Call Me When You're Sober

I've had the idea for this songfic in my head for about the last hour, and it won't leave me the hell alone, and since someone (cough cough Heather cough cough) Won't leave me alone till I've atleast attempted it, I'll start it. Angsty House/Wilson song to 'Call Me When You're Sober'. Don't like slash, don't fucking read it. italized=lyrics.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Don't cry to me, if you loved me, you'd be here with me.
You want me, come find me
make up your mind.


It was always the same with him, always. He'd come to him in the night, when the pain was the worst, and he was so stoned on vicodin he couldn't feel anything besides a delightful detachment. He'd pull him from the couch, insistant lips and teeth grazing his neck, tempting him back to his territory. He'd push him to the bed, possesively claiming every inch of his body. He'd have him arching off the bed, moaning his name and pulling at his hair, clawing at his back, anything to bring him back to earth from the dizzying heights the other would bring him to. But the next day, it would change. He wasn't James to him anymore, he was 'Jimmy, the boy wonder', best friend and sometimes annoying moral compass. It was almost all Wilson could do not to cry out when House would brush against him. He wanted to know why it was only when he was stoned that the crippled doctor would crawl to him, take him so passionately that it left the younger's head spinning, and crawl away just as soon as they'd come down from their highs.

Should I let you fall?
Lose it all?
So maybe you can remember yourself.
Can't keep believing,
We're only deceiving ourselves .
And I'm sick of the lie,
And you're too late.

There were times when he wanted to tell him no. Hell, if James Wilson would be completely and utterly honest with himself, he was always trying to tell him no. The sex was great, no denying it, but he wanted more. It'd been nothing but sex for the last year after his divorce, and he was pretty sure he was ready to move on and get back into the serious category of relationships. And if he was going to start thinking rationally now, would a relationship with a vicodin abusing, self-loathing, son of a bitch really solve his need of love? He shook his head, a rueful smile playing across his face. No, it wouldn't.

Don't cry to me, if you loved me, you'd be here with me.
You want me, come find me
make up your mind.

Now he was at the door to Greg House's office, but he was hesitating. If he walked in here, if he brought up what they did, what would happen? House could deny it, if he was high enough when he came to him, he might not even remember. He slowly turned the handle, stepping softly into the office. He slowly raised his eye level to that of House, his soft brown eyes meeting cold, blue steel. A sardonic smirk graced the other, and he motioned for Wilson to sit on the sofa.
"I was wondering when you'd question me, Jimmy." The oncologist's head, which had been hung before, now snapped up. So he knew why he was here. No suprise, the older man could always read him like an open book. "So you want to know why I'm using you as my fuck toy, huh?" James shook his head, wincing slightly at the way House had referred to him as a 'fuck toy'. The boy wonder smiled bitterly.
"If I had to venture a guess, I'm just another way to fight the pain, am I right?" House raised an eyebrow to this, his smirk turning slowly into a bitter smile of his own.
"Atleast now you've come to terms with it, it'll make things here at work so much more smooth." This earned him a bitter bark of a laugh from Doctor James Wilson, and he looked momentarily confused. Wilson stood, shaking his head and quaking with a mixture of laughter and sobs.
"I think I could have been inlove with you, you know. I came to your bed, willingly, every night. I wanted to...God, I'm not even sure what I wanted anymore!" He took the last few shakey steps to the office door, stopping to steady himself on the handle. "When you get home, I won't be there." He turned, looking at the now slightly angered diagnostics expert in a sort of bittersweet victory. "It must be so horrible, to be losing a plaything, because if what you said earlier is true, then I'm nothing but a plaything to you, right?" House stood, his eyes set in a glare of cold blue ice.
"That's bullshit, Jimmy, and we both know it." Once again, the bark-like laugh issued from Wilson's lips.
"But it's not, House! You only want me when you're hyped up on vicodin, and when no one else will ever know about it! You hide me, like a dirty secret in the back of a closet! But no more. Me and my stuff will be out of your hair by the time you get off clinic duty." With this last note, James slammed the door.


Couldn't take the blame.
Sick with shame.
Must be exhausting to lose your own game.
Selfishly hated,
No wonder you're jaded.
You can't play the victim this time,
And you're too late.
Don't cry to me.
If you loved me,
You would be here with me.
You want me,
Come find me.
Make up your mind.

He took the cardboard box from the stoop of the porch to his car, sighing in exhaustion as he layed it in with the other numerous boxes he'd spent all afternoon removing from their confines in Greg House's apartment. He stiffened, hearing the roar of a motorcycle suddenly pull up and immediately die. He didn't have to turn to know who it was.
"Put your stuff back inside, Jimmy, we both know you're not going anywhere." The oncologist pretended not to hear him, going back up and taking another box from the porch, sitting in again inside the car with the others. It wasn't till House had gotten himself up and off the bike and over to him that he'd finally stopped, and only when House had hit his knuckles, hard, with his cane.
"I'm leaving, haven't we already discussed this?"
"You're not leaving! I can't let you." James pushed House away, the crippled one falling onto the ground, holding his leg in pain as he glared up at Wilson.
"You only want me to stay because I'm leaving. You only say you want me, and you did, with your last statement, because I'm breaking it off. You were the same way with Stacy, you wouldn't quit till she said she was still inlove with you, and now you're trying to do the same to me!" He picked up the cane he'd heard thumping down the halls on so many ocassions, and threw it harshly onto the lap of its owner. He walked over to his car, finally having all the boxes and possesions in place, and got inside. He looked back out at the man sitting on the ground, the man he thought he'd been falling inlove with, with almost utter disgust. "Try calling me when you can be with me when you're not fucked up."

You never call me when you're sober.
You only want it cause it's over,
It's over
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Yes, I realize the ending sucks, but hey, it could have been worse. R and R, but please, no flames, constructive critisism.
Also, the lyrics were italized at one point, but uploading it here somehow messed it up, but hopefully everyone can tell what are the lyrics and what aren't.