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What's Unsaid


by sydneylover150


What's Unsaid sydneylover150 DISCLAIMER: I'm in college and I'm working two jobs to pay for it. I can only dream about owning one bit of these guys. Oh and the grammar and proper spelling all belong to my beta for this piece, gwena26 SPOILERS: Post-No Reason, thoughts of how season 3 will go .

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House stared down at Wilson sleeping on his couch and shook his head. Wilson had come over to celebrate House's four week without pain. He had drank so much alcohol that House had only had to ask Wilson once to stay. Now his friend was passed out on the couch.

Earlier in the evening Wilson had tried to convince House to talk to him about his feelings since he was now "drug-free;" Like that was ever going to happen. But sometimes House wondered why he just did not tell Wilson how he felt now and previously. It would be a lot easier than having to endure the pained and often exasperated looks directed towards him. Unfortunately, House being House was too stubborn to share his feelings. In fact, Wilson would probably have a coronary if House ever did share his feelings. But at the same time he was blocking any chances of Wilson getting to know him better than before. Not that House did not want Wilson to have a greater understanding of himself.

Wilson already knows me better than my own mother!

House feared, though, that even if James knew more about him, he still would not understand what it was like for Greg to be trapped inside his own mind.

That is why House stopped short at explaining after he had survived detox that the Vicodin only made him neutral and why it had been so important to be neutral for him.

Although Wilson pissing me off at the time had not helped matters.

There was no way that Wilson could have understood or even understand now the pain that sitting still had caused House everyday. And that pain did not even include the psychology pain that House's leg caused him; not that he admits that he does have any psychology pain. The pain had been sharp. The vicodin only dulled it and as his body developed a tolerance towards the medication, the period of relief dwindled from four hours to only two then only to hours at a time. It had required him to take twice as many pills that he had taken before just to reach a place where the pain would not distract him from his work.

Wilson only saw the addiction. He had not fooled House when a year and a half ago Cuddy betted House that he could not go a week without his pills. From the outsider's eye it appeared that the bet had been all Cuddy but at the bet's root, but it had been all Wilson. House had known that it was Wilson wanted him to stop taking the pills, so he had. He went cold turkey. House had admitted that he was an addict and he had seen the flash of relief and hope which appears in his friend's eyes. He knew that Wilson had wanted him to stop taking the pills because he believed it would be for his own good. Maybe that had been and still was Wilson's truth, but that was only a small part of the story that is House's misery. As much as Foreman believed that House had been abusing the pain medication, no one ever thought that House had been dependent upon them.

Or at least they had not act like it. His colleagues had seen that House refused to go into rehab to correct the "problem" and they had not and could not understand why House refused to correct the problem. They, especially Wilson, had not realized that House saw no way out of the problem. Not that House had or did care what anyone but Wilson thought of him, but he had to have medication to help ease the pain. No matter what alternative therapies Wilson suggested to him, they had been and still were crutches; just like that one commercial stated that glasses and contacts were crutches. They were band- aids, temporary fixes for a larger problem. And House's pain problem was not going to go away with chakras, massages and psychobabble.

Wilson thought the drugs had been what had changed House. But it hadn't been nor was it now only the drugs, as some studies suggested which had honed House's existing character. The emotional and physical trauma the injury that surrounded the amputation of most of his thigh muscle was what made him the man he is today. The delay in treatment, and the failure of his colleagues to discover what was wrong with him, the depression (Which I don't have!) and Stacy's betrayal of trust, Cuddy's suggestion of the middle ground and her inability to at least inform him of what Stacy was going to do caused him to mistrust humanity, and his colleagues. These events had fostered the growing bitterness that Wilson hated so much. House knew that Wilson, in all his optimism, had believed that once House was off the drugs, like he was now, that everything would go back to the way it was before. It was naive of Wilson to think so. The damage had been done. He couldn't trust people. He had seen them at their worst and had not liked what he had seen.

Wilson knew that House did not trust people; this fact was the only thing that seemed to get through the thick skull of optimistic friend. The fact that House acknowledge and lived willingly with his misery did not escape Wilson's attention either. This had been the reason why there had been such a big blow out when House had turned Stacy away. Wilson saw it as House wanting to maintain the thing that made him special, his misery. House had seen it as being human and caring what happened to another human being. Not something I'm proud of either.

Wilson honestly had believed that everything would be fine once Stacy and him were back together. Or at least that is what he had talked himself into believing. House had known that it would have only been a matter of weeks until things got as bad as they had been right after the infarction. Things might have been good at the beginning, but he had and still did have so many issues with Stacy and what she had done, that House knew that being together would only make them both miserable.

As Cuddy had pointed out, House had always been an ass. Wilson was and is blinded by his friendship and loyalty, because House had always been an ass. The infarction and the drugs only had honed House's bad characteristic. He sure as hell hadn't been fucking Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farms before the infarction. House still could not understand how Wilson managed to do a 180 from hating the idea of Stacy and House being together because it was an affair (like Wilson should be the one to talk), to him being all for it and yelling at House for not taking the opportunity. House was sure that Wilson had not understood his own 180 from wanting a relationship with Stacy to not wanting one.

It kind of helps when you realize that the guy your ex- girlfriend, hopefully to be present-girlfriend, has married proves that he is willing to give up more to make their relationship work. Still, House had not defended himself when his friend had yelled at him on the roof about it. House knew that Wilson could not understand.

Wilson's solution to everything was a woman. Relationship not going well? An affair will fix it all up. Either that or you can just stop going home. Wilson's avoidance of his own source of pain had been what had led to the Grace mess. No matter what Wilson believes House actually does care about Wilson's well being and job. Taking up with a patient is a big matter, there were lines even House would not and did not cross, but apparently Saint Wilson had no such qualms. Either Wilson had been too blind to see the damage he could have caused his own career or he just did not care. Wilson, who had complained that House needed to face and deal with his pain, could not even follow his own advice. At those times, House had to wonder if maybe Wilson was really the one who was screwed up.

Wilson has always said that House could change, become more like the person that he had once been; but House knew that even with the ketamine he could not go back to being that person. "It is always harder to go back," that was a phrase that House actually did believe in. And it was true for him. There was no way he could take back the years of pain; of growing drug dependency; of sarcasm and frustration Do I need to mention pain again? He had had to relearn how to walk and alter his world completely. Even those people that Wilson so carefully and tactfully mentioned that were living lives close to their old ones, were forever changed.

As for the one chance at a pain-free life or at least the life without painkillers that Wilson had wanted for him, House knew that dream was swiftly coming to a close. The pain once more edge back into his conscious mind. He had taken a chance. He had told Cuddy to give him the ketamine that Wilson and Cuddy had been going on and on about for months. He had already read about the treatment in the original German four weeks before Wilson or Cuddy had even mentioned it.

Of course I had known about the treatment before them. I just didn't want to give myself hope, only to have that hope ripped away from me, just like it was when I woke up for the coma after the infarction.

The ketamine treatment had worked, but the relief, apparently from pain, was brief; just as House had feared. House, contrary to Wilson's belief did not like to be in pain, nor did House like to be miserable. In fact, he liked very much not being in pain and not having the misery of the doctor's mistake six years ago being thrown in his face. The treatment that had allowed the hope to rush back into his friend's eyes was beginning to fail.

House could only imagine Wilson's reaction to House's news. Wilson and Cuddy would claim that it was all in his mind. That it was the dependency talking. But House knew with each passing day that his days without painkillers were once again coming to an end. He had tried to live without the painkillers before, although he had never told James. And he had tried alternative treatments.

Of course I didn't tell James. Who would ever believe that the Great Gregory House had had his chakras aligned? What was the point? They never worked, no matter how much I had wanted them to.

House sighed as he stared down at his friend on the couch. What Wilson never realized was that House did care about what he thought and about what stupid things James did that caused even Greg to cringe. James Wilson did not even realize the things Greg House did to spare him the fallout of his stupid mistakes. (Not that James ever admits to his own mistakes.) Nor did he truly realize the efforts Greg put into little things to make Wilson happy. Although House had wanted the ketamine, he had also asked for it take erase the sorrow from his friend's eyes.

Now everything was going to be in shambles again. Once again there was no way out; House would have to endure the pained, annoyed and sad looks radiating from his friend's eyes. He would need the pills again.

House shook his head. To the sleeping form, House whispered in his more mellowed baritone, "Jimmy, the things I do for you."

Taking one final look at his friend, House stopped thinking of ways of telling Wilson the experimental treatment had failed, because only a moment before he had heard his friend's shallow gasping breath.

el fin


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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.