Okay, it's about eleven o'clock and I just wrote one of the best chapters of this entire story…if I do say so myself….hee hee. I don't know exactly why I like it so much, I just think it came out exactly like I wanted it to. I'm sorry if the HUGE number of section breaks is confusing to anybody. As usual, it would make my day if you would review and tell me what you thought.

Thanks so much!

And sorry for the long wait!

Love and Music are Forever

Chapter Eight

Two dozen white pills spilled out from the bottle into his trembling hand. Two dozen ways to finally escape from every pain. Lying in his palm, they were like some arrow point him towards salvation. Here, were twenty-four ways to cleanse his soul from twenty-four sins.

He picked up the first pill, holding it gently between two fingers as a jeweler would to examine a diamond.

My first sin.

One: Believing that he could be strong enough to save the world, and to save House—the sin of pride.

He swallowed the pill, and with it, swallowed his pride. The sin was washed away.

Two: Following his desires in bedding the women he'd wanted. He'd ended up married to three of them because he'd needed an outlet for his irrepressible passion—that one was called lust.

Swallow and be healed.

Three: Wanting House here, now, to care for him and him alone. Wasn't that the sin of greed?

Another blemish swept away.

House instinctively knew that something was wrong. He felt as if the barrel of a gun had just been aimed at his head, even though there was no one around, and no gun in sight. Fear tightened in his breast. He'd had this feeling once, and only once, before, when, with trembling hands, he'd raised a knife to take his own life on the floor of his kitchen.

"James."

He was about to make a terrible mistake.

Four: He desired House's courage. No…it wasn't courage, it was audacity. The ability to say everything he thought. To be just as respected even if there was animosity directed towards him for his abrasive nature. He wanted to be held in such high esteem that nothing could truly make him fall from grace—that one was easy. Envy.

And retribution is made.

Twenty more sins for which he had yet to atone.

Five: He hated House. He hated him for not being there for him. Hated him for leaving him alone. Hated him for not being able to help him. He hated him for being so weak. And he found that it was so easy to hate him. That sin was anger.

Five transgressions washed clean.

White pills making a tarnished soul white once again

House was moving as quickly as he could…it would never be fast enough. The hall stretched out life an endless chasm before him and his infirmity made it an impossibility to cross.

Faster

Faster

Faster

He urged himself on.

"James."

He was about to do something he'd regret…if he lived to regret it…

Six: Overindulgence. He loved to be the hero. The strong one, the one who could make everything okay. He hungered for the rush that it gave him and craved it when it was absent. In some way, he was addicted to it and couldn't live with out it. House had is vicodin, Wilson his hunger for power. Gluttony.

Walk forward into the light.

Seven: He wanted to slowly slip away into darkness and no longer fight for anything. He wanted the easy way out—was that sloth?

Swallow and be healed.

Eight: Marriage, even if not made in love, was still sacred and every time he had dishonored it. Adultery.

The list stretched on before him, swimming in his vision the same way the writing on the wall had.

Sixteen more sins remained. And already his head was reeling from the weight of what remained and the relief of what was gone.

"James!" House threw open the door and lunged forward before he had even fully taken in the situation.

The movement was shaky and would have made a whole man stumble on his feet. House's leg, already weak from his mad "dash" down the hallway, finally gave out underneath him. But his momentum managed to carry him far enough forward that he reached out and grabbed his friend's wrist, not only stopping his fall, but also causing the pills to spiral away.

What number, what sin, was that?

Two blood-curdling screams echoed out in unison.

One in agony and one in the pain of loss.

But who could have told the difference between them. The sound was identical; pain of all kinds is just as painful.

House hadn't seen how many of those pills went flying, but he now saw them on the floor, his keen eyes spotting the white against white.

How many had he taken?

House managed to remain clinging to the side of the bed. His face was as white as his knuckles from the effort of trying to hold his weight off of his knee.

"Why?"

Wilson had never seen a look of such disappointment, such fear.

He didn't answer. He turned his head away, and reached out for a pill that had landed on the bed spread.

House's hand sprang forward and swept the pill away. It clattered on the floor like a raindrop.

"Why!"

"I won't live like this! Infirm! Weak! It's weakness to not give into death, only the fear of dying holds us back! I'm not weak. Weak, like y—" His voice stopped so suddenly that it cracked.

"Like me." The other man finished for him as smoothly as if he had expected the hesitation. The whispered reply was: "Yes."

The words flowered so smoothly it was as if they were reading lines. But, in a way, they were. They'd both written the script years ago, and rehearsed it in their mind everyday, it was no wonder that the lines seemed to go off without a hitch.

House turned his head away, as if shamed. "You're wrong, James." He slowly pulled himself up.

Wilson didn't know what amount of physical strength that single act had taken, but it was strength that House had never had possessed

"You're so wrong, James. It takes strength not to surrender to the easy way out. Death is a coward's escape. It takes me more strength to every day go on than it does for you to give up. Every time that I put the pills down, put the knife back, I got stronger. I get stronger by fighting everyday. You'll never have that chance if you let go, give up now."

The words were icy cold and burned even more than the toxins that were racing through Wilson's blood.

"I thought you, of all people, understood that. Understood that I gave every day all I had because that was the only way I could get through it. I hate you for this."

House

I turned away. What else was there to do, but turn away and hide my face? So I didn't have to look at the anger and despair in those eyes.

Wilson was the only man I'd ever trusted, and that trust was thrown back in my face. I'd shared my weakness with him and he flaunted it in front of me calling me that thing I hated most—weak.

It's the people we love the most who are the ones who can hurt us the most…in fact, they're the only people who can ever really hurt us. Our enemies can't get as deep under our skin.

I should've known not to trust.

I was weak. Weak for opening up, giving Wilson my heart.

Wilson's heart rate flat lined.

"How many did you take!" House screeched and grabbed Wilson's shoulder. "How many?

House

Why did I care so much for a man who had betrayed me? Why!