Wilson gaped down at himself, as he sat on his couch, having fallen asleep there the night before—he didn't want to go home to 'their' bed.
He had a tail.
And not a fifth appendage, fuzzy doggy tail.
His legs were gone, and he had a fish tail in their place.
He put his hands to his side, which hurt.
There were ribs under the shirt; long, thin ridges that hadn't been there the day before.
Gills.
His lungs didn't seem to be giving him enough air. They were still there, still working, but they didn't seem to be where he was supposed to be getting his oxygen from.
He grabbed for his phone, and realized his hands were webbed.
Cuddy, he had to call Cuddy, she was practical, if nothing else, he had to call... he wasn't getting enough oxygen.... call....
Wilson groaned, opening his eyes.
He found himself looking at a pair of familiar feet and somewhat hairy legs—one with a mangled scar on the thigh.
He jumped, and nearly hit his head on the bottom of the pool, because standing up didn't work very well with a tail.
He realized he was underwater, and that the fingers pressing on his carotid were coming from someone not underwater—the someone the legs belonged to. House.
He kicked.
He slammed into the person, accidentally knocking House over into the water.
The splashing as House flailed, finally righting himself, was loud in Wilson's ears.
He kicked again, this time managing to get his head out of the water.
House was wiping the water out of his eyes.
"What happened?" asked Wilson, looking around the room. They were in the physical therapy pool, Cuddy, the ducklings and the kids were all standing several yards away, looking freaked—except for Kuttner, who was looking dejected. Wilson guessed House had gotten angry at the young doctor, and yelled at him to go away.
House looked at him.
"I was hoping you would know."
Wilson shook his head.
Then he remembered he wasn't speaking to House—the shock had driven it ever so briefly from his mind—and swam away, glaring at the older doctor.
House looked at him, loneliness and pain visible in his eyes, for a moment, then turned away, looking at the group of people staying away from the pool.
"Get over here, morons. He's still Wilson, and I haven't gone all fishy, so I doubt it's contagious."
An hour later, everyone had gone, and Wilson was left swimming in the otherwise empty pool.
He was lonely.
He was scared.
He needed to talk to someone.
Mostly he was lonely.
He looked up, as the door opened.
Oh.
House.
House came in, glanced at him, and limped over to one of the chairs, slipping a little on the wet tile.
Wilson turned onto his back, splashing his tail at House, sending a cascade of water at the older doctor.
He gaped.
He had completely soaked House—and about a five yard radius around him—with one splash.
House looked at him, then down at his clothes, then back at Wilson.
"Saying go away would have worked just as well."
"I didn't mean to... I thought it would just be a little splash."
House sighed, shaking his head.
"Doesn't matter. I get the point, anyway."
He limped off towards the door.
Wilson watched him go, a certain tightness in his chest.
Just as House reached the door, his left foot slipped out from under him, the cane skidded on the wet floor, and his bad leg gave out, causing him to crumple to the floor.
Wilson propelled himself over to the corner of the pool closest to the door, holding himself up with his hands on the edge of the pool.
House slowly, painfully picked himself up, purposefully not looking in the direction of the pool, and half dragged himself to his feet, swaying where he stood.
Wilson could see that he was in a lot of pain.
House took a step, fell again, and lay there, curled on the tiled floor.
Wilson bit his lower lip.
House eventually managed to get to his feet again, after three obviously agonizing failures, and pushed the door open, staggering out with one hand on the door handle, the other gripping his cane so hard his knuckles were white.
Wilson swallowed, then kicked hard, sending himself rocketing across the pool.
Cuddy came in, hours later, with a burger Wilson recognized as being from the hospital cafeteria.
She smiled, kneeling next to the edge of the pool.
"Why did House leave? He said he was going to keep you company, and he's just sitting on a bench in the hallway. Wet."
Wilson looked away.
"I... told him to go."
"He annoying you?"
Wilson shook his head.
"As soon as he came in. Actually, I splashed him, and got him soaking wet, but I didn't really mean to do that."
Cuddy looked at him, frowning.
"Why?"
"We're... not talking. At least, I'm not."
Cuddy stared at him for a long time.
"Well... here, I brought you some food." she put the plate by the edge of the pool.
Ten minutes later, Wilson was looking around frantically for a place to throw up that wouldn't drain back into the pool.
Cuddy had left.
He couldn't get out of the water far enough without raising his gills above the surface.
And he really, really didn't want to puke into the same stuff he was breathing.
He looked up, as slipping, limping footsteps came in, and a bucket was put in front of his mouth.
"Whatever that body is, I'm guessing it's not used to eating cow." said House, wryly, as Wilson heaved into the bucket.
"How'd you know to come in?" asked Wilson, finishing.
House left.
Wilson saw that he was still limping much more heavily than usual, and grimacing every time his bad leg slipped on the wet tiles.
Wilson looked up from staring at nothing in particular on the side of the pool, as he heard something enter the water.
A hand.
He pushed his head above the surface.
"Oh, hi Cuddy."
"Why is House sleeping on the floor outside this room?"
Wilson blinked.
"I... don't know."
Cuddy shook her head.
She hated seeing this, the two of them not speaking—or at least, she hated seeing Wilson not talking to House. House was perfectly willing to talk to Wilson.
"Anyway, he said you were still hungry, told me you liked this."
She set a plate of fried fish in front of him.
"Thanks, Cuddy."
"Don't thank me, I'm just the messenger this time. And it's from the cafeteria, so no guarantees that it's edible."
Wilson grimaced, hugging his... tail... up to his chest.
The heater in the pool went off automatically at eight PM, and he was freezing. He realized that this wasn't going to work, he wasn't going to be able to sleep and keep warm at the same time.
He blinked—except, his eyelids didn't close. That was the first time he had blinked underwater... did he have two eyelids?—as House came in, holding what looked suspiciously like a cannibalized wet-suit.
"Here. Figured you might be cold."
Wilson looked up at House's face.
He saw the telltale signs of real pain there, the lines around the eyes and mouth, the circles under his eyes.
House was exhausted and in pain, and he was sleeping on the floor outside the PT lab swimming pool.
"Why's it in two pieces? I mean, the legs are one thing, but...."
House shrugged.
"Wouldn't do much good to cover up your gills."
Wilson looked down at himself, then back up at House.
"True."
House stayed where he was.
"Hang on a sec," he said, obviously thinking about something.
Then he limped heavily over to a box, pulling out the cushions for the plastic floating wheelchair.
"Here," he tossed them into the water next to Wilson, "Not exactly homey...." he trailed off as he slipped a little, face going white, swaying.
Wilson hurriedly propelled himself over, just in time to catch House's shoulders so he didn't hit his already cracked skull on the bottom of the pool.
He was unconscious.
He had seriously just fainted from the pain.
Wilson grunted, shoving the older doctor's head above the water, and swum him over to the steps.
House just sort of floated there, on the level where his head was held up by the water, but his mouth and nose were still above it.
Wilson sighed, shaking his head.
"House." he called, shaking his... shaking House's shoulders, "House, come on, wake up.
House groaned a little, eyelids fluttering, but didn't wake up.
Wilson put his head below the water, hand on House's thigh.
The muscles were cramping viciously, hard beneath his webbed fingers.
He raised his head again, noticing for the first time the small blurriness that covered his eyes. He actually had two eyelids....
ten minutes and a difficult, webbed-fingered leg massage later, House groaned, opening his eyes.
He opened them, and then he shut them again, arching in the water against the pain.
"House. Hey, come on, you should get out of the water."
A weak, pained cry was the only response.
Wilson looked around, frantically.
There was no way for him to get anyone, and he couldn't get the leverage to lift House out of the water.
He sighed, gently resting House so his head was lying on the step, above the water.
Then he swam around, carefully putting his hands on House's scar, kneeding carefully and watching House's face to make sure he was making the pain better, not worse.
Twenty minutes later, House threw up and passed out.
Forty minutes later he slowly regained consciousness, shivering, Wilson pressed against him, keeping him warm.
He looked faintly at the younger doctor.
"Sorry," he mumbled, starting to drag himself out of the water.
Wilson swallowed, pushing on his butt to help.
House passed out again, but this time he was at least mostly out of the pool, so Wilson didn't have to worry about keeping his head above the water.
He did, however, manage to shove House's legs out of the water, roll him over, unbutton his shirt, and pull it off.
He would dry faster without it on, and Wilson didn't want him to get hypothermia.
After that was done, Wilson felt he had done his duty, and swum off to a corner to sleep.
He was awoken by muffled voices through the water, and raised his head to see what was going on.
Cuddy was yelling at House to go home and rest, House was yelling at her to leave him alone.
House was still sitting on the floor.
He didn't look like he could get up, and certainly not without help.
Wilson ducked back under the water as Cuddy turned to point at him, but it was too late, he heard his name being called, loudly, and swum back up.
"Will you please tell this moron to go home?" she asked, exasperated with House's antics and self-inflicted pain.
Wilson looked at his... at House.
House wasn't looking at him, biting his lip, looking at nothing.
"I don't think he'd hear me, even if I said the words."
Cuddy looked at House, worried he had passed out again.
No, he was just not looking at Wilson.
She sighed, shaking her head, and gave up, walking out with her high heels clacking, the sound reverberating through the water.
Wilson watched House peel his wet pants off, throw them onto a chair a few feet away, then ball up his still-damp shirt, using it as a pillow.
He seemed perfectly willing to lie there in his boxers, scar completely exposed, for as long as he needed to.
Wilson turned onto his back, sending another wave of water at House.
House spluttered, coughing, and sat up.
He didn't look at Wilson, just shook the water out of his hair and laid back down, this time on his side.
Wilson splashed him again.
House didn't move.
Wilson sighed.
"Why were you drinking?"
House stiffened.
"You think that's gonna help you?"
"I... I don't know. I just think I should know."
"It's not gonna help."
"Not gonna help what?"
"Your conscience."
"Huh?"
House closed his eyes, glad Wilson had splashed him, because then if he had to turn over, Wilson wouldn't notice the tears on his face.
Wilson was either going to blame himself, or House.
The unfairness of what had happened as a result of not wanting to ruin Wilson's happiness with his own depression would have overwhelmed him, if he hadn't known he was choosing it.
If he told Wilson why he had been there, he knew Wilson would take it as his own fault, that he hadn't been around so House could tell him.
He knew Wilson would start blaming himself instead.
So... yeah. He was choosing this. He had failed to save amber, the least he could do was keep Wilson from blaming himself.
The least he could do was take that burden.
The least he could do...
The least...
He had to keep himself from sniffing, wiping his nose on his wrist instead.
Dammit, he knew he was trembling...
he hoped Wilson wouldn't notice...
"House, are you gonna answer me, or not?"
House swallowed, trying to get himself under control.
Dammit.
Dammit.
"House, why are you trembling?"
Dammit!
"Fine. Nothing."
Oh, wow, that had been articulate.
Pull yourself together, moron!
Why are you choosing right now to turn into Cameron?
Get a hold on yourself and your emotions!
"House? House, can you hear me?"
Oh god, Wilson was going into doctor mode.
Dammit! Snap the hell out of it!"
Another wave of emotion hit, and he tried to—dammit. The sob came out. It echoed through the room. It bounced off the walls. It skittered along the surface of the water. It did a pirouette and entered Wilson's left ear.
Wilson's mouth dropped open.
Why the hell was House crying?
"Hey, is your leg bad?"
He managed to shake his head. Which was both relieving and stupid.
That had been a perfect excuse.
Wilson swum over to the edge of the pool, frowning.
"House?"
"Dammit Wilson, you don't *want* to know! You don't want to have anything to do with me, why are you pushing so hard?!"
Wilson stopped, taken-aback.
House sounded...
He didn't sound bitter... he sounded desperate and upset.
Of course he was upset, he was crying, but...
"Why were you drinking, House?!"
He shut his mouth.
Don't.
Don't.
Don't let it out.
It doesn't matter how much it hurts.
It doesn't matter how much it's tearing you apart.
Don't tell him.
Don't.
You can go kill yourself, but don't tell him.
Don't.
Don't.
Don't.
"House, just tell me!"
"No! I won't!"
Wilson blinked.
House hadn't sounded like he was talking to Wilson...
He was breathing quickly, Wilson could see how fast his back was moving...
"House... why won't you tell me? It's not like you were jealous, or something, right? I mean, I know you were jealous of the time I was spending with her, but... not... jealous jealous... right?"
No answer.
"House? No way. You weren't...."
"No. not it."
Wilson sighed, shaking his head.
"Just tell me, House!"
House curled, shaking, hands on either side of his head.
"Just... stop. Stop. Stop asking. Stop. S... stop." his voice was shaking as much as his body.
"House..."
"STOP PUSHING, PLEASE!"
Wilson closed his mouth.
House was completely overwhelmed, and he probably couldn't stand up to leave, even if he wanted to.
Wilson sighed, diving under the water and swimming over to the deepest corner of the pool.
An hour or so later, a hand entered the water, swishing around.
He ignored it.
It continued splashing for a while longer, then House's entire head appeared beneath the surface.
"Wi-i-i-l-l-ls-s-son-n-n," bubbled towards him, distorted by the water.
"S-s-sor-r-y-y-y-y."
Wilson frowned.
What was House apologizing about?
He didn't seriously think a simple apology would be enough for that...
Wilson swum to the surface, House yanked his head out, gasping.
"For what?"
House looked at him, quietly.
Then he shook his head, looking away.
"House."
House looked at him.
"For what?"
House sighed.
"For confusing you," he said, hollowly.
Wilson blinked.
"That's it?"
"Also sorry for killing your girlfriend. But I doubt sorry's gonna cut it with that one."
"Damn right!"
House sighed again, looking away.
"Go home, House. Go away."
House looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because Cuddy's right, you need rest."
House stared at him.
Then he laughed, loud and out of control.
He laughed for a long, long time.
Then he laid back on the cold tiles, still chuckling quietly to himself.
Wilson watched him, unnerved.
"Why are you laughing?"
"Because you hate me, you can't stand to look at me, but you still bother to care whether I'm healthy or not. St. jimmy..." he broke off, laughing again.
Wilson splashed him.
House coughed for a few moments, then kept laughing.
"STOP LAUGHING!"
House stopped, looking at him.
"It's freaking me out..." mumbled Wilson, much more quietly.
House sighed, looking up at the ceiling.
"Sorry."
Wilson shook his head.
House was crying now, instead of laughing. Silent tears streaming down his face.
Wilson closed his eyes.
"What the hell is wrong with you? You don't... you're depressed and a maniac, but you're not... unstable. You're not supposed to get hysterical. You're not supposed to cry."
House looked at him, swallowing amid the tears.
"Sorry," he said, low and husky.
"Get out. I don't care if you die, I just don't want to watch you fall apart."
House swallowed again, dragged himself to his feet, and staggered painfully over to the door, collapsing in front of it, unconscious from the pain.
Wilson sighed, shook his head, told himself he didn't care, and dove as deep as he could into the pool.
Hours later, House opened the door and *crawled* out.
Wilson watched him, feeling his heart constrict despite his statement that he wouldn't care, even if House died.
That was where Cuddy found House, hours later, still sobbing silently to himself, wearing only his wet boxers, not caring who saw him.
She knelt close to him, gently drew him close, and held him around the shoulders as the sobs got more and more violent, wracking his entire body.
He eventually cried himself out of tears, still leaning against Cuddy, gasping raggedly and trembling.
Cuddy just rubbed his back and waited for him to calm.
She knew why this was happening to him. She knew he was trying his hardest to protect his friend. She knew he was getting torn up both emotionally and physically by the effort. She knew he couldn't take much more before he cracked for real.
Wilson was a friend.
He was her employee, and a friend.
But... everyone in the entire hospital had been giving him their sympathies and support. House had been tearing himself to pieces alone just trying to protect the friend that hated him.
She waited until he fell asleep, utterly exhausted, then gently eased him to the floor and entered the pool room.
"Wilson."
He looked at her.
"If you want him to crack, you're doing the right things."
He frowned, opening his mouth.
She held up a hand.
"Stop. no. you're a good friend, Wilson. But right now, House needs one more than you do. Everyone else has chosen you over him, and he's breaking. He might already be broken. I don't want that, Wilson. I don't want that to happen to either of you."
Wilson looked away.
"Will you be happy, if this breaks him?"
"What? no."
"Then why are you doing it?"
"Amber."
"You're destroying your best friend, a man who put his trust in you when he trusts no-one else, for the memory of a woman you knew for less than two months."
"I loved her."
"House loves you. He's tearing himself to pieces to protect you. And you don't care."
Wilson looked at her, startled.
"What?"
She shook her head, walking back towards the door.
"I hope you're damn happy with how things are turning out, Wilson. 'cause you'd better be, for me to forgive you even the tinniest bit for what you're doing to House."
She left before Wilson had a chance to reply.
Hours passed.
Wilson was getting hungrier and hungrier.
No-one came.
He curled up in his corner with the cushion and the suit, closing his outer eyelids.
Halfway thought the night, a janitor appeared, futzed with something while House glared at him, still in his boxers, then left, shooting strange looks at Wilson.
The pool started getting warm again after that.
House leaned against the wall, watching him.
Wilson stayed under the water, watching back.
House said something.
Wilson ignored him.
House shrugged, limping heavily over to one of the chairs.
Wilson's stomach was grumbling.
He ignored it.
House stood against the wall, watching Wilson as his vision faded in and out. He dimly registered that having to constantly fight passing out was probably a bad thing, but ignored it. He didn't really care, after all.
The only thing that mattered to him was right there.
He asked Wilson if the temperature was ok.
Wilson ignored him.
He shrugged.
His vision was getting darker and darker. He was trembling at the pain.
He lurched to a chair and sat down, hoping to prevent going completely unconscious.
It worked, for a while anyway.
Eventually slid off the chair, onto the floor.
Wilson watched the slumped figure lying on the cold tile for a while.
When was the last time House had ate anything?
He himself was starving, House hadn't left his visible range for days. Wilson had seen him peeing in a bucket.
What was House protecting him from?
Cuddy had said...
what from?
The reason House had been drinking seemed the most likely.
Why would House be drinking?
If it was just because he had been lonely he would have rubbed it in Wilson's face—maybe. He certainly wouldn't be hiding it like this.
He had seemed a little more depressed....
seemed.
House never let it show, when it got worse. He never... unless it was really bad. Bad enough that Wilson would worry about him all the time. Bad enough that Wilson would let himself get dragged down so he could pull House back up. Bad enough that Wilson would have done the same thing he always did, taken care of his friend instead of being with the woman he was in love with.
He knew bonnie had as good as told House he had been the reason their marriage failed....
House had been trying to keep it a secret, he had been trying to drown the hurt instead of even so much as telling Wilson. He had been trying to let his friend have his happiness.
Wilson was crying now.
He was crying in earnest, as hard as House had been before.
The tail disappeared. The gills faded into his sides.
He panicked—he didn't know how to swim.
"House!" he managed to yell, before he sunk under the surface.
House was too unconscious to hear him.
The world went dark.
He would never get to apologize to his friend.
Damn.
And he knew no more.
Wilson groaned, opening his eyes.
He looked to his left.
Wall.
He looked to his right.
Bed.
House.
House.
House wasn't dead.
Meaning... either he was hallucinating, or he wasn't dead either.
"Nice job, Wilson. A mermaid who doesn't know how to swim gets rescued by a man who can barely stay conscious."
Wilson looked towards the door, blinking.
"He almost drowned getting you out of there. The janitor left the key to the thermostat box. Only reason you two are alive."
Wilson lifted the sheets. Two slightly hairy legs met his eyes.
He looked at House.
"I figured it out," he said quietly.
Cuddy looked at him.
"Why he was drinking. He was depressed, but he didn't want to mess up me and amber by making me worry about him. He wanted me to be happy."
Cuddy nodded.
Wilson sighed, looking up at the ceiling.
"I can't believe I did all this to him."
"It's not entirely your fault. Blaming him, that's on you, but... he was trying so damn hard to keep you from feeling guilty about all of it. He wanted you to hate him so you wouldn't hate yourself."
Wilson nodded, biting his lip.
"You know I can hear you two, right?" mumbled House, making them both jump.
"No," said Wilson, bluntly.
House laughed, no longer hysterically, just out of humor.
"So...." he said, quietly, "Still hate me?"
Wilson looked at him.
He was shaking.
Wilson climbed out of the bed, walked over to House's, climbed up, and grabbed House around the shoulders, hugging him.
"No," he said, burying his face in House's neck, "I don't. I'm sorry."
House sat there, Wilson... *hugging* him, and blinked, completely stunned.
Cuddy smiled, shook her head, and walked out of the room.
Literally being a witch had its benefits, apparently.