TITLE:
Eyes of a Tragedy
AUTHOR: Cuddlyfruit
PAIRING: House/Wilson,
kinda sorta in a wishy-way.
RATING: PG
WARNINGS:
Angst.
SUMMARY: You don't see me at all. Wilson's POV.
DISCLAIMER:
I don't own House or any of the characters in it. I also do not own A
Perfect Circle or their song 3 Libras. I simply enjoy both.
NOTES:
545 words. This and my other fics can be found in my journal. The
lyrics to the song 3 Libras by A Perfect Circle are scattered
throughout this ficlet. I feel so bad for being mean to
Wilson...
Eyes of a Tragedy
Sometimes I wonder if my heated glances are literally that, because he always seems to feel them. I hate having to turn away from watching his lithe body, graceful muscles, handsomely mussed hair. I throw him the obvious then pretend not to see his quizzical glances. I pretend I haven't been staring, wishing. I pretend his beautiful, clear blue eyes have no affect on me. I hide behind a weak, innocent smile, and he accepts it. He always accepts it, and sometimes I wish he wouldn't.
Somehow, he has no idea how I feel about him. He never seems to catch on to the meaning of my perpetual staring. He never hears the unspoken parts of what I say to him, doesn't see the desperate longing in my eyes. We're such good friends but, in this, he doesn't see me. I'm little more than a name in his recollection, a name down among a million more. Even the younger doctors, his much-tortured ducklings, are beginning to understand my stares, but somehow, despite his genius in all else, House is oblivious.
Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure I know just why he never sees me. I'm pretty sure House never understands the heat at his back because he's too busy hiding the heat of his own stares. In this, Chase is just as oblivious as is his watcher. It's difficult not to feel a little bit disappointed. Passed over. I can see how lonely he is, how desperate he is for some type of caring. It doesn't matter how hard he tries to hide it. I see right through. I see him naked but oblivious.
He's so lonely, and he still doesn't see me. Maybe I'm expecting too much from the wounded. Just because he's lonely and hurt doesn't mean he wants me. Really, who in their right mind would want me. Two failed marriages and a third on its way to the graveyard. A plethora of girlfriends and one-night stands. All my relationships are destined to end quite nastily.
And so when I find myself standing before House, an admission of my guilty feelings at the tip of my tongue, I'm fairly sure I've gone crazy. He's watching me closely, something indescribable swirling in those cool blue eyes, drawing me in deeper and deeper until I'm afraid that I'll never get out. And maybe I don't want to.
When I finally lean over and kiss him, I'm too caught up in finally feeling those warm soft lips, in being so close I can feel his heartbeat, to notice his lips are unresponsive. It doesn't take long, though, and when I pull away House is looking torn. He pleadingly explains that he doesn't feel that way about me, bringing my dread to life and sounding most unHouselike in the process.
All day long, as I move mechanically through my job, I can feel his eyes, so regretful, on my own back. And I laugh at the bittersweet idea that he's finally watching me, as well.
That night, lying on the couch with a pillow and blanket, I finally see what occurs behind the eyes of a fallen angel. The eyes of a tragedy. I finally admit to myself that what he feels for me is… Nothing at all.
