snowblindrpg | [log] Titled [closed]

Entry tags:

[log] Titled [closed]

Characters: Gregory House and James Wilson
Location: Building 132
Date: Evening of 271
Summary: House meets up with an old, dead friend... who is older and more dying than he last remembers.
Warnings: Probably discussion of torture, body horror, cancer, death, and PTSD.

[Where House has asked Wilson to meet him is little more than a nondescript, empty storage shed with a nondescript, sealed trapdoor. It's the entry point to the underground tunnels, though, which should make their lives easier for travel. The doctor has been pushing himself, so they're just going to have to sleep on cold, uncomfortable concrete for the night, but this certainly wouldn't be the first time for House.

He's there when Wilson arrives, curled up in a corner of the shed, reading over his tablet in the dark. The most immediate thing Wilson might notice about House is that his fashion tastes have taken a turn for the hobo-esque. He's wearing a pink scarf and there are pink gloves at his side. He's wearing several layers of coats, and there's a heavy pack at his side that has a hammer propped against it.

He's actually been maintaining more of a stubble than letting his beard grow out fully, so that's not too different. House is thinner than before, though, his eyes more sunken into dark circles for the lack of sleep.

When Wilson opens the door, House immediately grabs for his hammer and holds it in a way that indicates he's about two steps off from throwing it. He turns the tablet so that the light is illuminating the doorway, though.]

If you start sprouting tentacles, I'm murdering you. [He's joking. Mostly. He's really waiting to see if this an anomaly opening the door or actually Wilson.]

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[ Well, that oddly is a relief. Because Wilson doesn't have anything planned out, not yet. If he can pick up a few tips from House, he thinks he'll be better off for it. ]

Okay. Just a second.

[ He picked up a backpack somewhere along the line and it's what he's stuffed what he's managed to obtain since his arrival. Hopefully the food is still fresh, but he figures the cold temperatures took care of that for the most part. ]

It's not much, but I found two sodas and surprisingly, everything you'd need to make a decent reuben.

[ He pulls out the food items and hands them over to House. ]

You've accumulated a few things, I see.

[ He comments as he catches the blanket, deciding he shouldn't say anything about the blanket that resembles a cape. He catches the other items too, when House tosses them his direction. ]

Thanks.

[ The clothes will go a long way towards keeping him from freezing to death. ]

Edited 2017-08-15 06:03 (UTC)

I've been here eight months. It happens.

[He takes the soda and fixings for a sandwich from Wilson and just stares at them for a long moment. He should be happier. It's the first real food he's seen in months and House has been trying to get the bland taste of whatever applesauce mush they'd been force-fed in the building out of his mouth for days. This should help. The soda should help, if nothing else.

House just sits back, tracing a finger around the rim of one of the cans, in spite of himself. He knows he needs to eat and that Wilson is going to do his Look at this kind of behavior, but it's hard to motivate himself to care terribly much.]

You'll be a pack mule before long, too. We've had random crap come in handy for what this place throws at us. Speaking of throwing, the rubble from these buildings is the only thing we've found that's able to hit these anomalies. If you get backed into a corner somehow, start chucking that. You might make it out alive.

Speaking of eight months, I'm kind of wondering what's been keeping you busy in that time.

[ He's trying to sound neutral, like he isn't fishing for anything specific. They sort of covered this in their first conversation, but part of him wonders if that was only skimming the surface of what House has seen and done in the eight months he's been here.

And yes, he is watching House as he takes the drinks and food to see what he's going to do with them. The fact that he's not immediately cracking into the soda, at the very least, is enough to get a telltale eyebrow raise.

For someone who looks as thin as House does, Wilson would have expected him to just tear into the food, but that doesn't seem to be happening. ]

Is there something wrong with the food? You did want fixings for a reuben and soda, right?

[ Again, he has to work to keep his tone mostly neutral. No point in putting House on the defensive just yet. ]

I think I'm already off to a good start. I found some interesting things in some of the places I stopped at along the way. Throwing rubble sounds primitive, but in the absence of any actual weapons, I'll take it.

Weapons don't work. They go right through them unless you coat them in dust from the rubble. [Let's just get that out of the way before Wilson gets any bright ideas about building himself a spear or something equally ridiculous.

House pops the tab on the soda and takes one small sip before setting it down.] And I'm savoring the moment. Don't ruin it. [They both know that's not really it, but House is just going to stay guarded until the other man pushes too far into territory neither of them will be comfortable discussing.]

Like I said, there're puzzles around town. Found an SD card with some kid getting murdered by police at a protest. Had to follow a map to one of the rooms, block out all the light coming in and find a glowing tile to make it work. Another one was lighting a candle after some data ghost mentioned a room was too dark. Had to turn on one of my applications after that to make the stars that appeared on the walls after that glow brighter. Got an SD card with one of the resident AI chicks in it talking to a little girl named Sam. She's 'the Prophet,' the supposed savior of whatever bullshit cult took over this town.

It's things like that. Exploring, mapping... [He shrugs.] It's boring here unless you make things for yourself to do.

What've you found?

Edited 2017-08-15 16:12 (UTC)

Now that I didn't know. I guess I should consider myself lucky I didn't run into any of them on the way here. [ Or he'd already have his first death, and he doesn't really want that.

He watches House open the soda can and he relaxes a little. It's at least a step in the right direction. ] You're sure that's all you're doing?

[ Wilson isn't going to push, not yet. He's just going to give a little nudge. ]

Sounds like a good way to give yourself nightmares. Which, unless I'm wrong, probably doesn't take much around here.

[ He crosses his arms, contemplating all of this. ] It's boring until you're either scared to death or actually squaring off against something or someone that wants to kill you.

Mostly medical supplies, but I don't think those will interest you that much.

[ The implication being that he found something else that would, if House's ability to decipher subtext is still functioning. ]

Stick with me, bro. Maybe you won't die suddenly and horribly.

[He's not even going to address the question of what he's doing. Better not to dignify it with a response, clearly.]

This place is a living nightmare, so get used to it. It's either snowy nothing or everything wanting to kill you. Or make you kill other people or whatever. [House makes a vague waving motion. If Wilson is looking closely for it, he might notice in the darkness that there's scarring running from House's pointer fingers (on the outside), down to the wrist and presumable beyond where his coat is covering. There are similar scars around his eyelids. It looks like he had stitches there that were forcefully ripped out and the skin healed over where they were.]

And 'that much' means 'somewhat.' Tell me what you found. I'll show you mine if you show me yours. Medkits, I mean.

I'd like to avoid that, yeah. And that applies to both of us.

[ He's getting the feeling, whether it's right or wrong, that House has probably already died, maybe more than once, but as long as he's around, he has absolutely zero plans to just sit back and let his friend get killed.

He'll let that lack of response slide for now. ]

I don't think that's really an option. It's either get used to it or- There is no "or" from what I've been hearing from different people.

[ Well, he supposes there is. Those who can't get used to it probably meet a very bad end. Maybe it's too fatalistic to think that, but he's guessing there's no sugarcoating around here.

It's difficult to see it clearly but as House waves his hand, Wilson thinks he spots something odd, and first his eyebrows lift, then narrow in suspicion. And he hasn't missed that odd look around House's eyes. So many things to ask about, and unless he's very wrong, he guesses House won't talk willingly about half of them. ]

So far, I have gauze, a needle, and a triangle bandage.

[ There's a second's pause and Wilson adds: ]

I also found someone's prescription. [ Which he thinks he should have left alone, but- Details. It wasn't Alfie's either. ]

[The first comment earns a twitch of House's lips that's more grimace than smirk. It's the mention of a prescription that catches House's attention most, though.]

Is it Vicodin for Gabriel Gray from me? Or something else? [His eyes turn immediately to the Norfinbury-issued pack that Wilson's brought with him.]

Yes, it is. How'd you know?

[ He didn't think he was being that obvious about what he'd found. ]

You wouldn't be coy if it weren't Vicodin. Holmes got most of the scripts wiped out by being a greedy bastard and his pet terrier catching wise. Only one left on a repeat prescription is what I prescribed to Gray. Ergo...

[He flicks a hand dismissively and reaches for the soda again.]

Hold onto it. Already have a couple of bottles. [He glances away.] And I'm working on weening myself off... once we catch up with Strange. Don't do your concerned face. [Let's just preempt that.]

Okay, you got me. I don't know why I even bothered trying to act like it wasn't Vicodin. [ Sometimes he wonders if House has some drug-sniffing dog capabilities in there somewhere. ]

Wow, you're actually asking me to hold on to it and not snatching it right out of my hand? You really have changed.

[ That's only partly sarcastic. There is some genuine surprise there. ]

Why are you weaning yourself off? And catch up to who?

[ Sorry, House, you're getting a version of his concerned face. ]

People don't change. [It's snapped more out of habit than anything.]

I've lost my meds twice and halfway detoxed. Uncontrolled in a snowy hell? Not real fun. And there's this.

[House sets the soda aside and stands up before walking a small lap around the shed.]

Look, Ma! No cane. [Have some jazz hands, as well, Wilson.] And unlike ketamine, it sticks. Also took getting stabbed rather than shot.

Strange is one of the other docs around here. One with more spine than you.

Edited 2017-08-20 02:38 (UTC)

[ Okay, so he hasn't changed that much. ]

Clearly, they don't. I know that's what you always say. That's impressive. You can walk without your cane.

[ He's just leveling the other man with a vaguely suspicious look. ]

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you don't need as much Vicodin. [ The jazz hands gets a small smile out of him, at least. The stabbed-not-shot comment doesn't. ]

Is that why you're trying to catch him? Because of his spine?

Catch him? The guy's practically been hounding me to let him help for months. [With depression... they just don't talk about that. House's tone is dismissive.] Figured I'd give it a go since Evie went offline for a while. I don't need to suddenly run out of my meds without her around for a refill. Life's a bitch without an open pharmacy. Not just for us addicts.

[ Wilson's look turns to one of confusion. ] Help? With what? [ Instead of putting him off, House is just making Wilson want to ask more questions. ]

I thought you'd mentioned we could prescribe medications. Has that changed?

Detoxing. [AND NOTHING ELSE.] Is the unspecified terminal illness slowing you down that much? Well, formerly terminal. [Let's deflect. Yes.]

And med prescriptions changed for a little while. The communications with the Admin were locked out for a while up until around the time you turned up. They're back now. Lucky you. First time it's happened, but we're getting deeper into this cult crap. I'm expecting her to get locked out again.

Edited 2017-08-20 04:14 (UTC)

Right, detoxing. [ Newsflash: he's not buying it. ] No, the unspecified terminal illness is not slowing me down, at least not about this. [ Deflection only works sometimes, and not on him. ]

House, I think you're conveniently omitting something. Either you don't want to talk about it or you just don't want me to know. [ Which boils down to mostly the same thing, but details. ]

He wouldn't tell me what it was. Wilson 1.0. [Just going to ignore that comment and plow right on through. Or attempt to. Wilson is better at stopping him when he'd like this than most people.] I'm guessing... cancer for the irony. Heart cancer for the double irony?

House. Are we going to just dance circles around whatever it is all night?

[ Maybe if he levels with him, he'll do the same thing. ]

Not heart cancer, although that would be very funny in the worst way, but stage two thymoma. And you know what else?

[House's eyes widen for a moment. He hadn't actually been expecting Wilson to respond with a real answer. But that's... stage two cancer. What the actual hell? That's not supposed to happen.]

You're on chemo.

[It's a statement. This isn't a question. And words pour out ater that, before he can stop himself.]

What classification is it? If you Type A, that's nothing. You've got another fifteen years. Type B's can be treatable. 90% chances on some of them. Even if it's Type C, there's still a chance for five. Some people live to ten with treatment.

Edited 2017-08-20 06:44 (UTC)

[ If House thinks he's off the hook, he's mistaken. But he does have a few things to say about this particular subject. ]

Type C, and I know. That's more or less what you told me the first time.

[ What? If House can plow right on through and ignore parts of what he's saying, then so can Wilson. ]

[He can also read between the lines.]

Why would you stop...

[Standing next to motorcycles... The last thing Wilson remembers.]

No.

[No. That's an unacceptable conclusion that his brain is drawing toward.]

You don't- You have a practice. What the hell? You go off of chemo? Why? You'll die.

[A part of him, a very small part, had always imagined going home, retaining some of his memories from this place, telling Wilson how to save Amber, keeping his team instead of doing... whatever it was that made him lose them. And keeping Wilson. Wilson is not allowed to die.]

You don't let people down. You're the Golden Boy. Giving up on treatment is letting yourself die.

[It may be more obvious than he wants at this point that he's not had any of this conversation with the previous Wilson.]

[ Curse him and his perceptiveness. ]

It didn't work!

[ Hey, if they're going for the emotional outburst angle, it might as well be both of them. ]

Yes, I have a practice. And yes, I've told people they'd be fine. Some of them were, but the ones that weren't?

[ He can visualize the things they gave him in his office, things that came from people who are now dead. ]

I let them down, and I don't- I didn't want to be in a hospital with people coming to visit me, and telling me I looked great, that everything was going to be all right.

[ It really isn't fair that he has to argue about this again with House. Once was bad enough, although none of this is House's fault. ]

You know they wanted to take the conservative treatment route? Well, I didn't. That wasn't what I wanted.

[ The conservative treatment option may be sound, but it wasn't what he wanted. Not that taking the radical direction made a single difference, but he tried.

Regardless, Wilson pauses to catch his breath, and to ask a question of his own. ]

When I was here before, none of this came up, did it?

[ If it had, he wouldn't be rehashing a conversation he's already had. ]

No! Why the hell would it? You weren't dying. Cutthroat Bitch was. Volakis. She dies. You told me she died in some bus thing. You don't die. You're not supposed to die. Jesus Christ. Treatment takes time. So don't go conservative. Fly to freaking Switzerland and get the latest, greatest experimental treatment. But don't just give up.

[The 'why would you do that to me?' goes unsaid for the moment. It's almost certainly evident in his tone and the way he backs up slightly from the other man.]

Amber- What?

[ Oh, this is just like being hit with a ton of bricks over and over again. ]

Don't you think I understand how ironic it is? I've treated so many people with cancer, and in the end, I got it myself.

[ He balls his fists together and glares at House. ]

Don't go conservative? I didn't! I got a dose of chemo so high, it could have killed me.

[ He relaxes his fists again, some of the tension leaving him as he does. ]

It didn't work, House. If that didn't cure anything, what else would?

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