Losing It, Chapter 36
Oct. 22nd, 2008 07:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darkdreamer*hugs*
DoS
Title: Losing It
Betaed by: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
misanthropicobs
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
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 36
Responsibility
House sat up suddenly in bed, blinking into the familiar semi-darkness of his bedroom. For some reason, he looked beside him, reaching out a hand for… someone. Someone was supposed to be there.
He just couldn’t remember who.
He frowned as he rose to his feet, walking with slow, even steps out his bedroom door and down the hall toward the living room. He was looking for someone, but he didn’t know who. He walked into the kitchen, vaguely aware that he should have been limping, should have been in pain – but he was neither.
He sat down at the table, nodding in greeting to Wilson, who was sitting there across from him already.
“I’m waiting for you.”
Wilson smiled and shrugged. “I’m right here.”
House felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow and loss as he replied, “I’m still waiting.”
“You’re waiting for something that’s gone, House.” Wilson’s concerned, lecturing tone was painfully familiar, and brought tears to House’s eyes to hear it. “Things won’t ever be like they were.”
“Maybe they can be better.”
“Is that optimism I’m hearing?” Wilson’s voice was light, teasing. “That’s so not like you.”
“Well… beating the crap out of your crippled best friend and trying to kill him is so not like you.” House shrugged. “Guess that makes us about even.”
“I might have tried,” Wilson pointed out, his expression growing serious. “You’re the one who actually accomplished it.”
House frowned, shaking his head in protest. “No,” he insisted softly. “You’re not dead.”
“Aren’t I?” Wilson’s eyebrows were raised in a challenging expression. “That remains to be seen. I’m not out of the woods yet, am I?”
House had no answer for that, and a cold, uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He instinctively flinched as Wilson leaned across the table. Sad, dark eyes met House’s apprehensive gaze over a cold, angry smile.
“You killed her. You’ve probably killed me. There’s only one thing left for you to do to make things right – even the scale.”
Wilson broke House’s gaze to look down, and House blinked, startled, before following his eyes to the focus of their attention.
The gun lay between them on the table.
House’s hands seemed to move of their own accord, picking up the gun, turning it over and over in his hands.
“Do it,” Wilson whispered. “This mess is too big to clean up. Nothing you can do about it now, House. Nothing but end it all. You’re almost done. Just finish it. Finish us off.”
Strangely, House felt nothing but utter calm as he raised the weapon in both hands and turned its muzzle toward his face. The steel felt smooth and cold in his mouth, as he closed his eyes and placed his finger on the trigger.
The shot rang out in the stillness, and utter silence followed. House opened his eyes – vaguely aware that he shouldn’t exactly have had eyes, not after what he had just done – and then froze, staring in horror at the gory nightmare that met his eyes.
Wilson slumped in the chair, the top of his head nothing more than a mangled mess of bloodied, torn flesh and shattered bone. One eye was still intact and visible, but it stared blankly up at the ceiling, glassy and lifeless.
“No…”
House’s voice was a hoarse, anguished whisper that roared in his ears as he rose from his chair – and a familiar, searing agony shot through his leg, driving him to his knees beside the destroyed form of his friend. His shaking hands grasped Wilson’s legs, shaking him as if to revive him, though he knew better than to think it was possible.
Wilson was gone.
He had tried to destroy himself, because he thought it was what Wilson wanted – but in the process, he had only served to destroy Wilson as well.
Wilson was dead.
And House was the one who had killed him.
*********************************
“… sorry… please… didn’t mean to… please, no…”
Cuddy frowned, shifting in the bed and putting an arm over her ear to shut out the distant, muffled voice that intruded upon her sleep. Some tiny part of her mind registered alarm, telling her that she needed to wake up, needed to listen to the familiar voice that mumbled barely coherent words from just a couple short feet away from her. Something jostled her, knocking her arm away and making the troubled, fearful words clear to her ears again.
“Wilson… no… I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!”
The voice broke over the last word, and Cuddy opened her eyes, torn from sleep by the desperation and panic she heard. Realization flooded in all at once, and she sat up with a soft gasp as she remembered.
House…
House was lying on his side, his back to her. He was writhing restlessly, but had managed to tangle himself so tightly in the bedclothes that he couldn’t really move much – which, of course, only served to amplify his panic.
Cuddy rose up on her elbow, leaning over House to shake his shoulder gently. “House… House, wake up. You’re dreaming. Wake up, House!”
Finally, he rolled over to face her, eyes wide and bewildered as he stared at her in confusion. He glanced around the room, clearly trying to figure out where he was, and why Cuddy was lying there beside him. Gradually, understanding dawned in his eyes, and he lay back again, rolling his eyes, then closing them with a grimace of embarrassment as his head hit the pillow. He covered his eyes with one hand, clearly uncomfortable with the behavior she had witnessed.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean for my utter patheticness to wake you.”
“Please,” Cuddy scoffed gently with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m used to your patheticness by now.”
His expression shifted to an affectionate smile, but he did not remove his hand from his eyes, still unwilling to face her and see the pity he knew would be on her face. Cuddy reached out a gentle hand to rest on his arm, her thumb stroking lightly across his sweat-dampened skin.
“Hey,” she murmured, giving him a slight push. “Look at me.”
“I’ve seen you,” House carelessly replied. “And in my mental image of you, you have slightly larger breasts and a slightly smaller ass. I think I’ll stay here in my mind for a while longer, thanks.”
A slight smile crossed Cuddy’s face at his good-natured insults. They were strangely reassuring to her – evidence that the old House was still in there somewhere, and would eventually make his full-time appearance again. She ran her hand gently up and down his arm, keeping her tone carefully light as she replied.
“You sure about that? It didn’t sound like a very fun place to be a few minutes ago.”
House’s grimace returned, and he let out a sigh. “What’d I say?”
“Enough to let me know that on some level, you’re still thinking this is your fault.”
Cuddy paused, allowing her words to sink in as she reached up to take his wrist in a firm but gentle grasp and pull it down away from his eyes. She was relieved and encouraged when House let her, well aware that had he insisted on not facing her, she couldn’t have done anything to make him. She waited until his wary blue eyes met hers to go on in a voice of firm conviction.
“It’s not. You didn’t do anything wrong, House.”
“I know that,” House muttered, stubbornly looking away. He hesitated a moment before admitting in a slightly sullen voice, “Apparently, my subconscious has yet to read the memo.”
Cuddy considered a moment before venturing to ask, “What were you dreaming about?”
House drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he replied in a quiet, cautiously neutral voice.
“I dreamed that… I killed him… shot him.” He paused a moment, frowning as he reconsidered. “Actually… I shot myself. But Wilson was the one who died.”
Cuddy smiled, letting out a soft, ironic chuckle. “You know, any one of our staff psychiatrists would have a field day with that…”
“No.”
“I’m not trying to shove you into therapy,” Cuddy assured him with a shrug. “I’m just saying.” Her smile faded, her tone becoming soft and serious as she continued, “You didn’t kill him, House. For one thing… he’s not exactly dead. And for another… if he should happen to take a turn for the worse… it’s not your fault. You were just defending yourself, House…”
“I know that,” House cut her off impatiently. “He was going to kill me. I had to shoot him. I know all that.” He paused a moment, adding in a quiet, grim tone, “I’m talking about before that. I… shouldn’t have ever let it go that far to begin with. I should have stopped him the first time he…” House sighed, shaking his head. “I should have stopped it.”
“He’s your friend, House. You thought you were doing what was best for him.”
“Yeah.” House’s troubled gaze was focused on the ceiling, his voice pensive and distracted. “That worked out well.”
Cuddy’s heart sank as she recognized the subtle note of anger and disgust in his voice, and knew that it was aimed at himself, rather than at the appropriate target for it –
“House…” she began in a patient, reassuring tone.
“So.” He cut her off briskly, his tone making it clear that the topic was closed, and he was moving on to a new – and to him, much more interesting – subject. “What exactly did we do last night?”
Cuddy sighed, relenting with a reluctant smile as he rose up on his elbow so that he was facing her.
“Basically… made out like a couple of teenagers. That’s about it.” She gestured downward with a pointed glance as she added, “Note the still-fully-clothed-ness of us.”
“Damn.”
House’s brow creased in a frown, his lips forming a pout that Cuddy couldn’t help but find ridiculously tempting. She raised an eyebrow in his direction, giving him a look that was part suspicion, part concern.
“Why don’t you remember, anyway?” she asked. “You all right?”
His eyes sparkled with mischief as he replied with false innocence. “You know when you have one of those really realistic dreams… like, really realistic, so much so that you wake up and aren’t sure whether you dreamed it or it really happened?”
Cuddy felt her face flush with a strangely pleasant sort of embarrassment as she realized where his explanation was headed. She held up a halting hand, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.
“Actually… I don’t think I want to know.”
“Oh, but I think I want you to know,” House persisted, shifting in close to her, one hand threading through her messy dark curls and drawing her nearer to him. “Visualize your dreams to make them come to pass, and all that crap,” he muttered, a bit breathless, his eyes locked onto her lips. “If I want to actually do more than make out with you, then maybe I should verbalize…”
“House…” Cuddy sounded breathless, too, and the soft intensity of her voice drew his eyes up to hers.
“What?” he whispered.
“Enough verbalizing.”
She enforced her words by capturing his mouth in a searching kiss, her hands rising to gently push him over onto his back. He responded instantly to her kiss, his hands playing eagerly through her hair and pulling her closer to him. Cuddy shifted so that she was partially on top of him, taking care not to jostle his bad leg.
House’s hands slid down her back, coming to rest at her waist, and Cuddy responded in turn, never breaking their kiss as her hands pushed eagerly, almost unconsciously, at the top of his jeans. House’s mouth broke away from hers then with a desperate gasp, as his trembling hands came to rest over hers – stilling them.
“Wait,” he whispered, raising his head to meet her eyes, his own dark with desire… but uncertain. “What… what do you want… to happen here?”
Frustrated, Cuddy shook her head in bewildered confusion, her answer halting and breathless. “I thought I was making that… pretty damn clear.”
“Besides this.” House was breathing hard, his eyes troubled as he searched her face for the answer. “After this. What are you going to want then?”
“House…” Cuddy hesitated before finally settling on a simple, sincere response. “… all I want is you.”
He gave her a sad, rueful smile as he replied, “I’m… not sure I can give you that, Cuddy. Not yet. Not in any way but this.” His expressive eyes were full of regret as he admitted softly, “I want this… want you, Cuddy. But… I don’t want you to settle for less than what you deserve… when… when I might not ever be able to… to be what you want me to, for you.”
Cuddy weighed her words carefully, searching for the right way to say what she meant, before finally speaking in a soft, earnest voice. “House… I know you’re more vulnerable than usual at the moment. I know you can’t trust me – can’t trust anyone – right now. Maybe not ever.” She paused for a moment, before adding with a warm smile and a slow nod, “And I’m okay with that.”
He seemed genuinely stunned by her words, his head tilting slightly with a puzzled frown. “Are you… sure I’m not still dreaming?”
Cuddy laughed softly, reaching one hand behind his head to pull him down into a slow, gentle kiss. She pulled away slowly, meeting his eyes for a brief, intense moment before answering.
“You’re wide awake,” she assured him. “House… all I know is… I care about you. I want you in my life. I want to… to give this a try, if you do. And I want you to know that you can trust me.” She paused, taking a deep breath before adding with an understanding smile, “But I’m willing to wait until you’re ready on that last one. And in the mean time – we can enjoy what we already have.”
“Okay, now I know I’m still dreaming.” House gave her a playful smirk as he leaned in for another kiss. “And I really don’t want to wake up."
TBC...
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Date: 2008-10-26 10:29 pm (UTC)