Title: My December

Disclaimer: Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

Note: This will be somewhat similar to past/current events but the story is mine.


Chapter One: Papercut

House was sitting in his office wasting time by bouncing a ball off the wall. Outside the rain that had been threatening to fall all day was finally wrapping the world in its cold embrace. Music streamed through the office from the speakers of his computer. The lyrics never reached his ears for his mind was miles away in another space and time. Every motion he made with the ball was automatic. In an hour his shift at work would be over and he would most likely still be sitting in the same exact position in his chair, his right leg stretched out straight in front of him. He found it to be the best position in keeping away the pain that throbbed every day.

In the hallway outside his office doctors and nurses and patients sought out their destinations, oblivious to the fact that he was behind the closed door. The blinds on the windows were closed so that no one could see inside. He kept the door locked in hopes of keeping visitors away. He wanted the peace and quite of his office, the solitude it offered him. He wanted this chance to be lost in his thoughts instead of thinking about ways to get what he wanted from his boss or from his co-workers. He wanted to search his mind for the understanding that he so desperately needed and wanted. He looked for answers to questions he'd never been asked before.

If the others only knew about the thoughts coursing through his mind, what would they say? To them he knew the answer to every question ever posed. Maybe when it came to medicine and diseases he was nearly always right but not when it came to the complexities of the human mind. He always told his team that people lied because it was true, people lie every day, it didn't matter if the lie was big or small, or if it posed a threat to someone or not, humans lied. It was part of the program instilled by the parents at a young age. He watched his own mother lie to his father day after day until she died. Part of him suspected that his father knew but why he never said anything was beyond him. That was one human function he didn't get.

And now here he was, lying to everyone around him over one thing or another. Only they never could tell if what he said was true or fiction. None of them really knew him for who he was, what he was like on the inside. All they saw was the abrasive doctor that broke rules left and right and spoke to his patients in a rude manor. What they didn't see was the pain he was dealing with. Not the physical pain in his leg. No, the emotional pain that he still hadn't found a way out of. He was rude and crude to everyone he met to keep them at arms length. He didn't want to get close to anyone for fear that they would see the real him; the person who ran from friends and relationships because of the hurt they caused him. And though it was only partially true, he let them think that he was crude so that he didn't get involved personally with his patients. Standing outside kept him from caring one way or the other. It let him do his job.

Yet, everything about him could be unraveled with just one word, with just one secret getting out. The secret that he didn't quite understand. He stopped throwing the ball at the wall and let it slip from his hands to bounce on the floor and eventually roll under his desk. He lay his head back against the chair with his eyes closed hoping, searching for anything. It didn't need to be a clear yes or no answer. He was willing to settle for some sort of sign or even an arrow pointing in the direction he should go. Anything was better than standing at the crossroad trying to figure out with path would lead to happiness.

"Well, I think I'll have to rethink my question," Wilson said as he came into the office through the door leading onto the balcony. House had forgotten to lock it, thinking that no one would come in that way. He was notorious for jumping the small brick wall and entering Wilson's office that way numerous times. Wilson had never done it to him, though.

"And what question are you rethink?" House asked him without bothering to open his eyes and truly acknowledge the oncologist's presence. "I hope it's that tie. You really should get rid of it. No one wears vertical-striped ties anymore."

Wilson brushed off his remark with a roll of his eyes before perching on the edge of House's desk; which for some reason was always meticulously clean. "I was going to bum a ride home with you since my car has been temperamental and finally decided to stop working all together. However, you're holed up in your office and appear to be on the verge of snoozing even though you have an hour of work left."

"For one thing, I'm not snoozing," he replied, placing his hands behind his head. "I'm merely searching my eyelids for holes. And why would you want me to give you a ride home? You do remember that I own a motorcycle, not a car, or was that tidbit of knowledge lost today while you were breaking horrible news to one of your tumor-ridden patients?"

With frustration and the slightest hint of annoyance Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. He was trying to keep the bite of anger from his words. For some reason he kept finding himself in House's office and still hadn't quite gotten over the fact that they'd shared an apartment for some time. Talking to the diagnostician was like walking through a patch of briar bushes, or pulling teeth from an alligator. Sometimes he was just as annoying and as painful as a tiny papercut.

"I'm well aware of the fact that you have a motorcycle, how could any of us forget?" Wilson told him, trying to block out the sound of the music flowing from the computer. "And I know that you park it where it won't get wet or covered in snow. I came to you for a ride because Foreman and Chase are busy, and last time I saw Cameron she was talking to Cuddy in hushed voices. Plus, I got a ride from her once and let's just say I'm not really looking forward to reliving the experience."

House sat up straight, opening his eyes and grabbing his cane from where he had hung it off his desk. "Fine, but I get the helmet and I don't want to hear any whining from you. Better wear your raincoat, it's really coming down." He limped toward the door and checked his watch. "Oh, and you had better gather your stuff. This doctor is leaving in tens minutes, preferably before Cuddy can pounce on me with whatever it is she's planning with Cameron."

He grabbed his coat and left the office, leaving Wilson to digest his words and decide if he really wanted a ride from him. As he made his way down the hallway he pulled the jacket on and pretended to be lost in thought when he saw Cuddy and Cameron standing in a far corner. With luck he was able to slip by them unnoticed. Stepping onto the empty elevator he let a smile form on his lips. He finally had some semblance of an answer to the question that had been haunting him. He was going to give Wilson a ride home on his motorcycle which meant Wilson would have to hold onto him. He chose to focus on that one thought and kept the others at bay as the elevator descended toward to the ground floor.