So, uh, Wilson is a complete and utter asshole. I am sorry for his behavior in this fic, but you know, this stuff just happens sometimes. Right about now, I feel like beating him to the ground and Kicking Jimmy in the ribs over and over until he starts crying. This chapter goes up tonight and then one more short one before next week, and possibly finishing it on Tuesday, if they resolve this Tritter thing.
"All the people that
you know, say you're ready to break down
All the people that you
know, say you're ready to fall
I have to say that you are better
than they think you are
Have to say that you are better than them
all
Have to tell you that you have an easy answer
When you
need someone to call
I just want to be there when you need a hand
to help you turn it all around
I just need to be there when you
feel like you just need to come down
I just want to be there when
you need to find yourself on the solid ground
I just want to
catch you when you fall down," Everclear
We eat, watch TV, drink beer, and go to bed without saying much of anything. Now it's late, after midnight but I can't sleep. I can't shut off my brain. My mind is racing. Did I do the right thing? Should I have waited? Are things really that bad? What would House be like if he got off the pills? I got a look at that after he had the Ketamine treatment. He was cautious; he was nervous; he was a completely different person and what he became, the things he did, made me worry.
I love him. God, I love him. I just want the best for him, but maybe I went about this the wrong way. I should have talked to him before—except I already know, I tried talking to him before and he wouldn't listen to me, wouldn't do anything.
"House," I whisper, very quietly the first time, but then I repeat it, louder and a third time in my normal voice. He rolls over, moaning. "We gotta talk. I need to talk."
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" House asks, looking over at the clock. "You are out of your fucking mind.
"I know exactly what time it is. I haven't slept a wink all night long. I can't seem to fall asleep."
"Guilty conscious? Not surprising. What did you do, Jimmy? I've spent the past few days trying to figure this out. If you had agreed to testify against me, I'd have been in a cell detoxing a week ago, at least."
"Can you just keep quiet for once in your life?" I say, much too harshly. "I didn't mean—look, you've got a problem, House. You need help."
"Don't. You're the only who ever believed me. You're the only one to stand by me. Now you've crossed over to the dark side."
"No. I'm not. Maybe it started when I—you know—and maybe it was before that. Either way, I'm sorry that you feel you need to…"
"Stop. If you're about to say what I think you're about to say, then just stop. Now!" He starts to get up but holds still when I reach out and grab his arm. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Because I love you and I'm afraid for you. You've changed. You're not the person you used to be and I want the man I fell in love with."
"What makes you so sure he isn't me—I'm not him? Whatever. Isn't it possible that I haven't changed in the way you think I have and that is what you're worried about."
"House, you can't—I don't even know how to respond to that, except to say that it's not true. I knew you back then, before all of this started. Yeah you were still a creep with a temper but you weren't this self-destructive and you were able to control yourself." House yanks his arm out of my grasp, climbing out of bed and staggering across the room.
"I'm in pain, every minute of every day. I don't know how to prove that to everyone. There is no test for pain, there's nothing. The only problem I have is not being able to make the pain stop!" he shouts, turning his back to me. "Tell me what you did."
"I talked to Tritter but I'm not—I told him—I said you don't belong in jail, and I believe that."
"But he wouldn't just buy that and give up. You must have made some sort of bargain. Cut the crap, James. Tell me what you did."
"Tritter said I was right. You need help. He said that if you'd agree to get help, he'd drop the charges and you could keep your license." House turns around, glaring at me. His eyes are wet, but only a little. He reaches for the pills. I want to stop him. I feel like I ought to do something, but I can't even make myself stand up.
"You had no right! This is my life. These are my choices. I never did anything wrong. Don't say it! I don't need help, not from Tritter and especially not from you!"
"You are so far over the line that you can't even see it any more! You need—something and I can't give it to you. I don't know how." House comes back towards the bed, sitting on the edge of it, staring at the floor. I reach to put my hand on his shoulder but he moves out of my reach.
"Why don't we cut out half of your thigh and see how it makes you feel. Maybe I am screwed up but no more than anybody else."
"Tritter says you can stay out of prison if you agree to go to rehab. You can't tell me that I'm asking too much. We both know you need this. Just say yes and everything will be okay. Please. Do this for me, for yourself, for us. Please. Do this." House looks back at me, desperately, shaking his head and closing his eyes. "Please."
All I can do now is sit here and hope and pray. Pray I made the right choice. Pray he'll listen to me. Hope he'll say yes, that he'll do this one thing. Hope we will be okay. House starts to open his mouth, almost instantly, and I know what he's going to say. "Can you just take five minutes—or more—to think this over?"
"I could spend the rest of my life thinking it over and I'd still come up with the same answer. No! Why do you keep on insisting on turning me into one of your projects?"
"Is that what you think this is?" I ask, making one last feeble attempt to hold him.
"I can't believe you don't see it. You're practically transparent. This is what you do James. You find some pathetic, needy, damaged person and you throw all of your energy into building them up, into fixing them and then you move on."
"Well, I must not be very good at it. You and I have been together longer than my other relationships put together and you're still a mess!" That came out a lot meaner than I had wanted it to, but I don't care.
"I'm not broken and even if I were, you are the last person I'd ask to fix me." He sniffles, almost in silence, but it's there. I do hear him. I could easily push him over the edge, really hurt him. I could easily hurt him very badly.
"Do you really want me to respond to that? Because right now, this has the opportunity to go very wrong. No I know you think you're fine—"
"Don't patronize me. I have a—I'm not fine but I don't need help! I don't need your help and I defiantly don't need help from the fucking cops."
"I don't think you have a choice here. Tritter is going to send you to jail if you don't do this. He's not happy with the solution as it is, but he went for it because it was the bet he could get. I don't want to be responsible for—," House cuts me off, turning and staring straight into my eyes like a big angry dog.
"You're feeling guilty because you are responsible for this! If you had just kept your big mouth shut," he growls, his voice trailing off.
"If I hadn't of said anything he would have found a way and it wouldn't have involved a compromise. I have never seen you this bad. I love you and I'm scared for you and I'm scared of what you might do. Take some time and think about the deal. I'll beg if I have to. I'll bargain with you, make compromises, go with you, whatever it takes but you have to do this. You need help and you're never going to ask for it." House sits on the edge of the bed, staring into space for the longest time. Then he turns, faces me and speaks, finally.
"What if you're wrong? What if you, and Tritter and Cuddy and everybody have it all wrong and it's not a problem and my pain—the pain I've been dealing with for years—is real? What a terrible thing it would be to put me through all of this only makes everything unimaginably worse?" he shouts at me, his voice an anger-covered nugget of fear. "Well?" he snaps after several minutes of my watching him in stunned silence and there are a million things I could say, should say, but not a single word comes to mind. All I can do is shrug.
House gets up and walks out of the room, never once looking back. "I think you should go home," his voice calls through the locked bathroom door. I want to force open the door, march in, hold him in my arms, and promise to make everything all right. I want to give him the answers his questions, even the ones I don't know. I want to tell House how much I love him. I want to stay, always to stay, but I don't do any of these things.
I simply let my shoulders slump as I tell him, "okay," walking to the door of the apartment, stepping out into the night.
