The Contractverse Wannabe, Part 5
More inappropriate damage!House/caretaker!Wilson relationship.
[Later that night, WILSON is sitting at his desk doing paper work. HOUSE enters.]
HOUSE: Entertain me.
WILSON: (sighs) House, I have paperwork to do.
HOUSE: I'm bored.
WILSON: Why don't you go watch TV?
HOUSE: There's nothing on TV.
WILSON: Terrorize your ducklings.
HOUSE: They all left after Binswanger's guy got better.
WILSON: Pester Cuddy.
HOUSE: She left to do that baby thing.
WILSON: (exasperatedly) House, I can't be expected to provide you with round the clock stimul- Wait, this is about the Bad!Fic, isn't it? You're just looking for an excuse to keep reading it. You like reading it, it makes you feel good to put down-
HOUSE: Yeah, yeah, cut with the psych crap, make with the Bad!Fic.
House communicated with me throughout the morning, by nodding, shaking his head, with hand gestures, a series of grunts, and occasionally-once-with a short burst of words, a semi-sentence, but I could tell he didn’t feel like talking yet, and had no plans to force him. He ate some, but mostly just pushed the food around on his plate before I removed it from the table. In the afternoon, we watched TV on the sofa, and he let me hold him. I wasn’t expecting it to be a bad day, but after all the talking he’d done in the last twenty-four hours, I wasn’t surprised to see the poor guy acting all quiet, giving into the pills. Later we played poker, using chips, but no real cash, which we only did when he understood what was going on well enough to call, raise or fold, even when he did so without talking. When I got the cards out after lunch, he looked at me like there was something important he needed to tell me right away.
HOUSE: Timmy's in the well!
WILSON: House, we've already used the Lassie joke.
HOUSE: This fic is so repetitive we might as well repeat the jokes, they aren't getting any better.
“What is it, Buddy?” I asked, stepping across the room and taking a seat next to him. “You okay?” I paused, waiting for an answer, but not really expecting one. “You wanna play poker? That it?” I asked, putting my hand over his.
WILSON: I might as well be talking to a dog!
HOUSE: No, I think you sound more intelligent when you talk to Hector.
This time he hugged me, wrapping his arms around my chest, rightly, pressing his face into my shoulder. “Or we could just sit here and snuggle. That works too.”
HOUSE: NO! (grabs fistfuls of hair) Must. Stop. Snuggling!
WILSON: Careful, or soon you won't have any hair left.
HOUSE: You're missing the bigger picture! We're snuggling! Again!
He squeezed tighter, as I babbled, trying to make me shut up. “Sorry, I’m just not used to this. I’d be better if I knew what you wanted, but we’re working on it. So, even that’s okay, especially now, now that I know you’re in there.”
“Bad day,” he whispered into my ear, squeezing again, holding onto me like a life raft. He wasn’t really lost in the fog today, which seemed to make the pain and the fear worse, especially since there was nothing anyone could do to help him.
“Nightmare?” I asked, trying to figure out what had set him off this time, but he only responded by shaking his head. “Which trigger was it? Did I do something wrong? I hurt you somehow? No? At least it wasn’t me. What made today worse than usual? What set you off?”
“I touched my leg and it felt like a bomb went off in there and then all of the sudden, I was back on the floor and he was kicking me and kicking me, telling me how pathetic I was, his face like a-a monster mask,” he explained, quickly, and then started to cry into my shirt. After a minute, House pulled himself together, sitting back, looking at me suspiciously.
“Do you need an extra pill? Don’t look at me like that, they’re used to treat anxiety attacks, and if this isn’t a panic attack, then I don’t know what is.”
WILSON: Oh my god, it's a wonder you haven't died of an OD yet. All I ever do is shove pills down your throat!
HOUSE: And you don't know what a panic attack is.
This time he both nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Here you go, Buddy,” I said, when I brought them over.
“I’m sorry. Wanna play cards?” he asked quietly, and then stopped talking the whole time we played. “Why me? There are tons of strung out hookers, street kids, lots of people a whole lot more pathetic than me, easier to grab too. Not right. Not fair.”
“Nothing in life is ever fair,” I told him, and got a small shrug. “He saw you, the exact sort of victim he had been looking for and-listen to me, listen-what he did, had absolutely nothing to do with you. He’s just a very, very, very bad man.”
WILSON: (as fic!Wilson) And Junior, that's why we talked about "stranger danger."
“So am I,” House blurted out the words in a way that made me realize just how much he meant it. I knew better than to scream, no you’re not, because he’d never believe me, and screaming would only hurt him. “I’m a horrible, nasty, bitter, mean, lying, jerk,” he said in a flat, quiet vice, as though it was something he had heard, probably from Tritter. “Say I’m not?” he begged, grabbing my hand, pulling it to his heart. “It hurts.”
HOUSE: Oh god, did I lose my balls too? (Looks accusingly at WILSON,) I think fic!you is pumping me full of estrogen.
WILSON: Hey, don't look at me, I'm not the fic.
“You’re having chest pain?” I squeaked out in an extremely terrified, concerned way, but he squeezed my fingers hard, to make me look as he shook his head vigorously. “Opps, sorry, I’m an idiot, just like you used to tell me. You are a good person. You’re a doctor. You save people’s lives, people nobody else can save. And you’ve always been there for me. Nobody’s perfect, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re not, and you definitely didn’t deserve what was done to you. Nobody deserves that.” House only nodded when I said this, but I think it helped anyway.
We watched a little more TV, later, although he didn’t seem to be paying much attention. Ever since the attack House had to be so doped up,
HOUSE: That might have to do with the fact that I'm being drugged.
the whole staring into space thing seemed to from the meds more than the rape trauma. He didn’t talk all night, but wrote in his journal for more than an hour and a half. When I was helping him put on his pajamas, I reached to pull his boxers off, and he screamed.
WILSON: Let me guess, because I'm a creepy, no good molester of the mentally handicapped?
HOUSE: You got it.
“Sorry. We can wait and do that tomorrow. Let me get the bottoms, okay?” Greg looked over at me, angry, and frustrated. “It’s alright. Considering what you’ve been through, it’s only natural for this sort of thing to freak you out,” I tried to explain, moving into the chair by the bed, but he wouldn’t let me.
“You don’t know that,” he whimpered. There were plenty of things I could have said then. I knew what was coming. I talking to both shrinks and they told me exact same sort of things toe expect,
WILSON: Toe expect? Oh yeah, good one.
if he ever came out of this. They told me which questions he might ask, and what to tell him, and I was planning to do everything right. “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”
“I know what was done to you, physically. I’ve seen the effects it’s had on you, but you’re right. As far as what did actually happen that night, all I’ve got is Tritter’s version. I’d be honored to hear it from you, if you feel comfortable telling me. It will help. Part of what makes this so hard is the power he has to control you, to controlling you. If you don’t tell, it hurts, it festers, it stays there and doesn’t get better, but when you tell, then people can talk to you, help you, and eventually it won’t hurt as much.”
”Bullshit,” House spat, and threw his journal at me as hard as he could.
HOUSE: I seem to like to swear at you a lot.
WILSON: Like... "fuck time?"
HOUSE: I'm convinced that was not an innocent, badly phrased sentence. You're obviously brainwashing me so you do nasty things to me at scheduled intervals throughout the day.
“Wasn’t able to remember everything. Kind of faded in and out a lot, but its all there. I can’t say it, yet. Except for one thing. He kept saying, “I’m doing you a favor,” when he stomped me. “Cripples don’t do very well in prison, but if I can get you into the hospital ward for long enough, you just might make it,” he said.” I’d never heard any of this before and so it caught me by surprised, shocked me.
WILSON: Didn't anyone ever tell them it's much easier to read quotations within quotations if they're marked with a single set?
HOUSE: Nope! Either that, or they were dropping acid at the time.
“He only said what he said to keep you quiet, to keep you from screaming. He wanted to make sure you didn’t fight back. That bastard wasn’t doing you a favor, and he knew it!” I calmed myself down, so I wouldn’t scream and scare the crap out of him. “Are you sure you want me to read this?” I asked, putting it aside, and leaning in to help tuck him in. “Nobody’s ever gonna hurt you again, not on my watch.”
HOUSE: So I've heard.
“Shut up,” he whined, pulling the covers up over himself. “Read, and let me get some sleep.” I left the lights on, even after he closed his eyes (as always), watching until the poor guy was fast asleep before looking away.
WILSON: "The poor guy?" When will the pity fest end?
HOUSE: Never.
The first thing I noticed about his journal entry was that it was written in third person. As usual, House was dealing with his problems by disassociating form it. Then again, I thought, why should I knock something if it was working for him? Next I noticed how he was referring to himself as “the boy.” Greg must have flashed back to the abuse he suffered as a child when Tritter raped him. As I read, I moved to the edge of the bed, stroking his hair and whispering. “Its okay now, big guy. No more monsters, I promise. You’ll see. Everything is going to be just fine, House. Everything is gonna be okay.” Then I read what he had written.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Red lights flashing, loud noise, whee-woo, whee-woo. The bad man in the car. He grabs the boy off his bike and says, “You really shouldn’t have done that, Doctor. Now I’m gonna make you hurt. Haven’t got a thermometer, but I think I can still help you out,” the monster says, sliding his hand into the boys pants, underpants. He touches the boy; fingers rolling over him, rubbing him down there, making the boy feel bad/good both at the same time. “You’re a big boy, aren’t you Dr. House. You took a pill when you were examining me. That’s serious addictive behavior.” The boy knows he won’t get away now, even though he didn’t do anything wrong.
WILSON: ...you wrote that?
HOUSE: I can't push a wheelchair but I can write one hell of a novella.
WILSON: I was more concerned about the fact that you wrote out "whee-woo, whee-woo."
“I wasn’t weaving. I’m not drunk. You have no reason to suspect…” he stops when the fingers reach into him, quickly, and then out, and into his pockets.
“You got a prescription for these?”
“I’m a cripple who works in a hospital. You don’t think I could get a valid prescription?” the boy asks, in the vain hope that if he prays, God will finally listen, finally make the monster go away. Someone will drive past us, and find the monster with his hands inside of me, he thinks. I’ll go to church, never steal, or cheat, or lie again. I’ll be good. I won’ take the pills anymore. Please help, please somebody stop him. But nobody comes, and the monster throws him into the car, quickly taking his hard thin gout of his hands, and touching it to the boys face, spraying him, and then putting gum in his mouth.
The boy cries all the way to the police station. He cries, and prays to god, even though he doesn’t believe in god, and he’s right. No god would allow this sort of thing to happen to anybody, especially not twice. Then the boy is in a dark room, tied up on the floor, with metal cuffs and no clothes on. The monster took them off, and he put more fingers in the boy.
“You’re not gonna tell anybody about this, are you Dr. House,” he asks, but the boy can’t talk. He slips away now, seeing nothing except for the dark cement floor. Pain in his chest, head, leg, tummy, hand, inside of him. Somebody’s kicking, hitting, stomping, biting, touching, pain and pleasure together. His thing gets big and hard too, but it hurts, like barbed wire rubbing, squeezing him, blood spewing out the end, his whole soul coming out. He’s being stabbed inside, over and over, and he’s bleeding, dying. At leas the boy thinks, at lest it’s all gonna be over soon, and then there won’t be any more pain.
The boy finds no comfort here. He never did. Even if death is coming, I still don’t get to leave yet. The boy starts to plan his funereal. No church, God forbid-what god? I wanna get burned up the boy thinks. Then they can’t ever touch me again. Wilson will come, my mom, maybe Cuddy, Stacy if I’m really lucky. Stacy, maybe she would have stayed if I had told her about the other monster, like I did Wilson.
HOUSE: Oh come on, now I want Stacy, Cuddy and my mom to come and find me being molested? That's just humiliating.
“Wilson,” he whimpers in the dark, and all of the sudden there’s something wet and sticky inside of him, down there, and something else rips, and there’s blood. If only it would get bad enough. Please bash my brains in, the boy thinks as the fingers come back. “My pills,” he pleads, sucking in his breath.
“Nuh uh, bad boy,” the monster chuckles. “You’re an addict, but I’ve got hours before you even start to detox, and even then, who’s ever going to hand drugs to a junkie?” the monster asks, and then kisses his neck, bites him there. “Comes on, admit it. You like this don’t you, House/”
WILSON: Authorperson can't even be bothered to end sentences with punctuation! What is the world coming to!
The boy disappears into the darkness, or at least, he tries. His eyes are closed but he can still see the monsters, both of them, standing naked over him, smiling, twitching, hard cocks pointing right at him. The boy thinks he should ask the monster to shoot him, but he’s too scared the bad man will say no. They’ll let me go soon, they have to. It’s too much. More pain, all over. The pain feels worse now, worse than ever. He hates himself. It’s all my fault, the tiny little boy thinks, and then the tears come, and this makes the monster very mad. Tritter hits him and kicks him again, beating him over and over. The pain is so great, but he’s sure it’s almost finished, and this time t does help. Then there’s darkness all around him. When he wakes up in the hospital everything is foggy.
[CHASE enters.]
CHASE: House, what have you done to Foreman?
HOUSE: What do you mean "what have I done for Foreman?"
CHASE: He puked all over Cuddy's shoes in the middle of a meeting with some big donors.
HOUSE: And your first assumption is that I did something? For all you know it could have been the cafeteria's undercooked salmon that did him in.
CHASE: But it didn't, which is why I came here. (Suddenly sees WILSON, who's face is turned away from CHASE) Even Wilson looks guilty!
HOUSE: (glares at WILSON.)
WILSON: (apologetically) It's Bad!Fic time.
CHASE: One of the many things I don't miss from working under you.
HOUSE: C'mon, it's a slow day down in the OR, otherwise you wouldn't be wasting your time trying to figure out the great diagnostic mystery "why did Foreman start puking?"
CHASE: House, emergency surgey can happen at-
HOUSE: It's a story about me being raped and losing all my dignity. You'll laugh, now sit.
[Somewhat grudgingly CHASE sits down at the conference table.]
The monster’s gone and Wilson is there, but he can’t even look at his friend. Everything hurts, even trying to think. So, when Wilson says, “it’s okay, House. I’m here now. I’ll protect you. Everything is gonna be okay, I promise. You don’t have to worry, or do anything. Just relax, and let the meds help you. They will help you,” the little boy wants to believe this more than anything, but he knows he can’t.
WILSON: That's so... weird. The style changes so drastically thoughout the entry.
HOUSE: And more importantly, why isn't it consistently italicized?
WILSON: Good question.
HOUSE: (to CHASE) Having fun yet?
CHASE: No.
HOUSE: Don't worry, you will.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
It broke my heart to read that, but it also made me so proud of him. I could see the strength coming back into him. As bad as the whole thing sounded, and looked, I knew how hard it had been for him to write all of this down, even to think about it, and the fact that he could do it now meant that he was getting better. He was starting to heal.
HOUSE: Did you insult my intellectual abilities in there?
WILSON: What do you mean?
HOUSE: "As bad as the whole thing sounded, and looked?"
WILSON: (shrugs) It might've just been your penmanship, which has always been terrible.
HOUSE: Better than your lefty chicken scratch.
I knew House was going to have a nightmare from the moment he’d told me it was a bad day-his freak out when I tried to take his shorts off was just stale icing on a cake made out of shit. And yet, when he woke up screaming, it still shocked me.
“I’m here,” I said, letting him latch onto me, holding him like an over-grown child. The monster’s gone and he’s never coming back. If it makes you feel any-oh, okay. It’s okay. It’s me, Jimmy. You were having a bad dream, but the nightmare is over now, and it’s just us. You want your meds?”
WILSON: And we still don't know how to use quotations properly, either.
“I don’t-what time is it?”
“You don’t need to worry about watching the clock anymore. Right now all you gotta do is get yourself back to sleep. We can discuss cutting back on extra pills in the morning, but-” He cut me off mid-sentence.
“No, I mean…gimme, it hurts, but. I hate that I can’t stop, but since you’re not planning to cut me off, don’t gotta worry. Wanted to now the time, how long do I needa stay in bed?” he asked, but Greg still wasn’t used to actually speaking and was saying everything quickly, the words bleeding into each other.
HOUSE: I thought we got over that bend already.
CHASE: Wait a second-
HOUSE: The wombat speaks!
CHASE -Wilson is stuffing you full of pills?
WILSON: (shaking his head) I know, Chase, I know.
“Wanna watch a movie or some crap TV on the couch?” I asked, already pulling the wheelchair up to the bedside with my free arm. I wrapped he other one around him,
CHASE: "He other one around him?"
WILSON: (shrugs) The without the "t?"
gently stroking his grayish-brown hair. House nodded, his head rubbing against my hand. “You wanna-okay, I’m just gonna put my arms around your tummy so I can help you into the chair. Know what would be hugely helpful? There you go, use your good arm. That’s it, there we go, slide back, good job. We got it. You were a big help, Buddy.”
HOUSE: I'm really getting annoyed with these long monologues of yours where you're reacting to things that we don't know are happening.
“Never be able to do it myself. Don’t understand why you stay with me. Pathetic, crazy, crippled addict, worse than before. Should just put me in the nuthatch or something.” It was weird to hear him say this, since I had been hearing it from everyone else ever since I first took him home from the hospital last year.
“No! I won’t, I can’t do that to you. I will not abandon you, give up on, mistreat, hurt, or force myself on you.
HOUSE: (throwing his hands up) Too late!
I promise. Beside, being in one of those places would kill you. That why you asked me to-look at me, please? Do you still want me help with…? Try and hang in there, Pal. Do you think you can talk about what happened the night you were attacked? I have a few questions about what you wrote.”
“The God thing?”
HOUSE: (loudly) Yeah, one problem, I'm an ATHEIST.
"You wrote, "the boy prays." God, you must have been terrified. I mean to-because you don’t believe in-but when you were a kid, did you pray for-did you um,” I stopped mid-sentence, mainly because I really had no idea how to put this right, but he seemed to understand anyway.
“Yeah, when I was really little, my mom used to take me to church with her, and I read the bible all the way through. We didn’t go every week, sometimes not ever month, but I was young and stupid, so I thought into it. I was being-touched, and I prayed that someone would notice, or do something. I prayed for help and it never came. Same thing with the cop. We were on the side of the road, a busy street. Three cars drove by while he had his hands on my-in my-down my pants and nobody even slowed down. I’m a bad person now, and I can see why a god would have let me get raped this time, but what happened when I was little…that’s why I don’t believe, why I stopped anyway.”
CHASE: House, that would actually explain a lot about your aversion to organized religion.
HOUSE: Shut it, seminary boy.
“You did not deserve this, and I don’t know why no one rescued you, but-it wasn’t because of something you did or said, and I-you really don’t wanna discuss this, do you? Okay, what about the-you look like you’re about to pass out. How about we go back to the bedroom?”
HOUSE: So you can molest me some more? How about not.
I asked, reaching to pull him closer to me on the sofa. Greg yawned but shook his head, no way.
“I got scared and confused when it happened. I felt like I did when I was a kid and-sometimes I still get confused, and then I don’t-I’m not…I don’t know how to talk about anything. Having you around helps. A little. This sucks.” I could almost hear his brain turning, working hard to try and figure the words out before he had to speak them, but they weren’t coming. “I just wanna forget it ever happened.”
“No. That won’t help, won’t make you feel better.
HOUSE: Actually I'm pretty sure if I didn't know it happened, I wouldn't be traumatized by it.
WILSON: Makes sense.
You can pretend like this doesn’t effect you, or that none of what was done to you was real, but this isn’t gonna go away, ever. It hurts and it’s going to keep on hurting, but if you deal with this, talk about your dad-for lack of a better term-
CHASE: Dad, for lack of a better term? What other term would you use?
HOUSE: Pops? Old man? Daddy-o?
and the cop, then you can figure out why it hurts so much, maybe even feel better.”
“But it won’t ever completely go away, right?” he asked, almost demanded. I nodded and House made this soft whimpering sound, like a little puppy dog or something. “I hate sex-I did, even before the-attack. I hate all that stuff, but I never could stop thinking about it. I don’t know how to deal with it, what I’m supposed to say, what I’m supposed to keep to myself. I wasn’t even sure what was normal in a relationship, or what I was supposed to do with women.
HOUSE: For the record, I like sex.
“When I-half the time, the actual, you know-ending, doesn’t even feel good. I was never sure how to respond to porn and that stuff, so I’d spend hours looking at it and…sometimes it felt good, sometimes it-scared the crap out of me, but mostly I just couldn’t figure this out, and I know it probably sounds like I’m making this up because I don’t usually talk like this, but you’re the one who said I should tell you how I really feel. So here I am, explaining away all the stupid shit I used to say and do, and why I now act like I act now.”
CHASE: (winces) That paragraph is so...
WILSON: Awkward?
CHASE: Yeah...
“Is being alive really so terrible, it can’t be, or you wouldn’t even bother talking to me. You’d just let the meds do their job of making you calm, and try not to feel anything. If you don’t want to talk about this, then why are you working so hard?”
“You always seem so happy when I talk to you, and smile at your jokes an stuff. You keep on asking me to talk, so I do, and you asked me not to give up, so, I won’t.”
“Please don’t tell me that you’re only even trying because I begged you to,” I pleaded, but he didn’t respond. “Oh, God. Look, I don’t want this to be painful, especially if you’re just doing this for me. Give it a little time, and if I can’t do anything to help you, then I’ll let you out of your promise.”
“What if I already started to feel a tiny bit better? I mean it might not ever be-see this why, if I can’t do anything to make you mad at me, how am I supposed to get back to normal? You expect nothing from me, so I don’t have to do anything to make you proud of me except occasionally open my stupid mouth.”
“So your life is meaningless because you’re not doing nuclear physics? Life isn’t about the most difficult thing you…”
HOUSE: Life is about sitting in a wheelchair drooling? Sheesh, that's pretty shitty.
WILSON: I hate to say it... but I agree with you there.
“Oh shut the hell up. You don’t get it, which isn’t really a big surprise. The meds help with the fear and stuff, but if slows me down so I can’t think. Thinking is what I do best. Pretty much the only thing I can do.
HOUSE: That sounds oddly familiar... like maybe that time I got shot and hallucinated about the ketamine treatment.
CHASE: You mean, authorperson is recycling canon lines now?
HOUSE: Pretty much!
I’d take less, of the pills, but I’m barely making it as is. I want you to push me, sometimes, and not too hard, and-I dunno. I want everything to be normal between us, but I don’t know if I can do that.”
“I will do whatever you want me to do,” I promised, kissing his hair softly.
HOUSE: (to WILSON) I need a rape whistle to blow when you do stuff like that.
“Why? What did I do to deserve that?” he shouted, pulling way from me, his usual mixture of frustration and anger. “I haven’t actually done anything, Jimmy, and just surviving doesn’t count. Anybody could survive.”
“No, they can’t!” I shouted, which made him wince. “Lots of people don’t make it, Greg, especially when this happens more than once. Your father abused you for years, when you were a toddler, and you never told anyone. Tritter came along and he saw that pain in you, that ear, and he knew you’d been attacked before.”
WILSON: That ear?
HOUSE: Yep, ears are big indicators of shitty childhoods. I remember the first time I saw Chase's ears I knew he had daddy issues.
CHASE: (Scowls.)
“How the Hell is this supposed to help me?”
“He wanted to hurt you, destroy you if he could, and for most people, what happened would be enough to drive them nuts.”
CHASE: Wait, it didn't?
“But it did! It has! I’m scared all the time, and the meds, barely take the edge off. Every time you come near me my heart races.
WILSON: (teasingly) Aww, House.
HOUSE: I don't think it's because of your smokin' bod.
I only have one working hand and one working leg, and the other ones always hurt. Can’t do anything. Can’t even think anymore. What’s left?”
“I love you. We can be together, love each other. What else is there?”
“Lots of stuff. Work, friendships, dating, sex. Not that I could do that one even before I was-sorry,” he squeaked, looking away. “Guess I shouldn’t complain, mostly don’t even mind not doing anything. Most days, takes all my energy to watch TV with you, or whatever.”
“I work very hard to make sure our days are fully planned out and full of activities,”
HOUSE: Full of activities? All you do is drug me up and stick me in front of the TV.
WILSON: It works, doesn't it?
I snapped, feeling defensive more than angry or worried. I knew it was just House being House. Even after everything he wanted to screw with someone, and I was all he had, so he messed with me.
“Okay, Jimmy,” he said at last, turning towards the TV screen, yawning, and closing his eyes. “Don’t turn that thing off, okay? Like the light, and sound, helps me feel comfortable.”
“It’s okay, Greg. Nobody likes the dark. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I explained, softly as I placed my arm around his chest. “You just go ahead and sleep. Must be exhausted,” I said, and we both yawned. House fell asleep on the sofa and after a while, I carefully moved out from under him, went to get myself some coffee and came back all long before he could wake up. Then, I held his body close to mine, and sat there, touching his hair and forehead. I drank my coffee, watched the morning news, and kept my eyes open incase
CHASE: Not one word!
Greg started to have another nightmare, which is what I always did when he napped on the sofa.
The only good thing about the nightmares was that they happened so often, early on, that by this point I could recognize the symptoms early enough to wake him up, and end the dreams if I was awake. “It’s alright, House,” I whispered, praying that he might hear it in his sleep, and I could help make him feel better. “I’m here to protect you, now. No more bad things, I promise. No more bad things,”
HOUSE: What do you call that thing in your pants, eh?
I promised, over and over, as I wondered how our life might change if he continued to come of the fog, if he really was starting to recover. Maybe he could go back to work, part time at least, consulting whenever there were cases other people couldn’t solve without him.
It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be busy 24/7, but it drove him nuts not being able to do anything on good days. I didn’t see the tears at first, in fact, I only noticed them because he started to twist and turn in his sleep, his heart bating
CHASE: Bating?
HOUSE: It could be like batting, without the second "t."
WILSON: So your internal organs are playing baseball?
HOUSE: Yep, my liver's on short stop.
WILSON: Must be a losing team.
HOUSE: Hey! Don't be a Debbie Downer.
so fast his chest seemed to vibrate, loudly. I gave his arm a soft, gentle shake, and House awoke, startled, with a gasp. “You were having a bad dream.”
“Another one, second time today,” he explained sadly. “No don’t give me that,” House moaned, pushing my hand, and the pills away. “Too soon, and don’t need it yet. Unless it can make the drams
CHASE: The drams?
WILSON: (pulls out his iPhone) According my dictionary application a dram is: a unit of apothecary weight equal to an eighth of an ounce or to 60 grains,1/16 ounce or 1.771 grams or the basic unit of money in Armenia.
HOUSE: Well, I'm glad this is all making sense now.
go away forever.” Then he yawned again, stretching a little “Suppose you wanna talk about it. Probably think it would be good for me, don’t you, Jimmy?”
HOUSE: (forming a makeshift megaphone around his mouth) Go back to psyche 101.
“Is wanting to talk to you about the problem we’re having really such a bad thing?” I asked, continuing to play with his hair, especially the little tufts on his forehead. For some reason it always helped him feel calm, so I did it whenever he needed me to. “Just tell me about the dream. I think getting everything will help, make it less horrible.”
“You know for a fact?” His voice sounded angry, accusatory, although I think he wanted me to be right, even if he didn’t think I was. After everything he’d been through, he didn’t want to get his hopes up. “I was a little kid, like five or six, maybe seven, and I was riding a gigantic tricycle and I heard sirens so I stopped and stopped up. The cop got out of his car and it was Tri-him.
WILSON: Again, what is with this whole almost saying his name and then flaking out?
HOUSE: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
He grabbed me, dragged my body towards the car, and he made me sit in his lap, grinding into me, and talking, in my dad’s voice, and I couldn’t. I’m not sure how the rest of it went.” I could tell he was lying to me, and yet I decided not to push him just yet.
“Can I ask you something, House?” I asked, hugging him again. “Did your father do that? Take you out to the car, and hold you in his lap?” He nodded. “A lot?” A shrug. “More than once? More than ten times? Christ,” I whispered.
“Didn’t think you believed in him,” he chuckled and touched my fingers. “That one wasn’t so bad. Kept his pants on, and mine. No hands on or in me, no touching his-no, none of the real horrible stuff. I didn’t like it, and it hurt just as much as everything else, but I-things could always be worse. That’s what he used to say. ‘You have no idea how easy you have it, Greg,” and stuff like that.” House sighed, and leaned back, letting me stroke his hair for a while. “That feels nice.” Then he smiled, leaning in to kiss me quickly on the lips, mouth closed.
CHASE: He just kissed you?
WILSON: He did... this has just hit a whole new level of weird.
HOUSE: Oh, this is out of the ballpark of weird and into the stratosphere.
“You don’t have to do this for me, you know that right?” I asked, gently pushing him away. “If you’re ready I would love to be with you, even if all we ever do is lay in bed together, even if that’s the last kiss I ever get, even if you-but the point I was trying to make is this. Whatever happens, I still love you. I’m contended to live the rest of my life taking care of you.”
CHASE: Oh, he's contended to be taking care of you.
WILSON: I'm very contended, thank you very much.
“You’re pathetic,” he said, and kissed me again, quick and short. “Kind of like that though. I’d be screwed if you weren’t here with me. Wanted to kiss you, but nothing else, not yet,” he explained, and then sat up in my arms, which actually did take a while, because he wasn’t very strong, physically, but he refused to let me help him, so it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. “Don’t understand why this bothers me so much. Got used to what my dad did. In comparison this is nothing.”
“This, what your dad did, what you’re doing, what Tri-what the cop did, is huge, and you never dealt with what your father did, which is what makes this a million times more painful. You shut down because you didn’t know how to deal with all of it.”
“But when am I gonna get better? Or start to get better?”
“You’ve already started. Really, a month ago you couldn’t string two words together. Now we’re having conversations, discussing things.
HOUSE: I still can't string two words together.
You kissed me today. Yes, it’s slow in coming, but you are getting there. It is happening. You’re getting better, and everything is-you may never return to normal, but some level of happiness isn’t out of the question. You can see that, can’t you? You know it’s possible, right?”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot. I get confused, sometimes and sometimes I feel scared. That’s all it is. I just can’t figure out how to make it stop, go away. I get that this was a big deal; I was there when it happened…sort of. I-on the really bad days I can’t, sometimes I feel so-if you ever tell any of this to anybody, I’ll kill you, understand? -I’m so scared and confused it hurts to-well everything, which is why I don’t talk, and I just sit there, letting the meds take over.”
HOUSE: Or I'm being drugged!
“You get confused because your brain is having trouble trying to deal with the two unimaginable horrifically
CHASE: I feel like horrifically is not a real word.
WILSON: (looking at his iPhone) It is, the definition's right here-
HOUSE: Chase, go check a real dictionary.
CHASE: (goes to the bookcases in search of a dictionary.)
WILSON: But this is a real dictionary-
HOUSE: Not to me it's not.
bad things that have happened in your life, and it’s more than anyone could handle alone. If you’ll talk to me, I think it might help, maybe you’ll never be able to completely take care of yourself, but it would be nice if you were able to do a few things.”
“What kind of things?” he asked, sounding concerned but mostly I think he was in agreement with me, but didn’t want to admit it just yet. I was about to say I wasn’t sure, but House nodded. “Okay, I’ll do it. This isn’t gonna be easy, and I don’t think the bad days are ever gonna go away for good, but maybe we can make them less frequent, less bad. Really think you can do this?”
“I think you’re pretty much on track there. It’s not going to magically disappear no matter what we do, but I’ll do everything I can to make it easier and less painful for you, if you’ll let me. I’ll be there for you, forever,” I promised, and he made a little half smile. “What’s so funny?”
“You keep on saying that,” House said in an almost normal voice. “It’s not bad, just don’t know if I need to hear it every five minutes.”
HOUSE: (exasperatedly) Thank you! Finally!
“I’m glad you felt okay to tell me this. I think it means something, important. I also want you to feel free to say something if I do anything to bother you. So I can stop, or change to make you more comfortable. The only reason I was saying it so often was so I could remind you that you’re not alone, and that you never will be. I know how much you worry, or at least how much you used to worry about me, abandoning your, or walk out or-” I didn’t get to finish my sentence because House hugged me, tightly, and kissed me again, this time opening his mouth a tiny bit and quickly touching his tongue to my lips, before he pulled away. “I’m sorry, did I do that wrong, or did you want me to-” Greg interrupted me, again-which was actually getting on my nerves.
HOUSE: God that's awkward.
WILSON: What?
HOUSE: I pretty much just licked your mouth.
WILSON: (makes a face) That is kind of-
CHASE: Found it! It's the adverb form of horrific.
HOUSE: Didn't they already cover that with horrifyingly?
CHASE: Apparently not.
WILSON: (looks at HOUSE smugly.)
HOUSE: Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up Mr. iPhone.
CHASE: That was a really awkward use of the word, though-
HOUSE: You're not my employee anymore, it's no longer your job to kiss my ass.
“Oh shut up, Jimmy,” he muttered, touching the side of my face. “You did exactly what I wanted you to do, nothing. I felt like kissing you, so I did, and I felt brave so I went a little further and I knew I could because I know you’d never do anything to hurt me. Just keep following my lead. I trust you to listen if I say stop. So, what am I supposed to talk about here? That’s what’s gonna help me, right?” I nodded. “Well where should I start? Between dear ol’ Dad, and the stupid fucking cop, there’s a lot of shit to wade through, and I haven’t the faintest idea where to-how to get going.”
“How about we start at the beginning?” I suggested, but House gave me a strange look, like he didn’t know exactly what I meant. “Start with how it all started. Can you remember the first time he,” I paused, unsure of how to continue, but I didn’t need to say exactly what I was thinking. He understood me. “Then start with that, okay?” I asked, and he nodded.
HOUSE: (with mock excitement) Oh boy, another cliff hanger ending.
CHASE: (standing) Ugh, now I understand what happened to Foreman.
WILSON: Brain bleach, anyone?
Sorry this took forever, winter break ended and so now I'm back at school with a disturbing lack of free time.
I also seem to be running out of jokes...
Oh, and the warning for the lj cut text is an actual warning from my tube of paint. Weird, huh?
[Later that night, WILSON is sitting at his desk doing paper work. HOUSE enters.]
HOUSE: Entertain me.
WILSON: (sighs) House, I have paperwork to do.
HOUSE: I'm bored.
WILSON: Why don't you go watch TV?
HOUSE: There's nothing on TV.
WILSON: Terrorize your ducklings.
HOUSE: They all left after Binswanger's guy got better.
WILSON: Pester Cuddy.
HOUSE: She left to do that baby thing.
WILSON: (exasperatedly) House, I can't be expected to provide you with round the clock stimul- Wait, this is about the Bad!Fic, isn't it? You're just looking for an excuse to keep reading it. You like reading it, it makes you feel good to put down-
HOUSE: Yeah, yeah, cut with the psych crap, make with the Bad!Fic.
House communicated with me throughout the morning, by nodding, shaking his head, with hand gestures, a series of grunts, and occasionally-once-with a short burst of words, a semi-sentence, but I could tell he didn’t feel like talking yet, and had no plans to force him. He ate some, but mostly just pushed the food around on his plate before I removed it from the table. In the afternoon, we watched TV on the sofa, and he let me hold him. I wasn’t expecting it to be a bad day, but after all the talking he’d done in the last twenty-four hours, I wasn’t surprised to see the poor guy acting all quiet, giving into the pills. Later we played poker, using chips, but no real cash, which we only did when he understood what was going on well enough to call, raise or fold, even when he did so without talking. When I got the cards out after lunch, he looked at me like there was something important he needed to tell me right away.
HOUSE: Timmy's in the well!
WILSON: House, we've already used the Lassie joke.
HOUSE: This fic is so repetitive we might as well repeat the jokes, they aren't getting any better.
“What is it, Buddy?” I asked, stepping across the room and taking a seat next to him. “You okay?” I paused, waiting for an answer, but not really expecting one. “You wanna play poker? That it?” I asked, putting my hand over his.
WILSON: I might as well be talking to a dog!
HOUSE: No, I think you sound more intelligent when you talk to Hector.
This time he hugged me, wrapping his arms around my chest, rightly, pressing his face into my shoulder. “Or we could just sit here and snuggle. That works too.”
HOUSE: NO! (grabs fistfuls of hair) Must. Stop. Snuggling!
WILSON: Careful, or soon you won't have any hair left.
HOUSE: You're missing the bigger picture! We're snuggling! Again!
He squeezed tighter, as I babbled, trying to make me shut up. “Sorry, I’m just not used to this. I’d be better if I knew what you wanted, but we’re working on it. So, even that’s okay, especially now, now that I know you’re in there.”
“Bad day,” he whispered into my ear, squeezing again, holding onto me like a life raft. He wasn’t really lost in the fog today, which seemed to make the pain and the fear worse, especially since there was nothing anyone could do to help him.
“Nightmare?” I asked, trying to figure out what had set him off this time, but he only responded by shaking his head. “Which trigger was it? Did I do something wrong? I hurt you somehow? No? At least it wasn’t me. What made today worse than usual? What set you off?”
“I touched my leg and it felt like a bomb went off in there and then all of the sudden, I was back on the floor and he was kicking me and kicking me, telling me how pathetic I was, his face like a-a monster mask,” he explained, quickly, and then started to cry into my shirt. After a minute, House pulled himself together, sitting back, looking at me suspiciously.
“Do you need an extra pill? Don’t look at me like that, they’re used to treat anxiety attacks, and if this isn’t a panic attack, then I don’t know what is.”
WILSON: Oh my god, it's a wonder you haven't died of an OD yet. All I ever do is shove pills down your throat!
HOUSE: And you don't know what a panic attack is.
This time he both nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Here you go, Buddy,” I said, when I brought them over.
“I’m sorry. Wanna play cards?” he asked quietly, and then stopped talking the whole time we played. “Why me? There are tons of strung out hookers, street kids, lots of people a whole lot more pathetic than me, easier to grab too. Not right. Not fair.”
“Nothing in life is ever fair,” I told him, and got a small shrug. “He saw you, the exact sort of victim he had been looking for and-listen to me, listen-what he did, had absolutely nothing to do with you. He’s just a very, very, very bad man.”
WILSON: (as fic!Wilson) And Junior, that's why we talked about "stranger danger."
“So am I,” House blurted out the words in a way that made me realize just how much he meant it. I knew better than to scream, no you’re not, because he’d never believe me, and screaming would only hurt him. “I’m a horrible, nasty, bitter, mean, lying, jerk,” he said in a flat, quiet vice, as though it was something he had heard, probably from Tritter. “Say I’m not?” he begged, grabbing my hand, pulling it to his heart. “It hurts.”
HOUSE: Oh god, did I lose my balls too? (Looks accusingly at WILSON,) I think fic!you is pumping me full of estrogen.
WILSON: Hey, don't look at me, I'm not the fic.
“You’re having chest pain?” I squeaked out in an extremely terrified, concerned way, but he squeezed my fingers hard, to make me look as he shook his head vigorously. “Opps, sorry, I’m an idiot, just like you used to tell me. You are a good person. You’re a doctor. You save people’s lives, people nobody else can save. And you’ve always been there for me. Nobody’s perfect, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re not, and you definitely didn’t deserve what was done to you. Nobody deserves that.” House only nodded when I said this, but I think it helped anyway.
We watched a little more TV, later, although he didn’t seem to be paying much attention. Ever since the attack House had to be so doped up,
HOUSE: That might have to do with the fact that I'm being drugged.
the whole staring into space thing seemed to from the meds more than the rape trauma. He didn’t talk all night, but wrote in his journal for more than an hour and a half. When I was helping him put on his pajamas, I reached to pull his boxers off, and he screamed.
WILSON: Let me guess, because I'm a creepy, no good molester of the mentally handicapped?
HOUSE: You got it.
“Sorry. We can wait and do that tomorrow. Let me get the bottoms, okay?” Greg looked over at me, angry, and frustrated. “It’s alright. Considering what you’ve been through, it’s only natural for this sort of thing to freak you out,” I tried to explain, moving into the chair by the bed, but he wouldn’t let me.
“You don’t know that,” he whimpered. There were plenty of things I could have said then. I knew what was coming. I talking to both shrinks and they told me exact same sort of things toe expect,
WILSON: Toe expect? Oh yeah, good one.
if he ever came out of this. They told me which questions he might ask, and what to tell him, and I was planning to do everything right. “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”
“I know what was done to you, physically. I’ve seen the effects it’s had on you, but you’re right. As far as what did actually happen that night, all I’ve got is Tritter’s version. I’d be honored to hear it from you, if you feel comfortable telling me. It will help. Part of what makes this so hard is the power he has to control you, to controlling you. If you don’t tell, it hurts, it festers, it stays there and doesn’t get better, but when you tell, then people can talk to you, help you, and eventually it won’t hurt as much.”
”Bullshit,” House spat, and threw his journal at me as hard as he could.
HOUSE: I seem to like to swear at you a lot.
WILSON: Like... "fuck time?"
HOUSE: I'm convinced that was not an innocent, badly phrased sentence. You're obviously brainwashing me so you do nasty things to me at scheduled intervals throughout the day.
“Wasn’t able to remember everything. Kind of faded in and out a lot, but its all there. I can’t say it, yet. Except for one thing. He kept saying, “I’m doing you a favor,” when he stomped me. “Cripples don’t do very well in prison, but if I can get you into the hospital ward for long enough, you just might make it,” he said.” I’d never heard any of this before and so it caught me by surprised, shocked me.
WILSON: Didn't anyone ever tell them it's much easier to read quotations within quotations if they're marked with a single set?
HOUSE: Nope! Either that, or they were dropping acid at the time.
“He only said what he said to keep you quiet, to keep you from screaming. He wanted to make sure you didn’t fight back. That bastard wasn’t doing you a favor, and he knew it!” I calmed myself down, so I wouldn’t scream and scare the crap out of him. “Are you sure you want me to read this?” I asked, putting it aside, and leaning in to help tuck him in. “Nobody’s ever gonna hurt you again, not on my watch.”
HOUSE: So I've heard.
“Shut up,” he whined, pulling the covers up over himself. “Read, and let me get some sleep.” I left the lights on, even after he closed his eyes (as always), watching until the poor guy was fast asleep before looking away.
WILSON: "The poor guy?" When will the pity fest end?
HOUSE: Never.
The first thing I noticed about his journal entry was that it was written in third person. As usual, House was dealing with his problems by disassociating form it. Then again, I thought, why should I knock something if it was working for him? Next I noticed how he was referring to himself as “the boy.” Greg must have flashed back to the abuse he suffered as a child when Tritter raped him. As I read, I moved to the edge of the bed, stroking his hair and whispering. “Its okay now, big guy. No more monsters, I promise. You’ll see. Everything is going to be just fine, House. Everything is gonna be okay.” Then I read what he had written.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Red lights flashing, loud noise, whee-woo, whee-woo. The bad man in the car. He grabs the boy off his bike and says, “You really shouldn’t have done that, Doctor. Now I’m gonna make you hurt. Haven’t got a thermometer, but I think I can still help you out,” the monster says, sliding his hand into the boys pants, underpants. He touches the boy; fingers rolling over him, rubbing him down there, making the boy feel bad/good both at the same time. “You’re a big boy, aren’t you Dr. House. You took a pill when you were examining me. That’s serious addictive behavior.” The boy knows he won’t get away now, even though he didn’t do anything wrong.
WILSON: ...you wrote that?
HOUSE: I can't push a wheelchair but I can write one hell of a novella.
WILSON: I was more concerned about the fact that you wrote out "whee-woo, whee-woo."
“I wasn’t weaving. I’m not drunk. You have no reason to suspect…” he stops when the fingers reach into him, quickly, and then out, and into his pockets.
“You got a prescription for these?”
“I’m a cripple who works in a hospital. You don’t think I could get a valid prescription?” the boy asks, in the vain hope that if he prays, God will finally listen, finally make the monster go away. Someone will drive past us, and find the monster with his hands inside of me, he thinks. I’ll go to church, never steal, or cheat, or lie again. I’ll be good. I won’ take the pills anymore. Please help, please somebody stop him. But nobody comes, and the monster throws him into the car, quickly taking his hard thin gout of his hands, and touching it to the boys face, spraying him, and then putting gum in his mouth.
The boy cries all the way to the police station. He cries, and prays to god, even though he doesn’t believe in god, and he’s right. No god would allow this sort of thing to happen to anybody, especially not twice. Then the boy is in a dark room, tied up on the floor, with metal cuffs and no clothes on. The monster took them off, and he put more fingers in the boy.
“You’re not gonna tell anybody about this, are you Dr. House,” he asks, but the boy can’t talk. He slips away now, seeing nothing except for the dark cement floor. Pain in his chest, head, leg, tummy, hand, inside of him. Somebody’s kicking, hitting, stomping, biting, touching, pain and pleasure together. His thing gets big and hard too, but it hurts, like barbed wire rubbing, squeezing him, blood spewing out the end, his whole soul coming out. He’s being stabbed inside, over and over, and he’s bleeding, dying. At leas the boy thinks, at lest it’s all gonna be over soon, and then there won’t be any more pain.
The boy finds no comfort here. He never did. Even if death is coming, I still don’t get to leave yet. The boy starts to plan his funereal. No church, God forbid-what god? I wanna get burned up the boy thinks. Then they can’t ever touch me again. Wilson will come, my mom, maybe Cuddy, Stacy if I’m really lucky. Stacy, maybe she would have stayed if I had told her about the other monster, like I did Wilson.
HOUSE: Oh come on, now I want Stacy, Cuddy and my mom to come and find me being molested? That's just humiliating.
“Wilson,” he whimpers in the dark, and all of the sudden there’s something wet and sticky inside of him, down there, and something else rips, and there’s blood. If only it would get bad enough. Please bash my brains in, the boy thinks as the fingers come back. “My pills,” he pleads, sucking in his breath.
“Nuh uh, bad boy,” the monster chuckles. “You’re an addict, but I’ve got hours before you even start to detox, and even then, who’s ever going to hand drugs to a junkie?” the monster asks, and then kisses his neck, bites him there. “Comes on, admit it. You like this don’t you, House/”
WILSON: Authorperson can't even be bothered to end sentences with punctuation! What is the world coming to!
The boy disappears into the darkness, or at least, he tries. His eyes are closed but he can still see the monsters, both of them, standing naked over him, smiling, twitching, hard cocks pointing right at him. The boy thinks he should ask the monster to shoot him, but he’s too scared the bad man will say no. They’ll let me go soon, they have to. It’s too much. More pain, all over. The pain feels worse now, worse than ever. He hates himself. It’s all my fault, the tiny little boy thinks, and then the tears come, and this makes the monster very mad. Tritter hits him and kicks him again, beating him over and over. The pain is so great, but he’s sure it’s almost finished, and this time t does help. Then there’s darkness all around him. When he wakes up in the hospital everything is foggy.
[CHASE enters.]
CHASE: House, what have you done to Foreman?
HOUSE: What do you mean "what have I done for Foreman?"
CHASE: He puked all over Cuddy's shoes in the middle of a meeting with some big donors.
HOUSE: And your first assumption is that I did something? For all you know it could have been the cafeteria's undercooked salmon that did him in.
CHASE: But it didn't, which is why I came here. (Suddenly sees WILSON, who's face is turned away from CHASE) Even Wilson looks guilty!
HOUSE: (glares at WILSON.)
WILSON: (apologetically) It's Bad!Fic time.
CHASE: One of the many things I don't miss from working under you.
HOUSE: C'mon, it's a slow day down in the OR, otherwise you wouldn't be wasting your time trying to figure out the great diagnostic mystery "why did Foreman start puking?"
CHASE: House, emergency surgey can happen at-
HOUSE: It's a story about me being raped and losing all my dignity. You'll laugh, now sit.
[Somewhat grudgingly CHASE sits down at the conference table.]
The monster’s gone and Wilson is there, but he can’t even look at his friend. Everything hurts, even trying to think. So, when Wilson says, “it’s okay, House. I’m here now. I’ll protect you. Everything is gonna be okay, I promise. You don’t have to worry, or do anything. Just relax, and let the meds help you. They will help you,” the little boy wants to believe this more than anything, but he knows he can’t.
WILSON: That's so... weird. The style changes so drastically thoughout the entry.
HOUSE: And more importantly, why isn't it consistently italicized?
WILSON: Good question.
HOUSE: (to CHASE) Having fun yet?
CHASE: No.
HOUSE: Don't worry, you will.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
It broke my heart to read that, but it also made me so proud of him. I could see the strength coming back into him. As bad as the whole thing sounded, and looked, I knew how hard it had been for him to write all of this down, even to think about it, and the fact that he could do it now meant that he was getting better. He was starting to heal.
HOUSE: Did you insult my intellectual abilities in there?
WILSON: What do you mean?
HOUSE: "As bad as the whole thing sounded, and looked?"
WILSON: (shrugs) It might've just been your penmanship, which has always been terrible.
HOUSE: Better than your lefty chicken scratch.
I knew House was going to have a nightmare from the moment he’d told me it was a bad day-his freak out when I tried to take his shorts off was just stale icing on a cake made out of shit. And yet, when he woke up screaming, it still shocked me.
“I’m here,” I said, letting him latch onto me, holding him like an over-grown child. The monster’s gone and he’s never coming back. If it makes you feel any-oh, okay. It’s okay. It’s me, Jimmy. You were having a bad dream, but the nightmare is over now, and it’s just us. You want your meds?”
WILSON: And we still don't know how to use quotations properly, either.
“I don’t-what time is it?”
“You don’t need to worry about watching the clock anymore. Right now all you gotta do is get yourself back to sleep. We can discuss cutting back on extra pills in the morning, but-” He cut me off mid-sentence.
“No, I mean…gimme, it hurts, but. I hate that I can’t stop, but since you’re not planning to cut me off, don’t gotta worry. Wanted to now the time, how long do I needa stay in bed?” he asked, but Greg still wasn’t used to actually speaking and was saying everything quickly, the words bleeding into each other.
HOUSE: I thought we got over that bend already.
CHASE: Wait a second-
HOUSE: The wombat speaks!
CHASE -Wilson is stuffing you full of pills?
WILSON: (shaking his head) I know, Chase, I know.
“Wanna watch a movie or some crap TV on the couch?” I asked, already pulling the wheelchair up to the bedside with my free arm. I wrapped he other one around him,
CHASE: "He other one around him?"
WILSON: (shrugs) The without the "t?"
gently stroking his grayish-brown hair. House nodded, his head rubbing against my hand. “You wanna-okay, I’m just gonna put my arms around your tummy so I can help you into the chair. Know what would be hugely helpful? There you go, use your good arm. That’s it, there we go, slide back, good job. We got it. You were a big help, Buddy.”
HOUSE: I'm really getting annoyed with these long monologues of yours where you're reacting to things that we don't know are happening.
“Never be able to do it myself. Don’t understand why you stay with me. Pathetic, crazy, crippled addict, worse than before. Should just put me in the nuthatch or something.” It was weird to hear him say this, since I had been hearing it from everyone else ever since I first took him home from the hospital last year.
“No! I won’t, I can’t do that to you. I will not abandon you, give up on, mistreat, hurt, or force myself on you.
HOUSE: (throwing his hands up) Too late!
I promise. Beside, being in one of those places would kill you. That why you asked me to-look at me, please? Do you still want me help with…? Try and hang in there, Pal. Do you think you can talk about what happened the night you were attacked? I have a few questions about what you wrote.”
“The God thing?”
HOUSE: (loudly) Yeah, one problem, I'm an ATHEIST.
"You wrote, "the boy prays." God, you must have been terrified. I mean to-because you don’t believe in-but when you were a kid, did you pray for-did you um,” I stopped mid-sentence, mainly because I really had no idea how to put this right, but he seemed to understand anyway.
“Yeah, when I was really little, my mom used to take me to church with her, and I read the bible all the way through. We didn’t go every week, sometimes not ever month, but I was young and stupid, so I thought into it. I was being-touched, and I prayed that someone would notice, or do something. I prayed for help and it never came. Same thing with the cop. We were on the side of the road, a busy street. Three cars drove by while he had his hands on my-in my-down my pants and nobody even slowed down. I’m a bad person now, and I can see why a god would have let me get raped this time, but what happened when I was little…that’s why I don’t believe, why I stopped anyway.”
CHASE: House, that would actually explain a lot about your aversion to organized religion.
HOUSE: Shut it, seminary boy.
“You did not deserve this, and I don’t know why no one rescued you, but-it wasn’t because of something you did or said, and I-you really don’t wanna discuss this, do you? Okay, what about the-you look like you’re about to pass out. How about we go back to the bedroom?”
HOUSE: So you can molest me some more? How about not.
I asked, reaching to pull him closer to me on the sofa. Greg yawned but shook his head, no way.
“I got scared and confused when it happened. I felt like I did when I was a kid and-sometimes I still get confused, and then I don’t-I’m not…I don’t know how to talk about anything. Having you around helps. A little. This sucks.” I could almost hear his brain turning, working hard to try and figure the words out before he had to speak them, but they weren’t coming. “I just wanna forget it ever happened.”
“No. That won’t help, won’t make you feel better.
HOUSE: Actually I'm pretty sure if I didn't know it happened, I wouldn't be traumatized by it.
WILSON: Makes sense.
You can pretend like this doesn’t effect you, or that none of what was done to you was real, but this isn’t gonna go away, ever. It hurts and it’s going to keep on hurting, but if you deal with this, talk about your dad-for lack of a better term-
CHASE: Dad, for lack of a better term? What other term would you use?
HOUSE: Pops? Old man? Daddy-o?
and the cop, then you can figure out why it hurts so much, maybe even feel better.”
“But it won’t ever completely go away, right?” he asked, almost demanded. I nodded and House made this soft whimpering sound, like a little puppy dog or something. “I hate sex-I did, even before the-attack. I hate all that stuff, but I never could stop thinking about it. I don’t know how to deal with it, what I’m supposed to say, what I’m supposed to keep to myself. I wasn’t even sure what was normal in a relationship, or what I was supposed to do with women.
HOUSE: For the record, I like sex.
“When I-half the time, the actual, you know-ending, doesn’t even feel good. I was never sure how to respond to porn and that stuff, so I’d spend hours looking at it and…sometimes it felt good, sometimes it-scared the crap out of me, but mostly I just couldn’t figure this out, and I know it probably sounds like I’m making this up because I don’t usually talk like this, but you’re the one who said I should tell you how I really feel. So here I am, explaining away all the stupid shit I used to say and do, and why I now act like I act now.”
CHASE: (winces) That paragraph is so...
WILSON: Awkward?
CHASE: Yeah...
“Is being alive really so terrible, it can’t be, or you wouldn’t even bother talking to me. You’d just let the meds do their job of making you calm, and try not to feel anything. If you don’t want to talk about this, then why are you working so hard?”
“You always seem so happy when I talk to you, and smile at your jokes an stuff. You keep on asking me to talk, so I do, and you asked me not to give up, so, I won’t.”
“Please don’t tell me that you’re only even trying because I begged you to,” I pleaded, but he didn’t respond. “Oh, God. Look, I don’t want this to be painful, especially if you’re just doing this for me. Give it a little time, and if I can’t do anything to help you, then I’ll let you out of your promise.”
“What if I already started to feel a tiny bit better? I mean it might not ever be-see this why, if I can’t do anything to make you mad at me, how am I supposed to get back to normal? You expect nothing from me, so I don’t have to do anything to make you proud of me except occasionally open my stupid mouth.”
“So your life is meaningless because you’re not doing nuclear physics? Life isn’t about the most difficult thing you…”
HOUSE: Life is about sitting in a wheelchair drooling? Sheesh, that's pretty shitty.
WILSON: I hate to say it... but I agree with you there.
“Oh shut the hell up. You don’t get it, which isn’t really a big surprise. The meds help with the fear and stuff, but if slows me down so I can’t think. Thinking is what I do best. Pretty much the only thing I can do.
HOUSE: That sounds oddly familiar... like maybe that time I got shot and hallucinated about the ketamine treatment.
CHASE: You mean, authorperson is recycling canon lines now?
HOUSE: Pretty much!
I’d take less, of the pills, but I’m barely making it as is. I want you to push me, sometimes, and not too hard, and-I dunno. I want everything to be normal between us, but I don’t know if I can do that.”
“I will do whatever you want me to do,” I promised, kissing his hair softly.
HOUSE: (to WILSON) I need a rape whistle to blow when you do stuff like that.
“Why? What did I do to deserve that?” he shouted, pulling way from me, his usual mixture of frustration and anger. “I haven’t actually done anything, Jimmy, and just surviving doesn’t count. Anybody could survive.”
“No, they can’t!” I shouted, which made him wince. “Lots of people don’t make it, Greg, especially when this happens more than once. Your father abused you for years, when you were a toddler, and you never told anyone. Tritter came along and he saw that pain in you, that ear, and he knew you’d been attacked before.”
WILSON: That ear?
HOUSE: Yep, ears are big indicators of shitty childhoods. I remember the first time I saw Chase's ears I knew he had daddy issues.
CHASE: (Scowls.)
“How the Hell is this supposed to help me?”
“He wanted to hurt you, destroy you if he could, and for most people, what happened would be enough to drive them nuts.”
CHASE: Wait, it didn't?
“But it did! It has! I’m scared all the time, and the meds, barely take the edge off. Every time you come near me my heart races.
WILSON: (teasingly) Aww, House.
HOUSE: I don't think it's because of your smokin' bod.
I only have one working hand and one working leg, and the other ones always hurt. Can’t do anything. Can’t even think anymore. What’s left?”
“I love you. We can be together, love each other. What else is there?”
“Lots of stuff. Work, friendships, dating, sex. Not that I could do that one even before I was-sorry,” he squeaked, looking away. “Guess I shouldn’t complain, mostly don’t even mind not doing anything. Most days, takes all my energy to watch TV with you, or whatever.”
“I work very hard to make sure our days are fully planned out and full of activities,”
HOUSE: Full of activities? All you do is drug me up and stick me in front of the TV.
WILSON: It works, doesn't it?
I snapped, feeling defensive more than angry or worried. I knew it was just House being House. Even after everything he wanted to screw with someone, and I was all he had, so he messed with me.
“Okay, Jimmy,” he said at last, turning towards the TV screen, yawning, and closing his eyes. “Don’t turn that thing off, okay? Like the light, and sound, helps me feel comfortable.”
“It’s okay, Greg. Nobody likes the dark. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I explained, softly as I placed my arm around his chest. “You just go ahead and sleep. Must be exhausted,” I said, and we both yawned. House fell asleep on the sofa and after a while, I carefully moved out from under him, went to get myself some coffee and came back all long before he could wake up. Then, I held his body close to mine, and sat there, touching his hair and forehead. I drank my coffee, watched the morning news, and kept my eyes open incase
CHASE: Not one word!
Greg started to have another nightmare, which is what I always did when he napped on the sofa.
The only good thing about the nightmares was that they happened so often, early on, that by this point I could recognize the symptoms early enough to wake him up, and end the dreams if I was awake. “It’s alright, House,” I whispered, praying that he might hear it in his sleep, and I could help make him feel better. “I’m here to protect you, now. No more bad things, I promise. No more bad things,”
HOUSE: What do you call that thing in your pants, eh?
I promised, over and over, as I wondered how our life might change if he continued to come of the fog, if he really was starting to recover. Maybe he could go back to work, part time at least, consulting whenever there were cases other people couldn’t solve without him.
It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be busy 24/7, but it drove him nuts not being able to do anything on good days. I didn’t see the tears at first, in fact, I only noticed them because he started to twist and turn in his sleep, his heart bating
CHASE: Bating?
HOUSE: It could be like batting, without the second "t."
WILSON: So your internal organs are playing baseball?
HOUSE: Yep, my liver's on short stop.
WILSON: Must be a losing team.
HOUSE: Hey! Don't be a Debbie Downer.
so fast his chest seemed to vibrate, loudly. I gave his arm a soft, gentle shake, and House awoke, startled, with a gasp. “You were having a bad dream.”
“Another one, second time today,” he explained sadly. “No don’t give me that,” House moaned, pushing my hand, and the pills away. “Too soon, and don’t need it yet. Unless it can make the drams
CHASE: The drams?
WILSON: (pulls out his iPhone) According my dictionary application a dram is: a unit of apothecary weight equal to an eighth of an ounce or to 60 grains,1/16 ounce or 1.771 grams or the basic unit of money in Armenia.
HOUSE: Well, I'm glad this is all making sense now.
go away forever.” Then he yawned again, stretching a little “Suppose you wanna talk about it. Probably think it would be good for me, don’t you, Jimmy?”
HOUSE: (forming a makeshift megaphone around his mouth) Go back to psyche 101.
“Is wanting to talk to you about the problem we’re having really such a bad thing?” I asked, continuing to play with his hair, especially the little tufts on his forehead. For some reason it always helped him feel calm, so I did it whenever he needed me to. “Just tell me about the dream. I think getting everything will help, make it less horrible.”
“You know for a fact?” His voice sounded angry, accusatory, although I think he wanted me to be right, even if he didn’t think I was. After everything he’d been through, he didn’t want to get his hopes up. “I was a little kid, like five or six, maybe seven, and I was riding a gigantic tricycle and I heard sirens so I stopped and stopped up. The cop got out of his car and it was Tri-him.
WILSON: Again, what is with this whole almost saying his name and then flaking out?
HOUSE: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
He grabbed me, dragged my body towards the car, and he made me sit in his lap, grinding into me, and talking, in my dad’s voice, and I couldn’t. I’m not sure how the rest of it went.” I could tell he was lying to me, and yet I decided not to push him just yet.
“Can I ask you something, House?” I asked, hugging him again. “Did your father do that? Take you out to the car, and hold you in his lap?” He nodded. “A lot?” A shrug. “More than once? More than ten times? Christ,” I whispered.
“Didn’t think you believed in him,” he chuckled and touched my fingers. “That one wasn’t so bad. Kept his pants on, and mine. No hands on or in me, no touching his-no, none of the real horrible stuff. I didn’t like it, and it hurt just as much as everything else, but I-things could always be worse. That’s what he used to say. ‘You have no idea how easy you have it, Greg,” and stuff like that.” House sighed, and leaned back, letting me stroke his hair for a while. “That feels nice.” Then he smiled, leaning in to kiss me quickly on the lips, mouth closed.
CHASE: He just kissed you?
WILSON: He did... this has just hit a whole new level of weird.
HOUSE: Oh, this is out of the ballpark of weird and into the stratosphere.
“You don’t have to do this for me, you know that right?” I asked, gently pushing him away. “If you’re ready I would love to be with you, even if all we ever do is lay in bed together, even if that’s the last kiss I ever get, even if you-but the point I was trying to make is this. Whatever happens, I still love you. I’m contended to live the rest of my life taking care of you.”
CHASE: Oh, he's contended to be taking care of you.
WILSON: I'm very contended, thank you very much.
“You’re pathetic,” he said, and kissed me again, quick and short. “Kind of like that though. I’d be screwed if you weren’t here with me. Wanted to kiss you, but nothing else, not yet,” he explained, and then sat up in my arms, which actually did take a while, because he wasn’t very strong, physically, but he refused to let me help him, so it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. “Don’t understand why this bothers me so much. Got used to what my dad did. In comparison this is nothing.”
“This, what your dad did, what you’re doing, what Tri-what the cop did, is huge, and you never dealt with what your father did, which is what makes this a million times more painful. You shut down because you didn’t know how to deal with all of it.”
“But when am I gonna get better? Or start to get better?”
“You’ve already started. Really, a month ago you couldn’t string two words together. Now we’re having conversations, discussing things.
HOUSE: I still can't string two words together.
You kissed me today. Yes, it’s slow in coming, but you are getting there. It is happening. You’re getting better, and everything is-you may never return to normal, but some level of happiness isn’t out of the question. You can see that, can’t you? You know it’s possible, right?”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot. I get confused, sometimes and sometimes I feel scared. That’s all it is. I just can’t figure out how to make it stop, go away. I get that this was a big deal; I was there when it happened…sort of. I-on the really bad days I can’t, sometimes I feel so-if you ever tell any of this to anybody, I’ll kill you, understand? -I’m so scared and confused it hurts to-well everything, which is why I don’t talk, and I just sit there, letting the meds take over.”
HOUSE: Or I'm being drugged!
“You get confused because your brain is having trouble trying to deal with the two unimaginable horrifically
CHASE: I feel like horrifically is not a real word.
WILSON: (looking at his iPhone) It is, the definition's right here-
HOUSE: Chase, go check a real dictionary.
CHASE: (goes to the bookcases in search of a dictionary.)
WILSON: But this is a real dictionary-
HOUSE: Not to me it's not.
bad things that have happened in your life, and it’s more than anyone could handle alone. If you’ll talk to me, I think it might help, maybe you’ll never be able to completely take care of yourself, but it would be nice if you were able to do a few things.”
“What kind of things?” he asked, sounding concerned but mostly I think he was in agreement with me, but didn’t want to admit it just yet. I was about to say I wasn’t sure, but House nodded. “Okay, I’ll do it. This isn’t gonna be easy, and I don’t think the bad days are ever gonna go away for good, but maybe we can make them less frequent, less bad. Really think you can do this?”
“I think you’re pretty much on track there. It’s not going to magically disappear no matter what we do, but I’ll do everything I can to make it easier and less painful for you, if you’ll let me. I’ll be there for you, forever,” I promised, and he made a little half smile. “What’s so funny?”
“You keep on saying that,” House said in an almost normal voice. “It’s not bad, just don’t know if I need to hear it every five minutes.”
HOUSE: (exasperatedly) Thank you! Finally!
“I’m glad you felt okay to tell me this. I think it means something, important. I also want you to feel free to say something if I do anything to bother you. So I can stop, or change to make you more comfortable. The only reason I was saying it so often was so I could remind you that you’re not alone, and that you never will be. I know how much you worry, or at least how much you used to worry about me, abandoning your, or walk out or-” I didn’t get to finish my sentence because House hugged me, tightly, and kissed me again, this time opening his mouth a tiny bit and quickly touching his tongue to my lips, before he pulled away. “I’m sorry, did I do that wrong, or did you want me to-” Greg interrupted me, again-which was actually getting on my nerves.
HOUSE: God that's awkward.
WILSON: What?
HOUSE: I pretty much just licked your mouth.
WILSON: (makes a face) That is kind of-
CHASE: Found it! It's the adverb form of horrific.
HOUSE: Didn't they already cover that with horrifyingly?
CHASE: Apparently not.
WILSON: (looks at HOUSE smugly.)
HOUSE: Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up Mr. iPhone.
CHASE: That was a really awkward use of the word, though-
HOUSE: You're not my employee anymore, it's no longer your job to kiss my ass.
“Oh shut up, Jimmy,” he muttered, touching the side of my face. “You did exactly what I wanted you to do, nothing. I felt like kissing you, so I did, and I felt brave so I went a little further and I knew I could because I know you’d never do anything to hurt me. Just keep following my lead. I trust you to listen if I say stop. So, what am I supposed to talk about here? That’s what’s gonna help me, right?” I nodded. “Well where should I start? Between dear ol’ Dad, and the stupid fucking cop, there’s a lot of shit to wade through, and I haven’t the faintest idea where to-how to get going.”
“How about we start at the beginning?” I suggested, but House gave me a strange look, like he didn’t know exactly what I meant. “Start with how it all started. Can you remember the first time he,” I paused, unsure of how to continue, but I didn’t need to say exactly what I was thinking. He understood me. “Then start with that, okay?” I asked, and he nodded.
HOUSE: (with mock excitement) Oh boy, another cliff hanger ending.
CHASE: (standing) Ugh, now I understand what happened to Foreman.
WILSON: Brain bleach, anyone?
Sorry this took forever, winter break ended and so now I'm back at school with a disturbing lack of free time.
I also seem to be running out of jokes...
Oh, and the warning for the lj cut text is an actual warning from my tube of paint. Weird, huh?