A/N: Review. Because you all have no earthly idea how long this one took. Mean chapter.
They didn't talk about it – like their many little moments, it was swept aside under a film of awkward banter and genuine anger. He wasn't there when she woke up – she hadn't expected him to be. When she finally saw him at work – after he had solved the case, he hadn't thanked her and she hadn't reciprocated. They just acted as if nothing had happened, because in reality nothing had.
A needle, trust, a comforting presence – none of these were earth shattering occurrences. So when he went on as normal – she agreed silently and pretended like nothing in her world had shifted and slid twenty degrees to the left. He mocked his team and avoided clinic duty, she chased him and tried to convince him to forgive Wilson. She didn't think about the dream and what it meant. She tried not to lay in bed at night and remember just what it felt like to have a warm body next to her. If she were honest with herself – which she almost never was – she would admit that it wasn't just any warm body.
He bitched about Wilson and she listened – pointing out that Wilson had tried to be a good friend, in his own screwed up way. Wilson came to her and complained about House not being able to let go and she pointed out that if Wilson was wrong – which of course Wilson didn't agree with but he stayed silent anyway and listened – that House had every right to be upset. Finally she had cornered the two of them, snapping that she wasn't their couples therapist and to work it out and leave her the hell alone. That had shut both of them up and the next day they had resumed their lunches where House ate almost everything Wilson had and Wilson mocked him gently.
She was glad to finally have peace of mind. Wilson didn't bother her so much – however having House barging into her office five times more than usual daily because his usual playdate wasn't acceptable did bother her. Especially in light of her own recent emotional discoveries. Recent emotional discovery sounded a lot less threatening to her than calling it what it was. Longing. For something – and someone – she really couldn't afford to be longing for right now. Less contact was key and in that vein she forced House and Wilson to make up – and they did. But it still didn't seem to be helping any.
"He thinks I'm having an affair!" It was apparently Wilson's turn to burst in and she tried to cover her sigh of relief, leaning back in her chair with a frown and an arched brow. Wilson was standing in front of her desk, waving and gold box around like a weapon as he spoke angrily. "Does everything have to be about sex? Can I buy my wife chocolates and not have it mean I'm guilty?!" She watched him with concern – Wilson normally took everything House said in stride – and his reaction was worrying her more than anything else.
"Wilson-" She spoke to cut off his tirade, waving a hand at her chair. "Sit down before you hurt yourself. What is going on?" She asked softly and he stared at her dumbly before speaking.
"I told you! House thinks he's always right about everything – of course Wilson is cheating because of course that's what he does! He can't stay loyal! He couldn't possibly just actually care about his wife-"
"No." She interrupted firmly and he stopped speaking. "This isn't like you to get so upset about something House said. It's House! He's an ass. I meant what is going on with you? Is everything okay?"
He appeared speechless for a moment, coloring and staring at her silently as his grip on the chocolate box tightened. Finally he dropped his gaze, mumbling. "Thank you, Lisa. But everything is fine." The fact that he called her Lisa told her that everything was far from fine, but she let it go with a silent sigh.
"I don't believe you, but I'm not going to push. As for House – just ignore him Wilson. The more you react to him, the more he'll poke." Wilson nodded, dropping the box in his lap and flexing his fingers slightly.
"You're right. Of course you're right. I just wish-" He sounded almost wistful for a moment before shaking his head dully. "Hey – did you want to grab lunch today?" He smiled as he spoke, trying to shake off his earlier melancholy.
"Did House cancel?" She frowned at him and he shook his head.
"No – I thought you'd like to join us." She shook her head quickly and he frowned.
"No – you know I have this thing- a meeting and I-"
"Are you avoiding him?" Wilson sounded genuinely amused by the thought and she laughed it off slightly.
"No!" She protested lightly. "God, no." She laughed, hoping he would buy it, but his eyes narrowed and a smile came across his face. Most people would mistake it for a friendly smile. She knew him better – at least she thought she did.
"Then you'll join us." She nodded, accepting defeat gracefully. "Good. Because we're all friends right?" He spoke in a jovial tone and she glared at him slightly.
"Of course we are." She smiled tightly and he nodded, picking up his box and standing.
"Good. I'll let House know. I'll see you at noon Cuddy. Have a good morning." He strode out of her office, apparently distracted from whatever his own problems were. At least that made one of them.
They were waiting for her, sitting stiffly uncomfortable across the table from each other and leaving the two chairs beside them empty. She frowned, watching Wilson stab at his salad passive aggressively while House watched with a grin. She walked up to the table and dropped her tray with a bang, startling them both. Sitting down she glared at each of them in turns, twisting her water open roughly.
"I said no more therapy, so kiss and make up or I am leaving." They rolled their eyes but both of them nodded and she poured dressing on her own salad before picking up her fork. "How's the patient?" She spoke to House who shrugged slightly, glancing at her over his Reuben.
"He had a flash pulmonary edema about.." He glanced at his watch, squinting as he spoke around a mouthful of sandwich, "Thirty five minutes ago. Blood everywhere – really nasty. The kids are stabilizing him now, and then we can figure out what the hell caused that – it sure as hell wasn't syphilis if you know what I mean." She wrinkled her nose is disgust listening to him, but Wilson merely shrugged and nodded, continuing to eat. She took a longer sip of water and pushed her salad around on her plate listlessly.
"How.. interesting." She frowned at him severely and he chuckled, taking another bite of his food.
"How was your meeting?" Wilson politely inquired – but the gleam in his eye spoke differently. "Did it get moved up?"
"What meeting?" House was again speaking with a full mouth and she glared at him while he shrugged unapologetically.
"The meeting she made up to avoid having lunch with us." Wilson spoke promptly and she transferred her glare to him quickly, wondering what the chances were of her accidentally hitting House when she kicked Wilson. Given that she was on House's right – she didn't chance it.
"Why didn't you want to have lunch with us?" House turned to her, speaking through his food again as she rolled her eyes.
"I can't imagine why. Your table manners are impeccable, by the way." He swallowed and looked slightly offended, opening his mouth to speak again. "How's your leg?" She asked quickly – preventing him from saying.. whatever it was that he was about to say and now it was his turn to glare at her.
"Better." He answered as Wilson made a scoffing noise from her right. House looked at him for a moment and she decided to change the subject quickly.
"Good." She smiled brightly and her mind scrambled for a topic that they could discuss without killing one another. "Um.. so there's-"
"Oh stop." House snapped at her and she snapped her mouth shut. "Why do you always have to try to make everyone play nice? He thinks the pain is in my head, I think he's diddling the ICU nurse – what's important is why you're avoiding us. Or him. Or me." He narrowed his gaze on her and she flushed uncomfortably, taking a bite of salad just to occupy herself. She chewed slowly, not responding as Wilson smirked from his spot.
"She didn't seem like she was avoiding me this morning." He added helpfully and she imagined stabbing him with her fork for a moment – staying silent.
"Better watch yourself Wilson, that's her violent look. So you were avoiding me then. Well that's easy – I know why." He spoke surely and she glared at him again, but still not answering either of them.
"Why?" Wilson asked with curiosity.
"Well I can't tell you Wilson." House mocked him lightly, before finishing off his sandwich and balling the wrapper up. "Are you going to finish that?" He pointed to the pudding on her tray and she shrugged, shaking her head in the negative. He snatched it, grabbing her spoon at the same time.
"No but it's sugar-" He took a bite, before making a horrible face and swallowing, grabbing her water bottle and taking a drink. "Free." She finished lamely, laughing slightly.
"Good god woman, how can you actually eat that crap?"
"Why is she avoiding you?!" Wilson broke in from the other side of her and they both turned to look at him with a confused expression.
"Why does it mean so much to you Wilson? See my theory is you want to think of anyone's problems but your own – so in a delusional effort to not feel guilty about the bad sex or almost sex or thoughts about sex with someone other than your wife – you're reading too much into it. Maybe she wasn't hungry. Maybe she just hates me on Tuesdays. Maybe it's-" He leaned forward conspiratorially and dropped his voice to a whisper. "That time of the month."
"Maybe you're an ass." She finally spoke, dropping her napkin on her plate and glancing at her water distastefully.
"Or it could be that after that mind blowing sex last week – she just can't look at me without jumping me. Wanna know where her other hand is?" House spoke loudly and she quickly put both hands on top of the table.
"I hate you." She glared at him as she muttered and he smiled back at her, their eyes meeting for a moment. She held her breath and he didn't move for a suspended moment, while Wilson watched them dubiously from across the table.
"I hate you too." He answered quickly, grinning as he spoke and Wilson choked slightly, causing them both to glare at him.
"If that's what the kids are calling it these days." He muttered to himself, and she stood quickly, picking up her tray haughtily.
"Why House, thank you so much for volunteering for clinic tomorrow." She spoke sweetly and he glared up at her.
"I didn't-"
"Oh yes you did. Or alternately I can send every case up to you that I deem appropriate – I was going to walk down to the ER today – and I could-"
"Oh shut up. Fine. You make one little remark about doing the Dean-" He muttered across to Wilson who merely rolled his eyes so hard she thought they might get stuck. She leaned down, holding her tray in front of her as she brought her mouth within inches of his ear.
"In your dreams." He turned to look at her with amusement, his eyes traveling down to her chest with a smirk.
"Every night."
"Yeah I have no idea why the entire hospital thinks you two are sleeping with each other." Wilson spoke, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm. "There's absolutely no evidence of that!" She straightened up with a glare, before turning and sailing out of the cafeteria, sliding her tray into the trolley by the door on her way. She hated when Wilson was right. And this – this bubbly, warm tingly feeling residing in her lower stomach – was exactly why she needed to avoid House in the first place.
"Stupid Wilson."
It was almost ten thirty when she finally moved from her desk – leaning back and stretching before sliding her feet back into her shoes and pushing away from her desk slowly before standing. Her shoulders ached – and she felt a hollow sort of exhaustion but her mind was slowly trudging through her mental to do list – making sure she hadn't forgotten anything as she pushed files into her case and grabbed her keys from her top drawer.
"Oh good you're still here." House came in silently – out of the bright light of day he tended not to burst in so much as sneak by. He still never knocked in either case tough – so there was little difference.
"No. I'm not still here." She spoke quickly, heading toward her coat tree and pulling on her jacket gingerly.
"I need a heart."
"Tell me about it." She muttered wincing as she pulled her coat over her shoulders, and surprised when his hands brushed her own aside and helped. She turned in surprise once he was finished and looked at him with a groan. "Oh God. You aren't serious are you? Your patient is sixty six House – the committee will never approve it-"
"But they might." He stressed, looking down at her somberly. "He deserves the chance. I need a heart." She sighed softly, looking at him with a small frown while shaking her head.
"I'll convene the committee tomorrow morning – but House – you can't seriously expect anything to come of this- you need to find another way." Her voice was soft and he frowned down at the carpet for a moment.
"There is no other way. His heart's half dead – and even I can't fix that." She nodded – she had gone over his patient file not fifteen minutes before – her eyes sliding around the word infarction because it hurt to look at it there, black and white and painful. He wanted to fix someone.
"How's Wilson?" She softly changed the subject and he rolled his eyes at her as he held open her office door.
"He's going to tell her. He always does – he thinks it makes him a better husband." She was silent in response – wondering if perhaps there was a bit more to it this time. Wilson understood his own flaws – he even used them to his advantage at times. This time seemed different – but it wasn't her place to say. "Are we gonna talk about why you're avoiding me?"
"I'm with you right now." She pointed out and he simply looked at her in response. She sighed heavily as she pushed the doors open and they escaped into the mild spring night. "I thought you knew, Obi Wan."
"I have an idea – but I've been known to be wrong." He was following her to her car again, her slightly slower not quite so faithful shadow.
"When?" She retorted quickly, clutching her keys so tightly the metal bit into her hand. "Nothing needs to be discussed. I'm not avoiding you. I'm just... I needed a break." His eyes were tracking her now, roaming over her face, past where she was chewing on her lip slightly and down to her hands, white and trembling. She knew he noticed every single one of these things, but when his eyes met hers, he must have seen some hidden warning there because he simply nodded and stopped walking beside her. She faltered for a moment, before pressing forward, feeling his eyes on her form every step of the way. They did not say goodbye or wave or call over their shoulders at each other – but he did watch her until her car was in reverse and she was sliding out of her parking spot. As she drove home, her hands still shook and she imagined he could see her even then with those eyes.
The dreams were back again – stealing her sleep and pervading her waking thoughts as well. They were less nightmarish now. More like vivid dreams of the future – reading books about trucks to a little boy with bright inquisitive eyes. Brushing a little girls hair as she talked animatedly about what she did in school that day. Holding a toddler close and inhaling the scent of baby soap and innocence. The images haunted her, and she honestly thought she had never wanted something so – desperately in her entire life.
She would stare off at the walls around her, seeing images superimposed over her current surroundings – toys strewn across a floor – papers with scribbles hanging on her fridge. Laughter and sound and life echoing through the halls of her home. She wanted it. She wanted it so bad she could see it. Feel it. None of it was enough though – and she would blink suddenly taking in the stark floors and the echoing silence that seemed to magnify.
It was the first time in her life she had a goal and absolutely no idea of how to attain it. She had fought hard for everything in her life – she had a plan going into university for the first time – a plan that worked. She had a plan when she decided she would be the youngest Dean of Medicine ever. Both times she had fallen just short of her goals – but she had achieved them never the less. She wanted a plan for this too. She wanted an idea – a course to follow so she didn't suddenly feel adrift – with no course to plot.
She tried to scrub the images away from her mind, but they clung stubbornly – brown curls and blue eyes. Small chubby arms wound around her neck, refusing to let go. So she lost sleep and drank too much coffee, and fought her way out of the bed in the morning – wishing all the while that she wasn't alone doing it.
She tried to distract her mind while at work, first with files and then with House's patient. She wondered what it was about this man – every now and then House had certain patient's that he latched on to. He actually interacted with them – something about those patients drew him in. She thought it might be the infarction, but House had shown interest before that. She sighed silently as she headed up to the meeting room, a file clutched in her hand. When she finally made it up there, she slid into her seat beside Dr. Simpson, who leaned over her to pick up his paperwork, his arm accidentally brushing across her breasts as she rolled her eyes. He was two years from retirement and a pervert – but he had been on the board forever and was for the most part only mildly annoying. He had also voted with her to give up Vogler's money – and she didn't forget that.
House was five minutes late when he limped in, sitting before them to present the patient case, speaking calmly and rationally as she played with the edge of the patient file and listened. "He's a prime candidate for transplant – doesn't smoke. Drinks moderately. His tox screen is negative for illegal drugs, and legal ones. Surveillance blood culture show absolutely no sign of any lingering brucella bacteria."
"He's sixty six years old." She checked the fact in the file she had been abusing and spoke in a calm tone. She had to bring it up so he could argue it, and she held her breath, praying that he would argue it objectively and not-
"Told me he was sixty five. Liar. I'm out of here." He spoke dryly and she sighed inaudibly.
"There is an inverse correlation between patient age and success rates-" Simpson spoke beside her and she slid her gaze over to him knowing just from the look on the other man's face that this was going nowhere fast.
"He's in excellent health, this is is his first hospitalization since breaking his leg at twenty three. Or twenty two. I'm not sure anymore." He added sarcastically and she wanted to reach across the room and smack him. This was not the way to advocate for his patient – but perhaps he knew it didn't matter what he said.
"If the patient were to survive the operation he'll get what? Another five, ten, maybe twenty years if he's very lucky?" Simpson spoke pompously from beside her and she stared at him for a beat, slightly aghast. Others were listening intently, nodding and she gripped the file harder in her hands.
"So you're saying that old people aren't as worth saving as young people?" House spoke harshly and she sighed, knowing that she had to say something to draw him back, if possible.
"He's saying that hearts are a scarce resource." She spoke matter of factly. She wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. "We obviously have to choose criteria-" She leaned back as she spoke, her cold fingers releasing the file and tingling slightly as blood rushed back into them.
"No I get it." House interrupted in a scathing tone. "Women live longer so they should get preference right?" She frowned at him slightly but he ignored the warning, plunging ahead regardless. "And African Americans, they die a lot younger so to hell with them."
"What you think you're going to win me over by calling me a racist?" Simpson drew himself up indignantly and she sat up slowly, watching the disaster unfold.
"If the test is who gets to use it longest you can either be a racist or a hypocrite." House snapped back, leaning forward as he spoke.
"Your patient had a life. A family. We have got eighteen year old kids who only-" Simpson was defensive now and House stared at him thoughtfully, a gleam in his eyes. She opened her mouth to stop him but he was already speaking before she could.
"How old are you doctor? When do we get to toss you onto the ice flow?" She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to keep the smile down and her face serious.
"And thank you Doctor House." She spoke quickly, her voice resigned as she glanced around the room. Nothing unexpected had happened in this room today – but then no one had thought it would, not even him. "Unless anyone else has any questions, we will now go into private session." She closed the file as she spoke, glancing up at House as she did so. His eyes when they met hers were slightly accusatory and she glanced away. There was nothing she could have done.
"Oh I'm on pins and needles." He spoke bitingly as he slid his cane from the top of the table in front of him. "I wonder how you'll decide." He stood swiftly, limping out of the room and she ran a hand over the back of her neck, avoiding his glare as he left the room. Like she needed the extra guilt – she couldn't have done anything anyway.
The rest of her day after the devastatingly brief decision was spent working on paperwork and avoiding any possible contact with House and his patient. She already had the hot guilt sitting in her chest, twisting there painfully, tightening effortlessly. Brenda poked her head in earlier to let her know that Cameron was stalking the DOA's in the ER and she smiled, the pressure easing slightly.
It was almost four hours later when she saw an agitated man yanking open the outer door to her office, with House right behind him. She glanced longingly at her top drawer – where a bottle of extra strength Advil lay – knowing instinctively that she would need it after this.
"He stopped my wife from dying!" The man spoke in an angered tone and She frowned in confusion for a moment. House had arrived now, limping up to the desk and gripping the back of the chair as Brenda sailed past him, dropping a file on her desk and leaving again. Sometimes she thought Brenda was psychic – whatever she was she was indispensable. "She's dead – and I just want to let her go in peace, he has no right-" She listened, her eyes scanning the file before lifting to meet House's with a frown.
"I have every right. I'm a doctor. You cannot take her off the ventilator-"
"Mr. Neuberger has every right to take his wife off the ventilator-" She began calmly, glancing over at the man in question as she addressed House.
"His wife signed an organ donor card." House pointed out quickly.
"Which became invalid when her organs were turned down." She shot back quickly, trying not to look at her husband, who was standing there looking confused and agitated. This was no way to talk about his wife in front of him, but as usual House didn't seem to care.
"I can use them! I just need some time!" House was pleading – to her or the husband she wasn't sure but the sight of him arguing for his patient so whole heartedly rendered her speechless for a moment. "Committee says they won't take her heart. Another committee says a guy can't have a heart. It's a marriage made in heaven-" He had turned to the husband first before turning back to her imploringly. She watched with a frown – seeing his words affect the husband and wondering what in the hell was so special about this patient again. It was unusual. "I can find a surgical team that can do this. Classify it as experimental, so it won't screw with any numbers." She tried to keep the shock off her face – House arguing numbers was a foreign concept. "This is what she wanted!" He had turned back to the husband, his voice rising. "She wanted her organs to help another-"
"She never wanted to be kept alive on a ventilator!" The husband argued, looking slightly ill at the thought and she sighed softly.
"She's not, she's dead! She's not in pain, she's not suffering it's just her.. meat we're dealing with here." House kept glancing at her during this, as if he couldn't quite stand to look Donald Neuberger in the eyes as he talked about his wife that way. She felt her stomach sink – a real anger replacing the slight hope. Why on earth would he think this approach would work? She stood quickly, feeling a sudden need to move as Donald stared at House in shock.
"This is my wife!" His voice was low and rough and House slid his eyes over to her again and she thought she saw a slight flash of guilt there.
"Not anymore." He responded and she watched carefully, waiting.
"She deserves some respect, some dignity." Donald insisted.
"I respect the living." House snapped back, both of them fully ignoring her now.
"Right, that's why you made me think you were her doctor. Made me believe that maybe there was some hope-" She felt her stomach sink further at his words. What had House done? House ran an agitated hand over his face, looking at her quickly before answering.
"I never said I was her doctor." He spoke tiredly and she felt an odd weight settle over her, forcing her frame into the ground.
"Fine, you didn't lie, but you sure as hell didn't give me any respect! I'm taking her off the machines. Now!" He glared in her direction as if challenging her to defy him before he exited the room quickly, slamming the door in his wake. She sighed heavily, moving her eyes over to House.
"Nicely played." She spoke wearily – she had wanted this for his patient too – and he turned away from her moving toward the door.
"It's not over." He spoke as he pulled the door open and she rounded the corner of her desk, following the two of them quickly. When she reached the clinic waiting area, it was to see a young girl thanking Donald sincerely as House watched. Donald turned to glare at him and House spoke slowly.
"This girl's father will die by next weekend unless he gets your wife's heart." She stared at House incredulously – unable to comprehend what he was doing.
"House, don't you think that's a little manipulative?" She spoke in a lowered tone as Donald appeared to be at a loss for words.
"No. it's hugely manipulative." House spoke unapologetically as he didn't take his eyes off of Donald Neuberger, who looked livid.
"You're an ass." He spoke bitterly, turning away.
"Hey listen, you take your wife off life support and I'll have forgotten about this in two weeks. Gail here on the other hand-" He waved at the daughter who frowned over at him.
"Amy." She corrected and House didn't even pause.
"Whatever. You're mad at me, I get that." He spoke to Donald carelessly. "Take it out on me, not her." Donald sighed heavily, looking torn for a moment as he stared at first the floor and then the ceiling. Finally he moved toward House and kneed him in the groin as Amy gasped. She stared as House fell to the floor, moving toward him as Donald stared at Amy.
"Fine, your dad can – can have my wife's heart." His voice broke and he didn't look at House again as he exited the clinic quickly. She knelt by House who was still on the floor with a pained expression. She looked up at Amy, and shook her head, watching as the girl exited quickly. Picking up House's cane, she pulled at his arm until he stood with her.
"I hope we got that on tape." She muttered as she felt him lean on her heavily before turning them both back to her office. She heard his weak chuckle, and lead him to her sofa, watching as he sank gratefully on to it with a sigh.
"Evil." he managed to get out in a pained voice and she stood with her hands on her hips glaring at him.
"What did you expect House?! Tact is unknown to you – if you had of just-"
"It worked." He bit out painfully and she frowned down at him before moving over to her door and closing the blinds with a jerk. She didn't respond as she exited the room and ducked into the clinic's supply room, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer in there and heading back to her office. She handed to him as she closed the door and he accepted it silently, gingerly laying it across his lap with a wince.
"You are out of your mind." She sat next to him and watched him carefully. His face was pale and he still had lines of pain etched along it. "What now? Her organs were rejected for a reason-"
"Find out why. And fix it if we can." He spoke in a harsh whisper, sucking in a breath as he adjusted the cold pack. She nodded, and remained silent for a few moments.
"How's the pain?" She finally asked softly after a few moments, leaning closer and freezing when his eyes opened and he turned his head toward her.
"Bad." His replied horsely. "I think as my physician you should really examine the area for any lasting damage." She laughed and rolled her eyes.
"I think you're fine if you're already sexually harassing me." She spoke dryly, attempting to lean back but his hand caught her wrist and she stopped moving, looking down at where his fingers were wrapped loosely around the delicate bone there. It was hot and cold all at once and she shivered slightly in the warm room. She met his eyes and he looked at her seriously for a moment, his fingers tracing lightly over the sensitive skin there as she fought to appear unaffected.
"Are you done avoiding me?" His question was soft and she shook under his hand, realizing just how dangerous this could get. Even injured he was unquestionably not safe.
"What is it about this guy House? Why are you fighting so hard for this patient?" She changed the subject, feeling his fingers tighten around her wrist for a moment before he shrugged in response, pulling her closer as her trembling increased. She closed her eyes – to block his out, and his hand slid under the hem of her jacket, tracing along the skin on the back of her arm, his fingers warm and rough yet still sending waves of pleasure crawling across her skin.
"He- he just said some things. His wife.." He trailed off thoughtfully and she opened her eyes, to see him staring off at the opposite wall while his hand still had hers. "He's protecting his kid – maybe the guy just deserves a second chance."
"House.." She frowned as she spoke. He turned to her and she lost the ability to speak as his eyes met hers. He looked like he was on the verge of something – something hiding in the depths there that she couldn't quite see. An odd ache had started up somewhere in her chest, and it reverberated throughout her whole body. She leaned forward a fraction of an inch, but his hand released hers and he moved away at the same time – making the movement graceful in it's irony. He put the ice pack on the table, gripping the cane tightly and pushing himself up slowly.
"Thanks for the.. service." He smiled through the pain and she sat below him, oddly disappointed. Somewhere at the back of her mind the vision of the little boy with bright eyes danced, and she was vaguely aware of his wrist still tingling slightly where his skin had been in contact with hers. She glanced down and away, cradling her arm against her stomach gently, pressing it there and reminding herself that there were reasons she stayed away from him. There were things she wanted – needed – that he would never provide and she was running out of time. She couldn't afford to wait for him to finish out this three steps forward, five steps back dance that they were doing. It hurt too much – like slowly peeling away a band aid millimeter by millimeter. She wanted to press it back against her skin even though she new she needed to rip it off.
He didn't wait for a response, exiting her office gingerly, his limp slower and more pronounced. She sat in the echoing silence once he had gone, her skin still warm and her heart colder than when she had started. No matter how she wanted him to be what she needed – she knew better. It wasn't in him – just like it wasn't in her to settle.
It was dark when she walked out into the clinic and saw Wilson sitting there in the dark, a desk lamp on and a pile of file sin front of him. She sighed softly watching him, before moving up beside him, and leaning against the desk. "This doesn't help you know." she spoke softly, crossing her arms as she watched him.
"Does anything?" He asked bitterly, closing one file and sliding another toward him.
"Depends. On what you need – what you want. Wilson.."
"I love my wife." His voice was quiet in the empty clinic, his statement reverberating off the walls. "She – I haven't cheated. I've wanted- I almost- but I didn't. And I still feel like I'm losing her anyway." his voice was small as he continued and she felt her heart go out to him. He looked exhausted, drained and she recognized the feeling.
"So if you feel like you're losing her why are you here letting her go? Wilson – if you want something you have to work for it. Find a solution. I mean, don't take my word as law – the only relationship I have is with this damn hospital-" She laughed shortly and he looked at her with dark eyes that saw too much.
"You can't commit to two things at once Lisa. It's not in your nature." She sighed at his words, and frowned.
"I didn't mean for the hospital to take over my life like this. Don't let it take over yours." He smiled sadly at her, pushing the files away and standing slowly. He pulled his coat on, and paused to look at her for a moment in the dark.
"Thanks Lisa." He picked up his scarf, wrapping it around his neck and walking around the desk before pausing once more. "And I think we both know that what you're committed to isn't the hospital." She sucked in a shocked breath and he shook his head. "I just want to see you happy. Both of you." he added softly before disappearing through he doors and she stared after him in disbelief. Her arms wrapped around his midsection protectively and she shook her head. She knew what would make her happy. And it wasn't what James Wilson thought.