Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own by asesina
Disclaimer: I don't own House or the song by U2.
a/n: this was inspired by the previews for the next episode. Just a brief exchange between House and Wilson. I hope you like it.
"Where are we now? And it's you when I look in the mirror
I've got to let you know
A house still doesn't make a home
Don't leave me here alone
And it's you that makes it hard to let go
Sometimes you can't make it on your own"
-U2
-0-
"No- I'd rather die here," Wilson murmured. He tried to stop the next two words from leaving his lips, but he was far too exhausted and sick to censor himself.
"With you."
He could see House freeze for a moment, and he instantly clamped his mouth shut, ashamed of his candidness.
"You have to go to the hospital. You're a moron if you don't," House said firmly. He turned his gaze away from Wilson and sat down on the chair next to the couch.
"I've watched my patients suffer like this, House. I don't want anyone to see me like this," Wilson said weakly.
"Then why do you want me here?" House asked suddenly. He looked directly into Wilson's eyes and tried to bury the wave of guilt that instantly shot through him.
"Is it because we don't have anyone else? Because we're stuck together?" House mused aloud as he absentmindedly twirled his cane.
"Maybe. Does it matter? Can't you humor a dying man?" Wilson replied. His voice was hoarse, brittle. House noticed the sweat on his brow and the shallowness of his breathing.
"No. Not when you're doing this to yourself. You wanted my help, and it obviously didn't do anything. You're only hastening your death by staying here," House said angrily.
"What if I don't want to go back? I don't think you would be able to carry me back to Princeton Plainsboro with that leg of yours," Wilson shot back.
He paused to take a breath and grimaced as he stared at the ceiling in agony.
"I'm not leaving," he said through clenched teeth.
"Neither am I," House said softly.
Wilson opened his eyes and blinked rapidly before turning his gaze back to House.
"What happened to the guy who was calling me a moron a few minutes ago?" he asked.
"I guess he realized that he'll never win against a narrow-minded, stubborn, self-destructive oncologist," House said slowly.
He wasn't looking at Wilson. Instead, his eyes were trained on the distant window where the gray daylight was just beginning to shine through the drizzle.
"Self destructive? You have no right to call me self-destructive!" Wilson protested weakly.
A brief smile played across House's lips.
"Maybe we really are more similar than you think, Wilson. I know you love hearing that," he said with a smirk.
"That's the last thing I need to hear," Wilson scoffed.
He paused for a moment as a violent hacking cough shook his body.
"Do you have any movies we can watch?" Wilson asked suddenly.
"Every edition of Girls Gone Wild ever made," House said.
"I also have about 80 hours of soap operas on the DVR just in case you wanted to find out what happens with McDreamy this week," he added.
"Nothing by Kurosawa or Kubrick, then?" Wilson asked with a sigh.
"We aren't that similar," House retorted.
Wilson felt himself start to smile. He glanced out the window and tried to find what House had been looking at for the past few minutes.
He could only see the rain.
"House, I just wanted to say-," Wilson began.
House raised an eyebrow and glanced back at Wilson.
"This isn't a sleepover, you know. We're not going to have a pillow fight after we share our secrets," he said sarcastically.
"No, I just wanted to say thank you for- for staying with me," Wilson said quietly.
House looked into his eyes and gave a brief, almost imperceptible nod. He didn't say anything else in reply, but Wilson knew what he was saying.
He fell asleep a few minutes later and slept more soundly than he had in a long time.
End.