A/N: This is really random. And I don't think it's that good. Can you say "OOC"? Oh, well.
This is post "House vs. God" but not necessarily pre "Euphoria."
No slash intended. Please read and review.
Listen to some really tender, angsty song.
Dependency
"We know that we have passed from death to life, because we love our brothers."
1 John 3:14 a
i.
The more he looked back on their argument, the more he felt he had discovered something that had been lying in front of him for years. Part of him didn't want to face it, didn't want to realize it. Another part of him, steadily growing, felt compelled to react. Why hadn't he seen it before? Why hadn't he connected the damn dots? It made so much sense. It was the answer to the question all of the outsiders relentlessly asked.
The only reason Wilson was his friend – was the leg. The oncologist was the male version of Cameron. They're attracted to damaged goods, drawn to anyone who suffers, all the pain in the world. They wanted the high of heroism. They wanted to feel significant, and the only way they could accomplish that goal is by being needed. They wanted to heal because it made them feel powerful, in control, necessary. All this time, Wilson hadn't stayed out of loyalty. He stayed for his own damn fix, his own addiction to neediness. He stayed for himself. For himself. He could care less about House. All he wanted was that request for a prescription renewal, that limp that assured he could always win the race if he wanted to. All he wanted was the occasional wince. He must get a rush whenever House popped a pill. He must've secretly reveled in the acute migraine pain. He must've loved the broken hand.
That's why he had suggested the detox bet to Cuddy. Oh, House knew. Of course House knew. Wilson may have been able to hide the cancer patient affair, but there wasn't much else he could keep from House. And now, the diagnostician understood why Wilson had really thought of it. He had wanted House to suffer. He had wanted House to be totally helpless, to be as fucked up as possible, to need help even if he never asked. It had never been about concern. Bullshit.
House sighed, sitting at his desk and leaning against his cane. He had never admitted to himself until now just how much his friendship with Wilson meant to him. He had never realized how much he really – loved Wilson. Now he guessed that had been a good thing, since the last emotion Wilson felt towards him was love. House's chest ached. Fuck. He had thought this relationship had been genuine. He had thought he at least had one person in the world. He had lied to himself all along.
What was left of his emotional self didn't want to let Wilson go. It didn't care what the oncologist's motivations were. It just wanted the company. It wanted the illusion of friendship. To hell with the truth.
But House – his real self – was the last man to embrace deceit. Everybody lies. It was true. And Wilson was no exception. But House wanted to be. He couldn't accept this. He couldn't let himself just be – the least bit happy. Wilson had been right about that. That was his flaw.
"So, want to go for dinner? I hear there's this great new Thai place."
House looked up to see Wilson standing with his hands on his hips, the white coat darkened even where the sunlight touched it. Wilson's demeanor slowly wilted, once met with House's stare. God, they knew each other too well.
"What is it?" the oncologist said, a little quieter now. House's piercing blues already spoke of condemnation. He pushed himself up. He should be standing for this.
"I – think this should end."
Wilson blinked, his face now crestfallen. "What do you mean?"
House squeezed his cane. "I want you to stay away."
Wilson's lips parted with a response his brain just couldn't compose. Something sizzled and died in his head. House almost regretted his own words, seeing Wilson's expression grow closer and closer to devastation. But he didn't stop himself.
"Obviously, we're still both going to work in this hospital – but I don't see the need to continue any kind of interaction. It should be easy. Our departments rarely ever mingle."
House knew he sounded and looked too cool. He was glad. The last thing he wanted this false friend to see was how much he felt as if he were committing suicide right here and now. Contrary to House, Wilson was quite open about dying.
"Where – where is this coming from?" he asked, not even a hint of demand in his tone. Just the damage. House subconsciously noticed that it made him feel a little good.
"I think you should leave now," he said simply, those merciless eyes suddenly cold in a way they had never been with Wilson. The oncologist just looked at him for a minute, with the sensation that his heart had filled with lead. He swallowed, finding no relief in House's gaze, no sign that this was another cruel joke. House just waited – waited for him to leave.
Wilson dropped his own eyes to the carpet, his arms now limp at his sides. House was inwardly suffocating, the awkward silence too much pressure on his facade of apathy. Shit, just leave. Just leave.
And Wilson did. He turned away without looking up again and didn't rush until he was out of House's sight. The elder man exhaled, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back. Fuck. Fuck.
Wilson didn't know where the hell he was going, but he pushed a button once in the elevator and felt his eyes sting after the doors closed.
ii.
It was around 5 o'clock the next day that Cuddy called.
"House! What the hell have you done?"
He sighed. He had known this was coming. It was annoying all the same.
"Lots of things," he said. "Got out of bed, made myself coffee, took a piss a couple times. And all in the last eight hours. Amazing, huh?"
"You know I'm talking about Wilson. He just called here asking me if I knew what the hell is wrong with you. I've never heard him so upset."
"Aw, wittle Jimmy went crying to Mommy? Maybe you should tell your boy to handle his own problems, Cuddy."
"I can't have this going on in my hospital, House. Wilson is one of the most invaluable doctors we have, probably more so than you, and he needs to be able to do his job well. And he obviously can't do that if you're screwing with his head."
"I'm not doing anything of the sort, Master. I was serious when I told him it's over."
Cuddy stopped, her brows knitting together. House rolled his eyes, his attempts to keep watching TV proving futile.
"What in God's name are you talking about?" she asked.
"Look," House began, "I don't think this is any of your business, Cuddy. It's between me and him. And don't worry, he's a big boy. He'll get over it."
"House, I don't think you have any idea what you've done."
"Yeah, I do. I cut an addict off his main supply."
Cuddy blinked at House's tone, a tone she hardly ever heard from him, one laced with bitter sadness. "What are you –"
"Just leave it alone, Cuddy. You don't even know the half of it."
He clicked his phone off and paused for a moment, before turning the TV volume up. Jeopardy was on.
iii.
It was eight o'clock when his phone rang again, and he wasn't in a good mood.
"What?" he snapped, not stopping to look at the caller ID.
"House?"
Cameron's uncertain tone tip-toed into his ear, her voice lighter than Cuddy's. It just bugged him more.
"What do you want?"
"Uh – look, is something wrong?"
House shut his eyes, trying to establish some self-control before answering. God damn. Couldn't the world just stay the hell out of his personal life?
"No, nothing's wrong. Good-bye."
"House," she said urgently. "Wilson came over here asking me if I knew anything as to why you're being more of an ass than usual. He was pretty upset."
"Remind me how this is any of your business? Because I think I must've missed it the first time you explained..."
She sighed this time. "I'm just asking because Wilson is a good person, and he doesn't deserve to be hurt by you, of all people."
"What is it with everyone looking out for his feelings? He's not as innocent and flawless as you think. He knows exactly why I don't want anything to do with him, and he doesn't need you and Cuddy to do his guilt-tripping for him."
"He doesn't have any idea why you said what you said. He doesn't know what to do. He thought everything was fine, and then you decide to just cut him off out of the blue. And this isn't about guilt-tripping, House. He actually cares about you, in case you haven't noticed yet. Your friendship means a lot to him."
He almost cringed. There it was – the sugary tone. Ugh.
"Oh, cry me a river. I know him a lot better than you do, believe it or not, and it sounds like he's worked his manipulative magic. Why don't you tell him to cut the crap because it's not going to work anymore. I know exactly what our friendship means to him, and I'm not going to enable his blood-sucking."
Cameron crossed her free arm over her chest, holding onto her other elbow. Wilson sat bewildered on her couch, nearby.
"Are you crazy? If anyone's a blood-sucker, it's you! He's done nothing but be your one and only friend for years, and now you're just kicking him out of your life on a whim!"
She was yelling now, and it surprised her. She wasn't sure if this upset her because she actually cared that much for the two men's friendship or because she really was just obsessed with her idea of justice.
"I'm kicking him out of my life because he's been here for the wrong reasons! And I still don't see how any of this is your business!" he shouted back.
"You're right," she said tightly, her face flushed. "It's not my business. But you do owe him an explanation. If you have any integrity at all, you'll come over here and talk to him."
She hung up and looked at Wilson compassionately. His eyes gleamed with fear, his chest constricted so that he barely breathed.
House rubbed his eyes on his own couch. Damn her for getting to him.
iv.
When her doorbell rang a half hour later, she rose from her chair in the kitchen, leaving Wilson with his cup of tea. She didn't smile when his blue eyes met hers, and neither did he. This was the last place he wanted to be, these rooms lit through and through, as if she were afraid of being alone in the dark. She only gave a nod and stepped aside, letting him limp in. Wilson stood in the kitchen, afraid, almost shaking. House's stern gaze didn't make him feel any better.
"Sit," said the diagnostician, as Cameron shut the front door. Wilson obeyed, squeezing the table and looking away, as House passed him and sat in Cameron's chair. She had the decency to disappear into her bedroom without a word, and House silently thanked her.
"You couldn't just let it go, could you?" he sneered, angry that he had to have this conversation at all. Wilson's eyes fluttered, and he licked his lips, terrified that whatever he said would make the situation worse.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice unsteady. "For whatever I did."
"An apology doesn't mean much when you don't know what you're making it for."
Wilson gulped, deciding he wouldn't say anything more. House hated this. He hated the way Wilson had no backbone, the way the other man was just going to sit there like a whipped puppy hoping for mercy.
"I meant what I said," House continued. "I don't want this anymore."
"Why?" Wilson dared to ask, his voice already dripping with tears, even though he hadn't shed them.
House rolled his eyes. God, he didn't want to talk about this. "Because – I finally figured out why you've stuck around this whole time."
Wilson peered up at him a little, stung by the unrelenting blue.
"All I am is your ultimate case of neediness," said House, showing no signs of the pain that bristled inside him. "The only thing that makes you different from everybody who left is that you actually like me better fucked up than normal. It never had anything to do with care. I'm just your perfect emotional match. I'm permanently damaged but not dying and still well enough to function on my own. I could feed your need to be needed forever, if I let myself. But I'm not. I'm not going to let you use me."
Wilson gave him the most betrayed, agonized expression he'd ever received. It even beat Stacy's. Somewhere inside, he felt guilty.
"How could you think that?" Wilson murmured, his eyes glistening dangerously.
"Well, it's true, isn't it?" House raised his voice. "It's exactly what we were fighting over in the street the other night. You even said so yourself – lucky for me, you love neediness."
"I didn't mean it that way!" Wilson exclaimed, desperately.
"What did you mean? You going to sit there and tell me that the needy factor is really only a little part of your reason for staying, that you really stick around because I'm such a great person and it's so fun being around me? Gimme a break."
"No. I'm going to sit here and tell you that you're right, that my main subconscious reason for staying in your life is probably the fact that you do need me."
Wilson stared hard into House's eyes, and that truth resonated in House more deeply than he would admit.
"But I'm also going to say that you're wrong," Wilson added, his wet gaze undeniable now. "It isn't my one and only reason. It isn't my biggest reason. I've stayed all this time because you were a good friend before the infarction, whether you remember it or not. I stayed because I thought that even though it would be hard, the good stuff could still be worth it."
A fast tear escaped, and Wilson had grown quiet again. House never looked away, the soft orange glow of the kitchen bulbs engulfing his jacket and the floor tiles and the silver table edge.
"I stayed because ours was the best relationship I had, even then. It always has been. I had fun with you. I felt understood. I didn't --," he choked, his eyes clinging hard to those tears, refusing to let go but losing some anyway. "Didn't want to let that go."
"Don't lie to me," House warned. Wilson slammed his fist down on the table, making Cameron jump against the door in her room.
"I'm not lying! I'm trying to be fucking honest! I'm trying to make you understand!"
"Give me a solid reason why I should believe you, why I shouldn't just get up and leave you here with Cameron, one more person I turned away."
Wilson could barely make out House's face now. He waited, trying to breathe, scanning his brain for the right answer.
"Because," Wilson gagged, sniffling. "Because I --"
House raised an eyebrow. Wilson stopped, lip quivering, one hand strangling the table edge and the other clumping his pant leg. The silence stretched for minutes, more strained than any other recent situation either had experienced. Wilson finally lowered his head.
"If you really don't believe that I'm here for something other than your leg, I guess I'll just let you have what you want."
House gazed at him astounded. Surrender? Just like that? God, it really did mean nothing to the oncologist.
Wilson stood up and began to make for the door, his shoulders slumped in utter hopelessness. For some reason, it pissed House off.
"You don't have a damn clue about what I want!" he yelled, bolting up from the chair. Wilson stopped and glanced over his shoulder, as House limped closer. Wilson sniffled, wiping one cheek with the back of his hand.
"What? You're taking it back now? You've made it clear you're done being friends. What else could you possibly have to – to say?"
House looked at him, into those overflowing brown eyes, his own pain and guilt pushing any sense of awkwardness onto the back burner. He leaned a little heavier on his cane, felt something press against his heart. Hadn't he been the one to ask a few weeks ago whether they were okay?
"I wish this had been real the whole time," he said quietly, feeling more and more leaden by the minute. Wilson's face twisted.
"It was," he whispered. "It – w-was."
House stifled a sigh. He wanted to believe Wilson. He couldn't. He wanted to. He couldn't. Fuck.
Was this upset over losing the friendship or losing the need fix? Damn it, he couldn't tell.
Wilson turned away again and reached the door. Cameron held her breath behind her bedroom door, horrified that this really might be the end.
"Wilson."
The oncologist stopped. House hesitated. Slowly, he limped nearer and nearer, until only inches separated them.
"Why did I play all those jokes on you?"
Wilson peered over his shoulder into House's blues. His voice came out even quieter than House's.
"It made you smile."
"Am I good at playing the piano?"
"The best I know."
"Did the leg make me an asshole?"
"No," said Wilson, his lips almost cracking. "You were always an asshole."
House wanted to smile. Wilson couldn't look at him, but House made him look, popping his cane up and gently lifting Wilson's chin.
"What's in this for you besides my pain?"
Wilson couldn't look away now. No – he stared and he burned. And House felt it too.
"Somehow," Wilson tried, "it makes me – happy."
"Doesn't make any sense," House remarked, more to himself than to Wilson.
Wilson pursed his lips. "I – I..." House could sense the bare beginnings of hyperventilation in the stuttering. "House --"
House dropped the cane back down, knowing he had to stop this from worsening.
"I know."
He tried to look forgiveness into Wilson, but he wasn't sure if it worked. House gave a nod, as if affirming his own words.
"I know."
Wilson shut his eyes, sending more tears toward his shoes, and House couldn't tell if it was gratitude or some other emotion that washed over his face. House softened, suddenly zapped of boldness and awkward instead. He shifted.
"Forget what I said. Just – forget it."
Wilson nodded, before lifting his eyes a little. They were already sore. House bit his lip, unsure of himself, but eventually, he decided to venture. He inched forward and coaxed Wilson into a gawky, one-armed hug. Wilson stood motionless at first, eyelashes dripping tears onto House's shoulder, but something above them drew his arms up. House shut his eyes this time, too. Oh, it had been so long. It had been so long since he had let Wilson really get as close as everybody else thought the oncologist was. Hugs weren't House's thing – but he'd be damned if they didn't feel better than drugs.
Cameron smiled, her head poking out her door just a little. She smiled with a real light in her pretty eyes.
"You can come out now," House called. "I already know you're a snoop."
And she smirked. But nobody moved.