House didn't often go for walks, these days.
Only when he needed to be as alone as he could possibly be—when his thoughts were a tangled mess, and the only way he could straighten them out was by pulling the string out of the ball until it was all unwound.
This was one of those times.
Was he responsible for Wilson's breakdown, for Wilson crying and sobbing in the middle of a lecture he was giving? Should have he had pushed harder to stay Wilson's friend after the crash? Should he have pushed less, let Wilson heal?
He didn't know, and he wasn't sure why he cared anymore. He didn't care about anything else at this point… why should he care about the wellbeing of the man who had torn his entire world apart with two phrases?
He shook his head, and, as the wind whipped through the street he was on—he didn't even know where he was, at this point—his leg started to ache more noticeably from the cold.
He would have downed a handful of vicodin, but he really did not know where he was, and he figured he should keep as clear a head as possible.
He limped to a brick wall with a wrought iron fence behind it, and sat, leaning his cane against his left knee, and rubbing his right thigh with both hands.
He frowned, looking across the street.
He'd seen that exact view before, but he didn't know when. He'd sat on this wall before.
He shrugged to himself, and started, as a groan sounded from his right.
He looked.
A huddled mass of dirty cloth was all he saw.
He stood, as another groan came.
"Hello?" he asked, warily.
The shape shifted, and a dirty face emerged, stringy brown hair and beard long and disgusting, around the worn but boyish face, and large brown eyes.
House practically choked, "Wilson?!"
The shape blinked at him, "how'd'you know my name?"
House stared for a moment.
No… that face was too weather-worn. The eyes had a slightly different angle, and the nose was the wrong shape, more rounded.
House swallowed, "David Wilson?"
The shape nodded.
Then its eyes rolled up, and it started to convulse.
House just stared, before finally regaining his wits enough to call for an ambulance.
David opened his eyes.
The guy with the cane was sitting next to him, in the white box, along with three other people.
He was in an ambulance.
"Let me go!"
"You were having a seizure," said the guy, "calm down. We're taking you to the hospital…"
"You don't get it! I was waiting for someone!"
"Jimmy?"
The man stared at House.
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!"
"Someone who Jimmy once called a friend. Now calm down, and answer the questions I ask you. Have you ever had a seizure before?"
"No."
"Have you ever had any neurological problems?"
"'cept RSD?"
House looked at him.
"Other than that?"
The man shook his head.
"Where's the RSD loCated?"
"Left leg."
House nodded, and removed his hand from the limb.
Then frowned, and put it back.
He looked at the man's face.
"Does it hurt right now?"
"I… you guys didn't do something to make it stop?"
House shook his head.
The man's eyes widened.
"No, I don't feel anything there."
House rolled up the pant leg.
A bluish, wasted limb met his eyes.
He laid his hand over it.
The man shook his head, "I can't feel that…"
House nodded to the paramedic to check the other leg.
"Nothing!"
The ambulance pulled to a stop, and House grabbed his cane.
Cameron was waiting for the doors to open.
She and the paramedics pulled the gurney out, and House filled her in on the details other than the man's name.
"Foreman," said House, sticking his head in the conference room, "remember that lady with rabies, and how Wilson got all mad at you?"
Foreman dropped his newspaper, "what?"
House waved for him to follow, which he did, rolling his eyes as he stood.
"What?" asked Foreman, as they headed towards the elevators.
"Wilson was touchy because his brother's been on the streets."
"Okay…"
"I went for a walk."
Foreman looked at him.
"You didn't seriously go searching for him…"
"No, I was just thinking. But I did find him. And he had a seizure, and now lower limb paralysis and numbness."
"Does Wilson know?"
"Well I should think so, since he's the one that noticed his legs were paralyzed…"
Foreman rolled his eyes, "James Wilson."
House sighed, "no."
"Are you going to tell him?"
"After I know if his brother's gonna die or not."
"Why?"
"Because if he dies while I'm treating him… I…"
House stopped, seemingly unable to speak any further.
Foreman sighed.
"I take it we're not telling the kids?"
House nodded, "Cameron admitted him, so she's in on the case. And chase."
Foreman nodded.
They headed down to radiology, and were just in time to catch Cameron wheeling David down the hall.
"Do you have any metal in you?"
David nodded, "pin in my leg…"
"Left shin," supplied House.
David looked at him.
"That's what started the disorder, isn't it?"
David sighed, nodding.
"You tell Jimmy yet?"
House shook his head.
"Good. I don't want him near me like this."
"You don't want him to see you sick?"
"I don't want him to see me pathetic. Jimmy… he's always got to save someone. Take care of them. But if you let him do that… he'll get so caught up… he won't see who you are anymore. And he'll start to resent this person who's just a disease to him, for all the trouble they cause him. I was staying with him, after it happened. That happened… it took a while, but… eventually, he just… said he didn't understand why he'd ever put himself out for me."
House sighed.
"Yeah…"
"The CT revealed encephalitis. We're running cultures, and need a stool sample to check for parasites."
David nodded.
"So…" asked House, leaning on the bed rail, "how does RSD leave you on the streets?"
"I used to be a landscaper—and a good one—but I couldn't, after the accident. I could hold down a job, I couldn't focus on any kind of work…and the medical bills… I just… ran out of money, couldn't pay the rent… got evicted. It was all a big down hill spiral after that."
House nodded, a strange look on his face.
David decided to pass it off as indigestion.
"You had staph in your brain. You should be fine."
David swallowed, "does that mean… will the pain come back?"
House hooked his cane on the rail, and sat on the foot of the bed.
"Yes."
"I… there's no way you can keep it from coming back?"
"Short of chopping your leg off…"
David looked at him.
"When it comes back… if you take off the leg…"
"It could still come back in the stump… and they'd have to cut well into your femur, to get above the affected area, and lessen the likelihood of it being in the stump.'
David looked at him.
"I… I can't… I can't take it anymore. When the pain comes back… can I… how would I pay for something like that…?"
"This is a teaching hospital. We treat patients whether or not they can pay."
"I…"
"You're tired of handling it alone. It's so hard. You're so tired. But you can't come back and be pathetic. You can't take any of those drastic steps that would take so long to recover from, because you can't stand the thought of someone having to take care of you again."
David looked at him.
"Yeah."
"Jimmy would much rather have his brother back and have to take care of him for a while than find out you died on the streets."
"he would at first. But… he'd end up resenting me so much that… that he'd probably eventually rather I were dead."
House laughed, quietly.
"You don't want him to know I found you."
"No. I… just release me, once I'm cured. Please."
"No."
"You can't not let me go…"
"True. Unless you're mentally insane."
"I'm not insane! I'm just crippled!"
"I know. But if I have you declared insane, then you'll be put in a private room in the psych ward unless someone takes you home."
David looked at him.
"Which could be you after I've recovered from the surgery."
House nodded, "and after that you can stay with me for the PT."
"What are you getting out of it? You want me to get Jimmy to do something?"
"No," said House, quietly, "I'm not getting anything out of it. Jimmy hates me. He's not gonna stop hating me. But I don't hate him. And he still loves you."
David looked at him for a long time.
"I'll tell him what you did."
House shook his head.
"No, you won't. I don't want that. I don't want him to come back out of gratitude. It wouldn't work, anyway. He doesn't believe I'm capable of sacrifice, he thinks anything I do is just for myself. He would think it was some ploy to try and get him back and hate me the more for it. So, no. you won't tell him. But you will, eventually, be there for him. And that's something he needs."
David nodded.
"Okay."
Two months later….
House leaned against the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane, as he waited for the nurse to lead the crazy man out.
David finally appeared, and nodded to him.
House limped out, and David followed him to the elevators, on the crutches.
David looked at him.
House met his gaze for a brief moment, before looking away.
"You can barely stand," said David, when House didn't start the conversation.
"We're not talking about this."
"We talked plenty about my life for the last two months."
"Because you owe me."
"Of course I do. That's hardly the point."
House sighed, glaring at him, as they headed out of the ER.
Cameron waved goodbye.
David nodded to her.
They got to House's car, and got in.
House drove to the apartment, and David struggled up the steps on the crutches, but was really only a bit slower than House.
"Remind me again why you're doing this?"
"Because it's the right thing to do."
"Ah, right. 'cause telling that nurse she was exhibiting symptoms of Alzheimer's just to get her out of the room was so morally correct…"
"I'm better at the broad strokes. And for all I know, her brain really is dying. She certainly seemed impaired… she couldn't even talk right," said House, as they sat down on the couch.
David snorted, "that's because she was crying so hard she couldn't get a full sentence out."
House shrugged, "whatever. The point is…"
He stopped, and gripped his bad leg with both hands.
David rolled his eyes, "oh, yeah. You're clearly just fine…"
House glared, "I never said I wasn't fine, I said I wasn't going to talk about it, Mr. Pot."
"Hey, I got it chopped off. You've done what? Killed your liver?"
"You had two ulcers when they brought you in. How much ibuprofen were *you* taking?"
"*I* wasn't a doctor practicing on opiates."
House glared at him.
David sighed.
"Sorry. That wasn't called for."
House shook his head, too tired to muster any real anger.
"So what's your PT schedule?" he asked, wearily, leaning back on the couch.
"Exercises I can do myself four times a day, stuff at the hospital once a week, and the PT clinic Monday, Wednesday and Friday."
House nodded, rubbing his bad leg.
"Okay."
David sighed.
"Why don't you have it chopped off?"
House looked at him, then looked away.
"There's not much point in having it chopped off for three months."
David looked at him.
Three months was when he was going to show up at James's office.
House looked at other man.
"What? No lecturing? No attempts to argue? To talk me out of it?"
"You honestly think I would argue against that? It's your right to decide you've had enough. It's sad, yeah, but…"
House nodded, looking away again.
Over the next two months, House and David ended up really quite comfortable with each other—past the certain amount of mutual respect they'd had since they met.
David came home from the job he had found as a garden designer, and dumped himself onto the couch, leaning forward to disengage the socket and take off the leg.
House, sitting in the armchair, a pair of crutches leaned against the table, looked at him silently.
David blinked, then nodded to himself, "bad pain day?"
House nodded, and looked away.
David pulled his own crutches out from under the couch, and hopped out to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, because it was pretty obvious House wasn't up to doing anything for dinner.
"You want a sandwich?" he asked.
"No," came, quietly, from House.
He shrugged, and only made one.
He ate it, then went back out and sat on the couch again.
"You gotta eat, man," he said, watching House just sit and stare off at nothing.
House shrugged, and picked up a book.
David shrugged, and turned on the TV.
Hours later, House got up and went into the main bedroom, putting no weight at all on his bad leg.
David didn't comment.
He watched the show for a while longer, but it had only held interest for him when he could glance over after a funny part and see House's mouth twitch a bit.
He got up and went to the smaller bedroom, which had previously been an office, but Cameron had come and helped House clean it out.
The next morning, House just didn't get up.
David walked in, dressed for work, ready to offer a ride in, if House didn't feel up to driving.
But it was clear House wasn't feeling up to much of anything.
He was pasty white, sweaty, gripping his bad leg with both hands.
What was worse, he was still in his clothes from the previous day. He'd probably been up all night.
David sat down on the bed, and rested a hand on House's arm.
"Did you call in?"
House shook his head.
David picked up the phone and dialed.
By the time three months rolled around, they stood in front of Wilson's office, looking at each other.
"Dude…" said David, "I'm gonna hug you."
"No," said House, "you're not."
The door opened, and Jimmy came out, then stopped, looking at House.
"What are you doing here. Get out. Leave me alone."
House turned and limped heavily away, before David had a chance to say anything else.
David sighed, irritated.
James looked at him.
Then spluttered.
"David!"
James *did* hug him.
Three hours later, when Taub broke into House's apartment because he wasn't answering the phone and their patient was dying, he found House unconscious on the floor, a puddle of pills next to his mouth.
He was breathing.
There was a note next to him.
'Bye, Wilson,' was all it said.
House groaned.
David.
What the hell?
"You said you weren't going to—"
"I didn't," he said, abruptly, "Taub did."
House groaned, and closed his eyes.
"Get me some cyanide now, please…"
David snorted.
"Um, House…"
House opened his eyes, "what?"
"James is pissed at me for being here this whole time and not contacting him. So…"
"So you wanna stay at my apartment?"
David nodded.
"Fine. But… seriously, he's that mad? I would have thought that you being alive would outweigh you having been around for a while."
"Yeah, well, Jimmy doesn't seem to get it when people do things for him."
House snorted, a bit, and reached for his water pitcher.
"Nice note by the way," said David, pouring it for him, "though confusing, since you call both of us Wilson."
"Writing both your first names was too much trouble."
David snorted, handing him the cup.
"House."
House looked at him.
"You… are you gonna try again while you're here?"
House shook his head.
"No. you can stay without worrying about having to see that."
David nodded and, hesitantly, gripped House's hand.
House looked at the two hands, frowning a bit.
Then at David.
"You're insane."
"To want to give someone something to live for? Oh, yeah, certifiable."
House looked at him for a long time.
Then he squeezed the hand, briefly, just a bit.
David smiled, and House smirked a bit.
Hours later, David's phone rang.
He answered it, and mouthed to House that it was the land design company he was employed with.
He ended up having to go—some customer needed last-minute changes to the plans to fit some code or other.
David was almost to the door, when James appeared.
They both stopped.
James's expression was dark.
"So it was his idea."
David stuttered a bit, trying to find an answer that would satisfy James, but…
"Yeah," said House, almost coldly, "it was."
James stepped in past David, tired brown eyes full of irritation.
"Taub informed me of what your note said."
"So?"
"What were you thinking? That I would come back if you said goodbye? You're such a—"
"I wasn't writing it to you," said House, and, really, it was only half a lie, "shorter than writing David," he paused, "okay, well, it's the same number of letters. But I figured I should say goodbye to someone and he's the only one that's had anything to do with me for the last three or so months."
House looked past James at David, who nodded and left to go deal with his work thing.
"I can't believe you, House… what were you doing, try to keep him as a tool to get me to—"
"Not everything is about you, James," said House pushing the button to raise the head of the bed.
"Did you just call me James? You never call me James."
"Well I just established that Wilson meant David, so I could hardly call you that."
James scrunched his face, "what is up with you?"
]
"I found him when I was trying to figure out how much I was responsible for that breakdown of yours at the conference. I brought him in as a patient because he had an unexplained seizure. While I was treating him, I kind of got to know him. He didn't want you to have to take care of him, so I suggested what happened. He obviously agreed. So if you've got to blame anyone, it's me, because I thought up the idea."
James stared at him.
"Did you just take responsibility for something?"
"Well, I don't think you could possibly hate me anymore than you already do, so I didn't see what point there was in trying to pawn the fault off on anyone else."
James shook his head, "you're an asshole, House."
"For what? For helping your brother? Taking responsibility?"
"Trying to kill yourself!"
House snorted, angrily, "as if you care!"
James looked at him.
Then walked out.
House pressed his head back into the pillows and gritted his teeth.
Maybe two hours later, David came back, carrying the case for the leg.
"You planning on moving in?" asked House, raising an eyebrow.
David shrugged, as he set the case down and sat on the chair to take off the leg, "I've had it on for too long, with work, then sitting here with you until James came, and then work again."
House shrugged, and watched the other man.
David's dark hair, brown eyes, and well defined jaw gave him a serious appearance, but as far as House could tell, he liked to laugh more than anything else, and among the lines that told of pain and weariness in the past, the laugh lines around his mouth and eyes were quite well defined.
House suddenly realized he'd been staring for over a minute, and looked away.
He heard a warm chuckle from David's direction, and looked back at the other man.
"You can look, you know?" he said, leaning on the bed rail, smiling.
House smirked a bit, and patted the bed, "yeah, well get over here so I can actually see you—I'm an old man, you know?"
"You're the same age as me, House," said David, snorting.
"Yeah, but I read more."
"And I fill in little circles and ovals in larger wavy shapes and type in little labels that say thing like sempervivum arachnoidies."
House rolled his eyes, "forever-living spider?"
David snorted, "it's a kind of plant."
"I figured that."
David sat on the edge of the bed, smiling.
House closed his eyes.
"You okay?"
"Tired."
"Yeah."
David started to ease off, but two of House's fingers slid into his belt loop, and he stopped, and scooted back on.
"Okay," he said, quietly, wrapping his hand around House's.
House looked up at him, tiredly.
"Do you dream about it?"
"About the amputation? Yeah… well, kind of. I dream about the pain, and I dream about sawing the leg off to escape it, and I wake up… and it's gone. But so is the pain."
House nodded, sighing.
David squeezed the hand, gently, smiling a bit, "I'll stay with you, House."
House nodded, already losing the fight to stay awake.
When House opened his eyes, his head was resting on a shoulder, there was an arm around his back, and his leg was lying alongside David's remaining one.
He smiled a bit, and closed his eyes again.
House teased him about sleeping with unconscious people, but he was smiling the whole time, and David went home to get changed for work.
When he came back, Cuddy was in the room, talking to House.
He stood outside the room, waiting.
Cameron passed, and stopped, and they talked for a while.
Cuddy exited the room, and David said goodbye to Cameron, and went in.
House looked slightly upset, but not too much so.
"What were you talking about?"
"She's going to have me evaluated by a psychiatrist to see if I'm still suicidal."
"What did you say?"
"That it's a waste of time because I could tell her right then that I am."
David sighed, and gripped House's hand.
"What did she say?"
"That I still have to be evaluated before she admits me to the psych ward."
David nodded, sadly, squeezing the hand.
He sat on the bed, and, digging in his shoulder bag, pulled out a folded chessboard and a box of checkers, "couldn't find chess pieces."
House shrugged, and started dividing the small wooden circles into white and black.
Cate sighed, entering the room.
David and House looked up from House's laptop, and David got off the bed, cleaning his stuff off the chair and putting the laptop on the table.
He nodded to House, who nodded back, and hopped out on crutches.
"Um," said Cate, blinking a bit, "who was that? He looked kind of like Wilson."
"That's cause he's Wilson's older brother."
"Ah. I hear you tried to kill yourself."
"Yeah."
"You're depressed."
"Not more than I have been for years."
"Then why did you try to kill yourself?"
"Because I wanted the pain to stop."
"And that was the only way? From your medical records you haven't tried a new medication in ten years."
"Dr. Marian Chang."
"… I don't know who that is."
"You don't have my complete medical records. She's got the ones that aren't in the main folder."
"I'm still going to talk to you, today. Can you tell me what's in those extra files?"
"Pain stuff. Medications, pain level charts… I had to get someone to write my scripts after Wilson stopped talking to me. Cuddy wouldn't do it, said I had to see a pain specialist."
"And I take it nothing worked?"
House nodded, "obviously, or else neither of us would be here."
Cate nodded, waving to the chair, "can I sit?"
House rolled his eyes, "whatever."
Cate sat, laying her clipboard on her lap.
"Why'd Cuddy send you?"
"Because I can stand you and she figured you wouldn't be able to send me running out of the room crying."
House grimaced at the memory of the last psych consult, just after his infarction.
"Are you going to try again."
He looked at her, for a long, long time.
"I need the pain to go away. I can't… I've spent ten years with this pain. I can't… I'm too tired."
"Stronger opioids would take away the pain."
"And leave me without a job. The job… is the only thing I've got. I lost Wilson, and my job is the only thing I have left."
"What about the guy who just left? Wilson's brother? You seemed to have him."
"He's… a friend, I guess. He'd rather be more, but… I don't want him to get any closer."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to hurt anyone when I get rid of the pain."
"… here's a hint: when you're trying to get cleared for not being suicidal, telling the psychiatrist evaluating you that you're going to kill yourself is not a good idea."
"I'm not depressed. I'm not psychotic. I'm just tired of the pain. I'm tired of being a miserable old cripple, I'm tired of the pain, and I'm tired of waking up screaming a dead woman's name."
"Amber?"
House nodded, "I'm tired of the nightmares about the crash. I'm tired of the nightmares about Wilson walking away. I'm tired of the nightmares about all the crap that happened when I was a kid. I'm tired. Just… tired."
"You're tired of being alone, you said?"
"I didn't say that."
"But it's true."
"… yeah."
"Then why don't you see if you can not be alone?"
"Because I don't want to hurt him."
"So you care about him."
House was silent for a moment.
"Yeah, I guess. Spent the last three months almost constantly with the guy, and visited before that."
"He was in the psych ward during those two months… are you maybe afraid of a relationship with someone less stable even than you are?"
"David's much more stable than I am… than Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman, Taub… than everyone else I know…. He was there because I bribed Stevenson to have him declared insane so he could go through the worst part of the recovery from the amputation in the hospital, and not have to depend on Wilson—I would have offered for him to do the whole thing at my place, but… like I said, I'm a cripple in pain. Would have had to hire a nurse, and the steps out front…"
Cate nodded, crossing something off on her chart.
"It's not just physical pain you want to end, is it?"
"… no. When you have your only friend hate you for going out for a drink because you were having breakthrough pain more and more often, but he was happy. Because you didn't' want him to lose his girlfriend like he did his second wife—because he was spending too much time taking care of you and she completely resented him. Then you can go ahead and judge me."
"I'm not judging you, House. I'm evaluating you."
"Oh, so you're job is to judge me and dress it up with a fancy name."
"You know, I don't remember you being this touchy about me trying to figure you out."
"I don't remember you trying to lock me up."
"I'm not trying to lock you up. I'm trying to evaluate the risk of you attempting suicide again."
"Which is high. Therefore you will lock me up. "
"I'm going to recommend you be kept here another week, in the general ward. After that I will come back for a second evaluation. If at that time I deem you are still suicidal, you will be admitted to the psychiatric ward for therapy and your own safety."
She got up, and touched his arm, "anything you need?"
House sighed, and shook his head.
"David's probably at the nurses' station."
She nodded, "I'll tell him he can come back."
"Cate," said House, when she was almost to the door.
She turned around, looking at him.
"I know it's your job to keep me alive. But can you honestly say you blame me?"
She sighed, brushing her brown hair out of her face.
"Only a little, House. I don't think you're irrational, or acting out of depression. I think you just don't know how you can handle more pain. I think you're tired of your pain. But I also think you should try and form a connection. Try to not be alone. And see if that makes the pain easier to bear."
House sighed, and looked away.
"Call Chang."
"I will."
She left.
A few minutes later, David came back in, and perched himself on the bed.
"How'd it go?"
"She's giving me a week to get non-suicidal before she institutionalizes me."
"Ah," said David, snorting, "I can see that going real well."
House shrugged.
"Why… didn't you do it? When you got evicted, or whenever?"
David sighed, curling his hand in House's, "because I still had hope. A fool's hope, but hope just the same. I thought I'd get it together, somehow. I thought I'd get used to the pain some more, that I'd be able to focus and get a job, find Jimmy, come back and not be a burden to him."
House tilted his head, "you… you said you were waiting for him. When we were in the ambulance."
David sighed, rubbing his face, which had stubble that was beginning to rival House's usual fuzz, "I… couldn't take it anymore. I had nothing. The pain was just too much. I needed help—I was out of my mind with desperation. I don't know why I thought he'd come. It's been thirteen years… but I… I needed help. I needed someone to take care of me. I needed to not be alone."
House was watching him, strangely.
"You get it. That's why you said you wouldn't stop me. Because you get it. What it's like to not be able to take it anymore."
David nodded.
"Then you should know that the last person you should get attached to is someone who can't take it anymore."
David shook his head, "no. That's the best person to get attached to."
House raised an eyebrow, "you're not going to turn into Cameron, are you?"
David snorted, "no. What I meant was… there's nowhere to go but up." House needed to think he had a selfish reason for this—that he wasn't just picking up a charity case. And though there was actually a selfish reason—really, really wanting to be around House for a long time—he figured this one would work a bit better with House's understanding of the world.
His theory was confirmed when House reached up and yanked him down by his tie.
"You should be letting go," whispered House, his head resting on David's shoulder, David's arm around his back, "not getting closer."
"I should be getting the most out of the next six days as is possible."
House went to answer, but was interrupted by his thigh cramping.
David's arm tightened, as House fought through the spasm.
It didn't seem to be easing up.
"Should I hit the call button?"
House shook his head, jaw muscles rippling.
"s'ok. It'll…RRNG!"
House's body shuddered as he screamed, and David hit the call button.
The nurse who came in paged Cuddy, as David tried to help House through the pain.
Cuddy came, and bolused morphine into House's IV line.
He was hiding his face now, but David could still tell when the meds started to take effect.
Cuddy sighed, brushing her hand over House's arm.
"You alright, now?"
House nodded, sleepily.
Later on, House was still in pain, though less severe.
He was curled rather clingily close to David, because for some reason, the contact seemed to ease the pain, just a little.
"Was it worth it?" he asked, quietly, and David, who had been reading, looked at him.
"What?"
"It."
"The amputation?"
House nodded.
David paused, then nodded, "yeah. Yeah, it would be worth it even if I had to go through it a thousand times, for the pain to be gone."
House closed his eyes and hid his face in David's shoulder.
David blinked at him for a moment, then went back to reading.
House really seemed to be suffering the next day, but he wouldn't talk to anyone, or let anyone treat him.
He just sat on the bed, hospital robe pulled up just enough to expose the entirety of the scar.
He touched it, sometimes, and stared at it all day, pale and sweaty from the pain.
Finally, at almost midnight, he pushed the button on the pca pump, and slept after the drugs entered his system.
David sat with him, watching him, hand on his arm.
He had no idea what was going on inside House's head.
It had been four days since Cate's ultimatum.
House couldn't keep his food down, so they put him on IV nutrition.
He was drowsy from the drugs, and slept most of the day.
Except around five, when David came back from work, and House looked at him and gripped his hand, and then closed his eyes and slept again.
When David shifted on the bed, House woke and put his arm around David's waist.
David sighed, watching the other man.
House seemed to have given up on pushing him away.
He was upset and hurting, and he was finally taking comfort from David's presence.
House seemed better on the fifth day, able to keep his food down, talk, joke and do other more intimate things.
The sixth day, he just sat there, watching the other man fill in plant names on a design sheet on his laptop.
He didn't say much, but at least he was engaged.
David had to go home for a CD, and House said he should sleep on the bed at home, which was much more comfortable than the one in the hospital.
David refused. He said he would be back as soon as he got the CD.
He was almost out the door, when House said, quickly, "do people think you're pathetic?"
David turned around, blinking.
"Do you?"
House shook his head.
David leaned against the doorway, studying House.
"People can't even tell, if I'm wearing pants. And Arnie, the guy who runs the landscaping company, doesn't think that. Otherwise… I don't know."
"People can't tell?"
"People look at you 'cause of your cane, and the limp. I know it bugs you. It bugged me before the amputation. But it's gone, now. Nobody can tell."
House held his gaze for a long time.
"Does James think you're pathetic?"
David blinked.
Then he smiled, a little, to himself.
"No, Greg. He thinks I'm a bastard, but he doesn't think I'm pathetic."
House looked away.
David left, fully expecting the bed to be empty when he got back.
It was.
He sighed, and sat on the empty mattress, crying silently.
Midnight.
He continued to cry.
There was a soft knock on the doorframe, and he turned around.
Cate.
He wiped his face, "hi."
She came in, and handed him a form.
"He wants you to fill this out."
David blinked at her.
"He's gone."
She shook her head, "he showed up at my office, said he needed a witness for something, and passed out. He's in the ICU because his vitals were unstable, I only just got away to tell you."
David looked down at the paper. It was a form to assign someone as a medical proxy.
His name and House's were filled out in House's handwriting.
He looked at Cate.
"What does this mean?"
"I think it means he's got something to live for."
David hugged her and cried