What if he had not answered?
Disclaimer: I do not own House or Wilson or any other character.
Please review. English is not my mother tongue and I hope spelling, grammar and punctuation are okay. I am still looking for a beta for a longer story, so please let me know if you are interested. Thanks!
"I got no kids, my marriage sucks... I only have two things that work for me: This job and this stupid screwed up friendship. And neither mattered enough to you to give one lousy speech!" James Wilson stood behind his desk. He felt exhausted and sick. His best friend – or so he had thought until now – stood before him. Gregory House looked at him with a mixed expression of surprise and sadness. Wilson hoped for an answer, waited to hear that this friendship did matter, but he knew better than to expect a sign of fondness from House. Helplessly he tried to catch House's eyes, but his friend and colleague turned away and left his office wordlessly.
Wilson felt the tears filling his eyes, but did not allow them to fall. He blinked them away furiously and stuffed a wooden picture frame into the box before him. He pushed the lid onto the box and glanced around at the empty shelves one last time. This job was his life. He had sacrificed three marriages to his job. Wilson had always worked hard for his patients. He loved to talk to them, loved to see their happy faces when he had good news and he felt needed when they clung to him in their most desperate moments. But now he had lost all this and the one and only friend he had. The one he clung to when he needed someone had just turned his back on him. Wilson's world was turned upside down. He grabbed his coat and left his office, not noticing that he had forgotten his belongings in the accurately packed box.
The tears came the moment James Wilson left the hospital. No one on the elevator or in the hall had spoken to him, although he had felt some curious, pitying looks behind his back. The faultless, always correct Dr. Wilson had been fired. He had been a part of this hospital all his working-life and this hospital had been a part of him, a big part. Now this part was missing. He was not whole anymore. But what weighed even more was the loss of his friend. Of course House wasn't an easy going guy, but Wilson had counted on him. For more than eight years he had leaned on House's friendship, just like House had leaned on his cane.
Blinded by the tears Wilson stumbled to his car and slammed the door shut behind him. He rested his forehead against his hands on the steering wheel, waiting for the tears to stop coming. Pictures of House and him whirred in his head and Wilson sobbed heavily. He reached out his hand as if to find House on the frontpassenger's seat, but his fingers only clutched the air and his arm fell limply on the empty seat.
When the sobbing and the desperation didn't stop, Wilson turned the key. The motor howled and he felt like howling along with it.
No one stopped him as he slowly left the parking lot, no matter how often Wilson glanced back through the rearview mirror. Automatically he steered his car to the small house where he and Julie lived. He stopped at the driveway, but couldn't make himself to get out. This marriage was dead, as dead as he felt right now. Again, he found that he didn't love Julie enough. He had not believed her and he did not believe himself, but he knew deep inside that his work and Greg House mattered - and Julie didn't. She was just another woman in his world that showed up and disappeared again. She had never been important enough to cancel a shift when she was sick at home or to tell House he wouldn't be able to come over, when his friend offered a men's evening with tv and Chinese food.
The curtains moved a little and Wilson knew Julie would look out of the window, eyeing him suspiciously. He slammed the shift into reverse gear and drove off.
Route 35 went straight on and Wilson hardly looked at the street. He still tried to see any reason why he was alive or anything worth living for. He could not think of anything. All his life he had worked for his dream: a family, a good job and friends. Nothing of that was left. Wilson himself had destroyed his marriage and Vogler had taken care of the rest. But was it really Vogler? Wilson knew he could have started anew with a job in another hospital, but what good was another job if he couldn't share his thoughts and days with House?
The new Victory Bridge shone brightly and the sunlight burned in Wilson's eyes. He stopped the car at the side of the street and got out in a trance. He hardly recognized where he was and just went on toward the shining white concrete of the side-walk. Some tears still trickled down his cheeks, but the heavy sobbing had stopped. Although he blinked from the sunlight, Wilson felt like walking through a tunnel. Everything felt so dark. Not frightening, but empty. Why had House not stayed at his side, why did he let him fall. Wilson reached one hand out again, trying to get hold of House, but all he could grab was the balustrade.
Cars went passing by, their drivers just as ignorant of his condition as House was. House. Why did everything center around him? Wilson couldn't understand, but didn't try either. House had always been at his side, mocking him, tormenting him even, but with every comment he had shown Wilson what was going on, no matter if he was talking about Wilson's marriages or his relation to patients. Wilson had lived for every word from his friend, for every memory and every secret they shared. Except for Stacy no one had ever been close to House and Wilson felt special about it. Now House had neglected him and there was nothing special about Wilson anymore. In fact there was nothing about him at all. He did not exist anymore.
Wilson felt the dark closing in. He shivered from the cold he felt on his skin despite the warming sunshine.
The middle of the bridge came nearer and the street got steeper. Wilson panted a little, but went on nonetheless. Finally his steps came to a halt. He looked dazzingly down at the calm water. The slow flowing and the little swirls hypnotized him and made him forget everything else. He stood there for a while and just stared into the water. He had no idea how long he was standing there: seconds, minutes, hours, an eternity. It felt all the same. He cocked the head to one side. Was there a picture of House in the water? He leaned forward and glanced at the reflections. The picture was gone and Wilson blinked again. It had been there. He wiped the tears from his eyes that blinded him and looked again. There it was.
"Why," Wilson whispered and felt the tears coming again. The picture was gone again. Wilson just needed an answer. He leaned on the balustrade and swung one leg over, steadied himself, climbed over completely and turned, grabbing the balustrade with both hands, staring down into the water below him.
"Why?" he asked again. He lift one hand and pinched the back of his nose, swaying dangerously. He waited for House's picture to answer, but the water just kept its constant flow, taking the answer with it.
The muffled sound of tires sounded in Wilson's ears, but he didn't pay attention. The flashing blue and red lights of the police cars fell on his back and his arm. Someone seemed to talk to him from far away, but Wilson could hardly hear it. He still stared at the dark water with the silver white spots that the sun burned into the tip of the small waves. House's picture was gone for good. Even this fleeting illusion of his friend had left him. His answer – if ever given – had been washed away with the flow. The height and the streaming water seemed to suck Wilson down, made him feel heavy. His hand clutched to the rough stones of the balustrade, barking his skin. Wilson closed his eyes. His fingers, wet from cold sweat, slowly lost their grip, leaving skin on the stones. A feeling of complete loneliness surrounded him as he felt himself falling into a deep, black hole. The walls closing in onto him, he couldn't hold himself upright any longer.
He let go, his fingers sliding over the stone and forming a fist, when a firm hand pressed against his chest. Wilson could not breath anymore.
"They matter," House said as he nuzzled Wilson's face against his shoulders. Wilson leaned into the rough embrace and started sobbing again.