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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[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?

You're cured. Here you're cured. Breakthroughs in new treatments. Nanomachines... You have to be alive for them to come. It's not... I need you. After everything that's happened here I need to know you live. That you'll be there if we-

[He cuts off. It's admitting there's a small sliver of hope left in him that there's a way out of this hellhole. House had been doing his best to stamp all of that out, but with Wilson turning up. Great. Wonderful. He's hoping for the impossible again. This is Wilson's fault.]

[ Up till now, Wilson has been trying not to completely lose it in front of House. He's done that too much already, not that the other man remembers him having breakdowns in his car, or any of the other things they went through together.

Maybe this really is all his fault. House's admission of needing him takes him by surprise. He knew there was something behind his insistence that he get treatment, of course. ]

I'm sorry, House.

[ He doesn't know what else to say. He'd rather be alive, he'd rather House still have his job in the future, he'd rather none of this had ever happened. But it has happened, and until someone invents a time machine, this is it. ]

The tumor didn't shrink after the chemo. I couldn't see myself spending a year or longer in a hospital. If I had five or six months to do anything I wanted to, that seemed like the better option.

You're sorry... Sorry doesn't cut it! [House can feel his heart pounding. No. Hell, no! He's not completely losing it in front of Wilson over a freaking non-issue. This doesn't matter here. Wilson is cured here. He'll stay alive here until they all die. Or he'll get eaten by an anomaly and never come back again. Not this version of him, anyway. Or he'll get taken by the next batch of converts. Maybe he'll even be one of the ones performing surgeries next time.

Wouldn't that be great? Get a real doctor to operate on people and torture them. 'Trust me, I'm a doctor!' He'd smile, be so nice about it. Maybe his sinners would convert faster. Would House be one of them? They'd have Wilson operate on him. Of course they would.]

Stop! [It's snapped, but it's clearly not directed at Wilson. One of House's hands going up to grip his hair, and he turns fully away from the other man. Why did he choose a place with absolutely no privacy options? Fuck!] Stop it. Stop it.

[His shoulders hunch and his body begins to shakes slightly. He presses himself into a corner as far away from Wilson as possible, breathing ragged.]

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

Of course it doesn't. You're talking to the person who's told countless people he's sorry they have cancer, and every time, I wish I could take it back. [ Sometimes he wonders why he picked oncology of all things to specialize in. But before he can ponder on that too much, House catches his attention.

The snapped command startles Wilson, and it's around this time he starts realizing that House really doesn't look good at all. Combining that with the way his hands are gripping his hair, and the pressing himself into a corner, Wilson realizes his focus shouldn't be on this shouting match about cancer and treatments, but on the man in front of him. ]

Hey.

[ He crosses the small room and slowly approaches House. ]

House, it's- [ What? Okay? Clearly it isn't, and that's part of what frustrates Wilson. He doesn't know what House is wrestling with, so it's difficult for him to really help.

Finally, he just settles for placing a tentative hand on House's shoulder, hoping maybe letting him know there's someone else there will ground him. ]

There's no one here; it's just you and me. [ And whatever demons are in the other man's head, but hopefully those will go away sooner rather than later. ]

Don't touch me!

[It's practically a scream. House knocks the hand away and tries to shove Wilson if he's close enough. Either way, he'll drop his hands away from his head and stare at the other man with wide, terrified eyes.

This isn't the morgue. Logically, he knows this isn't the morgue. Wilson isn't going to hurt him. Nothing is going to hurt them right this moment. But that perfectly reasonable and logical part of his brain is being drowned out in the sound of blood rushing through his ears... in static. Static that means the Prophet's cult is coming. There's a sear of pain across his chest and it seems to his mind, concentrated on the Prophet's Eye brand over his heart. He can feel the whips on his back again, the shackles around his wrists. He can feel Kid pulling his arms out of their sockets, breaking one so that he can sew them together behind his back.]

T-talk. Cases. Talk about cases. Talk about anything.

[He needs something else to ground him. Touch just makes him want to scream. Looking at Wilson makes him want to run.]

[ The outburst and the shove sends Wilson stumbling backwards, and he suddenly realizes just how in over his head he is here about practically everything. No amount of talking to people can prepare him for the hell that is this place, not when it's being illustrated so clearly by House right now.

Whatever House is seeing involves him somehow, because unless he's turned into the worst sort of boogeyman when he wasn't looking, the very sight of him is terrifying to the other man. ]

You- You had a case with a six year old who presented with a nosebleed and breathing trouble. She'd fallen off one of those merry-go-round horses. Her mother was a developmental geneticist who had originally diagnosed her daughter with ataxia telangiectasia.

[ He doesn't know all the details of this particular case since he was busy at the time, but it's one of the first ones to come to mind, and he was at least filled in on the result. House probably won't care if he gets a few details wrong in the telling. If he does, it might distract him from whatever's causing his panic, so Wilson just plows ahead. ]

Chase eventually narrowed it down to a tumor which had broken up and caused reduced blood flow and a stroke, among other things.

[ He cautiously approaches House again, this time not attempting any contact. It's unrelated to any of House's cases, but an idea springs into his head. It might just be the distraction House needs. Or it might backfire horribly, but Wilson decides it's worth a try if talking about cases fails. ]

It's not fair when they're pretty and smart. [House swallows and just sinks down into a crouch with his back to the wall. He watches Wilson warily, trying not to picture his anomaly.]

Give me symptoms. Let me solve it. I just... I need to think. I need...

[He squeezes his eyes shut tight and breathes hard. This is so not how he wanted this meeting to go. They were going to play it off, he was going to just find out what he wanted from Wilson. And they were going to pretend like House was normal. Like nothing has changed.]

Did I mention she was married? Not that that's every stopped you before, but I just figured I should mention it.

[ He pauses, still watching him as he sinks down to the floor. Luckily for him, he read the case file after the fact, or he wouldn't know any of this. ]

Symptoms... Initially, she had the nosebleed, dizziness, and difficulty breathing, but there was also the development of cyanosis in her fingers and toes while she was in for an MRI.

[ When Wilson pictured this meeting, it was not at all like this. But he's glad he found out, rather than being completely unaware that not everything was exactly as it seemed. ]

You had your team do an environmental scan of the patient's house, and they found large amounts of LEX-2 there and no sign of lab rats.

You just told me it was a tumor that Chase diagnosed. I was wrong on whatever it was. I need a different case without the answer.

[A pause.]

How hot was she? Are we talking at least an 8?

Okay, I gave that one away, but here's another one. 30 year old blind male suddenly experiences disorientation when crossing the street; traffic sounds are amplified, blocking everything else out. He can't even hear it when someone approaches him and offers assistance.

He has diabetes, but it's controlled, and nothing showed up on the tox screen.

[ He pauses too, this time to fix House with a look. ]

At least an 8, if I had to pick a number.

[Think. Just think. Focus on the case. Drugs would have been his first guess.]

What's he taking for the diabetes?

[He stares down at his hands and tries to take deep breaths. Even in the dark, he can feel the scars lining his hands, traveling up, running the length of his arms and down to his legs.]

Blind man. Blind man...

[Muttered to himself as he forces his mind away from where he doesn't want it going.]

[ This is the part Wilson's not so clear on anymore. But he thinks House won't be too particular about the details, if it turns out that they aren't 100% accurate. ]

Metformin and insulin injections, if I'm remembering the case correctly.

[ He's looking at House, though, because he should be focusing on him, not on remembering a case that happened a long time ago (for him).

Unfortunately, he's at a loss for how best to help, when it all appears to be something in House's mind. ]

Other than rehash old cases, what can I do?

[ The question sounds pathetic even as he says it. This is a fine way of repaying the man who sat with him while he received a potentially lethal dose of chemotherapy. Not that he remembers that, but still, it leaves a bad taste in Wilson's mouth. ]

I'm having a panic attack. Wait twenty minutes. I'll be fine.

[The words are clipped with a mixture of irritation and fear as his throat stays stubbornly tight and the blood roars.]

Not my first one. Everyone here has PTSD. Get used to it. [He hates that this is happening right now, but he doesn't want Wilson fretting over him. That's just going to be more annoying than helpful.]

Mm... Noise. You said traffic. Noise-induced epilepsy. What'd the EEG say?

House-

[ Wilson's frown just deepens. It's not the first time he's realized he's in too deep here, but seeing it firsthand just confirms that. ]

I seriously doubt that whatever is bothering you is going to fully resolve itself in twenty minutes.

[ It startles him somewhat, the idea that House (and others) might have PTSD from their experiences here. And clearly, they're poorly equipped to handle such things. Unless that's just him. ]

The EEG said everything was normal, but then the patient began to choke, and after being given the Heimlich maneuver, several of his teeth fell out into his hand.

The panic attack will. And then we can play Dr. Phil. Jesus, I'm not- [He has to break as a wave of nausea rolls through him, and he curls up tighter. Don't think about anything but the case. It's the case that's important. It doesn't matter that it's already solved in the future somehow.]

Periodontists with a brain infection is boring. Order broad... broad-spectrum... [Another long pause.] Tell him to floss more. What happened next? Wouldn't be that easy. [Not if it's one of the cases Wilson's giving him to figure out.]

I'm not interested in playing Dr. Phil! I just- [ Want to somehow reverse whatever's happened in the time House has been here? That's a tall order, of course, but Wilson hates seeing House like this. ]

That's more or less what you said the first time, although you suspected it was periodontitis and some sort of brain infection. [ As for what happens next, Wilson recalls something about Dominika and the pediatric oncology playroom, as well as House's mother, but he figures he ought to save that for when House isn't in the throes of a panic attack.

Dominika is someone he'd want to know about and be able to quiz Wilson about. ]

A couple of things happened. You sent Taub with Park, a new addition to your team, to do an environmental scan. While they were gone, the patient had a seizure.

[ He supposes he'll be questioned some about Taub and Park later too. ]

[Taub and Park are meaningless as names. House briefly wonders if they were contemporaries with Volakis. But thinking about her just makes him picture her death in the veterinary clinic morgue. She still isn't back. She won't be coming back, just like the other Wilson won't be coming back. Just like he'll never be going back home. And if he does, what's the point when his life just winds up being crap anyway?]

Environmental... What'd they find? Drugs? Because we're back to epilepsy or brain damage from something else. Tooth loss... [What could explain the tooth loss along with some sort of brain damage? He can hear Cameron in his head chiming in with 'lupus.'] It's not lupus. [That's muttered to himself.]

You said he's blind. Did we check his eyes when he came in?

LSD, for one thing. Park ate some ice cream from his freezer and wound up having a bad trip. You put her up in your office, of all places. Also, she started throwing things at me, thinking I'd stolen her teeth.

But anyway, back to the patient. He said he took LSD either five or six times, and got it from his second girlfriend. Apparently he meant to break up with his first girlfriend and marry his second.

You ordered an MRI and there was a lump there, a clot. Lupus was mentioned, and Behcet's disease. And no, his eyes weren't checked at first, but they were at this point. He was also started on heparin, interferon, and steroids.

[ Trying to remember all the details is giving Wilson a headache, but if this helps, then he's definitely not stopping. ]

Don't care about the lovebirds. And please. You've never had a bad trip? You've been on speed.

[That House gave him... He's getting his breathing a little more under control.]

That's not the end of the case or you'd say it was. What happened next? Patient not responding to treatment?

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