Breaking Up

by frugal.squirrels

I suck at summaries, I do, I do. However, this is a sad one, guys, about House and Wilson breaking up. Just a warning, this is my first story, and therefore, not that good at all, really. Still, not terribly bitter reviews would be appreciated, of course.

I do not own House, M.D. or anything involving it for that matter. If I did, the episodes would turn into nothing but a HousexWilson love fest :).

Wilson looked around the apartment. 'It feels so odd,' he thought to himself, 'so inexplainably wrong.' He slapped the door handle with his palm, glanced from his bags to the closet door, the closet door to the coat rack, the coat rack to House's cane hanging upon it. 'It feels so wrong,' he screamed in his mind, 'he's here and I'm leaving, and he's in his bedroom and I'm in the hallway, and there are no sarcastic comments, there are no sad goodbyes, and there's, there's, there's,' Wilson's mind raced, 'there's nothing. ... Where did it all go?'

He asked himself again, wishing he knew more than he did and wishing he didn't know what he already knew. He remembered what had happened, obviously. He remembered House explaining how he found out, he remembered the argument -the throwing of pills, the blood, the pain in his chest, the pain in his eyes-, he remembered the downfall, but he didn't remember the break-up. Looking back, he still didn't know what had made that "the argument" to end it. They had had fights before -arguments, brawls, even. There had been times cold-shoulder silences seemed like they would go on forever; there were physical outbursts that could have qualified for abuse, but whatever it was -no matter how many hours the script from the "L-Word" was the only conversation that could be heard, no matter how many bruises and slap marks Wilson let soak in chamomile bath, and how many bottles of Vicodin had been thrown out the window or flushed down the toilet-, they persisted, they fixed it, they moved on. House would crack a stupid joke, and Wilson would cover his mouth to hide his smirk. House would take his hand, and they would both end up on the floor, laughing, together. At the end of the night, it would be House who ran Wilson the chamomile bath, and Wilson would be the one trekking out to buy more Vicodin.

What had happened this time to make it end so different?