TITLE: Empty
AUTHOR:
Danielle
PAIRING: Gen
RATING: G
WARNINGS: Angst… yeah,
angst
SUMMARY: Wilson's gone. No one told House and now it's
all wrong. Prequel to a href
Lost">/users/thoughtthestars/135231.html#cutid1Lost
and Found/a
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, not at all. Wish they
were, but not!
NOTES: Beta-ed by Rachel, who's cool. Well, most
of the time.
The office was empty, walls stripped of diplomas and bookshelf of books. House felt his throat constrict as he stared around the room. No sign Wilson had been there, the name scraped off the door. His ragged breathing echoed in the room. The sounds were hollow, weak and pathetic against the silence that raged. Cameron had closed the door with a click when she left, promising to check on their newest case. As the lock fell into place, his body shuddered.
Cuddy had pointed him to empty room when he came back from his break. It hadn't been long, a few days out with fever and no new cases. He'd been drawn back by the new case and rumors that had managed to reach his house. Whispers of a missing doctor, a new resignation that no one had seen coming. And his phone sat silent beside his couch, never ringing with a new case offering or an offer of cold pizza delivered after a long day of work.
And Wilson's office had been empty. Nothing left at all, not even a note or a sign the head of oncology had ever had that office. Cuddy had sighed and tried to explain why he'd left. House didn't listen. Shrugged her off and stood in the office. He tried to be silent, tried desperately not to disturb what the office had become. Dust had settled lightly on the once immaculate shelves. House was sure he could see every particle, could imagine each and every book that had been on that shelf.
"Jimmy." It was a breath, barely a word. But it still echoed through the room, filled the silence and the void. He hadn't even left a forwarding address. All House had was a hunch and nothing at all where his hope once had been. Chase's eyes had followed him as he stood in the elevator, impatiently tapping his cane.
Everyone else had known. No one had told him. And the office still stood empty. He had Chinese food in his fridge from the week before, rice and the noodles Wilson had ordered. Nothing had been out of the ordinary until he saw everything was wrong. They'd mocked each other, laughed together at old jokes no one else understood.
Cameron's knock at the door was tentative, nervous and rapid. She barely peeked through the glass, watching House's slumped back. He didn't acknowledge her, didn't even nod as she cracked the door open. "We have the test results. It can't be vasculitis." Her voice echoed in the office. Too high, even compared to Julie's shrill screams of the week before.
"I knew it." But the confidence is gone from his voice as he wrenches his attention away from the empty wall. "Try steroids anyway." The door closed with a click as Cameron heads out, leaving House staring through the glass. Soon, there'll be a new department head. There has to be, after all. Not like the oncologists can just work around Wilson's departure until he comes back.
The door opened as easily as it always had as he pushed it aside with the tip of his cane, scuffing the glass. James had sighed about that, rolling his eyes as House held the door open. The complaints had been groundless, the glass seamless and smooth. But it had been banter, laughter and something to say as they wandered down to their cars. No one else had understood. Foreman would point out that nothing was wrong with the door. Chase would just sigh, sometimes offering a laugh at Wilson's expense. And Cameron just watched them, uncomprehending.
No longer was the door adorned with James's name, his degrees, his position. It sat silent and bare, mocking. House popped a Vicodin, staring at the clear glass. He lifted the cane carefully, scratching at the smooth surface. Nothing changed. House pressed harder, scrapping the cane down the glass. A squeal followed, but no scratch. Nothing could mar the thick glass, not even his desperate efforts.
Cameron found him leaning on the glass, forehead pressed to the cool pane, cane still scrapping at the unchanged glass. He didn't move when she spoke, just closed his eyes and trembled. The sound had filled the room, squeak and squeals echoing as he struggled. But when he left for the night, limping heavily and glaring at anyone who dared glance his way, the glass was still seamless.