Gregory House was lounging in his prized leather chair, gazing out the window of his office. A look of deep concentration was etched into his hard features; his eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip gently pursed against the top, gaunt fingers unconsciously massaging his lame thigh. He often times became lost in his thoughts, going into trance-like states of rumination. They were moments of pointless reflection, and House viewed them as an excellent workout for his brain. He'd only let himself go into them when no one else was around, being strangely self-conscious about his casual meditations.
These moments were usually sparked by something insignificant and this one was no different. He'd been signing some paper and had added an extra flourish to the Y on the end of Gregory, which had spiraled him into speculations on anomalies in everyday life. His train of thought moved so quickly he didn't bother to try and keep up with it. Several minutes later House found himself mulling over the Geneva Convention and what parts he'd actually remembered from his high school history classes.
He faintly heard a knock on his door, but was so wrapped up in thoughts about Swiss army knives, that he didn't bother to answer. He instead spun his chair slowly till he was facing the door, hoping that the intruder would take this as a sign and enter. He took a few more seconds to quiet his mind. Whoever was approaching had better be prepared with useful information or else be ready for a verbal sparring match. For all they knew he was just about to realize what 'patient X' was suffering of today. Fortunately he wasn't, but he made a mental note in his swiftly buzzing brain to somehow work that into the conversation, as some kind of a thinly veiled insult, of course.
The door opened sluggishly, as though the person doing the opening was reluctant to step into House's office and was trying to stall as long as possible. In fact, House was sure of it once he saw who it was.
Wilson appeared troubled; one hand stiffly jammed into the pocket of his white lab coat, the other loosely wrapped around the door handle in a clammy grip as he eased it back into its resting position. His shoulders were held tensely and his eyebrows were tiredly sagging down his forehead, supposedly attempting to hide his brown eyes which were enthralled by the bland pattern of the carpet. In the back of House's mind thoughts sprang to life about what could make his colleague seem so distressed. 'Bad day? Problems at home? Maybe it's Julie. She could do this to him. What about that nurse he'd been seeing? Did she call it off? Maybe that's good though. Keep him from ruining another marriage.' None of these came to his lips, he opted for a smooth, detached, "Yes...?" instead. Test the waters first before deciding.
The oncologist glanced up at House, as though seeing him for the first time since he'd entered the office. His first instinct was to reply with a simple 'nothing,' but he knew better. Don't spend too long beating around the bush. Don't bother trying to comfort them before you defeat them. He sucked in a breath and started with a soft "Ahh, I'm sorry..."
And in that second there wasn't a doubt in House's brilliant mind about what was coming next.
"Anne Madison is dead. Just a few minutes ago..." Wilson continued. He rattled off specifics and House listened with one ear.
Despite how stable and cool Gregory House always aspired to appear, he really didn't want to accept it. He'd just received her case. It couldn't have been more than two hours since he'd sent his team off. They were still waiting for tests and the results of those tests. She couldn't just keel over before he'd solved it. That just didn't happen these days. Since he'd assembled his fellowship they'd managed to solve many cases. Many more then when he'd been practicing on his own. He'd let that success lull him into a false sense of security.
He swallowed a large lump in his throat, and within a few seconds logic caught up with him. Patients were sick people. Sick people die. It was a constant. 'But not when I'm on watch!' a renegade part of his brain screamed. House tried to silence it, knowing it didn't matter now. The rebel thought carried on despite reason though, and he began to wonder when he'd started to think of himself as a healer rather than a doctor.
"Greg?" Wilson questioned gently. House hadn't responded to him yet.
House tore himself from his circling thoughts, realizing he'd been about to go into one of his stupors with Wilson standing right there. The idea nearly made his skin crawl. He nodded slowly, trying to acknowledge his friend. "Yeah..." He breathed stupidly. "Okay." He was trying to think of something witty to say but it wasn't coming.
He raised his gaze from the top of his desk to meet James' own. His brown eyes were sad, and House wondered why he'd never noticed that before. They were such sad cocoa colored eyes. And then he wondered why Wilson was there. Why hadn't Cameron or Chase or Foreman brought the news? Why was Wilson here, making his eyes so sad with worry about some crippled old doctor? "She didn't have cancer," he mused aloud.
"What?" Wilson asked, slightly taken aback by the sheer abruptness of the statement.
"Why are you here? Madison didn't have cancer. You shouldn't even know about the case yet." In the back of his head, House knew exactly what his friend was doing here but a part of him wanted to hear James say it aloud.
Wilson moved forwards and sat on the edge of the seat across House's desk. He rested his elbows on his knees and linked his fingers together, the apprehension he'd exhibited on his entrance gradually evaporating into the gentle concern he carried everyday. "I'm here because I wanted to make sure you would be okay." James stared intently at Greg as he spoke, searching for any emotion in the other man's face. Normally he wouldn't have worried. Greg was well-adjusted enough that he could deal with a death, but rarely was a patient so hastily jerked out from his care. He knew now there had been nothing to worry about. House was taking it as he always did. He'd numbly go home, get hammered, and then come back tomorrow as though nothing had happened.
House nodded briefly at Wilson's answer. He knew he should be at least a little ticked off; he was a big boy doctor now and the occasional death was part of the job. He didn't need Wilson to keep tabs on him. "Okay," he replied, his nod tapering off. He supposed didn't mind Wilson caring though. The sky was blue, Wilson cared; they were constants. Constants held his world together.
"You want me to stop by tonight? Bring a pizza or something?" James offered.
Greg nodded again, a cheerless smile tingeing his lips for a brief moment. "Yeah, sounds nice."