damigella: (sad_thoughtful_wilson)
[personal profile] damigella
Drabble Prologue
Chapter 1, warnings, and stuff.
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4

Chapter 5

"House, can you convince those morons that I don't need to be tied to the bed?

"You'll have to convince me first. Not so easy, since it was I that had to resuscitate you after binding your wrists."

He was tired, in pain, and hadn't eaten in fifteen hours, only snatching minutes of troubled sleep on the plastic chair he was sitting on now. His ass hurt almost more than his thigh, actually.

"If you hope to get my thanks you're going to be disappointed. You should have left me to die. I would have made it if you hadn't lied to me about your patient."

"I didn't lie. How could I expect we would solve it so fast? You, on the other hand, didn't tell me you had been having suicidal thoughts for so long."

"How would you know that? What if I did it on a whim?"

"Wilson, I'm not an idiot. You had swallowed enough painkillers to give yourself an easy, sure exit. I was there when they pumped your stomach, you know."

He almost added "I made them pump your stomach, or you'd be dead now" but then thought better of it.

"I didn't steal your hydrocodone."

"Because I would have noticed. I had Park run around for me while I sat with you here, checking for stories of missing pills. You've been planning this for at least a month."

House was ready to tear out his remaining hair in desperation. He had spent the best part of the night brooding. How had he managed to underestimate Wilson's desperation while living together with him? And how could he make sure he wouldn't attempt suicide again in the future? The most insidious question, however, had remained hidden below consciousness level, and had only come out in the open during his most recent nap. The fleeting dream had been without images, only a voice, the harsh voice of the Colonel.

'Greg, this is all your own fault. Are you ready to admit it?'

"Good to see you sitting up and free to move. You look better. Or at least plumper."

Wilson snorted. "Nothing like getting your food through your nose for a week to guarantee a balanced diet. As for freedom, guess who has an anklet now."

He pushed the right foot out of the hospital blanket, and indeed there was a circle of plastic around his ankle, blue and thicker than House's had been.

"Mine was cuter."

"And mine's smarter, since it transmits my blood pressure and heartbeat as well as my position. House, I've had more unpleasant conversations in the past ten days than in the rest of my life so far, but there's no way to avoid another one with you. Are you very busy?"

Wilson probably wanted to repeat what House had already heard from his father during that terrible night. Unpleasant, indeed. Painful even. As with his father's punishments, delay would only mean longer pain.

"I have time now. My patient died twenty minutes ago, and all I could do was find out why. At least the murderer has been arrested."

Wilson shivered, and House could have kicked himself for touching the topic. "So what is the unpleasant thing you have to say? The sooner it's out, the sooner we can switch on General Hospital."

"You deserve an explanation first. Nothing they tried so far to make me get over what happened worked, and my mental condition only gets worse. Recently I started having trouble going to the PPTH and back when you aren't driving with me. I'm getting more and more dependent on you, and much less able to work. Or have fun: I wasn't so interested in Sheila, but I thought we could have dinner together. I haven't been to a restaurant in months."

House resisted the temptation to say 'Me neither', and asked gently "Is this reason enough for what you did?"

"It's the opposite, actually. I didn't see any reason to live at all. My life is becoming a sequence of working while drinking too much coffee and being bored senseless at home, with violence waiting for me whenever I close my eyes."

"So how come they gave you more freedom? Are they okay with you offing yourself?"

"No, they said I should have asked for help instead of stopping therapy. Plus, they thought of a different way to make me better."

Wilson paused. House could see him concentrating like an acrobat before a dangerous jump.

"My psychologist insists that I should leave Princeton, or, better, the East Coast altogether. Too many bad memories here."

"Sounds bad enough, but I feel you haven't gotten to the punchline yet. What do you want me to do? Organize a farewell party? Write you letters of recommendation?"

Wilson laughed silently, a spark of the old humor in his eyes. Maybe he had been medicated into happiness?

"That would be great. Ex criminal diagnostician recommending mental health patient oncologist. Those are the kind of letters board members are impressed by. No, they said that just moving wouldn't solve my problem if I didn't change my attitude. In particular," here he drew a deep breath, "my inability to acknowledge and verbalize my own needs."

That sounded really like psycho bullshit; House would have laughed except the notion of Wilson going away had managed to worsen his worries. He was busy remembering how unpleasant life without Wilson was like when, without warning, the universe came to an end.

More precisely, the laws that had governed his universe for the last two decades collapsed as Wilson held one of House's hands delicately in both of his, looked at him in the eyes, and added "I don't have a place to go to yet, but I want you to come with me."

Wilson never touched House. Unless for medical reasons. Never in twenty years. On top of that, Wilson never asked something for himself. For his patients, even for casual acquaintances with health problems, sure. But for himself? Admitting his own need, instead of catering to someone else's?

House vigorously ignored the fact that his hand was still being held and answered in a casual tone. Or what he hoped sounded like a casual tone.

"So I should take a leave of absence and help you get settled elsewhere? How long would that take?"

"I don't want to live alone any more, House."

House smiled in an encouraging way. "Let's say three months, then. Six, tops. Enough for you to choose a fourth Mrs. Wilson."

"There will be no more Mrs. Wilsons if all goes as I hope. But you are right in that I plan to get married. Or united civilly, as the case may be. If you agree."

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