darkdreamer | Losing It, Chapter 28 :)

Hi, all :)

This chapter is a bit on the... personal... side for me, for various reasons. I really hope you enjoy it, please let me know :)

*hugs*
Dos

Title: Losing It
Betaed by:zeppomarx
Rating: R

Pairing: sort of House/Wilson, story is mostly focused on a twisted relationship between House and Wilson, though a non-sexual one; House/Cuddy friendship, House/Cameron friendship
Summary: After Amber's death, Wilson is having trouble moving on, he cant bring himself to forgive his former friend for the part he played in her loss. All he can think about is vengeance. House is willing to do anything to earn back Wilson's friendship, and this proves to be a recipe for disaster.
Warnings: abuse, violence, dark themes, mild language, *very* dark Wilson throughout

Chapter 28
Vindication

When Blythe House turned around after quietly closing the door, she stopped, suddenly self-conscious under the intent gaze of her son. He was staring at her, hope in his unusually vulnerable eyes – hope, and something resembling awe. Cuddy’s eyes were tactfully averted as she checked House’s IV, which really didn’t need any extra monitoring at the moment.

“What?” she asked, sounding defensive and a little flustered as she took her seat beside him again.

House was quiet for a moment, shaking his head slightly as if at a loss for words. “I just… can’t believe you just said that.”

Blythe’s embarrassed half-smile faded, her expression becoming serious as she held his gaze. “I… should have said it a long time ago.”

Neither spoke for a moment, a weighted silence filling the room. There was so much that had gone unsaid between them for so long, and both felt the years of unspoken feelings and unacknowledged hurts brimming over, about to spill out. The impending conversation felt right – healthy and important and necessary, after so many years of pain kept secret. It was not going to be easy, but they both instinctively felt that it was about to happen.

For House in particular, it was a rare and terrifying feeling.

His eyes never left his mother’s face as he spoke in a strangely soft, controlled voice. “Cuddy…?”

“Gone,” she replied without hesitation, giving his arm a quick, affectionate squeeze as she headed for the door.

As the door closed behind her, the silence became intensely awkward. There was so much that needed to be said between mother and son – and neither knew where to begin. At last, Blythe settled on the simplest, most necessary of the dozens of statements circling in her mind, unable to meet his eyes as she spoke.

“I’m so… so sorry, honey.”

Years of habitually defending his mother, mentally if not physically, drove House to respond automatically. “You didn’t do anything wrong…”

“I didn’t do anything,” Blythe softly corrected, reaching out to take her son’s hand. “That’s just it, Greg. I just… stood by, and… watched. Watched him criticize and yell and hit and… and… convince you that you deserve to be treated like this.”

“That’s not… not why this happened,” House insisted, but his voice was unusually subdued, his gaze focused on the thin blanket that covered him, his fingers picking nervously at the coarse fabric. “He… did a lot of things wrong, but… it’s not his fault that Wilson did this…”

“Yes, it is.” Blythe’s smile was sad, knowing. “You just said so, Greg. A few minutes ago, before he… before.”

House was quiet for a moment, still not looking at her. His expression was carefully neutral, his voice slow and cautious when he finally replied. “No one’s perfect. Of course he made mistakes. I… I’m sure I did, too. I was… difficult... rebellious…”

“You were seven.” Blythe’s voice was heavy with barely veiled anger and accusation, the soft intensity of her voice silencing his excuses. “The… first time he… he hurt you.”

“Six,” House whispered automatically, immediately giving her a regretful grimace. He hadn’t really meant to say it aloud. The painful memories in his mind seemed to spill out of their own accord. “I was seven the first time… you found out.”

He tried to keep his voice as even as possible, having no desire to hurt his mother, but it was impossible to keep a faint note of bitterness from his voice – a child’s hurt and confusion threatening to spill out of the mouth of the man he had become.

“And really… what could you have done? I mean… he can be a very… intimidating man. It’s not like you really had a… a choice in the matter…”

Don’t say it… Don’t go there… Just keep things reasonably safe and keep keeping your mouth shut…

Yeah… ‘cause I’m so good at that…

He hated the pain and vulnerability he heard in his own voice, but he found that he simply couldn’t stop. “I know that… that you were… as much under his thumb as I was… more, probably… I’m sure if there was anything you could have done, you’d have… you’d have done something, or… or said something…”

“Greg…” She gently squeezed his hand, and he fell silent. She paused, waiting until he reluctantly met her eyes to continue in a quiet, knowing voice, “… it’s all right… if you haven’t forgiven me.”

He blinked back tears, willing himself not to look away from her, though overwhelmingly moved by the tumult of emotions he read in her eyes. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he insisted in a barely audible voice that wasn’t the slightest bit convincing. “I don’t blame you.”

Blythe drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a slow, shaky sigh. “You should.” A silent tear slipped down her face as she continued, “I knew he was… too hard on you. Knew he was… doing irreparable damage. And I was too… too scared and insecure and stupid to say anything.”

His mother’s tears were too much for House’s fragile control. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head, his vision blurred for a moment before it cleared again as his own tears fell. “You didn’t…”

“I did.” Blythe’s hand on his cheek stilled his protests, as she caught his gaze again and held it. Her expression was one of determination to own the mistakes she had made so many years ago. “I stood by and watched while my son… my little boy… was… was beaten, and broken down, and… and made to feel like he was… was stupid and strange and not good enough…” Her voice softened, her eyes shining with a sort of wonder as she studied his face. “… because of the very things that make him so… so magnificent.”

Her gentle touch in combination with the affirming words he had never received was too much for him, and House lowered his head, ashamed of his tears, raising a hand to cover hers on his cheek. He shook his head, unable to find words – but the indication was clear.

After so long believing his father’s cruel assessment of him, it was difficult to accept that anything else could be true. Vicious words echoed in his mind, ruthlessly insisting that his father was right about him all along.

Arrogant, rebellious, stubborn, stupid boy! You’ll never amount to half what you think you are! You keep thinking you’re so much smarter than everybody else, you’re gonna end up a lonely, miserable failure! Just wait and see…

“Gregory House” Her use of his full name – a tactic that still had the ability to command his complete and instant attention – immediately drew him from his painful thoughts. “You listen to me.” Her eyes searched his as she continued firmly, “You are a brilliant… sensitive… amazing man, no matter what he said. And he doesn’t really believe it. You know he doesn’t.”

“Of course he believes it. He meant every word.” House looked away again.

“He loves you…”

“Half the time he couldn’t stand to look at me…”

“Because he couldn’t stand to see in you what he knew he could never be,” Blythe argued. Firmly, she tilted his head up again, insisting that he meet her eyes. He was frowning, shaking his head slightly in confusion, struggling to understand. “Your father’s career military, and the son of career military. His entire life’s about… conformity, and… rules. Order.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in before she added, “Don’t you think he’s ever wanted more than that?”

“So he couldn’t just be happy for me?” House’s voice shook as he looked up at her, his lips twisted in a bitter, disbelieving laugh. “You’re saying he was… what? Jealous, of me?”

“No, sweetheart…” Blythe shook her head. “...not jealous.” She was quiet a moment, thinking, before she went on, “Afraid. For you.”

As she tried to think of how to make him understand, House considered her words in silence. “Conformity is… boring and dull, and would never have allowed you to accomplish all that you have. But it’s also… safe. As long as you refused to conform… there was no way he could protect you.”

“He was the one I needed protecting from.”

Blythe flinched at those words. “I know,” she whispered. “And I failed you. And I’m sorry.”

When she tentatively reached to put her arms around him, House leaned forward into her embrace, allowing his mother to hold him as she had done after the injuries and “accidents” for which she’d never wanted to ask the cause. This time, she knew the cause – and she was determined to protect him as she hadn’t before.

House was tense at first, trying to fight down his emotions – but it was a lost cause. The wave broke, washing over him in a torrent of silent tears, his shoulders shaking as he clung to her and accepted her offering of comfort, reassurance – and most importantly, the simple acknowledgement of the pain of his childhood.

It was late – but not too late.

He didn’t try to tell her it was okay again. They both knew that it wasn’t.

And yet, in a way… it finally was.

*************************

Okay… Don’t panic… Everything’s going to be just fine… I’ve just got to… got to think…

Wilson forced himself to take several slow, deep breaths, as he sat on the edge of a strange bed in a strange room, instead of the comfortable, familiar bed in his own apartment across town.

Yet again, my life is in shambles and I’m living out of a hotel room – and yet again, thanks to House.

Slow, deep breaths became rapid, heavy ones as he fought to control the rage that accompanied that thought. As far as Wilson was concerned, this was just more evidence that House was responsible for everything that was wrong in his life. At the moment, however, he couldn’t afford to waste time seething over what had already happened.

He had bigger worries to consider.

John House’s visit to his apartment – and accompanied by House’s one-time favorite victim, Chase, of all people! – had let him know that his secret was most definitely out. As long as Cuddy was the only one who knew, and House stuck to the story Wilson had given him, he could be fairly certain that the investigation would not go any further.

Now that House’s parents knew, however, things had definitely changed. John and Blythe House would be a lot more likely than Cuddy to go to the authorities, in spite of their son’s wishes. The more people who knew, the more danger Wilson’s reputation, career, entire future was in.

Deciding that caution was the order of the day, he had packed up a few things and left his apartment – and not a moment too soon. He had actually passed two police cars as he had turned out of his apartment complex. His heart rate accelerated, and he spent the rest of the drive glancing nervously into his rearview mirror for any sign of pursuit.

He made it to the outskirts of Princeton without incident, where he checked into a hotel under a false name. It wasn’t a permanent solution by any means – but it would at least buy him some time to think.

Unfortunately, all he could think about was House.

His expression darkened as he carefully touched his bloodied lip, his fingertips trailing up to inspect the bruised, swollen area around his eye. Outrage flared up again as he remembered the humiliation and fear of John House’s attack. His hands flexed into trembling fists as he let his thoughts linger on the only thing he really wanted to think about at the moment – revenge.

This is your fault, House… all of it. And you’re not going to get away with destroying my life again. I’m going to make sure that you don’t…

He knew that security at the hospital would be tight at the moment; it would be next to impossible to get to House while he was in the hospital.

But he has to go home sometime. Wilson smiled coldly to himself. And we’ll see if I can’t have a nice surprise waiting for him when he does…

TBC...