Disclaimer: I own nothing, I do no own the characters or House. I simply own the plot of this story and any OC that may come into play in the future. This is rated T WARNING!!! THIS COULD CHANGE TO M IN THE FUTURE!!! Should this happen I will certainly state the changed rating prior to the chapter beginning. Enjoy and please review!
It was four months, four excruciating months, four months of a mans life, wasted. But he refused to cry, he refused to break down to such an emasculate state. Then again, he already labels himself as weak, what could be more enfeebling? So he sits there on his cot, staring at the blank wall opposite of him, so weak, so tired, so cold, and single tear drops out of his faded blue eyes. This would be the first time he cried since he arrived at Mayfield.
"Oh Boo-Hoo!" a rosy mouth smirked at him, the joy in watching the man slowly spiral out of control was unreal. But that was it, she was unreal, " aw, don't cry, House," but the fact was, she was enjoying watching him cry, she didn't want him to stop, "you're not all alone," reading him thoughts, she sat next to him on the cot, she leaned in, "you have me!" she chirped happily. House gripped the sheets of his bed, his fits trembled, he remembered he tried to hit Amber a month or so ago, but he couldnt, his fits went right through he. She had liked that, and House didnt want to do anything that would please Amber. A knock, suddenly came at the door, Amber looked, House didnt. The door opened.
"Hello, Mr. H--ah," It was one oclock, it was time for an hours worth of therapy, House would never admit it, but this is actually his favorite time of the day, it was the only day in which he had some human contact. The doctor was shocked, frozen in his tracks as he watched the man, who had only showed him motions of a nonchalant attitude and bitter sarcasm, wipe the tears from his face. House flickered his eyes at the doctor.
"What?" House said sharply, " haven't you seen a man cry before?," There was a desk next to a window, with the blinds closed, the doctor slowly walked over and opened them, trying to organize his thoughts. It was a cloudy day, almost pointless to open the blinds. The doctor sat at the desk in the rather uncomfortable chair, as usual. The was an opened marble notebook, the doctor flipped through the pages and saw nothing was written. He sighed.
" Well, surely, Ive seen men cry, but never you, Mr. House, " House looked at the open door, he got up and closed it, raising his eyebrows at the doctor as he went to sit back down on the cot. The doctor cleared his throat, " I see you still arent writing in your journal," The doctor was slightly disappointed, slightly. He was rather fearful of what was going on in Houses mind, "Why dont you want to write in your journal?"
"Well first off I dont see the point in keeping one, a journal is supposed to be private," House leaned on the cold wall behind him, "since you and the rest of your cronies, are, evidently, going to snoop through it like some P.I.s, Id just rather...not. Besides, I cant think of anything to write," Amber was sitting on top of the desk, one leg over the other, smiling sickly.
"Translation: I cant think of anything to writebesides Cuddy-Bear," Amber commented. House blushed in anger and fustration, it was true, but the reason why he got so mad was because that little nickname Amber decided to give to Cuddy, shes been using it for a while.
'' Now, now, Mr. House, that is a lie,'' Amber scoffed at the doctor, "You cannot tell me that you cant think of anything to write after I just walked in here and saw you crying, what were you thinking about?" House scoffed and gave him a look.
"Being in Mayfield doesnt exactly make me happy, shocking, I know," The doctor sighed once again.
"Hows your leg?"
"Just dandy," the words stung with sarcasm. Over the course of four months, he was taking a fourth of the amount of pills he was usually taking, in another two months or so he would not be taking any Vicodin at all. House had bitched and complained about just going at it cold-turkey, but deep down he still longed for Vicodin and having a little Vicodin was better then not having anything at all.
The doctors cool eyes stared hard at House, trying provoke that same emotion he saw when came in, "Is she...uh...here?'' By she he meant Amber. House nodded.
"The bitch is sitting on the desk," Amber frowned slightly.
"Why dont you write about the conversations you have with Amber?" The doctor handed the marble book to House, but he didnt take it, "Look, you want to get out of here, right? Im trying to help, but I can only help you if youre willing to accept my help and comply with the healing procedure." healing procedure House thought mockingly.
"I dont believe in this pyscho-mubo-jumboespecially with people who I barely know," The doctor looked slightly defeated already, but House wasnt finished, "What I need is an MRI, something concrete. Scan my head for any tumors--scan my head for anything that would labeled as an abnormality, then come back to me and we will talk about a proper heal procedure," House stood by the door, opened it, and made a gesture with his cane to get out.
"We already did an MRI scan months ago when you first came in demanding that you should have one immediately before any other scheduled patients. We couldnt find anything that would be labeled as an abnormality."
"Do another one!" He slammed his cane on the ground, "God knows you probably missed something!" He slammed his cane again.
"Oh no!" Amber said in mocked horror, "He's slamming his cane!" She turned to the doctor, knowingly he couldnt hear her, "Doctor, I beg you, listen to him, or this Vicodin-addicted-hallucinating-handicapped-ex-doctor will, without a doubt, harm you!"
"Shut up, Amber!"Amber looked at him, a mixture of overwhelming happiness and surprise was written on her face. She started laughing, both her and House couldnt believe he actually spoke to her in front of the doctor. The House watched as Amber was keeled over laughing and the doctor next to her was scribbling something down on the little clipboard he always carried around, every few seconds glancing at House with a look of utter disturb. Frustrated, humiliated and angered , House hobbled over to the doctor and snatched the clipboard out of his hand.
"Hey! Youre not allowed--oof!" House took his cane and knocked the wind out of his doctor, sending him to the floor. House quickly scanned the paper before him.
"You're requesting to put cameras in my room?! Thats a complete invasion of privacy!" House paused, "and you think Im the crazy one," House tossed the clipboard on his bed, he took a few steps towards his doctor so he was standing over him. The man was clutching his stomach, in slight shock and slightly out of breath, "I want a new doctor," House paused, his eyebrows raised, "get out."
***
Everyday, everyday single day a pain like none other would strike, and at any given moment. Sometimes it would happen once a day, sometimes it would happen thirteen times, one day was not like the next, every strike of pain was unpredictable. It was like someone was taking a very sharp needle and pricking your heart, Wilson hated this feeling. To make matters worse, there wasnt anyone there to comfort him. There was Cuddy, but that wasnt what he needed, what he needed was Amber, a soft hand to caress his check or run threw his hair, he needed her to hold him and to tell him that everything was going to be okay. But Wilson didnt have anyone, he wouldnt let himself have anyone, he wasnt close enough with anyone to let his guard down and show them his true feelings, he didnt have Amber.
Wilson shook his head trying to toss the thought of Amber out of it. He rubbed his sore eyes, he methodically hung up his jacket, took of his shoes, took off his tie and unbutton the first two buttons, throwing tie on the armchair next to him, walked into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of red wine, heated up the left over chicken. Everything was so methodical, day after day, week after week, month after month, the same routine over and over again. Wilson sighed and took a sip of his wine. Wilson rubbed his eyes, it was becoming a tiresome habit. Then he heard a knock at the door. He glanced at his watch, it was a quarter to seven.
Opening in the door, he saw Cuddy, his eyebrows furrowed, "Cuddy," He cleared his throat, "um, Hi, is-is there something wrong?" He was slightly surprised that Cuddy was standing before him, but only slightly surprised, they did, after all, have a common interest.
"Hi Wilson, can I come in?"
"Sure, sure," Wilson said gently, it was a break from his routine, and for that much he was glad, but judging by Cuddys sad blue eyes he didnt think her coming here was going to be a good thing. The both walked over to the sofa and sat down. God she looks awful, Wilson thought, but he didnt mean it in a nasty way. She looked so drained, so completely tired, like she hasnt slept in months. That sharp, determined, and proud gaze that was always alight in her eyes was gone, and in place was just a fog of faded hope.
"Would you like something to drink?" Wilson offered.
"Oh, no thanks, I wont be here long," She crossed one leg over the other, "I was just on the phone with Dr. Atonne," and there it was, that pain in his chest, and now it was Cuddy holding the needle.
"How is he?"
"Well," Cuddy paused, "The doctor thinks that its about time House has some visitors," Wilson perked up.
"Really?" Wilson paused taking in the exciting news, "W-well, this is-is a good thing, right? Before he wasnt allowed to have visitors and-and now he is, so maybe that means hes getting better, maybe the doctor thinks he can determine the difference between reality and fantasy," Wilson barked a laugh, there was another pause and Wilson then notice that Cuddy wasnt sharing in with the excitement. She did give him a weak smile. Wilsons smile faded.
"Apparently, during their session today, House was demanding another MRI, which was, of course, denied...Dr. Atonne said that House had an outburst, yelling at Amber, then he proceeded to grab Dr. Atonnes clipboard," Cuddy paused, "they were going to put cameras in his room."
"Hmm," Wilson sighed.
"And of course, House wasnt happy with this idea, so he took his cane and knocked the wind out of Dr. Atonne....,and demanded a new doctor," Wilson couldnt help but smile, but it quickly turned to a frown.
"But...Dr. Atonne is one of the best psychotherapist at Mayfield."
"House doesn't want the best psychotherapist, House wants the psychotherapist that cares the least and will get him out of Mayfield the fastest without having to do all that talking in between," Cuddy put her forehead in her hand, she sighed. Wilson scooted closer to Cuddy and put his hand on her shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth, "Dr. Atonne, thinks that we should be, in a sense, his psychotherapists."
"What? Thats completely insane!" Wilson stood up in fury, "Wh-why, why would he-why would he ask that? How-how could he ask that? Were not psychotherapist, and even if we were, that wouldnt be right to psychoanalyze him, were his friends, how could we? Wilson put his hands on his hip."
"I know," Cuddy derided, "...I know, but I think its more a matter of getting him to open up then to actually psychoanalyze him," Wilson softened and sat back on the couch. The two sat in silence the clock seemed to tick by forever until Wilson got up once again, made his way to the kitchen and came back with two glasses of wine, even though Cuddy denied a drink before. She mumbled a thanks and they sipped in silence.
Cuddy knew she had to drive herself home, but it just one glass of wine, it could hurt, and God knows she needed it. She had been keeping herself constantly busy these past four months, but it wasnt all that hard. Ever since House left, it seemed that the emergency room overflowing with patients, and the team wasnt handling Houses departure very well, she felt like she was constantly checking up on them, seeing it they were okay, like a babysitter. And her own baby, for that matter, was quiet a task on its own. She felt like, right now, sitting next to Wilson was the only time she really sat down and relaxed.
"You could've call, you know," Wilson gave a sympathetic smile, Cuddy simply nodded.
"I should be going," the pair stood up simultaneously, Wilson walked her towards the door.
"Thanks for letting me know," Wilson blinked tiredly.
"Anytime," she paused, "Goodnight, Wilson."
"Night," Wilson closed the door, he looked at his hand that was still on the knob, he then opened it once again and looked down the hall to see Cuddy, "Cuddy!" He called out, she turn. Wilson then proceeded to stammer on his words like a baffling idiot, "Listen, um, perhaps, you know, we could,...I dont know, we could just..." He was completely at loss of what to say and how to say it, he knew what he wanted to tell her, but he didnt know how to say it, "...hang out sometime?" he paused and then realized what he said might have sounded suggestive, "Not like a date or anything!" he held out his hands as if to say 'dont shoot!', he cleared his throat, "just to, you know, talk," he sighed, "I mean, if you want, just to...," He clenched his teeth to prevent anymore words to come out of his mouth.
"Yeah, sure, anytime," she smiled and Wilson gave a slight sigh in relief, "Ill see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, bye," Wilson went inside his apartment and leaned on the closed door behind him. He didnt rightly know what possessed him to say that to Cuddy, but now that he thought about it, he was glad. Now he knew for sure, there was someone he could go to, someone he could talk to. Little did Wilson know that Cuddy was thinking the exact same thing.
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