V. We Two Boys Together Clinging – Walt Whitman
We two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going, North and South
excursions making,
Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching,
Arm'd and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,
No law less than ourselves owning, sailing, soldiering,
thieving, threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming, air breathing, water
drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statues mocking,
feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.
The days of recovery following the shooting and ketamine coma weren't all hell. House played the good boy long enough to suck out all the sympathy of the nurses and his staff, amassing an obscene amount of candy and cards before he grew bored of the novelty and broke out of the hospital with a sardonic, "Kiss my crippled ass."
That night, Cuddy came by with a jump rope and "Rocky" on dvd. She gave him two months to get himself in shape and get back to work. When she left, she kissed him on the cheek and murmured, "You scared us, you asshole."
A week later, his mom came for a visit, and in between driving him to a from PT sessions at a private practice far from the inquisitive stares of his PPTH colleagues she saw to it that he gained at least ten pounds, stuffing his fridge and freezer with enough home-made meals to last him a month.
His father sent him a piece of shrapnel they'd dug out of his uncle's leg.
But it was Wilson who came with the best gift.
"I figured you were missing the high," he shrugged, eyebrows dancing as he rolled House a joint. "But don't get used to this."
"Buzz kill," House smiled.
They ended up in New York that night, making asses of themselves at a Mets game and drinking so much beer that they had to stay the night in some hotel in Queens that had just enough class to have a mini-fridge stocked with vodka and macadamia nuts. House, jumping up and down on the bed and moaning like a whore in heat, made Wilson laugh so hard he nearly pissed himself. Wilson tried to stand up to join him but they soon fell down in a tangle of limbs, all giggles and premonitions of regret for having drunk so much.
And then House kissed him.
And Wilson said, "It's all going to change now, isn't it?" and smiled.
And then it all changed.
And then House went back to work, and it all changed again.
The day after Cuddy discharged his vegetable, House cajoled Wilson into catching an afternoon ballgame. He'd filled his forged scrip at the local druggist the night before, and after a very brief debate with himself, he slipped two crushed Vicodin pills into his pocket flask before topping it off and heading out the door to pick Wilson up.
"This part of the 'new man' routine, too?" Wilson asked him as House paid for their tickets, their food, and their beer.
"Just an Irish wake, Jimmy," House answered, taking a swig of his laced Scotch.