Truth or Consequences
by crazymadjo
This story takes place after Small Sacrifices.
Cuddy was still mad at him.
House could feel it in her touch, her breath. Practically taste it in her mouth. The way her muscles tensed under his hands, the way she gripped, almost clawed him in return. Okay, so she knows the apology was a lie, he thought. And she's angry. And we're having sex. We're having angry sex.
He loved angry sex. He thought of things he wanted to do to her, things he wanted her to do to him. He remembered their night in college, when it didn't matter. When they could do, or ask for anything. When they practically dared each other to go one step farther, one step higher. Now he kept his thoughts to himself, and just let it happen. Even as she brought him to the point of crying out, some part of him held back. Still unsure, still afraid.
When it was over, he lay there next to her, his heart pounding so hard he imagined she could hear it, his body tingling and relaxed and pain-free. He started at the ceiling, gathering his courage. Finally, he turned his head, just a little, and peeked. She was also staring at the ceiling, unfocused. A bit confused. He quickly looked away before she met his gaze. Not angry, he decided. He closed his eyes and sighed.
When he opened them again, sunlight was peeking through his bedroom curtains. Damn! He reached his right hand across the sheets, and encountered a slightly warm hollow beside him. Double damn.
He was sitting up in bed when she walked in, already half dressed. She smiled warmly, walked over to his side of the bed, and kissed him on the cheek.
Still mad, House sensed. He felt a pout form on his face, and added a few touches to make it extra pouty. Dipped his head a bit and looked up at her. He heard her catch her breath in a short gasp before she turned her back and fiddled with an earring. Score.
"Have to get to work," she said.
He reached out lazily and stroked the bed next to him. "Right now?" Another head dip, with a bit of little boy tilt thrown in for good measure. Don't overdo it, idiot, he mentally prompted himself. But she gave another little gasp, and betrayed a quick flash of a smile. Double score!
"Sorry." She leaned down and kissed him on the lips, turned, and left the room in a flourish of perfume.
Double NOT!
He savored the sounds of her preparing breakfast while he dressed. Contemplated trying to apologize again, and immediately discarded it. He was still turning it over in his brain without coming to any conclusion as he entered the living room, where she was finishing her meal. He couldn't decide what to say, but when she looked up at him, words came just the same. "Sam dumped Wilson." He suppressed the pleasure at how the clouds passed from her face as her eyes widened with shock.
"What! When?"
"Last night."
She just shook her head.
"Before you came over."
Her expression clouded again, shock, disbelief. "Before I … before we ..?"
Oh, crap. His mind processed, discarded, processed some more, and delivered. "He came over. Sat on the couch. We talked."
Her expression softened beautifully.
"He's okay," House added, hoping the inner kick of guilt didn't show on his face. Well, it wasn't a lie. Not exactly. Okay, yeah, it was a lie in that he knew damn well she was imagining that he'd really talked to Wilson, really gave him some time, really made sure he was okay. And hey, he did. Sort of. In shorthand. Guy shorthand. Best friend shorthand. Oh, God, I'm lying to her again.
Her eyes were so sympathetic. So sweet.
I'm a complete ass. In fact, you know, I probably ought to go … you know. Check on him. Just make sure …"
Cuddy's eyes shone with approval and a touch of amusement. Worried about his best buddy, her sweet man. "Of course."
House suddenly realized his cane was still in the bedroom, and he hadn't even noticed. He turned and limped back to get it, each step hurting just a little bit more.
###
His mind turned over and over as he biked his way across town to Wilson's. Why did he lie to her? Again? What the hell? After being mad at him and avoiding him for … at least several days, he wasn't sure exactly (eighty-seven hours, forty five minutes, twelve seconds), the least he'd hoped, after choking out the not entirely honest apology, was a clean slate. To start over. Do better. "See? I learned my lesson! Your bed or mine?" But noooo, he mentally kicked himself as he braked a little too hard and skidded a turn. The little adrenaline rush as he righted his balance felt good. The jab of pain in his leg felt right. What's wrong with me? Is truth just too boring? Too ordinary? Do I want to screw this up? He laughed at the question. He definitely did NOT want to screw this up. Then what? he asked himself.
As he pulled up to the condo, he allowed himself a momentary glow of schadenfreude mixed with relief. Sam was gone. He could bounce what happened off Wilson without taking a number and waiting his turn. And Wilson would be oh, so glad to see him. He tried to pretend that he didn't feel just a little (just a lot) vindicated. He switched off the bike, and stowed his helmet. On the way up, he automatically felt for the keys in his pocket, but at the same time decided to ring first. It was the polite thing to do (make him get up and let me in) since he didn't actually live there anymore (make him open the door, rub his face in the fact that I'm just visiting. What a pal).
He schooled his smirk down into something more neutral as he knocked. Fought to hold it that way as … nothing happened. He pictured the length of the walk from the living room, the kitchen, the bedrooms. He knocked again, a bit louder. He tried not to count. Ten seconds. Twelve. Twenty.
Maybe he went to work early. House's pulled out his phone and hit speed dial number two (used to be number one, but well …).
He heard the ring tone at the end of the line. He heard Wilson's cell phone ring inside the apartment.
And ring, and ring, and ring. The line clicked. "This is doctor James Wilson. I'm not available …"
House gouged the door with the key as he scrambled to get it in the lock. He anticipated having to force the door to break the secondary chain-lock. The door opened, banging against the wall with the force of his push. No chain.
House didn't bother calling out. The layout of the apartment appeared in his mind, and he started down the list, methodically. Down the entry way to the bathroom. Empty. A bottle of sleeping pills was on the counter. House grabbed it and gave it a shake. More than half full. Good. Down the hall, into the living room. Empty. To the right, office. Empty. Wilson's laptop was open on the table between the two large, leather chairs. His cell phone lying next to it. House checked more carefully, even looking behind the chairs. Nothing. Back through the living room, to the kitchen.
House saw his feet first, then his legs, then the rest of his body as He stumbled and moved quickly around the large countertop. Wilson was lying face down. Not moving.
A is for Airway. B is for Breathing. He dropped hard to his good knee, and hauled Wilson over onto his back, hoping for a jolt – a gasp or a groan. Wilson just flopped, his mouth lolling open. Shit. Oh, shit. Then he saw Wilson's chest lower and the stench of beer and whisky hit him square in the face. House held his own breath as the chest rose again, then down again. Normal breathing.
House twisted his weight off his now bruised knee and sat on the floor. Put his face down to his knees for a few moments and waited for the room to stop spinning. Then he straightened and looked down on his very drunk best friend. It embarrassed him greatly that he was too damn relieved to think up a single heinous thing to do to him while he lay there.
House got up, opened the fridge, and got himself one of the two remaining beers. Helped himself to a bunch of grapes, stepped over Wilson, and took his grapes back to Wilson's office. On the way, he phoned Cuddy to let her know that Wilson was fine, but needed to talk some more. Call him if he needed to come in. Her voice was warm and welcome and tinged with promise. He hung up the phone and pounded it several times against his forehead. Then he munched his grapes, leaned forward, and flicked his finger across the mouse pad of Wilson's laptop. The screen lit up. A video was open and paused on the screen. House felt his mood lift. First night the bitch is gone, and he's watching porno. Way to go, Doctor 'Fourth Time is NOT the Charm' Wilson! He leaned a little closer … and realized the fuzzy, dark video was of two guys. Eww? Two guys in an office. Oh. One behind a desk, only part of his shoulder and an arm visible, as it was accepting something from the man sitting in front of the desk.
Himself.
House inhaled half a grape and choked for about ten seconds. Gasping and blinking away tears, he moved the mouse pointer to the play button and clicked down hard. Him-on-the-screen jumped to life, and finished handing whatever-it-was to whoever-it-was.
"That's all the cash the ATM will give me at this hour. You'll get the rest when I can get to a bank when it's open, or you could just take my check like you normally do," he heard himself whine.
Lucas's voice answered. "Hey, it's not that I don't trust you. I do, but this job is going to be tricky. I always ask a little up front for this kind of thing. So you say his girlfriend has been seeing a shrink?"
House jabbed the pause button. Shit. Oh, shit. Oh, SHIT! He glanced around the room looking for a clue. An envelope, a disc. E-mail! He minimized the video and before he could launch Wilson's e-mail program, realized there was another open window that had been hidden by the video. An open document. Three words were typed in, with the cursor blinking patiently at the end of the incomplete sentence: "I'm so sorry …"
He jumped to his feet so fast, his bad leg buckled and he upset the table. The laptop skidded off the side. He stumbled past it, not bothering to retrieve his cane, and ran-limped back to the kitchen, swearing all the way. As he skidded around the corner back into the kitchen, he saw that Wilson was convulsing.
###
The patient was stabilized before the ambulance arrived. Wilson had always made a point of keeping a fully stocked emergency medical supply cupboard, complete with airway kit, for which House had mocked him any number of times. House could tell the paramedics weren't used to finding an pre-intubated patient waiting for them. One of them took over the airbag, and he rattled off what he knew of the patient's status: Pulse bad, respiration worse, skin clammy. He hadn't had a free hand to check the pupils. He was not going to check now. He was not going to look as one of the paramedics pulled out a penlight and checked. Right eye. Left eye. The paramedic was quick. Was good. His face was completely neutral. Blank.
House followed the patient into the ambulance and rode without speaking, not listening as the paramedics communicated with the waiting ER. Possible overdose, more vitals, more numbers, blah-blah-blah. The sirens enveloped him, reminding him of his internship days. IV bags and other equipment rattled as the cabin tilted and shook. Tubing swung around his head. The patient's eyes were slightly open, showing slivers of blackness beneath. Unresponsive, blown, dilated, brain damage, brain death, brainiac, Pinky and the Brain, one is a genius, the other's insane …
It was a shock when the doors were flung open, and the patient, his patient was yanked away. He really should say something. Do something. But the patient was rolled away from him, and out of sight. The doors yawned open before him, blinding light reaching in. He didn't want the light.
"House." Foreman's face before him. House drank in the familiarity of it, discarding the expression. Not reading the horror, the pity. Familiar. Known. Safe.
###
He sat in his favorite office chair, a hot mug in his hands.
He sat in his favorite office chair, a warm mug in his hands.
He stood and stared out the window at nothing, an abandoned, cold mug on his desk.
He stared out the glass door at the back of his office, at the dark, empty office beyond.
He picked up his cell phone and dialed. Speed dial five. It rang and was answered. "Where is he?"
###
Lucas balanced the zoom lens on the steering wheel. The downside to parking in the most shaded part of a street was that it greatly limited the photographic options, which greatly lowered the figure on his paycheck. It did, however, greatly increase his chance of going undetected and thus unmolested by the subject of his assignment, so all things considered ...
The windshield exploded and the camera was out of his hands before he could register the fact that he'd just lost control of his bladder. He suddenly choked as his clothing pulled up around his neck, and his body was dragged forward over the steering wheel, through the broken windshield (his shirt ripping and hot pain as the jagged edges gouged his chest), and down to the ground. He instinctively balled up as tight as possible and waited for the kicking to commence. He did not utter a sound, well aware that he'd be wasting air and quite possibly attracting even more trouble for his efforts.
Nothing happened.
He waited. Nothing. Well, almost nothing. He could hear ragged breathing. Male. Okay … he moved his right arm down slowly and very carefully peeked. Two feet in sneakers. Blue jeans. Cane. "House. Hey." He risked un-balling a little more and looking up. "Um, so I take it Doctor Wilson got my little present?"
He thought he was prepared to regain his defensive position, but he barely registered the blur or movement before he found himself pinned against the door of his SUV, cane across his throat. Damn, this guy was fast. He couldn't breathe. Not even a little. The edges of his vision blackened inward, like the end of an old fashioned cartoon reel. Th-th-that's all, folks!
The pressure eased just enough for him to inhale. He did so, and his vision cleared. "Okay." he managed hoarsely. "I can see you're upset."
"He's dead." House said simply.
Lucas's legs buckled, and House let him fall.
###
They sat side-by-side inside the SUV. Lucas felt bits of broken glass working through his pants, but under the circumstances he didn't complain. Neither of them had said very much over the past hour.
"I didn't think he would do that." Lucas finally offered. "I didn't have him pegged as the type. Not really. I can read people. I mean, I could. I mean …" He shut up again.
House stared straight ahead. Finally he said, "I did."
Lucas stared at him, but he didn't move or say anything else.
"But I was … busy."
They sat together in silence for another several minutes. Finally, Lucas said, "I'm sorry."
"Yeah." House answered.
"We were engaged. Me and Cuddy …" Lucas offered feebly, and again clammed up. He had so many speeches prepared for this confrontation. He had been looking forward to deciding which one to use.
"Yeah." House said again.
Lucas sighed. He twisted around to face House. "Look, I …"
"I'm going to destroy you."
Lucas just blinked. Far away, he heard a dog barking. He wondered briefly if his subject had heard his windshield breaking and where he'd run off to.
House turned and focused on him for the first time. Lucas shuddered. "You're an idiot."
"Um …"
"Do you have any idea how much money I have squirreled away?"
"Actually, yes." Lucas regretted it the moment it slipped out. Story of his big mouth.
House didn't seem to hear him. "My apartment's cheap. I bummed most of my meals off of him. He paid for movies. Borrowed more. Gambled some, but not as much as you'd think, but even at my sucky salary, it's piled up over the years. And I can always get more."
Lucas knew this was also true, but wisely kept it to himself.
"I hired someone to watch you." House said. "Figured you'd try something. Go for me. Maybe even go for her." He actually smiled. "But it never crossed my mind that you'd go for him."
Lucas also knew this. Had been looking forward to gloating about it.
"Every cover you have from now on will be blown. Everywhere you go. If you move, I'll hire more to follow. However many it takes. Any job you try to get, in any field." House's voice was calm. Matter of fact.
Lucas realized he was going to throw up. Before he could express this, House was already out of the vehicle and out of sight.
###
House didn't rehearse what he was going to say to Cuddy. He didn't work for the most appealing expression, the best angle, the next move. He didn't know what he was going to say, except that it was going to be the truth. All of it.
And then he was going to leave, and never come back. Before he destroyed her, too. Before he destroyed them all.
He rushed through the lobby, hoping against hope that she wouldn't spot him. His luck held and he made it to the elevator. More luck as he approached his office. Empty. They were probably all in other parts of the hospital, or at his apartment, or on the roof … looking for him. He peered around, and seeing nobody about, moved quickly next door to Wilson's office and smashed the glass in the door, reached inside, and let himself in.
As he entered, the familiarity of it hit him like a wall. No, not now. He dredged up the image of his father's face. Hate filled his heart and he clung to it like a life raft. Moved quickly past the desk, the chair, the sofa (his sofa) … and snatched the teddy bear sitting on the shelf. Peering around once more to make sure nobody had discovered him, he deftly twisted off its head, reached inside, and extracted two pill bottles. He opened one, quickly tipped a couple pills onto his tongue, and recapped it all with one hand it as if no time had passed since he'd perfected the move. He closed his eyes and shuddered as he swallowed, then just stood there for awhile. Finally, he shoved the bottles in his pants pocket. On his way out, he chucked the bear in the trash.
###
Cuddy looked up as he entered her office, and he actually reeled at the anger that erupted across her face. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't that. Love and admiration hit him in a gut punch. It seem to snag and tangle somewhere deep inside, then began to boil back up, and he felt his control slipping again. Not now! He cast about for someplace to run, even as he realized how futile and even silly the impulse was … he pressed his hand against his pocket and felt the bottles.
"Where have you been!" Cuddy yelled without preamble. "Everybody's been worried sick! Wilson is hysterical. How could you ..?"
The universe flipped, did a somersault, and landed upside down. House felt Cuddy's hands gripping his left arm. "House!" He felt himself maneuvered into a chair and managed to sit in it. She held on, her perfume filling the air around him. He managed to focus and saw her face – her beautiful face – fill his vision. The anger mixed with fear, confusion, and – suddenly he could see it so clearly - love.
House took a deep breath and said, "Wiiiilssoonwhaaa?" The room tipped unpleasantly.
###
"You saved my life," Wilson said for the twentieth time. House sat glumly on the edge of Wilson's hospital bed, the better to 'help him' eat the Happy Meal he'd smuggled to him.
"You wouldn't have aspirated if I hadn't left you on your back." House said through a mouthful of fries.
"You didn't know I was going to …" Wilson imitated a heaving sound. House just shot him a look. Wilson just beamed back at him. House looked away. "Hey, you were there. It worked out."
House slammed his hand down on the tray, sending the remaining fries flying. "Ouch," complained Wilson, as the tray had been resting in his lap.
"You're an idiot!" House shouted at him. "I thought you'd taken a fistful of pills! I thought you were brain dead. I thought …"
Wilson looked at him strangely. "Why would you think that? Did you check ..?"
"I just did!"
"Pessimist."
"Realist," House corrected.
Wilson shrugged. "And yet, here I am."
House sighed. "You were lucky.."
Wilson just spread his hands in a 'and' gesture. "You were there."
"To whine about Cuddy!"
"You stayed."
"To snoop on your computer!"
Wilson didn't answer. House stood up, taking the tray with him, then realized he had nowhere to put it. He picked up a flower arrangement (from his team), replaced it with the tray, and put the flowers on top of it. "Devious," Wilson commented sarcastically. "The nurses will never noticed it there."
House felt his fists ball up, but resisted hitting the tray again. Or Wilson. Or anything. He wished Lucas was there. "How can you be so..?" Wilson just smiled at him again, obviously still in a terrific mood.
"You saved …"
"DON'T say it again!"
Wilson's mouth clamped shut. He was now wearing his 'patient face', which House really hated at the best of times. Wilson changed tactics. "You didn't have to be there at all."
House shook his head. "That is the most absolutely pointless …"
"You warned me! You told me not to let Sam back into my life, and I didn't listen. I wanted …" he broke off, suddenly emotional. House looked away for a few moments until he composed himself. Wilson cleared his throat. "You tried to protect me, and I wasn't interested. So yeah, sorry. The fact that you just happened to keep me from choking to death on my own vomit after drinking myself into oblivion over her is kind of a big deal to me. You even," he added before House could protest, "hired your own private eye to snoop on her."
Suddenly the room felt cold. House very slowly sat down in a nearby chair, he risked at glance at Wilson, and was utterly confused to see no anger there. "Did they give you pain meds for some reason?"
Wilson snorted. "Get your own."
House thought of the bottles in his pocket and felt a surge of genuine shame, which he immediately shoved as far away as possible. He realized Wilson somehow sensed the change and was squinting suspiciously at him. "Yeah, I hired Lucas to spy on her," he said sharply, focusing on the lesser of two evils.
"You never told me." Wilson said.
House made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. "Yeah, that's kind of the point of hiring someone to snoop. You don't tell …"
"No!" Wilson leaned over and grabbed is arm, giving him a little shake before letting go. "You didn't tell me … at all." The words were right, but the intonation was all wrong. It sounded like praise.
House blinked, his mind reeling in guilt and confusion, and the conflicting desires to confess and lie like hell, whichever would win him forgiveness the fastest. But he couldn't do anything until Wilson shook out of his drug-induced, or endorphin-induced, or WHATEVER-induced euphoria where everything was wonderful just because it was! He cast about for some viable sounding excuse to leave.
Wilson made a frustrated sound. "House!"
House shook himself. "Sorry, my mind was wandering. Look, I need to …" House started to get up.
"How much did he give you?"
"Go … what?"
"Lucas. How much did he give you on Sam?"
House sat back down, and felt his stomach sink even lower. Here it comes. "A lot." He stated flatly. "A whole lot." Some part of his brain was screaming at him to defend. To plead that he didn't read any of it. That he threw the packet away unopened. But he bit his tongue and waited.
He was prepared for anger. He was prepared for disappointment. He was prepared for anything but what he saw on Wilson's face. Pure, unadulterated love. First Cuddy, now Wilson. Is there something in the water around here?
Wilson actually laughed. "House, do you realize how big this is? How … important?" Again, the words he was expecting, but with completely the wrong emotions attached. Wilson looked really, REALLY happy.
Wilson finally registered his confusion. "YOU DIDN'T USE IT!" he shouted so loud, a couple people out in the hall peered through the glass walls of the room.
House realized his mouth was hanging open. He shut it. Then opened it again, hoping something intelligible would come out, but his genius IQ failed him utterly. "Huh?"
"I assume you hired that creep to dig all this stuff up in the hopes of finding something to dissuade me from dating her. Or to scare her away from dating me?"
Once again, House had to bite down the animal instinct urge to defend himself. "Yes."
"And yet …" Wilson gestured around the hospital room. "Here we are."
Finally, the penny started to drop. House felt something inside him start to unknot. The room warmed several degrees.
"You didn't use it." Wilson continued. "Any of it. Any of 'a lot'. You stepped back and let me make my own mistakes." He was absolutely beaming. "House, do you even realize what a big step that is for you?"
"I didn't read it," House blurted out. So much for the high ground.
Wilson looked like he was going to cry again. "You … you didn't even read it?"
House felt a surge of pride, and a surge of shame for allowing the pride, but it felt so damn good, he told the shame to take a hike. "Threw it away." He amended.
Wilson couldn't speak for several minutes. House basked in the rarity of it.
"Wow," Wilson finally said. "Wow. You've changed so much over this past year. You've really grown."
House cleared his throat, suddenly very uncomfortable. "Yeah. Well."
"You backed off," Wilson finished. "I know that wasn't easy for you."
"And you look how well that turned out." House gestured around the room.
Wilson made a wry face. "Yeah. Well, thanks anyway."
"No problem." Then House remembered something. "Speaking of killing yourself …"
"My favorite subject."
"There was something else opened on your computer. A note?"
"Oh …" Wilson actually blushed. "I was trying to write Sam an apology."
"An … oh." House felt another wave of relief, and the last bit of the knot inside him let go. He swallowed hard at the surge of feeling it released. Then a question occurred to him. "Apologize for what?"
"I don't know!" Wilson spread both his hands out. "House, that's just the thing. I don't even understand why she was so mad at me. Because I thought she wasn't killing her patients out of sheer negligence? Because I thought she was wonderful? Because I loved her so much ..?" his eyes filled with tears. Again.
This is going to be a long year. House thought.
###
He stopped by Wilson's office on the way to see Cuddy. The glass was still broken. Oops. He peered around, then let himself back in. He retrieved the teddy bear from the trash, shoved the bottles back inside it, jammed its head back on, and placed it back on its shelf. Then he looked around for a few moments, sat on the couch, bounced lightly on it a few times, and sighed. Before leaving, he programmed the first three speed dial buttons on Wilson's office phone to his three favorite phone sex lines.
###
"You lied to me." Cuddy told him flatly as he entered her office.
'D.C. Al Fine', House thought, but at the same time, he felt oddly comforted by the familiarity. Oddly not frightened by it. "Yeah."
Cuddy stood up and walked over to him. She raised her hands, then didn't seem to know what to do with them. She settled on resting them on his arms. House lightly flexed his biceps, but pretended not to notice. "Why?" she asked.
"Why what?" House immediately regretted the stall. He shook his head before she could answer. "I don't know why," he admitted. "And that's the truth."
She stared into his face. He marveled at the color of her eyes. Thought about touching her hair. Thought about … he saw an answering flicker in her gaze, and also saw her push it away. Score.
"Your pupils are dilated." She said flatly.
A million excuses, a million lies, a million perfectly reasonable explanations flashed across his mind. "Yeah."
"You took something?"
"Yeah."
She paused so long, he thought he was going to pass out from holding his breath. "Are you going to take more?"
"No!" he regretted how sharp his voice sounded, but she didn't wince. "It was a slip. And no. They're gone." He started to say more, but she put a finger over his lips.
"Thank you." She leaned forward, kissed him, and added, "Tomorrow night, my place." And before he could react, she spun on her heel, marched back to her desk, and sat.
Reeling inside, he turned to go. She waited until his hand was on the door. "House?"
He turned back.
She was looking down, writing. "Wilson's nurse just called. He vomited again. Seems someone snuck him something his stomach wasn't ready to handle." She glanced up quickly. "You're going to help her clean it up."
He felt a pout coming on. She looked away. "And then you're going to spend the rest of the day on clinic duty."
He just stood there, watching her pretend not to notice him watching her. She was enjoying it. A lot. Finally, she looked back up at him, her expression poker-face perfect. "We'll talk more later."
He blanched, but decided not to argue. "'Kay."
She gave him a parting shot smirk.
Score.
End.