A/N: So basically, I'm thinking of starting yet another new House fic, but I'm not sure if I want to -- so I wrote this drabble as a little preview to what that longer fic would be: an account of Wilson taking Stacy's place as House's caretaker in the aftermath of the infarction.
Yes, I know I have Utopia and Cotton Candy Baby. And I have not abandoned either one of those. But eh -- whatever.
Tell me what you think I should do.
Distortion
Wilson never goes home. He listens to music in his office around midnight, taking a booze break. House is barely asleep, indulging in the luxury of being severely depressed with no need to hide it. Wilson does. He's good at it. He listens to violins and cellos and voices overlapping in murmurs and whispers and quiet wails. He's not sure if that's how the song goes or if he's just drunk.
He isn't Stacy. He knows it, and House knows it. But Wilson is going to have to be a brilliant replacement, like a sudden call-in for a rock star that dropped out of his own concert at the last minute.
He laughs. He's not Stacy. He's weak, too weak for this. He's afraid of failing, just as he's failed all his wives. He's afraid of fucking up the best relationship he has because he's not cut out to be anybody's savior.
But he's the only one left.
He never goes home.