Hey, TicklishOstrich is back! This is for a Facebook challenge, and you all know how much I love Hilson & House, MD in general… Owned by David Shore, not me.
Everybody lies, so how do we know what is the truth? Do our minds know the truth, or do we just see what we want to see? Pain is real, but am I miserable? I know what misery is. I've lived in misery through my childhood; through medical school. Am I depressed? I know what depression is. I've suffered through it to the point of risking my own life. Why else would I buy a flaming metal death trap? I'm immature. I can own up to this. I'm an addict, and Wilson is an enabler. My enabler.
House pauses his hands mid-air, and he pushes away from the piano. Wilson is in the kitchen, in the process of cooking macadamia nut pancakes. He had been flipping the solid batter when the music had quit. Steadying himself for a prank or a loud crash, he steps away from the stove, skillet still in hand.
"You okay, House?"
Not hearing a response, he sets the pan on the kitchen table and carefully walks into the living room. He doesn't find his friend, so he goes on a search. The door is locked, and House's keys are still in the bowl. There is a bedroom and a bathroom left to look through. Wilson cautiously knocks before entering his friend's bedroom. The bed is surprisingly made, and the room is spotless. Wilson checks the Vicodin stash and is shocked to find it empty. An interest forming in Wilson's mind, he is hesitant upon entering the bathroom. Inside the empty bathtub, House is sitting. He's fully clothed and staring into space.
"House… what's wrong?"
"Thinking." He answers in a voice no higher than a whisper.
Wilson kneels to the floor beside the tub. "Okay. What about?"
House shrugs. "Lies. Pain. Love."
"Ah, the three keys to life." Wilson remarks, trying to lighten the mood.
House doesn't smirk like usual. "Yeah."
Wilson sighs, leaning against the tub and trying to catch House's eyes. "Did you lie and feel bad? Or did someone lie to you?"
House closes his eyes and lets the back of his head fall against the linoleum wall. "I'm lying. To myself."
Wilson raises an eyebrow. Okay… wasn't expecting a real answer. "Admitting to it is the first step."
House shrugs, still staring at the wall. He seemingly refuses to acknowledge Wilson aside from talking. When House doesn't respond for a good ten or so minutes, Wilson decides to move on.
"What sort of pain are you in? And don't say your leg."
House bites his lip and spreads his hand out. He drums his fingers along the edge of the tub, reaching toward but not for Wilson.
"My head is throbbing. My heart is racing. Since I'm clean… I don't know how to make it stop."
Wilson tries his damnedest to catch House's gaze. The older man is fighting back tears. The drumming hand stills and grips the tub harder. His knuckles turn white as if he's nervous to continue. Wilson lets out a low breath and turns to lean toward the tub.
"Are you still in love with Cuddy? Stacey?"
"Cuddy's a perfectionist, and Stacey's a powerhouse. It'd never work out because I don't want it to."
"But, you are in love? And it hurts?"
House's hand finds Wilson's tie and grips it. His other hand pushes against the other side of the tub. He maneuvers himself to sit up straighter. He finally turns to face Wilson, who's now inches away. House nods, glancing down to his best friend's lips and back up to his eyes. Wilson visibly swallows, but he doesn't pull away. House takes it as an invitation. He pulls on the tie, bringing the two pairs of lips together. House's eyes slit shut as Wilson moans back. House slides his tongue into his friend's mouth, and he smiles as he pulls away.
"You're smoking."
Wilson, grinning dazedly, stares back. "What?"
"You left the stove on, didn't you?"
Wilson's eyes widen, shoving his friend playfully. House smirks, pulls on the tie again, and brings him back in for a kiss.
"Turn it off and come back. We still need to work on my diagnosis."
I know it was short and whatever…
