There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 2
Now you see me.
Now you don't.
Now you say you love me.
Pretty soon you won't.
House breezed into Wilson's office without knocking. It was almost comforting how some things never seemed to change.
To his credit, Wilson didn't even bother to look up at the intrusion, just carried on amending notes in charts, his left hand in constant motion over the pile of paper.
House threw himself gladly onto the empty sofa, engaging in his favorite game of 'who caves first' and waited impatiently for Wilson to break the silence. When no game-losing breach was forthcoming, House figured that it was worth conceding this time in order to get what he came for.
"Oh Jimmy boy, while you're scribbling like a demented toddler, can you apply some of it to that lovely prescription pad of yours?"
Wilson's patented frown of confusion made its first appearance, and a sudden warmth developed in House's chest area, which surely had to be some form of heartburn. Only an idiot would assume it had anything to do with the overwhelming relief of having a best friend once again.
"You're seriously asking me for Vicodin? After eight months in the program?"
"I'm not slipping. It's just that the current dose doesn't take my uh, new circumstances into account."
Wilson greeted that crappy reasoning with a dry chuckle. House at least used to come up with better, more elaborate excuses. Wounded by Wilson's dismissal, House tried again.
"I was doing okay when it was just me coming home at night and collapsing on the sofa until I fell asleep. These days it's constant servicing of the she-devil, not to mention my no-chores pass expired as soon as she started showing signs of man-juice infection. You know she actually asked me to dry dishes the other morning? I didn't know stupidity was a side effect of pregnancy, but you learn something new every day."
If House was expecting laughter or sympathy, he got neither, merely a deepening furrow on Wilson's forehead.
"You're so proud of yourself for getting her pregnant. Like it's some special kill combo in Mortal Kombat.
"Ah, you do know how to bring the classics, I'll give you that."
Wilson stabbed the pen he was holding into the sheet he had been furiously scribbling on. Something was definitely off here, and House couldn't quite work out what.
"You do realize there's going to be a baby? In about five months? You sit there and crack jokes about it, like it doesn't really have anything to do with you."
"Well, she wants to keep it. I wanted to sue Trojan, but what can you do?"
The pen was slammed down this time, the force in Wilson's hand messing up his carefully ordered charts. House braced himself against the sofa cushions, part intrigued and part horrified by the aggressive body language on his usually sanguine buddy.
"God, you're infuriating! How can you throw out this flippant bullshit when you've basically turned your whole life around for her? You're never at home. When you are the phone is unplugged. Yet to hear you, it's like you've changed your laundry detergent, nothing's really different."
House found himself crossing his arms across his chest, completing the look with his best wounded pout.
"Nothing is different!"
"Oh come on, House!"
Wilson's voice crept up an octave or so, a sure sign he was genuinely pissed. House regarded his friend suspiciously, realization dawning as Wilson refused to meet his eye.
"You're jealous! You're pissed because I don't spend as much time with you. Hey, I can ask Cuddy if we're allowed a play date…"
Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Wilson pushed his chair back from the desk.
"That's not what this is about. Cuddy is my friend too, and I want you to be honest about what's going on with you two. If you hurt her, it won't be just another spat between the Dean and the biggest bastard in the hospital."
"Don't give me that! You're upset over this, even though nothing's gone wrong. You're not worried about Cuddy; you know she can kick my ass from here to Cuba if she wants to. Wait…"
Wilson got up to leave; his patience these days wasn't as elastic as it had been. He managed a grand total of three steps before House's next rejoinder stopped him dead.
"The reason you're angry has nothing to do with protecting the scariest woman in Jersey. You don't think I deserve this. If anyone should have a pregnant girlfriend to make jokes about, it ought to be you. You think this is where you and Amber would have been now, and you're trying to start a fight over it."
House had risen to his feet with some difficulty, an accusing finger jabbing the air in Wilson's general direction.
"That's not what I'm saying! I'll admit it is a little difficult to see you suddenly all settled down. It's not even a year since I lost Amber, and I did think we would get married and have kids. That's only natural when you love someone."
Wilson's voice cracked at the mention of her name; he so rarely said it out loud these days. The wind was well and truly taken out of his sails.
"I don't want to talk about this. If you need an increased dose, ask your own doctor."
House almost growled with sheer frustration. This wasn't how he expected this conversation to go. When he answered, it was with thinly veiled irritation.
"If I ask her, it means we spend weeks rearranging the whole circus. I'll have to jump through 50 different hoops for even one more pill, and hoop-jumping is pretty hard when you're a cripple."
Wilson stood beside his desk, shoulders slumped in apparent defeat as he considered the merits of House's argument.
"Ever think there might be a reason for that? Should they be making it easy for you to slip back into old habits?"
"It's not like it was before, I just need a little extra without all the bitching and paperwork that comes with asking. Just one 'script and I'll ration it out."
Wilson put his hands on his hips, exhaling heavily through pursed lips. Wasn't this exactly how it had started before?
House, for his part, was squirming uncomfortably at even having to ask. He hated that the stupid program hadn't made any major changes, and was sick of hearing how it would take so much longer because of all the years he had neglected his rehab. He especially hated this newfound hypocrisy of everyone around him. They'd been content to enable him when he'd offered no alternative to overdoing it on Vicodin, and now when he made some effort they weren't willing to top that up for him.
"I'm sorry House, but I'm just not going down that road again. If you need it badly enough, you'll grin and bear the extra paperwork or whatever it is you're so scared of. Nothing Ana does to you in therapy can't be worse than the pain you're claiming."
With that, Wilson took his leave, not once looking back. House knew it was because Wilson couldn't trust his own resolve, and that irked House even further.
Leaving the empty office behind, after knocking Wilson's glass of water over his paperwork, House headed back to his own office to think. There was a lot to consider, like whether it was best to manipulate Cameron's long-standing compassion, or play on Kutner's new boy naïveté. A page from Cuddy interrupted his thought process, but he ignored it in favor of formulating a new plan. He wasn't risking that she'd want him to do anything that would ramp up the pain in his thigh another notch, so she was going to have to wait.
When Cuddy arrived at his office door 30 minutes later, he was nowhere to be found.
