This story was inspired by an a bunch of quotes that inspired me to start writing little paragraphs, and in the end I ended up forming a story around them. This one shot kinda jumps between Wilson and House's point of view on the subjects, I tried to help some with the confusion by putting their name before their parts. I hope it helps. Sorry
House had always been one to break the rules, had always been a trouble maker. Ever since Wilson had known him when they were younger, even as they grew up, even as House aged, he still never grew out of the childish habit of breaking rules. But if there was ever one thing about breaking the rules that Wilson came to figure out, it was this fact: If you broke the rules, then they broke in some way, Wilson was sure that was exactly what had happened to House. How else had he become such an arrogant ass? How else would he have ever ended up with a permanent bum leg do to his negligence? How else would he have ended up in jail, and rehab, and all those other thing?
How else could Wilson explain the way House had always seemed so...broken?
America is not, never has been, and never will be, what the songs and poems call it. A land of plenty. Trains and buses will always be late, always crowded with "service men". The wars we fight will always be fought far away from America, and they will never end. People will always kill for money, power, revenge and any other reason they can think of. Dictator's will always scheme for more power, will always cheat for what they want, and yet what they can't have. The authority will always take advantage of their powers. Every officer has made one arrest, or has killed at least one person, solely on the fact of their own intuition, and selfishness. Nothing in America stands for very long, including it's people, who are always either leaving or already gone. American's will always stick their nose into others business, they will always cry over spelt milk and anger over the smallest injustice. And people...people will always lie.
"Sometimes life beats you down and keeps on kicking. Sometimes you wonder why you even bother trying. Everything happens at some point or another, so why try and avoid it? You'll just end up with a far worse consequence then you began with. People die, Wilson, you need to realize this." House tossed the ball at the wall, it bounced back, nicking Wilson's ear on the way back to his hand, before he caught it.
"House, why can't you just be nice for once!" Wilson snapped as he followed after House, the doctor making his way towards his office, placing the ball into his jacket pocket. "She's a little girl, for God's sakes!" He followed at the others heels as he pushed open the glass doors and made towards his desk. "I mean, you didn't have to go and say that she had no hope! I mean we can do this surgery and maybe-"
"Maybe she dies faster. Maybe instead of three years, she gets a day. She has no hope, Wilson. She should just live what time she has left instead of trying to throw it away on a miracle experiment."
"Well how do you know it won't work, huh? How do you know it won't cure her completely?"
"Cause there are no such things as Miracles..."
House pushed open the sliding glass door as he stepped into the patients room. The small frail girl that occupied the bed looked up at him, her eyes red, with what had obviously been tears, even if she had stopped some time ago. She was only 12. House, slowly making his way over to her bed, pulled up a chair to sit next to her, but the girl never bothered to look at him. Her eyes kept trained to the back wall of the hospital room.
"Enjoy life today, while you can." House muttered and the girl slowly turned to look at him ."Yesterday is gone, and tomorrow may never come." House leaned heavily on his case as the girl studied him but never said a word. "I was once told that by some old man." He informed her, a long pause came before he finally spoke again. "He died the next day..."
The girl opened her mouth for a moment like she wanted to say something, but after a moment settled back down with a simple. "No he didn't."
"You're right." House shrugged his shoulders. "I read that in a book somewhere." He finally leaned back into his chair. "But it's true. There's no certainty when you're going to die, at least now soon, but even if you do, what's the point of sitting here and wasting the last of your life in a hospital bed? Sitting and waiting for death to come for you?"
The girl furrowed her brows as she turned to look at the door, like she was worried her parents might enter, like she was about to divulge some secret. "...what will happen to me if I die?"
House waited for her to turn back to him, but she never did, her eyes trained on the doorway. He sighed. "I don't know. No one really knows, regardless of all the speculators. Some say you'll go to that big white place in the sky, some say you just...stop existing, your light just goes out and your at your end...but for me...I believe I've been there. Or somewhere close to there. Could have just been a hallucination, lack of oxygen to the brain at that time, but...I believe, maybe, just maybe...there may be someone waiting there for you, wherever that is." House watched the girl as she turned to finally look at him, her eyes fresh with tears.
"Are you waiting?" House furrowed his brows in confusion as the girl turned to stare down at his cane. "Are you waiting for him to come?" House was speechless for a moment, more do to the fact that the girl still wasn't making much sense to him. "You said it was no use sitting around and waiting for death to come and get me, right? But isn't that all you do? I heard them talking about you, they say all you do is sit around. That you don't ever do anything. Is it cause you're waiting for something? Are you...waiting for him too?"
House stared down at his leg, and for the longest time, he couldn't come up with anything. To think, he was made speechless by a 12 year old..."No..." He finally said. "I'm waiting for someone else to come get me." Amber flashed through his mind and he turned to look back at the girl. "And I'm sure, she'll be taking her time."
They say that in life everyone wins, but in truth, in order for someone to win, someone else has to lose. Turning that "everyone" into half. Half the people win, while half of them lose. That the way it works with each case, House could save someone, sure. But somewhere in that hospital, while he was saving one person, someone else, who had needed him too, was dieing, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was the way of life, someone wins, someone loses. It's a continuous cycle he was certain he'd never see end.
"Do you think that the body is trapped forever in the grave?" House looked up fro the floor, finding the young girl had awoke, her face was pale, dark circles under her red eyes, and her voice came out hoarse. Despite everything, she had in fact taken a turn for the worst. His brows furrowed in question, but nothing verbally came from his mouth, so the girl continued on. "We live on in memory, that's what mommy said...but it's hard, you know...people always worry about it. Grammy asked mommy the same thing when we went to go visit her in the hospital. Mommy never answered her, but I think about it a lot now..." House waited as the girl turned her head weakly to look towards the door, as if her mother would walk in at that moment, but House was well aware that both Parents were currently not even at the hospital. He also knew though, he wasn't willing to think of where they were. "I wonder...if mommy thinks about it too..."
Usually, we care about what happens next in a story because we're hooked by a conflict, or a struggle. This struggle might take place between two people or even between a person and a while group. Or maybe it takes place between a person and something non human- a typhoon, a computer virus...a disease. But conflicts can also take place within a person's own mind and heart. The desire to be peaceable might conflict with an urge to knock the shit out of a bully. A desire to win someone's friendship might conflict with a fear of rejection.
This...this goes the same for real life, and often, more then an not, an external conflict results in an internal problem. Facing that Typhoon is going to produce fear and in most cases, a desire to run was exactly how House felt as he was stared down at the sleeping child. Her heart monitor beeping slowly as her breathing seemed to stop and go. Even though it wasn't a Typhoon he was facing, even though it wasn't his fears...it was a small girls' life he was dealing with. And even though House had promised himself when he had started this job that he would never grow close to patients. Even though he had always tried his hardest to put a barrier between them, to hardly ever walk into that patients room...he had found himself sitting with the girl more times then now when at work...
She died Monday morning, 3 in the morning, to be precise. House had left to go home, most likely with plans to come back the next day and do the same routine he'd acquired over the past week. He'd even so much as started bringing his case files and board into the room with him. No one knew why, but House had seemed to grow attached to the girl. No surprise to Wilson. He thought the hospital just kept forgetting. House was human.
So it was no surprise when House turned up the next day to find out the news, he had disappeared into his office, and had then proceeded to go home early. It was obvious that Wilson planned to check on him, but when Wilson arrived later that night, he had found the apartment eerily silent, other then for the soft tune of the radio that was just audible from the other side of the door.
"House?" Wilson knocked on the door once more, but still there was no answer. He bit his lip, pulling out the extra key from his pocket and went to unlock the door, but to his surprise it was already unlocked. The door knob twisting easily beneath his hand as he walked first thought that hit him as he entered the room was that House had been robbed, but nothing was missing. The television was still there, the piano was pushed off to the corner but still present, the radio still playing it's soft music, and House's wallet left haphazardly on the table stood out. The only real thing that screamed robbery was the fact that everything was thrown about, papers scattered the floor, a broken vase that had obviously been throw against the wall, shattered on the ground, water soaked into the carpet. "House?" Wilson moved to look around the couch, to see the most damage, House's empty pill bottle lay on the floor, three empty bottles of straight Vodka littered the ground. And house...unmoving beside them, sprawled out across his carpet.
"House..." His voice hitched in his throat as he moved to feel the cold body of the other, first panicking as he felt for a pulse, luckily he got one. He groaned, lifted House from the ground as he dragged him into the bathroom, trying to shake the older man awake. "House, house...HOUSE!" House never responded, Wilson allowing the man to fall back against the bathroom wall as he turned on the sink and ran his hand under cold water before he cupped the water, tossing it into House's blue's peeked out at him from half draw lids, and Wilson bent down, shaking him. "House, how man Vicodin did you take?!" He shook the other, but House didn't bother to answer, seemingly trying to focus on Wilson. "How man did you take?!" Wilson demanded and House turned to stare down at his hands, raising it up as he watched it swerve and twist in front of his face until finally he started to hold up one finger, two...three, four five...House started over again before finally giving up and allowing his hand to fall back to his side. "HOUSE!"
"I...don't know..." House finally muttered, his voice hoarse with stress and slurred from alcohol. "Doesn't matter..." Wilson made a face as he hosted House up once again and dragged him over to the toilet, but House had already fallen unconscious.
Wilson sat there, on the couch, House in his lap, his chest rising and falling slowly as the other watched him. He had made House puke again and again, until he was sure that all the pills were out of his system, and now all that was left was the smell of alcohol and vomit that wafted up from the older had drugged himself up and drank until he was drunk and couldn't think straight. He had destroyed his house and Wilson had found plenty of cuts, most likely from the shattered vase, covering House's hands. And there was only one thing that kept racing through Wilson's mind.
He had called Cuddy, told her what had happened. She had said he should be brought in, but Wilson had yet to do so. But there was something Cuddy had muttered that he was sure she hadn't meant for him to hear, cause now it was the only thing that echoed through his mind:
It was a punishment he inflicted on himself...
"In truth, if there is nothing worth living for, you're not really trying hard enough." House muttered as he gave the girl a look, she had started it up again, the talk of death, and their back and fourth banter had started once more. House mindlessly drawing up inspiration life quotes to try and win his point.
"What do you life for?" She asked, her question seemed to echo for a moment, but House gave it no thought, he was more focused on what he was supposed to answer with. What did he live for? Medicine? Saving people? The joys of modern television? No...he knew the answer.
"I live...for Wilson."
The girl smiled...
House awoke to find himself staring up at the ceiling. Or at least..he would have been if a sleeping Wilson's head hadn't been blocking it out. His apartment was dark and eerie, his radio turned off. He knitted his brows together for a moment, willing his eyes to focus on the one above him, instead of them falling into total darkness as his lips tried to drop. "Wilson..." The name rolled off his tongue in a whisper, and a bit hoarse, but it had still started the younger awake.
"House?" Wilson croaked, squinting his eyes as his vision moved to focus on the other. "...How do you feel?" He finally asked rather timidly, like he was afraid of the answer. House moved to sit up, letting out a grunt as his skull seemed to split, instead opting out to allowing his head to fall back into the younger doctor's lap.
"I have a splitting headache." He muttered, rubbing his eyes with one hand as his other reached into his pocket, rummaging around only to find no pill bottle within it's contents.
"You took them all." Wilson replied, House's eyes snapping onto him, as if he were crazy.
"You don't say." He huffed, causing Wilson to roll his eyes.
"Cuddy siad you had to come see her before you could get anymore either." A smug smirk tugged at the corner of his lip, as if this amused made a face.
"Reach into the drawer on the side table." He waved his hand over his head, as he pulled his other from his pocket to drape over his face once again. Wilson did as he was asked, reaching in and to his surprise found another bottle.
"I forged a note-"
"House." Wilson ground out through clenched teeth.
"What? It was your pad. It's not like anyone's gonna know."
"That's not the point!" Wilson snapped.
"Headache here." House grumbled, moving to cover both ears.
"Here." Wilson begrudgingly handed him the bottle, House taking it gratefully, throwing back two pills before storing the bottle into his pocket to replace the vacancy.
Silence fell across them as they sat there. Well, Wilson sat there, House lied there. The silence that enveloped the room seemed perfect for House, allowing him to forget everything for a moment as the Vicodin kicked in."You're always finding some way to kill yourself, you know that?" Wilson muttered, a small smile crossing his lips before it fell, and he let out a sigh. "...I swore I was gonna loose you this time..." House didn't turn from his spot, he simply stared at the blank television as Wilson's hand mindlessly stroked his hair.
"...Wilson..." House finally broke the silence that had settled in once again. "What do you live for?"
"What?" Wilson's hand fell from his face as he turned to give a confused look towards House.
"What keeps you getting up everyday and coming to work?"
Wilson scoffed at this as a small smile crossed his lips. "You." House finally turned up to stare at him, though Wilson couldn't read the expression the other was holding. "Someone has to make sure you don't kill yourself."
House turned to stare back at the television again, as the two resumed their positions. The silence falling over them but not unwelcomed as a small smile crossed the older doctor's face.
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