In Sickness and Sonnets - A House MD & Dead Poets Society Fanfiction

The Lines We Cross

"Oh dear, did I miss the party?" House deflects, eyes narrowed in thought as he stares at Neil, causing him to tense as House limps towards the end of his bed.

"House," Wilson starts, interrupted by House swiftly pulling the blanket off of Neil's legs with a swoosh. Bingo. Exactly what I was looking for.

"Shame. This would've been much more dramatic in company." House's hand reaches into his pocket, pulling out the gun, whipping the cloth away, and holding it high for Neil to see. With a lunge, Wilson tries to grab it away from him, but is met with a swift strike to the heel from House's cane.

"Bastard!" Wilson hisses in pain, clutching his ankle. This is why House gets results. But this... Wilson's thoughts trail as he massages his ankle.

"Recognise this?" House asks rhetorically as he rounds the side of the bed. "Of course you do. One more game and you'd be in a closed casket instead of that bed." House watches as the man's doe eyes well with realisation and guilt. Why does it hurt so much to hear him say it? His eyes instead now welling with tears.

House... His methods always get results. But this... This is different. Reckless. Cruel. I have watched him cross countless lines, but this...

"House! Stop it for God's sake! Have you completely-" Wilson starts, flinching as another cane swipe is aimed in his direction.

This is insane. But it's House. Of course it's House.

"Now, I've put two and two together." House continues, "I think you already know what you've got. I also think, that you know my treatment of your 'pneumonia' is only going to make you worse. But hey, dying in a hospital makes your death look a little nicer to your friends, instead of being found by some cop after you miss a few too many appointments." House's eyes narrow again, scrutinising Neil's every move. The look in his eyes is indescribable, eyes flashing with guilt and pain and anger. He longs to say something, anything, but he just sits in defeated silence as the older man lays out his life before him. "You have a completely curable illness. Now, if you aren't going to tell us how you got it," House throws the gun onto the bed. "You might as well pull the trigger now."

Neil recoils, terror filling him down to his very marrow, his eyes glued to the gun as his mind overflows with fear.

That. That is the end of it. ...This ends now.

Wilson's facial expression changes from one of horror to one of unbridled rage. Quicker than House can react, he kicks the cane out from beneath him, sending him toppling onto the floor. Wilson grabs the gun from Neil's attempted grasp, all attempts at controlling himself now a distant memory.

"You! You are completely insane!" He bellows, his voice rattling the IV tubes. "So help me God, if you come anywhere my patient again I'll give Vogler AMPLE reason to fire me. Get, OUT!" Wilson grabs his cane from the floor, throwing it to his feet.

This is insane. This is insane. This is-

House picks up his cane, dusting himself off and making his way to the door. "So, bowling tomorrow?" He asks, before leaving the room.

"I- I-" Wilson stammers, turning back around to Neil. "Haaaah!-" He exhales sharply, his breath shaking in frustration, burying his head in his hands. No coming back from this. No coming back. It's over now. Wilson barely collects himself, collapsing back on the chair next to the bed.

Time passes slowly as the two of them sit in complete silence, only the whirring of the CPAP and the beeping of the vitals monitor filling the room. Oh, how Wilson longs for that comfortable atmosphere House shattered to come back. Neil is somehow smaller than before, shrunken into the bed. Soft, restrained sobs emanating from under the blanket. Get up. Talk to him. Wilson's subconscious urges: You can't leave him alone. Finally able to pull himself out of his slump, Wilson gets up, slowly leaning over the bed and gently shaking the sheet covering the younger man's sobbing frame. Time slows again, and the sobs abruptly stop as Neil can be heard fiddling with his oxygen mask.

"I- I'm fine." he croaks, voice laden with sadness. I wish that were true, Neil.

Wilson feels as if he's looking at himself, some 20 years ago, remembering all too well the feeling of tensing his whole body, trying to force the tears to stop. They never did.

Neil feels a new weight pressing down the end of the bed, Wilson now sat, his worried look trying to pierce through the cloud of blankets. Go, just go. I've managed the last ten years by myself. Neil urges in his head, still choking down sobs. He wishes he could say it out loud, but his thoughts are slowly replaced by another, smaller voice. Don't go, don't go. It echoes in the back of his mind. Don't leave me alone. I went through all of this to not be alone—don't go. The neat little box bursts open again, and Neil can't fight it anymore. He can barely see for the tears, slowly poking back out of the blanket, only able to make out a vaguely Wilson-shaped blur.

"Don't—don't go." He pushes against the air being forced into his lungs, noise barely escaping the mask.

Suddenly, he can't see the Wilson-shaped blur anymore. Only darkness. Darkness, and new warmth replacing the cold, sterile air of the hospital room as Wilson embraces him. Oh, God! How long has it been? Neil realises, I... I can't remember. He slowly breaks down, façade entirely slipping away as he sobs uncontrollably into Wilson's shoulder, feeling as the coldness of his tears on Wilson's shirt slowly warms, pooling in the fabric and around his eyes.

Wilson holds Neil's head tightly to his shoulder. Oh, how badly I needed this all those years ago. They sit like this for a while, Wilson cradling the sobbing man in his arms, offering gentle reassurances to him, the sobs slowly but surely fading. Neil pulls himself from the hug, wiping his glassy eyes with his hands.

"He- He was right. House-" Neil starts, letting out a gasp and moving closer to Wilson as the door to the room opens, the older man instinctually holding him tighter.

"Wilson, I—Sorry—Bad time?" The soft voice asks, lowering her clipboard.

"Dr. Cameron! You're a sight for sore eyes." Wilson says, grip loosening from Neil as he stands up.

Cameron looks between the two of them, Neil's puffy eyes and wet patch on Wilson's sleeve telling her all she needs to know.
"Definitely seems like it." She smiles at Neil, who is busy trying to erase any evidence of his tears. "Sputum culture came back, no bacteria. This has to be pathological." she states, offering Wilson the clipboard.

"Ah, that. I was getting to that. Uh- House did... His usual insane thing."

Usual?! Neil questions in astonishment.

"He knew it wasn't pneumonia. Pneumonia symptoms, no pneumonia..." Wilson trails off, mostly talking to himself, leaving the room silent for a while when, "Dr. Cameron, I need to talk with him for a moment. Stay outside. I'll call you in." He states calmly, eyes trailing to Neil watching Cameron leave. Wilson waits for the door to be closed before sitting back down on the bed.

"Perry. I need you to be honest with me. House is- clearly not well, but I think I get the ludicrous point he was trying to make." He leans in closer. "You don't have a catheter in. Have you been hiding anything from us since we started you on Gentamicin? "Neil looks conflicted, unsure of what to say. "Don't lie to me, Neil." The man hangs his head; this gesture alone is enough to confirm Wilson's suspicions. "We need to get you a chest C.T. I'll be starting you on fluids when you're done." Wilson stands from the bed again. "Dr. Cameron!" He beckons. "Take him to imaging. I need to talk with House. And take him off the damn Gentamicin!" He shouts back, feeling comfortable leaving Neil with Cameron as he makes a quick pace out of the room towards House's office. As he approaches the office, he spies House on the phone, throwing his ball up in the air absentmindedly as he talks. He looks almost... Jovial. Hoo boy. Wilson braces, pushing open the door.