damigella: (sad_thoughtful_wilson)
[personal profile] damigella
Chapter 1 and warnings. Chapters 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.

I sit on the couch, still faintly feeling the warmth of his thigh against mine, and I wait for him to get up and leave my apartment and my life.

"Wilson, I... I'm sorry. I should have told you earlier. I should have talked to you openly from the start, about the rehab, the jailtime, and about this. But my first concern was your health, and once you had blindness to deal with I couldn't bring myself to raise yet more issues. I'm not so good with words anyway"

Finding words is painful indeed. I just wish I could curl up in a ball and die. But I need to know.

"Why are you here now? Surely you realize your presence hurts me, that I'd rather be alone. Find my own balance, my own life." I want to add 'Forget you,' but I still find it hard to lie.

"I'd say my absence hurt you more than my presence so far. It was enough for you to give yourself a severe handicap, and it could have killed you. I don't trust you not to do anything stupid if I leave you alone."

I pull out my pills and juggle the bottle, the tinkling sound meaning health and safety. "Don't worry. I won't get so sick again. See? Antidepressants that work."

House lets out a deep sigh. Followed by a deeper one. "I... I helped your psychiatrist select those pills, Wilson."

"Because of course you know better than a specialist, right? Never mind all he studied and you didn't." I shout without caring who can hear me, so lost in anger that I have no sense of shame. House doesn't shout back; he just sighs again. I can feel his weight shifting uneasily on the couch.

"Wilson, I know what's in there. Starch and low-dose beta-blockers to help keep your blood pressure under control."

I feel like I've been hit. "You mean the best antidepressant I've ever had is ..."

"A placebo," he swiftly completes the sentence for me. "Sorry, Wilson. But I don't trust the placebo effect in the long run."

My head is spinning, there have been too many surprises in the last few minutes. The happy pills are starch. House knows I love him because I told him, and instead of laughing or running away he wants to stay and help. And he has excused himself. Admitted fault, that is. I replay his words in my head, wishing hard I could see his face, check in his eyes that he actually meant it, that he wasn't screwing with me, his eyes chuckling at a too easy prank played on his blind ex-best friend...

I cannot stand being in a room with him any more. I find my way to the bathroom first, to drink and cry and pee, and then to my bedroom: I randomly discard my clothes (something I have been taught not to do, of course, will make it hard to find them again) and curl up under the comforter in my underwear. I close my eyes and wait for sleep, hoping that when I wake up the world will make sense again.


My stomach growls, and there's a bad taste in my mouth that reminds me I didn't brush my teeth yesterday evening. Yesterday evening. Memory returns, bringing pain and bewilderment, but no more understanding than yesterday did. I don't open my eyes immediately (I've learned that it's better this way) but grope my way to my watch and press the button.

"Six forty-three, a.m."

I may as well get up. After the shower I feel better. It's warm at home, so I don't bother looking for the discarded clothes; I just wear clean briefs and t-shirt and go to the kitchen, trying to remember where the breakfast ingredients are. And I stop at the door.

"Good morning. You didn't ask me again to leave so I assumed I could stay. Your couch could be more comfortable, though."

I don't need to ask what he's doing: the room smells of fried bacon and freshly brewed coffee. I try to speak but he pushes me firmly towards a chair.

"Eat first, you're still underweight. We'll talk later."

As I did yesterday, I find it easier to agree.


To my big surprise, it sounds like House is tidying up the kitchen. I can almost hear him over the Bach concerto streaming from my stereo - he has brought his own music. I'm about to ask how much else he packed and how long he expected to stay when the telephone rings.

"You better pick it up," House yells over the water noises, "and go chat in the bedroom. It's a private call."

I slowly find my way to where the landline phone sits, exactly where it has always been, and press the answer button while I walk to the bedroom. And I almost fall down when I recognize the voice at the other end of the line. "Wilson? How are you?"

It's private indeed. I whisper "Just wait" and in two steps I'm in the bedroom, the door closed.

"Good morning, Cuddy. How's life in Florida?"

I can hear her chuckle. "Great. Nothing like a small child in the household to appreciate a frost-free winter." She pauses, and when she speaks again her tone is completely different. "House told me about you. I'm so sorry, Wilson."

It's good hat I'm sitting on the bed, since my legs wouldn't probably carry me now. "You and House are on speaking terms?"

"Remy sent me an email the morning after the crash; said she was sure I would want to know, and added that House was at your bedside. I may not be a genius like Greg, but it was clear to me whose idea the phone call was. A few days later she called again and asked me for help in contacting Dr. Yu on Greg's behalf. Not too long after that I got a letter from him, a handwritten, paper letter with a stamp on." Her voice was strange. Calm and yet deeply emotional.

"It was an apology, Wilson. He wrote that he was sorry for what he had done and that, although he felt he had had a right to be angry at me, what he did was a crime and inexcusable. He hoped Rachel and I were starting to get over it and told me he was willing to do anything that might help, including undergoing therapy, paying further damages, or joining some kind of AA for formerly violent domestic partners."

I hold the phone as it's unreal. This cannot be. Not House.

"I took a long time to think about it. Finally I let him know that any further contact should go via my lawyer. Three days ago he sent an email, with an update on your condition and a request to call you this morning. To tell you he had apologized because, and I quote, 'Wilson wouldn't believe it otherwise.' I called the hospital and talked to your therapist about it, and she encouraged me to do so. Said it might help you, so I hope it did."

I thread my fingers through my hair. "Probably it did. Except I'm too upset to decide that right now. This is so unexpected."

"Believe me, it was unexpected for me, too. I read that letter so many times it started to tear in the middle fold. I don't know what happened to him. He seemed so different."

"What did he say in the email? Did he explain why he wanted me to know?"

There was a pause on the other side.

"I'd rather not answer this, Wilson. You should ask him, though."

Date: 2011-10-11 10:55 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] menolly-au.livejournal.com
I do really like the idea that House sent a letter to Cuddy apologising and implicitly recognising the effect on her and Rachels' lives. I must have missed or forgotten something because I'm not sure why House would have arranged for Wilson's anti depressants to be placebos?

Date: 2011-10-11 06:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] damigella-314.livejournal.com
All this story is told from Wilson's viewpoint, so we get only glimpses of what happened while he was away; I think the fact that he recognizes his responsibility towards Cuddy is an important sign of the progress he has done, and one which Wilson would better appreciate if he weren't so screwed up himself.

About the placebos: I'm not sure we'll get back to it, so I'll write it here. Wilson was on antidepressants before, and it didn't help any. Since he had tried the main standard ones, the next step would have been one in the MAOI family, which however are kind of dangerous and require you to be on a restricted diet (e.g., no cheese).

Not really practical for someone who has to deal with being newly blind as well, so the psychiatrist decided to try placebos (which are a very respectable medication, especially for psychiatric illnesses where they often do as well as actual medicine). He consulted House because he's of course still listed as Wilson medical proxy :).

ETA: The reason I didn't include the details is that Wilson knows about antidepressants and his own medical history, so he would kind of guess. Writing a long fic from the POW of someone who's both blind and mentally ill isn't always easy :).
Edited Date: 2011-10-11 08:03 pm (UTC)

Date: 2011-10-12 04:19 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] menolly-au.livejournal.com
Writing a long fic from the POW of someone who's both blind and mentally ill isn't always easy :)

I can imagine:) especially first person as well - Wilson really has no idea what House is and isn't doing around him (and knowing House it could be anything!), very hard not to slip and describe something that Wilson can't know.

Thanks for the explanation on the anti-depressants, I have little knowledge of them and didn't know it was a common thing to do.

Date: 2011-10-12 12:56 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] damigella-314.livejournal.com
It's not very common, but it's done. The problem is that afaik no one understands how antidepressants really work. And if I took the time to learn about this, I'm sure Wilson (who after all had noticed that his meds weren't working and had replaced them with alcohol, also a very common selftreatment option) would have done the same, which is whyHouse didn't need to give him so many details.

Of course the main reason why Wilson feels psychologically much better than before the crash is that he's no longer worried about House, but how long will it take him to see that?

Date: 2011-10-11 06:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hibernia1.livejournal.com
Really liking this although Wilson really should have a little more trust in House, but that's my little hang-up ;-)

Thanks for sharing!

Date: 2011-10-11 08:59 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] damigella-314.livejournal.com
It's hard to trust anyone when your mental health is gone. Wilson's deeply depressed, and getting blind and losing his job aren't helping much.

Date: 2011-10-12 04:26 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hibernia1.livejournal.com
Sure, I know that. But still. How much proof does he want?

Date: 2011-10-13 10:49 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] damigella-314.livejournal.com
You will see. Don't worry, he will eventually be convinced (no, not by sex).

Date: 2011-10-13 12:21 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hibernia1.livejournal.com
LOL thanks. I worry way too much about House.

Date: 2011-10-12 04:00 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] brindlewolf.livejournal.com
Excellent chapter ... looking forward to more! <3

Date: 2011-10-13 02:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] damigella-314.livejournal.com
It turns out to be very difficult to write. But I hope to post more tomorrow.
Thank you for the encouragement!

Date: 2011-10-12 04:25 pm (UTC)

Date: 2011-10-13 02:39 pm (UTC)


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