Disclaimer: House MD is the property of David Shore.
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The night was silent and still. House lay on the floor of his office, eyes strained towards the ceiling, tossing his lacrosse ball in rhythmic motions.
His slender fingers grasped at nothing as the ball was picked out of the air unexpectedly. An amused, warm voice filled up the room. "You know, some doctors actually go home at the end of the day. They prefer sleeping in a bed rather than on the floor."
"Home is where the heart is, Jimmy." House said absentmindedly, eyes never moving from the spot on the ceiling. He reached up to reclaim his ball, but Wilson threw it across the room, out of reach.
"Since when does the hospital hold your heart?" Wilson asked, peering down at him curiously.
House avoided his gaze, starting to untie Wilson's shoelaces for no other reason than to keep his hands busy. Wilson ignored this as House spoke. "And where does your heart lie - in the hotel room that you've called home for far too long?"
Wilson tried to shuffle away but House grabbed his feet and held them still. "You have to admit to yourself that you are a nomad. You are living a life of the impersonal, the temporary…"
House gave him the most significant look he could muster, eyes piercing. His smirk showed through all the same. Wilson just laughed lightly, kicking his eccentric friend's side gently with his foot. "Hey… at least I've had some sort of change in the last few years. Your life is static, stagnant… same apartment, same friend- notice the singular form, same fellows…"
House rolled his eyes at him, tying Wilson's shoes together when his friend wasn't looking. "Dr. Wilson, seems to me you chose the wrong specialty. You would have had a blast chasing after deranged psych patients all day."
Wilson cocked an eyebrow, as if to say, 'I chase after you, don't I?'
House studied his friend's face. Deep brown eyes silently laughed at him, obvious bags shadowed beneath them, making it bittersweet. "Why are you here?"
Wilson grinned and raised a finger mockingly in the air. "Ah- the eternal question. Why are we here? Well, my theory is…"
House's gaze was serious and steady, to which Wilson could only quiet at. This was a rare mood for his friend. House's voice was low and surprisingly soft. "No, I mean- why are you here? Now… in my office."
Wilson's silence was broken by an onslaught of Kamikaze hail massacring House's office window. He said simply, "I missed you."
House twirled the ends of Wilson's pants in his fingers, flicking his ankle. He muttered underneath his breath and Wilson strained to hear him. He was surprised at the words. "I miss you too."
Wilson became more shocked by his reaction to the words. His throat constricted tightly, threatening tears that he knew he would never let fall. "House, I -"
The pounding of the ice on the glass, aggravating and forceful, seemed to be stabbing at Wilson's mind. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. A few moments later a soft voice broke him out of his reverie. "Dr. Wilson? What are you doing here?"
He turned and found Cameron staring at him oddly. He gave her a polite smile, noticing at how tired she looked – probably was working late running tests on a patient. "N-nothing. Just was finishing up some paperwork before…"
Cameron nodded, messy bangs falling into her eyes. "Okay, well, it's late. You should probably head home…"
He wondered at her concern, but all he said was, "Yeah, I was just leaving."
Then she did the strangest thing. Walking over, she gazed at him with soft yet somehow intimidating eyes. Resting a hand on his arm, she said. "You can talk to me, you know."
He let out a nervous laugh. "Um, yeah…"
She shook her head. Her eyes searched him, for what he didn't know. He wanted to laugh, for some reason, but found his mouth strangely dry. His breath was shaky…
Finally, she turned to leave. "Well, then, goodnight Dr. Wilson."
He didn't respond.
The silent night fell upon him once again. He sighed as he scanned the empty room in front of him – scarce of furniture, books, or any of the toys that House usually kept. The roar of the storm grew louder and it seemed to invade him, the powerful noise running through him, making him shiver from long ago phobias. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling an incredible weariness overcome him. With a last glance, and a last sigh, he started to leave. His fingers found the light switch easily, flicking it off, bathing the room in darkness once again. "Bye, House."
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A room is only a room. Flesh, blood, bone – they have meaning only when there is a mind and soul to dictate them. When the tool dies, the soul is freed. And when a room is empty of the man that gave it life, gave it sentiment, it becomes only a room once again. But the connection that two people share… it lives on. It exceeds life and death.
Love never dies.
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A/N: Reviews are greatly appreciated.