Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or rights to House, M.D. All rights belong to the respective persons.
House threw his apartment door open and used the tip of his can to slam it behind him. He limped to the couch, threw his jacket on the side, and turned on the TV. His leg was hurting. He rubbed at his thigh, massaging small circles into the ruined muscle. He dug for his pills in his pocket and spread some onto his palm, and counted one two three four, four pills. He looked at it a moment before swallowing. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply as the pills glided down his throat.
He turned the TV. off and limped to the kitchen, abandoning his cane against the couch. As he poured himself a glass of scotch, he swirled the glass in his hand, and thought of Wilson.
After a moment Wilson responded. "I've gotta do what's right for me. You've gotta do what's right for you."
House lowered his eyes from the glass. "Guilting him backfired." He took a sip of his drink. "How the hell am I supposed to get him to stay?" He slowly sipped his scotch while Wilson's words kept echoing through his mind.
"We're not okay House, we're not okay."
House had spent most of yesterday analyzing the words and Wilson's expression. Today, the action sent waves of pain through his leg and he grimaced. He fought through it and continued to reflect.
Youmanipulate people because you can't handle any kind of real relationship...You should have been alone on that bus."
"I should have been alone," House agreed to himself. His hand shook as he brought the glass to his lips, and swallowed the rest of his scotch. Warm tears pricked the back of his eyes and he screwed them shut. After a moment he opened them carefully, and took a short breath. The pain in his leg only grew and his experience told him to take in deep long breaths.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. The pain turned into a sharp stabbing and he held his breath. He let it out slowly, carefully when the pain allowed him, and rubbed his palm against his right thigh. His hand shook when he tried pouring himself another glass. He spilled most of it on the table but he didn't care. He threw his head back and took a large gulp, slamming the glass down when he finished.
House tried standing, his leg twitched and buckled before collapsing under the weight. He caught himself and used the nearby chair for support. He waited a moment before trying again, this time, he was careful to apply the smallest amount of pressure to the right leg as he lightly tapped it against the floor. Once he was balanced between the chair and his left leg, he pushed himself from the chair and put all of his weight onto his left leg, levitating his right leg above the floor. He let it touch the floor and slowly applied weight to it. He held his breath in a conditioned response to the knots it sent throughout his thigh.
He stopped and breathed in a long shuddering breath. He looked down the hall to his bedroom. It was so far away, and his thigh was screaming at him. He wouldn't make it. He threw his arm out and grabbed onto the nearby wall for support and hopped on his good leg. The move sent more shivers through his thigh and he stopped. He leaned against the wall and balanced himself with his left leg. He looked ahead and thought he had to at least make it to the couch.
He took a few moments to ready himself. He worked his way around the wall and put all of his pressure on his left leg. Once he was at the edge of the wall he tapped his right against the floor again and held his breath. He gave himself one last push off the wall and hopped on his left, tapped his right against the floor, and switched back to left. His legs were shaking but he continued, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, until he threw his arms on the back of his couch.
His arms hung from the back of the couch while his body dangled lifelessly. His legs were behind him and stretched along the floor. He laid like that for a few minutes, his arms outstretched above his head and his legs hanging lamely. His face was glistening with sweat and it dripped from the tip of his nose and splashed onto the floor. When he tried to pull himself up with his arms he managed to steady himself with his left knee pressed into the back of the couch.
He paused again as the action sapped most of his energy. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths for what he was about to do.
With one unsteady motion he slid his left leg up against the couch and, once balanced, dragged his right leg up and firmly placed it on the floor. He gave a small cry as his thigh spasmed and his leg fell gracelessly behind him and back onto the floor. He dug his fingernails into the leather couch in response to the burning in his thigh. He tried pulling himself up with his arms but he had no energy.
Finally, he gave up and unclenched his hands from the couch. He fell onto the floor and supported himself on his forearms a moment before pressing his body against the cool floor. His sweat made the floor slick enough for him to roll on his back without irritating his thigh any further.
"This is pathetic." House threw a hand over his face and another that clutched at his aching thigh. "I'm pathetic," he groaned and his right thigh let out a wave of pain in response. He threw himself to his left side and clenched the ruined flesh when it spasm. He curled himself into a tight ball and threw his head back again and again.
Once the pain allowed him to, House dug into his pocket for his pills. His hands shook as he tried and failed to unscrew the top. "Dammit!" House banged the bottle against the floor in frustration and the pills rattled in his clutch. He wiped at the sweat on the top of his lids and lifted his body into a seated position.
House slowly dragged his body backwards on his palms against the couch. He leaned on the back of the couch and closed his eyes. His mind wandered back to Wilson.
Wilson shook his head. "I have to take care of myself, House. I can't enable you anymore."
House looked at his right leg with a flash of hatred. He rubbed it continually for a few moments before the pain came rushing back. He let out small whimpers with each wave of heat it sent throughout his leg. He clutched the pills in his left hand and used much of his remaining energy to unscrew the top.
He tilted his head back as he swallowed one two three four five pills. He looked at the orange bottle in his hand. He only had six left. He tightened his fingers around it, and breathed in and out and in and out again to soothe himself.
His shirt and hair clung to his body as he remained deathly still against the couch. Fresh tears pricked at his eyes and he let them fall. "It should have been me." House said behind closed eyelids.
His left hand clung to the bottle and his right rubbed at the damaged tissue until his shaky breathing lulled him into a fitful sleep.
