Five Weeks
"You dosed me!"
Damn. Here we go. I knew Wilson would figure it out later, but I didn't think it would be that quick. But there he is, standing before me, disheveled, red-faced and mad. I lower my head to hide my smirk and decide to act defensive. "Yes... I did, but only because you didn't trust me! Your best friend!" That's it, never admit a mistake, blame it on somebody else instead.
He doesn't seem to hear me as he walks in, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to calm himself down. "You could have killed me!" Well, looks like it didn't work. I roll my eyes as I close the door. What a drama queen.
"Amphetamines aren't going to kill you." I grumble, knowing it's only partially true. There's always a risk when you mess with medicine, but I was sure it would all go well... like 90 percent sure, but sure enough.
That doesn't seem to calm him though. Shocking. "You don't know my medical history! I... I could've..." I have to hold back a laugh when his stuttering makes him sound like a chipmunk. Now wouldn't exactly be the right time to laugh, but I make a mental note to make him remember that later. "You could've given me a heart attack!" he shouts and I gotta admit, that does make me laugh.
"Well a heart attack is not going to kill you, you were in a hospital."No matter what he thinks, I'm not stupid enough to dose him when he's at home.
A wave of triumph washes over me when my best friend starts yawning widely. "Aha!" I almost yell, pointing at him, "You yawned!" I knew he was hiding something. Granted, I was wishing it wasn't a heart problem, but now I have the proof it wasn't.
"Aha!" he mimics through his yawning fit, "You tried to kill me!"
Oh no, Wilson, you won't make me shut up like that when I got you nailed. "I put you on uppers and you still yawned." I say, enjoying the feeling of superiority. For years he had me because of my prescription, but now I'm making the rules. "Means it's a symptom, of being a big fat liar." I say, which makes Wilson roll his eyes. "Yawning is a symptom of some antidepressants, apparently the ones you're on."
"I'm not on antidepressants I'm on SPEED!" he says, wiggling his hands in my face, apparently close to losing it. Okay, scratch that, he's already lost it. For a moment I kinda pity him and I consider dropping it, changing the subject and act like nothing happened. But that wouldn't be like me. Pushing is what I do best, right?
"Well that means it's a symptom of a cerebral tumor, you've got six weeks to live." I tell his back as he walks away, trying to get his breathing under control. He stops, still not looking at me, rubs at his eyes and sighs.
"Five." He says, his voice barely above a whisper.
I open my mouth, but close it as his words sink in. What did he just tell me? I must have gotten it wrong. That can't possibly mean what I think it does… Unless it's a trick to make me shut up. Yes, that's what it is. I chuckle dryly as I try to get my heart to go back to a normal speed. "Nice try." I say, hating the way my voice shakes.
He scoffs and turns to look at me. "I'm serious, House. I've got five weeks now." He says with a sad smile on his face. He looks so calm, so… ready to face his death. I shake my head, almost wishing everything would go away by doing that. It just couldn't be true. There was no way in Hell…
"I've known for a few weeks now." He says, "I didn't want to tell you because…" he shakes his head slightly and shrugs, trying to decide what to tell me. "Well, I don't know." He says after a while, "I just didn't."
No. That has to be a lie. Wilson's the strong one, he's not supposed to die before I do! I know it can't be real, but then again why are my hands shaking so much? "Look, if this is some kind of lesson to prove me that…"
He raises a shaky hand and that's enough to silence me. "No lesson. This is real, House. I'm gonna die in five weeks." His voice is still unsteady, yet it sounds firm.
I don't realize I let go of my cane until I hear it clatter on the floor. So that's it? I'm gonna lose the only person I had left just like that? My best friend is going to die? I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, willing myself to wake up from this nightmare.
Wilson kneels down in front of me –when did I hit the floor? He puts a hand on my shoulders, saying it's okay, that I'm gonna be alright, that it won't always hurt that much. I say "No", and I repeat it over and over, like a mantra. I can't believe it. He's the one about to die and yet he's comforting me? How fair is that?
"Get out." I say as I swat away his arm. It was meant to come out like a bark with a strong push, but it sounded more like a whine and a feeble, childish shove. However, he lets go and stands up. I don't look up, afraid of what I would see.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see him walking out the door, trying to control the twitches the amphetamines cause him. But this time it doesn't make me laugh. Instead my hands are hit by small drops of salted water as I start crying for the first time in years.
Some people are afraid of death, some are aching for it. Some don't want to know when they'll reach the end and some provoke it themselves. There are only few people that actually know when death will take them.
Wilson knows when he will die.
Five weeks.
But there are also people that are dead inside. A body doesn't need much to continue to function. A little air in the lungs, a little beat of a heart… But a soul, or whatever's inside us is much more… fragile. You can still be alive without actually being there.
I know when my soul will die.
Five weeks.
The End.
I had this story in mind for quite a while now. It was like "What would House do if Wilson had turned and replied 'five'?", but I couldn't find a way to write it down, but there it is!
Just tell me if I did a good job!
nerwende