Hello. This is yet another fic inspired by Wilson's Heart (although my first one). I wrote it basically because I felt weird writing HouseXWilson stuff while Wilson was hating House over Amber's death, so I had to end the hatred to continue my other fics.
If it's awful I'm sorry, because I don't think I write grief well (although if I ever could write it well it would probably be now…). I'd really, really, really love reviews about how well I did…
Thank you very much.
-AmayaSora
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Sighing, Wilson put the folder into the "Complete" stack with a bit more force than was necessary. It wasn't entirely his fault; the man was exhausted. He hadn't been sleeping well, if he slept at all. He hadn't been eating well, because he couldn't bring himself to go anywhere that reminded him of her, which discounted the local restaurants and all but two grocery stores. And avoiding House was a full time job on a good day, never mind one when the diagnostician was determined to corner Wilson and brow-beat him into forgiveness.
So Wilson was pulling extra Clinic duty. A lot of extra Clinic duty, actually, like 4 overtime hours per day for the last three weeks. The strain was definitely starting to show, but Wilson pushed on, burying himself in work, hiding his feelings during the day until he could get home and cry in peace.
The brown-haired doctor ran a hand through his hair, and then rubbed his eyes with the same one. He stifled a yawn and turned around to find Dr. Cuddy standing behind him, her posture a mix of authority, concern, and even a little pity.
"James. Go home. Please, you're exhausted. We have more than enough doctors working right now."
He smiled perfunctorily, but it didn't reach anywhere near his eyes. They held none of their usual sparkle, none of the fire that comes from even a spark of happiness. James Wilson was dangerously close to a complete breakdown, and everyone knew it. But he wouldn't allow them to help. "Thanks, Lisa, but I'm okay."
"No, you're not. We've had this conversation every day for the past two weeks."
"Then why bother having it again? We both know how it will end." Wilson was unusually sharp with his boss. And he found he didn't much care, either.
"It doesn't have to! If you'd just talk-"
"No!" He was firm, and defiantly crossed his arms. "Not now, Lisa. Maybe not ever, I'm not sure anymore. Just stop pushing it, okay?"
Cuddy's posture dropped in defeat. "Fine, fine. But I am ordering you home after this next patient." She shoved a folder into his hand.
"Alright," he said sourly, but with no intention of actually following through.
"I mean it." Cuddy locked eyes with her Head of Oncology to impress this point upon him. "Exam Room One."
Wilson stepped into the room and let out his breath in a frustrated sigh. He rubbed his eyes again and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the door. The circles under his eyes were deep purple, and very pronounced. The rest of the face was pale and thin. Perhaps he really ought to go home…
But first things first, he thought. The patient. He looked at the folder Cuddy had handed him. The patient was complaining of dizziness, nausea, and a slight fever.
"Hello, I'm Doctor Wil-" Two things happened in quick succession. He looked up from the chart to see who it was that was seated on the exam table. And the same second the lock on the door to Exam Room One clicked from the outside. Wilson was now trapped in this room with House.
He angrily turned around to pound on the door. "Open up the door!"
Cuddy's muffled, but firm, voice came from outside. "Not until you two settle things!"
"Well then be prepared to send in food for at least three months, because I am not talking to him!!"
"So melodramatic, Jimmy," House interjected, hopping awkwardly off the table.
"Shut up and go away!" Wilson snarled, moving to the cabinet that held assorted office supplies.
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to even look at you right now?" He slammed the drawer angrily, finding it completely devoid of paper clips with which to pick the lock.
"That's fine. You can direct your answers to the door or something."
"I really don't want to talk to you!!"
"That's too bad for you, then, because I can't take it anymore. This whole silent-treatment thing is so third grade."
"You, you… how dare you lecture me about maturity!! I am perfectly justified in refusing to talk to you and you know it!!"
"You think you're fully justified. You've rationalized it so much that you honestly believe that. But really, you know you are completely unjustified."
"I am NOT completely unjustified!! What have you ever done for me, besides cause trouble? Huh? And that's even getting into the fact that you killed Amber!!" His voice broke when he said her name, and he had to pinch the bridge of his nose, hard, to stop himself from bursting into tears.
Unhindered, House continued. "I did not kill her. And you know that too. You're just searching for someone, anyone, to blame because then it will make sense. Then you can believe that God doesn't want you to be miserable."
"DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT GOD!! YOU DON'T EVEN BELIEVE-"
"I know I don't! But you do! And so that makes it a valid point in this discussion! If you can blame this on me, on a human, you can still think God loves you!" House was trying very hard (but failing) at not sounding condescending on the last words.
"What do you know? How do you know that you're… that you're not the one who's rationalizing to an inaccurate conclusion?"
That stopped House for a second. Eventually, he ventured, "I trust my process. I trust it a lot more than I trust yours, at any rate. Look, Wilson, what happened to her wasn't fair. It wasn't right on any level. And I don't expect you to be exactly the same after something like that. I mean, what happened to my leg isn't nearly as bad, but I still I can understand what you're going through. At least partly. But you can at least try to heal. You're better than me; you can handle it better than I've handled my problems. It was in the past and we can't really change that now. Do you really want to let it ruin over ten years of friendship?"
"YES! YES, I DO! BECAUSE YOU DON'T CARE AT ALL! YOU'VE NEVER REALLY CARED ABOUT ME OR MY FEELNIGS OR… OR ANYTHING!"
"How can you say that?! How can you honestly say that?! Do you know how hard I've worked to make this up to you?! Do you?! Do you remember how hard I worked to save her?! I almost DIED, Wilson. But you've conveniently omitted that little detail in your fantasy world!! And how can you say that I don't care about your feelings?! Because if I didn't I would tell you that it's your fault she died because the only reason I was in that stupid bar in the first place was because I was trying to forget, for one night, the pain of knowing you loved her and not me!!"
Wilson recoiled as if he'd been hit, and House immediately looked sincerely sorry. "God, James, I didn't… I wasn't going to tell you that. I'm sorry, okay?"
"No, it is not okay," Wilson hissed, unsure whether to punch House in the face or burst into tears again.
"Well, obviously. I meant that… look, I suck at apologies. You know that. I'm very, very sorry. For everything. It should have been me, not her. I'm a horrible person, and I know it. The only good parts of me I've gotten from you. Or tried to give to you. And my temper is definitely not in the 'good parts' category. And honestly at this point I don't know that I deserve forgiveness. But, if you must hate me like everyone else does, please don't actively hate me, okay? You can ignore me if you want, I'm kind of expecting it, but please… I don't know if I could go on if you started treating me like… well, like I treat everyone."
Wilson said nothing, just stood in the corner shaking. House looked absolutely, completely broken, dejected in every way. He wordlessly crossed to the door and knocked softly. "Cuddy, you can unlock it. I ruined everything yet again."
The door lock clicked open after a moment's pause and the sound of high heels quickly moving away echoed strangely. Wilson was sure Cuddy was crying.
House opened the door, defeated. He paused in the doorway, and turned to look at his former best friend. There were no barriers visible behind the eyes, and Wilson could see all the way through them to the depths of House's soul. And the man was crying, both inside and outside. His voice was unsteady as he whispered, "Goodbye, Wilson. Be happy. And, you can know that… I loved you too. Just as much, if not more, than she did. I still do."
The door closed with a soft thud, and James Wilson didn't move for many long minutes. The image of Amber in the last moments swam before his eyes, and then that last sight of House, so raw and vulnerable. They argued back and forth, popping up and being overshadowed, no side coming to a clear victory.
He was dazed, completely lost to the world. He didn't even remember leaving, much less driving home, but suddenly he found himself lying on the bed in his own apartment. Still those conflicting images battled, Amber, House, Amber, House… and then another image popped up. The image of himself as he saw it in the mirror, the lonely, broken man. Lonely… broken…like House was. They were kindred spirits, now more than ever.
Amber popped up again, but this time she was healthy, strong, and beautiful. She stared at him sadly. He reached out to her, tried to grab her, hold her, and never let her go. But she stepped ever so slightly backwards.
"James. James, stop it. You're killing yourself, slowly but surely killing yourself."
"But, without you, what do I have?"
"You have your life, James. You have the rest of your life ahead of you. And I forbid you from spending it miserable and alone. Don't become House."
"But… Amber… he killed you."
She smiled. "I forgave him. So should you. Be happy, James. I know you; if he's not happy, if something happens to him because of this, you'll never be able to be happy."
"B-"
"Don't argue. I love you, James. But so does he."
"I love you."
She smiled again. "I know you do. I know. But you don't have to love only me. You can let others in… you can let Cuddy and your patients and House back into your heart. It's okay. I'll forgive you, even though it's not really doing anything wrong."
At that she was fading away, dissolving into light. "No, don't go!! I need you!!" He desperately grabbed for her.
All that was left was her voice, whispering, "He needs you too. I love you forever, James."
Wilson jolted upright. He'd been lying in bed…was that a dream? But no, he didn't think it was merely a dream. In all his dreams she always stayed. And, if he looked deeper inside himself, he felt that the hole in his heart that she'd left was a little bit smaller, a little less painful.
He looked at the clock. It was 6:30, which means he'd left the hospital 5 hours ago. And House had been alone with his sorrow for 5 whole hours! Amber was right, House did need him, would always need him. And somehow, that was okay. Or it soon would be.
He managed to get to House's place in less than ten minutes. He didn't know how, only that he did. He ran up the stairs, took them all in one step, and pounded on the door urgently. "House! House, open the door!"
After an eternity, just when Wilson was ready to break the door down, it opened a crack. House peeked out from behind it. "What?"
Wilson grabbed the door and shoved it fully open, inspecting his friend from head to toe. He also spotted at least two dozen finished beers strewn around the room, but thankfully the Vicodin bottle was still seven-eighths full.
"House, it'll be okay. It will be okay." He embraced his friend, and honestly didn't know if he said the words for himself or for House.
For both of us, he realized. For both of us.
And now maybe both of us… can begin to heal.