the prom rules! this is for wewe guys!
Us.
Both men had fallen silent.
Their arms entwined, vague silhouettes to each other and invisible to anyone else… as always.
What they saw in each other had always been invisible to the rest of the world but in this darkness it seemed silver lined: Wilson knew he would never be able to leave House’s side simply because he was unable to let go now that all he’d claimed to hate was in his arms, pressed up against him like something precious… and something all his. And so James Wilson the guardian Angel regained his position.
“Why were wewe drinking that time of day?” not to ruin the moment, just to know: Wilson wanted to hear House say it; that it had been because of his pain, because of his addiction to numbness… not to get mad au anything; just to hear him say it.
“You know why…” House’s voice was hoarse and broken… Wilson almost felt guilty for asking. Almost: House had to say it.
“I don’t, I want to hear it from you… be honest, House.” Wilson said.
House sighed: “What do wewe want to hear from me! I was in pain and I was fucking sick of vicodin, alright? Why would wewe even ask… do wewe want to scream at me again? wewe already did that and I agreed with you… not now Wilson. Just… not right now.” Where there had been anger when he had started, his shoulders were now slumped in defeat. He waited for the response he was certain would come…
Wilson placed his hands firmly on House’s shoulders: “I’m not going to scream at you, House… even if that’s what I came here for; I wouldn’t do that to wewe right now. And I believe you, but… sick of vicodin? What’s that about?”
“It’s associated with pain… I’m sick of pain.” At this, Wilson looked surprised: he’d always thought House associated the vicodin with relief au at least something like it...
“Then why…?”
“I’m not addicted to vicodin…I’m addicted to not being in pain, if vicodin can get me that then so be it.”
“There are other things! I mean, wewe could… “
“I want to be lucid, Wilson. I need to do my job, I need to be able to use my brain… how else would I make do? I’m an addicted cripple, Wilson: no one would hire me.”
“Cuddy would never moto wewe and wewe are zaidi than an addicted cripple, wewe know that… and there are plenty of other things.”
“You don’t understand, do you? Either I’m in too much pain to work au the pain is so little that I forget it… and I will wake up with it the inayofuata day, that makes it extra painful. Vicodin is a perfect fit… nothing else can do that, alright? wewe wanted honesty, fine… but don’t get your hopes up; wewe know me too well for that.”
Wilson sighed: House was right… he’d never looked at it that way before: it just seemed so logical. “Okay, okay; you’re right… I won’t bug wewe anymore.” House looked up shocked, Wilson could see. He understood: “I’m not leaving, House, that’s not what I meant. I meant I won’t make wewe talk about anything anymore… wewe have the right to remain silent for once.” Wilson smiled and held his arms open: giving House an actual chance to accept his comfort to see whether he was back in again.
And House… accepted?
“Okay, We’ll be okay, House... but you’ll need to try as well: for as long as this will be a team-effort, I’ll lay off the Zoloft. If wewe bail out on me wewe are going to take them… I don’t care if I have to send wewe to the fourth floor until wewe do. I’ll be there for you… wewe know I won’t laugh at wewe when wewe tell me things… wewe can’t take the easy way out of this. wewe can’t.” Wilson murmured into House’s hair: he couldn’t let House give up… it was simply against everything he had claimed to be. “Am I the only one talking?” He asked; just to be safe.
“Yeah…” came a cautious reply: House was half-expecting the voices to come back…
“Listen, House… I’m sorry about the seizure, and the coma, and not being there when wewe woke up… and what I alisema when I finally entered. inayofuata time an irrational idiot like I was then wants to mess with your brain wewe object, alright? I know wewe did it for me and… thanks for the time, House.” Wilson sighed… of course he missed Amber: still smelled her on their bed, still felt the ghost of her touch crawling over his skin… and what he remembered? That one sacred dakika he’d had with her? It was enough to make him smile when he remembered her and for that he was eternally grateful… especially now House was denied such comfort: his mother was on an ice cold meza, jedwali in a foreign mortuary, her precious body parts between a pair of tweezers; turned inside-out like a frog in an eight-grade science class… House was shivering at the thought of it.
Wilson could feel House’s heart-rate climbing again… “House, I know wewe don’t want to hallucinate… and I know this is a really stupid thing to say right now but wewe have to stay calm.” His voice took on a soothing quality again: it angered House:
“How should I stay calm, Wilson? My mother is dead… my father is a killer! She did not deserve to die this way… why are wewe telling me to fucking stay calm!? I am not calm right now!” House roughly pushed Wilson away, sending him towards the floor where he landed ungraciously between fallen toys and books.
House’s moyo rate was through the roof now: dozens of imaginary voices and picha assaulting him. His gaze wandering through the room where through Wilson’s eyes nothing could be seen.
He didn’t care if they were real,
He didn’t care if they were here either…
“Shit…” House threw up on the carpet…he liked that carpet, damn it. blue eyes rolled backwards in deja vu:
Familiar hands were there to catch him.
A name that sounded like his uttered in shock… kwa a female voice?
Brown eyes looking into his: searching for life, au light... all House knew was that the lights went out sekunde later.
Author's Notes: it is possible for House to get sick of vicodin... the vicodin came with the pain, where the pain increased so did his vicodin intake... before the pain there was no need for vicodin so if he's frustrated with the pain he can get frustrated with the vicodin, too... because they're so close to each other... does that make sense?
Us.
Both men had fallen silent.
Their arms entwined, vague silhouettes to each other and invisible to anyone else… as always.
What they saw in each other had always been invisible to the rest of the world but in this darkness it seemed silver lined: Wilson knew he would never be able to leave House’s side simply because he was unable to let go now that all he’d claimed to hate was in his arms, pressed up against him like something precious… and something all his. And so James Wilson the guardian Angel regained his position.
“Why were wewe drinking that time of day?” not to ruin the moment, just to know: Wilson wanted to hear House say it; that it had been because of his pain, because of his addiction to numbness… not to get mad au anything; just to hear him say it.
“You know why…” House’s voice was hoarse and broken… Wilson almost felt guilty for asking. Almost: House had to say it.
“I don’t, I want to hear it from you… be honest, House.” Wilson said.
House sighed: “What do wewe want to hear from me! I was in pain and I was fucking sick of vicodin, alright? Why would wewe even ask… do wewe want to scream at me again? wewe already did that and I agreed with you… not now Wilson. Just… not right now.” Where there had been anger when he had started, his shoulders were now slumped in defeat. He waited for the response he was certain would come…
Wilson placed his hands firmly on House’s shoulders: “I’m not going to scream at you, House… even if that’s what I came here for; I wouldn’t do that to wewe right now. And I believe you, but… sick of vicodin? What’s that about?”
“It’s associated with pain… I’m sick of pain.” At this, Wilson looked surprised: he’d always thought House associated the vicodin with relief au at least something like it...
“Then why…?”
“I’m not addicted to vicodin…I’m addicted to not being in pain, if vicodin can get me that then so be it.”
“There are other things! I mean, wewe could… “
“I want to be lucid, Wilson. I need to do my job, I need to be able to use my brain… how else would I make do? I’m an addicted cripple, Wilson: no one would hire me.”
“Cuddy would never moto wewe and wewe are zaidi than an addicted cripple, wewe know that… and there are plenty of other things.”
“You don’t understand, do you? Either I’m in too much pain to work au the pain is so little that I forget it… and I will wake up with it the inayofuata day, that makes it extra painful. Vicodin is a perfect fit… nothing else can do that, alright? wewe wanted honesty, fine… but don’t get your hopes up; wewe know me too well for that.”
Wilson sighed: House was right… he’d never looked at it that way before: it just seemed so logical. “Okay, okay; you’re right… I won’t bug wewe anymore.” House looked up shocked, Wilson could see. He understood: “I’m not leaving, House, that’s not what I meant. I meant I won’t make wewe talk about anything anymore… wewe have the right to remain silent for once.” Wilson smiled and held his arms open: giving House an actual chance to accept his comfort to see whether he was back in again.
And House… accepted?
“Okay, We’ll be okay, House... but you’ll need to try as well: for as long as this will be a team-effort, I’ll lay off the Zoloft. If wewe bail out on me wewe are going to take them… I don’t care if I have to send wewe to the fourth floor until wewe do. I’ll be there for you… wewe know I won’t laugh at wewe when wewe tell me things… wewe can’t take the easy way out of this. wewe can’t.” Wilson murmured into House’s hair: he couldn’t let House give up… it was simply against everything he had claimed to be. “Am I the only one talking?” He asked; just to be safe.
“Yeah…” came a cautious reply: House was half-expecting the voices to come back…
“Listen, House… I’m sorry about the seizure, and the coma, and not being there when wewe woke up… and what I alisema when I finally entered. inayofuata time an irrational idiot like I was then wants to mess with your brain wewe object, alright? I know wewe did it for me and… thanks for the time, House.” Wilson sighed… of course he missed Amber: still smelled her on their bed, still felt the ghost of her touch crawling over his skin… and what he remembered? That one sacred dakika he’d had with her? It was enough to make him smile when he remembered her and for that he was eternally grateful… especially now House was denied such comfort: his mother was on an ice cold meza, jedwali in a foreign mortuary, her precious body parts between a pair of tweezers; turned inside-out like a frog in an eight-grade science class… House was shivering at the thought of it.
Wilson could feel House’s heart-rate climbing again… “House, I know wewe don’t want to hallucinate… and I know this is a really stupid thing to say right now but wewe have to stay calm.” His voice took on a soothing quality again: it angered House:
“How should I stay calm, Wilson? My mother is dead… my father is a killer! She did not deserve to die this way… why are wewe telling me to fucking stay calm!? I am not calm right now!” House roughly pushed Wilson away, sending him towards the floor where he landed ungraciously between fallen toys and books.
House’s moyo rate was through the roof now: dozens of imaginary voices and picha assaulting him. His gaze wandering through the room where through Wilson’s eyes nothing could be seen.
He didn’t care if they were real,
He didn’t care if they were here either…
“Shit…” House threw up on the carpet…he liked that carpet, damn it. blue eyes rolled backwards in deja vu:
Familiar hands were there to catch him.
A name that sounded like his uttered in shock… kwa a female voice?
Brown eyes looking into his: searching for life, au light... all House knew was that the lights went out sekunde later.
Author's Notes: it is possible for House to get sick of vicodin... the vicodin came with the pain, where the pain increased so did his vicodin intake... before the pain there was no need for vicodin so if he's frustrated with the pain he can get frustrated with the vicodin, too... because they're so close to each other... does that make sense?
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