Wilson is a very good person.
That's part of why I'm in l-… am attr-… why I am friends with him.
It's disgusting, of course. The way he looks at me, sometimes – like he is deigning to stay, to try to fix me or make me more sociable or at least get me halfway legal. The little bastard.
Look, ladies. Watch Wilson the Good ride in on his high, noble steed and stick a Lance of Freedom, Beauty, and Truth through House the Malignant's face. And he does it all with obsessively coifed hair. And probably tooth-sparkles.
The hypocrite.
That's the other part of why I'm friends with him.
He claims to be so perfect, and then he can sit in his Chair of Compassion behind his Desk of Worry and tell people that they're dying.
I tell people that they're dying while they're lying on a Bed of Pestilence and I'm leaning on my Cane of I'm-Going-to-Dance-on-Your-Grave.
It's not like he doesn't know them, either. If, crazy little guy who doesn't exist forbid, I actually do speak to a patient, it's just once or twice and then they're a blurry face and a paycheck. With cancer patients, he's treating them for years while they're listening to his 'The next treatment might work's and 'The tumor is shrinking's while they're just withering and turning to dust.
Heartless. Absolutely emotionally detached. Objective, even when he knows that he's leaning toward being subjective somewhere else.
Yes, Wilson. That's right. One cancer patient is a tragedy, one hundred is a statistic. That sounds an awful lot like something Joey Stalin once said.
Perfect.
He's good at hiding it. The others just kind of assume that he has self-control and professionalism – his personality is too Good for him to really not care – and that he's putting on a brave face.
Hell with that. The dark parts of him, the detached parts, run much deeper than other people give him credit for.
I like to think that I encouraged those, but it's not true.
That's just how Wilson is, plain and simple. He was like that before I got to him, and he'll be like that after… well, after anything. He's not changing.
He's twisted.
He's Good, somewhere. Fine. But he's still twisted.
I'm the only one that really sees that.
I'm the only one he shows that to.
Now would be the time to say something encompassing and witty and telling. Like, 'Maybe the balance isn't in that he's Good and I'm Bad, but that we've both got some of everything.' The problem with that would be that I would need some Good, and that's just ridiculous.
So… for a final note on which to end…
Maybe Wilson doesn't even realize that he's showing me everything. Maybe it's unconscious.
Maybe, unconsciously, he trusts me way the hell more than he should.
And it might get him killed one of these days.
Or jumped. Also good.
Fun times. I'm lonesome because some chick whose name seems to escape me is traipsing around in something called the 'real world' with an illusion of a 'life'. So... to fix it, I watched House. And Wilson said something about seeing his patients for years, as opposed to House having them for a week or so. And I thought, 'Wilson is too caring a person for that kind of thing.' At this point I realized that I should be writing this down, and started a stream-of-conscious for House on the subject. I say again, fun times. And I think that I'm trying to break myself of the habit of summing up an entire drabble in the last sentence or two. That's just annoying, eventually. See how messy it got? Yeah. That's called Progress.