Disclaimer: I do not own House, MD, that is owned by Fox (I think). Nor do I own Wilson. Sadly. :
Dr. James Wilson never got what he really wanted.
The whole hospital knew it. He hadn't gotten the job he wanted; the place he had originally applied for turned him down. He hadn't gotten the best friend that he wanted; House could barely be called a "friend" at all. And when he had finally fallen in love, he hadn't been able to have her either. Amber was gone now, leaving James Wilson alone, once again. He had never really expected a "happily ever after" or anything, but the engagement ring he had in his jacket still spoke otherwise. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. It was no lie to say that he had been down the marriage block before – his ex-wives were evidence of that. But with Amber, it had been so different. There was a spark, a fire, something he never got bored of.
James Wilson always got bored.
That spark had died, and he wanted to hate House. Wanted to loathe him with every fiber of his being, kill him, show him how much he had hurt him by taking away the most beautiful thing in his life. Maybe if House had remembered quicker, there would have been time to save her! Maybe – but there was no maybe's left for him to give. He knew. There was no cure. She was going to die, and when it came down to it, he had appreciated that she died in his arms, with him, after so many hours of kissing and talking, loving each other and promising that everything would be okay.
Things no longer seemed like they would ever be okay.
"James?"
A female tone with the subtle hint of authority and sadness broke the silence and darkness of his office. The last place he had left, the place where he could be alone.
He did not answer, preffering to stay silent in the face of his boss, knowing that his work had been less than up to par lately. He could not leave, couldn't bear to go home to his empty apartment, the apartment he had once shared with her. Her note was tucked away in his pocket, and was well worn from frequent readings. It had smelled like her, once, the clean scent of cotton and lavender, but now it was just dirty, and that was another fault. He could not forgive himself for not preserving the last bit of her he had.
"James, you have to come out of your office. Please. We're all worried about you."
The voice intruded on his thoughts again, and from his position in the desk chair, he squinted over to the door, where the light was coming from. Come out? Was she crazy? House had woken up with no ill effects, and was waltzing around; Wilson knew he couldn't face him. Not after …
A flashback struck his mind, and he flinched.
"I'm fine, Dr. Cuddy."
He wasn't fine. He never called her "Doctor Cuddy". Just Cuddy, he was like House in that respect. The woman in the doorway looked taken aback, and frowned slightly, almost as though she was going to say something else, and then just looked sad. Of course she looked sad- everyone was sad. Hell, Cameron and Foreman had barely known Amber, and they were sad. Thirteen, as House had dubbed the woman, looked like a ghost now, and was said to be mugging around acting as though she was about to walk into a wall. The hospital was in shock, and so was Wilson.
"I'm turning the light on, at least do that."
Cuddy was always true to her word, so true. The blinding fluorescent made him flinch again and blink a couple times, and he turned around to look at the picture of Amber he had on his desk, rubbing the glass as though he could touch her again, feel her with him. There was nothing there, not anymore, and Wilson was afraid; so afraid. The moment he forgot to think about her, the moment she would truly be gone, and he could not allow that to happen. She would live, even if only in his memory, and it would consume him, though he didn't care. He had no life, not without her.
A knock on the door.
Why was everyone bothering him today?