Title: Merry Little Christmas - One and Seven Tenths.
Author: Kiwi from hell
Website: www dot kiwi-ficjournal dot livejournal dot com
Rating: PG
Summary: A drabble on Wilson's actions in Merry Little Christmas. Instead of a 100 word limit I picked 170, hence the title.
Warning(s): Spoilers for Merry Little Christmas, and references to suicide.
As many people as Wilson has watched die, he's only been witness to one slowly killing himself.
For a split second, as he runs across the room, Wilson wonders if House has given up on the 'slowly' part and jumped right to the ending. Time stops when they make bleary eye contact and the demanding question on the tip of Wilson's tongue dies.
It's the most pitiful thing Wilson has ever seen. His best friend is lying in a heap on the floor with vomit caked to his cheek and a silent plea in his eyes. There are two options. He can clean up the mess, as House is begging him to do, as House knows he will, or he can take a stab at never letting things get here again.
Wilson wishes he had his own concoction of pills and booze to down as turns his back. Instead, he'll sit in the hall, dragging his fingers through the carpet, until his legs stop shaking enough for him to walk.