And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
"House, what do you want now?" Wilson growled at House, who had just come bouncing into his office with that look on his face. The one that said, I'm up to no good. And Wilson was not in the mood for it right now.
House looked down at Wilson, his mouth crooking down on one side in half a frown. "What? What happened?" House asked.
"What makes you think something happened?"
"Well, you usually at least let me get out two or three words before you totally harsh my buzz. So something must have happened."
"Nothing. I…I… I'm just behind on paperwork," Wilson stammered. "I have a patient I'm trying to enroll in a drug trial. I have notes to update in charts. I need to—"
"No," House asserted, looking at Wilson from under his furrowed brow, "something is going on. I know that patented deflection. I'm the master of deflection." He lowered himself into the chair across the desk, rubbing his thigh for a moment then occupied his restless hands by twirling his cane back and forth. "I can wait here all night."
"House…"
Wilson frowned. He opened his mouth then closed it again, swallowing whatever he was thinking of saying. He tilted his pen toward the chart he was making a notation in but gave up and dropped the heavy titanium ballpoint on the desk with a thud. He scrubbed both hands over his face.
House leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands cupped over the end of his cane, his eyes big with a touch—just a small touch—of carefully rationed concern. "Well?"
"Fine."
When Wilson didn't continue, House raised an eyebrow expectantly.
"My older brother called. He wants to go see Danny."
"Your other brother?" House snapped his fingers a couple of times in the air.
"Ben."
"Right. Ben." House sat back in the chair. "So what's the problem?"
Sighing, Wilson mirrored House's posture and pushed away from his desk to lean back. He rubbed his forehead.
"Ben… well, I just don't think it's a good idea. Danny's… fragile right now. He's just gotten started back on his meds. Exposing him to Ben right now isn't a good idea."
"'Exposing him'? You sound like you're talking about a pathogen, not a brother."
Wilson pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Ben never understood Danny. By the time Danny started having problems, Ben was an adult, had a life of his own, a career planned out. He was… driven… to make the life for himself that he envisioned. And Danny was never going to be part of that life."
"So then why does he want to go see him now?"
"Guilt? To prove that he didn't do anything wrong by kicking him to the curb?" Wilson held up a hand to forestall another question. "When we were younger, I was the one who always tried to fix things in the family. Smooth over when there were arguments, make peace."
"No, you?" House quipped. The sarcasm was palpable.
Frowning, Wilson glared at House before continuing. "Do you know why I wanted to become a doctor?" He paused for a short beat, but before House could interject, he continued. "Because I thought if I became a doctor, I could fix Danny. Not 'people like Danny'. Not 'people who were mentally ill'. Danny. I thought I fix Danny. That's all I wanted in high school, in college, was to find a way to fix him. Not treat with medications, but to cure him. To cure schizophrenia.
"When Danny disappeared while I was in med school, I realized that I couldn't do it. So I went into oncology instead.
"Ben came to my college graduation, and I told him about wanting to fix Danny. I told him how in high school, I sat in Shul one day and tried to make a deal with God that I would give up my happiness, that I would dedicate my life to helping other people if Danny could just be normal again.
Wilson's voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Ben laughed at me. He said that if I knew what was good for myself, I would forget about Danny, tell our parents to put him away in an institution, and start living my life for me."
House finally got in a comment. "So Ben is an ass. And an idiot."
"After Danny disappeared…"
"Wilson. It wasn't your fault."
"I wondered—for a long time—if I wasn't just subconsciously doing what Ben told me to do. Brush him off, throw him under the bus, kick him to the curb, and go out and live my life.
"I couldn't deny that Danny was dragging me down. I've gone over and over what I said to him that night, when I told him I couldn't talk to him because I had to study. Did I say that I didn't want to deal with his complaining anymore, or did I just think it? Did I say anything to give him the idea that I didn't care about him anymore? Something that drove him to run away, go off his meds, and disappear into the nameless crowd?" He brushed a hand over his eyes.
"That's not you, Wilson!" House exclaimed. "You don't ever give up on people. You take patients with a five percent survival rate, and you get them into experimental treatment studies." He tapped the paperwork still open on the desk. "You don't give up, you don't. If you did, you would have given up on me long ago." He looked from under his brow at Wilson. "And here we are. You can't fix me, Wilson. You can't fix Danny. But that's not your fault. And in the end, just caring enough to keep trying means that the Bens of the world aren't going to change you. You aren't your brother.
"Call the hospital and tell them that Ben shouldn't see Danny." House ordered flatly. "Then tell Ben that he needs to go live his own life." He smirked. "And then tell him to take his attempt to fix his own conscience and shove it."
Wilson smirked back. "Yeah. That's what I should do."
"No, what you should do right now is come down to the holiday party and have some eggnog. I spiked it myself. And if Cuddy drinks enough of it, clothing is going to start coming off. And we both need to be there to see that." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Happy Hanukkah, Wilson."
Wilson let out a sigh and felt his dark mood start to lift. "Merry Christmas, House."