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How to save a life	By : RiekaDeVolka Category: G through L > House Views: 2901 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own House, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-How to save a life
- 1
Title: How
to save a life (when it doesn�t want to be saved.)

Beta: None, all mistakes my own.

Rating: NC-17.

Genre: Angst.

Pairings: Wilson/House.

Feedback: Highly encouraged.

Word Count: +/- 2 190.

Summary: The first thing House did when he got back to the apartment was
to play the piano.

Notes: Set sometime after "No Reason", but before the start of
season three. I�m probably leaking a bit of my personal emotions at the moment
in this since I started writing a catharsis, but I really, really liked it. I
don�t particularly like songfic, but this is the song I had been listening to
while I wrote, so I figured it fitted rather well. Also, I have a craving to
see more Wilson topping House, for some reason. All I find seems to be the
traditional House over Wilson. I wanted to give the poor man some credit.
Song�s �How to save a life� by The Fray, by the way. Listen to it, it�s
beautiful.

How to save a life.

(When it doesn�t want to be saved.)

Where did I go wrong, I lost a
friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you
all night
Had I known how to save a life
I.
The first thing he does when he sets foot into his apartment again
is to play the piano. He doesn�t care the place actually looks well taken care
of � Wilson probably spent the morning cleaning � and just drops his bag and
his cane and everything to sit down and play. He�s been itching to, to
play, to walk, to breath away from the goddamn hospital and the stupid
questions lingering in it.
Truthfully, like all important questions that are also stupid, they
are still lingering around, but he picks up a sassy jazz tune and sets to
ignore it as best as he can.
He�s doing a darned good job of it, he thinks, until the door opens
and closes quietly and the soft footsteps follow until they stop behind him. He
doesn�t want to stop playing � it�s not even a real melody, just a jumble of
notes, so he cheats and elongates the song to the point Wilson is forced to
place his hands on his shoulders.
House swears at the mismatched note and lets his hands fall limply
to his lap.

Step one you say we need to talk
He walks you say sit down it's just
a talk
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
And you begin to wonder why you came
II.
�You can�t avoid me forever, you know?� Wilson says quietly, masking
his hurt so masterfully House feels almost proud, but he�s too angry and too
disgusted with himself to bother. �We need to talk.�
His eyes are fixed stubbornly on the window, and he�s not going to
look back and see some horrible disfiguration of Wilson�s face, because House
doesn�t think he�ll be able to survive if he does. So he stares and stares and
stares, until the window disappears and his vision blurs a little. He�s not
crying.
�Greg.�
His voice is so stupidly soft, so stupidly kind. He�s pleading him,
and House hates him a little when he does. Moriarty couldn�t kill him, though
he tried his best, but Wilson will do it one day, without even realizing he�s
doing so. Abruptly he remembers the hazy details: the sloppy, desperately
endearing quality of a kiss that hadn�t been asked for; the teal colored tie
Wilson was wearing when he leaned in and shattered everything that kept House�s
little world spinning; the alluring scent that got so deep within him, he still
smells it whenever his thoughts stray.
�Just a talk, Greg,� Wilson begs him, when he stands up abruptly,
his balance shot to hell with nerves and the unease creeping his very bones,
�Please.�
When House glares at him, venomously and fierce, like he�s just
another silly patient or a clueless newbie, Wilson wonders why he came at all�
but not why his heart is cracking, a hairline at the time.

Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
And pray to God he hears you
III.
Back in the hospital, the first thing
House saw when he woke up was Wilson standing next to him, eyes half lidded
with worry and lack of sleep, and it struck a cord in him. Near death
experiences tended to change things, for better or for worse, and for those
strange five seconds, he hadn�t known which would it be. His last near death
experience had left him lonely and sore in ways he couldn�t explain to anyone,
limping in more ways than he would ever admit. And then, maybe he said something,
he can�t remember, or maybe Wilson choked a sob, or maybe both, but they were
kissing and House had forgotten all those stupid plans and strategies he�d
figured out to keep Wilson whole and sane.
Now Wilson�s standing in front of him,
shaken and tired and looking at him helplessly. House thinks he�s the best
actor he�s ever seen, a master in deception. Good enough to fool himself, even.
�I know, alright?� He�s shaking like a
leaf, from head to toe and back again, straining to keep himself from splitting
into nothing, �I know what you�re going to say, and I know what I should
reply.�
�You know more than I thought you did,
then,� House sneers lightly, the taste of Wilson coming back to haunt him from
a hidden corner of his memory, the sensation of pliant lips over his hitting
him like a brick. He shows no sign of the inner struggle, leaning on his cane
and pretending he�s in control. �If you know what you should say and what I�m
going to say, I fail to see why we should have this conversation in the first
place; you already know how�s it gonna end.�
�You�re a self centered, arrogant son of a
bitch without the faintest sense of compassion or kindness,� Wilson is crying,
House notices as the words bounce easily in the emptiness of the room, as
easily as they slip past him and into him, cracking something inside
with every blow, �And you�re a stupid, misanthropic asshole who would rather
swallow down a bottle of pills than to come clean with his best friend, his only
friend.�
There�s a moment of silence, in which
House feels something tighten inside and Wilson attempts to regain his
coherence for a bit. And then House shrugs, looking awfully bored with the
whole affair.
�I know,� Wilson trembles again, feeding a
sadistic pleasure center House had been unaware he possessed, �What are you
doing about it?�

As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one
last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you've
followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not the same
And you'll begin to wonder why you
came
IV.
�I-�
Wilson is a marvelous actor, but he clearly didn�t plan too far
ahead his tirade. House arches his eyebrows, pinning him down with an
unblinking stare that�s two parts unnerving and one part curious, and mentally
takes stock of the situation. Violence he can deal with, he has dealt with it
before and he wouldn�t back away from it. Even misery he can deal with; a
miserable Wilson has his own strange appeal after all. But the indecision and
the slow ticking of the clock, the interrupted melody and the strangely tender
kiss hang precariously between them, and House has absolutely no idea what to
expect. So he picks the option himself and sees what comes out of it.
�I�m arrogant and self centered, aren�t I?� His voice slowly raises
in volume, his tone becoming far more vicious than it has ever been, �All too
true, Jimmy, I haven�t got a clue about kindness and compassion or any
other silly notion you�re gonna throw back at me, so don�t worry,� His hand
clenches on the cane, and he feels wounded and insulted for some reason, �Get
the fuck out of here.�
That�s it, of course, Wilson is going to walk out of the apartment �
out of his life � and House will be back to the lonesome lunch every day
and aimless walks through the corridors, without anyone to listen to what he
has to say. It�ll be back to the old times, except House can�t quite remember
the old times, where everyone heard him, but no one listened to him.
It�s scary and saddening, but he�ll keep standing. It�s been done, anyway: any
moment now, Wilson is going to run out his life forever, either crying
dramatically or cursing colorfully, and either way House will be alone.
�I love you.� Wilson says softly, tiredly, not moving an inch from
where he�s standing.
�I don�t-� House stops in the middle of the sentence, his throat
closing abruptly and refusing to let him articulate a decent sentence. He
stares in bewilderment at Wilson for a moment, not sure if he heard right or if
he�s imagining things, or maybe his own insanity has rubbed on Wilson and the
poor sod has no idea what he�s just said. �What?�
�I love you,� Wilson is gaining confidence, the momentum shifting to
his side and aiding him to wind up his words. He�s looking at him with that
sordid determination he uses when treating a dying patient and House isn�t sure
if he likes it, �I shouldn�t have kissed you. I shouldn�t have told you, but I
do, did, whatever.� The strength�s slipping, the trembling is coming back,
�Don�t push me away.�

Where did I go wrong, I lost a
friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you
all night
Had I known how to save a life
V.
House may need a full minute to figure out how he ended on his bed,
but he doesn�t have a minute to spare, so he doesn�t bother to figure it out.
Wilson is on him, his restraint shattered so irrevocably it makes House wonder
what would have happened if he had said �no�, rather than �please�. But then,
little golden boy Jimmy does know what he�s doing, and his fingers are
slick and alien and welcome inside him, leaving House no option but to
shudder a moan and give in again.
�Fuck.�
He�s not precisely eloquent, neither of them is, not anymore, but it
doesn�t matter because Wilson is taking control, and for once House is willing
to let it go. He had been afraid, the epiphany comes unwanted and unbidden to
him, he�d been afraid to be alone again. Afraid like the first time Wilson
invited him to a wedding and forgot to mention he was the groom. Afraid like he
had been when he woke up to Stacy�s face so long ago, alone among so many
people that couldn�t see the pain he was going through and who hadn�t
cared to listen and do as he said. Afraid to lose one of those obscenely bright
spots that kept his life bearable.
�I love you, I love you,� Wilson repeats the words like a mantra,
breathing between kisses and trying to find House�s mouth with his eyes closed,
�I love you.�
Under normal circumstances, House would have laughed at the hysteric
antics of his best friend, but then again, under normal circumstances he didn�t
have said best friend buried so deep inside him he forgot they were actually
two separate beings most of the time.
�I�m not going anywhere,� House promises with a smile, a calm, warm
smile that makes Wilson�s arms strain as they keep him from collapsing, �It�s
alright.�
Wilson had planned to keep control and be slow and patient and considerate
� House's probably still in pain � but he loses control almost at once,
thrusting blindly and clenching his hands on the covers at either side of
House�s head. It�s going to hurt in the morning, this frantic pace he�s
indulging in, but House doesn�t seem to mind, arching neatly off the bed,
keeping himself from keening by sheer strength of will.
Irrationally, Wilson wants it to hurt in the morning, he wants it to
leave mark, to make sense and let them both remember what they�ve done.
�Let me save your life,� He breathes a heartbeat away from climax,
mouth draped carelessly over House�s temple, �Don�t waste your life away.�
House pets his head when his strength fails him after he comes,
cradling him close and not particularly caring about the soiled covers or the
delicious ache all over his body. He lets Wilson nuzzle his chin, lets the man
break down to pieces, safe in the knowledge he�ll be there to pick them up and
puzzle him back together again.
�It�s okay,� And really, it is, Wilson has saved his life far too
many times to count, and maybe House should have told him so, should have said
�thank you� far more than �of course�, but then maybe they wouldn�t be here,
straining to remain alive and whole when their world has bursted into flames so
bright not even ashes remain. �It�s alright.�
Maybe House should say he loves Wilson back, that he thinks about
him even at times when he shouldn�t, that his name is the first word that comes
to mind early every morning and his smile is the last thing House imagines
before going to sleep, that his eyes were the only thing he wanted to see
before he died. Maybe he should tell him�
But that would be too much like admitting he wants to be saved.
- 1
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How to save a life