Title: Denial
Author: Emo Barbie
Rating: T
Summary: He's not addicted, he's not...and he's not in denial either.
Extra: I found this in my {NEED TO BE UPLOADED!} Folder XD, I think it was something that had hit me, but I had never taken the time out to actually check it over or post it because I felt it was a little too...Ooc...ya know, a little too...something Wilson would never do. But here I am, after opening up this little document, and rereading it, FINALLY deciding that I should upload it anyways, cause it's written. And whats the point of never posting it? What's the harm. So please review, tell me what you think, it makes me happy if you review, even if you hated this story, I already realize it's not that grand XD.
Denial
Wilson was not an addict. So yeah, maybe he had smoked one here or there while rolling for a patient on occasion, but he wasn't addicted. You couldn't be addicted to this type of thing. Just because he found himself slipping some to himself here and there, also didn't mean he was an addict. It was for...special occasions, times when he really needed it. So even when he found himself slipping a little more to himself for the third time that month. It wasn't like he was popping pills, or shooting up heroine. This was a medical substance. It was something that you couldn't become addicted to in the first place. Even when his next stash only lasted three weeks, would he allow himself to be labeled an addict, or when his stash disappeared under two. No, he simply got more, he used it within a week, and soon he found himself buying from the unsavory to keep his stash going. But still the label of addict didn't suit him. No it wasn't like he relied on it or anything. He could stop anytime. This wasn't something he could become addicted to. This wasn't an addiction.
Wilson got into the car, sitting in the cold for a moment as his hand paused over the keys as he slipped them into the ignition. He turned to reach into his pocket where he found the bag, pulling it out before he began to roll a blunt, lighting it. It was only after he had finished with it did he finally start the car. It was an agonizing hour drive, making sure to go out of the city limits to not allow anything to reach back to the hospital. The effects where already wearing low, and he was dying to lit up another one just to get the full effects again. Right then and there. But at that moment he was on the highway, almost home, hands already shaking, which he really was sure was simply from the cold. Yeah, the cold. He refused to pull over, he was only ten minutes from home. Refused to allow his cravings to get the better of him.
Instead he managed to make it into his drive way before lighting it up, rolling another and smoking it before finally walking in to his empty house. He plopped down onto the couch, letting out a content sigh as he stared up at the ceiling. He wasn't an addict. No House was an addict, and Wilson was the furthest thing from House. No Wilson was just a...common user, a frequent smoker, that was all, not an addict. He glanced at the clock, it came in and out of focus, but finally he was able to make out the time. 11:30. He was tired, but he knew it would help to just lay there. No, he had to get up and get to bed. But...he really didn't have the interest to move either...his body refused.
"Wilson...Wilson!" Wilson opened one groggy eye to stare up at House. "What the hell are you doing in my house?" The old doctor glared down at him.
"What are you talking about? This is my-" Wilson sat up and looked around, he was in House's living room? House caught sight of the other, not to mention the smell that was radiating from him.
"Are you high?" House made a face.
"No." Wilson scoffed as he rolled his eyes. "What would give you that idea?"
"Oh, I don't know." House narrowed his eyes on the other, before reaching down, making a face as the full force of the aroma hit him that wafted off of the other. He groped around the pockets of Wilson's jacket until he came out with the bag of marijuana, holding it up for the other to see.
"It's for a patient." Wilson muttered.
"Well, then I'm sure the patient would be happy to hear that you smoked all his dope."
"I didn't smoke all of it." Wilson grumbled turning to look at the contents, but noticing that it did seem rather low despite having just been bought last night. Surely that wasn't him? "I didn't-you did." He suddenly pointed a finger at House. "You smoked-"
"Wilson." House glared at him. "I may drink, and I may pop pills..." He tossed the bag back at the oncologist. "But I don't smoke."
Wilson stared at the other, trying to read his face, cause surely the other was lying. Surely it hadn't been all him. He wasn't an addict.
-=-=-Denial=-=-=-
He didn't even belong in there, he didn't have a problem. He didn't need rehab. He was perfectly normal. "Would you like to share, Wilson?" The voice of the therapist asked.
"Pass." Wilson muttered, it had been like that ever since he got there. Nothing but circles of people talking about their problems, about their addictions, but Wilson didn't have an addiction! He never did. He didn't belong in here, he was perfectly fine for God's sakes. Who was House to tell him he was addict? House was the one with the problems. Anger now taking over his train of thought he ended up leaving the circle in the mist of conversation and heading off to his room, his plain, plain room.
-=-=-Denial=-=-
"James..." Wilson looked up from the book in his hands to find House looming over him. He was currently sitting in the day room
"Why do you bother coming here every day?" Wilson muttered, turning to glare back at the book but no longer reading it. "I don't belong in here anyways. I'm not like the people here. I don't have their issues. I'm not addict, House." He muttered.
"James..." The man sighed as he took a seat next to the other, his cane scraping the tiled floor.
"Stop that." Wilson turned his glare onto the other. "I don't need your lectures, or your annoying logic's. Go tell them to your ducklings, I don't need them."
House looked a tad hurt for a moment before standing back up. "Yeah, sure, I guess you don't." He muttered seeming to hesitate for a moment before finally turning to head towards the door pausing as he glanced back at the other. "See you tomorrow."
He waited for a response, he always did. But Wilson hardly ever gave him one, why should he? House was the one who had put him in here, told him he needed it. Yeah, the addict telling him he needed rehab, the addict telling him, he needed help. He hated him for it, hated the fact that he visited all the time. He should have been the one sitting here, not Wilson. Wilson should be the one visiting, not this...surreal turn of events. House was the addict, not him.
-=-=Denial=-=-
"Would you like to share, Wilson?"
"Pass." Wilson muttered again.
"Are you sure?" The therapist asked, and Wilson turned a glare on her. Of course he was sure, he didn't belong here, why should he share with these...weirdo's?
"Come on James, give it a shot." One of the males, a alcoholic and druggie from off the streets encouraged him.
"Yeah, come on." A few others chimed in.
Wilson sighed and sat forward. "Fine." He huffed as if that would make the others shut up. "My name...is James Wilson, I'm an oncologist, and do not belong here." He sat back, and everything fell silent, he expected the therapist to go on, to be okay with that, but unfortunately she wasn't.
"Why do you think that?" She asked.
"Excuse me?" Wilson stared at her.
"Why don't you think you belong here?"
"Why?" Wilson let out a snort. "I have no problem! So, I smoked a bit, here and there, so maybe I began to get a little more into it, smoking it once a week, no more though..." Wilson suddenly fell silent as he stared at the ground. "Well...maybe a little more...once a week, turned to every other day, every other day turned to every day..." Wilson lowered his head in shame cupping his head into his hands. "...and every day..." He paused and everything was once again silent.
The therapist on the other hand gave a smile as she allowed them all to leave.
-=-=Denial=-=-
"Hey..." Wilson looked up to see House staring at him from the doorway. "How are you doing?"
"I can't do it Greg..." House looked puzzled for a moment as he came to sit next to the other like he always did.
"What can't you do?"
"I can't do it...I never really realized I was...I was...so..."
"Stubborn?" House let out a chuckle.
"Addicted..." House watched as Wilson lowered his head into his hands, a sob escaping the younger doctor before House took the notion to stand. Okay, so he wasn't that mean, he wasn't just gonna leave the oncologist, he wasn't that...
House left Wilson alone to cry.
Yeah, he was that heartless, I guess just another thing that Wilson always denied...
This is actually quite an old fic that I never had the time to actually publish, so it's not as good as some of the one's I do now. Mine are now more detailed and have longer paragraphs...but hey, I didn't want to edit to much, I think it's better to leave old work as it is...most of the time...ya know. Anyways Reviews!