Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from House. And this is my own story. I didn't steal it, so please don't you steal it. K Thanks:
A/N: Breaks are Househousehouse. Mentions of suicide and death, don't read if that stuff upsets you. Kinda similar to what happened in episode Merry Little Christmas. MINOR SWEARING, SPOLERS FROM ALL SEASONS, 1-3! HouseWilson friendship. I need you to R&R please! Thanks!
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Gregory House was tired. Sick and tired of being sick and tired. He was tired of having to depend on Wilson to pick him up all the time. He was tired of dodging Cuddy in the clinic and listening to her scream at him. He was surprisingly tired of making fun of Chase and Foreman. And he was tired of seeing the woman he loved right in front of him and not being able to do anything about it. Because she wouldn't love him back. He'd had his chance with her, apparently, and blown it.
He'd approached her. It was hard for him to do. It was being vulnerable, and vulnerable was not something he did well. But he'd done it, at the height of his yearning to be with her.
He'd tapped his cane repeatedly on the floor as he stood in front of her. She'd been busy, but was patiently waiting for him to say what he'd wanted to say. What he'd said was urgent.
He'd finally taken a deep breath and looked her straight in her confused puppy dog eyes. She was beautiful. He knew that no matter what, she would always be beautiful to him.
So, he rushed the sentence out. "Do you want to go out with me this Saturday?"
Her eyes had opened widely and she'd taken a slight, small step backwards, like his words had knocked her back. "House." She'd breathed his name out like it was part of her sigh.
"Well?" he'd asked, back to his gruff manner. He'd raised his eyebrows.
She'd ducked her head down and whispered softly, "I'm…sorry. I'm already seeing someone."
He'd nodded slightly and turned around, his heart breaking in two and his blood running cold.
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So, he'd lost her to another one. So typical of his life. Soon Wilson would be gone, too. And one day, Cuddy would get sick and tired of fighting with him and fire him. And no one in their right mind would want to hire him. Not with his record.
He'd be likely to get a horrible reference.
One day Wilson would wake up in his dingy hotel room, or apartment if he ever moved into one, and look in the mirror and ask himself about his relationship with House.
He'd assess it and decide it wasn't worth the pain and time and strength it took. He'd realize his efforts were futile. That he was trying to save the unsaveable.
And he'd turn his back on someone who needed him.
And House would pretend to not care and pretend to move on with his life.
Wilson, however, would move on with his life. He'd probably get married again. And without House there to muck up the relationship, he'd live the rest of his life happily with that woman. Have kids who would grow up to love their daddy and respect him.
It wasn't fair. Why was the rest of the world allowed to get along and be happy, when all Gregory House was allowed to feel was pain?
And Stacy. God, Stacy. He'd loved her with all of his heart and soul. He'd loved her with everything he had. But, the pain in his life had overcome him there, too.
He wiped a tear away, only to have it quickly replaced by others. They fell hard and fast.
He sank painfully to his knees on the hard floor and hung his head, letting the teardrops fall, not caring. He couldn't care. Not anymore.
The sorrows of his life passed over him like he couldn't believe. Every bad thing that had ever happened passed through his brain, making the tears come harder and faster, making him feel like a first grade boy whose Mommy was late to pick him up.
But, he didn't give a damn.
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He passed the bottle of pills back and forth in his hands.
Pills would be less messy, less visually disturbing than slitting his wrists.
One last tear fell on the sink as he weighed the pros and cons of living vs. dying.
He came up with pros for dying. Hardly any for living. So he took them. Every last Vicodin in two bottles.
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Turns out he knew how to fail at killing himself, too.
Or maybe it was because he had too good of a friend to let him die.
Wilson had called an ambulance.
Semi-conscious, House mumbled, "No, Wilson, no, leave me alone. Just go, leave me."
"No, Greg, I'm not letting you die! There's no way! I can't, you won't…" Wilson said, letting his head fall. He shielded his eyes from House, so he couldn't see how serious the situation was.
Wilson heard a thump as House's raised head hit the floor.
"Come on, damn it! EMS guys aren't supposed to drive so damn slowly…"
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The next thing House knew, he was awake in a hospital bed. His throat was sore and his leg was killing him. But he was alive.
Wilson was asleep in the chair next to the bed, watching over House while he slept.
And Cameron was asleep in the chair on the opposite side, her head nestled softly in the crook of her arm.
Most surprising of all was that Cuddy, Chase, and Foreman were standing in the corners, leaning against the wall. Cuddy noticed first that he was awake.
"Good morning, sleepy head." She said, very out-of-character like. She flashed a penlight in his eyes. He shied away from it.
"You've been out for two days." Chase said.
"Yeah, and the two of them have been sitting there for two days," Foreman said. "Not that we care…" he smiled.
Cuddy shot them both a look and said, "He's kidding. All of us were very worried." She looked like she was. "Are you ok? Wanna talk?"
"No, I'm fine. Everybody just get outta here and leave me alone."
The three of them nodded and moved towards the door, but Cuddy and Chase nudged awake Wilson and Cameron before they left.
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As soon as Cameron saw he was awake, she threw her arms around him. "Oh, House, you're alright!" she said happily, her tears wetting his hospital gown.
"Get offa me!" he said, secretly liking the attention.
"Sorry," she said, smiling from ear to ear and letting go.
House looked at Wilson and noticed for the first time the angry look on his face. "Could we have a moment, Cameron?"
She looked from one man back to the other before nodding and heading out the door.
Wilson lit into him the second she was out the door. "What in the hell were you doing? Do you know what could have happened? You swallowed two bottles of pills! You could've died! I don't know…I don't know anymore. Were you just not thinking? What?"
House regarded him seriously and said, "I wanted to die. One day…one day you're gonna realize how much of a hindrance I am, everyone will, and you all…you're just better off without me."
Wilson shook his head. "You can't believe that. You can't possibly…Well, let's just say this: you're my best friend. And I'm not letting you off that easily."
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The psychiatrist spent the next three hours with House. She got him a bed in rehab for the vicodin addiction, because she felt that was a major part of his depression, and wrote him a scrip for an antidepressant.
She came to talk to Wilson afterwards. "Does he have any family? Because he's going to need a lot of support during these next few months. It's not going to be an easy-go. He'll experience…"
Wilson cut her off. "I'm his family. I'm his best friend. I'll be there."
THE END.
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A/N: So…what do you think? R&R! This is a friendship fic. I love HouseWilson friendship. Thanks for reading: