Her Name Was

Summary: "He just couldn't take these silences. The deafening quiet of two people who have nothing to say to one another, but so desperately wish that they did." How Wilson got from the perfect life to House's porch. No Slash. (I know, I'm a bit sad by this prospect myself... –wink-)

Disclaimer: Characters, basic concepts and anything you recognize don't belong to me. More's the pity. I tried to get Fox and David Shore to give them to me... Did the puppy eyes and everything. No dice.

Author's Note: So, I don't write. I get the feeling that this should become pretty obvious to everyone about, oh say, two sentences into this. But, I've had this idea that's been eating at me for a while now. I waited in vain for another, far more talented, House-obsessed individual to do something similar with this idea to comfort the plot-bunny-that-won't-die, but I haven't seen anything yet. Not saying that it isn't out there, but I've looked everywhere I could think of and got... Nada. So, in order to appease the bunny before it starts becoming violent, here's the prequel to what I have in mind. Maybe posting this will be enough for the furry thing to leave me be, and I shant have to torture the innocents further to keep it from hurting me.

Be forewarned- Ahead lay Wilson-angst.

Thank you and enjoy!

EDIT 2-1-07: Just a quick fixing of basic grammatical and spelling errors (at least the ones that I caught).

---

Her Name Was

---

After 3 years, 8 months and 12 days, it had finally come to this.

James Edward Wilson, Boy Wonder Oncologist, standing outside of Gregory House's apartment at eleven o'clock at night, freezing his ass off and waiting for the limping twerp to get off of his butt and let him in. It would be a lie if he said he didn't expect to end up here, eventually. It was just unfortunate that it had to be now.

After all, Julie really had tried.

---

A homemade dinner, spectacular in every aspect of construction. Chicken breast that had been marinated for hours, homegrown vegetables that had stewed for just as long and bread taken from the best bakery in the city. The table was covered in their finest tablecloth, the candles in their crystal holders, taken out of their box for the first time in their marriage, were burning brightly. It was perfect, romantic, beautiful... and also completely hopeless.

Maybe Julie didn't see it for what it was, but Wilson certainly did.

The last ditch effort, the last resort and the last chance.

He had sensed it coming for months now, and if he was completely honest with himself, for years.

James and Julie had met at a party of a mutual friend. Said friend had practically forced them both into a room, made quick introductions, and then abruptly left, shooing everyone else away from the two and shutting the door behind them. And really, no one could blame her for the assumption that Julie Waters and James Wilson would make a good couple. They were both smart, almost frightfully so, underappreciated by family, friends and coworkers, and fiercely dedicated to their work. Anyone could have been, and was, fooled into believing that they had more in common than they actually did, including the lovebirds themselves.

There was a mild interest, more for the sake of politeness rather than because they were actually intrigued, but beyond that not much was spurring their marriage on. At least, nothing that had anything to do with one another. Julie, without a doubt, had outside pressures urging her to get married, and to get married quickly. Her family had expectations, expectations she was not meeting. With one sister and two brothers, Julie was labeled the disappointment of the family, despite her impressive achievements outside of the personal. Her family was not interested in her skyrocketing career; all they saw were her siblings married, all either with children or expecting one shortly, and then Julie. Alone. And that was all they were really interested in.

Even at work, with her job as head economic advisor for Jonathan Pratt (the billionaire computer-chip mogul), she could sense the disdain and mockery that followed her once her fellows saw her ring-less finger. A man who wasn't married but successful was a bachelor, but a woman in the same position was a spinster, too cold, stiff and uptight to be concerned with family. She knew the stereotype, and she couldn't fail to notice the pitying glances she received daily from those who worked under her. Instead of respect, she was given sympathy, and that wouldn't do.

Wilson was different. James wanted to be married and for no one save himself. His family held firm to the belief that his life was his own, for him to do with what he wished. As for pressures from the workplace, the practice of medicine was a lonely profession, stealing away loved ones from family dinners to run tests and perform surgeries, making any relationships at all difficult to maintain. No, his wanting to be married was one of the few things that Dr. Wilson wanted for himself.

The concept of marriage was one he admired greatly, and the possibility that he might have a bond of such strength, devotion and selflessness with another person was what kept him trying to form it. Even if it was something he no longer deserved.

Because James Wilson did, at one time, have everything he ever wanted.

---

Her name was Sara, and she was perfect. She was a small woman, mousy even, with brown hair and eyes and delicate features, barely coming up to Wilson's shoulders in heels. She was quiet and shy around strangers, hiding in corners and empty rooms during the parties her dorm mates held year-round. At the end of their Senior year just such a party was taking place and Wilson, attempting to avoid an ex determined to have one last fling before graduate school, had ducked into what he assumed to be a vacant room. And that's where he met her, hiding from the chaos and the noise of the everyday, shelter from the storm.

After many months of wooing and coaxing, he was finally able to convince her into going on a date with him. Wilson soon learned that as shy and meek as she was in public, Sara was just as full of life and energy once she was alone with him, tugging his hair and calling him "Jimmy" as they stayed up all night talking and drinking wine.

When they went to the same graduate school, both to become doctors, he was able to convince her that he loved her, because she was not the sort to believe these things readily and needed convincing. And he did. With every fiber of his being, Jimmy loved her.

Then he was able to convince her that she loved him too, because she was never one admit these things easily and had to prove it to herself. By the time he began his residency, Jimmy had even convinced her to marry him.

And while it lasted, they were deliriously happy with one another. Neither could find fault with their counterpart and neither wanted to. They made plans for their future, talking of kids and houses and pets, the only thing stopping them from carrying them out being their residencies. "One more year, Jimmy," she'd say with a smile, "then we'll have everything we ever wanted." A raised eyebrow. "If we can ever make enough money to get out of debt."

But then, before they could see these plans through, a new nurse came to the hospital, a tall woman with red hair and sad eyes. She had needed help settling in, and he had done all he could for her, showing her around and eating lunch with her, answering all of her questions. And when she had needed something more from him months later, Jimmy had given her that too. Because she made him feel funny, gave him chills.

When it was over, she had thanked him and gone on her way, only to wave at him as they passed each other in the halls on occasion.

He hadn't meant to tell Sara what happened. It didn't matter, had meant nothing and would never occur again. He loved Sara, never wanted to hurt her, couldn't believe he had done something that he knew would. He could already feel the guilt eat at him, decaying his insides and causing him to despise himself.

Later that day he had meant to say, "The milk's gone bad," but it came out, "I slept with someone else."

She had frozen in place across the room for several moments, and then given him a look of such utter despair and disappointment that it nearly killed him.

"Oh Jimmy," and one tear slid down her small cheek.

She was gone by morning.

After 2 years, 10 months and 23 days of marriage, and over 6 years of loving her, she was gone.

---

Her name was Elise, and she had never been perfect, but for a while, she was what he needed. Gorgeous, with a voluptuous figure, black hair and the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen, she could almost make him forget about Sara. Outspoken and creative, exciting and exotic, Elise had attracted him to her in a bar one night with her playful banter and seductive charms. He had just begun at the oncology department at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, just begun to hear whispers about the brilliant doctor Gregory House and just begun to believe that if he could forget about Sara, he wouldn't miss her.

That night Wilson took Elise home to his small but well-furnished apartment, bought earlier that month, only briefly imagining it was a different woman on his arm as he walked through the doors. And then he thought about nothing that involved higher brain functions for some time.

Upon waking, he learned that Elise was a photographer of some renown, known for her off-the-wall subject matter and daring new techniques. He continued to see her, with what little spare time he had, between making a name for himself at Plainsboro, settling into a new town and figuring out how to best deal with his new colleagues. He was surprised when this didn't turn out to be a problem, since Elise was often just as busy. They were comfortable with the fact that they rarely saw one another, and when they did they wasted only minimal time with chitchat before going into the bedroom and enjoying one another thoroughly.

When they were done, she would rub his chest with her hand and call him "Jay", and they would stare at the ceiling and think of nothing for as long as they wished.

Then she would go away again, for months at a time. Shooting in Paris, Hong Kong or Kenya. They never lied to one another, never pretended to be faithful while separated. And if Elise smelled an unfamiliar perfume on the sheets, or if Jay came across a tie that didn't belong to him, they never mentioned it. It was an unspoken fact that they both ignored, content to live a lie so long as it meant they didn't have to care beyond the basic requirements for affection.

After two years of this satisfying mock-up of a relationship, of Jay becoming a legend of his own in the hospital and forming a tentative friendship with Greg House and Stacy, his tenacious significant other, of Elise gaining credibility and notice in the photography community, she asked him to marry her.

He agreed, and nothing changed, save for the fact that he took off his ring before going to the bars or taking a girl out to lunch.

He tried to figure out why he didn't stop. He knew himself well enough not to believe it was because his wife was never around, or because she had a list of infidelities just as large as his own. No, it was something far more basic than that. It was because it made him feel good. The women had little in common save for the fact that they made him feel that funny 'butterflies in stomach' sensation, but never guilty, because he knew that the sex meant nothing. He wanted to prove to himself that it didn't matter, that it would never matter, so he might forgive himself for what he had done to her...

He never treated the others badly, was never unkind or cruel, always willing to lend an ear or a shoulder to cry on if they needed it. But nor did he pretend to be something he wasn't. Before taking them to bed, Jay would look them in the eyes and ask if they understood that it was just for the night, that in the morning they would still be friends, nothing more. And they would smile and nod, and he would take care of them.

Greg knew. He made it a point to know, too curious to keep himself to himself, but Jay didn't mind. There was nothing to keep from his wife, so it didn't matter who else was aware of his indiscretions. Greg himself reveled in it, teased him at every opportunity, reminded him how displeased he was to note the horrid mar on, "Jimmy's wonderboy status. I'll have to ask the Pope for your bid for saint-hood back. Even the Jewish thing wouldn't have prevented it, but this... " At which point the diagnostician would let out a large sigh.

Wilson enjoyed his friendship with House. Greg was cynical and bitter, but still a good man who was excellent at what he did. If he was arrogant, there was a reason for it, and if he hated his patients, who was to scold him for it if so few of them left out of the back door? Stacy was a joy all her own, spirited and fierce, she met Greg's barbs with claws of her own, and it was charming to watch them bicker, knowing all along that they loved each other deeply. Wilson thought they suited one another even then, and was one of the most grieved when the infraction tore them apart.

It happened during a week when Elise was back in town and he had taken his first vacation from Princeton-Plainsboro. When they returned, Jay had helped her pack and then drove her to the airport to put her on another plane, and on his way home had gotten the page. Quickly changing his course, he had raced to the hospital.

By the time he arrived, the dead muscle had been removed from Greg's leg and Stacy was sitting by his bedside, clutching his hand in hers, waiting for him to wake up. The look of dread and regret on her face was momentary, but Wilson saw it nonetheless.

"You saved his life," he said, confused by his friend's fear.

"Yes, I saved his life," her eyes became overly bright and she blinked repeatedly, "but I think I killed something else."

He didn't understand, just then, what she meant. Wilson didn't know Greg well enough, couldn't grasp that, to him, it wouldn't matter that his life had been saved. The only thing of substance to House would be that he had been betrayed. That he had made himself vulnerable, left himself at Stacy's mercy, and that she had taken advantage of it. That she had betrayed his trust while he slept, believing that she would keep him from harm. No, it would take Wilson a few more years to understand that House would never trust someone so blindly again. That he found it much easier, safer, to assume that everybody lies.

For several months Wilson could do nothing. He continued with his work and his affairs and spent time with Elise when she was home and he wasn't occupied at the hospital. Then, two months after House had been released, Stacy called him in desperation.

"He won't let me help him, Jimmy."

And that was all. No explanation, no justification. Just the painful plea of a woman who saved the man she loved at the price of his trust. Wilson could only imagine the biting sarcasm that she met at every turn, the cold and calculating ways that House could draw blood put into full effect. For someone who had loved him so thoroughly, that coldness would be death itself.

He understood the feeling.

"I'll be over in a minute."

Stacy left for her parent's house, and Wilson took on the charge of looking after House. Although he seemed to exude no emotion but anger, Wilson knew that just bellow the rage lay a bitter and deep hurt, a depression that could destroy a brilliant doctor and a good man if left to fester.

So Wilson didn't let it grow.

He spent all his free time with his friend, pestering him with meals and exercises and medication, leaving not one moment unoccupied by the mundane but necessary new laws and needs of House's life. When gone, Wilson was at the hospital, treating patients while thinking of new ways to distract House from his own thoughts.

Elise was forgotten.

Wilson bought House his first cane and made him learn how to use it. He gave him a yoyo to play with when he was at work and House got bored with his Gameboy. He helped him to his piano and asked House to play for him. They watched more football games and soap operas than Wilson had ever seen in his life. House introduced him to monster-truck rallies one night after ordering it on Pay Per View in a fit of boredom. And then, after distracting him for an entire day, Wilson would annoy Greg until he reluctantly allowed the younger doctor to help him get back into bed, Wilson spreading out on the couch and trying to fall asleep afterwards. He bullied his friend into getting better, and into not thinking about her.

It had worked for Jay, it would work for House.

After three months of only sweeping briefly through the apartment, grabbing clothes and shoes with a kiss and nothing more, leaving just as quickly as he came, Jay went back home to Elise.

It seemed, that although Elise could accept that Jay slept with half of the women in New Jersey, she could not, would not, accept him leaving her alone for months to have sex with an older, bitter and crippled man.

"I will not let you leave me for a handicapped and insane male doctor. And don't lie to me! It's been five months since he got out. There's been no reason for you not to come home. I don't care why you're doing it, if it's to get a better position at work or if it's just for shits and giggles. I wont be humiliated like this."

The fact that it wasn't true was of little matter. Elise had made up her mind, and there was nothing left for Jay to do but watch as she gathered the last of her things together and prepared to leave his life forever.

She turned around at the door, suitcases in hand, giving him a look of disgust and revolution.

"It was fun while it lasted. So long Jay,"

After 2 years, 3 months and 5 days of marriage, and over 3 of having more sex with women that he wasn't involved with instead of woman he was, she was gone.

House went back to work the next week. Wilson kept the ring on for 6 months after she had left. House would never know the reason why Elise had divorced his colleague.

---

Her name was Julie, and for a time he fooled himself into thinking that she was perfect. Tall and slender, with blonde hair and light brown eyes, no one could say that she wasn't lovely. Successful and modest, smart and funny, graceful and beautiful, she seemed to have every quality that men dreamed of for their picture perfect wife, and he decided that there was no reason why he shouldn't fall in love with her.

After they had met at the party, when Wilson had been made head of the oncology department and his friendship with House had been solidified, they had arranged a date, and then another, and by the third they had both convinced themselves that this was what they wanted. Talking about their work and friends over expensive dinners, managing to say quite a lot while really saying nothing at all, they pretended that they had found what they had always desired.

And although she never touched him first, she would smile at him when he took her hand in his and call him "James" as he led her upstairs into his apartment and whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

After nearly three years of the dating and the dinners, they got married. Not because they particularly wanted to, but because it seemed as if this was going to be their last chance, and really, the mediocre was better than nothing, wasn't it? They could learn to really love each other, learn to love one another beneath the surface, couldn't they? And if they couldn't, at least they would have something to show for their wonderful paychecks and skyrocketing careers.

They would go to dinner parties for Julie's work and her colleagues would stare at them, comment on how they made such a beautiful couple. The wonderboy and the princess. It was obviously meant to be.

And yet, here they were.

House had known it was coming. Wilson hated that. As he had done what he could to try and bring the scraps of this fabricated happiness together, gather them and somehow connect them again, House had stood by and watched.

"Oh, I would help you," he had said once as Wilson tried to come up with ways to prove that he loved his wife, some grand way of expressing his affection. "But making it better won't make you happy. If you're going to suffer, might as well let you draw it out. To entertain me, you know. Not as good as Gameboy, but your misery does have its moments."

---

Meanwhile, the awkward silence hadn't ended.

James looked up from his plate to see his wife picking at her food with her fork, poking at the chicken as if to decide where would be the best place to make the first cut. She always did this, examined each piece of food with an intense scrutiny, analyzing its structure and configuration, Where to cut, where to cut, no doubt chiming through her head. Where would she get the most meat for the effort she put into cutting it, that was the question. Julie was all about the final payoff. It made sense. She was an economist. Where would she make the most profit?

It could certainly be the only reason why she was still with him. She didn't love him. Perhaps she found him attractive, but that wouldn't be enough to make her stay. It was probably the profit she got from having a husband. Her boss got off her back, her family stopped their pestering and she didn't have to go out looking for another man in her early thirties. So, she wasn't staying for him, but because the opportunity cost for leaving him was too high. Too much effort, too much work. Rather be unhappy for the crappy toys you have than be unhappy because you have none at all.

Wilson flinched at his own description. He knew it wasn't true, that Julie would never be so calculating and cold. She didn't love him, but that didn't mean that she didn't care for him. She was a kind woman, but she was also lonely, and scared that if she gave this up, she would have nothing to fall back on afterwards. No one could fault her for being afraid of being alone.

But why was he staying? He didn't love her, he knew that, but that didn't make him leave. Hell, it didn't even make him 'stray from the marriage bed' like he had in the past for far more insignificant reasons. In fact, he had yet to screw anything up with this particular marriage. Beyond the occasional lunch with one of the nurses and the casual flirting that he couldn't stop no matter how hard he tried, James had been a boy scout. He was going to make it work, even if it made him miserable.

Upon reflection, this reason didn't seem like a good one. 'I stayed married to her to prove that I could,' wasn't very encouraging motivation to keep up the act.

But what if she was happy? James couldn't stand to make cause her pain, not do that again to someone he cared for, however shallowly. After two and a half years of marriage they still treated each other like strangers who knew one another very well, talking only when forced, faking smiles and laughs just so that they wouldn't hurt each other too badly... But he had been slipping these past few months. Staying at work until the early morning, taking on more cases, working more closely with the diagnostics team just so he would have more reasons not to go home, hoping to justify the casual neglect of his wife to himself. And the days he did leave work at a reasonable hour, it was always to go elsewhere, out for a few drinks or to watch a game with Greg when he could have gone home.

He just couldn't take these silences. Not the relaxed silence that comes with familiarity and comfort, but the forced silence. The deafening quiet of two people who have nothing to say to one another, but so desperately wish that they did. It was painful to be a part of, to stare at his wife and be forced to admit that he didn't know her and had no wish to.

That was what made him stay away, made him find refuge in his work and in his friend. More often than not he found himself back in his office at the hospital, or in Greg's apartment, sleeping on an uncomfortable couch rather than face the horrible indifference he felt towards the woman he was supposed to love.

Julie looked up at him, her eyes wide and startled to see him staring at her. She blushed. "James, would you stop looking at me like that?" A small smile, trying to make it seem casual.

James didn't stop. He examined her more closely, trying to actually see her. Small wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, laughing lines. Funny. He couldn't remember the last time she laughed. Slightly crooked nose, barely noticeable and adding character to an otherwise perfect face. Big eyes, long lashes. Why couldn't he love her?

"James," a nervous laugh, "really." She put down her napkin and began to stand up. Trying to escape, he thought.

"Do you love me?" He wasn't sure why he asked, how he got up the nerve to stop dancing around the subject, but now that he had, he wanted to know the answer.

It was if he had frozen time. With those four words he had stopped her in her tracks, leaving her half bent, leaning over the table, reaching for platters. He couldn't see her face, but James imagined it had the look akin to a deer caught in the headlights.

She remained that way for a beat, barely breathing, much less speaking. Then he saw her take a deep breath, gather herself. "James, stop talking like that. Honestly." She continued to pick up plates. "I'm married to you. Of course I," a small pause, not even a second, but they both noticed it, and it seemed to last lifetimes rather than milliseconds, "love you."

He continued to stare at her, rubbing the side of his neck as he watched her pile the platters on top of one another, her stack becoming perilously high, noticing that she never once looked at him. "I'm not sure I believe you, Julie."

Her head snapped up instantly and the look of guilt on her face spoke a truth more profound than any words they had exchanged since they had met one another. She looked away quickly, but it was too late. They both knew it.

She fled from the dinning room, just barely keeping a firm hold to her pile of dishes, and James quickly followed.

"Julie."

She ignored him, continued to the kitchen, walking with purpose, refusing to acknowledge him.

"Julie, please."

In the kitchen now, plates placed on the counter. She took the first one and began to scrub at in angrily, trying to make it clean, make it perfect.

"Julie, stop!"

She let the plate drop into the sink, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Look at me." He hated to see her look so vulnerable, so defeated. "Please."

She did, abandoning the safety of the sink and turning to stare at him blankly. Hands folded across her chest, she looked as if she was expecting the walls themselves to attack her. As if she was waiting for her world to come crashing down around her. He had never seen her this way before, never realized that she didn't feel nearly as strong as she pretended to be.

"I would just like to know." James took a deep breath. "What about this... us is worth saving to you? You don't love me," a statement, not a question. Not anymore, "and that's alright. But if we're going to keep this up, I need to know why."

She blinked, a mildly panicked look coming to her eyes, "Why?"

"What about our relationship is worth something to you?" Because I can't see anything that is meaningful to me, remained the unspoken addition that they both heard.

She turned away from him, stared at the ground. He thought he could detect a faint tear on her cheek, but he didn't dare come closer. Not yet. He had to know.

She looked up at him again, angry. Crying, but furious. At him, but also at herself. "Nothing," she spat, doing her best to contain herself. "Nothing, James! This, this was nothing to begin with. All we are is a last ditch attempt to save ourselves from being alone forever. Nothing about us has ever held greater meaning, ever meant anything other than the pathetic tries of people too wrapped up in other things to dedicate themselves to a marriage! Nothing about us is worth saving James, because we were never anything to begin with."

She was still angry, but now she looked relieved as well, and sad. So terribly sad.

James rubbed his neck again, looking at his wife as she seemed to grow smaller in front of him, wrapping her arms even more tightly around herself and staring at the floor, sniffing and crying and trying to retain some of the calm exterior she was so famous for.

Wilson slowly stepped forward and lightly brushed his hand against her cheek, smiling sadly at her startled tear-stained face.

"Goodbye, Julie."

He grabbed his jacket on his way out the door, and he was gone.

After 3 years, 8 months and 12 days of marriage and nearly 5 years of pretending, he left. And they were both happy.

---

Wilson waited, hand to his neck, compulsively rubbing the tense spot. He stared up at the closed door and began to fidget. Maybe House actually wasn't there and he'd have to find a hotel before he lost all the feeling in his limbs...

Moments later Greg House appeared in the doorway, taking one look at his long-time friend before opening the door more fully.

"Come to play couch commando again?"