A/N: Again, this is another weird drabble that's been languishing in my computer. Haven't written anything House-related for ages - hope you like it nonetheless :)
As soon as the doors behind him closed with a heavy metallic clang, Dr. Gregory House knew that the week ahead of him was going to be hell. Which was proved when he broke out of the hands of the nurses in a rare feat of desperation, locked himself into the pharmacy and managed to overdose spectacularly on some over-the-counter painkiller. As he felt his pain fade, his lips twitched upward in a crooked smile and he thought idly about Cuddy.
When House opened his eyes, a bright light greeted him, which soon faded to reveal a familiar bathroom wall. He slowly brought himself up, one hand on the nearby sink, eyes warily flicking from side to side. He vaguely became aware that he was wearing his usual night attire, and with a pang of relief, realised that he was in his apartment – with no pain down his right leg. He paced down his hallway as fast as he could before he visibly recoiled, as if confronted with a brick wall.
This wasn't his apartment. It couldn't be his apartment. After all, there was no way that it could be broken into by Kutner.
House shook his head briefly before staring at the turned Kutner, trying to look as annoyed and as intimidating as possible. "I've gotta be dead."
Kutner didn't turn around, engrossed in making a sandwich. "Not yet." Kutner's superior screwed his eyes shut once more – he had heard that phrase before. "Yet?"
He finally turned around, apologetic oh-so-Kutner smile in place, shrugging his shoulders. It was then that House realised that he wasn't actually in his apartment.
It was Kutner's.
Dumbfounded, he slowly moved towards his bedroom. "I'd rather you didn't go there," he said quietly, taking a tub of mayonnaise to his right with practised ease.
"How come?" House asked, not stopping.
"I died there. Nothing's changed," he said gently. An awkward silence passed between them before Kutner let out a sound of triumph, turning around with his finished sandwich. "As much as I enjoy your company, House, this is my house, not yours," he paused to look confused, before chuckling at himself, House glaring at him to continue. "You don't belong here. The door's that way," he gestured with the sandwich.
"Why did you do it?" House abruptly and impatiently asked.
"Do what?"
"Cut the crap!" House shouted.
"Do you really need to know?" Kutner said, curious.
"Everything has a reason," House fired back.
"But you want to know why you didn't see it coming," Kutner moved closer. "You care!" he grinned. House's glare pierced through his sunny exterior. "Well, okay, fine. The truth is … oh wow, I must be a pretty good actor to fool you!" he smiled while House did not share his amusement.
"Okay, fine. My turn. House … how did you get so pathetic as to suicide?" House spluttered.
"Like you can talk! You haven't answered my question. Why did you do it?" Kutner finally paused, eyes losing their glint and becoming emptier; darker.
"Things screwed up. And I, in turn, screwed up," he said simply. "But you're in rehab."
"I've seen better days," House spat.
"Hm. Lawrence Kutner – shot in head. Gregory House – overdose? Really?" He was stunned into silence as House's voice finally cracked.
"I don't want to go back … I can't …"
"Rehab is made for people like you. They must looove you. Surely?"
"Why did you do it suddenly? Why didn't you … "
"Take time off and go to Hawaii?" Kutner said, smile emphasising sarcasm. House shrugged helplessly. "I didn't want to have a break. I wanted to die," he said blithely. House cocked his head to the side, as if to say, 'Good point'.
"You're not dead. Even though you're a jerk and a bastard, you're still not dead," Kutner said with a hint of dry irony. "I suppose one percent chance of getting better and not screwing anything else up is better than no chance at all?" He gestured to the door as House's lips tightened, preparing to accommodate the useless thing that was his leg once more.
As he put his hands on the doorknob, he heard Kutner speak one last time. "Oh, I forgot. If you feel like crap, take that as payback for making my mom cry." House hadn't remembered him with such a bitter tone to his voice before.
And indeed, as he opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't, the deafening headache and the overwhelming taste of bile did feel like that Kutner had punched him in the gut while kicking him in the head.