As the next few days passed Wilson, like virtually every cancer patient, continued to have bad days and better days. Gradually, though, House saw that his color improved and he was able to eat proper food again. Wilson would never know the relief House felt as he realized that his friend was recovering. Wilson, too, was relieved, and he grew more and more anxious for his follow-up with Dave Brown. In the meantime, however, House and Wilson continued to play out their routine and both found the relative normalcy comforting.
Wilson was stretched out on the couch reading as House walked through the door. House was greeted by the intoxicating aroma of his favorite Wilson specialty; pancakes.
As he seated himself across from Wilson, his plate on his lap, House watched his friend's face as he read. The younger man seemed transported; his body was laying on House's couch but his mind was clearly in another place entirely. House turned his head to read the words on the cover of the book in Wilson's hand.
The Norton Anthology of Poetry
"You know I've starting reading some of the books you have and some of them aren't bad," House began, "but I never understood you and poetry," he finished, taking a bite of Wilson's pancakes.
Wilson finished the page he was reading and turned to look at House.
"They're a constant," Wilson said simply, "no matter what's going on or how crappy things are sometimes these words are familiar and almost always relevant."
House raised a skeptical eyebrow but simply continued eating. After several long moments, however, he finally spoke.
"Read me one," he said simply.
Wilson was surprised, but he smiled as he sat up to look through the stack of books next to him. Pulling one from the stack he deftly flipped through the pages to choose one of his favorites that he had reread recently. As he read Wilson looked at House, the brown eyes steady upon the blue.
"Come, my friends,
T'is not too late to seek a newer world
For my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset,
And though we are not now that strength
Which in old days moved earth and heaven
That which we are, we are,
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."
By the time Wilson finished House was looking back at him intently, seemingly drinking in the words. His plate lay forgotten on his lap and he was silent for several long moments. Eventually, though, he smiled.
"To not yielding," House said, holding up his glass.
Wilson returned the smile. He watched House for several long moments as the older man delved once more into his pancakes. Something struck Wilson at that moment that he had been too preoccupied to perceive before.
"What's changed with you?" Wilson asked suddenly.
"What do you mean?" House asked through a full mouth.
"You've taken care of things, taken care of me, over the past couple of weeks and I haven't heard you complain; about anything. You've been…calm…patient…understanding. It's not like you."
"Thanks," House said with a touch of petulance in his voice.
"You know what I mean," Wilson said, "what's changed?"
"Nothing's changed," House said, "I had to step up, so I did-"
"House," Wilson said, looking at House steadily, "what's changed?"
House looked back at Wilson, his face suddenly betraying himself. Setting his plate down, House leaned back for a moment, seemingly defeated.
"Fine," House said sullenly, "have it your way." Taking a deep breath, House avoided Wilson's eyes as he spoke.
"I've…been back at rehab," he said quietly.
Wilson's eyes widened with surprise. He had been hoping for House to stay in rehab for years and he had basically accepted that it would never happen. To hear the words now seemed too hard to believe.
"Have you really?" Wilson replied, trying to keep the skepticism in his voice to a minimum.
"You don't believe me," House said, smiling sardonically as he looked back at Wilson.
"After everything we've gone through it's just really hard to believe," Wilson said.
"It's okay," House said, still smiling, "the irony of it is just really funny."
"What do you mean?" Wilson asked curiously.
"You're the reason I'm sticking with the rehab and yet you're the one who doesn't believe I am."
Wilson stopped in his mental tracks, looking at House yet again. There was a clarity in the blue eyes Wilson hadn't seen in a long time. As he looked at the older man he tried to find a trace of a lie in the face he knew so well but couldn't find one. Unexpectedly he felt tears sting his eyes and Wilson heard the break in his own voice as he spoke.
"You really are clean?" he said, thunderstruck.
The older man simply nodded.
"But…your leg, how-"
"Physical therapy," House cut across Wilson, "I've actually been going. The pain's still there, obviously, but I'm handling it."
"Wait a second…when did you go back?" Wilson asked curiously.
House took a deep breath.
"The night you got your biopsy results. Do you remember what you said?"
Wilson shook his head, nonplussed.
"You said you couldn't worry about me O.D.'ing and still do what you needed to," House said, "and then you gave me a choice. You asked if I was in or out."
"You said you were in," Wilson said quietly.
"I meant it," House said, "and I knew what that meant. For me. It meant making the rehab thing work this time."
Wilson shook his head, his hands running through his hair in astonishment. As he looked back at House the older man beheld a rare but wonderful sight; the sight of Wilson's smile, the brilliant smile that lit the brown eyes and could soften the hardest heart.
"Why didn't you say something?" Wilson asked, the smile still lingering on his face.
House's eyebrows raised.
"And have you want to play Dr. Supportive Oncologist? If you'll recall you had something of a difficult situation to deal with recently."
Wilson nodded.
"True," he admitted, "I still would like to have known, though."
Silence fell for several long moments before Wilson spoke again.
"I'm proud of you, House," he said quietly.
House looked back at Wilson.
"Ditto," he said seriously.
Wilson smiled again. Gradually, however, he sobered perceptibly. Taking a deep breath he blew it out slowly.
"Well, tomorrow we find out if I'm in Death's datebook," he said, leaning back on the couch.
House grinned.
"Don't worry, I stole it last time he was at the hospital," he said, "that guy does not keep track of his stuff," he said, shaking his head in mock sympathy.
Wilson laughed at the mental image. Grinning, he picked up his book again as House returned to the kitchen for more pancakes. Once more he let the familiar words wash over him.
That which we are, we are
One equal temper of heroic hearts.
A/N: :) Not too hard to find the D.P.S refrence here, I hope... the poem was the section of Alfred Lord Tennyson's "Ulysses" that RSL read in the film...
TTYL, all! :D