Author's notes: Wow, it's been forever since I've released a chapter. Been working on this one for a very long time but as often happens, life got in the way a few times before reaching the final result…
Just wanted to let you this fic is still on and I will continue to post chapters, hopefully in a more steady pace from now on.
Thanks for reading and if you do—please review! I enjoy your comments and love to get insight into what you think or any suggestions you may have.
-Pt 10-
"No!"
"Yes."
"You wouldn't…"
"Try me…"
"Okay stop!" House lunged himself between Wilson and the toilet. "You'll regret it…"
"No, I won't…" Wilson placed his hands on his hips in familiar "wonder-boy" fashion. "For the past couple of weeks I have done nothing but wait for your stupid car to get fixed while laying on a couch under the influence of narcotics and numerous other substances waiting to die…" He once again held the plastic bag, filled with an assortment of pills, over the toilet and shot House a final threatening look.
House didn't budge, "If you don't want them, I can use' em." He offered as a last resort to save the coveted treasure.
"No you can't." Wilson disagreed.
"But…but…" House pulled off the puppy dog eyes and gestured down to his bad leg.
"You've been taking advantage of the whole situation!" Wilson accused, "I mean come on, House… Cocaine… Vicodin… And is that a glass of scotch in your hand?"
House looked down at the glass, "I was thirsty…"
"It's 10 am!" Wilson yelped, "What happened to 'I hallucinated a bunch of ghosts from my past who made me realize I should change!' That was a good plan for you… I liked that plan..." He mused.
"I was high on Heroin when I came up with that plan… So… There's that." House took a sip of his drink, "besides, I am merely a passenger on your terminal pity bus…" he continued. "Don't blame me… or my subconscious hallucination 'friends'..."
"So it's not all your fault…" Wilson acknowledged. "And that's why the pity bus stops here. And we are both—" he emphasized, "…going to deal with this effectively instead of reenacting scenes from Trainspotting…"
"But…but…" House gestured toward Wilson's chest, again, making sure his glistening puppy dog eyes are noticeable.
"Yes… Cancer hurts..." Wilson noted dryly. "Thank you for your fine and articulate observation. Now move…" he gave House a gentle push.
House stumbled aside and watched as the brightly colored pills flushed down the toilet. He looked up at Wilson. Perhaps third time is indeed a charm and the puppy eyes will do their job. But no such luck.
"You'll be fine…" Wilson said. He gave House a gentle reassuring pat on the shoulder and stepped out of the restroom.
"Oh I know I will…" House called out, "It's you I'm worried about!" he lied.
He limped into the other room and hovered over Wilson.
"Worried?" Wilson pondered dryly, "I had no idea you were capable of such a feeling…"
"You should be worried for yourself!" House interjected, "You want to add detox to your endless list of aches and pains? You need those pills!"
"I saved enough Vicodin to manage your pain and mine…"
"It won't be enough." House said in a last feeble attempt to intimidate Wilson into getting more pills. He was used to having more than he needed. It was sort of like a security blanket and not having that extra dose made him feel uneasy. But he knew Wilson did not share this fear with him—he was just grasping at straws.
"Busy, House…" Wilson tried to ignore his friend's statement as he dug through a duffle bag that was placed on the desk.
House raised an eyebrow, "What are you digging for in there anyway?" He cocked his head.
Wilson shot House an annoyed look before pulling out an object from the bag and placing it on the desk.
"Bronchodilator?" House picks up the blue plastic inhaler and squeezes a dose of the medicine into air.
Wilson sighs irritably, "I thought treating the actual symptoms would be more effective than just blindly drugging myself and hoping for the best…"
House places the inhaler back on the table. "You don't have asthma. You're treating a symptom. Not the cause…"
"Well, the cause is not exactly treatable so it doesn't really matter at this point. Does it?" Wilson rolled his eyes.
It wasn't difficult to pick up on the deep sense of frustration in Wilson's voice. "Meds were making you groggy?" House asked. Sadly he knew the answer.
Wilson nodded. "Might be the meds…"
They exchanged uncomfortable looks. This level of closeness was new to both of them. And sadly, as time marched on, they were being put through the test of having to become even closer and more open with each other. Neither one of them were very good at it. And yet as House realized the reason behind why Wilson chose to dispose of over half of his pill stash, he realized his friend wanted to spend the time he had feeling as alive as possible. And the thought gnawed deeply into his chest, hurting him just as much as he was sure it did Wilson.
House's mouth slacked open as he went deep into thought. Wilson eyed him curiously.
"Have you ever seen an alligator?" House randomly asked.
"What?" Wilson was confused by the sharp change in topic, "I mean, yeah I guess at the zoo when I was a kid… I took a guided swamp tour once…"
"No, no…" House cut him off, "I mean have you actually ever seen one… up close…"
Wilson shrugged, "I guess not…"
House smiled slyly. "Wanna see something cool, Wilson?"
…
"I'm not putting my feet in there!" Wilson cringed as he watched House take off his shoes, roll up his jeans and dunk his feet in the swamp water.
"Fine…" House looked up at his slightly hysterical friend, "Just do me a favor and sit down, my neck is going to kill me if I have to look up every time I want to mock you for being such a girl…"
Wilson rolled his eyes and finally managed to settle himself into a seated position. Though he wasn't quite sure the slightly elevated wooden dock would stop a gator from eating them whole if it wished to do so.
"You're going to get your feet chopped off…" Wilson fidgeted.
House turned around and gave him a stare, "Could you pull your skirt out of your ass and just enjoy this?"
"There's a frickin' dinosaur swimming under your feet!" Wilson croaked, "How is the prospects of it chopping off your limbs even remotely enjoyable?"
House smiled. He reached back to the big bucket that stood behind him and dragged it closer. "You don't know anything…" He pulled the lid off of the bucket and set it aside.
Wilson extended his neck curiously. "You got to be kidding me…" he gawked once he realized what was going on.
House dangled the piece of raw chicken over the muddy swamp water.
"I always knew you were insane…" Wilson noted dryly.
His thoughts were interrupted when the jaw of an alligator swooned out of the water and snatched the raw chicken right from House's hands. It swam underneath his feet, ignoring their presence in the water completely.
"You were saying?" House asked proudly.
"Wow." Wilson huffed in disbelief, "Did that really just? ..."
"Yup." House extended his hand once again over the swamp and watched the same alligator leap out of the water.
Wilson shielded his face from the splash, "What the hell, House?"
"Relax!" House shouted over the continuous splashing sound, "I've got this!"
"Y… You've actually done this before?!"
"Yes, when my father was stationed at the gulf…" House dug through the bucket for the remaining scraps of chicken.
Wilson scratched his neck. "I'm going to take a wild guess here and assume John House wasn't the one who taught you how to do this…"
"It's a 'skill' I picked up over the summer he wasn't speaking to me…"
"So in addition to not speaking to you, did he also completely disregard your safety and leave you to feed alligators without any adult supervision?" Wilson asked sarcastically.
House shrugged, "That's the short version of it, yeah…"
"What's the longer version?"
House turned his head, "The longer version is boring… and long… two downsides… three if you add pointless…"
Wilson looked around. "It's a relaxing day, two buddies, feeding gators… We got time for the long boring pointless version."
"Are you sure we got time?" House raised an eyebrow, "Because you could drop dead at any moment…"
Wilson gave a weak smile in acknowledgement to his best friend's "special" brand of humor. "I'm pretty sure I can make it…"
"Fine!" House caved with a sigh, "Story time… So on this one weekend I tried to stay out of the house as much as possible…"
Wilson gave House a questioning look.
House let out yet another impatient sigh, "I was avoiding my dad, happy?"
Wilson nodded, looking rather smug. "Go on…"
"I wanted to break him…" House explained, "Wanted to see how long it would take for my parents to notice I was gone…" House flinched as the alligator swam a bit too close for comfort.
"I figured…" He continued, "If he cared… eventually he'll come and find me…"
Wilson swallowed nervously as he watched two more alligators join the first under the dock, "Did he?" he asked—his voice betraying him slightly as he continued to eye the reptiles closely.
House threw a piece of chicken far into the swamp and watched the alligators scurry away after it. "Nope…"
"But…" Wilson flinched as he heard the bones of one of the poor dead chickens crack underwater. "You were a child…"
"It didn't work that way with John…" House shook his head. "I ended up coming back with my tail between my legs three days later… his phrasing not mine…"
Wilson lowered his gaze. "So… I assume your three day absence has something to do with the alligator feeding frenzy?"
House's lip curled into sort of a smile as he recalled the events. "I decided I would walk deeper into the backwoods… And being the idiot kid that I was, I managed to trip into a swamp."
"Smooth…"
House shot Wilson a look, "Anyway, my foot got caught in something and I panicked… tripped into the water… but before I could figure out what was going on… Ray pulled me out."
"And Ray is the one who showed you how to feed the alligators?"
"I thought you wanted the long version…"
"Right." Wilson said apologetically, "Carry on…"
"So this Ray guy…" House continued as he pulled another piece of chicken and followed the alligator's movement carefully, "He's a real backwoods guy… Big… Drinks Gatorade instead of water… thick bushy beard… You get the picture…"
"Somewhat… yeah…" Wilson suppressed a gasp as he watched House's toe nearly brush the beast's spine in the water.
"So I'm being pulled out of the water by Sasquatch… and he wraps a clean towel around me and asks me why I'm crying…"
"You we're crying?"
House scratched his chin, "Lets see, I almost drowned and… uh… oh yeah! I was twelve!" He emphasized.
"Right… Sorry… Continue…"
"He asked me why I was crying and I told him I was sure an alligator was going to eat me."
"That's a reasonable assumption." Wilson concurred.
"I thought so too…" House growled, "But Ray found it funny."
"He laughed? At a frightened twelve year old?"
"In case you haven't noticed the theme of the story—people do that sometime…" House supported his thigh and slowly pulled his right foot out of the water. "I got mad and told him it was a valid fear… since gators can sense movement in the water and that's how they detect pray…"
"Smart." Wilson nodded.
"I thought so too… I read it in this book my teacher in Portugal gave me before we came back to the States." House breathed something between a chuckle and a sigh. "But Ray didn't buy it. He kept laughing. And then he pulled out some beef jerky out of his front pocket. He sat at the edge of the swamp and dangled his feet in the water…"
House paused and brushed his thigh for a moment. "And the gator—It actually chose the easy meal over the kill… even though it detected the foot motion in the water… It saw the other offering, the jerky, and went for that."
Wilson smiled, "Must've been pretty cool."
"It was…" House said, "Got me to stop crying and screaming—I was shocked. It was the antithesis of everything I was brought up to believe up until that point. It wasn't a law, a rule, or written in a book somewhere, it wasn't science or an equation either. The way he fed the gators, it was common sense—pure instinct."
"Or just dumb luck…" Wilson offered an alternative explanation.
"Could be." House agreed. "But still interesting…" He let a small smile creep to his lips.
"So you spent the next three days feeding the alligators with Ray?" Wilson asked.
House shrugged, "He didn't chase me off the property so…"
"And your parents?"
"John would've never given me the satisfaction. He waited until I got cold enough and hungry enough and missed my mommy enough to come home on my own. And that was the end of it." House hissed and rubbed his thigh more vigorously, "Now do I get a Vicodin for sharing? My leg is being fidgety…"
Wilson nodded and quickly opened the zipper to a small duffle bag, "You have earned your golden star…" he dropped two pills in House's palm.
House threw the pills down his throat. "You have me trained like a damn Labrador with these things…"
"Down doggy…"
House shot him a venomous look.
Wilson let a few deep sounding coughs escape into his clenched fist.
"Are you okay?" House asked. "Those sound painful…"
Wilson just shrugged. "It doesn't matter."
"Of course it does…" House wasn't sure who he was trying to convince— Wilson or himself.
Wilson sighed. "It's been five months since we left Princeton…" his face lost all expression, "I should be dead… House… I'll take pain over death at this point."
House processed, but as much as he tried to zoom in on an appropriate response he found that his mind was just swimming with thoughts and he was afraid that if he even tried to open his mouth—his vocal chords might betray him and he would fall apart completely.
He watched Wilson let out a frustrated shaky breath—nervously fumbling with a lock of his hair as he tried to compose himself. And that's when House decided he couldn't just leave Wilson hanging like that. No. Not after what he just said. His best friend in the whole world was officially living on borrowed time! But what could he possibly say to make any of this better? House had no idea. Truthfully, he knew nothing he would say could ever make this moment any better. This moment sucks. But he had to do something—didn't he? So he opted for something new entirely. He placed a hand on Wilson's shoulder and said nothing.
"What are you doing?" Wilson asked suspiciously without turning to look at House.
"I am…" House contemplated, "… Showing you support…" he hesitated for a moment, "and… affection…" his gaze was still glued to the center of the lake. "Yes…" He paused. "Those..." He nodded and finally settled it with himself rather awkwardly.
"Oh…" Wilson acknowledged.
House gave Wilson's shoulder a squeeze and then patted it lightly a few times, "There there…" he mumbled.
As much as Wilson wanted to give House the benefit of the doubt he couldn't contain himself any longer and burst into laughter.
House suppressed a chuckle and tried to remain composed, "What! I'm being comforting!" his hand was still firmly planted on Wilson's shoulder.
Wilson's eyes closed shut. The lines on his face became more pronounced as he tried to get his giggling fit under control. "M'sorry…" he snorted, "I just… This is so unlike you…" he wiped a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye and coughed.
"Am I doing it wrong?" House asked jokingly—not minding poking fun at himself. Sure, this wasn't exactly the desired result he was expecting but it made Wilson feel better so it was good nonetheless.
"I wouldn't expect any better from the boy who was raised by alligators…" Wilson chuckled.
But the laughter quickly turned into a coughing fit, and Wilson found himself doubled over—clenching the edge of the dock uncomfortably.
House watched his friend carefully. He finally concluded that though the cough and laughter were both subsiding, he did not like the heaviness of Wilson's breathing. He turned back and dug through the infamous duffle bag, pulling out the blue inhaler.
House shook Wilson gently in order to get him into focus, "Here." He handed over the inhaler.
"Th…Thanks…" Wilson muttered before taking a deep breathfull.
It took a couple of minutes before Wilson's chest began to rise in a more natural rhythm—his cheeks still flushed from the effort.
"Better?" House asked.
Wilson let his lungs receive a few more mouthfuls of air before he replied.
"You always get me laughing, House."
"Yeah… Some friend…" House noted sarcastically. "I'll get you to laugh and kill you in the process…"
"Meh…" Wilson shrugged. "At least I'll die happy…" He caught House avoiding his gaze with the corner of his eye.
…
They drove down the long stretch of road that would eventually lead them back to the main highway.
"Okay so alligators— More of a James Callaway thing… Not so much a Kyle Callaway thing…" House looked at Wilson, who was sprawled in the back seat, through the rear view mirror. "So technically by the unofficial rules of the road… this means you get to choose where we head out to next. So...where to, Kimosabe?"
Wilson yawned tiredly. "I think I'm done for the day."
House nodded. "Okay…" he rolled his tongue, "Then where do you want to go next in general? I'm not tired… I could drive us through the night and we can be somewhere new by the time you wake up in the morning."
Wilson gave it some thought. They had spent the last five months moving from place to place, experiencing all the adventures he never got to have in his entire life. To be honest, in his over-organized mind, he always thought he would kick the bucket in New Orleans. But New Orleans came and went and he was still standing.
"Hey, sleeping beauty!"
Wilson jolted awake by the sound of House's voice and an empty plastic bottle hitting his head.
"Where to?" House urged, turning his flat cap forward in order to look more like a cabby, or some joke to that effect.
"I eh…" Wilson found it hard to speak as a sudden realization popped into his head, "How soon can we be in Jacksonville?"
"We can try for 8 hours…"
Wilson leaned back, letting the idea swirl in his mind a little longer before he spoke again. "There's a hospital there."
House felt his heart leap out of his chest. A hospital?
…
"You could've been more specific when you said 'hospital'…" House spat bitterly as Wilson declared they had indeed arrived at the desired destination.
The big white sunny building was decorated with a well-manicured lawn and assorted flowers beds. A big lilac sign greeted all visitors and newcomers:
"Welcome to the River Point Behavioral Health Center."
"So what's the deal, Casper? You actually are dead, I'm hallucinating you? This is my brain's way of telling me to commit myself?"
"Good one. But, no… I thought… it would be a good idea to see Danny…" As the words left his mouth for the first time, Wilson sensed a pinch of nervousness. Perhaps this wasn't such a great idea after all…
"You mean your other brother that belongs in the asylum?" House asked.
Wilson nodded, "My parents moved him down here when they decided to permanently relocate to their condo in Florida…"
House could sense Wilson's uncertainty. "I thought you wanted to spare him your death… You said he couldn't handle it…"
"Well…" Wilson rubbed the side of his face nervously, "Maybe getting a little extra time is a…"
"Please don't say sign." House rolled his eyes.
"So maybe I just changed my mind… As a result of having more time."
"Nice save…" House watched his sickly friend take a few slow steps towards the front entrance. "Are you sure about this? Do you want me to come with?"
Wilson shook his head, "Danny will recognize you. Just… Stay here and try to stay out of trouble while I'm inside, okay?"
"You say that like you don't trust me…"
Wilson raised an eyebrow and pointed at House, "Stay in the car. Catch some Z's. You've been driving all night."
…
With his visitors ID badge in hand, Wilson was led down the well-lit hallway.
"He asks about you…" Dr. Jacobs told Wilson, "He said you used to visit him a whole lot back in New York."
"Yes." Wilson tried to keep his tone as professional as possible. "I was the one who arranged Danny's accommodations back on the east coast—the facility was also located close enough to my job in Princeton."
Dr. Jacobs nodded and said nothing— which made Wilson grow increasingly guilty.
"It was my parents idea to move him down here." He explained. "I was head of Oncology and couldn't get away from work... my patients… Or else I would've…"
"Was?" Dr. Jacobs asked curiously.
"What?"
"You said 'I was head of Oncology'… Did you quit your job or something, Dr. Wilson?"
Wilson's nostrils flared—his nerves beginning to get the best of him. "Look, Dr…" He ran a hand through his hair, "I want to discuss something with Danny… That might not be so easy for him to hear…"
Dr. Jacobs looked up curiously, "Oh?"
Wilson pulled out a set of X-Rays from an envelope and handed them over to Dr. Jacobs who quickly scanned through them. Once Jacob's face turned white and his eyes widened— Wilson knew he was done. It was the classic reaction of each and every person he had to deliver the news of his death to. He hated that look.
"These…" Dr. Jacobs chose his words carefully, "Are dated from five months ago…" he turned to a different X-ray, "And this one was done three months ago… on the other side of the country."
Wilson nodded.
"How are you still alive?"
Wilson shrugged and shook his head, "I don't know… Do you believe in God? Guardian angels? Damn luck? Whatever your thing is—take your pick. I sure don't mind…"
"You can't tell Danny about this." Jacobs stated—Wilson's dry sarcasm obviously going over his head. "He can't process this kind of news. He'll be better off if you just let him believe you're still somewhere in Jersey."
"Well, that's your semi-professional opinion…" Wilson folded his arms.
"Look…" Jacobs tried to keep his cool. "I can't prevent you from telling Danny what you want, but as his doctor I strongly advise you…"
"I appreciate your advice." Wilson cut Jacobs off, "But I made up my mind. Danny has a right to know why he won't be seeing his brother ever again." He paused and coughed into his fist, "And you… You just don't want to deal with the repercussions. Which is… irrelevant… since it's your job—so kindly go screw yourself…"
Both men just stared at each other for a moment.
"Is this his room?" Wilson asked as he already began to pull the door open.
…
Gerald Hemingway, short, wide-built, in his late 40's huffed irritably as he circled around the orange dodge challenger for what seemed to him like the 10th time. It was, in fact, the second time. But the presence of the classic well-restored hotrod in his usual handicapped spot irked him. Even more so, the sleeping 50-plus-year-old man, who happened to occupy the vehicle at the moment, had awakened some mid-life crisis within his soul— a heaping pile of jealousy mixed with a general feeling of challenged manly-hood. And though Gerald found it hard to express exactly what those feelings were, he did know one thing for sure—he wanted the hotrod and it's contents out of his parking spot.
Once House was abruptly awakened by Garland's persistent attempts to do so, he offered a much simpler explanation as to why someone would just wake him up like that—the man was most likely an idiot with a dash of jerk.
He stretched in his seat and let his sleepy eyes focus on the source of the noise. As he suspected, a fat jerk stood right above his window—glaring down at him with a menacing look. House rolled his eyes—obviously ignoring the jerk won't make him go away, which left him with no other choice…
"Can I help you?" he asked, rolling down the window.
"Yes! You can! You're in my spot."
"Oh…" House's blue eyes glistened innocently; "Well in that case…" he rolled the window back up.
"Hey!" Gerald knocked on the window frantically. When the window was almost rolled up completely, he instinctively shoved his fat fingers above it and tried to push the mechanism down.
"You better move those piggies…" House warned.
"Get out of my spot!"
"Look... I drove all night to get my terminal best friend over here to see his mentally ill brother—not good genes in that family when you come to think of it…" House scratched his stubble. "But that's okay!" He assured the annoyed stranger, "Because my mother's a whore and I don't know who my real daddy is… which is what makes our friendship so fitting…" House knew that since Wilson was visiting the facility as "James Wilson" and not "Kyle Callaway" there was no use in selling the "brother" story to the stranger—the least he could do is have some fun with the angry chubby man.
"Move" Gerald threatened. He was obviously not amused. His fingers were still planted firmly on the car window.
"It's a public handicap spot!" House argued, "You seem to be moving just fine…"
"I stubbed my toe last month." Gerald pointed down to his "wounded" toe.
"You don't want this spot because of a stubbed toe, you want it because you're a lazy fat bastard…" House pointed out as his mind filled with thoughts of the nap he could be having instead of this conversation.
Gerald didn't budge.
"Get your porky fingers off my car…" House growled.
Gerald took a deep breath, "Move your midlife crisis of a car out of my parking space…"
"Fine!" House turned the key in the ignition.
…
Wilson slowly walked into the small room. It was a miserable place with one bright window with metal bars and unflattering florescent lighting. Wilson observed the space around him. It appeared that Danny had decorated the walls with paintings and scribbles. Wilson couldn't help but to smile—Danny was always a talented artist.
At the furthest wall from the door, facing the window, stood a small desk—and it was there, hunched over, that Wilson saw Danny. He smiled.
"Hey Danny…" Wilson kept his tone light and steady.
Danny's head perked up—he would recognize this voice anywhere. "James?" He asked, not bothering to look back, but Wilson could tell he was excited by the way his shoulders tensed up.
"Turn around and be a good host, Danny." Wilson told his brother. And Danny quickly obliged.
"Yes." He said, "You can sit on my bed, do you like my new room, James?"
Wilson sat down as Danny told him to, "I do." He looked all around him and noticed Danny somehow managed to paint clouds on the ceiling. "It looks fantastic Dan… you did good."
Danny's eyes widened with joy, "I'm glad you like it. I'm glad you're here." He admitted.
Wilson nodded, "I'm glad to be here too." He noted his brother's features. Much like his own—his brother sported high cheekbones and dark eyes. His hair was shaved down to a crew cut that was common in these kinds of facilities to avoid lice problems. It reminded Wilson of the day House got back from Mayfield—hair shaved down to his skull. He remembered how much it reminded him of Danny and how hard it was to go through that again with his best friend.
"You look good Danny…" Wilson smiled, "Do you like it here?"
"They don't let me outside as much…" Danny jumped right in. His brother was always his keeper. In the last facility he lived in, Wilson always made sure Danny was well taken care of and that his needs were met in the most humane way possible.
"They don't listen to me when I tell them I don't like the meds either…" Danny continued. His voice shook and he spoke as quickly as he could—as if he was trying to make sure Wilson knew everything so he can finally fix it.
Wilson nodded, "What's wrong with the meds?"
"I can't think…" Danny whined, "I can't… I just… I can't think…"
"Okay." Wilson assured Danny—keeping his tone as cool as possible, "I'll take care of it."
Danny sighed in relief, "Thank you… thank you…" he embraced his brother in a hug.
Wilson was taken aback but quickly laid his hand on his brother's shoulder.
"You're skinny…" Danny noted. He poked Wilson's rib, still grasping him tightly.
"Yeah…" Wilson wiggled himself out his brother's arms, "about that… There's something I came here to talk to you about."
Danny looked at Wilson through glassy eyes.
Wilson sighed, "Listen…Danny… I need you to promise me that you can handle what I'm about to tell you."
"I can handle it." Danny nodded.
"No." Wilson shook his head, "I need you to brace yourself and I need you to be strong for me."
Danny's eyes gazed upwards as he mumbled something. He was searching for a memory, "Like when you found me." He remembered.
"Yes! Like when I found you…" Wilson remembered that night, finding Danny on the streets of NY after he's been released from a local hospital. He remembered how cold it was and how sad he looked and what he told Danny—"Be strong for me."
And later on, during the time Danny was institutionalized in NY, Wilson kept telling Danny to not give up on treatment, to let him know if he needed anything. Wilson promised he would make sure all his needs are met, that he would not be treated like a sub par human. And he used those same words— "If you'll be strong for me—I'll be here for you."
"I can do that." Danny looked determined, "Please trust me, James—no one else does. I can do it."
Wilson smiled weakly, "I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you, Danny…"
Danny beamed with pride, "I got your back…" he reassured Wilson, "Tell me."
Wilson took a deep breath, "Do you know why I'm here, Danny? Here in Florida and not at work—in New Jersey?"
Danny just eyed Wilson. Apparently he was focused—determined to give Wilson his full attention.
"I'm on the road, like that book you like…" Wilson said lightly, doing his best to hide the news yet to come.
"Travels with Charley?" Danny asked.
"Yes… Travels with Charley…" Wilson concurred.
"Do you have a dog like Charley?" Danny asked excitingly, "To be your road buddy?"
Wilson looked down and chuckled, "Yeah, you can sort of say I have a dog road buddy."
"Is it a poodle, like Charley?"
"He's more of a mutt…"
"Can I see it?!"
Wilson slid his fingers through his hair; "I don't think they'll let me bring him in here… He's watching the car."
"Oh…" Danny nodded—processing the information. He looked up at the ceiling to his clouds. "Is it fun?" he asked Wilson.
"Yes. It's fun."
"Did you see places? Meet people?"
As Wilson watched his brother daydream, he found himself in an awkward situation. "Yes." He replied as he realized that he could confidently look back at the last five months and recall nothing but adventure.
Danny smiled, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since Wilson walked in. "You look happy."
The way Danny said those words felt almost sane to Wilson. It was the most honest and normal of observations and Wilson knew that there would be no better time than this…
"I'm dying, Danny…"
Danny said nothing. Instead he waited for the brother he trusted most in this world to explain.
"I'm sick. Cancer. And I am going to travel… like John and Charley… and I won't stop until…" Wilson paused, "…until I can't do it anymore… until I die."
Danny's lips moved slightly—as if he was reciting the words back to himself in his head.
Wilson eyed him with caution. He waited for his brother to explode, have a tantrum, react—anything.
"Virus of restlessness…" Danny mumbled, looking around the four walls of his room, which were decorated with drawings of different places and things. "You found a reason to go…" he told Wilson, his tone surprisingly confident and bright.
"What?" Wilson asked.
"A journey is a person in itself—no two are alike…"
"Is that from your book?" Wilson asked. Danny nodded.
"You look happy…" Danny beamed—he was looking around the room at the adventurous wall murals he had created for himself.
Wilson chuckled, not sure exactly what he should say. "You said that already…" he was still slightly confused by his brothers' reaction to the news.
"Danny…" Wilson snapped his fingers in front of his brother's face, directing his attention back to him, "Do you know what all this means?"
Danny rolled his eyes, "James…" He said, mimicking his brother's serious tone and sounding surprisingly like him, "I'm schizophrenic… Not retarded…"
Wilson nodded, accepting the correction. "Do you understand this is the last time you're going to see me?" he asked.
Danny looked around him again, finding comfort in the drawings. "You're lucky you're dying…" He said, shooting up from his seat and darting to his desk. He came back with a piece of paper in hand—he handed it to Wilson.
Wilson looked down at the paper. It was a pencil art sketch of the same room they were sitting in—only instead of the white walls with murals of mountains and endless fields—there were shadows all around.
"Is that what you see?" Wilson asked Danny.
Danny once again seemed rigid—his shoulders tensing up. "You're lucky you're free. I've never seen you this happy…"
Wilson sighed, "Thanks Dan…" he folded the pencil sketch and put it in his pocket, got up from Danny's bed and made his way to the door. Before he left he turned around to face his brother one last time.
"Hey Danny?"
"Yeah? James…" Danny lifted his gaze and looked up at Wilson.
"Do mom and dad still come to see you?"
Danny shook his head.
Wilson nodded. "I'll have a talk with that doctor of yours about your meds, okay? Goodbye, Danny…"
"I'll see you on the other side, James."
Wilson closed the door and found Dr. Jacobs standing in anticipation on the other side, "How did it go?" He asked, nervously eyeing the room and obviously surprised by the lack of sound coming from behind the door.
"It went well…" Wilson said coldly, "And my brother needs his meds adjusted—he's seeing things and he's terrified… Also whatever other drugs you're giving him are causing his muscles to tense, so knock it off or dose it down. And one last thing…" Wilson gave Dr. Jacobs a threatening look, "My brother is not crazy… Don't treat him like he is… And just because I won't be around and my parents cannot be bothered, don't think nobody will be watching over him. Expect postcards from a friend of mine—his name is Charley. If Danny is EVER in some sort of trouble I will make sure you get sued for everything you got. Got it?"
Jacobs nodded.
"Good."
…
"Ahhhh!" Gerald let out an excruciating call of pain, "You! You ran over my toe!"
"You told me to move!" It took a tremendous amount of effort out of House to hide his grin.
"MY FINGERS WERE STILL WEDGED BETWEEN YOUR CAR AND THE WINDOW!" He screeched, "I yelled 'STOP!'"
House shrugged innocently, "How was I supposed to know they were so fat they wouldn't pop out?!"
In the distance House saw Wilson running over to the scene of the crime.
"There comes my friend right now!" House spoke casually to Gerald—who was still obviously in a great deal of pain, "Remember? The terminally ill one, who actually has a valid reason to park close to the entrance? Unlike some people!" he comically rolled his eyes.
"What did you do?" Wilson growled at House when he finally arrived at the scene.
"I swear mommy—it was like that when I got here!" House whined.
Wilson sighed, "I had a long day… I don't have time for this…" he opened the passenger door of the challenger and climbed in. "Drive." He ordered dryly.
"But…" House gazed outside at the furious injured man and then gave Wilson a worried look.
"Oh…" Wilson peaked outside, "Hey you! Fatty!" he caught Gerald's attention. "Is this your car?" he asked, pointing at a black Lexus with a handicap permit.
"Yes!" Gerald still squirmed with pain, "So?"
"If you even bother to look up our license plate to press charges I'll testify as to how you attempted to assault my crippled friend while he was still seated in his car, parked legally in a handicapped spot with an actual valid handicapped permit…"
Gerald's jaw slacked.
"And speaking of… Your permit's expired…" Wilson added. "My work here is done." He turned back to House. "Drive."
"Niiice…" House growled proudly, accepting a fist pump from Wilson, as they drove away.
…
"Are you incapable of being left unsupervised?" Wilson regained his usual special power of reprimanding House a little while after they reached the second exit on the highway.
"I was sleeping!" House argued.
"Even in your sleep you're trouble!" Wilson sighed, "When can I drive?" he asked, "I need a distraction…"
"Visit went bad?" House asked.
"Surprisingly… no…" Wilson coughed, "His reaction was as sane as you and I…"
"Well that's no good."
Wilson chuckled, "It's just fine." He bit his lip; "I need you to do me a favor after I'm gone…"
House eyed Wilson curiously.
"I need you to send a postcard to Danny… one every two weeks. Sign them as "Charley". As far as Danny's concerned—you're a dog. As far as his doctors are concerned—you're a lawyer."
"Interesting…" House nodded, "I think I can pull off a dog-lawyer…"
"If you can stay out of trouble…" Wilson huffed.
"They have stationery in jail too…"
"House…" Wilson warned.
As the sun began to set and the clouds came closing in, they both knew they'd have to get off the road soon.
"So why do you want to drive all of a sudden?" House asked—bringing the car to a stop at the side of the road, "I was under the impression that you hated this car."
"I want to see what it feels like on the other side…"
- To be continued... Chapter 11 coming soon!