008. Fear

Wish I Had

House struggled to control his breathing as the woman's surprisingly strong arm tightened warningly against his neck. Most of his attention was on the gun in her other hand, the one that was pointing with unerring accuracy at Wilson.

She was dressed as a patient and House could only assume the gun had, at one point, belonged to security guard. At least he hoped it had once belonged to a security guard. He didn't want to think about where it came from if it hadn't. All of that in combination with her initial raving when she'd burst into his office led him to the conclusion that she was an escapee from the psych ward and when this was all over he intended to have a sharp word with the doctors and nurses on that floor about the importance of keeping an eye on their patients…especially the ones who were likely to steal guns and brandish them at other, more innocent doctors.

She'd moved with surprising swiftness when she'd burst in, taking both of them by surprise. House had been limping back and forth in his office, snarking about his latest patient, his ducklings, Cuddy and whatever else came to mind while Wilson lounged in a chair in front of his desk and laughed. The woman had burst in, assessed the situation in a second then grabbed House and dragged him over into one corner, knocking his cane away as she did so. She dragged him around so he was in front of her, wrapped one startlingly strong arm around his throat and pointed the gun at Wilson. He'd seen the flurry of movement in the other room and could only hope that help was on the way.

The woman's arm tightened again and House grabbed at it as he choked.

"Shut up!" she snapped into his ear, her voice full of confusion, anger and fear.

House scrabbled at her arm again. "Can't breathe," he gasped.

The arm loosened slightly and House let go, dragging in some deep breaths. He looked over at Wilson and saw the fear and worry in his friend's eyes and was fairly sure his were reflecting the same thing.

Wilson took a deep breath and held his hands out, palms up, in a placating gesture. "It's alright. It's okay. What can we do for you?"

The woman flicked a glance out of the office where there was a crowd gathering just down the corridor.

"What can you do?" she snapped with a bitter, slightly deranged laugh. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you and your friend here?"

"They'll send you to jail," Wilson replied; it was obviously the first thing he could come up with.

The woman gave another one of those bitter, slightly deranged laughs. "No, they won't. Try again. Better yet," she said, nudging House's bad leg with her knee. "You try. Why shouldn't I kill him?"

"Because he's a better person than you'll ever be," House snapped as his leg throbbed with pain.

The woman's laugh was rather hollow this time as she thumbed the safety off on the gun. "Tell me something I don't know. Try again."

House tensed a little when he saw what she'd done. He didn't know why she was here in the psych ward but she clearly knew her way around a gun. He looked up and saw the same knowledge reflected in Wilson's eyes.

"There's a lot of people here who'll die if you kill him," House offered.

The woman nudged his leg again sharply and House gasped.

"I didn't ask why anyone else wouldn't want him killed, I want to know why you don't want him dead," she said, suddenly turning slightly vicious.

House closed his eyes pain washed through him; he really had to find a way to stop her whacking his leg.

"He's my friend," he said quietly, keeping his eyes closed.

The woman was silent for a moment. "I remember what it was like to have friends," she said wistfully. Her arm tightened fractionally again. "What else? You can get other friends."

House snorted. "You clearly don't know me."

"He's your only friend?" she asked, sounding curious.

"Yeah," House admitted, willing to keep talking if it kept her from shooting Wilson.

He heard the woman give a small, bitter laugh. "You're as bad as me. You care about him?"

House paused and opened his eyes to find Wilson watching him solemnly. "Yeah," he said quietly and he was rewarded by a tiny, warm smile from Wilson.

"Good," the woman said then she glared savagely at Wilson. "What about you? You care about him? Or you going to dump him as soon as it all gets too difficult?"

Wilson's lips quirked into a mirthless smile. "Haven't so far. I don't see any reason why I would in the future. And yes, I care about him."

The woman made a small whimpering sound, something like a sob, but House couldn't see her to tell which it was.

"Wish I had someone who cared," she said, her voice clear and sane for the first time since she'd charged into the room.

Suddenly House felt himself being shoved forward and he stumbled and fell to the ground, pain lashing through him. As that happened he heard the deafening bang of the gun going off and his heart leapt with fear and shock. He scrambled to his knees and looked over to where Wilson had been standing to find…he was still standing there.

House rolled over so that he was sitting on the floor, his back against the desk and looked over to the corner. The woman was lying on the ground, the gun still in her hand, blood and brain matter splattered all over the wall and floor.

"House!"

Wilson was crouching next to him, his hands on his shoulders, worry on his face.

"'M fine," House said as he stared at the woman. His gaze drifted over to his friend. "You mean what you said?"

Wilson stilled then he smiled weakly. "Yeah."