Fic : What You Need
Jul. 4th, 2013 07:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
menolly_auAuthors: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
petitecuriosity and menolly_au
Title: What You Need
Characters: House/Wilson/Cuddy
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Words: 4350
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Summary: AN AU to the end of 'Help Me'. Both Cuddy and Wilson go to House's apartment, and find him on the verge of relapsing. They help him deal with the situation, and come to a realisation of how important they are to each other. A House/Wilson/Cuddy OT3 fic (pre-relationship).
Author's Note This fic was co-written withpetitecuriosity.
"That's the point! I did everything right. She died anyway."
House yells at Foreman until he gets the hell out of his way. He limps out of the hospital, holding onto his thigh. He left his cane back at the accident site, along with his bike. His shoulder is throbbing, every muscle in his body is aching and his leg is screaming at him in silent protest at the way he's treated it today. He barely manages to drag himself to the first cab on the rank.
"I'm moving on. Wilson is moving on. And you... You've got nothing, House, nothing."
Cuddy was right. She has Lucas, Wilson has Sam, and he has nothing.
He cut off Hanna's leg. He had to listen to her screams of pain as the saw cut through her flesh and bone. He mutilated her, he'd done nothing but cause her pain, and she'd died anyway . Nothing changed, nothing ever fucking changed.
He's sick of it, he's sick of trying.
He's done. It's over.
His fingers flex, fingers gripping something that can't be seen. He looks down at them and closes his fist. Soon, very soon.
Wilson trudged back to his office, head down and feet dragging. It had been a long, chaos filled day. He'd been helping out in emergency for most of it, dealing with the crane collapse victims. He was weary, and looking forward to going home.
Well, if he was honest with himself, he wasn't looking forward to going home so much. He and Sam had had dinner reservations for about three hours ago, to celebrate their wedding anniversary. He had thought it was a bizarre thing to be celebrating, considering how that marriage ended. Sam seemed to think it was appropriate, or she had at the start of the day anyway. Now she might feel differently. He'd rung her when it had become apparent he wouldn't be able to leave the hospital on time, but she had sounded cool on the phone.
He had hoped that things would be different this time, that he could escape the same old patterns that had formed with his ex-wives, and all his other relationships. That, this time, he might be able to make it work.
He'd asked House to leave to give his second chance with Sam the best chance of succeeding, but already he could see the fraying around the edges. He couldn't even blame it on Sam. He could have left the hospital earlier, if Sam had been more important to him than his work; there were other doctors. He'd chosen to stay.
No, he realised, what he wanted right now wasn't to go home to Sam and her frosty reception and try to placate her with charm, smiles and sex. He wanted to go home and sit on the couch, eat take-out, drink some beer and watch one of House's stupid soaps with him. He'd missed that. He'd missed House.
He hadn't heard from House since his phone call earlier in the day - when House had asked him to investigate what was happening with Lucas and Cuddy. He knew House had stayed at the accident site, probably to keep an eye on Cuddy as much as to help. There had been the usual intermittent dramas with his team back at the hospital as they worked on the crane driver, but House hadn't appeared. He'd probably gone straight home from the site, avoiding any of that nasty emergency room work he hated.
He got to his office and gathered up his case and his jacket and headed back out, glancing into the conference room next door. Foreman was just coming out of the door, dressed in scrubs, and looking as tired as Wilson felt.
"Did you see House?" Foreman asked, foregoing any pleasantries.
"Haven't seen him all day, had one phone call from him. Did you save your patient?"
Foreman nodded, but his face was creased with worry. "House is in a bad way. He came in with a patient in an ambulance. A woman whose leg he amputated at the site. She was trapped underground and House had been with her for hours. She died on the way in. Fat embolism."
An amputation. Wilson closed his eyes briefly. He could, with little effort, summon up a mental picture from Foreman's words.
"He has a nasty gash on his shoulder too, he's bleeding. I'm worried that..." Foreman trailed off and Wilson finished the thought.
"You think he's going to do something stupid rather than deal with his what he's feeling like a mature adult. Good guess."
"He was in a bad way," Foreman repeated his earlier statement, "said he did everything right and she still died. I tried to stop him from leaving but ---" he shrugged.
"And now you want me to go check on him." Wilson said. Of course he did.
"You're his friend, and you're the only person he'll listen to - you know that."
There wasn't a choice to be made, not really, House was his friend, and he needed him. Wilson went quickly to his car and drove out of the parking lot, heading for House's apartment. He couldn't help flashing back to the Christmas Eve when he had found House overdosed and lying in his own vomit. He put his foot down and drove faster.
“Higher!” Rachel squealed as Lucas lifted her high above his head, making airplane noises as he bounced with her across the room.
Cuddy sighed, chin perched on her hand and legs curled up under her as she sat on the couch. Her hair was still in a messy ponytail, her cheeks streaked with dirt, and she hadn't yet changed out of her pink scrubs. The book House had given her felt heavy in her lap as she lightly traced her fingertips along the spine. She couldn't believe he'd gone to the trouble of finding a book written by her great-grandfather. It had been a nice gesture, even if it were entirely uncharacteristic for him.
What are you clinging to, House? You're gonna risk her life just to save her leg? Really worked out well for you, didn't it? What do you have in your life, honestly? Tell me. I'm moving on. Wilson is moving on. And you... You've got nothing, House, nothing.
Cuddy sighed softly. She knew her words had been harsh, but she had grown weary over the years of House's constant selfishness, cruelty, and unwillingness to even try to change his circumstances. He was constantly miserable, and she was tired of House dragging her down with him.
I'm in pain... Every day. It changed me. Made me a harder person, a worse person. And now... Now I'm alone.
Cuddy winced slightly, biting her lower lip. She knew that House was in chronic pain, and she knew that it made him nearly unbearable to be around, most of the time. In fact, over the years, plenty of people had told him as much. She supposed that she had never really considered that their words had been listened to, that it had even mattered enough to him to listen.
You don't want to be like me. You’ve got a husband who loves you. You have friends. You can start a family. You have a life. And this... This is just a leg.
Cuddy curled her fingers around the front cover of the book, running her thumb along the edge. She flipped the book open, and once again read the inscription that House had written, it oddly appearing as if he'd taken the time to write it neatly.
To Lisa and Lucas. Here’s to a new chapter. Best. Greg.
Cuddy brushed her fingers across the pen strokes, gazing upward as she heard Rachel giggle as she rode on Lucas' back.
“Horsie! Horsie!” she chanted.
Cuddy's eyes fell back to the book as she retraced the letters over and over. She had no idea how he even managed to find this book, let alone one that was in such pristine condition. She thought back to the day when she'd walked into her office to find the desk she'd used in college, sitting in place of the one she'd been using since she became Dean of Medicine at PPTH. Both gifts had been entirely unexpected, thoughtful. His attention to detail never failed to amaze her.
He'd had a dream about a patient whom he claimed to have never met before, but remembered that he had been Cuddy's date at one of the hospital dinners. Despite the perverseness of his comments on her attire, he always acknowledged the effort she put into her appearance, and made her feel attractive, even if she'd never let him know that. He'd helped her with hormone injection shots when she was trying to get pregnant, and she knew that she wouldn't have trusted anyone else to do that, to see her that vulnerable, know that he'd still look at her the same way afterward.
She ran her thumb along Lucas' and her joined names, eyes lingering on “Greg,” the name seeming to sit apart from the other words.
“Hey, what you got there?” Lucas asked, breaking Cuddy out of her thoughts.
Cuddy looked up to find Rachel sitting on Lucas' shoulders. She glanced back to the book on her lap before closing it and setting it down on the couch. She stood, collecting Rachel into her arms.
“Everything okay?” Lucas inquired.
Cuddy sighed softly, reaching into her pocket. She'd told House that she'd left her engagement ring in her desk so that she wouldn't lose it at the crane collapse. Everybody lies. She pulled out the band of gold with the diamond gem on top, and took Lucas’ hand in hers.
“I'm sorry,” she said quietly, kissing his cheek as she let the ring fall into his hand. She carried Rachel out to the car, dialing Marina's number.
After dropping Rachel off at Marina's house, Cuddy drove toward the hospital, barely aware that her pocket was empty. She parked in her designated space before entering the hospital lobby. Her heart raced with nervousness, but she didn't allow it to show as she walked with her shoulders squared and her back straight, still appearing dignified despite her current disheveled appearance. She approached the ER, figuring that House would likely be with Hanna, or at least be lingering nearby. As she looked around, she saw no sign of either Hanna or House.
She finally found Foreman, and asked him about the patient.
“Hanna's dead,” Foreman told her simply, “fat embolism in the ambulance.”
Cuddy saw more than just sadness over the loss of a life in his eyes.
“House took it hard; I asked Wilson to check on him.”
Cuddy swallowed thickly. She mumbled a quick “thank you,” to Foreman before heading out back to her car, and driving toward House's apartment. The nervousness she had felt before was replaced by a different, chilling fear. She hoped that House hadn't been alone for too long. She hoped he hadn't done something stupid.
By the time Wilson pulled his car up outside House's apartment he'd started imagining all sorts of worst case scenarios. He parked illegally and sprung out of the car. His cell was vibrating in his pocket and he pulled it out long enough to glance at it. Sam, not House. He shoved the thing back where it came from and ran up the stairs to the familiar door.
The door was open, and as he entered the apartment he heard glass smashing.
He sprinted through the living room and down the hallway. House was there, in the bathroom, the shattered remains of a mirror littered the floor and the bath tub. In the hole where the mirror used to be Wilson could see two bottles of Vicodin.
He'd cleaned the place out while House was in Mayfield, finding bottles hidden in every conceivable hiding place but he hadn't been desperate enough to rip a mirror off a wall and look behind it.
House had been that desperate.
"No!" Wilson called out, before he realised he was going to do so. House looked around at him, and Wilson felt a tremor of fear go through him at the look in House's eyes. The man looked like hell; dirty, dusty and covered in small scrapes and cuts.
"Go away, Wilson." House said flatly. "Go back to Sam." There was a note of bitterness in his voice that made Wilson wince.
"Don't... don't do this, House. You've worked so hard..."
"What's the point ?" House yelled at him, and stared back at the bottle, still sitting in the little alcove. Then he looked back at Wilson, despair in his eyes. "What's the point when nothing ever changes? I've done everything Nolan told me to, everything . I tried! It doesn't make any difference, it never will. Nothing ever changes. I cut off a woman's leg today. Did you hear that? I cut off her leg while she screamed at me to stop. I did it to save her life, and she died anyway. She fucking died, Wilson!"
He turned around and grabbed one of the bottles. Wilson lunged at him, his hand going around House's where it gripped the bottle tightly. House shoved him away, trying to get him to let go and overbalanced. He fell to the ground heavily and took Wilson with him.
They ended up in a tangle of arms and legs, the Vicodin came loose and rolled across the floor. House reached a hand out for it and Wilson knocked it aside.
"Wilson, get the fuck off me!" House yelled, his gaze on the pills.
"No! I'm not going to let you go down that road again. You start taking Vicodin again, you'll be killing yourself. I'm not going to let that happen."
House pushed against him, but Wilson held tight, keeping himself between House and the Vicodin.
"What do you care? You have Sam, you've moved on, you don't need me." There was a catch in his voice, and a hollowness. Wilson knew he'd only have one shot at bringing House back from the brink.
"I do need you, House. I'll always need you. You're all I have."
House stopped his struggling and stared at him, surprise in his expression. Their faces were inches apart and Wilson knew the truth of his statement would be evident to House.
"Wilson... " House said, his voice quiet.
"House!" A female voice sounded through the apartment, followed by the sound of running footsteps. Cuddy appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the sight of the two of them on the floor, the bottle of Vicodin and the glass shards that covered everything.
House gaped at Cuddy, then quickly glanced back to Wilson.
“I’m hallucinating,” he whispered, arms falling to his sides, all of the fight of just a few moments ago draining out of him.
Cuddy’s eyes quickly fell to the orange vial laying by the bathtub.
“You relapsed?” she asked quietly.
“What the hell do you care?” House spat, but his voice came out more raw, exhausted.
Wilson slid discreetly off of House, holding up the two full orange vials.
“You didn’t,” he said, shaking them for emphasis before slipping them into his pocket. He began to clean up the remains of the mirror.
Cuddy frowned, noticing a wet spot soaking through House’s t-shirt. She knelt down to examine it further, reaching a hand out, only to have House pull away.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
“You’re bleeding,” Cuddy told him. “You need to--”
“I know what I need to do,” House snapped.
Wilson knelt down beside Cuddy, a first-aid kit in hand. He slipped an arm beneath House’s shoulders, expecting him to protest. When House merely continued to look at the floor, Wilson nodded toward Cuddy. Together, they lifted House to his feet and began guiding him to the bedroom.
House didn’t put up a fight as they eased him down into a sitting position on the bed. He knew that once morning fell, Wilson would be back with Sam and Cuddy would be back with Lucas. This had to all be a hallucination, his mind’s cruel way of welcoming him back into the dark shadows of his addiction.
He winced as he felt Wilson’s fingertips curling around the hem of his shirt, brushing against his skin. Wilson lifted House’s shirt up and over his head, setting it aside. House looked up briefly to see Cuddy slowly removing the bandage that he had hastily placed over the wound on his shoulder.
Wilson had already soaked a few cotton balls with disinfectant. He placed them in Cuddy’s hand.
“Thanks,” Cuddy told Wilson, smiling up at him gently. She curled her hand around his and squeezed, a silent understanding spoken between them. She began blotting at House’s cut.
Wilson took out a piece of gauze and tape, handing them to Cuddy when she’d finished cleaning House’s wound. She rebandaged it carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles, allowing her fingers to linger just a bit longer than necessary. When House’s eyes met hers, she quickly pulled them away.
“Why are you here?” House asked her. “Or maybe a better question would be, are you even here?”
His eyes darted around the room, fully expecting to see Amber, hear that familiar sinister giggle.
“You didn’t take the Vicodin,” Wilson reiterated. He slipped his hands into his pockets, running his thumbs over the fully capped vials. “You’re not hallucinating.”
House stared at both his friends, they seemed very real. Wilson's body had been pressed against his, on the floor, and Cuddy's gentle hands had tended to his wounds. But Cuddy had seemed real the last time too. She'd sat with him while he detoxed, she'd held him, she'd loved him. His own mind had tricked him into believing something that had never happened. He'd remembered every minute of the time they'd spent together and every feeling. It had been utterly real, until it hadn't been.
He remembered the crushing loss of realising that just when he thought he was on the brink of a new life, of a way out of his misery, it had all been a cruel trick of his mind. He'd still been alone.
Now he didn't know what to believe.
His mind was fogged, his body was aching and he was utterly exhausted. Wearily he shook his head and decided to treat this as real. Maybe in reality he was sitting on the floor of his bathroom, alone, in a drugged haze, but he'd take this anyway. Cuddy and Wilson, here, together, with him. No Sam, no Lucas.
"You need to get some rest," Cuddy said and then Wilson was there, with a clean tee-shirt which he helped House pull over his head. He went to House's belt and began loosening it. House stared dully at him, unable to even raise a quip. Wilson finished with the belt and undid House's jeans, slipping them down to his ankles and then off after removing his shoes.
"Not tonight, dear, I have a headache," House finally managed and Wilson laughed softly.
"Maybe another night then."
House felt that peculiar moment of hope, and fear, that he'd felt when Wilson had been trying to restrain him earlier.
You're all I have , Wilson had said.
He felt a blanket descend over his battered body and then Cuddy was there, fussing over it, and him.
"Get some sleep, House. You've had a rough day." Her hands were gentle as she tucked it around him and he allowed himself to feel the comfort in the gesture. His eyes met Wilson's again and he saw a calm reassurance there.
"I thought you'd gone," he said to them. Cuddy to Lucas, and Wilson to Sam. When he'd lost Hanna he'd thought he was alone - that he had nothing. Now they were both here.
"We're not going anywhere," Cuddy said.
His last sight before his eyes closed and he fell asleep was of the two of them standing over his bed, keeping him safe.
He hoped that he could still see them when he woke up.
"What happened today, out there?" Wilson asked Cuddy as he bent over the bathtub, cleaning it of all the pieces of shattered glass that covered the surface. Trust House to make everything a dramatic gesture.
"We hurt each other." Cuddy was sitting on the edge of the tub, as if she didn't have the strength to move. She'd apparently found some time to clean up after returning from the disaster site but she looked bone weary.
Wilson smiled ruefully. "That tends to happen, with House."
"I told him we were moving on, you and I. That we were going on with our lives without him. I told him he had nothing." She stared into space, reliving the moment.
Wilson frowned, but he knew it wasn't like he hadn't said the same sort of things to House before. That he'd end up alone and miserable.
"You told him we'd moved on, and yet here you are."
"He's a hard man to move on from." Cuddy said, her gaze going to her hand. "I broke it off with Lucas tonight."
Wilson stared at her. House had told him earlier in the day that Cuddy and Lucas were moving in together. Now Cuddy had left him?
Cuddy’s eyes rose to meet Wilson’s. Wilson’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he returned to busying himself with cleaning up the shards of glass.
“Does Sam know you’re here?” Cuddy asked him.
“No,” Wilson replied quietly without looking up at her. He winced, drawing in a sharp breath as he sliced the pad of his index finger on one of the glass pieces. He pushed himself to his feet, his knee brushing against Cuddy’s as he turned to run his finger under the sink faucet. Once the wound was clean, he shut off the water, and began fumbling around in the medicine cabinet for a bandage.He could still feel Cuddy’s gaze on him as he struggled to open the paper packaging.
Cuddy gently placed her hand over Wilson’s, allowing it to linger before she took the bandage and opened it for him. She tore off the pieces of paper, wrapping the bandage around his finger. She pressed down a little to ensure that the cut would clot.
“Thanks,” Wilson mumbled.
“No problem,” she replied, her fingers still pressed to his.
Cuddy blushed, lips parting to say something when she and Wilson heard a groan and thump coming from House’s room. Wilson exchanged a concerned glance with Cuddy before they both quickly rushed to House’s bedside.
House’s face glistened with sweat, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Pathetic whimpers escaped him as he thrashed around on the bed, muttering incoherently. Wilson placed his hand on House’s shoulder, only to have House violently knock it away.
“House,” Cuddy tried gently.
“Not...real,” House ground out.
Wilson eased down beside House, gripping both of his shoulders to still him.
“House,” he said, a bit louder than Cuddy had.
House froze beneath his touch. Wilson remained unmoving, studying House closely. He couldn’t be entirely sure whether House was awake or still asleep. When House finally opened his eyes, Cuddy breathed a sigh of relief.
Wilson swallowed thickly. He could see that House’s eyes were moist and red around the edges. He suspected House had been on the verge of tears, and knew he was right when House tore his gaze away from him.
“It’s okay,” Wilson told him quietly, feeling the bed dip as Cuddy sat down on House’s other side.
“Thought you moved on,” House said hoarsely.
Wilson worried his bottom lip. He wondered if House had forgotten what happened earlier, or if he still thought he was hallucinating. He grabbed House’s wrist, placing House’s palm against his own chest.
House’s cheeks reddened, but he didn’t make any move to pull away, didn’t say another word.
“You’re not hallucinating,” he told House softly.
Cuddy placed her hand on House’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. A heavy silence fell over the room before Wilson spoke again.
“You should...try to go back to sleep,” he said. “You’ve got to rest if those wounds are going to heal.”
House looked from one to the other of them, his eyes wide. Wilson had seldom seen him looking this open, or this vulnerable.
"If this is real, what are you two doing here? Don't you have to go home to the little woman?" He asked Wilson and then turned to Cuddy. "And what about the rugrat and the boytoy?"
"I broke our engagement off, and Rachel is with Marina." Cuddy answered simply as both men watched her. "What I had with Lucas was... pleasant, nice."
"You don't want pleasant, and nice." House said, with a trace of satisfaction through his exhaustion. "You never did."
"None of us do." Cuddy said, her gaze going up to encompass Wilson as well. "We don't do normal."
Wilson let out a small laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "I think you can say that again."
"We can talk about this later, but Wilson's right - you need to get some sleep, you're exhausted." Cuddy said, giving House's shoulder another squeeze. She went to stand up and felt a hand grabbing hers.
"Stay," House said.
"We're not going anywhere, House." Wilson said, repeating Cuddy's earlier words. "We're just cleaning up. Somebody smashed a large mirror out there."
House looked away from them, his body tense. With a glance at Cuddy, Wilson realised what he wanted. He slowly kicked off his shoes and watched as Cuddy did the same. They lay down on either side of House, their bodies touching his. Wilson pulled a blanket over them.
"Sleep now, House. You're safe." Wilson said, reaching over his friend's body to briefly clasp Cuddy's hand. "We're with you and we're not leaving. Ever."
~ End
petitecuriosity and menolly_auTitle: What You Need
Characters: House/Wilson/Cuddy
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Words: 4350
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Summary: AN AU to the end of 'Help Me'. Both Cuddy and Wilson go to House's apartment, and find him on the verge of relapsing. They help him deal with the situation, and come to a realisation of how important they are to each other. A House/Wilson/Cuddy OT3 fic (pre-relationship).
Author's Note This fic was co-written with
petitecuriosity."That's the point! I did everything right. She died anyway."
House yells at Foreman until he gets the hell out of his way. He limps out of the hospital, holding onto his thigh. He left his cane back at the accident site, along with his bike. His shoulder is throbbing, every muscle in his body is aching and his leg is screaming at him in silent protest at the way he's treated it today. He barely manages to drag himself to the first cab on the rank.
"I'm moving on. Wilson is moving on. And you... You've got nothing, House, nothing."
Cuddy was right. She has Lucas, Wilson has Sam, and he has nothing.
He cut off Hanna's leg. He had to listen to her screams of pain as the saw cut through her flesh and bone. He mutilated her, he'd done nothing but cause her pain, and she'd died anyway . Nothing changed, nothing ever fucking changed.
He's sick of it, he's sick of trying.
He's done. It's over.
His fingers flex, fingers gripping something that can't be seen. He looks down at them and closes his fist. Soon, very soon.
Wilson trudged back to his office, head down and feet dragging. It had been a long, chaos filled day. He'd been helping out in emergency for most of it, dealing with the crane collapse victims. He was weary, and looking forward to going home.
Well, if he was honest with himself, he wasn't looking forward to going home so much. He and Sam had had dinner reservations for about three hours ago, to celebrate their wedding anniversary. He had thought it was a bizarre thing to be celebrating, considering how that marriage ended. Sam seemed to think it was appropriate, or she had at the start of the day anyway. Now she might feel differently. He'd rung her when it had become apparent he wouldn't be able to leave the hospital on time, but she had sounded cool on the phone.
He had hoped that things would be different this time, that he could escape the same old patterns that had formed with his ex-wives, and all his other relationships. That, this time, he might be able to make it work.
He'd asked House to leave to give his second chance with Sam the best chance of succeeding, but already he could see the fraying around the edges. He couldn't even blame it on Sam. He could have left the hospital earlier, if Sam had been more important to him than his work; there were other doctors. He'd chosen to stay.
No, he realised, what he wanted right now wasn't to go home to Sam and her frosty reception and try to placate her with charm, smiles and sex. He wanted to go home and sit on the couch, eat take-out, drink some beer and watch one of House's stupid soaps with him. He'd missed that. He'd missed House.
He hadn't heard from House since his phone call earlier in the day - when House had asked him to investigate what was happening with Lucas and Cuddy. He knew House had stayed at the accident site, probably to keep an eye on Cuddy as much as to help. There had been the usual intermittent dramas with his team back at the hospital as they worked on the crane driver, but House hadn't appeared. He'd probably gone straight home from the site, avoiding any of that nasty emergency room work he hated.
He got to his office and gathered up his case and his jacket and headed back out, glancing into the conference room next door. Foreman was just coming out of the door, dressed in scrubs, and looking as tired as Wilson felt.
"Did you see House?" Foreman asked, foregoing any pleasantries.
"Haven't seen him all day, had one phone call from him. Did you save your patient?"
Foreman nodded, but his face was creased with worry. "House is in a bad way. He came in with a patient in an ambulance. A woman whose leg he amputated at the site. She was trapped underground and House had been with her for hours. She died on the way in. Fat embolism."
An amputation. Wilson closed his eyes briefly. He could, with little effort, summon up a mental picture from Foreman's words.
"He has a nasty gash on his shoulder too, he's bleeding. I'm worried that..." Foreman trailed off and Wilson finished the thought.
"You think he's going to do something stupid rather than deal with his what he's feeling like a mature adult. Good guess."
"He was in a bad way," Foreman repeated his earlier statement, "said he did everything right and she still died. I tried to stop him from leaving but ---" he shrugged.
"And now you want me to go check on him." Wilson said. Of course he did.
"You're his friend, and you're the only person he'll listen to - you know that."
There wasn't a choice to be made, not really, House was his friend, and he needed him. Wilson went quickly to his car and drove out of the parking lot, heading for House's apartment. He couldn't help flashing back to the Christmas Eve when he had found House overdosed and lying in his own vomit. He put his foot down and drove faster.
“Higher!” Rachel squealed as Lucas lifted her high above his head, making airplane noises as he bounced with her across the room.
Cuddy sighed, chin perched on her hand and legs curled up under her as she sat on the couch. Her hair was still in a messy ponytail, her cheeks streaked with dirt, and she hadn't yet changed out of her pink scrubs. The book House had given her felt heavy in her lap as she lightly traced her fingertips along the spine. She couldn't believe he'd gone to the trouble of finding a book written by her great-grandfather. It had been a nice gesture, even if it were entirely uncharacteristic for him.
What are you clinging to, House? You're gonna risk her life just to save her leg? Really worked out well for you, didn't it? What do you have in your life, honestly? Tell me. I'm moving on. Wilson is moving on. And you... You've got nothing, House, nothing.
Cuddy sighed softly. She knew her words had been harsh, but she had grown weary over the years of House's constant selfishness, cruelty, and unwillingness to even try to change his circumstances. He was constantly miserable, and she was tired of House dragging her down with him.
I'm in pain... Every day. It changed me. Made me a harder person, a worse person. And now... Now I'm alone.
Cuddy winced slightly, biting her lower lip. She knew that House was in chronic pain, and she knew that it made him nearly unbearable to be around, most of the time. In fact, over the years, plenty of people had told him as much. She supposed that she had never really considered that their words had been listened to, that it had even mattered enough to him to listen.
You don't want to be like me. You’ve got a husband who loves you. You have friends. You can start a family. You have a life. And this... This is just a leg.
Cuddy curled her fingers around the front cover of the book, running her thumb along the edge. She flipped the book open, and once again read the inscription that House had written, it oddly appearing as if he'd taken the time to write it neatly.
To Lisa and Lucas. Here’s to a new chapter. Best. Greg.
Cuddy brushed her fingers across the pen strokes, gazing upward as she heard Rachel giggle as she rode on Lucas' back.
“Horsie! Horsie!” she chanted.
Cuddy's eyes fell back to the book as she retraced the letters over and over. She had no idea how he even managed to find this book, let alone one that was in such pristine condition. She thought back to the day when she'd walked into her office to find the desk she'd used in college, sitting in place of the one she'd been using since she became Dean of Medicine at PPTH. Both gifts had been entirely unexpected, thoughtful. His attention to detail never failed to amaze her.
He'd had a dream about a patient whom he claimed to have never met before, but remembered that he had been Cuddy's date at one of the hospital dinners. Despite the perverseness of his comments on her attire, he always acknowledged the effort she put into her appearance, and made her feel attractive, even if she'd never let him know that. He'd helped her with hormone injection shots when she was trying to get pregnant, and she knew that she wouldn't have trusted anyone else to do that, to see her that vulnerable, know that he'd still look at her the same way afterward.
She ran her thumb along Lucas' and her joined names, eyes lingering on “Greg,” the name seeming to sit apart from the other words.
“Hey, what you got there?” Lucas asked, breaking Cuddy out of her thoughts.
Cuddy looked up to find Rachel sitting on Lucas' shoulders. She glanced back to the book on her lap before closing it and setting it down on the couch. She stood, collecting Rachel into her arms.
“Everything okay?” Lucas inquired.
Cuddy sighed softly, reaching into her pocket. She'd told House that she'd left her engagement ring in her desk so that she wouldn't lose it at the crane collapse. Everybody lies. She pulled out the band of gold with the diamond gem on top, and took Lucas’ hand in hers.
“I'm sorry,” she said quietly, kissing his cheek as she let the ring fall into his hand. She carried Rachel out to the car, dialing Marina's number.
After dropping Rachel off at Marina's house, Cuddy drove toward the hospital, barely aware that her pocket was empty. She parked in her designated space before entering the hospital lobby. Her heart raced with nervousness, but she didn't allow it to show as she walked with her shoulders squared and her back straight, still appearing dignified despite her current disheveled appearance. She approached the ER, figuring that House would likely be with Hanna, or at least be lingering nearby. As she looked around, she saw no sign of either Hanna or House.
She finally found Foreman, and asked him about the patient.
“Hanna's dead,” Foreman told her simply, “fat embolism in the ambulance.”
Cuddy saw more than just sadness over the loss of a life in his eyes.
“House took it hard; I asked Wilson to check on him.”
Cuddy swallowed thickly. She mumbled a quick “thank you,” to Foreman before heading out back to her car, and driving toward House's apartment. The nervousness she had felt before was replaced by a different, chilling fear. She hoped that House hadn't been alone for too long. She hoped he hadn't done something stupid.
By the time Wilson pulled his car up outside House's apartment he'd started imagining all sorts of worst case scenarios. He parked illegally and sprung out of the car. His cell was vibrating in his pocket and he pulled it out long enough to glance at it. Sam, not House. He shoved the thing back where it came from and ran up the stairs to the familiar door.
The door was open, and as he entered the apartment he heard glass smashing.
He sprinted through the living room and down the hallway. House was there, in the bathroom, the shattered remains of a mirror littered the floor and the bath tub. In the hole where the mirror used to be Wilson could see two bottles of Vicodin.
He'd cleaned the place out while House was in Mayfield, finding bottles hidden in every conceivable hiding place but he hadn't been desperate enough to rip a mirror off a wall and look behind it.
House had been that desperate.
"No!" Wilson called out, before he realised he was going to do so. House looked around at him, and Wilson felt a tremor of fear go through him at the look in House's eyes. The man looked like hell; dirty, dusty and covered in small scrapes and cuts.
"Go away, Wilson." House said flatly. "Go back to Sam." There was a note of bitterness in his voice that made Wilson wince.
"Don't... don't do this, House. You've worked so hard..."
"What's the point ?" House yelled at him, and stared back at the bottle, still sitting in the little alcove. Then he looked back at Wilson, despair in his eyes. "What's the point when nothing ever changes? I've done everything Nolan told me to, everything . I tried! It doesn't make any difference, it never will. Nothing ever changes. I cut off a woman's leg today. Did you hear that? I cut off her leg while she screamed at me to stop. I did it to save her life, and she died anyway. She fucking died, Wilson!"
He turned around and grabbed one of the bottles. Wilson lunged at him, his hand going around House's where it gripped the bottle tightly. House shoved him away, trying to get him to let go and overbalanced. He fell to the ground heavily and took Wilson with him.
They ended up in a tangle of arms and legs, the Vicodin came loose and rolled across the floor. House reached a hand out for it and Wilson knocked it aside.
"Wilson, get the fuck off me!" House yelled, his gaze on the pills.
"No! I'm not going to let you go down that road again. You start taking Vicodin again, you'll be killing yourself. I'm not going to let that happen."
House pushed against him, but Wilson held tight, keeping himself between House and the Vicodin.
"What do you care? You have Sam, you've moved on, you don't need me." There was a catch in his voice, and a hollowness. Wilson knew he'd only have one shot at bringing House back from the brink.
"I do need you, House. I'll always need you. You're all I have."
House stopped his struggling and stared at him, surprise in his expression. Their faces were inches apart and Wilson knew the truth of his statement would be evident to House.
"Wilson... " House said, his voice quiet.
"House!" A female voice sounded through the apartment, followed by the sound of running footsteps. Cuddy appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the sight of the two of them on the floor, the bottle of Vicodin and the glass shards that covered everything.
House gaped at Cuddy, then quickly glanced back to Wilson.
“I’m hallucinating,” he whispered, arms falling to his sides, all of the fight of just a few moments ago draining out of him.
Cuddy’s eyes quickly fell to the orange vial laying by the bathtub.
“You relapsed?” she asked quietly.
“What the hell do you care?” House spat, but his voice came out more raw, exhausted.
Wilson slid discreetly off of House, holding up the two full orange vials.
“You didn’t,” he said, shaking them for emphasis before slipping them into his pocket. He began to clean up the remains of the mirror.
Cuddy frowned, noticing a wet spot soaking through House’s t-shirt. She knelt down to examine it further, reaching a hand out, only to have House pull away.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
“You’re bleeding,” Cuddy told him. “You need to--”
“I know what I need to do,” House snapped.
Wilson knelt down beside Cuddy, a first-aid kit in hand. He slipped an arm beneath House’s shoulders, expecting him to protest. When House merely continued to look at the floor, Wilson nodded toward Cuddy. Together, they lifted House to his feet and began guiding him to the bedroom.
House didn’t put up a fight as they eased him down into a sitting position on the bed. He knew that once morning fell, Wilson would be back with Sam and Cuddy would be back with Lucas. This had to all be a hallucination, his mind’s cruel way of welcoming him back into the dark shadows of his addiction.
He winced as he felt Wilson’s fingertips curling around the hem of his shirt, brushing against his skin. Wilson lifted House’s shirt up and over his head, setting it aside. House looked up briefly to see Cuddy slowly removing the bandage that he had hastily placed over the wound on his shoulder.
Wilson had already soaked a few cotton balls with disinfectant. He placed them in Cuddy’s hand.
“Thanks,” Cuddy told Wilson, smiling up at him gently. She curled her hand around his and squeezed, a silent understanding spoken between them. She began blotting at House’s cut.
Wilson took out a piece of gauze and tape, handing them to Cuddy when she’d finished cleaning House’s wound. She rebandaged it carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles, allowing her fingers to linger just a bit longer than necessary. When House’s eyes met hers, she quickly pulled them away.
“Why are you here?” House asked her. “Or maybe a better question would be, are you even here?”
His eyes darted around the room, fully expecting to see Amber, hear that familiar sinister giggle.
“You didn’t take the Vicodin,” Wilson reiterated. He slipped his hands into his pockets, running his thumbs over the fully capped vials. “You’re not hallucinating.”
House stared at both his friends, they seemed very real. Wilson's body had been pressed against his, on the floor, and Cuddy's gentle hands had tended to his wounds. But Cuddy had seemed real the last time too. She'd sat with him while he detoxed, she'd held him, she'd loved him. His own mind had tricked him into believing something that had never happened. He'd remembered every minute of the time they'd spent together and every feeling. It had been utterly real, until it hadn't been.
He remembered the crushing loss of realising that just when he thought he was on the brink of a new life, of a way out of his misery, it had all been a cruel trick of his mind. He'd still been alone.
Now he didn't know what to believe.
His mind was fogged, his body was aching and he was utterly exhausted. Wearily he shook his head and decided to treat this as real. Maybe in reality he was sitting on the floor of his bathroom, alone, in a drugged haze, but he'd take this anyway. Cuddy and Wilson, here, together, with him. No Sam, no Lucas.
"You need to get some rest," Cuddy said and then Wilson was there, with a clean tee-shirt which he helped House pull over his head. He went to House's belt and began loosening it. House stared dully at him, unable to even raise a quip. Wilson finished with the belt and undid House's jeans, slipping them down to his ankles and then off after removing his shoes.
"Not tonight, dear, I have a headache," House finally managed and Wilson laughed softly.
"Maybe another night then."
House felt that peculiar moment of hope, and fear, that he'd felt when Wilson had been trying to restrain him earlier.
You're all I have , Wilson had said.
He felt a blanket descend over his battered body and then Cuddy was there, fussing over it, and him.
"Get some sleep, House. You've had a rough day." Her hands were gentle as she tucked it around him and he allowed himself to feel the comfort in the gesture. His eyes met Wilson's again and he saw a calm reassurance there.
"I thought you'd gone," he said to them. Cuddy to Lucas, and Wilson to Sam. When he'd lost Hanna he'd thought he was alone - that he had nothing. Now they were both here.
"We're not going anywhere," Cuddy said.
His last sight before his eyes closed and he fell asleep was of the two of them standing over his bed, keeping him safe.
He hoped that he could still see them when he woke up.
"What happened today, out there?" Wilson asked Cuddy as he bent over the bathtub, cleaning it of all the pieces of shattered glass that covered the surface. Trust House to make everything a dramatic gesture.
"We hurt each other." Cuddy was sitting on the edge of the tub, as if she didn't have the strength to move. She'd apparently found some time to clean up after returning from the disaster site but she looked bone weary.
Wilson smiled ruefully. "That tends to happen, with House."
"I told him we were moving on, you and I. That we were going on with our lives without him. I told him he had nothing." She stared into space, reliving the moment.
Wilson frowned, but he knew it wasn't like he hadn't said the same sort of things to House before. That he'd end up alone and miserable.
"You told him we'd moved on, and yet here you are."
"He's a hard man to move on from." Cuddy said, her gaze going to her hand. "I broke it off with Lucas tonight."
Wilson stared at her. House had told him earlier in the day that Cuddy and Lucas were moving in together. Now Cuddy had left him?
Cuddy’s eyes rose to meet Wilson’s. Wilson’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he returned to busying himself with cleaning up the shards of glass.
“Does Sam know you’re here?” Cuddy asked him.
“No,” Wilson replied quietly without looking up at her. He winced, drawing in a sharp breath as he sliced the pad of his index finger on one of the glass pieces. He pushed himself to his feet, his knee brushing against Cuddy’s as he turned to run his finger under the sink faucet. Once the wound was clean, he shut off the water, and began fumbling around in the medicine cabinet for a bandage.He could still feel Cuddy’s gaze on him as he struggled to open the paper packaging.
Cuddy gently placed her hand over Wilson’s, allowing it to linger before she took the bandage and opened it for him. She tore off the pieces of paper, wrapping the bandage around his finger. She pressed down a little to ensure that the cut would clot.
“Thanks,” Wilson mumbled.
“No problem,” she replied, her fingers still pressed to his.
Cuddy blushed, lips parting to say something when she and Wilson heard a groan and thump coming from House’s room. Wilson exchanged a concerned glance with Cuddy before they both quickly rushed to House’s bedside.
House’s face glistened with sweat, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Pathetic whimpers escaped him as he thrashed around on the bed, muttering incoherently. Wilson placed his hand on House’s shoulder, only to have House violently knock it away.
“House,” Cuddy tried gently.
“Not...real,” House ground out.
Wilson eased down beside House, gripping both of his shoulders to still him.
“House,” he said, a bit louder than Cuddy had.
House froze beneath his touch. Wilson remained unmoving, studying House closely. He couldn’t be entirely sure whether House was awake or still asleep. When House finally opened his eyes, Cuddy breathed a sigh of relief.
Wilson swallowed thickly. He could see that House’s eyes were moist and red around the edges. He suspected House had been on the verge of tears, and knew he was right when House tore his gaze away from him.
“It’s okay,” Wilson told him quietly, feeling the bed dip as Cuddy sat down on House’s other side.
“Thought you moved on,” House said hoarsely.
Wilson worried his bottom lip. He wondered if House had forgotten what happened earlier, or if he still thought he was hallucinating. He grabbed House’s wrist, placing House’s palm against his own chest.
House’s cheeks reddened, but he didn’t make any move to pull away, didn’t say another word.
“You’re not hallucinating,” he told House softly.
Cuddy placed her hand on House’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. A heavy silence fell over the room before Wilson spoke again.
“You should...try to go back to sleep,” he said. “You’ve got to rest if those wounds are going to heal.”
House looked from one to the other of them, his eyes wide. Wilson had seldom seen him looking this open, or this vulnerable.
"If this is real, what are you two doing here? Don't you have to go home to the little woman?" He asked Wilson and then turned to Cuddy. "And what about the rugrat and the boytoy?"
"I broke our engagement off, and Rachel is with Marina." Cuddy answered simply as both men watched her. "What I had with Lucas was... pleasant, nice."
"You don't want pleasant, and nice." House said, with a trace of satisfaction through his exhaustion. "You never did."
"None of us do." Cuddy said, her gaze going up to encompass Wilson as well. "We don't do normal."
Wilson let out a small laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "I think you can say that again."
"We can talk about this later, but Wilson's right - you need to get some sleep, you're exhausted." Cuddy said, giving House's shoulder another squeeze. She went to stand up and felt a hand grabbing hers.
"Stay," House said.
"We're not going anywhere, House." Wilson said, repeating Cuddy's earlier words. "We're just cleaning up. Somebody smashed a large mirror out there."
House looked away from them, his body tense. With a glance at Cuddy, Wilson realised what he wanted. He slowly kicked off his shoes and watched as Cuddy did the same. They lay down on either side of House, their bodies touching his. Wilson pulled a blanket over them.
"Sleep now, House. You're safe." Wilson said, reaching over his friend's body to briefly clasp Cuddy's hand. "We're with you and we're not leaving. Ever."
~ End
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Date: 2013-07-04 11:34 am (UTC)Nicely done, ladies. :-)
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Date: 2013-07-05 11:04 am (UTC)