How Could This Happen to Me?

Author - Cin
Beta-whore - None(written of my own free will!)
Note - I did this at about midnight, or somewhere around there. I got bored and I just started writing, I was listening to 'Untitled' by Simple Plan, and the broken House/Wilson relationship was the one that came to mind, so I decided to do a little something something to it. I don't own the show or the band, and you'd better get on your knees and thank whatever you believe in that I don't, because we'd all be in trouble. xD

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Untitled


I open my eyes
I try to see but I'm blinded by the white light
I can't remember how
I can't remember why
I'm lying here tonight

Gregory House took in deep, even breaths as he stared at his ceiling, taking in the fact that the bed was cold and almost pathetically lonely without his brown eyed companion laying next to him, sleeping with his mouth open in just the slightest way to create a soft snoring sound. He was deeply missed, and no matter what level of cynicism the brilliant doctor tried to drape over it, he knew the fact that the something missing from his bed was slowly going to drive him insane. It wasn't just the sex that the older man missed, even though he'd have sworn to the grave that was it. It was the bubbling laughter that seemed to fill the apartment, the sweet scent of God-only-knew-what cooking on the stove, the soft moans and panting in his ear as the two of them were locked in the midst of pleasure that Greg really missed. That moment where he was sure James would always whisper "I love you, Greg." that the diagnostician really missed.

And I can't stand the pain
And I can't make it go away
No I can't stand the pain

That pain, creeping up his arm, to his shoulder made House cringe. Yes, this was the way it was supposed to be. He was back to being miserable and in pain, just as the so called God dictated he should be. This delusion lasted about six seconds before that nagging voice in the back of the brilliant man's head whispered to him. "It's all in your head. You feel like shit for screwing over the one person who stuck by you no matter what." Greg sighed irritably and took another Vicodin, his second one in two hours, anything to shut that voice up. He couldn't listen to it anymore, because if there was one thing that drove Gregory House crazy, it was being wrong. Everything in his conscious mind screamed that he was doing the right thing, that Tritter would back down and Wilson would come back to him. That same voice assured him that he was wrong, and no level of cynical glory could tell him otherwise, because if there was one thing that the ice eyed man couldn't hide from, it was the truth.

How could this happen to me
I made my mistakes
I've got no where to run
The night goes on
As I'm fading away
I'm sick of this life
I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me

Another night listening to the clock ticking echoing against the almost empty bedroom walls. Another night where Gregory House faded away just a little bit more. This time, that voice wouldn't let him be with just a few haunting words. "You're hanging Wilson out to dry. Do something, or you'll lose him forever." These words and more keep buzzing around in his head, and he blindly gropes for the bottle of Vicodin next to the bed stand, dismayed to find there was none. Tritter cleaned him out, and there was no Dr. Wilson this time to prescribe him more pills for the pain, which now seemed deafening. No, he wouldn't scream. Not tonight. House was positive that he could hold out longer then that demented cop ever could. The thing that worried him, that kept him up even though he denied it with all his might, was his unsure attitude that James could hold out. A simple mistake. That's what he wanted it to be.

Everybody's screaming
I try to make a sound but no one hears me
I'm slipping off the edge
I'm hanging by a thread
I wanna start this over again

"What do you want me to do, turn myself in?!"

"YES! Do SOMETHING! Anything!"

The first screaming match. Was this what Wilson went through with his wives before they split up? House bit the inside of his lip as he looked into those normally sweet brown eyes, seeing nothing but ice. He tried to force himself to say something, anything. 'I'm sorry.' 'I love you.' 'If I had the choice, you wouldn't even be involved in this.' Anything. But nothing comes out, and for the first time in years, House feels helpless. Suddenly he's looking at the door to Wilson's office, and he can hear the bite in words the younger man said only seconds ago, even though it seems like so much longer. He grabs the handle and walks over the edge.

So I try to hold onto a time when nothing mattered
And I can't explain what happened
And I can't erase the things that I've done
No I can't

What wouldn't Gregory House give to be brought back to a time before he met the oncologist? To a time when he had his emotions in check, and his pain under control. Coming to grips with the situation, House wasn't even sure how he'd gotten there. He could always blame it on Tritter. All his fault, just as it had been Vougler a few years before. He could've blamed it on the way that James had stared at him with those big brown eyes, always worming his way into situations that had nothing to do with him. Worming his way closer to the brunette man. Every hypothesis led him back to the same conclusion. He was addicted to James Wilson, and there was nothing that could change that. There was also nothing that could change his hardheaded nature, or the fact that he wouldn't back down until he'd lost everything. "Haven't you already lost everything?" Asked the little voice in his head. Greg turned on his side and refused to acknowledge what he knew to be the truth.


How could this happen to me
I made my mistakes
I've got no where to run
The night goes on
As I'm fading away
I'm sick of this life
I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me

Gregory House is on his last thread of sanity. He can't stand the way the pillows still smell of the younger man's sweet shampoo, or the way that he can still smell the last meal that Wilson cooked for them. He leans against the whisky cabinet next to his grand piano, his eyes are bloodshot and he knows that if he were to move, he'd go down hard. The pain in his leg and shoulder had lowered to a dull ache under the hazed state the alcohol put him in. It wasn't enough to erase the pain that clutched his chest though. Suddenly, the aging doctor got the feeling that nothing would ever cure this clutch reality seemed to have over him.

I made my mistakes
I've got no where to run
The night goes on
As I'm fading away
I'm sick of this life
I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me

He is laying face first on the bed now, the glass still clutched in his hand as he tries so desperately to forget his face. His laugh. His voice, chiding and teasing. But no, the whiskey seems to only magnify these feelings. Suddenly the scents and memories are overwhelming. It's all too much, and he realizes he's hit rock bottom without Wilson there to catch him. Because he's fucked up again, but this time there was no going back, no pseudo-reasoning behind it, and no doubt what caused it. For the first time in a long time, Gregory House realized what he'd done, and regretted it. For the first time in a long time, he screamed until his lungs wore raw and there was nothing left in him. He passed out, and wandered through alcohol and vicodin induced dreams, where Wilson waited for him. The only place he'd see that smile plastered over the youthful face again, or the sparkling brown eyes, welcoming the sight of him.

As he lay on the bed that reminded him of the one person he regretted failing, Gregory House cried