A/N: Here it is, I am struggling to evoke a mood, and PUSH the plot. And dialogue! Don't get me started on that damn dialogue! *sigh*
Please Read and REVIEW!!!! Need all the help I can get !!!!
Disclaimer: I do NOT own House
Wilson lay in the dark thinking. 'I should be sleeping.' In moments like this, when he was alone with his thoughts, there was no avoiding himself. Not even the act of talking to Amber would turn his mind away from the truth he avoided in the light of day.
"I am going to die." There, he said it. Nevertheless, the act of whispering in the dark did nothing to lessen the gravity of the statement. He gasped involuntarily; the enormity of speaking the words aloud shook him from the haze of denial, and crushed him beneath a mountain of despair. Silent tears of regret streamed down his face, as he tried to reconcile the farce his life had become.
He looked at the culmination of his life and found it lacking, he had his title, a lab coat, a ridiculously expensive loft, and House. That's it, one person; one relationship is what his life boiled down to. Sure, there were other people in his life that he cared about and even considered his friends, but House was apparently the equivalent of his soul mate, screw that, he was his soul mate. For some reason they were inextricably bound to one another and nothing seemed capable of separating them, not betrayal, not resentment, not addiction, not abandonment, not even the death of his girlfriend. Wilson now knew that he and House would be friends until death. After all the hell this friendship had put them through, he had been looking forward to the peaceful companionship they were finally building.
House had shown him so much courage, and forgiveness that he did not deserve, it mystified him. Seeing the roaring lion that was House reduced to a broken, husk of a man, had made Wilson take a hard look at the way he treated House in the past. He realized that he had lorded himself over House, had stood as king of the mountain upon his supposed moral superiority. When Cuddy brought him into his office, trembling and fearful, the icy bitterness secreted away in his heart melted at the utter fragility of friend.
Today, the love he felt for House was a deeper one, and a truer one. Their friendship was part of him on a cellular level, written on his DNA.
The cruel irony of his impending death threatened to destroy the one thing he still had; House. If he could do anything to spare his friend the torture of watching him die, then he would. Disregarding the fear and uncertainty, and the sheer desolation he was feeling, he would do this alone.
House lay in his bed trying to calm the cold fury burning in his chest. 'Where the hell does she get off talking to me that way?' The shame he felt, when she had called him crazy was irrational, and made him feel small.
He found himself craving the sweet embrace of oblivion. His breath came faster and shallower. His mouth went dry, the urge to self-destruct pounding against his resolve. He had to get out of here, he felt trapped, and he longed for vicodin. He wanted it with a preternatural desire, the craving stalking him, sneaking up on its devious paws , laying in wait, to sink its teeth deeply into his throat, his fate fixed in its gnashing, feral, maw. The black beast would never let go until House was forever, lost to this life.
'… I don't know if I can do this… Wilson is dying…'