Clark-G I thought about what you said, and read back and realized, with the help of my beloved Mixy, that House has been acting a little too happy for a guy with chronic pain, sooooooo, this chap is for you my darling. Hope you like it.
iamawallflower, you may be late to the party, but I'm glad you made it. Sit back, have a Mai Tai and enjoy.
HuddySmutMonkey...oh, you smutty little thing, what am I going to do with you? Well, I might have one or two things in my library to suit your twisted little desires. I'll see what I can do. :) In the meantime, enjoy some hardcore angst.
-4-
House woke up in a cold sweat. His breath was heavy and labored. He could hear them talking, conspiring against him. Whispered voices carried across the room. They thought he was still sleeping. They thought it was safe. He closed his eyes to maintain the illusion and also to focus on their words.
"We'll do it while he's asleep. He won't even notice."
Do what? What were they going to do to him? His heart was pounding. He was beginning to panic.
He heard the threatening buzz of the saw, a sound that sent a chill down his spine. He tried to scream, to tell them to stop, but he couldn't get his mouth working. He tried to grab the saw, to save himself, but his arms were heavy and numb. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he was their prisoner, about to be tortured in a way that would break the strongest of men.
But they couldn't break him. He refused to let them. As the cold steel blade began to rip into his numb flesh, he fought to break free, to be heard. He struggled against the restraints holding him down. He focused his power and will and sent it all to his left arm. If he could only get one arm to move, to push them away, then maybe, just maybe he could save himself…
House woke with a gasp as his arm shot out beside him and accidentally hit Cuddy in the chest.
"Well, good morning to you too," she mumbled, still half asleep.
"I didn't know you were there." It was taking him some time to process the fact that he'd been dreaming.
"Where else would I be?" She sat up, pulling the sheet up over her naked body.
He thought quickly. "Bathroom?"
She laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "Do you want me to make you some eggs?"
"No." He was still trying to process that dream.
"Good." She hadn't wanted to get up yet anyway. "I'm going back to sleep."
"No you're not." House pulled the covers off her.
"House," She whined, pulling them back up again and curling into a fetal position.
"Don't you remember what today is?" He wanted to set out on their exploration as soon as possible.
"The first day of the rest of my death sentence?" She turned onto her back and looked up at him with one eye open.
"That's encouraging," House grumbled.
"It was a joke." He was acting odd this morning. "Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?"
"Yeah," he said dismissively. "Go back to sleep."
Cuddy did as she was told, but only because she wanted to.
House put on his swim trunks and headed down the beach. He had swallowed a handful of Vicodin, but the pain in his leg was getting worse. He winced and stopped for a moment.
The past couple of days had been Heaven. The crisp ocean air, the passionate nights (and days) in Cuddy's arms. He had started to believe he was invincible. He had started to believe he could live a normal life, but he'd only been fooling himself.
He screamed out in pain as he fell to the ground.
Cuddy had become so attuned to the sound of his pain that she shot up in bed and looked around. When she didn't immediately see him, she thought she'd dreamt it. Then she heard him cry out again, and rushed down to the beach.
"House? Are you all right?" She lifted his head into her lap and gently rubbed his temples, hoping to somehow ease the pain.
House was clenching his fists and felt his nails digging deeper and deeper into his palms. He was close to drawing blood, but he didn't ease up. He was really only distributing the pain, but it was better than nothing.
Through clenched teeth he hissed "Leave me alone." He hated her seeing him like this, vulnerable and weak. He hated that it reminded him that she played a part in his pain. At that particular moment, he hated her.
Cuddy had learned after countless mistakes that he meant those words. He wasn't the kind of man who said he wanted to be left alone when he really wanted a hug but was too macho to ask for it. She hated men like that. She was much more comfortable with House's cruel honesty, even if it broke her heart every time.
She gently kissed him on the temple. She knew he would hate it, but she had to. It was a selfish act on her part, done to make her feel better, to ease her own guilty conscious, but she had to do it. He would get over it. He always did.
She got up and walked away slowly. She wanted him to call her back to him, to ask for her help, but she knew it wouldn't happen. She just wished he'd let her in.
She thought maybe, just maybe it would be different once they were married, that he would realize that his pain wasn't going to push her away, and maybe, in time, he would, but it was still too soon, still too new.
House pulled himself to his feet. He looked down at his hand. There were deep moon shaped lines drawn across it, but no blood. Part of him wished there was. At least it would be evidence of his pain.
The only good thing about his scar was that it was a physical symbol of his pain. Not so much a badge of honor as a painful reminder of how pointlessly cruel life was.
He took a deep breath before taking his first step toward the Villa. He felt his cane sink into the sand and cursed under his breath. Each step after that was calculated agony. He winced each time he had to strain his muscle to make his leg move another inch closer to his destination. She was making a point not to watch him. He should have been grateful for that, but he was in too much pain to feel any sort of gratitude. After all she had done this to him.
Cuddy kept her head down, studying her Cheerios with deep concentration. She'd set a bowl out for him, and left the box of cereal and milk out, just in case.
House sat down and poured out the cereal in silence. He knew if he opened his mouth he would ruin everything. He could feel her unasked questions, grilling him about how he felt. The more he thought about what she wasn't asking, the more angry he became.
And there was one question hanging in the air between them, one question mocking him and laughing at his weakness. He felt almost compelled to address it, but that would mean acknowledging it, and acknowledging it would be admitting failure.
The answer was clear to both of them, though neither dared speak it. They were not going to the cave. The cave that House had been more excited about than Cuddy had ever seen him. The cave that possibly head the riches that could buy them their own tropical paradise. Once again, his deficiency had ruined everything.
Cuddy looked up for just a moment, as though she was about to speak, then looked down again. She pushed the few remaining circles of oats around with her spoon.
"Go ahead and ask me," he finally demanded with a cruel edge to his voice that frightened her ever so slightly.
"Ask you what House?" She didn't dare ask the million questions on her mind. How was he? Did he blame her? Was he going to take too many pills?
"Do you know what today is?" He snarled menacingly.
"You want me to ask you what today is?" She was playing dumb because she didn't want to deal with the truth.
"I want you to ask me if I still want to go to the damned cave today!" He was screaming at her.
"I never wanted to go in the first place," she said cautiously.
"Well then, you got your wish!" He slammed his spoon into his bowl causing an eruption of milk to spill across the table as he stormed off.
Cuddy looked at the bowl and sighed. Why did he have to find that stupid map?
She cried as she cleaned up the mess. Not a loud sobbing cry, but the soft, gentle tears of a woman unable to help the man she loved. If only he'd let her help him.
House dialed Wilson's number and waited while his friend went to check the caller ID on his mobile.
"House, why are you calling me again?"
"Can you FedEx me a refill of Vicodin?"
"No! House, you brought more than enough to get you through your vacation."
"Something's come up." House was pounding his fist against his leg, trying to distract him from the constant, relentless pain.
"What?" Wilson was worried. Wilson was always worried, but this time he had reason to be.
House didn't want to tell him. He didn't want to admit that he couldn't keep up with his wife. Cuddy was an active woman. She played tennis and golf and went to the gym and went running. Those were all things he would love to do with her. He just couldn't, and he hated being told he couldn't do something, especially when he was the one doing the telling. "I pulled a muscle," he lied feebly.
"Really?" Wilson was just that gullible. "How?"
"Wild monkey sex," House said impatiently. "Now are you going to send me the refills or am I going to have to stop some Cuban drug smuggling ship and ask if they have any they could spare?"
"You should have it tomorrow." Wilson was incapable of telling his friend no. He knew if he did, House would leave him for someone more agreeable.
"Great," House said unenthusiastically and hung up.
Cuddy was standing in the doorway, leaning against it, watching him. "Was that Wilson?"
"Yes." House felt a small ripple of guilt flash over him, but it passed.
"Is he sending you more pills?" She sounded so disappointed in him. If she knew…if she had any idea of the pain he had to deal with…
"Yeah." House was sitting on the toilet, not the best place to feel self righteous, but the only place he could find privacy. "I told you I was going to need more Vicodin."
"Yes, you did." She walk over to him and leaned against the side of the sink. "I was going to go up and check on Quintessa, thank her for all she's been doing for us. Is that okay?" She didn't want to leave him but she knew he probably wanted to be alone for a little while. He usually did after an episode.
"Fine." House's tone was dismissive but he appreciated how well she understood him. Sometimes she fucked it up royally, but sometimes, like now, she knew exactly what he needed.
She turned to leave and he grabbed her hand. He looked at her for a moment, mouth open, trying to find the words to tell her how he felt. The words never made it out and he closed his mouth and let her go. He could see the tears welling in her eyes and knew he should do something to ease her pain, the way she tried to ease his, but she had failed to ease his pain and he had failed to try to ease hers.
Cuddy started sobbing almost immediately after crossing the bridge, when she was far enough away that there was no way he would see her. She stopped and fell to the ground beside an old tree, curling up and crying into her knees.
He wouldn't let her help him. She would do anything for him, and he knew that, he had to know that, but he wouldn't let her in. She'd like to believe it was to protect her from his pain, but she knew him better than that. He was a stubborn ass who didn't think anyone could help him.
She screamed and threw her fists into the ground stomping her feet. All she wanted to do was spend two weeks being happy with him, but like most things in her life, it had all blown up in her face.
House sat on the toilet seat staring at the place where she had been standing wondering why he had to ruin every good thing that ever happened to him. He threw the phone across the room and watched it fall apart against the wall. "Great, now I need to get a new cell phone," he said to the empty room as he pulled himself to his feet.
The well stocked kitchen offered plenty of selection upon with to drink himself into oblivion. He chose vodka. It was quick, cheap and tasteless.
He grabbed the vodka bottle by the neck and fumbled his way across the room to the grand piano. Music was his therapy and Chopin his therapist. The notes came flooding out of him, easing his pain in a way no pill ever could.
By the time Cuddy returned, House was passed out on the floor, the empty vodka bottle smashed to pieces at his feet, a deep cut from the shattered glass marred his ankle and there was a line of drool coming out of his open mouth.
Cuddy looked at him sadly for a moment. She wished she could understand his pain. She wished she could share it, make it easier for him to bear. Instead she was left to pick up the pieces every time he self destructed.
She carefully picked up all the pieces of glass and swept them into the trash before waking him. He had a tendency to jerk around when he was woken from a drunken stupor and she didn't want him cutting himself any more than he had.
Next she dressed his wound from the small first aid kit she found in the bathroom. There were several small cuts that looked worse than they really were. She wiped up the blood and put a large bandage over the area.
Now came the hard part. "House?" She whispered into his ear first, testing the waters. He gave no sign of life so she tried to shake him gently.
House grumbled wordlessly and threw up a little. Cuddy turned him onto his side and wiped up the vomit that rolled down his cheek. "House, you have to wake up," she informed him, holding his arms down to prevent getting hit.
"Ivatigobid," House explained.
"I have no idea what you just said." She used her entire body to push him into a sitting position. "But you need to get up and move around."
"Nogep. Stedow…gedow…" he grinned. "Gooooodowwww," and nodded his head like he was in a bad 70s movie.
"Yes, House, maybe later. Right now I need you to get up and walk this off." She slipped under his arm and hoisted him to his feet. "I know you don't want to, but I'm evil and I want to make you miserable, so move." She shouted in his ear a bit, just to jolt him to full consciousness.
House started to drag his drunk ass alongside her, holding tightly to her shoulders lest he fall down and go boom. "I love you Lisa." He was still drunk enough to admit it.
"I love you too Greg." She smiled to herself. Sure he was wasted out of his mind, but she knew that deep down he did mean it.
She walked him back and forth through the large open room, from the kitchen counter to the steps to the beach and back again, over and over. She could feel his body slowly gaining control of itself. He was becoming less and less dependent on her to hold him up.
"Do you ever hate me?" He asked her suddenly and with such earnestness she couldn't tell if he was asking or if it was the vodka.
"How can you ask me that?" And how could she possibly answer?
"Because I'm an ass."
"I don't hate you House."
"I'm not asking if you hate me right now. I'm asking if you have ever hated me."
"No." She meant it.
"With all the horrible things I've done to you. You've never once thought about giving up on me?" He didn't believe her.
"No." She still meant it.
"Why?" His voice cracked with disbelief.
"Why don't I hate you?" She was starting to think she could hate him.
"Why haven't you given up on me?" There have been many times when he's wanted to give up on himself, but she always showed up and pulled him back together again. She was the reason he was still alive. Some might say he owed her his life. He felt she owed him his leg. Neither of them was going to get repaid.
"Because I love you." She was starting to tear up. It had been an emotional day and she was already exhausted.
"What kind of answer is that?" He pushed her away then realized he was going to fall on his ass and threw his arms back around her.
"The truthful kind." She knew he was drunk, that he wasn't thinking straight, but these questions unnerved her, mainly because she didn't really know the answer.
She loved him. She couldn't give a detailed thesis on why. She just did. And she didn't give up on the people she loved. He had been horrible to her after the Infarction, but she always understood where his anger was coming from and always hoped it would pass. She just realized that she'd rather live in misery with him than spend the rest of her life without him.
"You're an idiot." He dismissed her heart felt answer because it was something he couldn't understand. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wrap his considerable brain around the idea of thick and thin, of better and worse. It's not that he wouldn't stay with her through any of those scenarios, it's just that he thought she was worthy of staying with, and he thought he was not.
"And you're a bad drunk." She was satisfied that he was sobering up and gave him a break from pacing to sit on the edge of the bed for a while. She sat beside him to keep him from falling over.
"Funny, I've had so much practice you'd think I'd be better at it." Her attempt failed as he fell down onto his back like a tree that had just been chopped. He began snoring loudly and she knew he'd be okay.
She turned him onto his side, hoping to stop the snoring, but it only managed to dampen the noise a bit, then she went to fix him a hangover remedy for when he woke up.
A few hours later House showed the first signs of life. Cuddy had been curled up in the chair, reading a book. She looked over to see how bad he was.
House's head felt like it had been scalped, shrunk then stretched back to original size only slightly off on one side. There was now some tiny crew of careless construction workers trying to pound his skull back into shape from the inside.
It took him several minutes to pull himself up into a very slouched sitting position. "What the hell did you do to me?" It was always easier to blame someone else.
"Drink this." Cuddy walked over with the glass of green sludge and handed it to him, carefully wrapping his fingers around the glass to prevent him from dropping it all over himself.
"What is it?" He grouched.
"Just drink it House. You'll feel better."
House drank the disgusting concoction slowly, making the biggest fuss he possibly could without upsetting her enough to take it away from him.
"I spoke to Quintessa," she wasn't sure if this was a good idea or not, but she was a risk taker, so here goes. "About the secret river."
House grumbled.
"She said it doesn't exist anymore."
"You're lying." House was amazed at the lengths to which she'd go to make him miserable.
"Fine, if you're so certain it exists, go look for it, alone. I'm done." She walked back to the couch and returned to her book.
House went to sit at the kitchen table, map splayed out in front of him. The underground river was just so cool. It made him feel like a kid just thinking about it. It had made him feel whole, thinking about wandering through caves, chasing after a treasure. It had made him, for one brief, shining moment, forget he simply couldn't do these things any longer.
"Okay," he said after an hour of painful self abuse, "I'll buy your dried up river theory…"
"It's not my theory House." She had told herself not to engage him in this, not to encourage his recklessness, but once again she couldn't help herself.
"I'm admitting you might be right and you're correcting me?" House said in disgust.
"I am correcting you because you are admitting that Quintessa might be right, not me."
"You should take what you can get." He waited for a response, but none came. Dejected, he went and got himself some crackers.
He stared at the map, turning it this way and that. There was a puzzle here. There was some small detail he was missing. "Damn!" He couldn't do this alone. He started to pace the room slowly, pain shooting through his leg with each step.
Cuddy watched him out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to stop him, tell him to sit down, but he would only resent her for trying to help. Better to let him figure it out himself. He did after a few short paces. The pain grew worse with each step and he finally sat down even more frustrated than when he'd started.
He looked over at her. He wanted to make her talk to him, he wanted her help, but he sure as hell wasn't going to ask her for it. He sighed heavily and extra loudly. She didn't flinch. He let his hand fall heavily on the table making a loud smacking sound. Nothing. He got up and got a beer. He saw her move. She wanted to tell him it was a bad idea to drink so soon after his recent drunken stupor, but she didn't.
"Damn it!" He banged his cane on the counter then stormed out feebly. When he came back in, she was gone.
The map was still laid out on the table where he'd left it. He was drawn to it. Maybe if he focused on that he could stop thinking about his crumbling four day marriage.
House closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them again there were three people looking back at him with anticipation and confusion.
"What are we doing here?" Foreman asked with annoyed condescension.
"I think he's hallucinating," Chase said curiously.
Cameron just came over with that sad little look on her face and put her hand on his shoulder. "He needs us," she said quietly.
"I don't need anybody," House snapped, pushing her hand away.
"Then why are we here?" Foreman leaned against the counter with his arms crossed.
Chase was looking around. He finally turned his attention to the table and smirked. "He can't figure out this map all by himself."
"See, he does need us." Cameron's face lit up. Ever since House had gotten his new team she missed him. Not him, not like that. She missed working for him. She missed the challenging diagnostics, she missed the team, she missed her mentor.
"Bah," House said, waving his cane like a crazy man.
"Let's see what we've got." Chase leaned far too close to House and the older man pulled away with a freaked look on his face.
"You're not my type," he said gruffly.
"Good, you're not mine," Chase replied. Then both men looked over at Cameron who pretended to be busy pulling a string off her blouse.
"Fine," House snapped back, having to have the last word.
"We don't work for you anymore House, why can't you hallucinate about your new team?"
"My new team sucks."
"Can we just get on with this then?" Foreman was resigned to the fact that, being a figment of House's imagination, he was stuck there, but he could at least try to speed up the process. House's head was one place he did not want to linger, figment or not.
"Yes we can just get on with this then," House mimicked snottily.
"What are we looking at?" Cameron leaned in on the other side of House. Foreman was not a leaner, so he kept his distance and let the Bobsie Twins fight over House's minimal affections.
"It's a treasure map." House went on to tell them all he had learned about the map, the island and good old Captain Morgan.
"It doesn't look like a treasure map," Cameron said most unhelpfully.
"Why is she here?" Foreman shot a disapproving look in his former not-friend's direction.
"Because otherwise I'm stuck staring at you two idiots." House looked from Foreman to Chase then back to Cameron again. The blonde hair suited her, even if it did make her and Chase look a little like the Flowers in the Attic kids, which, oh, the cringing possibilities there.
"Fair enough." Foreman had to admit he'd rather look at Cameron than at House for however long they were trapped in the latter's subconscious.
"Did you try turning it upside down?" Chase asked, excited to have the old team back together, even if they weren't excited to be together.
"Duh." Like this was going to work. They were only going to suggest what he'd already figured out. "Just shut up and listen."
The truth was, he needed someone to bounce ideas off of. Cuddy had been right about that, Wilson too. He couldn't function on his own. He was an idea man, but he needed someone around to tell him his ideas were ridiculous and force him to scale them down a bit. He needed to hear himself talk, out loud. He needed to work the problem out verbally, and to avoid being a crazy person, he had to have other people around.
Of course, these particular other people were in his head, so he was, in fact, talking to himself which, by his definition, made him a crazy person, but if he used logic like that he'd never get anything accomplished.
"I don't think changing the way you look at the map is going to change anything." Sensible Foreman killed the joy as always.
"Then what?" House grumbled to himself, which meant they all heard him.
Chase piped in with his two cents. "The map is a constant. It was drawn and has stayed this way for centuries…"
"How do you know that?" Cameron asked, popping his proverbial balloon.
"Huh?"
"She's right." Foreman couldn't help himself. "How do you know that someone hasn't tampered with the map in all these years, added their own lines."
"Look for anomalies!" Chase was onboard with this theory now and poured over the map looking for some evidence that they were on the right track. "Look!"
"What?" House pushed him aside to look where the young blonde once was.
"This blue line, it's a different shade than the others."
Cameron pushed her head into the mix. Chase was right. Most of the other lines were a darker blue, but this one had a hint of light to it, like House's eyes. "He's right. This one was made with a different pen."
"But what does that mean?" House mused.
"It means someone drew a new line on an old map." Foreman was shaking his head at these children. When he'd signed up to work with the legendary Dr. Gregory House, this was NOT what he'd had in mind.
"Where's Cuddy?" Foreman would like to have a few choice words with that manipulative, controlling, carrot dangling boss.
"We had a fight." House said sadly.
"You'd better go and tell her you're sorry." Chase had learned in his two and a half years of dating Cameron that that was the best way to end a fight.
"But I'm not." House wasn't Chase.
"It doesn't matter," Chase said, trying to be quiet, but Cameron heard him and hit him playfully in the back of the head. She then sat next to House and looked him earnestly in the eyes. She placed his hand on his gently.
"She loves you." It was something it had taken Cameron a while to accept, but she was happy now, with Chase, and she only wanted that same happiness for House.
"And she should be committed for it," Foreman said, biting into an apple he found on the counter.
Cameron glared at him before continuing. "Do you love her?"
"Of course I do." Why was it so easy to admit it to them? Oh, right, they weren't really there.
"Then, if you did something wrong, go to her and apologies."
"And you know he did," Foreman peanut galleried, getting another glare from Cameron who was getting quite good at it.
"And if she is the one who messed up, then go and forgive her." Cameron thought It only fair to assume Cuddy could mess up as badly as House could.
"Bah, like that's going to happen," Foreman side barred.
"Would you shut up?" House stood up and snapped. It was quite clear which two sides of his personality these two represented, but Chase was being conspicuously silent during this heart to heart. "Chase, what do you think?"
"You're asking me?" Chase nearly fell out of his chair having nodded off a bit.
"Yes, I'm asking you."
"I think you're a rip the Band-Aid off quickly kind of guy."
"?" House metaphorically scratched his head on that one.
"I think you're so afraid she'll wake up and leave you some day that you are subconsciously trying to push her away sooner rather than later. Rip the Band-Aid off quickly to minimize the pain. That and you're trying to control her leaving you. It's pretty sick."
"She's not going to leave you House." Cameron would cut the bitch if she broke House's heart.
"She's going to leave you. It's just a matter of time." Foreman found his apple quite golden and delicious.
House was getting a headache. He turned toward Chase.
"Look House, Cuddy has seen you at your absolute worse, probably worse than any of us here ever have, and she has stood by you. But if you keep pushing her, she might finally give up, not because she wants to, or because she stops loving you, but because you have made it impossible for her to stay."
"Then she didn't really love me," House pouted.
Chase narrowed his eyes. He was the rational part of House's subconscious and he was weighing the weight of those words. "You don't want her to, do you?"
"What?" House wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, since he already knew what it was.
"You don't want her to love you. You don't think you deserve to be loved."
"That's ridiculous!" Ridiculously true.
"Oh House." Cameron's heart broke. "You do deserve to be loved." She threw her arms around him and he could feel tears on his shoulder.
"Get off me!" He pushed her away. He rarely ever acknowledged the sappy, romantic, bleeding heart side of him, and now he remembered why.
"He doesn't deserve to be loved," the self deprecating Foreman side of his mind spoke up. "He's an asshole."
"He's a wounded soul who needs to be loved."
"He's a sadistic jerk who needs to be euthanized."
"That was a bit harsh," House protested in his own defense.
Chase stood between them, arms stretched out as though he could actually stop them if they decided to attack each other. "He's just a man, with some very good points and a lot of flaws. And let's face it, Cuddy is no saint. She's just as lucky to have him."
"Yeah," House nodded emphatically.
"You don't believe that," Foreman looked at House with the appropriate amount of disbelief.
"Not really." House shrugged wondering why they weren't talking about his map.
"Look House," Chase tried to regain control of the conversation. "You had a fight, it happens. It's not the end of the world. If you know how many times Ally and I fought…"
"This isn't the time or the place," Cameron warned him.
"Couples fight."
House waited for more, but only for a second. "That's it? That's your sage advice? Couples fight? Well, gee, thanks Bobby, I feel swell now. Why don't you and Wally and the Beav go play stickball in a busy intersection." House threw an apple at them and they vanished.
"Wow. That went badly."
"What?" House looked around and finally noticed his best friend leaning against the counter where Foreman once stood. "What are you doing here?"
"You tell me."
"Is that Foreman's apple?" House noticed an already half eaten apple in Wilson's hand.
"Didn't want it to go to waste." Wilson took a bite.
"Ewe!"
"So, what am I doing here House?" Wilson started walking around. The place was paradise.
"I don't know," House mumbled.
"Oh, come on House. You're on your honeymoon. Where's Cuddy?" He looked under the table, just in case.
"Don't know."
"What'd you do?" Wilson wasn't going to play nice. He knew House had screwed up somehow and was ready to call him out on it.
"I didn't do anything. It's this…my damned leg…" House pounded on his thigh and pain shot through him like a missile.
"You might wanna stop doing that," Wilson said calmly.
"Yeah, well, you might wanna leave…"
"But I can't. Yeah, I get it." Wilson rolled his eyes and sat down. "So?"
"Everything was going fine. I was happy Wilson, happy. The sex…well, the sex has been phenomenal."
Wilson clamped his hands over his ears. "I'm not listening to stories about your sex life. Not with Cuddy." There was something decidedly icky about hearing the sexual escapades of two people he knew.
"It's important to the story."
"I don't care."
"Fine. Suffice it to say, we've been very active."
"Lalalalalala"
"Wilson!" House pulled Wilson's hands down. "It's over now."
"Thank God." Wilson's tender little ears couldn't take much more.
"I mean, it's over now." House spoke with a darker more ominous tone.
"Oh." Wilson frowned. "For good?" This was going to be bad.
"I don't know." House always knew it would happen. He'd just hoped to get more than four days with her. Stacy had lasted almost five years before turning her back on him.
"Well, what went wrong?" It had to be more than just the leg. Cuddy would never walk away from him when he was in pain.
"I can't stop blaming her for it." House was free to open up, because Wilson wasn't really there. It was just a figment of his imagination. He could finally tell Wilson all the things he never did. All the things he never told anyone. "It's been ten years and I still blame her for my pain."
"She was doing what she had to, House."
"She did what I would have done." House laughed a short, sad, bitter laugh. "I was the one who taught her to do whatever it took to save her patient, even if it went against the patient's wishes. I told her they would come to appreciate what she did for them."
"But you never did."
"I lied. Not everybody wants to be saved."
"Do you still think you'd be better off dead?" Wilson found that hard to believe.
"I believe she would be better off. I believe the world would be better off."
"What about all those people whose lives you saved?"
"Just because you stop someone from dying doesn't mean you saved them." House didn't believe that breathing and maintaining a pulse was the be all and end all that other, more God fearing types seemed to think it was. "We don't know what we're sending them back to. Patching up an abused woman so she can go home and get beaten up again isn't saving her."
"That's not what we do House."
"You don't know that Wilson."
"Have you told her you still feel like this?"
"Do you think I have to?" She knew. He could see it in her eyes. The pain and guilt every time he got worse. She felt emotionally as bad as he felt physically. He made sure of it.
"Probably not." Wilson fell silent for a while, gazing down at the table and the strange old map. "What's this?"
"Treasure map."
"Really?" Wilson perked up.
"Yes." House's mind was calculating. "But you don't want to talk to me about that."
"You mean YOU don't want to talk to you about that." Wilson retorted.
"How do I stop blaming her?" He wanted to, he really did. He knew that if he didn't, he would end up pushing her away. He just…he didn't have it in him to forgive her. Of all the things she could have done to him, betraying his trust, manipulating the situation and going against his wishes about what happened to his own body were betrayals he could never forgive. The ironic thing is, he would have applauded her for doing the exact same thing to someone else. He would have aided her in doing the exact same thing to Stacy had the roles been reversed, but he could never forgive her for doing it to him.
"There is no map to forgiveness House." Wilson was looking at the map before them. "No X marking the spot, now path to follow. You're going to have to figure this one out on your own."
"And what if I can't?"
"Then…you're screwed." Wilson faded away slowly.