Night falls and darkness creeps deeper and deeper into Wilson's office. His head rests upon a propped up arm, leaning over his crowded desk. The ticking of the expensive wristwatch Julie bought with his money echoes in his mind and he is lost in it. His eyes barely notice the dense blackness pressing in around him, suffocating the weak light emanating tentatively from the desk lamp.
He is too distracted to shiver from the absence of warmth, so he blinks instead, feeling a non-existent tear glide down his dry cheek. The only thing that exists is a single piece of paper lying ever so innocently in front of him under the spotlight of his gaze.
He can't go home. There is no Home now. Not anymore. A house, yes; a structure made out of wood, brick, and metal, a tangible thing, an item, a house, but not a Home. So instead he spreads himself out over the couch that is too small in his office, his only blanket the unforgiving darkness of the night.
He doesn't see the light at the other end of the balcony turn on as he stares up at the ceiling, only stealing away slivers of time to curse with his eyes the paper still sitting upon the desk.
How can five simple words feel like cancer?
It shouldn't hurt as much as it does. He shouldn't feel it eating away at him from inside. It's all so confusing and he doesn't want to think about it. Not now, at least, but later. That's what he'll do. He'll think about it later.
He doesn't see the shadowed outline of Greg House watching him from ten seconds away as his eyelids droop shut and his mind is overcome with exhaustion.
"Rise and shine, my faerie princess."
Wilson's eyes open slowly and focus on the extremely close face of House, only a few inches away. Close enough to feel House's enthusiasm for being the first one Wilson sees on such a wonderful morning burst out of those bright blue eyes. Happy to wake up to House, Wilson stretches out as far as the awkwardness of having slept on a tiny couch allows before swinging his legs over the edge and sitting there. House is rustling with a paper bag, his cane pinning down the temporarily forgotten piece of paper on the desk.
"I brought bagels and coffee. Home baked and home brewed."
His face painted with youthful energy, House shoves a cafeteria bagel into Wilson's right hand and a vending machine coffee into the other before taking a seat next to him on the couch. They sit in comfortable silence as they eat their bagels and drink their coffee, House letting Wilson relax a little more from his obviously distressed state of being.
"She wrote me a note."
House pauses mid-bite to look at Wilson who hasn't said anything yet up to this point.
"She said 'I can't do this anymore'."
His gaze drops to the floor and he absentmindedly fiddles with the empty coffee cup. House looks on with a blank expression, one that only Wilson can see the existence of concern in. But he's not looking at House. The carpet has an oddly fascinating pattern to it. He's never really noticed it before.
"I still love her. Or at least I think I do. Maybe I'm better off without a wife. I mean, it's not like I can really get another one. 'Hi, I'm James Wilson. I've been through three marriages and each time the divorce was my fault. I've either cheated or been non-existent all three times, and all for the same goddamned reason.' "
House has never been good at giving comfort and there haven't been any exceptions including now. But Wilson doesn't expect him to change and therefore doesn't expect comfort. What he needs is someone who cares about him and will listen to him. At least for a little bit...
"Let me guess, it's because my bagels are better than sex."
Wilson shoots him a pointed look.
"Perfect! I'll get you another one. Best get some extra napkins, though, because the next one is so good you'll orgasm half way through."
House makes to stand, but halfway up he hesitates. The look on Wilson's face is so lost, so pained, and it is consuming him. He settles back down onto his half of the couch, taking a deep breath, and, in a very un-House-like moment, regards his friend and colleague with a sort of softness to his expression.
"I'm sorry about Julie." House's voice is low and gruff, his unease easy for Wilson to sense. It's not surprising; any type of consolation is well out of House's strict comfort zone. It's because of this that he appreciates the effort that much more. No matter how bad of a mood he's in, House always seems to possess the ability to cheer him up even a little in one way or another.
"Thanks." Wilson flashes a quick smile before trying to take a drink of the coffee he forgot is already in his stomach. With a resigned sigh he looks longingly into the cup as if willing coffee to materialize to soothe his pain.
"Come on. I'll buy you some more."
House stands and goes to grab his cane, accidentally sweeping the five-word note off of Wilson's desk. It flutters angrily to the floor, yelling at them without a voice on the way down before landing with a huff on the interestingly designed carpet.
"Whoops!"
He starts to bend down to pick it up but is cut off by Wilson's voice.
"No, I got it."
Wilson walks over and picks up the note, crumpling it up into a tiny ball without even glancing at the writing and drops it into the trash basket. Grabbing his lab coat, he and House head out the door and into the hallway, venturing off towards conversations over coffee and bagels.