Disclaimer: I don't own House M.D. nor the characters.
Chapter: Oneshot.
Author's Note: This was really just written for myself because I had to... but... I thought I'd share it with you kids. It's inspired by Sting's classical version of his song "Fields of Gold."
"I don't want you to go."
His fingers tugged against hers, entwined within them ever so slightly. She pulled her hand from his and clasped her own together in her lap.
"I can't stay."
"Please." He wished he had a concrete reason to get her to remain with him. "For now."
"Why do you want me here?" She was tired. And upset. And, of course, there was stress.
"Why wouldn't I want you here?" He replied, realizing just how close they were to each other as they sat on his couch.
Her fingers trailed lightly over the fabric of his shirt. She clutched onto the blue that matched his eyes, tightening the thin material around his bicep. Her lips were moistened and her eyes were wet. She blinked.
"I have to go."
"You're upset." His eyes lingered on her. "You're in no condition to drive."
"I... am fine."
She rose from the couch and straightened her spine. Without looking at him, she moved to the front door. She let herself out, shutting the door on the way, but she remained still once outside his door.
Thin fingers from two cold hands covered the heat rising to her face. Her tears spilled over and the door opened behind her.
"Come back inside." His voice was deep and rough, a contrast to the warmth of his hand as he placed it on her shoulder.
"There was time when I could hate you." She wasn't sure if she meant it as a joke.
He swallowed hard, his voice deep, "There was a time when I couldn't make you cry."
It wasn't a joke. She shrugged off his hand. "We're not a couple. We're not in a relationship... We never were."
"No," he agreed with her and paused. "We never were."
She turned, her face pained as she tried to hold back her tears. "Then... why does this feel so wrong?"
He hated the squelching of his heart and the shaking in the hand not resting on his cane. "Because... it is?"
"But, it isn't." She shook her head.
"You'll be fine." He placed a comforting hand to her arm. "You're scared. And tomorrow night, you'll be so happy that you won't even remember right now."
She swiped at the tears on her face and drew in a breath. "You're still going to come, right?"
"Right." He gave a nod and removed his hand.
She turned to go, stopped, and hesitated for a brief moment before looking back at him. Her lips parted and she spoke quietly as if saying it louder would have been more damaging. "Do you think this is wrong?"
He shook his head slightly and whispered, "No."
"Okay." She hesitated once more. "Okay. See you tomorrow, then."
"Goodnight," he told her.
"Goodnight." And she walked out of the apartment building.
He closed the front door behind himself and made his way over to the phone. He picked it up and dialed a number he had looked up the previous night.
"I'd like to book a flight for tonight. Anywhere. Chicago. That's fine."
The next day, she'll look for him, but he won't be among the crowd. The next day, he'll be wandering the streets of Chicago, thinking only of her. She'll miss his presence and he'll regret his innate ability to flee.
He won't be there to see the hurt on her face when she realizes he isn't there. He won't be there when she's joined in wedlock. And she'll walk down the aisle with her spouse and wonder if he had been there, if she had seen him there, if things would have taken a different path.
