In Order to Breathe Again
Chapter 4
**Trigger Warning:** Post-suicide attempt, attempt details, feels
They had lied.
It was the easiest explanation. Everybody lies and all that shit he was always preaching about, House snorted at.
Movie magic and creative liberties meant that the written word didn't always play out the way things actually happened. House and Wilson, it turned out, were both unreliable narrators. Or maybe the story was just too implausible to begin with that when logic entered the storyboard later, things that needed to have been addressed before came to light in that mixture between nightmares, flashbacks, and reality.
House decided anyone could take their pick on which form of the story was the truest.
The big push to solving part of the puzzle (that House still believed was unsolvable for the time being) was when the results of Wilson's blood work came back. How exactly House forgot this massive clue would be questioned for the remainder of time.
House fluttered the strip of paper, that he'd stolen from Wilson's chart, onto the oncologist's desk as he ran a hand across his forehead, before pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing loudly. The office light melted the room in honey coloration and the darkness of night that brewed outside intermingled a sense of hopelessness that was pervasive upon Wilson's case.
House couldn't quite shake the dismay and the horror that now existed in his line of vision. His eyes scrolled across the line that was particularly concerning:
10.2 mmol/L of potassium.
He growled again because his anger was as fresh as blood spilling from a swollen abdomen when the first incision in emergency surgery is cut.
How the hell had Wilson managed to overdose himself on potassium? Of all things?
The hyperkalemia explained most of his symptoms, besides the crater of nonunderstanding House had about why it happened to begin with, but they'd already started the suicidal oncologist on dialysis to clear his blood from the hell he'd put his body through.
House had been so glaringly pissed the fuck off that he had marched his way down to the car park of the hospital where he investigated every square inch and millimeter of Wilson's car.
What he'd found, lodged in the back of the Volvo's trunk, had both a clarity and a rage inducing headache and upset stomach that House just managed to pull back quick enough to vomit at the side of Wilson's car. He threw the items back into his friend's trunk, the two potassium supplement containers clinking around with the leftovers Wilson hadn't managed to shove down his throat.
House wasn't sure how exactly he felt about Wilson's overdose. Would it have been an easier pill to swallow if Wilson had taken opiates? Or if he'd developed his own drug addiction to outmatch House's? Would he have rather had that Wilson slit his—?
House choked on his intake of air. How the hell the human body could choke on the very thing it needs to survive was not an irony lost on him, but he wished the fact that this had actually happened had never come to exist in the first place.
Greg slammed the door shut of his friend's car and careened his way back into the hospital. Whether he even locked the car was of such little importance to him that he shrugged and thought Better for Wilson, that way House wouldn't have to worry about the oncologist dying from carbon monoxide poisoning next or driving his car off the highway.
Every little thing in existence was now a source of which Wilson could try to hurt himself further. The crushing weight of that notion wasn't lost on him.
When he re-entered the building, he lurched his way towards the Dean of Medicine's office, that he burst into and all but yelled loudly, "Wilson's an idiot!"
Cuddy blinked from behind her desk, a suspicious wad of tissues in her hand that she dabbed around the irritated skin of her eyes.
"What?" she managed to blurt out, back arching slightly in a state of recoil.
"Wilson's an idiot," House said a lot quieter, reality sinking in about what had happened. "And I don't know why." He whispered.
He managed his way over to her couch before collapsing into it. He leveled his hands over the head of his cane as he cradled his head in his rough palms.
"I should have seen—" he began but he couldn't finish the thought, to any degree.
"You're not all-knowing," she said and the bite of it would have hurt if she didn't sound so dismal and heartbroken. "You couldn't have seen this coming." She was trying to be reassuring but it crashed something within his soul as he yelled back, "But I should have! Sam left him, he'd given the cat away, he was hopelessly walking his way through life, and he just about left it completely! We'd been in a stupid fight and if I hadn't been so busy banging your sexy ass maybe I could have actually—" he trailed off, hating himself for saying it which she took up quickly with an exasperated, "And you're accusing me that this is my fault?"
"People can be in a happy relationship and get busy with their lives!" She cried out, justifying her lack of observation skills to the oncologist they both shared and thought they knew so well.
"Oh, please!" House mocked. "Happy? Happiness is what you want to go with to describe us? We're too busy having sex and arguing about what your mother needed for treatment and suddenly we're all oh so happy?" He glared at her, almost enjoying for a fraction of a second her hurt expression. "Wilson could have been dead and as long as you were getting some ass, you wouldn't have given a solid fuck."
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she countered back, pushing herself away from her desk and glaring at him exponentially so. "I care about Wilson. You know he and I have been friends—"
"Only because we're all in close proximity." House quipped back easily. "He's your partner when you both try to meddle in my life and make it seem like you guys are the good ones, the heroes, and you all have to clean up my mess. Well, guess what? This isn't my mess this time! Who's going to be there to pick up the pieces of Wilson scattered across the universe?" He scoffed at her, seeing his words were jabbing in too close. "Certainly not you. You'd forget about him within a week or two if you weren't banging his best friend." He broke eye contact when her face began to contort into anger and disgust.
"House!" She cried out. "Leave. Now."
He didn't need much convincing. He was about to leave the room again, as quickly as he had entered when she said, "You can be upset and you can be angry, but don't you dare attack me for something you didn't see coming either. If we'd both been better friends, yeah maybe we could have done something, but you know as well as I do that sometimes shit just happens in life and you can't always get a warning about it beforehand. If I'd had seen something like this was going to happen, don't you think for half a second, I would have done something about it? How could you even dare accuse me of not caring when you're the same person who—?"
If his eye roll could have been audible, it would have screeched its way into the room. "Keep thinking this is about us and you're guaranteed to have a bad time. This is about Wilson. Not our relationship, Lisa. Keep that in mind if you ever even try and show up to his room."
"Greg," she stated with malice. "Just, just go."
"Happily." He ground out, escaping the heavy room for an equally as heavy one, where he was now sat at, eyes facing the window of Wilson's office with the blinds closed but open just enough to see the darkness still outside.
Maybe it had been an inopportune time to crash their failing relationship into Wilson's suicide attempt, but, at the same time, it brought some clarity to House, some confirmation, that his life was just as fucked up as Wilson's, except he wasn't turning to drugs or alcohol or death like his best friend had opted to instead. Maybe Wilson was living vicariously through House, taking a page out of his self-destructive book to see how it would feel, see if the shoe fit right.
House sighed.
He was on his feet, popping back an Advil or two, as his feet carried him through the halls.
He was opening the door to Wilson's room, eyes falling upon the dialysis machine that would clear out his friend's system to the best of its abilities—blue eyes scanned to the clock, realizing he'd only have an hour left of his treatment before finding their way back to James on the bed.
His appendages were still in restraints, and it was this sudden sight that brought the world crashing down around House.
Pain came into his irises as his eyes narrowed and a helplessness he felt so guilty about ever giving Wilson, or his girlfriend, over the years, through multiple occasions, came to life within his chest. His chest ached and burned, and he stumbled his way into the chair he'd vacated earlier, and his warm hands came into contact with Wilson's skin.
"You're an idiot," he whispered so softly because he didn't want Wilson to hear it.
Greg studied Wilson for longer than he thought possible. He continued where he left off before, trying to memorize the way Wilson simply breathed, lived, existed. He hadn't realized until this moment just how much he needed Wilson in life. Alive, preferably. He'd taken every long beer and monster truck night for granted. Every time that Wilson was there for House when Greg was struggling just to live. And every time that they'd lose another love of their life, they still had each other to count back on.
Until, almost, House didn't.
Until, almost, Wilson wasn't going to be there anymore. And House felt absolutely gutted that such a reality could exist. He never wanted it to. He never, ever, wanted to be without his best friend. The guilt and the regret that they'd gone so long without speaking, and that House had almost completely lost his Wilson was the most heartbreaking thing he could ever fathom.
"And I never want to lose you." House murmured, trailing a hand down Wilson's face.
"So, don't go, okay?" The warmth of a tear or two rolled down his rugged jawline, brought him into the seriousness of this moment. "Just, don't go, Wilson. I need you here." He pursed his lips.
"I need you."
A/N: Well, hello there! Welcome to another chapter. So, it was only last night that I realized all of a sudden that, uh, Wilson's attempt was pretty severe and needed some follow-up treatment and such which I didn't think of when I started originally writing for this chapter (until it became Chp 5 instead). When I got home from work, I started to re-read the fic and then got my Researcher Hat on to figure out what exactly Wilson had done to wind up in this situation (which, even when I originally started the story, it was not going to be a suicide attempt thing, it was gonna be purely medical but The Muse had introduced a ghastly plot twist that I could not resist) and for which I'm still glad I did not resist because life's been a bit of a bitch this year and I need a place to vent sometimes. So, any who.
I swapped what I was gonna do for this 4th chapter into a Chp 5 moment and just wrote up all of this chapter while I was listening to music at the library, huzzah! It took absolutely forever to figure out how to write this, how to include what bare minimum I had in my mind as well as how to get myself out of the plot hole that I shoved myself into a corner with. BUT I'm pretty satisfied with how it turned out.
Didn't think that a Cuddy x House fight would happen (by the way, I altered the timeline of this story from pre-S7 to established mid-S7, which may make more sense now anyways) but I don't hate it and this chapter just makes me feel the feels. I think that the natural meme of Spiderman pointing at another Spiderman pointing at another Spiderman, trying to find where the blame can fit, is understandable. Also, sneak peek of that for Wilson's experiences in the next chapter itself.
All right, that's all I can stomach for now! Thank you so much for reading and following along. If you yourself are struggling with suicidal ideation, please go get help, access a crisis center, if need be, go to the hospital and find your supports and treatment teams to help push you through the hard things in this life. Life can be incredibly painful and also so beautiful! I'm finally feeling better from a recent bout of bleh-ness so I'm really glad for that and I'm glad I had a place I could spout off my crap to in a fictional world after my psychiatrist encouraged me to find ways to release my pain into art. So, that's worked for me! Yay. And I'm safe. So yes!
Take care of yourselves! More to come in the future!
PS If this chapter like the Huddy fight doesn't make sense, please let me know! It was spur of the moment and my blinders are on, so if things don't make sense, I can try and look at it again and fiddle with it! Or address it in another chapter (I barely remember S7 and couldn't find that scene/ep where Wilson comes to House after he and Sam breakup and House turns him away in favor of Cuddy, but it's totally on my mind, I just can't find the key words to find that online again, grrrr! But yeah, anything you think I should add or expand on, let me know in the comments!)
Written: 11.15.2023
Edited: 11.15.23
Music listened to in this chapter: Intrusive Thoughts by Natalie Jane; (sneak peek, Chp 5's song is Running by NF)