It is so irritating to me that they gave Wilson the cancer and not House. Once again it will be all about how House is doomed to fail Wilson. * sigh * For once I would have liked to see people showing House how much he means to them, taking care of him. I am just depressed by the whole thing. Anyone else feel this way?

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.


A/N: The beginning of a trilogy with two epilogues.

Disclaimer: I do not own HOUSE M.D.



The snow was falling softly, and the cold frosted the edges of the window. House, stared out at the blank landscape around

the hospital… He stood there a long time leaning against the glass door and his cane. He was blank himself.

He didn’t know who he was anymore, he had changed, into what he wasn’t quite sure, but he was different.

He had been numb for so long…Had done all he could to remain numb that he simply did not know how to feel.

So he felt…Empty, blank as the snow covered landscape.

He took the drugs he should and stayed away from the ones he shouldn’t, he tried to be nicer, kinder, but it wasn’t


All he felt was alone, and empty. It sucked.

He thought back to a time when he did feel things, things not altogether crappy.

Damn, it was a long time ago…Before the infarction, when he was cocky and had an athletic grace, when he was handsome

and strong, when he was a man.

Suddenly, he was tired, tired of everything, but mostly tired of standing here thinking about shit that did him no good to

think about.

He turned to go and saw Wilson standing there watching him, seeing into him as if he knew what House had been thinking.

He was tired of that too…

He sighed “Let’s get out of here…”



He walked into to House’s office tired from work and ready to get home, he stopped when he saw House standing there,

looking out at the snowy nothingness beyond the balcony. He watched him, and saw the years etched on his face, saw the

silver creeping into his hair, the slight stoop to his proud shoulders, the defeated look of longing, in his now pale eyes.

Where had his House gone? Where was his fiery, brilliant, friend?

He thought back to the chaos and pain House had caused the past five years, he thought about the people House had saved,

the times he had scared him to death…He decided that this paler version of House was hard to take, but he wouldn’t want

to go through all that insanity again.

Still seeing time eroding House’s youth and vitality, and watching life quench House’s fire...frightened him in new,

and terrifying ways.

He shuddered when he heard the tired sigh that escaped House. Wilson, came to himself and they walked out together,

in pensive silence.



The cold gripped his leg and shook it like a dog shook a toy; he winced and bore it like he always did, in silence.

The walk to the car wasn’t far but these days it seemed farther and farther away…

The meds he took for pain just made it barely, tolerable, and he felt each frozen step.

He watched the path for ice and moved carefully to avoid falling, he was always afraid of falling.

Falling was weak, and shameful, and often led to excruciating pain. Falling was not allowed.

Just as the car came in view, just as he was sighing in relief, he hit a patch of ice with the rubber tip of his cane, and  fell. 

He landed with a thud, his teeth jarred against each other, the breath knocked out of him, white explosions of pain going

off in his leg, his hands, and his head. ‘Shit…’ he thought, and something, inside him, broke…

He began to cry, he began sobbing great, wracking sobs, he cried so hard he couldn’t catch his breath, he was

hyperventilating, his bronchial tubes spasming from the frigid air he was gulping.

He was about to pass out, when warm strong arms wrapped themselves around him.

“Shh…Your okay. I’m here, I’ve got you.” House began to calm down, the tears  freezing on his face and Wilson’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you up, and check you out.” Wilson said patiently. He felt himself nod in response.

“Can you stand? Good. It doesn’t look too bad, just some abrasions, maybe some bruising. How’s the leg?”

House was afraid to speak, afraid he would start crying and sniveling again.

He croaked “It’s okay. Can we just go?”

Wilson walked with  him to the passenger side of the car, his hand lightly touching House's elbow to steady him.

‘I am an invalid’ he thought, and swallowed hard ,to keep from bawling again.

Finally in the car, he felt the tears coming again, they began to trickle down his face unbidden. 

‘What is WRONG with me? Why all the waterworks? This isn’t normal for NORMAL people’

He snuffled and wiped his face with his sleeve before Wilson was settled into his seat.

‘Don’t look at me…don’t touch me or I’ll lose it again’ he thought desperately.

House stared out of the car window now, watching the snow go by broken up here and there by muddy slick streets, and


He leaned against the cold window, and felt the heater blasting his legs, it helped.

When did it get to be like this? When did every day become a Herculean effort?

How long had he fooled himself with his booze and drugs? Fooled himself into thinking that life, this life ,was worth living.

‘The worst lies we tell are to ourselves’ he thought.

He didn’t want to do this anymore; he couldn’t go on in this grey half life, this interminable, quiet ,desperation.

He wanted out.



He watched as House carefully negotiated the icy sidewalk. He felt the anxiety from the walk, coming off the older man in


They were almost there, when House fell…

‘Oh DAMN’ he ran to catch him, he was too late…and then he heard the sound;

the sound of ice floes breaking from the glacier, the sound of House, sobbing.

He felt a lump where his throat had been moments before; he stood stunned, overcome by the phenomenon.

Then, he reached out to his broken friend, and held him tight, as if to hold him together just for a few moments more.

He felt the heaving of House’s chest, the anguish pouring out of his soul.

And Wilson knew; this was the beginning ,of the end. He held House tighter, afraid to let him go. Afraid of what House

would do.

He had no illusions that this rare occurrence was something good.

Wilson was losing the battle, he knew House was tired; tired of living. He felt him slipping away, a little more each day.

Losing Lisa had been the last straw.

House had nothing to live for now, nothing, but him.

And that, wasn’t enough.



The incredible lightness of boring...

 This being Christmas, and for once I am not frantically trying to wrap presents well into the morning, I find myself unable to sleep. I wrote a few little drabbles for fanfiction. I am somewhat pleased with them. They seem to be more in keeping with my usual style. I am now hoping I can find away to merge my prose with some plot, and dialogue. I am somewhat blase' about the whole Christmas thing. More so than I have been in the past. I assume this is a natural response to my routine being hopelessly ruined by the sad passing of my Dad's mother.Though it is probably a combination of her death and my depression, and the imminent approach of my fortieth birthday.
 This is inexcusably boring and and maudlin. Do forgive me my muse has decided to head off down the pub....
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Why I am Here.

I have enjoyed LJ for a month or so now, I thought I might actually write something here. I am a mom, wife,daughter, sister, aunt,friend and aunt. Who is also attempting to learn to write. After reading many talented authors here, in the sick!Wilson community, and the sick!House community primarily, I am hopeful that one day I will come close to their abilities.