Wilsons thoughts about House and his drug addiction, written in three longish drabbles.
He's standing there with that look in his eye. That look that says he might be kidding, that he might give it up, if only I could crack him. He fascinates me. He's a human puzzle. Let him have the crazy cases, I'll settle for just trying to understand him.
"Are you serious?" I ask, shifting my weight.
"Yeah, let's go back to my place and I'll tell you why I'm such a cantankerous jackass," House snorts, leaning onto his cane to reach into his pocket and grab a bottle of Vicodin.
He's not serious. He rarely is. But sometimes, like now, there's something that flickers underneath the surface, like maybe he'll open up to me, tell me something meaningful.
He tilts the pill bottle back, throws a few in his mouth.
He'll always choose them before he chooses me.
Today was a good day. It's never something I can put my finger on. There are subtle things, like the pause and half smile he gives me after I say good morning. Or when he offers me a cup of coffee after lunch. It's those little things that I notice, that no one else seems to pick up on. Today though, I have to know.
"What's up with you?" I ask at lunch, opening up the container of stir-fry left over from last night.
He swipes the container from my hands, managing to take a giant bite before I grab it back.
"What's up with me?" He repeats, red pepper dangling from his mouth.
I sigh and hand him a napkin. "I mean, aside from your usual grace and poise."
"I'm not following you Jimmy," he says, swallowing nosily.
"You're almost...pleasant today," I say hesitantly.
"Aw shucks Miz Jimmy." House cracks, grabbing back the food carton.
"No, really. What's with the cheer?"
"Cuddy let me do her this morning," He snickers lewdly.
"Please. Here?" I snort, reaching for the container.
"I know, surprising. But she's dirty," he laughs suggestively.
"If you tell me the real reason, I'll let you keep it," I wager, nodding towards the carton clutched in his hand.
He smiles, then pulls out two pill bottles. He shakes them, and I can hear that they're full.
The smile dies on my lips. "Keep the food," I mutter, and walk away.
He is appalling today. I've put up with him for years, but today, he's just evil. Bitter, mocking, worse than usual. I try to put up with it, but after he laughs in my face about the possibility of a nine year old girl dying, I can't take it anymore. Angrily flinging the door to Cuddy's office open feels good, and I stand there for a moment, breathing hard.
"He's that bad huh?" She asks, rasing her eyebrows.
"How do you know?" I wonder, taking a deep breath, then sitting down.
"Foreman and Cameron have been in twice already." Cuddy says, smiling slightly.
"I don't see what's so goddamn funny, Lisa. He's evil." I say, glaring at her across the expanse of her desk.
"No Wilson, he's House. You know how he is." She says, looking surprised. Fair enough, I rarely swear, and when I do, never at work. But he's driving me insane.
"Lisa, what's wrong with him?" I ask, almost pleadingly.
She just looks at me, then raises an eyebrow. She doesn't have to say anything else, I know exactly what she's talking about.
"When did he run out?" I ask, not wanting to hear the answer. Not wanting to know how long he'd be without them, how long I'd have to put up with this.
"Two days ago. How is he managing?" She asks softly.
"He must have some stashed somewhere," I say, running my hands through my hair..
"Not enough," She mummers. She watches as I get up and head towards the door, praying he doesn't bother me again today.
"It's never enough," I say quietly.