House looked at Wilson with a frightening clarity in his eyes. "No, I can't tell you. I can't tell you because it'd destroy you. I wouldn't want to do that to you, Wilson..."
Just Breathe
Part 1
“Hey wombat!”
Chase looked up from his crossword puzzle to see his boss standing in the doorway to the conference room, cane in one hand and a cup of Starbucks coffee in the other.
“What?” he asked, resigned himself to being put through a series of mental gymnastics that he couldn’t keep up with.
“I’ve got a question.”
“I might have an answer,” Chase responded, putting his pen down and focusing on House.
House took three more steps into the conference room and set his coffee cup down on the glass table.
“In the Bible, King Solomon had a dream where God told him that he could have anything he wanted, right?”
Chase nodded, mentally cringing at how butchered the story sounded coming from House’s mouth.
“And Solomon said he wanted... wisdom, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Why—”
“And then, because his choice was so wise, God gave him all that other shit, too,” House finished.
"Moreover, I will give you what you have not asked for—both riches and honor—so that in your lifetime you will have no equal among kings,” Chase quoted for House, remembering the passage well.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” House said impatiently. “The point is, God visited him in a dream, and then everything that he said came true.”
Chase nodded slowly. “Usually that’s what the point of the story is. What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing,” House said. And with that, he picked up his coffee, turned around, and walked out of the room.
***************
“Hey, Wilson!”
Wilson looked up from his papers that he was reading to see House standing in the entrance to his office. “Aren’t you here a little early? It’s only ten minutes past nine.”
“I’ve got a question,” House said, sitting down in the chair across from Wilson’s desk.
“No,” Wilson said immediately.
House rolled his eyes. “If you only had... say, two days to live, what would you do?”
Wilson gave him a surprised look, wondering what was possessing his friend this time.
“Seriously,” House said.
“Have sex with every nurse in this hospital, just to break the record,” Wilson threw out. He frowned at House, wondering if he was drunk or high on something...
House sighed and swung his cane around so that it hit the side of Wilson’s desk repeatedly. “Something that you could possibly do, not just one of your weirdo fantasies.”
“Depends,” Wilson said, sitting back in his chair and allowing the idea some serious thought. “Which two days do I get? Can I pick? And am I going to deteriorate throughout these two days, or will keep my full strength until the last second? When are the—”
“Wilson! You’re making this a lot more difficult than it has to be,” House growled, glaring at his friend. “You get today and tomorrow. Assume that you’re perfectly normal until tomorrow at midnight. What would you do?”
“Well... I’ve always wanted to see New York City,” Wilson said slowly. “People say it’s one of the most amazing places in the world. Why?”
“Cool,” House said, standing up. “We’re going to New York City.”
“What?” Wilson said, staring up at House in confusion.
“You want to see New York City, so that’s where we’re going. Unless there’s somewhere else you want to go...”
"House—I’ve got patients... I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can,” House insisted. “I’ve taken care of it all. C’mon.”
And so that was how Wilson found himself in a car with House, driving to New York City with a bag of greasy McDonalds on his lap. House had assured him that Cuddy had given them both the next two days off, but it hadn’t done anything to comfort Wilson. He was so confused about this sudden burst of... cheerfulness? House seemed to be happy for once. He wasn’t snarking at everyone, he hadn’t complained of his leg hurting once, and Wilson thought that he was seeing the man he’d become friends with for the first time in six years.
House was whistling and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel while he passed another guy on the turnpike, and Wilson found himself staring helplessly. If he didn’t know any better, the House he knew had been abducted by aliens and replaced by this new person...
“What?” House asked in annoyance, taking his eyes off the road to look at Wilson.
Wilson blushed as he realized that he’d been staring. “Nothing...”
“Look, I haven’t gone crazy,” House began. “I just want to you know, live a little. Things aren’t always going to be as nice as this.”
“You?” Wilson asked with a laugh. “You’re actually talking about life and death and seizing the day? There’s got to be a reason.”
“There isn’t a reason,” House insisted, and Wilson saw a flash of irritation on his face. “Can’t we just... enjoy the day? And not fight?”
Wilson sat back in his seat and decided to leave it. “Sure,” he said, nodding his head though he was hardly appeased. “We could do that.”
House drove on in silence, and Wilson was left to his thoughts. He noticed, about two hours into the drive, that House wasn’t using a map and seemed to know his way pretty well. Wondering why that was, he voiced his question, and House grinned.
“I love New York City. Best damn strippers you can get,” House said devilishly.
“I heard Vegas was better,” Wilson said, allowing himself to settle into a banter and stop worrying about House... for now.
“Nah. Too expensive, and the half of them are gambling addicts anyways. Didn’t you go to Vegas for one of your honeymoons?”
“Yes, but I didn’t hire a stripper on my honeymoon!” Wilson said incredulously.
“I would have,” House said haughtily.
“Yes, and you also would have gotten a divorce a week after the wedding,” Wilson retorted.
“You know, I heard this funny little story the other day—it was about a pot, who decided to be clever and call the kettle black,” House said innocently. “What a foolish little hypocritical pot it was...”
“My marriages,” Wilson said firmly, “All lasted at least a year.”
House looked at him with raised eyebrows. “It’s disturbing that you say that proudly.”
“Divorces are more common than you think—you read the tabloids, you should know that,” Wilson defended.
“And now you’re comparing yourself to Brittany Spears. Face it, Wilson; you’re a man-whore. You should sleep with me just to complete the set,” House said, bringing his hand over to Wilson’s lap seductively.
“I am not a—a man-whore!” Wilson protested, swatting House’s hand away. “If anything, the man-whore in this car would be you.”
“The definition of a man-whore is not ‘a man who hires whores’, it’s ‘a man who sleeps with so many different women he could be considered a whore’,” House said reasonably. “Besides, whores are only for special occasions.”
“You have special occasions to celebrate?” Wilson asked with exaggerated shock. “Like what, when you manage to get out of clinic duty?”
“Yeah,” House said with a thoughtful nod. “And every time I get to see the better half of the twins, whenever Chase manages to wear an outfit that could pass as ‘matching’, if I manage to go a day without receiving a moralistic lecture from you, each time that—”
“Okay, I get it,” Wilson said, irritated. “You’re going to be the poster boy for STDs ten years from now, you know.”
“That’s why God invented condoms,” House said with a quick grin.
“God didn’t invent condoms, God invented abstinence,” Wilson said, feeling like he was reciting lessons from a Sunday school book.
“God’s an idiot.”
“I’m sure he’ll remember that when you die and go up there to be judged,” Wilson said dryly.
“If God made Adam in his own image, and Adam was stupid enough to walk about with a naked woman and not jump her, then God’s got to be either butt ugly or have erectile dysfunction,” House said.
Wilson suppressed a grin, refusing to let House win. “Or, you know, he could have had this little thing called self control.”
“Self control? What is this thing you speak of?” House questioned facetiously.
“House...”
****************
Upon arriving in New York City and finding a somewhat reputable place to park, House decided that it was lunch time and, despite numerous hotdog vendors that stood around, pulled Wilson into an outdoor cafe. Everyone else sitting at their tables was well dressed in Oxfords and Vera Wang, and Wilson tried to keep his head down as he took a seat in his jeans and t-shirt.
“We look like ‘slummers,” Wilson muttered to House, glancing around to see if anyone was noticing their informal dress.
“Is that even a word?” House asked. “I don’t think so. Besides, the food here is damn good so shut up and look at the menu.”
“You’ve eaten here before?” Wilson asked in surprised. It really didn’t look like the type of place that House would choose.
“Stacy liked this place,” House explained, his voice losing a little of its joviality.
“And they’ve got the best
dahi ki dal I’ve had since my Dad was stationed in
India.”
“The hickey doll?” Wilson tried to repeat, wondering what the devil House was talking about.
“Dahi ki dal,” House said slowly and clearly. “It’s Indian soup, made from split peas and yogurt.”
Wilson tried not to wrinkle his nose, and when the waiter came ordered a more conventional lunch of roasted lamb and mashed potatoes. While they waited for their food, he began to look around his surroundings, past the people in fancy clothes and to the stores and entertainers and sidewalk gardens that were going around him. It was truly amazing to see so much life and energy swirling around him, so many people going in so many different directions with their own ideas and thoughts and plans... But the nagging worry in the back of his mind could not be ignored.
“House...” Wilson said, taking a lower tone in an attempt to pacify him. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I’m hungry,” House said, giving him a ‘duh’ look.
“Not
that,”
Wilson said exasperation.
“Why
this?
Why are you taking me on a day trip?
Why are you not bitching about your leg?
Why are you—”
“What’s so wrong with this?” House demanded, his face tensing. “I don’t understand what your problem is! I’m happy for once, and I’m being a nice guy for a change, and you’re jumping on me like a pit bull.”
“I just want to know why,” Wilson said furiously, bringing one hand down on the table in his frustration.
“It doesn’t matter why!” House yelled, and the people sitting around them stared. For once, he had the grace to look embarrassed.
“When it’s you, it does,” Wilson told him in a calmer, quieter voice. “It worries me.”
“You have two choices,” House said, matching his tone and setting his jaw stubbornly. “You can either get pissed, we’ll fight, and then we’ll drive home in sullen silence—or you can just accept that I want to have a good time, and we can enjoy the day.”
Wilson sat back in his chair. Put like that, he found himself feeling rather childish for being so insistent. “All right,” he said heavily. “I can... ignore it. For a while. But you will tell me what inspired all this when you’re finished being ‘happy’.”
Something flashed in House’s eyes, but it disappeared the second Wilson was sure he saw it. “Okay,” he agreed readily, and then his gaze snapped up. “Ooo! Food’s here!”
Wilson smiled in both relief for the positive end of the conversation, and for the food that had finally come. House’s soup, despite its rather disgusting ingredients list and sickening color, smelled so amazingly good that Wilson had to ask for a taste. His own food was delicious, and both of their dishes were quickly cleared away. When Wilson reached for his wallet, he was amazed to hear House protest.
“Don’t. I’m buying,” House said, bringing out his own wallet and flipping through the bills.
Wilson allowed him lay the money on the table—he was too stunned to say anything more. He supposed that it shouldn’t have surprised him that House was actually paying for his own food as well as Wilson’s after all that he’d witnessed today, but it did.
“Good Lord, Wilson,” House said as he noted Wilson’s face. “I’m not buying you a Ferrari—it’s just lunch.”
“You never buy lunch,” Wilson said in a slightly suspicious voice. “Are you sure that there wasn’t a group of little green men that visited your apartment last night?”
“If they did mess with my head, do you think they would have let me remember it?” House asked, standing up and leaving a few extra singles for a tip for the waiter.
“And you’re leaving a tip,” Wilson said, now exaggerating his shock. “We’re going to have to get you a brain scan or something...”
“If I’m going to do it, I’ll do it right,” House said as he picked up his cane. “Where to next?”
**************
“I can’t believe you just made me do that.”
“What, me?” House asked innocently, looking away from Wilson as they walked down the street.
“Yes, you,” Wilson said, but he was unable to suppress a wide grin as he brushed a sprinkling of neon confetti off of his arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed in my entire life.”
“There was that one time when Cuddy walked in on you and Jenna getting it on in—”
“That doesn’t count,” Wilson said quickly, nearly blushing at the very memory of that incident. He busied himself with the glittering confetti that had lodged itself on the front of his shirt.
“It wasn’t so bad,” House said. “Haven’t you ever seen a mime before?”
“Yes,”
Wilson said defensively.
“I’ve just never been...
sexually abused by one before.”
House snorted. “Pshaw. He wasn’t sexually abusing you, all he wanted you to do was lift you up.”
“Yeah, lift me up by my butt!” Wilson exclaimed. “It would be my luck that he picked me for his ‘figure skating’ routine...” Wilson stopped, and then something occurred to him. “Or maybe it was more like it would be your pocketbook that made him pick me for his ‘figure skating’ routine, hm?”
House looked to the sky and whistled something spontaneously cheerful.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Wilson said, satisfied with his own deduction.
House apparently felt the need to up Wilson, because he stopped pretending to ignore him to grin mischievously. “That Jenna was never any good for you anyway. I told you not to trust a descendent of child molesters, but noooo...”
“W—what?” Wilson spluttered, completely thrown off guard. “Jenna wasn’t related to any child molesters!”
“Her last name was ‘Dickinson’,” House stated as if this should cause everything to make sense.
“Yeah, and...?” Wilson said leadingly. “Your point?”
“If you were the son of a blacksmith, you were John Smith. If you were the son of a carpenter, then you were John Carpenter. And if you were the son of a child molester, then you were John Dick-In-Son,” House explained patiently.
Wilson’s face contorted into an expression of disgusted disbelief. “That’s...” Words failed him.
“True,” House filled in.
“No, that’s just wrong,” Wilson corrected, but despite himself, it was kind of funny. He tried to hide the smile that was creeping over his face, but before he could look away, House caught sight of it and grinned triumphantly.
“I win!” he crowed. “You’re buying drinks!”
**************
They did not—as much as House whined and protested, get drunk in New York City. Wilson was forced to point out that not only would it be phenomenally stupid to get stone cold drunk in a foreign city famous for its high crime rates, the drive home probably wouldn’t end up at home. They would probably be into a ditch or off of a bridge. Reluctantly, House had agreed to drive back to Princeton and go to one of the (granted, much cheaper) bars there.
“You know, Wilson,” House said loudly after his sixth vodka, “you’re a good man.”
“You think so?” Wilson asked, his voice still not quite slurred, as he was sticking to the beer instead of the hard liquor. “Julie didn’t... she was seeing some other guy. He was stronger than me... looked like Arnold shittin’ Schwarzenegger.”
“No, I mean it,” House insisted, but his eyes were locked on to the dartboard behind Wilson. “I don’t deserve you, for all the hells I’ve put you through. You should go make friends with Chase. He’s prettier, and he’s not gonna drop dead any day now.”
“Neither are you,” Wilson said, rolling his eyes at his friend’s melodramatics. “Besides, I really can’t stand that accent! Drives me crazy, he sounds like such a pompous ass.”
House snorted into his drink, and then began laughing so hard that he nearly doubled over on to the table. “He sounds,” House wheezed, “like a pompous ass?”
“Oh, no,” Wilson said, grinning at his obviously wasted friend. “You, my fine fellow, are a class of your own. They ought to just name it after you, I think.”
“I’m not...” House paused and let his laughter die, and his chest heaved wildly as his breathing began to catch up with him. “I’ve been—” He stopped as a chuckle broke free, and then regained control. “Good today. Real nice today.”
Wilson tipped back his glass and downed the rest of the drink. “Yeah, that was weird. You were really, really happy,” Wilson said, oblivious to the fact that his voice was becoming unnecessarily loud. “It makes me scared.”
“You should be,” House nodded. He raised a hand towards the bartender. “Two Burnt Mexicans, extra Tabasco!”
“You two got a ride home?” the bartender asked, his hand resting over the shelf of shot glasses hesitantly.
“We’ll call a cab,” House told him impatiently. “Now—drinks!”
“Why should I be scared?” Wilson asked, pulling House back into a conversation, concern somehow managing to lace its way through the alcohol. He watched House as intently as his inebriated mind would allow.
House shook his head emphatically. “No, I can’t tell you.” The two shot glasses were set before them, and House seized one and threw back his head. When he had set, or rather, banged the empty glass back down on the table, he looked at Wilson with a frightening clarity in his eyes. “I can’t tell you, because it’d destroy you. I wouldn’t want to do that to you, Wilson...”
“House, you can tell me,” Wilson tried to insist, but House brightened and pointed to the remaining Burnt Mexican.
“Are you going to drink that?” he asked pertly, flashing Wilson a grin.
“Yes!” Wilson pounced on the glass and throwing it down in the same way that House had just done. Lost in the whimsical world of alcohol, he quickly forgot House’s cryptic words, and would not remember them the morning after.
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no subject
Date: 2007-10-23 09:43 pm (UTC):P
no subject
Date: 2007-10-23 09:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-23 11:05 pm (UTC)Say, have you posted this before? Like, a long time ago? Or, well, a while back at least. Because I'm starting to think I'm psychic here ;)
no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 02:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-23 11:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-23 11:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 12:26 am (UTC)I think he's as good as told him, with that line. How can Wilson think anything but horrors now?
no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 02:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 02:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 03:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 10:35 am (UTC)House looked at him with raised eyebrows. “It’s disturbing that you say that proudly.”
Lol!
This was funny, but I'm worried about the next part... is House really going to die?
I hope not...
:)
no subject
Date: 2007-10-26 03:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-26 11:56 pm (UTC)I don't mean to be a dick, but something like this takes me right out of the story. Sorry.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-27 02:50 am (UTC)