* Hi. This is my first Hilson fan fiction although I've been reading and writing them for some time this is the first I have actually published. This is set after season five. Please review and give me your honest opinion. This is all in Wilson's point of view. 2nd Person.
CHAPTER 1
In Four Months Time
You sit on the couch in the apartment you and House used to share. You stare at the television set not really watching the images flickering across the screen in a combination to prove of a very stupid and disinteresting program. I sound like Greg You thought. You had always called him Greg, just never to his face. You sigh sadly as you brush away the few stay tears that had some how managed to escape from your eyes and slide in icy lines down your cheeks.
It had been four months since you had left House at Mayfield, and you had not heard a word from him. No letters, no phones calls; zilch, nothing, zero. It was as if he had never existed. Well, of course you still had his medical file, and his doctor called you regularly to let you know of his progress (mostly because you were listed as his attending, medical proxy, and basically his only family). But not a word from your BEST FRIEND in four months! That was only part of why you were so depressed. Only part. The other was that you were finally accepting the fact that you were in love with him. Yes, that's right, you are in love with, the one, the only, Gregory House, your very best friend. Through marriage and divorce, Amber, death, and pretty much anything he had always been there for you, in his own very original way, and vice versa. He was your constant.
When you had told Cuddy about you finally admitting your feeling for said diagnostician she had pressed you to tell him as soon as he was out of there, and you were starting to agree with her. You wanted- No, you downright neededhim. But fear of his rejection and loosing him completely haunted your mind day and night. What were you going to do? You stood and walked toward the door of your apartment, down the hall, and into the elevator. You press the button to the ground floor and wait as the elevator slid down the shaft and the doors opened. You walked into the lobby and, as you stood outside the public mail slots, you reached into your pocket and grabbed the key to your and House's slot. You shoved into the lock and snatched up the mail that was in it. You made your way back to your apartment. You sifted through it as you entered and dropped most of it on an end table. One letter remained in your hand. It was addressed to Jayme Wilson. You hadn't been called that in forever. But it was the return address that mad you tear it open as fast as you can.
Greg House
Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital
Mayfield, New Jersey
72003
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Dear Jayme,
It's been a while since I called you that, hasn't it? I've been reluctant to write you because, well… I don't know what to write. I've always kept everything bottled inside. Like you once said: I'm an emotional guy, I just don't like to show it. People think I'm a misanthropic ass of a bastard who doesn't give a shit about anyone. I do care, I guess I'm just too much of a coward to show it. If people think I don't care, then, it's less easy for them to hurt you…I guess. I'm an ass, yeah, I know.
There is another reason why I'm writing this. And I have to admit, I'm scared shitless at the thought of you actually reading this. My hand is shaking and no matter how much I try, I can't make it stop. I guess I'm too much of a coward to tell you this in person. So, I'm just going to get to the point.
I Love You.
I'm In Love With You.
I always have been, I guess. I was always too afraid of rejection ad loosing you completely to ever get up the courage to tell you in person. I almost have a number of times. What do I mean by this confession? I guess it means that I…I want a relationship. With You.
I'm being released Monday, December 7th, 2009. I'm almost 98% sure that my love, that my feelings for you…are not reciprocated. I sort of do hope that this letter gets lost because… I really do need you.
The ball's in your court. You can either show up at 10 am, if I'm wrong, and God, do I hope I'm wrong! Or you can send Cuddy if I was right with the 98% thing. Then, I will never bother you again, even though it just might kill me. I'm not saying, or writing, this as a joke. I am In Love with you. As in like a fairytale, as in like forevermore.
I need you to know some things:
Through the infarction, Stacy, Police, Amber, all four of your wives, my father(sort of)'s Death, and pretty much anything and everything you have always been there for me, and vice versa (sort of).
You are, and always have been, my constant.
No matter what happens, I will always love you.
I don't care if you hate me (well, yeah, I guess I sort of do, but..) No matter what, I will always love you, and that will Never change.
I've proved my own statement wrong: I have changed, for the better, I hope.
I wish and hope that I'll see you November, but, chances are I wont.
I'm sorry I'm to much of a coward to say this face to face.
I'm sorry for being an ass.
I'm sorry for not being a good friend.
I'm sorry for ruining, if not all, most of your life.
But the one thing I'm not sorry for is being in love with you, and I hope your not either.
If I never get to talk to you again, I need you to know that:
You are a good friend.
You are not perfect, but you're a hell of a lot of a better man then I am.
You are perfect to me.
That this is the most cheesiest thing I have EVER wrote (or said, or anything, for that matter), but some how I don't really mind.
You are a sweet, caring, sensitive, companionate, intelligent, and perfectly capable person.
I do not deserve you as a friend or anything more.
And that I love you more than anything or anyone (even Stacy) and I always will.
Love,
Gregory.
You stared at the letter in disbelief, reading it over and over again. Gregory had just stated, or written, exactly how you felt about him. Tears ran down your face and somehow they didn't feel so icy as you ran your finger over each of the lines. You couldn't believe it. By the way the letter was written you knew that Greg had changed. You now knew what to do. First, call Cuddy and tell her about the letter. Second, restock the fridge and clean the apartment. The letter must have gotten lost because tomorrow was December 7th.
After you had done all that you showered and dressed. You took the letter, which you had carefully folded and put back in the envelope, off the dresser. You slid it under the pillow on your bed and then crawled under the covers. For the first night in four months you slept peacefully and dreamed sweetly. You were going to tell him.
You want him,
You need him,
You love him…
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