual anger but also something deeper, real affection and sincere caring. Lowering his head again he barely whispered "Please, help me."
Stunned by his friend admission of need for help, Wilson stayed where he was for a few more seconds, the took the two steps toward House, closing the space between them. "I will" he promised and hugged him.
Leaning into the embrace House found his voice again and went on "Sometimes...sometimes solving a case feels like slipping away, flying somewhere else, far from reality...Please, help me stay here, grounded..."
"I will" Wilson repeated "I will be here for you and with you, and it will start feeling better after a while. It just needs time but we'll manage, as long as you speak to me. Ok?"
House nodded and with a last deep breath to calm himself he let go of Wilson.
Then, after a long pause during which none of the men spoke, "So..." House began "would you like a beer?" he asked trying to light the mood.
Wilson smiled and House felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his chest. He took two beers from the fridge and ignoring the mess he had made in his haste to escape sat down near James passing him a bottle.
After a few swigs of liquid a much calmer House asked "Shouldn't you be at the hospital?"
All of a sudden Wilson remembered the appointment and slapping his forehead exclaimed "Thomas! Oh my! what time is it?"
Puzzled by this unforeseen reaction House replied and then asked "Are you going somewhere?"
"I had an appointment at noon with a colleague...- Wilson began, but then seeing the hurt and disappointment on Greg's face quickly added - but I'm going to cancel. I just need to make a phone call".
Housed smiled and waited for Wilson to end the call. Then they both sat on the couch again.
Drinking beer side by side with James, speaking of nothing really and enjoying the closeness, House thought that, maybe, it wouldn't take so long to start feeling happy.
~Fin
Last episode of House left me upset, and a bit angry. I've seen this done before, plots making friends hiding things and the damaging their friendship beyond repair.... So, before that happens (never I hope) I thought to try and "fix" the things a bit...
This is my first fic ever, and it's unfortunately unbetaed. I would have really liked a beta and any comment would be appreciated.
Feel free to delete it if you find it really horrible. I just had to write it. If someone is going to read it that would be fantastic. And if this someone then doesn't run away in disgust and wants to leave a comment, that would be terrific!
WARNING: Spoilers for pretty much everything up to "Meaning" (just to be sure)
Disclaimer: I don't own House MD, or any character of the series and I'm definitely making no money out of this. I just own a stuffed rat and an old pc...
Title: Happy
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: G (for bad words. I never got the rating thing right...)
Word count: 2504
Summary: What happens after "Meaning"?
Walking stiffly towards the pharmacy he kept fidgeting with the prescription in his pocket. It felt almost hot and heavier than it should have. It was just a piece of paper, after all, right?
He had to choose a shop far from the hospital so to keep to a minimum any possible risk of James discovering of his little burglary.
Wilson was right, Cuddy was also, even his duckling were right: he had been acting on a hunch, a whim, no real medical reason for his actions, just the craving for something interesting to entertain himself.
But now that he felt no more pain he had no excuses in his need for distraction. And Cuddy was also right about needing the high: he was an addict and once an addict...
Each step he took House felt like he was nearing a cliff edge, knowing there would be no salvation nor coming back from that but powerless to stop.
A sudden image crossed his mind, 'I'm a fucking lemming', he thought, and started laughing hysterically.
But no, he had to be honest to himself at least. There was no unavoidable necessity, or invisible power driving him back into the dark abyss of self-destruction he had once hoped to escape.
He had really believed that with the pain gone and free from addiction he could be happy again, like before the infarction, like he had been with Stacy, and James, but it didn't felt this way.
He had started treating patients with kindness and caring, but it didn't make any difference, he didn't feel any happier. He felt nothing.
"It will take time to start feeling good" Wilson had said. But waiting had never been his strongest point. And now that he seemed to need less of his support his only friend was starting to be slipping away from his life...
He had been denied the high from solving the case, and maybe Cuddy was right in saying no, and now he was being denied also the chemical happiness from Vicodin. Physical pain was gone, but he felt as miserable as before and lonelier. But he wasn't supposed to, was he?
So he had stolen the prescription block from Wilson's desk and forged his signature. Fake prescription in hand, he finally approached the pharmacist behind the counter...
* * *
James had planned to spend his day off paying visit to a colleague who was in town for a conference that afternoon.
They had fixed an appointment for lunch at the hotel his friend was staying at, but he couldn't seem to find the note he'd had with the address. Then he remembered speaking with Thomas just before House bursting into his office. He recalled, now, writing a note on the back of the first prescription sheet of the block, willing to take it with him and then forgetting about it after the fight about the unnecessary Vicodin prescription.
So here he was, back in his office on his day off, hoping no one would come with some urgent matter to be attended that would trap him there for the rest of the day.
He went through the few prescription papers left but there was no sign of the missing note. He was sure he had it written on the back of the first sheet but he checked the others anyway.
Sitting at his desk James frowned trying to remember if he could have taken the note with him, after all. Then his eyes went to the window to the balcony: it was slightly ajar and quickly the frown dissolved into a stare of realization. A sudden fit of anger started building up in his chest and James all but stormed out of his office and to his car. He was going to have a long talk with House...
* * *
"36 Vicodin, capsule. Let me check" said the pharmacist, turning his back to House and walking to the far end of the shop.
While waiting House could feel his heart racing, in fear or anticipation he wouldn't know, and a bitter taste in his mouth. 'At least I won't care about solving puzzles anymore, and could be kind with patient just for the fun of seeing the dumb look on Cameron's face...'
But then a traitorous image of James' face formed in his mind. House tried to change the train of his thoughts, but it felt like two deep brown and very disappointed eyes were burning a hole into his very soul. He felt a weight settle in his stomach, thinking of how hurt and betrayed Wilson would feel...maybe this last abuse of his trust would end their friendship for good. The thought was unbearable, making him almost physically sick, and in that moment the chemist was back with the bottle of pills.
"Here you are", said the man,” that will be...
"Alan, Alan!" A woman's voice called from the back of the shop "come here, now! I need help!"
"If you will excuse me just for a moment, sir..." the man apologized and disappeared again behind the door.
House was left there, staring at the prescription and pills on the counter and then he raised his eyes to the glass door in front of him. For a fraction of second the image it mirrored was his old one, hunched over his cane, an untrustworthy miserable bastard. Was this his friends (his friend) had seen every day for the past seven years? Was this he was going back to? But this time it would be his full responsibility, with no possibility for forgiveness or redemption.
Then the picture was gone and all he could see was his usual self, no cane but miserable nonetheless.
When Alan got back to the counter the client and the prescription were gone, the only thing left was the full bottle of Vicodin.
* * *
The moment he got home House started packing. Few seconds later a very angry Wilson let himself in using his spare key.
He had imagined finding House already high, or drunk, or both, but not looking like he was trying to escape in a hurry.
"What were you thinking of doing?" he almost shouted.
House was startled; he hadn't heard the door opening and froze looking at James.
The two man stood staring at each other for a few moments, then House lowered his eyes and Wilson's started wandering around the room, resting on the half full knapsack.
"What were you thinking of doing?" Wilson repeated, calmer this time.
House still didn't speak and James took a few cautious steps towards his friend, as if he could bolt and run. Then, on the table, he saw one of his prescription sheet, torn into pieces, but still recognizable. Frowning he turned his eyes on House and softly asked one last time "What were you thinking of doing?"
House took a deep breath and sat on the nearby couch. He took his head into his hands and without looking at Wilson admitted "Apparently Cuddy was right. I still am an addict, I just want the rush. Whether from a case or from chemicals doesn't matter and this craving has impaired my judgement. If I cannot trust my judgment being based on medical reasons and not on willing to get high, I only have two choices. One, I try and get high some other way, and that's what I was going to do by forging a prescription. But might have as well been giving into alcohol or something else. But I've seen what I had become, to me and to you.... all of you, and I couldn't take it anymore, not now..." House's voice faded in a whisper and seemed like he wasn't going to add anything more.
Wilson sat beside him on the couch, gently resting a hand on his back and rubbing small circles. "But you didn't" he whispered
House was still resting his head into his hands, not speaking.
"You said - Wilson began- you said you had two choices...Which was the other one?"
House swallowed and raised his gaze on Wilson's face. His friend was shocked to see there were unshedded tears in his eyes, but then he started speaking again "The other choice...- his voice barely audible - if I wouldn't go back to how I was then I could no longer do this...being a doctor. Not here, not... And if I'm anyway bound to loose you... your friendship, better this way than from pity and disgust..." Then he quietly started crying.
Anger completely evaporated, Wilson softly assured "I could never feel disgusted by you and you're not going to loose me, no matter what. And...and you were right, by the way."
House looked at Wilson, confused. "You were right, about the patient, I mean. Cuddy gave him cortisol and he stood up and hugged hid wife."
"But...why she didn't tell me..."House sounded even more puzzled but also a bit angry.
"It was my idea" Wilson confessed "I thought you would start acting a bit less recklessly so..."
"So what? You thought it would be better for me not to know I was right, that I needed a lesson in humility, isn't it?" House was now shouting furious with Wilson " You always think to know better than me, about what is good for me, and so did Stacy. And look where that brought me! Seven years of misery and pain, all because of someone's idea of helping me! Do you think I didn’t know the detox bet was your idea? And now this..."
"I was trying to do the right thing- Wilson shouted back -because sometimes you seem unable to see what's really good, or healthy for you or you choose to ignore it on purpose!"
"And why would this be any of your concern?" House seethed "To satisfy your craving for feeling needed and helpful? You're an addict, then, not any better than me!"
"I.." Wilson stammered, "it's not it, it's..
"What! "
"I thought you could learn to live without the rush of adrenaline, without trying to destruct yourself in new ways, betting with patient's lives..."
"I never bet! I take risks, based on medical facts-"
"Like this last time?" now Wilson was getting angry, too.
"It fit! And had I given him cortisol-
"You would have cured him, healed him! Would that have you feel like God, wouldn't it? That's it, it is about power, about feeling in control of life and death...But what next time? You could kill someone! It's not a game, diagnose patients is not some kind of entertainment created for your leisure only!"
"I know it's not!-"
"But that's the way you act, like you're gambling, but with someone else's life! Just like Stacy did." Wilson concluded grimly.
House opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again. James was right, he needed the rush of adrenaline and he couldn't or wouldn't stop trying and getting it even if that meant killing a patient. This was worse than being a drug addict. This was something he had chosen to ignore for a very long time. And it had nothing to do with his leg, he had been this way even before the infarction. He had used recreational drugs and took up any kind of dangerous activity he could think of, from car racing to free climbing. Maybe that was the only way for him to feel alive. He knew he was going to destroy his own life sooner or later, but now he had to admit that he had started not giving a damn about taking other people with him.
House looked at Wilson, who had remained silent all along. He could read hurt in his friend's eyes and a bit of residual anger but also something deeper, real affection and sincere caring. Lowering his head again he barely whispered "Please, help me."
Stunned by his friend admission of need for help, Wilson stayed where he was for a few more seconds, the took the two steps toward House, closing the space between them. "I will" he promised and hugged him.
Leaning into the embrace House found his voice again and went on "Sometimes...sometimes solving a case feels like slipping away, flying somewhere else, far from reality...Please, help me stay here, grounded..."
"I will" Wilson repeated "I will be here for you and with you, and it will start feeling better after a while. It just needs time but we'll manage, as long as you speak to me. Ok?"
House nodded and with a last deep breath to calm himself he let go of Wilson.
Then, after a long pause during which none of the men spoke, "So..." House began "would you like a beer?" he asked trying to light the mood.
Wilson smiled and House felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his chest. He took two beers from the fridge and ignoring the mess he had made in his haste to escape sat down near James passing him a bottle.
After a few swigs of liquid a much calmer House asked "Shouldn't you be at the hospital?"
All of a sudden Wilson remembered the appointment and slapping his forehead exclaimed "Thomas! Oh my! what time is it?"
Puzzled by this unforeseen reaction House replied and then asked "Are you going somewhere?"
"I had an appointment at noon with a colleague...- Wilson began, but then seeing the hurt and disappointment on Greg's face quickly added - but I'm going to cancel. I just need to make a phone call".
Housed smiled and waited for Wilson to end the call. Then they both sat on the couch again.
Drinking beer side by side with James, speaking of nothing really and enjoying the closeness, House thought that, maybe, it wouldn't take so long to start feeling happy.
~Fin