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Title: The Glory of Self-Sacrifice (1/1)
Author: Antigone a.k.a. Anty
Fandom: House M.D.
Rating: PG-13 (for talk of suicide)
Keywords: Short, Episode Related, Angst, Dark, Wilson.
Spoilers: "Son of Coma Guy" (3x07).
Summary: James Wilson has always been addicted to the grandeur that is tragedy.
Disclaimer & Notes: I'm positive this episode was the most disturbing thing I have ever seen on TV. But instead of endlessly ranting about it, I optioned to share my impressions through a short fic. Thanks to Nom de Plume for the beta. Obviously, the boys are not mine. And I bow before Doris Egan.
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The Glory of Self-Sacrifice
© Antigone, November 15th, 2006
"The day my liver gives out, please remember that they do living donor transplants today."
They were alone in the car after the helicopter with Gabe's body had taken off, and alone on the road, which was a good thing, considering Wilson yanked the steering wheel so hard they swerved way into the opposite lane after almost hitting the guardrail.
"What?!"
"You heard me," House said evenly. "The day I need a transplant to continue my sorry existence, please don't kill yourself to provide one."
Wilson pulled over and shut off the engine. Incredulous, he sat next to House in the dark, staring out through the windshield onto the illuminated gravel ahead. "What," he finally said, body shaking with repressed anger, "what makes you think— how can you be so arrogant as to assume—"
House snorted.
"Why would I commit physical suicide for you?" Wilson demanded furiously. "Because career suicide isn't enough and I hope to finally get a reaction like you care out of you that way?"
Out if the corner of his eye, he could see House looking at him like he was a dull-witted child. "Because you've been depressed your entire life?" came his impatient proposal.
"Oh, so instead of finally seeing a therapist and wolfing down Prozac, you think I'd write a note and waste my liver on an addict like you."
"I know," House answered quietly, "that nobody can be in love with meaning the way you are without also being strongly attracted to death. It's what gives everything meaning after all."
Wilson was silent.
"And oncology is a great place to channel that, but you've never managed to say no to whatever opportunity could possibly destroy your life. I'm afraid that when this one comes, you won't be able to resist, either."
Wilson turned his body to look at House, sharp intake of breath accompanied by a strangled hysterical sound.
"Promise me you'll remember," House earnestly said, "because it was deeply disturbing to see Gabe getting ready to leap off that table and instantly think of you."
"I promise," Wilson choked.
House's probing gaze never wavered. "Promise me to act like a reasonable person when you do. And that you won't only remember when it's too late already."
The tie around Wilson's neck was suddenly strangling him. He yanked at its knot, throwing open the car door and undoing the seatbelt, desperately trying to breathe, to get air. He stumbled around the Volvo to the edge of the curb, and it hit him the shiny vehicle had never looked so ugly. Feet finally reaching gravel and grass, he bent over and vomited for a very long time.
"How beautiful a thing is self-sacrifice. I wish there were
someone I could die for."
—John van Druten, I Remember Mama
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(Fin.)