"The Only Way Out"
One-shot
Completed
Warning: Drug-use
Disclaimer: I don't own House, David Shore does.
A/N: Please R&R! This is my first completed fic! I'd appreciate the feedback! Any grammar mistakes are mine.
House sat on his couch, his bad leg propped up with pillows. He was watching TV and drinking a whiskey tumbler. His eyes were bloodshot, just like always from the pain and lack of sleep. House' hair was disheveled just like always and his tired blue eyes were dulling from the alcohol as he sat and stared at the TV. On the side table next to him sat a bottle of whiskey, his pills, a tourniquet and a syringe of morphine. The syringe was filled up to the top with the deadly drug. Reaching over to his pill bottle, he took off the top and shook out two pills placed them in his mouth, dry swallowed them and followed it by part of the whiskey tumbler. He closed his eyes and sighed. He was tired, tired of the pain, of Wilson's psychobabble, of Cuddy's ranting. Hell he was tired of living and he just wanted to end it all.
When he had gotten home from work an hour earlier he had ordered Chinese food, eaten it and left the empty food cartons on the TV table in front of him. Earlier that week he had gotten the locks changed on his door and only one new key, so that Wilson couldn't get in. So there he was, sitting on his couch, getting high and drunk and he didn't care at all. Not about his parents, the Ducklings, Wilson, Cuddy or anyone.
Rubbing his bad leg he took another whiskey tumbler and saw that he was more than half done with the bottle. He smiled a wry drunken smile and continued to watch TV. He glanced at his pill bottle and saw that he had about 15 or so pills left. His blue hazed over eyes shifted to the syringe lying on the table nearby the pill bottle.
He picked up the tourniquet and placed it around the upper part of his right arm tying it off using his teeth. Grabbing the pill bottle he popped off the top, dumped out the remaining pills and placed five of them at the time in his mouth and dry swallowed them. After the Vicodin entered his body he chased it down with a healthy dose of whiskey. Before he closed his eyes he grabbed the syringe off the table, uncapped it with his teeth and plunged it into the bulging vein that he had found in his right arm.
He lay back on the couch, allowing the drugs course through his system and he closed his eyes and smiled. It was a smile that was full of peace because soon he'd be done and all the pain would free from all the pain in this world.
House could feel his body start to grow cold but in a strange way he felt warm, warmer than he'd ever felt in his life. It was the kind of warm that came from being wrapped up in blankets; it was very peaceful and comforting to him. The soon to be dead man could feel his heart begin to slow down and only a few moments later he was gone.
Through all of this, House didn't hear Wilson's voice or his knocking on the door. Wilson found his best friend lying on his couch he had gotten a spare key from the super of House' building, his bag leg propped up on pillows, with a smile of contentment on his face and a syringe sticking out of his right arm. Wilson knew that House was now at peace with his life and he took his best friend's hands in his own and held them as long as he could. But Wilson knew the truth-that he'd never seen House' smiling face again, hear his sarcasm and rudeness. He'd miss that the most. The oncologist stayed like this for several minutes until he felt House' body getting very cold.
Feeling the tears slide down his cheeks, he wiped them away and then he fished out his cell phone and dialed Cuddy's number and told her the news. His voice broke as he spoke the sad news to her. Wilson knew as did Cuddy, that this was House' only way out; despite all of their attempts to help him get better, they both knew that House finally had some peace in his life.