A/N: Let's begin again…begin the begin…Um, sorry about that. This here is a House/Wilson soon-to-be slash that has nothing to do with my other H/W stories. Hope you enjoy it.
I wasn't supposed to care anymore, and for a while I didn't. I was going to walk away from him, never lay eyes on him again. We weren't friends anymore, we never were. When I said those words and left him standing in my empty office that was going to be the end of it. I was going get a new job, get new friends, and move on with my new life. A new life free from all the headaches, pain, misery, and seemingly endless neediness of Gregory House. It would be a weight off my shoulders. I never needed his so-called friendship to begin with. After all, we were never friends. Goodbye, House. I hate your guts and never want to see you again.
His mother got my new number and called me, begging me to drag her son's sorry ass to his father's funeral. I always liked Blythe House. I could never say no to her and she damn well knew it. Seems like House did pick up a few things from his mother after all. Too bad it wasn't tact and the ability to keep his mouth shut. I should have said no. That's what I should have done. I should have said that I wouldn't be able to make him go somewhere he didn't want to and hung up. But when did I ever do what I should have done when it came to House? And how could I turn down the desperate request of a woman who had just lost her husband of half a century?
I shouldn't have picked up the damn phone at all.
One little phone call changed everything. Just like before. Funny how these things work out.
"I'm not doing this because I care," I said after he woke up and realized where he was and where we were going.
Drugging him was my idea. There was no other way to get him into car, and neither Cuddy or I were keen on forcing him at gunpoint or something else that might end up hurting his leg. It was also my idea to have Cuddy drug him. I didn't want to see me, at least not then and not in the hospital. He would have gone ballistic, and he would have also suspected that something was up--that I was only there because I wanted something from him. And he would have been right, as usual. Thankfully his new thought-to-be-SARS-patient provided the perfect excuse for Cuddy to waltz into his office and give him an injection. She told me that he didn't even question it as me and a rather hulking and strong male nurse carried House to the car.
"You don't?" House croaked.
He was still a bit groggy and rubbed his eyes. He'd been out for at least two hours and I had driven at least a hundred miles. No turning back now. From the corner of my eye I thought I could see a ghost of a smile on his face.
"No," I answered, still staring straight ahead.
"My mom didn't call Cuddy, she called you."
"She did." No reason to lie. I kept my eyes on the road.
"You drugged me." Strangely he sounded more amused than angry.
"Cuddy drugged you."
"That's right. You don't care enough to drug me," he muttered, looking out the window at the farms and cows we were driving by.
"Your mom cares," I said pointedly. "She wants you there. It's the least you can do…for her if not for anyone else. You do care about your mother, right?"
"So go to the funeral. Make your mom happy. Be the good son for once."
"I don't want to be there."
"I hate him. He's a bastard. Now he's a dead bastard and my feelings haven't changed." He patted his pockets, looking alarmed. "Where the hell is my Vicodin?"
"I've got it."
"Ooohhh…I see," he smirked. "My leash. Making me sit and beg like a good little doggy. Is that what the nice Mrs. House told you to do in order to get me to say goodbye, Daddy, I'll see you in hell? Give it here. My leg hurts."
I took the bottle from my inside jacket pocket and handed him a pill. He looked at me like I had just told him we were on our way to join the circus as the new trapeze act.
"Just one?" he gaped.
He dry-swallowed the pill and said, "You're choking me with that leash. Making sure I don't run away. I can't run, you know. Did you forget that while you were busy forging your fabulous new life without me? So how's it going? Are you done with the whole woe-is-me act yet? Have a new best friend yet? Do you have to beat back all the pretty ladies with a stick?"
I ignored his last few remarks and said, "I promised your mother I would get you to the funeral. That's all I'm doing."
"That's quite a promise for someone else's mother, especially when said promise involves being trapped in a car with me for hours on end. How much is she paying you?"
"She's not paying me anything."
"Sure," he snorted. "You're transporting the person you hate most in the world to the funeral of the person he hates the most in the world. All for one lousy promise to a mother who isn't yours. And this all seems logical to you?"
"I promised your mother."
"You do know promises were made to broken."
"Not this one."
"We'll see about that. Pull over, I need to pee."
Keeping my foot squarely on the gas pedal, I reached between the seats and pulled out a plastic bottle. "Here."
The bottle received a cursory glance from him before being unceremoniously tossed into the back seat. "No, thanks. I'd rather go on the floor."
His hands went to his belt buckle, but then something caught his eye. "You bought used floor mats?" House asked incredulously, reaching for the floor. Soon the mat dangled from his hand like a dead fish.
I didn't answer.
He chuckled, then rolled down the window and tossed out the mat. Not that he wouldn't have done the same thing if the mats had come straight from the factory five minutes before I poured him into the car.
"Hope you have some paper towels," he said, undoing his zipper.
"Hold it!" I held up a hand in surrender. "There's a rest stop about five miles down the road, all right?"
"Fine with me." He zipped his jeans back up, sat back and resumed staring out the window.
I should have made Cuddy give him a double dose.