The Contractverse Wannabe, Part 4
For whatever reason I've been having formatting problems, please forgive me if things seem a little off.
[Just moments after the end of Part Tres.]
HOUSE: Well, no sense in waiting, he'll be in the can for the next hour at least, so... next chapter?
WILSON: (cringing) Ugh, House, I don't think I can stomach it.
HOUSE: Too bad, we've already started!
“I wish I, could come home
To a life that looks like a TV show
I wish I, could see,
My television family waiting for me
Where no one fights
And no one screams
No one lies, and no one leaves,” Everclear
WILSON: (sigh) What haven't we already said? Excessive song lyrics plus fic almost inevitably equals no.
I wanted to lie to him then, promise that everything was going to be okay. I wanted to say, “You’ll be back to your old self in no time,” make sure he heard it, and tell him he’d forget all this bad stuff one day, and then have a normal, happy life. I wanted to tell him all this and more, but I couldn’t. First off, if I lied, he’d know it and get mad, maybe never be able to trust me again.
HOUSE: Well, apparently I've gone from a drooling baby to a lie detector, is that possible?
WILSON: I wouldn't know. That would probably be a question for a psychologist.
HOUSE: Isn't that what you are? Oh, no, you just play one on TV.
At this point I almost wanted him to make a smart as comment,
WILSON: Don't they mean "smart ass?"
because at least then I’d feel like I was getting my favorite, wonderfully, amazing, brilliant guy back, but he didn’t do that.
HOUSE: (playfully) Oh Wilson, always flattering me.
WILSON: That's quite a list. Although, that random adverb thrown in with a bunch of adjectives makes me want to tear my hair out.
HOUSE: No! Then what will you have going for you?
“So that’s a no?” House asked, almost like he needed to verify the truth by hearing me say it too. Getting to this did make him cry a little but Greg stopped as soon as he caught himself. “Not sure there’s a point, if I can’t be-okay. Imean, why try?”
HOUSE: Am I just doing that thing where I run all my words together or is that a legitimate spelling error?
WILSON: Who knows? I wouldn't be surprised either way.
“I can, we can work on different combinations of pain meds and anti-anxiety pills, and you might-could-can find the right dosage, and that will make all the difference, You probably won’t-”
“You don’t know!” he shouted, pounding his fist into my shoulder.
HOUSE: Let's review, I can't eat cereal with out making a mess, but I can "pound" my fist into Wilson's shoulder?
WILSON: You seem surprised at the inconsistency of the fic, which begs the question, where the hell have you been?
“This isn’t the-this is so bad. I can’t think, talk, can’t do, anything.” He screamed, and I knew from experience that he was only moments away from falling apart, sobbing hysterically.
HOUSE: But I thought I hadn't cried until like two days ago? Have I just spent the last forty-eight hours sobbing my eyes out or something?
Only, this time there was absolutely no chance of it helping. This crying wasn’t going to make him get better. If anything this would make him worse.
WILSON: It helped the first time?
I carefully took his face in my hands, turned it up so I could kiss his forehead, and then hugged, held him. House was biting his lip, refusing to let himself cry. He just lay there, and then after a while, starting to grind against me. I couldn’t figure out why he was doing it right away, but then I realized that he was trying to provoke a response from me, trying to make me do something to hurt him.
HOUSE: First you take advantage of me, then you try to change the story so it seems like I'm taking advantage of you, Wilson, you're just a monster.
WILSON: No, House, you're grinding up against me. I find that twice as creepy as anything I've done.
HOUSE: Again, I don't know any better. I'm retarded, remember?
He wanted me to betray him too, because if I did it would mean he had been right all along. As long as I was nice, and treated him well, then the theories he had about humanity and the world were wrong. If I was good, if people could have the capacity for goodness in them, then he had nothing, but if I was like all the other monsters then, at least he was right. But I wasn’t like them, and refused to let Greg believe that I was.
“Stop. I love you, and while I wouldn’t mind if we could, one day, make love again,
HOUSE: For the record, I have never "made love" to anyone.
I’m not going to force myself on you, ever. Now, you’re a guy so I’m sure you know I can’t not react to being touched-and as much as I don’t want to, if you keep doing what you’re doing, my body is going to do something my mind has no desire of doing.” For some reason this worked. House lay still in my arms, weak, and feeling mildly defeated. “You’re gonna get stronger, you are,” I swore. “You are going to feel better, a little. One day, all of this-,” he cut me off again.
“One day! One fucking day? When is one day? How long do I gotta-how-not gonna get better. Not getting better. Wanna give up, but I need help-your help.” His words came out in almost complete sentences, at this point, but he still had to keep pausing, searching for the right words and now he was asking me to help him committing suicide.
HOUSE: Yes! If you help me kill myself the fic will end!
WILSON: That last run on... I think it's causing me physical pain. I can't even think straight enough to come up with amiable solution to it...
HOUSE: How about we just get rid of the whole thing and stop focusing on how pathetic I am.
“Can I have more time to try and help you?” I asked, begged really. I knew I would have to watch him like a hawk because I knew if I didn’t help him, Greg would do it himself, and he would do it right. He was a doctor after all, and knew exactly how many of which pills to take, or where to cut, or how to inject himself with an air embolus. He wouldn’t fuck around with a noose, or playing at cutting himself until somebody noticed. He wouldn’t try to drink drain cleaner, or anything that hurts like hell but won’t kill.
HOUSE: I can't even push myself in a wheelchair but I have the fine motor skill required to slit my wrists?
WILSON: And you're retarded.
“How long?” he asked, as if my answer would change his mind, like he really was thinking it over. I wanted to tell him the truth then, how my wanting to keep him alive was selfish. I needed House, needed to be near him, needed his neediness,
HOUSE: What did I tell you? This is all about you.
and love. He was addicted to the pills, but I was addicted to him and if I let go, let Gregory House kill himself, my own death was sure to follow a week or two afterwards, at the very most.
“Give me a year-I know it sees like forever right now,
WILSON: It "sees" like forever? It "sees" like forever? Authorperson isn't even trying at this point.
but let me finish-twelve months, and you gotta try too, you gotta allow me to try and help make you feel better. And if a whole year goes by and there is no change, or you’re feeling worse, then I’ll hold you in my arms and I’ll give you a-morphine, a lot, enough to take all the pain away.”
HOUSE: Fic!Wilson obviously subscribes to the "emo" trend.
WILSON: I j- (sighs) This is ridiculous. House, I promise as long as I live I will never "hold you in my arms" and "take all the pain away."
HOUSE: Sounds good to me!
“But what about-won’t that make you get into trouble?” was House’s only response. He didn’t seem to process the timetable I’d set up, and I was starting to wonder whether he had really wanted me to do it. “Can you even live without me?” he asked in a tiny voice.
HOUSE: (in the style of fic!Wilson) No, I can't, because I need you on a wholly inappropriate level.
“No,” I told him truthfully, even though I thought it might change his mind-then again maybe part of me wanted to keep him around so badly I was resorting to a childish gilt trip.
WILSON: Oh you know me and those "gilt" trips.
“Although I think a large piece of me died that day, too. We’re both, basically empty now. That’s why I don’t think I can let you go, because you complete me.”
HOUSE: You had me at hello...
WILSON: (without regarding HOUSE) Where are all of these commas coming from? We can't just sprinkle them in our sentences willy-nilly.
HOUSE: Wilson, do you realize that fic!you just said that I complete you?
WILSON: The only reason I haven't thrown myself off the roof is because all the bad grammar keeps me distracted.
“Don’t be stupid,” he snapped, looking me over carefully. I think this may have been when he realized just how serious I was. “Ohgod you meanit,” he moaned. I touched his cheek, softly and he didn’t pull away. “I just-please be gentle.”
WILSON: Who's being gentle? Am I being gentle? Because I can't tell who the hell is saying what with that floating quote.
“Jesus, House,” I said, almost starting to cry, but some how managing to control myself, stopping it. “You still think I’m gonna-hurt you, don’t you?” I asked. He didn’t have to say or do anything; I knew it was true.
WILSON: (to himself) The House Whisperer strikes again.
“Do you want me to stop holding and touching you? It’ll be more difficult to get you in and out of the wheelchair,
HOUSE: No shit Sherlock, I can't exactly do it myself.
but everything else will be fairly easy, and I can go back to sleeping in the recliner, and…”
WILSON: Wait, (flips through previous pages of the Bad!Fic) I thought I slept with House in a "makeshift hug?"
HOUSE: In a recliner. With your penis rubbing against my butt.
“No, please,” he cried out, latching onto me, pulling me in, closer and closer, letting me, almost making me, hold him once again, but holding me so tightly that he managed to pull himself together enough to keep form crying.
WILSON: To keep form crying?
HOUSE: I'm always so concerned about my technique, is my sobbing too loud? Is my snot production sufficient?
“Don’t let go. Please, don’t go.” I kept on holding him, but twisted my hips into an awkward position so as to make our contact as bearable for him as I could,
WILSON: See look, I'm not a molester, I'm making it easier on you by moving my penis away from your orifices.
HOUSE: Lies, all lies.
trying to be close without hurting him. “You can have a year,” he announced at last. “I know it-won’t-but…make the promise?”
“I promise everything is going to be just fine,” I swore, but neither of us believed it. “Do you want me to tell you the truth? The real truth?” I asked, about an hour or so later.
WILSON: Wait... a major time change, in consecutive sentences, in the same paragraph? I can't fathom- who taught them English? Why would anyone-
HOUSE: Whoa there Jimmy, if you aren't careful your head's gonna start spinning.
We had been silent for a long time, lying so close, so quietly, and so still that I could hear and feel his broken and battered heart beating slow, weakly.
HOUSE: Then why aren't you treating my internal injuries? Jesus Christ, fic!you is such a shitty doctor.
WILSON: House, I think that's almost a compliment.
HOUSE: Yeah well, Cuddy isn't even a real doctor and she's better than this moron.
“Nothing is ever fine and-one of the shrinks told me that you probably won’t ever get- you’re not going to get over it, at least not completely,
WILSON: (turns to a previous page of the Bad!Fic) No, two psychiatrists said that. What kind of crack is authorperson smoking?
HOUSE: Whatever it is, they're obviously lacing it with too much of something.
but you can have a life. Isn’t living worth something?”
The BT House would have said, “Only if I’m alive. Dead people don’t care that they’re dead. They can’t care.” Then he should have laughed, and popped a pill, but the new guy, the PTH (post Tritter House) could only bring himself to shrug.
HOUSE: PTH? How much trouble is to just say "after he was raped to the point of becoming mentally handicapped..."
WILSON: That does actually sound like something you would say. The BT House, not the PTH.
HOUSE: (looks at WILSON, puzzled) Stay with me Wilson, we can't lose focus now.
Then he said, “Maybe. Okay. I-I’ll try.” He didn’t have to tell me that the only reason he’d agreed was because I asked him to do so. I knew already knew that-and a few other things (a very few things) all by myself.
HOUSE: Wait... I agreed to continue to live this pathetic existence because you're needy?
WILSON: If it makes you feel better I would've given you the morphine months ago.
HOUSE: And this is why we're friends.
“I can’t fix this, but I can, I will protect you now, and if you want, we don’t ever have to leave this apartment.” When I said this he looked up at me, wide-eyed like a child, almost innocent looking, and he nodded slowly. He believed me, almost. “You’ll always be safe if I’m around. I won’t let the bad guys get you again.” He half smiled when I said this, and I knew I’d finally done something right.
WILSON: (as fic!Wilson) Yes, and I promise to check the closet for monsters every night.
HOUSE: You forget, the monster is attached to your crotch.
Thank you, he mouthed, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. Then I watched as the poor guy stared ever so longingly at the kitchen door. He was hungry now, but his childhood abuse had taught him not to ask for food, and I was almost positive that the BT House didn’t eat (aside from pop tarts and peanut butter, which hardly a meal make) unless I offered to pay, or he stole from my food. Now I fed him three times a day (plus occasional sacks) but he was becoming skinner than ever, probably because I made healthier food, and he could only handle so much.
WILSON: Yes, I seem to remember there being stuffed peppers in Auschwitz. That's how they starved all those poor people, by giving them nutrience!
HOUSE: Well, you're also feeding me sacks.
WILSON: (sighs) Why am I not surprised? And apparently prior to being raped you were a borderline anorexic.
HOUSE: I feel much better now that I've joined Cameron's support group.
“I’m gonna have lunch now, you want some?” I asked, and was rewarded with a solemn, silent nod. “PB and J, alright? Mac-n-Cheese? “We worked together to move his body from the couch to the chair. “Candy, cookies, ice cream, cake?” I asked, willing to feed him pot brownies if it meant he would at least eat something.
HOUSE: Wasn't I just longing for food? Why wouldn't I eat?
“You really do like me, huh?” he said, sounding almost surprised. “Probably let me do anything…now.” I think this actually did make him feel worse than he had before.
“I have always liked you, and there is nothing anybody can do or say to change how I feel. I will always, always, always, always, always love you. Don’t tell yourself that I don’t. My love for you has got nothing to do with what-happened.”
HOUSE: You know, Wilson, I think fic!you loves fic!me. But it's just a hunch.
WILSON: I couldn't say for sure, maybe after fic!me reminds you for the sixth time in as many minutes I'll be positve.
“You feel bad for me, and you think that, I’m pathetic, weak. Think I need you. Think you’re doing me a favor. You don’t love me. You love my needed you, to take care of me.”
“You’re wrong, house…
HOUSE: And now my name isn't a proper noun either? God, this getting really pathetic. And didn't you admit that you love my need in the first place?
WILSON: "You love my needed you, to take care of me." I'm not sure I fully understand what that is suppose to mean. You needed me, but you don't anymore? I thought we just covered that you'd basically be laying around helplessly without me.
well you’re partially wrong. I had a job where most of my patients died and I couldn’t do anything for them, but I can help you. Being here, taking care of you like this-I feel useful but I love you-not because of,” I stopped deliberately avoiding the words, not because you were raped, and he knew it. Before he came out of it, Greg seemed to appreciate my not reminding him what had happened whereas now he was mad that I wouldn’t talk to him like he was a normal person.
HOUSE: But you've reminded me at least twice that I've been raped already, it's kind of late to start avoiding the subject now.
“I was raped you idiot,” he screamed at me, and then sat there, staring straight ahead for nearly fifteen minutes, and then finally he let go, and started to sob. I tried to hug him at the beginning of the long, gut-wrenching, painful series of sobs, but he pushed my hands away. Later when he had completely exhausted himself, but still couldn’t stop crying-House’s defenses were weakened--he let me put my arms around him. When it was all over he looked up into my eyes and said, “He-I felt likeIwasthesameweakstupid patheticlitelkid. Itwasalmostexactlythesame. Soweakandicouldntdoanything. I couldn’t, make, him, stop. I said no, begged him to stop, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t.” A few minutes went past before I said anything. I could tell he dint want me to talk, so I didn’t. Then, he grabbed my arm and pulled it around his shoulder, tightly, and pulled himself onto the couch. “Pizza.” His voice came out flatly and I picked out the phone, dialed our favorite delivery place, ordered, and hung up before saying anything or trying to comfort him in any way.
WILSON: Wait... what time line is that paragraph? Shouldn't there be a line break after you stare for nearly fifteen minutes?
HOUSE: Or after I cry myself to exhaustion?
WILSON: At least you know that you were raped now.
HOUSE: Yes, after you reminded me that last time it finally clicked, the whole non-consensual anal sex thing.
“It’s time for your pills,” I announced, even though he had well over an hour before he was supposed to get them.
HOUSE: Drugging me, I see that's how you deal with me when I get to be a bother.
He didn’t even try to stop me, not because he wanted to get stoned but because he needed to stop feeling this god awful pain. House was in no way a typical victim. He had never been given a chance to deal with the eighteen years of whatever you wanna call what his dad did. Add the Tritter thing into the mix, and the unbelievable amount of physical pain he was in and you might be able you understand why he needs to take massive amounts of drugs just to survive. I put one extra pain pill, and one more Xanax than usual in a Dixie cup, fully expecting him to just take them without saying anything about it, but he didn’t.
HOUSE: Didn't they ever teach you about dangerous drug combinations in Canada?
WILSON: Oh I didn't pay attention, I was just there so I could legally get beer before I turned twenty-one.
I watched as his fingers picked up the pills one at a time, examined them and placed the ones he wanted (all of the Vicodin and the usual does of the others,) into his mouth, and swallowed them one at a time, with water. Then he looked over at me again, as if to say, “why?”
HOUSE: The usual does. I'm taking female deer now, this just great care you're giving me here, Wilson.
“Because it seemed like you needed them.” He nodded and leaned back against me. I figured it would be best if I allowed him to get back on our usual Saturday schedule. “Wanna watch the movie?” House yawned, nodding a little. I had gotten my man bag and lost him again all in one day or at least I thought so at the time, and so I put Vertigo on for the third time in fourteen months.
HOUSE: Oh god, and now you're torturing me with Alfred Hitchcock movies. This even worse than Tritter. (Puts his face in his hands.)
WILSON: (mildly annoyed) Shut up, you watched it with me last weekend.
HOUSE: I was also drunk off my ass last weekend. You could've put in Barney and Friend's Sing-A-Long and I wouldn't've cared.
“Thanksfornotpushingmetoohard,” he managed to spit out the muddled, garbled sentence out like two long words. I told him he didn’t have to do this, didn’t need to thank me, but this seemed to be a bit patronizing, and his once sparkling bright blue eyes told me as much. I describe his eyes this way because they were now dark, angry, and all I could see when I looked into them was the pain, the fear and the hollow, broken shell of the man he used to be. Every time I looked into PT House’s eyes all I could think of was the person he could have been, should have been, and it hurt me almost as much as he seemed to be hurting.
“I’ll never push you-not unless, I’ll never be like all the other bad people who have hurt you and pushed you too hard. I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever hit, or touch, or hurt you.” He smiled for an instant when I said this and then leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. “And you don’t need to do anything for me to feel this way. You don’t need to earn my love.”
HOUSE: That's such a lie. You only love me because you have an excuse to sleep in my bed and touch me inappropriately, didn't you already admit to that?
WILSON: The inconsistent nature of this fic is no longer a surprise, it's just expected.
“What you thought you were gonna get some?” he asked, and then sort of chuckled. “I’m not ready for that, but I am okay with sometimes-I wanted to do it. Didn’t feel like I needed to.” Then he got quiet again. When the pizza came he ate one slice and half of a second piece. I think at least part of this had to do with the fact that it made me smile to see him eating and enjoying food once more. House was fairly quiet throughout most of the afternoon, and even fell asleep on the sofa while we watched the movie, and slept there for almost three hours, while I held him, trying to figure out if his new behavior would last, and if so what changes this might bring to our lives.
WILSON: Just... ugh, I'm starting an inappropriate relationship with you in this state? Why does this feel like pedophilia?
HOUSE: (sarcastically) Maybe because it kind of is.
I also sat there trying to discover what, if anything, I had done right to help him find his way to. I thought about why he sometimes seemed more out of it than others, and how he sometimes felt like he was lost or as though he had floated away. But when he woke up, I didn’t know any more than when we had started this morning. While he was napping I had helped House’s body move, so that he was lying down with his feet stretched out, and his head on a pillow in my lap.
He opened his eyes slowly, focusing on me carefully, and gave another one of those little half smiles. “Hi,” he said, wiping sleep out of the corners of his eyes. “My hand hurts.”
“Small wonder,” I muttered, not really catching myself until after the words came out. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It was mean and nasty and again, sorry. It was stupid of me.”
HOUSE: Yes, because sarcasm could be so damaging to my ego.
WILSON: Why would I even say that? Isn't that just... out of character? At least, in regards to fic!me?
HOUSE: (shrugs) Go figure. Authorperson's obviously been dipping into the bad crack again.
“It was sarcastic. I liked it,” he explained, and then made the I’m so pathetic look, and I knew what he wanted from me The Post Tritter House was more cautious now, when he wanted something, especially when that something happened to be pills. I checked the clock, shook my head, sighed, and handed him one all the same. “Thanks,” he said weakly, latching onto me again. “Did you mean the thing you said before, about…you know?”
“Yeah, I did-I do. I’m pretty sure it would be a bad idea for us to spend all of our time talking about those sorts of things for the next year, but I will. If you really can’t live like this after giving it a good hard try, then I will take you into our room and put on a record-if you want-or we can keep it quiet, and I’ll hold you, and say how much I love you over and over again, and give you enough Morphine to make the pain stop forever.”
HOUSE: Isn't that a little, oh I don't know, cliché?
WILSON: Only completely. Morphine doesn't need to be capitalized, either.
HOUSE: (as fic!House) Please, Wilson, make the pain stop forever!
WILSON: I wish I could make this fic stop forever.
“Wow.” House looked up at me wide-eyed, and with his mouth hanging open. “Didn’t think you’d say yes. You were really gonna doit.”
WILSON: (facepalms) And now "do it" is all one word...
Watching him I suddenly realized that he had never really wanted to help him. It was all a test to see how much I cared, what I was willing to do for him. The man House had been before Tritter got his hands on him was always testing me, this was the first time the PTH had done it, and I actually passed, which was rare.
HOUSE: We went through that whole thing just so I could chicken out?
WILSON: Well, House, it's not like you haven't tested our friendship before.
HOUSE: But that was just... weird. Usually I'd try and push you away if I was testing our friendship.
WILSON: You have a point.
“Did I at least say the right thing?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his chest gently, and touching his hair with my fingers. “Did I say anything right?” He nodded, a slow, short, single,
WILSON: Wouldn't a slow and short contradict each other?
HOUSE: Well... I guess not. I could always just nod in slow motion like this. (Begins to nod very, very, slowly.)
yes, but an answer nonetheless. “Now it’s my turn to thank you. I don’t know what I’d do if we didn’t have each other, if I didn’t have you.”
Me either,” he said.
HOUSE: No, apparently I didn't say that, judging by the lack of quotation marks.
“Really think it might be okay someday?”
HOUSE: Really think I'll ever learn proper grammar?
The way the question was presented would make anybody who didn’t really know House think he didn’t care, but we were close enough that I wasn’t falling for it. He was looking for a spark of hope, a single candle or flashlight, far off in the distance (maybe even years away) so things wouldn’t see completely hopeless. As much as he needed me to promise that everything was gonna be alright, the truth was more important.
HOUSE: But... I hate hope. I'm a nihilist for Christ's sake.
WILSON: Maybe authorperson is just... new to the fandom?
HOUSE: Let's hope so, otherwise they've entirely missed the point of my character.
I wanted to be sure he understood just how long and hard a road we had ahead of us. He needed to understand the truth. “Might be okay, like twenty years from now?” he asked, desperately.
“I don’t think it’s as bad as you’re thinking, but like I said, you’re gonna need-we’re gonna need to work really bad together,
HOUSE: Work really bad together? Like we're gonna start running a scam where we rob gas stations or something?
WILSON: Well, we could always use your disability as a distraction while I go for the cash register.
to make it so you feel comfortable with me, and anybody else you want, and to maybe get some function back in your hand, and maybe your leg, but it is also going to take time, but as I said, I think we can be happy.”
“Happiness is over-rated,” he snapped,
HOUSE: Ah! Finally something I might actually say!
but then looked down, away from me, like maybe he was afraid to say what he really wanted to. House needed me to reassure him even more. He needed to feel like there really ways something worth working for. “Say it Jimmy.”
“Yes, but-don’t interrupt me, this is important-yes but we aren’t ever going to have a normal relationship, but normal sucks. When you…on days when you having more trouble breaking through, do you want me to-how hard should I-try and help?”
WILSON: I'm not sure... what did I just try and say?
HOUSE: Apparently too much, judging by the amount of stammering you seem to be doing.
“I like the way you are now, especially when I feel lost. It’s not so bad around you,” he explained, pressing his face into my shirt roughly, like he was trying to wipe his eyes. “Do you think-you know what I asked before?” he asked. He wanted to ask, again, if I thought he would ever be okay again, and this time I was the one who nodded. “Thanks,” he whispered to me, which turned out to be the last thing he said all day (except for a couple yeses, a no here and there, and a “please, Jimmy,” when he wanted to snuggle close to me when we went to bed (an hour and a half later than usual) that night.
WILSON: Shouldn't "that night" be within the parentheses?
HOUSE: Well, not necessarily, since authorperson only closed the second set of parentheses, technically, the rest of the fic could be within the parentheses.
WILSON: ...or "that night" could be within the parentheses.
HOUSE: Whatever floats your boat!
I loved having the old House back, but I didn’t expect it to last. He was still frightened, unsure of himself, and the world around him, and in more pain than even he’d experienced. The whole thing made it very hard for him, but I think that breaking through the confusion, forcing his mind to concentrate, making direct eye contact, and everything else required for conversations were more difficult than anything else. So, I wasn’t really surprised when I woke up the next morning to find him laying awake, quietly watching me while I slept.
WILSON: Ooh, you're creepy.
HOUSE: ... that's it? That's how this chapter ends?
WILSON: Yeah well, we can't all be talented writers.
[Just moments after the end of Part Tres.]
HOUSE: Well, no sense in waiting, he'll be in the can for the next hour at least, so... next chapter?
WILSON: (cringing) Ugh, House, I don't think I can stomach it.
HOUSE: Too bad, we've already started!
“I wish I, could come home
To a life that looks like a TV show
I wish I, could see,
My television family waiting for me
Where no one fights
And no one screams
No one lies, and no one leaves,” Everclear
WILSON: (sigh) What haven't we already said? Excessive song lyrics plus fic almost inevitably equals no.
I wanted to lie to him then, promise that everything was going to be okay. I wanted to say, “You’ll be back to your old self in no time,” make sure he heard it, and tell him he’d forget all this bad stuff one day, and then have a normal, happy life. I wanted to tell him all this and more, but I couldn’t. First off, if I lied, he’d know it and get mad, maybe never be able to trust me again.
HOUSE: Well, apparently I've gone from a drooling baby to a lie detector, is that possible?
WILSON: I wouldn't know. That would probably be a question for a psychologist.
HOUSE: Isn't that what you are? Oh, no, you just play one on TV.
At this point I almost wanted him to make a smart as comment,
WILSON: Don't they mean "smart ass?"
because at least then I’d feel like I was getting my favorite, wonderfully, amazing, brilliant guy back, but he didn’t do that.
HOUSE: (playfully) Oh Wilson, always flattering me.
WILSON: That's quite a list. Although, that random adverb thrown in with a bunch of adjectives makes me want to tear my hair out.
HOUSE: No! Then what will you have going for you?
“So that’s a no?” House asked, almost like he needed to verify the truth by hearing me say it too. Getting to this did make him cry a little but Greg stopped as soon as he caught himself. “Not sure there’s a point, if I can’t be-okay. Imean, why try?”
HOUSE: Am I just doing that thing where I run all my words together or is that a legitimate spelling error?
WILSON: Who knows? I wouldn't be surprised either way.
“I can, we can work on different combinations of pain meds and anti-anxiety pills, and you might-could-can find the right dosage, and that will make all the difference, You probably won’t-”
“You don’t know!” he shouted, pounding his fist into my shoulder.
HOUSE: Let's review, I can't eat cereal with out making a mess, but I can "pound" my fist into Wilson's shoulder?
WILSON: You seem surprised at the inconsistency of the fic, which begs the question, where the hell have you been?
“This isn’t the-this is so bad. I can’t think, talk, can’t do, anything.” He screamed, and I knew from experience that he was only moments away from falling apart, sobbing hysterically.
HOUSE: But I thought I hadn't cried until like two days ago? Have I just spent the last forty-eight hours sobbing my eyes out or something?
Only, this time there was absolutely no chance of it helping. This crying wasn’t going to make him get better. If anything this would make him worse.
WILSON: It helped the first time?
I carefully took his face in my hands, turned it up so I could kiss his forehead, and then hugged, held him. House was biting his lip, refusing to let himself cry. He just lay there, and then after a while, starting to grind against me. I couldn’t figure out why he was doing it right away, but then I realized that he was trying to provoke a response from me, trying to make me do something to hurt him.
HOUSE: First you take advantage of me, then you try to change the story so it seems like I'm taking advantage of you, Wilson, you're just a monster.
WILSON: No, House, you're grinding up against me. I find that twice as creepy as anything I've done.
HOUSE: Again, I don't know any better. I'm retarded, remember?
He wanted me to betray him too, because if I did it would mean he had been right all along. As long as I was nice, and treated him well, then the theories he had about humanity and the world were wrong. If I was good, if people could have the capacity for goodness in them, then he had nothing, but if I was like all the other monsters then, at least he was right. But I wasn’t like them, and refused to let Greg believe that I was.
“Stop. I love you, and while I wouldn’t mind if we could, one day, make love again,
HOUSE: For the record, I have never "made love" to anyone.
I’m not going to force myself on you, ever. Now, you’re a guy so I’m sure you know I can’t not react to being touched-and as much as I don’t want to, if you keep doing what you’re doing, my body is going to do something my mind has no desire of doing.” For some reason this worked. House lay still in my arms, weak, and feeling mildly defeated. “You’re gonna get stronger, you are,” I swore. “You are going to feel better, a little. One day, all of this-,” he cut me off again.
“One day! One fucking day? When is one day? How long do I gotta-how-not gonna get better. Not getting better. Wanna give up, but I need help-your help.” His words came out in almost complete sentences, at this point, but he still had to keep pausing, searching for the right words and now he was asking me to help him committing suicide.
HOUSE: Yes! If you help me kill myself the fic will end!
WILSON: That last run on... I think it's causing me physical pain. I can't even think straight enough to come up with amiable solution to it...
HOUSE: How about we just get rid of the whole thing and stop focusing on how pathetic I am.
“Can I have more time to try and help you?” I asked, begged really. I knew I would have to watch him like a hawk because I knew if I didn’t help him, Greg would do it himself, and he would do it right. He was a doctor after all, and knew exactly how many of which pills to take, or where to cut, or how to inject himself with an air embolus. He wouldn’t fuck around with a noose, or playing at cutting himself until somebody noticed. He wouldn’t try to drink drain cleaner, or anything that hurts like hell but won’t kill.
HOUSE: I can't even push myself in a wheelchair but I have the fine motor skill required to slit my wrists?
WILSON: And you're retarded.
“How long?” he asked, as if my answer would change his mind, like he really was thinking it over. I wanted to tell him the truth then, how my wanting to keep him alive was selfish. I needed House, needed to be near him, needed his neediness,
HOUSE: What did I tell you? This is all about you.
and love. He was addicted to the pills, but I was addicted to him and if I let go, let Gregory House kill himself, my own death was sure to follow a week or two afterwards, at the very most.
“Give me a year-I know it sees like forever right now,
WILSON: It "sees" like forever? It "sees" like forever? Authorperson isn't even trying at this point.
but let me finish-twelve months, and you gotta try too, you gotta allow me to try and help make you feel better. And if a whole year goes by and there is no change, or you’re feeling worse, then I’ll hold you in my arms and I’ll give you a-morphine, a lot, enough to take all the pain away.”
HOUSE: Fic!Wilson obviously subscribes to the "emo" trend.
WILSON: I j- (sighs) This is ridiculous. House, I promise as long as I live I will never "hold you in my arms" and "take all the pain away."
HOUSE: Sounds good to me!
“But what about-won’t that make you get into trouble?” was House’s only response. He didn’t seem to process the timetable I’d set up, and I was starting to wonder whether he had really wanted me to do it. “Can you even live without me?” he asked in a tiny voice.
HOUSE: (in the style of fic!Wilson) No, I can't, because I need you on a wholly inappropriate level.
“No,” I told him truthfully, even though I thought it might change his mind-then again maybe part of me wanted to keep him around so badly I was resorting to a childish gilt trip.
WILSON: Oh you know me and those "gilt" trips.
“Although I think a large piece of me died that day, too. We’re both, basically empty now. That’s why I don’t think I can let you go, because you complete me.”
HOUSE: You had me at hello...
WILSON: (without regarding HOUSE) Where are all of these commas coming from? We can't just sprinkle them in our sentences willy-nilly.
HOUSE: Wilson, do you realize that fic!you just said that I complete you?
WILSON: The only reason I haven't thrown myself off the roof is because all the bad grammar keeps me distracted.
“Don’t be stupid,” he snapped, looking me over carefully. I think this may have been when he realized just how serious I was. “Ohgod you meanit,” he moaned. I touched his cheek, softly and he didn’t pull away. “I just-please be gentle.”
WILSON: Who's being gentle? Am I being gentle? Because I can't tell who the hell is saying what with that floating quote.
“Jesus, House,” I said, almost starting to cry, but some how managing to control myself, stopping it. “You still think I’m gonna-hurt you, don’t you?” I asked. He didn’t have to say or do anything; I knew it was true.
WILSON: (to himself) The House Whisperer strikes again.
“Do you want me to stop holding and touching you? It’ll be more difficult to get you in and out of the wheelchair,
HOUSE: No shit Sherlock, I can't exactly do it myself.
but everything else will be fairly easy, and I can go back to sleeping in the recliner, and…”
WILSON: Wait, (flips through previous pages of the Bad!Fic) I thought I slept with House in a "makeshift hug?"
HOUSE: In a recliner. With your penis rubbing against my butt.
“No, please,” he cried out, latching onto me, pulling me in, closer and closer, letting me, almost making me, hold him once again, but holding me so tightly that he managed to pull himself together enough to keep form crying.
WILSON: To keep form crying?
HOUSE: I'm always so concerned about my technique, is my sobbing too loud? Is my snot production sufficient?
“Don’t let go. Please, don’t go.” I kept on holding him, but twisted my hips into an awkward position so as to make our contact as bearable for him as I could,
WILSON: See look, I'm not a molester, I'm making it easier on you by moving my penis away from your orifices.
HOUSE: Lies, all lies.
trying to be close without hurting him. “You can have a year,” he announced at last. “I know it-won’t-but…make the promise?”
“I promise everything is going to be just fine,” I swore, but neither of us believed it. “Do you want me to tell you the truth? The real truth?” I asked, about an hour or so later.
WILSON: Wait... a major time change, in consecutive sentences, in the same paragraph? I can't fathom- who taught them English? Why would anyone-
HOUSE: Whoa there Jimmy, if you aren't careful your head's gonna start spinning.
We had been silent for a long time, lying so close, so quietly, and so still that I could hear and feel his broken and battered heart beating slow, weakly.
HOUSE: Then why aren't you treating my internal injuries? Jesus Christ, fic!you is such a shitty doctor.
WILSON: House, I think that's almost a compliment.
HOUSE: Yeah well, Cuddy isn't even a real doctor and she's better than this moron.
“Nothing is ever fine and-one of the shrinks told me that you probably won’t ever get- you’re not going to get over it, at least not completely,
WILSON: (turns to a previous page of the Bad!Fic) No, two psychiatrists said that. What kind of crack is authorperson smoking?
HOUSE: Whatever it is, they're obviously lacing it with too much of something.
but you can have a life. Isn’t living worth something?”
The BT House would have said, “Only if I’m alive. Dead people don’t care that they’re dead. They can’t care.” Then he should have laughed, and popped a pill, but the new guy, the PTH (post Tritter House) could only bring himself to shrug.
HOUSE: PTH? How much trouble is to just say "after he was raped to the point of becoming mentally handicapped..."
WILSON: That does actually sound like something you would say. The BT House, not the PTH.
HOUSE: (looks at WILSON, puzzled) Stay with me Wilson, we can't lose focus now.
Then he said, “Maybe. Okay. I-I’ll try.” He didn’t have to tell me that the only reason he’d agreed was because I asked him to do so. I knew already knew that-and a few other things (a very few things) all by myself.
HOUSE: Wait... I agreed to continue to live this pathetic existence because you're needy?
WILSON: If it makes you feel better I would've given you the morphine months ago.
HOUSE: And this is why we're friends.
“I can’t fix this, but I can, I will protect you now, and if you want, we don’t ever have to leave this apartment.” When I said this he looked up at me, wide-eyed like a child, almost innocent looking, and he nodded slowly. He believed me, almost. “You’ll always be safe if I’m around. I won’t let the bad guys get you again.” He half smiled when I said this, and I knew I’d finally done something right.
WILSON: (as fic!Wilson) Yes, and I promise to check the closet for monsters every night.
HOUSE: You forget, the monster is attached to your crotch.
Thank you, he mouthed, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. Then I watched as the poor guy stared ever so longingly at the kitchen door. He was hungry now, but his childhood abuse had taught him not to ask for food, and I was almost positive that the BT House didn’t eat (aside from pop tarts and peanut butter, which hardly a meal make) unless I offered to pay, or he stole from my food. Now I fed him three times a day (plus occasional sacks) but he was becoming skinner than ever, probably because I made healthier food, and he could only handle so much.
WILSON: Yes, I seem to remember there being stuffed peppers in Auschwitz. That's how they starved all those poor people, by giving them nutrience!
HOUSE: Well, you're also feeding me sacks.
WILSON: (sighs) Why am I not surprised? And apparently prior to being raped you were a borderline anorexic.
HOUSE: I feel much better now that I've joined Cameron's support group.
“I’m gonna have lunch now, you want some?” I asked, and was rewarded with a solemn, silent nod. “PB and J, alright? Mac-n-Cheese? “We worked together to move his body from the couch to the chair. “Candy, cookies, ice cream, cake?” I asked, willing to feed him pot brownies if it meant he would at least eat something.
HOUSE: Wasn't I just longing for food? Why wouldn't I eat?
“You really do like me, huh?” he said, sounding almost surprised. “Probably let me do anything…now.” I think this actually did make him feel worse than he had before.
“I have always liked you, and there is nothing anybody can do or say to change how I feel. I will always, always, always, always, always love you. Don’t tell yourself that I don’t. My love for you has got nothing to do with what-happened.”
HOUSE: You know, Wilson, I think fic!you loves fic!me. But it's just a hunch.
WILSON: I couldn't say for sure, maybe after fic!me reminds you for the sixth time in as many minutes I'll be positve.
“You feel bad for me, and you think that, I’m pathetic, weak. Think I need you. Think you’re doing me a favor. You don’t love me. You love my needed you, to take care of me.”
“You’re wrong, house…
HOUSE: And now my name isn't a proper noun either? God, this getting really pathetic. And didn't you admit that you love my need in the first place?
WILSON: "You love my needed you, to take care of me." I'm not sure I fully understand what that is suppose to mean. You needed me, but you don't anymore? I thought we just covered that you'd basically be laying around helplessly without me.
well you’re partially wrong. I had a job where most of my patients died and I couldn’t do anything for them, but I can help you. Being here, taking care of you like this-I feel useful but I love you-not because of,” I stopped deliberately avoiding the words, not because you were raped, and he knew it. Before he came out of it, Greg seemed to appreciate my not reminding him what had happened whereas now he was mad that I wouldn’t talk to him like he was a normal person.
HOUSE: But you've reminded me at least twice that I've been raped already, it's kind of late to start avoiding the subject now.
“I was raped you idiot,” he screamed at me, and then sat there, staring straight ahead for nearly fifteen minutes, and then finally he let go, and started to sob. I tried to hug him at the beginning of the long, gut-wrenching, painful series of sobs, but he pushed my hands away. Later when he had completely exhausted himself, but still couldn’t stop crying-House’s defenses were weakened--he let me put my arms around him. When it was all over he looked up into my eyes and said, “He-I felt likeIwasthesameweakstupid patheticlitelkid. Itwasalmostexactlythesame. Soweakandicouldntdoanything. I couldn’t, make, him, stop. I said no, begged him to stop, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t.” A few minutes went past before I said anything. I could tell he dint want me to talk, so I didn’t. Then, he grabbed my arm and pulled it around his shoulder, tightly, and pulled himself onto the couch. “Pizza.” His voice came out flatly and I picked out the phone, dialed our favorite delivery place, ordered, and hung up before saying anything or trying to comfort him in any way.
WILSON: Wait... what time line is that paragraph? Shouldn't there be a line break after you stare for nearly fifteen minutes?
HOUSE: Or after I cry myself to exhaustion?
WILSON: At least you know that you were raped now.
HOUSE: Yes, after you reminded me that last time it finally clicked, the whole non-consensual anal sex thing.
“It’s time for your pills,” I announced, even though he had well over an hour before he was supposed to get them.
HOUSE: Drugging me, I see that's how you deal with me when I get to be a bother.
He didn’t even try to stop me, not because he wanted to get stoned but because he needed to stop feeling this god awful pain. House was in no way a typical victim. He had never been given a chance to deal with the eighteen years of whatever you wanna call what his dad did. Add the Tritter thing into the mix, and the unbelievable amount of physical pain he was in and you might be able you understand why he needs to take massive amounts of drugs just to survive. I put one extra pain pill, and one more Xanax than usual in a Dixie cup, fully expecting him to just take them without saying anything about it, but he didn’t.
HOUSE: Didn't they ever teach you about dangerous drug combinations in Canada?
WILSON: Oh I didn't pay attention, I was just there so I could legally get beer before I turned twenty-one.
I watched as his fingers picked up the pills one at a time, examined them and placed the ones he wanted (all of the Vicodin and the usual does of the others,) into his mouth, and swallowed them one at a time, with water. Then he looked over at me again, as if to say, “why?”
HOUSE: The usual does. I'm taking female deer now, this just great care you're giving me here, Wilson.
“Because it seemed like you needed them.” He nodded and leaned back against me. I figured it would be best if I allowed him to get back on our usual Saturday schedule. “Wanna watch the movie?” House yawned, nodding a little. I had gotten my man bag and lost him again all in one day or at least I thought so at the time, and so I put Vertigo on for the third time in fourteen months.
HOUSE: Oh god, and now you're torturing me with Alfred Hitchcock movies. This even worse than Tritter. (Puts his face in his hands.)
WILSON: (mildly annoyed) Shut up, you watched it with me last weekend.
HOUSE: I was also drunk off my ass last weekend. You could've put in Barney and Friend's Sing-A-Long and I wouldn't've cared.
“Thanksfornotpushingmetoohard,” he managed to spit out the muddled, garbled sentence out like two long words. I told him he didn’t have to do this, didn’t need to thank me, but this seemed to be a bit patronizing, and his once sparkling bright blue eyes told me as much. I describe his eyes this way because they were now dark, angry, and all I could see when I looked into them was the pain, the fear and the hollow, broken shell of the man he used to be. Every time I looked into PT House’s eyes all I could think of was the person he could have been, should have been, and it hurt me almost as much as he seemed to be hurting.
“I’ll never push you-not unless, I’ll never be like all the other bad people who have hurt you and pushed you too hard. I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever hit, or touch, or hurt you.” He smiled for an instant when I said this and then leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. “And you don’t need to do anything for me to feel this way. You don’t need to earn my love.”
HOUSE: That's such a lie. You only love me because you have an excuse to sleep in my bed and touch me inappropriately, didn't you already admit to that?
WILSON: The inconsistent nature of this fic is no longer a surprise, it's just expected.
“What you thought you were gonna get some?” he asked, and then sort of chuckled. “I’m not ready for that, but I am okay with sometimes-I wanted to do it. Didn’t feel like I needed to.” Then he got quiet again. When the pizza came he ate one slice and half of a second piece. I think at least part of this had to do with the fact that it made me smile to see him eating and enjoying food once more. House was fairly quiet throughout most of the afternoon, and even fell asleep on the sofa while we watched the movie, and slept there for almost three hours, while I held him, trying to figure out if his new behavior would last, and if so what changes this might bring to our lives.
WILSON: Just... ugh, I'm starting an inappropriate relationship with you in this state? Why does this feel like pedophilia?
HOUSE: (sarcastically) Maybe because it kind of is.
I also sat there trying to discover what, if anything, I had done right to help him find his way to. I thought about why he sometimes seemed more out of it than others, and how he sometimes felt like he was lost or as though he had floated away. But when he woke up, I didn’t know any more than when we had started this morning. While he was napping I had helped House’s body move, so that he was lying down with his feet stretched out, and his head on a pillow in my lap.
He opened his eyes slowly, focusing on me carefully, and gave another one of those little half smiles. “Hi,” he said, wiping sleep out of the corners of his eyes. “My hand hurts.”
“Small wonder,” I muttered, not really catching myself until after the words came out. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It was mean and nasty and again, sorry. It was stupid of me.”
HOUSE: Yes, because sarcasm could be so damaging to my ego.
WILSON: Why would I even say that? Isn't that just... out of character? At least, in regards to fic!me?
HOUSE: (shrugs) Go figure. Authorperson's obviously been dipping into the bad crack again.
“It was sarcastic. I liked it,” he explained, and then made the I’m so pathetic look, and I knew what he wanted from me The Post Tritter House was more cautious now, when he wanted something, especially when that something happened to be pills. I checked the clock, shook my head, sighed, and handed him one all the same. “Thanks,” he said weakly, latching onto me again. “Did you mean the thing you said before, about…you know?”
“Yeah, I did-I do. I’m pretty sure it would be a bad idea for us to spend all of our time talking about those sorts of things for the next year, but I will. If you really can’t live like this after giving it a good hard try, then I will take you into our room and put on a record-if you want-or we can keep it quiet, and I’ll hold you, and say how much I love you over and over again, and give you enough Morphine to make the pain stop forever.”
HOUSE: Isn't that a little, oh I don't know, cliché?
WILSON: Only completely. Morphine doesn't need to be capitalized, either.
HOUSE: (as fic!House) Please, Wilson, make the pain stop forever!
WILSON: I wish I could make this fic stop forever.
“Wow.” House looked up at me wide-eyed, and with his mouth hanging open. “Didn’t think you’d say yes. You were really gonna doit.”
WILSON: (facepalms) And now "do it" is all one word...
Watching him I suddenly realized that he had never really wanted to help him. It was all a test to see how much I cared, what I was willing to do for him. The man House had been before Tritter got his hands on him was always testing me, this was the first time the PTH had done it, and I actually passed, which was rare.
HOUSE: We went through that whole thing just so I could chicken out?
WILSON: Well, House, it's not like you haven't tested our friendship before.
HOUSE: But that was just... weird. Usually I'd try and push you away if I was testing our friendship.
WILSON: You have a point.
“Did I at least say the right thing?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his chest gently, and touching his hair with my fingers. “Did I say anything right?” He nodded, a slow, short, single,
WILSON: Wouldn't a slow and short contradict each other?
HOUSE: Well... I guess not. I could always just nod in slow motion like this. (Begins to nod very, very, slowly.)
yes, but an answer nonetheless. “Now it’s my turn to thank you. I don’t know what I’d do if we didn’t have each other, if I didn’t have you.”
Me either,” he said.
HOUSE: No, apparently I didn't say that, judging by the lack of quotation marks.
“Really think it might be okay someday?”
HOUSE: Really think I'll ever learn proper grammar?
The way the question was presented would make anybody who didn’t really know House think he didn’t care, but we were close enough that I wasn’t falling for it. He was looking for a spark of hope, a single candle or flashlight, far off in the distance (maybe even years away) so things wouldn’t see completely hopeless. As much as he needed me to promise that everything was gonna be alright, the truth was more important.
HOUSE: But... I hate hope. I'm a nihilist for Christ's sake.
WILSON: Maybe authorperson is just... new to the fandom?
HOUSE: Let's hope so, otherwise they've entirely missed the point of my character.
I wanted to be sure he understood just how long and hard a road we had ahead of us. He needed to understand the truth. “Might be okay, like twenty years from now?” he asked, desperately.
“I don’t think it’s as bad as you’re thinking, but like I said, you’re gonna need-we’re gonna need to work really bad together,
HOUSE: Work really bad together? Like we're gonna start running a scam where we rob gas stations or something?
WILSON: Well, we could always use your disability as a distraction while I go for the cash register.
to make it so you feel comfortable with me, and anybody else you want, and to maybe get some function back in your hand, and maybe your leg, but it is also going to take time, but as I said, I think we can be happy.”
“Happiness is over-rated,” he snapped,
HOUSE: Ah! Finally something I might actually say!
but then looked down, away from me, like maybe he was afraid to say what he really wanted to. House needed me to reassure him even more. He needed to feel like there really ways something worth working for. “Say it Jimmy.”
“Yes, but-don’t interrupt me, this is important-yes but we aren’t ever going to have a normal relationship, but normal sucks. When you…on days when you having more trouble breaking through, do you want me to-how hard should I-try and help?”
WILSON: I'm not sure... what did I just try and say?
HOUSE: Apparently too much, judging by the amount of stammering you seem to be doing.
“I like the way you are now, especially when I feel lost. It’s not so bad around you,” he explained, pressing his face into my shirt roughly, like he was trying to wipe his eyes. “Do you think-you know what I asked before?” he asked. He wanted to ask, again, if I thought he would ever be okay again, and this time I was the one who nodded. “Thanks,” he whispered to me, which turned out to be the last thing he said all day (except for a couple yeses, a no here and there, and a “please, Jimmy,” when he wanted to snuggle close to me when we went to bed (an hour and a half later than usual) that night.
WILSON: Shouldn't "that night" be within the parentheses?
HOUSE: Well, not necessarily, since authorperson only closed the second set of parentheses, technically, the rest of the fic could be within the parentheses.
WILSON: ...or "that night" could be within the parentheses.
HOUSE: Whatever floats your boat!
I loved having the old House back, but I didn’t expect it to last. He was still frightened, unsure of himself, and the world around him, and in more pain than even he’d experienced. The whole thing made it very hard for him, but I think that breaking through the confusion, forcing his mind to concentrate, making direct eye contact, and everything else required for conversations were more difficult than anything else. So, I wasn’t really surprised when I woke up the next morning to find him laying awake, quietly watching me while I slept.
WILSON: Ooh, you're creepy.
HOUSE: ... that's it? That's how this chapter ends?
WILSON: Yeah well, we can't all be talented writers.