Silence – Chapter 2
Wilson approached the silent cinderblock cell, feet shuffling loudly against the dusty concrete floor. His hair was mussed and his shirt was gaping at the collar. He glanced at his watch: 2:28 AM. He couldn't sleep. He felt he probably shouldn't look to far into the fact that he'd automatically ended up here. It wasn't strange at all that, instead of watching TV when he couldn't sleep, he watched his best friend sleep in a jail cell at two-thirty in the morning.
Just keep telling yourself that.
He halted to face the faintly illuminated cell. Feeding his hands through the gaps, he curled his sculpted fingers around the steel bars and pressed his nose to the cold metal.
He peered in wistfully at the dormant shadow on the hard, lumpy cot. A shaft of moonlight fell from a small square window, elucidating the contours of the his face. A faint smile danced on his lips and, for a fleeting moment, Wilson thought he looked peaceful. He smiled bitterly to himself. House hadn't been peaceful in five years.
He sighed a long, heavy exhalation.
"Why am I here?" He questioned the room quietly
He tipped his head back and raked his hands roughly through his hair.
"Why am I still here?" He clarified, as if the room had misunderstood him.
He stared at the rhythmical rising and falling of House's chest.
"Why the hell do I put up with you?" He laughed humourlessly and banged his head against the metal bar, a lonely sound resonating through the otherwise silent room.
He let out a shaky breath, releasing his hands from the bars, and stepped back to observe the milky moonlit room. He refocused on the sleeping House, eyes traveling slowly from graying stubble, past a wrinkled smoke-coloured chemise, and coming to rest on his right thigh.
Wilson loved watching him sleep. He couldn't see his eyes. He couldn't see the haze of pain, of pills that masked them.
He stared, still, at the figure, hypnotized by the countenance of peacefulness he hadn't seen for years.
He vaguely noticed he was becoming heavy-lidded, mesmerized, absorbed by the soporific rise and fall of House's chest. He knew he should be getting home but his feet wouldn't move. He felt himself sway into the small jut of cinderblock wall where the hallway narrowed, sliding down smoothly to rest on the dusty cement floor. His feet slid out with a loud scuffle, head resting against one of the cold steel bars. He never took his eyes off House.
Maybe I'll stay just a few more minutes.