[Fanfiction] House MD, H/W - I Remember, Don't You? Chapter Thirty
Title: I Remember... Don't You?
Author: wolfoflegends
Word Count: 5,417
Pairing: House/Wilson
Summery: After a near death experience and it's following circumstances, Wilson goes to John Hopkins University as a last ditch effort for Med school. There he meets a character like he's never known. Stretches from Med school to beyond Season 4. Slash h/w
---
CHAPTER THIRTY: I Won't Let You Kill Yourself!
---
After that one mishap of a physical therapy appointment House didn’t go back for another one. In his own stubborn mind he didn’t want to go because he wanted nothing to do with the therapist or his teaching habits as well as being reminded about how Stacy left him in the middle of everything. She was the one who made him this way in the first place; couldn’t she at least stay around until it was over?
At first by how lightly House was taking the situation, Wilson thought there was a chance that he knew things weren’t as bad as they seemed, like that maybe there was a chance that Stacy would change her mind and come back.
But she didn’t.
When a month had gone by with no signs of her rushing back into the doctor’s arms reality never seemed harsher than in that moment. Not only was he in constant pain from his leg and would be for most probably the rest of his life (especially if the man kept refusing to go to the physical therapist again) but his girlfriend left him to deal with his own problems. There was an obvious change in House. When Stacy was still around he seemed to still care about his appearance. Even though he would wait a day or two to shave and that sometimes he come to work in just jeans and t-shirt it seemed after she left he didn’t care. Everything went to hell. He shaved maybe once a week, and when he did wear a button up shirt it was never tucked in and the world was lucky if it didn’t look like it was just pulled out of the bottom of a laundry basket.
It was obvious that he couldn’t forgive her, no matter how hard she tried to change his mind. She put her neck on the line to save his life but in the end, to him, it wasn’t worth the pain. He couldn’t bring himself to forgive her, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much he wanted things to go back to how they used to be.. he knew they couldn’t. His leg was a constant reminder of that fact.
And so were the keys in his mailbox.
“Here.”
A few days after House had found the keys he came to the conclusion he didn’t have use for it, even as a spare key (or so that’s what he told himself in order to do what he actually wanted) and decided to hand it off to someone who could make use of it. Wilson watched curiously as House pulled an envelope from his back pocket one day and took something out of it and put it on the table before sliding it toward him on the counter top.
He took it.
“Stacy gave me her keys earlier. You’re here enough of the time. You keep ‘em.” The first thing Wilson did after he picked it up was put it on his key ring with his own car, office and house keys.
“You sure?”
House shrugged. “I already have three copies that are sitting in my nightstand drawer. I don’t need another one.” And with that being said, House didn’t even bother to excuse himself as he left the kitchen and went to his room to sleep.
House didn’t know how much he would come to regret that decision a week or so later.
--
One Wednesday night after Wilson arrived home from one of the hospital board meetings he was greeted by his loving wife, Bonnie. Normally she would be all hugs and kisses.. but something was amiss. “House left you a strange message earlier.” She informed him as she worked on finishing some new recipe that he hoped didn’t have ginger in it (by the smell of it, it did. He didn’t like ginger that much).
“What he say?” He took the initiative and kissed her cheek.
She shrugged, “I don’t know.. it was short. Something about you being a good guy.. or something.” She didn’t look away from the mess sautéing in the pan. After trying to think of what his friend could have been trying to say, he slipped off his blazer and hung it in the closet along with his brief case and worked on rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt as he made his way to the answering machine.
He pushed play.
“You have one unheard message. Message one, 6:43pm: Hey, Wilson! It’s Greg..” There was a bit of a pause. There was something strange about his voice, “Hey, I just wanted to say.. you, well, you’re a good guy. Soo.. Yeah. End of messages.” Wilson stood there confused as he stared at the answering machine.
“What?” He shook his head. That was definitely strange. For one, House never tells anyone a complement, and to call and only leave a complement was something in itself. Maybe he was drunk? He sounded a little drunk. Coming to no other conclusion, he picked up the cordless phone off the hook and dialed House’s apartment landline.
He was expecting to hear the loud crash of someone banging aimlessly on piano keys (obviously only to scare to caller into not calling back) followed by that tell tail voice saying, “What do you want?”
Wilson had to admit, he was fooled the first time and started to talk to the machine as if he were talking to House, only to be dissuaded by the loud beep that told him his message time had run out. He promptly called back and left another message and informed House that he was an ass.
But this time he didn’t get any of that, only ringing. So he tried his cell phone. Again, he had no luck. Without so much as a ring it went straight to voice mail. “You know what to do.”
“Greg, it’s Wilson, just returning your call. Is everything okay?” he sat there a second before finally hanging up. Something didn’t feel right. Normally Wilson wouldn’t act on his gut instinct. He liked to have facts and various plausible explanations before he spontaneously acted on something out of the blue. If he had the time he would sit it out and think on what to do, but fearing that something may be wrong; he hung up his better judgment and without even bothering with unrolling his sleeves he grabbed a coat from the closet and slipped it on. “Honey?”
“Yeah?” Bonnie called from the kitchen.
He grabbed his car keys off the hook where he had hung them when he walked in. “I’m going to see what’s up, I think something wrong.” He didn’t even wait for her to answer before he was out the door.
She sighed as she continued to stir the cooking dinner. “Figures. There’s always something wrong.”
--
It didn’t take but a good seven minutes before Wilson pulled his car onto the curb in front of 221 Baker Street. He could see the lights on, so he was still up, or should be. He approached the steps and pulled out his key and unlocked the front door and made his way down the short hall to 221b.
Wilson knocked on the door. “House?”
No answer.
He knocked even harder. “House!” It was then he heard something loud crash and shatter. Quickly he fumbled with his keys to find his newly acquired apartment key and shoved it into the lock. When Wilson opened the door it was the sound of a plastic pill bottle hitting the floor with pills scattering onto the floor caused him to rush in quicker to find House standing in the middle of his living room with a distraught and upset expression as well as a broken glass lamp shattered on the floor with pills littering the floor around him. "Jimmy.. I can't fucking live like this.. Why do you always show up at the wrong time!!" He yelled before falling to his hands and knees with Wilson at his side in a flash.
He tried to help him up, but he refused to get up.
“Why couldn’t you have shown up a few minutes later?” He asked in a quiet voice. Wilson had never heard him like this. He sounded as if his spirit had been completely crushed. It was obvious just by looking at him and how he reeked of alcohol that he was trashed.. and he also smelled of vomit.
It was only when he got sight of those blue eyes he saw something was terribly wrong. Though the lights of the apartment were rather dim, those gorgeous blue eyes seemed out of place with those small pinpoint pupils.
Wilson dropped onto knees and crawled over in front of House who was now trying his best to sit up with his back leaning against the coffee table that had been pushed from its normal spot in the living room. Wilson put a hand on either side of his shoulders with House quickly breaking their gaze. “How many did you take?”
He didn’t answer; he didn’t even look at him.
“Hey! Look at me! How many did you take?!” he grabbed House’s chin and forced him to look at him. Those angry blue eyes glared and almost seemed a little unfocused, but he didn’t lift a hand to push him away.
“Two.”
“Bullshit!” he sneered, “How many did you really take?!”
House still didn’t pull away from Wilson firm grip or stare. “Four.” Wilson stared a few moments more before finally releasing his hold. The man seemed unwavering enough, save for his drunkenness. Wilson let out a sigh as he sat along side his friend and leaned back until his back touched the coffee table. He knew the table wasn’t weighty enough to take his weight without moving. He knew he should do something. He had a choice. Either he could believe his friend, believe that he only took four pills and get him to bed, or he could flat out not believe him and call an ambulance.
Keeping an eye on where his friend was looking, House took advantage of his intruder being deep in thought and slowly started to pick up a few of the pills that were within his reach. He didn't need all of them to do what he wanted to do.. only.. a.. few...
When he had managed to pick up a good few without Wilson noticing, he tried to secretly slip the pills into his mouth.. but without success. Just as he managed to slip the last one past his lips, Wilson had turned and saw what he had done. Without once ounce of self control, Wilson swung back as hard as he could and slapped House upside his face. “You fucking bastard! I’m sitting right here and you’re going to try that!?!”
House spat the few pills he had yet swallowed on the floor next to him and nursed his stinging cheek.
He winced at the firm vice-like grip now holding tight to his shoulders. “How many!?" He cried out.
House refused to look at him. He couldn’t see the hurt in those brown eyes, but when the doctor got out his pocket flashlight and was practically holding his eye open with his fingers he had no choice.
“How many did you take?!” Wilson tried again, but House wasn’t in the mood for this.
“How many is a handful?!” he snarled and pushed Wilson off him. He stayed in his discarded position as he stared bewildered. He didn’t know what to do, his friend was trying to obvious kill himself. Was he dreaming? Was this some kind of twisted nightmare? If it was he wished from the bottom of his heart to wake up.
But he didn’t. This was real.
“Jimmy.. can’t you just pretend you didn’t see anything? Just leave and forget you came here?” he asked in a defeated whisper.
He swallowed and shook his head. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”
House took a deep breath and gave a let it out before giving a saddened nod. “That’s what I thought.” he got out tiredly and slowly pulled himself to his feet. Wilson was watching him like a hawk.
“Where are you going?” he stood up in time to see House straining to make his way down the hallway.
He didn’t turn around, “I need to pee.”
“What does it matter?! You’ve just killed yourself!”
“I’m not dead yet!” And with that, he closed the bathroom door. At first nothing seemed out of the ordinary to Wilson. That was until he heard the bathroom door lock.
No.. he wouldn’t..
It took a whole two seconds before he was pounding at the bathroom door. “Hey! Open the door!”
“Fuck off, Wilson!”
“House! Greg! Open this goddamn door right now!!” he ordered but it was no use.
House didn’t want to be saved. “Just let me die in fucking peace!!”
Wilson took a deep breath. He had to do something and he had to do it now. Not only was the man heavily drunk (that is, if the nearly empty bottle of Vodka had anything to say about it), but he had already taken at least four Vicodin before he had walked into the apartment. It wouldn’t be long for however many more he took to take effect.
“OPEN THIS DOOR OR I’LL DO IT MYSELF!” Wilson warned loudly.
He didn’t like the laughter that immediately made it’s way out from under the door. “Last I checked you weren’t a locksmith, Jimmy.”
That was all it took. No longer was Wilson’s objective to get House out the bathroom in a calm and civil manner, no. It was get him out of there at all cost. Suddenly frustrated beyond belief, Wilson did the first thing that came to mind. Dressed in a pair of fine leather dress shoes he started to put all the effort he could into kicking the door down with the soles of his shoes.
After a good few solid kicks it was obvious that it was working.
“HEY! You’re fucking up my door!! Stop it!”
“You had -”
*BAM!*
“- your chance, House!”
*BAM!!*
“Open -”
*BAM!!!*
“- this goddamn -”
*BAM!*
“- door -”
*BAM!!*
“- and I’ll -“
*BAM!!!*
“- stop!!” He called out between his hard kicks at the door.
“What are you doing?!”
“I’m going to get you out of there, that’s what!” Wilson took a deep breath and didn’t even try to mask the sob that followed. “I won’t let you kill yourself!! Not if I can still help you!!” He didn’t care if the whole world could hear him, he didn’t even care if House’s neighbor called the cops on him, he was going to get House out of there alive even if it was the last thing he ever did.
He tried his best to catch his breath and keep hold to any hope he could as he let his tired body slide down the door as he sat on the wood flooring. “Greg, please! All I want is to help you! Just open the door!”
With his head resting against the door he kept trying to catch his breath, but nothing came in return. Not even an insult.
“Greg?” He pressed his ear to the door and strained to hear anything he could but still nothing came in return. “House! Answer me! Say anything!!” When only silence continued to greet him he quickly pulled his tired body up and got a few feet from the door and with all his weight and might rammed the door with his shoulder. When the door didn’t open on the first blow he repeated his actions and tried again.
When the door flew open with him tripping and spilling onto the floor in its wake; he was sure he broke his shoulder. He immediately scrambled to the man who tried to seek any refuge he could in a cold empty bathtub. Tired blue eyes looked up at him with pupils even smaller pinpoints than they had been a few minutes before.
Wilson held his shoulder tightly and tried not to think about the pain his hurt shoulder was in. “You’re still alive!” He let out relieved sob as he grasped the side of the tub with his bad arm and reached out with the other to take his friend’s pulse. House tried to push him away but he was too weak.
Trying desperately to find a pulse, Wilson pressed his fingers to his friend’s neck when the vibrations of his voice pulled his attention from his watch. “Jimmy?” A small nervous grin greeted him. “I..” He tried to take a breath but it was no use. “I can’t.. breathe..” It was only then he noticed how little House was managing to take in.
It was no where’s near enough to sustain him.
“Hold on! I’m going to get help!” He rushed out of the bathroom and into the living room, grabbed his phone out of his discarded coat and rushed back to House.
Those blue eyes were closed and he wasn’t breathing.
“No!! Nononononn!! I’m not giving up on you, you idiot! You’re not allowed to give up on me either!!” With a flush of adrenaline pumping through out his system, he pulled the unconscious House out of the empty bathtub and onto the cold white tiles of the bathroom floor. He pressed his ear to House’s chest and heard nothing. Never in his life had he felt so scared, even as his own brother held him a knife point in his own bedroom; he didn’t feel like this. When Wilson finally forced his own self to take a breath, he quickly set to work on doing what ever he could to give his dying friend a chance. He grabbed hold of House’s chin and opened his mouth and tilted his head back a bit before pinching his nose and took a deep breath and gave him mouth to mouth.
When that didn’t work as well as the first round of chest compressions he grabbed his phone called for assistance and set it to speaker as he continued the chest compressions. “911, what’s your emergency?”
“I need an ambulance at 221b Backer Street!” he fought to yell out as he kept fighting.
“What the problem, sir?”
“John Doe, early to mid 40’s -“ He took a breath and held it as he listened for breathing of any kind before pinching his unconscious friend’s nose shut and breathed into him.
“Sir? Wha -”
“He stopped breathing!” He started back with the check compressions, “He overdosed on Vicodin and alcohol! I’m doing CRP -”
“Sir, did you see him take the Vicodin?”
“Yes! I’m a doctor! I know what I’m talking about! Please send help, NOW!” He kept up with the compressions while counting in his head back up to thirty before breathing into him again. “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up!!” He cried as he started the compressions again. With each one his shoulder hurt more and more. “House! I swear, if you make it through this I’m going to punch you right in your face when you wake up!!”
To Wilson, it felt like an eternity before helped arrive.
--
Beeping.
Beeping was all he could hear. It was a steady rhythm, a sound he’s heard a million times before but for some reason he couldn’t place what it was. His mind ran circles until he finally forced himself to open his eyes.
He was in a bed.
In an unfamiliar room with various beeping machines hooked up to him. He felt like he had been hit by a bus. He had been in practically every square inch of PPTH and this place was too poorly decorated to be the hospital be had become so familiar with.
It was the sound of a chair creaking that got his attention. There, standing with a stern look on his face was none other than his savior, James Wilson. What he save him from exactly was in question. Wilson approached the bed. “So you’re awake. Good.” He pulled that same small pocket flashlight from earlier and flashed it those tired and annoyed eyes.
“Gah, stop that shit.” He hissed.
Seeing that the unappreciative man was indeed alright and all there; he got straight down to business. As much as Wilson wanted to be all rainbows and sunshine he wasn’t in the mood for it. He was pissed off just as much as House was.
“Be grateful. You’re going to be alright. You’re lucky that you didn’t kill your liver,” He put his flashlight away. “I’m sure you already have an idea of what happened while you were out. Your stomach was pumped and you were given charcoal. The paramedics were able to restart your heart with no problem and I had you rushed to Princeton General. Your doctor offered for you to get therapy and recommended a great psychologist, but I know you won’t take it anyway. You’re currently on a twenty-four hour suicide watch, but I was able to convinced your doctor to discharge you and let you go home only if I’m there keeping an eye on you the whole time.” Before House could even object Wilson was on his case, “I don’t care how much you hate me right now for doing what I did but I don’t want to hear a damn word from you until I’m finished, you got that?”
He nodded.
“I’m doing this as a favor to you, alright? If you start giving me trouble then I’ll call an ambulance to bring you to some mental facility where you’ll have to spend watch strapped to a bed. Is that what you want?!”
House let out a sigh and shook his head, defeated.
“Good. I’m going to go find your doctor.”
Just as Wilson was leaving he reached up to try and support his injured shoulder to hopefully dull the pain any little bit he could. Even right after having his stomach pumped from a Vicodin overdose that nearly killed him, House was still sharp enough to notice.
“What’s wrong with your arm?” He got out, his voice raspy and rough.
Wilson stopped in his tracts and turned. “I, uhh, hurt it while trying to get into the bathroom.” And with that he left him alone with what little concern House could spare for his injured friend.
--
“Come, on.. I know it’s late but I know you’re not asleep yet…” Wilson mumbled to himself as he listened to the rings on the phone line as he waited for her to answer.
“Hello?” a woman spoke, her greeting almost masked by her yawn. Maybe she was asleep.
“Cuddy! It’s Wilson.”
“What’s up that’s got you calling this late..and calling from Princeton General?” She asked after recalling what she read on the caller ID.
He tried to sound as lighthearted as he could. “Ahh, well, I’m calling to see if you can give House a few sick days off.”
“What’s wrong? Is it serious?” She yawned again.
“Oh, no, he’s fine. I think he has some bug that’s been going around the hospital.” With his nervousness starting to rile up and show itself he started to pace back and fourth down the quiet hallway. He needed to calm himself down.
“Then why are you calling from the hospital?”
“It’s no big deal. While I was helping House out I slipped and hurt my arm, I’m waiting on a doctor to see me now. I’ll probably be in a sling for a few weeks, but other than that I should be fine.”
“Well, in that case, can’t he call me and ask for time off?” He didn’t like how curious she was about all this.
He only hoped that she wasn’t on to him. “He could, but we both know he won’t. You know House, he’d rather come to work sick than waste a day on what they were actually designed for. I thought it would be better to just skip the drama for a change.”
“Of course.” He let out a chuckle and hoped that she bought his lame excuses. There was a reason he got House admitted to Princeton Gen. under a false name. The last person who needed to know about this was Cuddy. If House lost his job for this then he would have nothing to live for.
There was a bit of silence on her end before she came to her decision.
“Tell House he has tomorrow off and if he needs anymore time have him call me.”
“I will, don’t worry. Oh! And one more thing…” He paused a second as he tried to think of how to word his question. “Do you think I can take a sick day off tomorrow as well? I mean, I can help House out and made sure he’s settled and actually gets the rest he needs -”
“Wilson, I’m sure he can take care of himself. He is a grown man after all.”
“I know, it’s just.. this may sound stupid, and feel free to laugh, but I was hoping to use that day off to figure out how to go to sleep. See, I’m used to sleeping on my left side.. and well, I can’t at the moment. I was hoping to have a day off so I can.. figure that out. The last thing I want to do is come to work exhausted. Please?”
He heard her let out a short laugh. “Dr. Wilson, you don’t have to beg me for one of your sick days. What would House think if he saw you?”
“He could tease me relentlessly and never let me hear the end of it.” He sighed. He really would.
“As he should. You can take off tomorrow. Just tell House to call me if he can’t come in Friday.” It was obvious by the sound of her voice that she was trying her best to stifle another yawn.
Oh, thank god! He mouthed. It would have been hard to do a watch over House for twenty-four hours if he had to be at work. “I will, don’t worry about a thing, and thank you, Lisa.”
“Anytime James. Good night.”
“Night.” He hung up his phone and set out to find Dr. Stevens. He was sure the nurse told him he was down this way…
--
House tried his best to ignore the fact that Wilson had returned to his room, but it was harder to ignore the man talking to him. “Ah, excellent, you’re awake! I take it, Luke, that you’re friend has explained what we have arranged?”
At the sound of being referred to as Luke, House shot a questioning look over to Wilson. He got a rather terrible attempt at a wink in return. Wilson had him admitted under a false name to keep his identity secret. It was times like this when House really wanted to thank the man. Anyone else would have rushed him in and promptly told them his name. Not Wilson, even when he was trying to save him from a suicide attempt he was looking out for what he wanted. As much as he wanted to thank him, he couldn’t. He had a reputation to keep after all.
Once he was detached from all the various machines that were monitoring him and was given a shirt to put on, House stood shakily from the bed with Wilson immediately handing him his cane, which he quickly snatched. “Dr. Wilson, I want you to keep me informed on what’s going on, alright?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“You get some rest, Luke. You should be fine, but if anything else starts bothering you I want you to either tell Dr. Wilson or give me a call on my cell and I’ll see what we can do, okay?” He handed him his card. “Now you go get some rest.” But before Steven could even get near the door, it seemed that House wasn’t finished with him.
“I do have a problem.”
Stevens turned to face his patient.
“He fucked up his arm earlier. I want it x-rayed and checked out.”
Wilson gave a slightly embarrassed smirk and shrugged as Stevens looked in his direction. “Of course, We’ll get it checked out right away. If you two would follow me?” Both men did so with no objections.
--
“Well, doctor, it looks like you fractured your arm.” Stevens announced as he took a look at the x-rays sheets against the light box. “It’s a very minor injury, only a small fracture in the upper humerus. All your shoulder needs is to be in a sling for two three weeks and it should heal nicely.”
Wilson nodded, “Well, that’s good to hear.”
“I’ll get you a sling.” But just as Stevens was about to leave he caught sight of House sitting in a chair, his eyes downcast to the floor with his arms folded. “And how are you feeling, Luke?”
“Like shit.”
Stevens pulled a sad smile. “Once you get home and get some rest you should be feeling better. You’re lucky to have a friend like Dr. Wilson looking out for you.” He scoffed under his breath at the doctor’s words. “You may not see it now, but I’m sure one day you’ll thank him for what he’s done.” With an appreciative smile from Wilson, Stevens left to fetch a sling for his patient.
After he returned and fitted Wilson with his sling the two were released and allowed to go home. The ride back was a very quiet one. No one even dared to breath a little too loud, much less actually vocalizing a word or two. And what made things worse was that Wilson, even though he knew he did good by many people, he felt like the worst person alive.
He felt if House really was in so much pain mentally and physically that he wanted to end it all.. he should be able to, it would be, in fact, his decision. Shouldn’t he honor that like he would anything else House would say or request? Maybe he let his feeling get the better of him. Maybe he was just being selfish. But if being selfish meant keeping House around for a little longer and see that things really could be better, maybe it was for the best.
After being able to talk himself into feeling a little better about his decision he knew a grueling task lay ahead of him. He was to watch his friend and make sure not to let him hurt himself by any means necessary.. One hour down; twenty-three more to go.
He wasn’t looking forward to this one bit.
--
A/N: Damn... what a chapter. Did anyone else feel it when House looked up at Wilson from in the bathtub?
--
NEXT: CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: House Watch Part I: Nightmare with a Pistol
--
Author: wolfoflegends
Word Count: 5,417
Pairing: House/Wilson
Summery: After a near death experience and it's following circumstances, Wilson goes to John Hopkins University as a last ditch effort for Med school. There he meets a character like he's never known. Stretches from Med school to beyond Season 4. Slash h/w
---
CHAPTER THIRTY: I Won't Let You Kill Yourself!
---
After that one mishap of a physical therapy appointment House didn’t go back for another one. In his own stubborn mind he didn’t want to go because he wanted nothing to do with the therapist or his teaching habits as well as being reminded about how Stacy left him in the middle of everything. She was the one who made him this way in the first place; couldn’t she at least stay around until it was over?
At first by how lightly House was taking the situation, Wilson thought there was a chance that he knew things weren’t as bad as they seemed, like that maybe there was a chance that Stacy would change her mind and come back.
But she didn’t.
When a month had gone by with no signs of her rushing back into the doctor’s arms reality never seemed harsher than in that moment. Not only was he in constant pain from his leg and would be for most probably the rest of his life (especially if the man kept refusing to go to the physical therapist again) but his girlfriend left him to deal with his own problems. There was an obvious change in House. When Stacy was still around he seemed to still care about his appearance. Even though he would wait a day or two to shave and that sometimes he come to work in just jeans and t-shirt it seemed after she left he didn’t care. Everything went to hell. He shaved maybe once a week, and when he did wear a button up shirt it was never tucked in and the world was lucky if it didn’t look like it was just pulled out of the bottom of a laundry basket.
It was obvious that he couldn’t forgive her, no matter how hard she tried to change his mind. She put her neck on the line to save his life but in the end, to him, it wasn’t worth the pain. He couldn’t bring himself to forgive her, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much he wanted things to go back to how they used to be.. he knew they couldn’t. His leg was a constant reminder of that fact.
And so were the keys in his mailbox.
“Here.”
A few days after House had found the keys he came to the conclusion he didn’t have use for it, even as a spare key (or so that’s what he told himself in order to do what he actually wanted) and decided to hand it off to someone who could make use of it. Wilson watched curiously as House pulled an envelope from his back pocket one day and took something out of it and put it on the table before sliding it toward him on the counter top.
He took it.
“Stacy gave me her keys earlier. You’re here enough of the time. You keep ‘em.” The first thing Wilson did after he picked it up was put it on his key ring with his own car, office and house keys.
“You sure?”
House shrugged. “I already have three copies that are sitting in my nightstand drawer. I don’t need another one.” And with that being said, House didn’t even bother to excuse himself as he left the kitchen and went to his room to sleep.
House didn’t know how much he would come to regret that decision a week or so later.
--
One Wednesday night after Wilson arrived home from one of the hospital board meetings he was greeted by his loving wife, Bonnie. Normally she would be all hugs and kisses.. but something was amiss. “House left you a strange message earlier.” She informed him as she worked on finishing some new recipe that he hoped didn’t have ginger in it (by the smell of it, it did. He didn’t like ginger that much).
“What he say?” He took the initiative and kissed her cheek.
She shrugged, “I don’t know.. it was short. Something about you being a good guy.. or something.” She didn’t look away from the mess sautéing in the pan. After trying to think of what his friend could have been trying to say, he slipped off his blazer and hung it in the closet along with his brief case and worked on rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt as he made his way to the answering machine.
He pushed play.
“You have one unheard message. Message one, 6:43pm: Hey, Wilson! It’s Greg..” There was a bit of a pause. There was something strange about his voice, “Hey, I just wanted to say.. you, well, you’re a good guy. Soo.. Yeah. End of messages.” Wilson stood there confused as he stared at the answering machine.
“What?” He shook his head. That was definitely strange. For one, House never tells anyone a complement, and to call and only leave a complement was something in itself. Maybe he was drunk? He sounded a little drunk. Coming to no other conclusion, he picked up the cordless phone off the hook and dialed House’s apartment landline.
He was expecting to hear the loud crash of someone banging aimlessly on piano keys (obviously only to scare to caller into not calling back) followed by that tell tail voice saying, “What do you want?”
Wilson had to admit, he was fooled the first time and started to talk to the machine as if he were talking to House, only to be dissuaded by the loud beep that told him his message time had run out. He promptly called back and left another message and informed House that he was an ass.
But this time he didn’t get any of that, only ringing. So he tried his cell phone. Again, he had no luck. Without so much as a ring it went straight to voice mail. “You know what to do.”
“Greg, it’s Wilson, just returning your call. Is everything okay?” he sat there a second before finally hanging up. Something didn’t feel right. Normally Wilson wouldn’t act on his gut instinct. He liked to have facts and various plausible explanations before he spontaneously acted on something out of the blue. If he had the time he would sit it out and think on what to do, but fearing that something may be wrong; he hung up his better judgment and without even bothering with unrolling his sleeves he grabbed a coat from the closet and slipped it on. “Honey?”
“Yeah?” Bonnie called from the kitchen.
He grabbed his car keys off the hook where he had hung them when he walked in. “I’m going to see what’s up, I think something wrong.” He didn’t even wait for her to answer before he was out the door.
She sighed as she continued to stir the cooking dinner. “Figures. There’s always something wrong.”
--
It didn’t take but a good seven minutes before Wilson pulled his car onto the curb in front of 221 Baker Street. He could see the lights on, so he was still up, or should be. He approached the steps and pulled out his key and unlocked the front door and made his way down the short hall to 221b.
Wilson knocked on the door. “House?”
No answer.
He knocked even harder. “House!” It was then he heard something loud crash and shatter. Quickly he fumbled with his keys to find his newly acquired apartment key and shoved it into the lock. When Wilson opened the door it was the sound of a plastic pill bottle hitting the floor with pills scattering onto the floor caused him to rush in quicker to find House standing in the middle of his living room with a distraught and upset expression as well as a broken glass lamp shattered on the floor with pills littering the floor around him. "Jimmy.. I can't fucking live like this.. Why do you always show up at the wrong time!!" He yelled before falling to his hands and knees with Wilson at his side in a flash.
He tried to help him up, but he refused to get up.
“Why couldn’t you have shown up a few minutes later?” He asked in a quiet voice. Wilson had never heard him like this. He sounded as if his spirit had been completely crushed. It was obvious just by looking at him and how he reeked of alcohol that he was trashed.. and he also smelled of vomit.
It was only when he got sight of those blue eyes he saw something was terribly wrong. Though the lights of the apartment were rather dim, those gorgeous blue eyes seemed out of place with those small pinpoint pupils.
Wilson dropped onto knees and crawled over in front of House who was now trying his best to sit up with his back leaning against the coffee table that had been pushed from its normal spot in the living room. Wilson put a hand on either side of his shoulders with House quickly breaking their gaze. “How many did you take?”
He didn’t answer; he didn’t even look at him.
“Hey! Look at me! How many did you take?!” he grabbed House’s chin and forced him to look at him. Those angry blue eyes glared and almost seemed a little unfocused, but he didn’t lift a hand to push him away.
“Two.”
“Bullshit!” he sneered, “How many did you really take?!”
House still didn’t pull away from Wilson firm grip or stare. “Four.” Wilson stared a few moments more before finally releasing his hold. The man seemed unwavering enough, save for his drunkenness. Wilson let out a sigh as he sat along side his friend and leaned back until his back touched the coffee table. He knew the table wasn’t weighty enough to take his weight without moving. He knew he should do something. He had a choice. Either he could believe his friend, believe that he only took four pills and get him to bed, or he could flat out not believe him and call an ambulance.
Keeping an eye on where his friend was looking, House took advantage of his intruder being deep in thought and slowly started to pick up a few of the pills that were within his reach. He didn't need all of them to do what he wanted to do.. only.. a.. few...
When he had managed to pick up a good few without Wilson noticing, he tried to secretly slip the pills into his mouth.. but without success. Just as he managed to slip the last one past his lips, Wilson had turned and saw what he had done. Without once ounce of self control, Wilson swung back as hard as he could and slapped House upside his face. “You fucking bastard! I’m sitting right here and you’re going to try that!?!”
House spat the few pills he had yet swallowed on the floor next to him and nursed his stinging cheek.
He winced at the firm vice-like grip now holding tight to his shoulders. “How many!?" He cried out.
House refused to look at him. He couldn’t see the hurt in those brown eyes, but when the doctor got out his pocket flashlight and was practically holding his eye open with his fingers he had no choice.
“How many did you take?!” Wilson tried again, but House wasn’t in the mood for this.
“How many is a handful?!” he snarled and pushed Wilson off him. He stayed in his discarded position as he stared bewildered. He didn’t know what to do, his friend was trying to obvious kill himself. Was he dreaming? Was this some kind of twisted nightmare? If it was he wished from the bottom of his heart to wake up.
But he didn’t. This was real.
“Jimmy.. can’t you just pretend you didn’t see anything? Just leave and forget you came here?” he asked in a defeated whisper.
He swallowed and shook his head. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”
House took a deep breath and gave a let it out before giving a saddened nod. “That’s what I thought.” he got out tiredly and slowly pulled himself to his feet. Wilson was watching him like a hawk.
“Where are you going?” he stood up in time to see House straining to make his way down the hallway.
He didn’t turn around, “I need to pee.”
“What does it matter?! You’ve just killed yourself!”
“I’m not dead yet!” And with that, he closed the bathroom door. At first nothing seemed out of the ordinary to Wilson. That was until he heard the bathroom door lock.
No.. he wouldn’t..
It took a whole two seconds before he was pounding at the bathroom door. “Hey! Open the door!”
“Fuck off, Wilson!”
“House! Greg! Open this goddamn door right now!!” he ordered but it was no use.
House didn’t want to be saved. “Just let me die in fucking peace!!”
Wilson took a deep breath. He had to do something and he had to do it now. Not only was the man heavily drunk (that is, if the nearly empty bottle of Vodka had anything to say about it), but he had already taken at least four Vicodin before he had walked into the apartment. It wouldn’t be long for however many more he took to take effect.
“OPEN THIS DOOR OR I’LL DO IT MYSELF!” Wilson warned loudly.
He didn’t like the laughter that immediately made it’s way out from under the door. “Last I checked you weren’t a locksmith, Jimmy.”
That was all it took. No longer was Wilson’s objective to get House out the bathroom in a calm and civil manner, no. It was get him out of there at all cost. Suddenly frustrated beyond belief, Wilson did the first thing that came to mind. Dressed in a pair of fine leather dress shoes he started to put all the effort he could into kicking the door down with the soles of his shoes.
After a good few solid kicks it was obvious that it was working.
“HEY! You’re fucking up my door!! Stop it!”
“You had -”
*BAM!*
“- your chance, House!”
*BAM!!*
“Open -”
*BAM!!!*
“- this goddamn -”
*BAM!*
“- door -”
*BAM!!*
“- and I’ll -“
*BAM!!!*
“- stop!!” He called out between his hard kicks at the door.
“What are you doing?!”
“I’m going to get you out of there, that’s what!” Wilson took a deep breath and didn’t even try to mask the sob that followed. “I won’t let you kill yourself!! Not if I can still help you!!” He didn’t care if the whole world could hear him, he didn’t even care if House’s neighbor called the cops on him, he was going to get House out of there alive even if it was the last thing he ever did.
He tried his best to catch his breath and keep hold to any hope he could as he let his tired body slide down the door as he sat on the wood flooring. “Greg, please! All I want is to help you! Just open the door!”
With his head resting against the door he kept trying to catch his breath, but nothing came in return. Not even an insult.
“Greg?” He pressed his ear to the door and strained to hear anything he could but still nothing came in return. “House! Answer me! Say anything!!” When only silence continued to greet him he quickly pulled his tired body up and got a few feet from the door and with all his weight and might rammed the door with his shoulder. When the door didn’t open on the first blow he repeated his actions and tried again.
When the door flew open with him tripping and spilling onto the floor in its wake; he was sure he broke his shoulder. He immediately scrambled to the man who tried to seek any refuge he could in a cold empty bathtub. Tired blue eyes looked up at him with pupils even smaller pinpoints than they had been a few minutes before.
Wilson held his shoulder tightly and tried not to think about the pain his hurt shoulder was in. “You’re still alive!” He let out relieved sob as he grasped the side of the tub with his bad arm and reached out with the other to take his friend’s pulse. House tried to push him away but he was too weak.
Trying desperately to find a pulse, Wilson pressed his fingers to his friend’s neck when the vibrations of his voice pulled his attention from his watch. “Jimmy?” A small nervous grin greeted him. “I..” He tried to take a breath but it was no use. “I can’t.. breathe..” It was only then he noticed how little House was managing to take in.
It was no where’s near enough to sustain him.
“Hold on! I’m going to get help!” He rushed out of the bathroom and into the living room, grabbed his phone out of his discarded coat and rushed back to House.
Those blue eyes were closed and he wasn’t breathing.
“No!! Nononononn!! I’m not giving up on you, you idiot! You’re not allowed to give up on me either!!” With a flush of adrenaline pumping through out his system, he pulled the unconscious House out of the empty bathtub and onto the cold white tiles of the bathroom floor. He pressed his ear to House’s chest and heard nothing. Never in his life had he felt so scared, even as his own brother held him a knife point in his own bedroom; he didn’t feel like this. When Wilson finally forced his own self to take a breath, he quickly set to work on doing what ever he could to give his dying friend a chance. He grabbed hold of House’s chin and opened his mouth and tilted his head back a bit before pinching his nose and took a deep breath and gave him mouth to mouth.
When that didn’t work as well as the first round of chest compressions he grabbed his phone called for assistance and set it to speaker as he continued the chest compressions. “911, what’s your emergency?”
“I need an ambulance at 221b Backer Street!” he fought to yell out as he kept fighting.
“What the problem, sir?”
“John Doe, early to mid 40’s -“ He took a breath and held it as he listened for breathing of any kind before pinching his unconscious friend’s nose shut and breathed into him.
“Sir? Wha -”
“He stopped breathing!” He started back with the check compressions, “He overdosed on Vicodin and alcohol! I’m doing CRP -”
“Sir, did you see him take the Vicodin?”
“Yes! I’m a doctor! I know what I’m talking about! Please send help, NOW!” He kept up with the compressions while counting in his head back up to thirty before breathing into him again. “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up!!” He cried as he started the compressions again. With each one his shoulder hurt more and more. “House! I swear, if you make it through this I’m going to punch you right in your face when you wake up!!”
To Wilson, it felt like an eternity before helped arrive.
--
Beeping.
Beeping was all he could hear. It was a steady rhythm, a sound he’s heard a million times before but for some reason he couldn’t place what it was. His mind ran circles until he finally forced himself to open his eyes.
He was in a bed.
In an unfamiliar room with various beeping machines hooked up to him. He felt like he had been hit by a bus. He had been in practically every square inch of PPTH and this place was too poorly decorated to be the hospital be had become so familiar with.
It was the sound of a chair creaking that got his attention. There, standing with a stern look on his face was none other than his savior, James Wilson. What he save him from exactly was in question. Wilson approached the bed. “So you’re awake. Good.” He pulled that same small pocket flashlight from earlier and flashed it those tired and annoyed eyes.
“Gah, stop that shit.” He hissed.
Seeing that the unappreciative man was indeed alright and all there; he got straight down to business. As much as Wilson wanted to be all rainbows and sunshine he wasn’t in the mood for it. He was pissed off just as much as House was.
“Be grateful. You’re going to be alright. You’re lucky that you didn’t kill your liver,” He put his flashlight away. “I’m sure you already have an idea of what happened while you were out. Your stomach was pumped and you were given charcoal. The paramedics were able to restart your heart with no problem and I had you rushed to Princeton General. Your doctor offered for you to get therapy and recommended a great psychologist, but I know you won’t take it anyway. You’re currently on a twenty-four hour suicide watch, but I was able to convinced your doctor to discharge you and let you go home only if I’m there keeping an eye on you the whole time.” Before House could even object Wilson was on his case, “I don’t care how much you hate me right now for doing what I did but I don’t want to hear a damn word from you until I’m finished, you got that?”
He nodded.
“I’m doing this as a favor to you, alright? If you start giving me trouble then I’ll call an ambulance to bring you to some mental facility where you’ll have to spend watch strapped to a bed. Is that what you want?!”
House let out a sigh and shook his head, defeated.
“Good. I’m going to go find your doctor.”
Just as Wilson was leaving he reached up to try and support his injured shoulder to hopefully dull the pain any little bit he could. Even right after having his stomach pumped from a Vicodin overdose that nearly killed him, House was still sharp enough to notice.
“What’s wrong with your arm?” He got out, his voice raspy and rough.
Wilson stopped in his tracts and turned. “I, uhh, hurt it while trying to get into the bathroom.” And with that he left him alone with what little concern House could spare for his injured friend.
--
“Come, on.. I know it’s late but I know you’re not asleep yet…” Wilson mumbled to himself as he listened to the rings on the phone line as he waited for her to answer.
“Hello?” a woman spoke, her greeting almost masked by her yawn. Maybe she was asleep.
“Cuddy! It’s Wilson.”
“What’s up that’s got you calling this late..and calling from Princeton General?” She asked after recalling what she read on the caller ID.
He tried to sound as lighthearted as he could. “Ahh, well, I’m calling to see if you can give House a few sick days off.”
“What’s wrong? Is it serious?” She yawned again.
“Oh, no, he’s fine. I think he has some bug that’s been going around the hospital.” With his nervousness starting to rile up and show itself he started to pace back and fourth down the quiet hallway. He needed to calm himself down.
“Then why are you calling from the hospital?”
“It’s no big deal. While I was helping House out I slipped and hurt my arm, I’m waiting on a doctor to see me now. I’ll probably be in a sling for a few weeks, but other than that I should be fine.”
“Well, in that case, can’t he call me and ask for time off?” He didn’t like how curious she was about all this.
He only hoped that she wasn’t on to him. “He could, but we both know he won’t. You know House, he’d rather come to work sick than waste a day on what they were actually designed for. I thought it would be better to just skip the drama for a change.”
“Of course.” He let out a chuckle and hoped that she bought his lame excuses. There was a reason he got House admitted to Princeton Gen. under a false name. The last person who needed to know about this was Cuddy. If House lost his job for this then he would have nothing to live for.
There was a bit of silence on her end before she came to her decision.
“Tell House he has tomorrow off and if he needs anymore time have him call me.”
“I will, don’t worry. Oh! And one more thing…” He paused a second as he tried to think of how to word his question. “Do you think I can take a sick day off tomorrow as well? I mean, I can help House out and made sure he’s settled and actually gets the rest he needs -”
“Wilson, I’m sure he can take care of himself. He is a grown man after all.”
“I know, it’s just.. this may sound stupid, and feel free to laugh, but I was hoping to use that day off to figure out how to go to sleep. See, I’m used to sleeping on my left side.. and well, I can’t at the moment. I was hoping to have a day off so I can.. figure that out. The last thing I want to do is come to work exhausted. Please?”
He heard her let out a short laugh. “Dr. Wilson, you don’t have to beg me for one of your sick days. What would House think if he saw you?”
“He could tease me relentlessly and never let me hear the end of it.” He sighed. He really would.
“As he should. You can take off tomorrow. Just tell House to call me if he can’t come in Friday.” It was obvious by the sound of her voice that she was trying her best to stifle another yawn.
Oh, thank god! He mouthed. It would have been hard to do a watch over House for twenty-four hours if he had to be at work. “I will, don’t worry about a thing, and thank you, Lisa.”
“Anytime James. Good night.”
“Night.” He hung up his phone and set out to find Dr. Stevens. He was sure the nurse told him he was down this way…
--
House tried his best to ignore the fact that Wilson had returned to his room, but it was harder to ignore the man talking to him. “Ah, excellent, you’re awake! I take it, Luke, that you’re friend has explained what we have arranged?”
At the sound of being referred to as Luke, House shot a questioning look over to Wilson. He got a rather terrible attempt at a wink in return. Wilson had him admitted under a false name to keep his identity secret. It was times like this when House really wanted to thank the man. Anyone else would have rushed him in and promptly told them his name. Not Wilson, even when he was trying to save him from a suicide attempt he was looking out for what he wanted. As much as he wanted to thank him, he couldn’t. He had a reputation to keep after all.
Once he was detached from all the various machines that were monitoring him and was given a shirt to put on, House stood shakily from the bed with Wilson immediately handing him his cane, which he quickly snatched. “Dr. Wilson, I want you to keep me informed on what’s going on, alright?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“You get some rest, Luke. You should be fine, but if anything else starts bothering you I want you to either tell Dr. Wilson or give me a call on my cell and I’ll see what we can do, okay?” He handed him his card. “Now you go get some rest.” But before Steven could even get near the door, it seemed that House wasn’t finished with him.
“I do have a problem.”
Stevens turned to face his patient.
“He fucked up his arm earlier. I want it x-rayed and checked out.”
Wilson gave a slightly embarrassed smirk and shrugged as Stevens looked in his direction. “Of course, We’ll get it checked out right away. If you two would follow me?” Both men did so with no objections.
--
“Well, doctor, it looks like you fractured your arm.” Stevens announced as he took a look at the x-rays sheets against the light box. “It’s a very minor injury, only a small fracture in the upper humerus. All your shoulder needs is to be in a sling for two three weeks and it should heal nicely.”
Wilson nodded, “Well, that’s good to hear.”
“I’ll get you a sling.” But just as Stevens was about to leave he caught sight of House sitting in a chair, his eyes downcast to the floor with his arms folded. “And how are you feeling, Luke?”
“Like shit.”
Stevens pulled a sad smile. “Once you get home and get some rest you should be feeling better. You’re lucky to have a friend like Dr. Wilson looking out for you.” He scoffed under his breath at the doctor’s words. “You may not see it now, but I’m sure one day you’ll thank him for what he’s done.” With an appreciative smile from Wilson, Stevens left to fetch a sling for his patient.
After he returned and fitted Wilson with his sling the two were released and allowed to go home. The ride back was a very quiet one. No one even dared to breath a little too loud, much less actually vocalizing a word or two. And what made things worse was that Wilson, even though he knew he did good by many people, he felt like the worst person alive.
He felt if House really was in so much pain mentally and physically that he wanted to end it all.. he should be able to, it would be, in fact, his decision. Shouldn’t he honor that like he would anything else House would say or request? Maybe he let his feeling get the better of him. Maybe he was just being selfish. But if being selfish meant keeping House around for a little longer and see that things really could be better, maybe it was for the best.
After being able to talk himself into feeling a little better about his decision he knew a grueling task lay ahead of him. He was to watch his friend and make sure not to let him hurt himself by any means necessary.. One hour down; twenty-three more to go.
He wasn’t looking forward to this one bit.
--
A/N: Damn... what a chapter. Did anyone else feel it when House looked up at Wilson from in the bathtub?
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NEXT: CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: House Watch Part I: Nightmare with a Pistol
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