Chapter 02 – Where is Wilson?
„GregoOrii Housss' is' in love! Wilson sang, still drunk as hell, and waved his forefinger around Houses face to lend weight to his words. Hands clawed into the steering wheel and lips pinched together House tried to hold back a sigh. It has only been five minutes so far, he realized looking at the digital display on the center console. How on earth would he survive this?
Sure, he was patient, not to say frighteningly disciplined. And when he did get annoyed at something, then he just preferred to stick to being maliciously ironic. But yelling? House wasn't fond of that. Only in situations that wouldn't allow any other method to bring others back to sanity. The problem here was that he knew exactly that neither cynical, nor loud words would help bringing this drunkard back to sanity.
Wilson's cheerful chuckling voice interrupted his thoughts.
"I've seen it!" he announced proudly and took a deep breath. "You stared into her eyes for sooooooo long!" he determined and spread his arms in a wide gesture that was restricted by the window pane of the passenger door on one side and House' face on the other side. Grimly, House grabbed the arm, which blocked his view of the street, and pushed it down with a firm grip.
"Heey!" Wilson cried in surprise, pulling his arm away.
He paused for a short time, but then continued to update House on his important observations. "Addddmmmit it, House! You liiiike heer?" Wilson giggled in a content tone, reminding of a small child. With the one difference, that he was unable to control his facial expressions because of his immense level of alcohol.
House ignored the words of his friend and tried to focus on the road instead.
Driven by the lack of reaction from his driver, Wilson unwaveringly continued to slur: "Youu would do well having a girlfriend. You been alone for faaaar too long! "
Those were the words that put an end to House's patience. Enraged, he yelled at Wilson: "Wilson, shut your stupid mouth will ya!"
Intimidated, his friend shrugged his shoulders and silence instantly filled the car.
But it was enough! That was the overkill! For the whole evening he had silently tolerated Wilson's joyous and partly overwrought babble, but his friend was still annoying him on the way home with his euphoric mood. It was enough to infuriate him, a normally stoically calm and dominatingly sarcastic Gregory House. The traffic light in front of him switched to red and he purposely hit the brakes harder than necessary, so that Wilson's upper body was pushed forward roughly.
Furiously House turns to his friend and hissed at him: "Wilson, it's enough! Get out!"
„Wwwhatt?" he stuttered insecurely.
Get out! "House repeated insistently, leaning over to open Wilson's door.
"Buuut ..." he protested sheepishly and clung to his belt.
House gave him a powerful blow against the shoulder.
Wilson's protest grew louder: "But…weee, we're friends aren't we?"
"No longer!" House replied in a serious tone, and once more asked Wilson to leave the car, "And now, just get out!"
With great effort, Wilson got out of the car, tangling his right arm in the belt. Still quite dazed from his considerable alcohol level, he began to shake his arm frantically. "Ouch!" he cried aloud as he painfully pushed his wrist against the door frame.
House shook his head in annoyance, it all took way too long for his liking. "Faster!" He shouted, glancing at the traffic lights. "When it turns green, I'll go, whether you're out or not!"
"Yeah, yeah," Wilson commented, holding his right hand, "I'm fine. I'll go."
After what seemed like endless seconds, Wilson had tormented himself from the car, thrown the passenger's door close on House's repeated request, and now stood on the sidewalk, hopelessly lost. Puppy-eyed, he looked at the car. Was that for real? Did his friend really just abandon him like that?
House glanced at the clearly abashed Wilson. "Not my problem! This souse can find the way home by himself", he thought. This was no longer his responsibility. The traffic lights changed to green and House drove off with squealing tires.
November was fortunately not far from home. Just around the corner, two houses down the road and she would be home. When she had left the inn, she had hoped to meet him again. His eyes had burnt themselves into her memory for the rest of the evening. Unfortunately the two were probably long gone. "What a pity" she thought sadly as she walked through the dark night and inhaled the pleasantly cool air.
With thoughts still completely sunk into the events in the bar, she went to her apartment. It was small, but comfortable and simply decorated. She took off her jacket and briefly looked at herself in the mirror, as if to examine how her gaze, which she had thrown at the tall man with the three-day beard, had probably looked and above all which effect it had. She was wearing a white t-shirt and a green and white checkered blouse and jeans.
It took a while until she noticed something was wrong. Something important was missing! Her pendant was gone! The knot of the band must have loosened in the course of the evening. It was not just any pendant. It was self-made. It was made of silver and consisted of the head and neck of a duck, and this duck, in turn, was part of an album cover. This album and the band meant everything to her! This album and thus also the pendant had become a companion to her for the last five years, indeed a real companion! There was a reason for the engraving on the bottom "Save all we have". She had only had the pendant for a year, and now it was no longer where it was supposed to be. Where it belonged, where it felt so familiar. Now she could have used it so well to share the events of the evening with it. With her eyes wide open in shock, she stood in front of the mirror. "No!" she thought terrified, but her voice and lips remained silent. Her body, on the other hand, was in alarm after this fright. After all, her well-being was at stake. In this pendant, there were so many concert memories and musical moments - the only thing she had and that meant something to her, beside her best friend Ben.
Her Elbows supporting her thighs and her head placed in her hands, November got down in her wheelchair. The evening unfolded like a movie in her mind. The concert, the way to the bar, everything that happened in the bar, the way home. But there was nothing suspicious. Where had she lost it? Right after the concert it was still there. After the fall? Maybe the stupid guy took it? She couldn't remember, she didn't check it either. "Damn, what if somebody in the bar collected it? Maybe they will sell it? Or what if it's broken?" , she thought nervously. "If I'm lucky I lost it somewhere on the way around the bar," her thoughts marched on. When they came back from the concert, they hadn't gone directly to the bar because the mood had been so pleasant, and November had also had her wheelchair parked at home. There was only one thing to do. Get out there now and search in all the places she had been to earlier and hoping for some luck. So November set off as fast as she could - there was something like a life to save in a way. Little by little she drove off the paths, usually sparsely illuminated. It was also difficult. It was difficult to see if there was anything in the way that hindered wheelchair riding - stones, curbs, bad roads and besides, how would she notice something silver on the pavement?
House had barely driven two more streets further, and his uproar had already settled. At last it was quiet in the car. No babbling Wilson by his side, who made him lose his patience, no sour smell of too much alcohol. Wilson really did spread a considerable smell of booze. And no more unnecessary allusions to his relationship life, which he didn't want to hear. House would drive home quite relaxed now, play some piano maybe and try to get away from it all. And tomorrow, when he came to work, he would bitch about Wilson with his friends, he would pull out all the stops in humiliation and damage, and he would thank him – in his own way - for that messed up evening, which could have been so nice!
Suddenly he remembered the face of this young woman in the bar. The guy who ran her over -the satisfaction in her gaze when he'd hit the guy with his cane ... It had been a strange feeling when their eyes met. It was as if everyone wanted to tell the other: "I understand how you feel! ". He had rarely felt such a great bond, in such few seconds. And he could always rely on his gut feeling - a hundred percent. He recognized "broken people", who were like himself, immediately! In a way, this encounter had been a ray of light that evening. Had Wilson been right with his claims? "Nonsense," House said to himself, shaking his head immediately to think of something else. His thoughts turned back to Wilson. His friend had teased him extremely, and he had thrown him out, when he could no longer bear it. With good reason! - Or maybe not? House growled and sighingly moved his head from one side to the other. It didn't help, he had to go back. "Damn conscience!" He thought, and drove to the next side street to turn the car around. If he didn't collect Wilson now, he would be lying awake all night, wondering if his friend had been able to get home.
House arrived at the intersection, where he had chased Wilson out of the car. He drove slowly, looked around, but couldn't make out any figure in the dim light of the street lanterns on the sidewalk, which could have been Wilson. He drove along the road at a moderate pace until he reached the bar in which they had been sitting together for half an hour. Did Wilson go back to the pub to refuel? Not like he wouldn't be capable of doing that!
No more than ten minutes later, House was back in the car. Wilson had definitely not gone back to the pub. So it was safe to say he was still wandering around the streets somewhere. Annoyed and against his will, merely driven by his guilty conscience, House parked his car on the side stripe. He got out of the car, grabbed his cane, and began to search the streets around the pubs. Where was this little shit?
Deeply focused and busy with her search on the surrounding streets, November took a while until she noticed a babbling man a few meters behind her. When she heard his loud bawling she turned around. It wasn't very difficult to recognize him in his condition. It was the smashed guy who had been to the pub with the man. She smiled and thought of his face and his deep, knowing look.
She might as well forget her search now. She didn't see anything, she found nothing, and she could no longer focus on it anyway, for at that moment, the alertness from before had given way to hope. Hope to meet him again. "If his drunk friend is still here, he certainly can't be far either, after all, they had been together in the bar," November thought. She had to know who he was.
November rolled a few yards toward the dangerously staggering man. "Hey! Didn't you want to go home? What are you still doing here? " she shouted towards him.
Wilson heard someone talking to him, recognized a blurry obstacle in front of his eyes and gave his legs the order to stop, but they were reluctant to follow. "Mee?" He repeated, hitched and then cried louder than necessary, "Iiii'm looking for a dog!" His head was spinning and the pictures in his mind danced, tore apart, seemed to stand still and then flowed into each other again. He felt sick to the bones!
"Mhh" November thought. „What dog? What kind of dog?" she asked, clearly irritated.
"I…" Wilson started, absolutely incapable of speaking a full sentence. „There waaas a dog.. I know it! He was about thiiis" – he stretched his left hand as far as possible towards the ground so that he nearly fell over – "biiiig!"
"Sure you are looking for your dog and not your mate?" She paused for a moment. "And what's your name by the way?"
Absent-minded, Wilson looked around and desperately barked a few times, as high and refreshing as a little dachshund.
November starred at the man in disbelief. One could really not talk to that guy. So there was nothing left to do but to wait, hoping that his buddy would pick him up again. And to leave him here alone and drunk, would have been negligent. So she stood back against a wall of houses and stared into the darkness, lost in thoughts. Again, thinking of his face.
All of sudden, a deep, rough, aggression-loaded voice from the other side of the road shouted, "Wilson!"
It tore November out of her thoughts and she quickly turned her head as she suddenly jerked for a moment. There he was, and he came straight towards her. There was no time left to be quietly pleased that her decision proved to be the right one, and there was no time to enjoy this feeling, which was pouring through her at that moment.
House had been running through the streets for more than 20 minutes now. He snuffed with effort and his leg gave him a clear understanding that this was not the kind of movement that did him any good. He was about to give up and go back to the car as he peered across the street. Apparently there was a man who took advantage of the whole sidewalk just to make some progress. He thought it was impossible that at this time other drunks were still walking around in this residential area. So this staggering something over there could only be his fugitive friend. He shouted a second time, "Wilson?" Then he looked left and right and crossed the street.
It was Wilson indeed, obviously having lost any sense of orientation.
Swaying, he turned around to House, but he only took a short glance at him because to his astonishment, his friend was not alone. Next to Wilson sat a figure, in a wheelchair!? House had to come a few steps closer to see more precisely in the sparse light of the street lights. And when he was close enough, a brief shudder passed through him. It was her, the woman from the bar.
She smiled at him from the corner of her eye, turned to him and again their eyes met. And they were still as knowing as the first time. Nothing was lost. To feel and to know, deep inside her, felt so damn good. So good, that she instantly felt safe in his presence, even if he seemed quite exhausted.
As soon as she looked into those eyes, she felt that inner connection. It was the same feeling as earlier. No words needing to be spoken, but knowing everything at the same time. Totally ignoring Wilson, Houses glance stuck to this woman.
"He belongs to you, right?" November started to smile with a calm voice.
"Yeh, unfortunately.." House replied concisely and in a harsh tone, which he felt sorry for at the moment he used it. It wasn't her fault, that Wilson always messed up.
"I think you can take him with you, he seems a bit..overchallenged with himself tonight" November smirked. She didn't think his harsh tone was meant for her, she knew way too well how one felt walking further than supposed to. She was actually rather happy having met someone who knew this feeling just as well.
"How do I feel like I know him so well" November thought, quite surprised about her feelings. This connection between them freed her from any possible feeling of distance.
House nodded silently and his gaze went to Wilson, whose eyes were tightly shut. Clasping the wall of the house in front of him with both hands, he stood a few yards further. Unfocused, he mumbled some incomprehensible syllables, his face getting closer to the wall. It almost looked like he wanted to kiss the hard, cold brick wall.
Wilson looked miserable! Did he really want to take this guy home with him?
Whether House wanted to, or not – it had to be done! His conscience came back up in him, and with a slight sigh in his voice he said, "Wilson, come, let's go. I'll drive you home now. "
Very slowly, Wilson turned his head in Houses direction and looked at him with swollen eyes, his body still pushed against the house facade. "Iiii ...", Wilson began, lamenting, and stopped in the middle of the sentence. Everything around him was blurred, and as much as he tried to refocus, he couldn't. Holding his breath, he moaned, "I can't!" Wilson could literally feel that he grew pale. Adding to this, there was this dull feeling in his stomach, which had become more and more notable in the last five minutes. He felt it. Something wanted to leave his body! Now! Wilson said, "I think I must ..." but his sentence did not come to an end. Wilson was just about to hide behind the house, and the first surge of whatever he had taken in tonight, came out again the same way it got in.
A gasping sound could be heard, followed by a wet splash and Wilsons moaning. House raised his head and rolled his eyes. "Not that as well!" he thought. So he would probably never get home tonight to find his well-deserved sleep. It would take some minutes for Wilson to get it all out, whatever nasty stuff he had poured down so hastily in the evening. At least it meant there was plenty of time to rest. His leg needed a break after this "marathon". House was happy to get down on the stairs of a house entrance. It did him well to relieve the leg. November rolled beside him, tightening the brakes of her wheelchair. The two were exactly on the same level. Open-minded and driven by her curiosity, November took the initiative. "Cool cane", she said, looking at the flame pattern.
"Cool wheelchair", House replied with the same emphasis in his voice, curiously examining the colorful pattern on the spoke guard attached to both wheels. The wheelchair itself was dead dark red. On each side, the spoke protection was adorned with the airbrush drawing of a healthy, large tree with a broad crown and many green leaves, the stem of which consisted of an acoustic guitar. However, you had to look closely to recognize this symbiosis. Both were interwoven or connected to each other so very well and each one emerged from the other. For November, it was an expression of her love for music, and last but not least, that music was the most natural thing this world to offer and it was all around and part of everything. And, at the same time it symbolized everything the opposite way - that nature was needed to make music and that it needed to be listened to and one ceased to exist without the other.
In the background Wilson groaned and was sick yet another time.
"Wilson?" House cried in a serious voice, pausing to check whether his friend had heard him, "puke yourself empty will ya! Otherwise I won't take you with me, understand? "
The reply came in form of an indistinct, pleading whine.
"I'm so sorry," House said sarcastically, "and be careful not to puke all over your t-shirt!" A satisfied grin flitted across his face. "Serves him right! That boozehound! "House thought to himself.
Unexpectedly, Wilson called back: "You're an asshole!" Apparently, he gradually came back to normal again. In any case, it was enough to insult his best friend.
While House was busy with Wilson, November caught up on taking time to enjoy the moment. She closed her eyes and deeply breathed in and out. All she tried was to perceive his presence beside her, to feel exactly what was resonating in it, to perceive his charisma. She also tried to concentrate on his smell in this short span of time. It was one of those tangy smells, which felt pleasant to her and which didn't come from any perfume, but was pure natural instead. It added to giving her this secure feeling here and now. She just needed to breathe to know that everything was all right and, most importantly, would stay all right. He didn't even have to do anything except to be there.
So your friends name is Wilson? ", November said, and finally wanted to know who was sitting next to her. "I'm November. And how ... ", she was just about to ask for his name when he was already interrupting.
"Ah, November!" House repeated exaggeratedly, "Let me guess you are the eleventh of twelve children, your brother is called August and one of your many sisters is called April, right?"
November smirked and was glad that for once she didn't have to hear that November was not a name, or how funny her name was. She answered House with an amused smile on her lips: "True, except for the fact that the other eleven siblings don't exist."
House 'facial expressions formed a short smile. And with her next sentence November put him off his stride. "And your name is?" she began, raising her eyebrow, "Lord Voldemort?"
"How do you know?" House asked with pretended outrage.
Dry and quite self-evidently, November replied: "It was your cane."
"Yes, the cane," House replied, holding it with both hands. "Purchased last week at Ollivander's in Diagon Alley," he commented and presented his walking aid to her with such an elegant hand movement, as if he would advertise a product on a teleshopping show. "Yew wood and phoenix feathers," House added proudly, stroking his cane with a gentle gesture, which made November believe that he felt a deep attachment to the subject. The conclusion was indeed not far from truth. "Ah, I see" she answered honestly, understandingly and with deep conviction. "Firebold" she replied just as proudly with a glance at her wheelchair as she patted lovingly over its dark red metal. Once again House looked at the airbrush drawing. He liked it…the tree and the guitar, which were subtly interwoven. Was she making music herself?
As Wilson was still coughing behind the edge of the house and was audibly breathing for air, there was still some time to chat on. Somehow House felt the urge to not let the conversation die. Should he really ask her about music? He glanced faintly at November and her wheelchair. He felt reminded of himself. "Probably impossible for her to have long walks.." he thought, feeling this strange connection again ... Of course, he had often encountered wheelchair users: paraplegics, MS patients, people with amputated limbs. But he had nothing in common with any of them. His spinal cord was not damaged, and he wasn't lacking any leg. He could go and run if he wanted to - just not as well as most other people. He could just as well be safe without a cane, as long as there was something close to where he could hold onto if necessary. But being honest with himself, he had to admit he occasionally lost his balance and involuntarily kissed the ground. Perhaps it was exactly what connected him and November. This intercourse between disabled and somehow not disabled…
Slightly coughing and playing with the cane in his hand, House asked in a playful tone: "So late on the road, November?" His gaze went over to the other side of the road.
"I think we're both looking for a friend tonight" she replied deep in thoughts and let her gaze drift away as well. "I've lost my companion, well, my pendant actually" November replied to House's question, lowering her sad gaze, and with her left hand she reached out to her chest to grab the pendant but there was just emptiness where it once had its place.
His gaze swirled over her neckline. Only now he realized that she was only wearing a t shirt and a blouse. House tried to remember ... - Right! There had been a necklace with a silver pendant!
"The pendant is silver, isn't it?" he said aloud.
Surprised and with a hint of hope, November looked at him him. "Yes," she confirmed excitedly and asked in a hurry, "Did you find it?"
House was about to deny her question, when Wilson unexpectedly appeared in front of them.
Still week kneed, his strength seemed to be good enough to support himself with only one hand on the wall of the house. His face color had changed to a normal tone by now, and his eyes were now much clearer and more focused. He had wiped his mouth with the jacket sleeve, but his shirt had not been spared. It undoubtedly revealed that his bearer had been sick not too long ago.
"What are you talking about?", Wilson wanted to know, as he looked somewhat irritated between House and November and slowly walked towards them.
"About my duck pendant", November replied, adding "I've probably lost it on the way home somewhere here."
Wilson grabbed- and he had no idea why-into his left pocket. "Does it look like that?" He asked, pulling out a silver pendant that was attached to a leather band.
"Yeah, exactly," November screaked joyfully, beaming at Wilson and taking the pendant off him. On a first look, it seemed intact. The knot seemed to have actually dissolved. Relieved and grateful to have regained her companion, she closed it in both hands and pressed it against her lips, eyes closed. For a brief moment, she paused, happy to have it again, then she turned to Wilson, "I hope very much for you that you didn't puke on it?"
He shook his head silently and obviously fought with the aftermath of his intoxication.
Happily, November stroked her pendant and curiously asked "But where the hell did you find it?"
But Wilson only brought out an exhausted snort and shrugged. "I ..." he began uncertainly, "I don't know. Can't remember."
Unconcerned, joyous, and overjoyed to have regained to her talisman, November wanted to put the chain straight into her trouser pocket, when Wilson asked in wonderment: "Don't you want to put it on again?"
"But I ...", November began hesitantly, looking sadly at the ribbon in her hand. She already knew that with her limited fine motor skills, she would not succeed in making a knot in the leather band, but she tried regardless. It ended up in nothing but a failure and the tingling sensation that she felt in her fingertips, almost drove her mad at this moment. There was also the darkness, and her fingers were stiff with cold. But she didn't allow her anger to get out, she had trained herself not to do that. She tried, no matter how hard the situation. An angry snort was the only thing she couldn't help to hold back, while her face darkened. With frowning brows she looked at the tangle of threads in her lap and between her fingers. She had never been able to keep the orientation and the overview when doing such things.
It was one of those moments when House was guided by his instinct. He saw that it was difficult for her to knot the band. Why? He didn't have any logical explanation for it yet. But that wasn't so important either, something made him feel that it had nothing to do with clumsiness, she just needed help! As if driven by an inner force, he rose from the stairs and came closer to November. Without a word, he took the pendant off her hand, made a knot in the ribbon, and gave it back to her. When she was sitting in her wheelchair now, and he was standing in front of it, November's height just about reached his bellybutton. He didn't like this position. Meeting her on the same level felt better right from the start.
November turned to House and looked up at him. Long and firm, she looked into his eyes. Even now, in the middle of the night, they beamed. "Thank you. For everything. "She spoke softly and cautiously in his direction. In the sound of her words, there was much more gratitude than words could have expressed. And her eyes said, "Thanks for the kindness, the little revenge in the bar, for meeting again. For the conversation."
House reciprocated her intense gaze while a thousand unspoken and unanswered questions rushed through his head. And again, it was Wilson, who interfered this quiet and incorporeal closeness. "Can we go now?" He whined, stepping impatiently from one foot to the other, "I'm cold!"
"Yeah," House growled, his eyes involuntarily turning away from November.
Now capable of moving forward, without holding on to both hands, Wilson marched on.
House grabbed him by the arm. "The other way, Wilson!" He said, turning his friend around, "I parked over there!"
"Oh?," Wilson replied, dragging his feet into the direction indicated by House.
House himself stopped once more and took a look back at November. She was still sitting in her wheelchair and smiled at him. It wasn't a particularly warm march night. The cold that crawled under his open jacket could clearly be felt and she really seemed to have no more than what she was wearing. Hopefully she didn't have a long way to get home... Or should he offer to drive her home?
Wilson's nagging voice wiped his mind. "Is it still far?" He muttered, not realizing that he had only walked 10 meters so far.
House turned around and joined Wilson. "No," he grumbled, teeth-crushing, "And now hurry up! I want to get home at some point today. "
Grinning, November saw how Lord Voldemort, softly cursing, pushed his Wilson along the road, and the two disappeared behind the next corner.