Just, And Then Not

by ajc-az.jmd3

House after Kutner's death, and how he *doesn't* deal with it *not* on his own. Then there's the same scene from Wilson's pov. And then there's me deciding if I should write some more... *cough* The rating might maybe change maybe.

1. Just, And Then Not

He stopped thinking after about half an hour in Kutner's house. He just sat on the bed and stared at pictures – just stared. He flipped through them all God only knew how many times before he went home. He didn't give up, no, just went home.

He rode home on his motorcycle, so numb and thoughtless he didn't even speed or run red lights or cut people off. He just drove. He didn't think about it, just drove. He limped through the front door, his cane tapping on the stairs, with his eyes in a faraway place. No one had ever followed him to that place. He wasn't really even there, either, he just was. Wasn't anything in particular, just was.

He stood by the couch, numbly, and just stared around at his house. Didn't take any of it in, just stared. Didn't really see what was there, just looked. Just numb. And then not.

House kicked the nearest thing to his foot, realizing only as pain raced up his whole side that it was the wrong foot to kick with. But he didn't care. No, he didn't care one bit, and he dropped his cane carelessly on the floor with a clatter and limped heavily into the bathroom.

He looked at himself in the mirror for a while. He looked in the mirror and he didn't see anything. Didn't see, just looked. Wasn't as if there was anything in there worth seeing anyway. No, he just looked.

And then he punched the glass because he didn't want to look and not see anymore. He just wanted everything to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. His fist bled. He didn't care. He didn't care and he didn't feel, only bled. Worthless. He turned away from the broken bloody glass and beat his head against the tiled wall. And then didn't. Because Wilson was there, and his soft hand was gentle on House's shoulder and House turned away from the wall and glared, hard.

"Why?" he snarled. His teeth were gritted. Wilson only blinked at him, teary-eyed, and seeing Wilson pathetic made House feel pathetic as well and that didn't even make any sense. Hate. He hated it.

"Why?" he shouted again, and punched the wall with his bloody fist, and it hurt and he didn't give any kind of fuck at all. And his leg decided to spasm and he fell and Wilson caught him and told him he was stupid and the words of the sentence clashed with the tone of it and since when could Wilson do that? House didn't know. He didn't know, just was. And sometimes, he wished he wasn't.