"What are you still doing here?" House asked as he stuck his head around Wilson's doorway.
It was well past the time Wilson would normally have gone home, and there was none of the usual paperwork on his desk to occupy him. Instead Wilson was slowly moving his hand over, of all things, a stuffed dog. It took a long moment for him to turn to face House.
"What?" Wilson said, seemingly oblivious to what House had said.
"Why are you still here? You must have been off for a couple of hours already."
Wilson shook his head, seemingly to clear it.
"I, um…I was just packing up my stuff to head home," Wilson said, standing and removing his lab coat.
"No you weren't," House said, a snort of laughter escaping him, "I know you're the sweet and sensitive type, but come on, even you're too old for stuffed animals, aren't you?"
Wilson did not reply, but merely finished hanging up his lab coat. Once he had done that he gently, almost reverently, picked up the stuffed dog from his desk and placed it upon one of the numerous shelves set against the back wall of his office.
House watched this strange ritual and would have laughed if not for the haunted look on Wilson's face. As House looked more closely at the shelf behind Wilson he noticed a kind of menagerie of stuffed animals, crude drawings, and various hardened Play-Doh sculptures. House was beginning to realize that something was definitely not right.
"I'll see you tomorrow, House," Wilson said flatly, turning around to make his way past the older man.
"Hey," House said, before Wilson could make it through the door, "what happened?"
Wilson stilled, House's voice seemingly interrupting Wilson's automatic movements. He did not speak, however. After a long moment he placed his hand on the nearest wall, as if bracing himself. It seemed to take a massive effort for Wilson to reply.
"I don't want to talk, House. Not now."
"Oh, come on," House said sardonically, "you're here after hours playing with a stuffed dog like a five-year-old and you don't expect me to wonder?"
"Wonder all you want," Wilson said, and now his voice was hard and cold. Turning to face House fully House was stunned at the look on his friend's face. Whatever lethargy had been pulling at Wilson was washed away under the force of something much more powerful.
"If you must know, and of course you do, I wasn't playing. That dog was named Gus. You want to know who named him that? A little boy named Michael. Who is he? My patient, who as it happens is five. Or I should say was. I know you always like to have your facts clear so in the interest of full disclosure I should tell you he died this afternoon."
"Wilson-" House began, distinctly uncomfortable.
"No, no, no, this is good, I mean God forbid there's anything that happens in my life you don't know!" Wilson growled, now moving to stand nose to nose with House.
"I'd diagnosed him with terminal neuroblastoma six months ago. I didn't think he had two. But that kid fought like no one I'd ever seen. I was with the parents when he died today and they were destroyed, House. You know what they said to me?"
House shook his head, speechless.
Wilson was crumbling now under the force of his emotion.
"They said thank you," Wilson said brokenly, "for taking care of him."
Wilson took several deep, cleansing breaths to regain his composure.
"So I was looking at the stuffed dog he gave me and trying to remember how the hell I do this job every day when all that seems to happen is that I watch my patients die. He was just a kid, House."
House was completely unable to offer any solace, any comfort at all. The truth was that House could not do what Wilson did. Wilson knew all his patients, got involved with their lives and their families and, tragically, watched many of them die. Wilson was by and large an extremely successful oncologist and had many people who owed their cancer-free status to him but a high mortality rate went with the territory no matter how talented the oncologist.
"So go ahead, House," Wilson continued bitterly, opening his arms like an invitation, "go ahead and call your friend the wonder-boy oncologist if you want, but you'll know better after this."
House said nothing until his hand was on the doorknob and he was facing away from Wilson. When he spoke his voice was quiet.
"You'll always be the wonder boy, whether you think you can be or not."
Turning to lock eyes with Wilson he continued.
"Why else do you think the parents thanked you?"
Without waiting for an answer House made his way through the door, leaving Wilson once again alone. Despite his earlier determination to go home, it was some time before Wilson left the solitude of his office.
A/N: OK, this one requires a little explanation...
First off, if it sucks I'm sorry, it was done totally on impulse...
I live in the Chicagoland area and there's a radio station here (101.9 The Mix) which is doing a 36-hour radiothon today and tommorow benefitting a local hospital (Children's Memorial) which is one of the top children's hospitals in the country. I couldn't help but feel inspired by the stories they tell and Wilson's character popped into my head (many of the stories were kids fighting cancer).
Et voila! :)
P.S. You can pledge to the radiothon online by searching for the radio station... :)
P.M. me if you'd like the details