The phone rang.
The phone rang again.
The voice asked him to leave a message at the beep.
"Hey." Wilson said, looking confused at the constricted way his voice left his throat. He sat in the airport lobby, covering his bloodshot eyes with his hand. The cell phone pressed against his ear. "Hey, House…I'm, uh, I'm at the airport." He looked around, as if wanting to confirm it. "Gate 117, if you interested. Which…yeah…so…I'm coming home. I told them I had a family emergency. Just didn't tell them I caused it." He tried to laugh, but his throat was too dry. "So…I understand if you can't talk yet, I just, kinda…it'd be nice to know if I had anything to come home to." This last remark came out in almost completely the wrong tone and he drew his eyebrows together upon hearing it. "Yeah…that's not funny, is it?" He knew it wasn't. "I just wanted to call. I just wanted to say that I love you and that I'm sorry and that…" He chocked down something thick and unpleasant in his throat. "I just wish you'd talk to me."
Dial tone.
The phone rang.
The voice asked him to leave a message.
"Hey. Just called to say that I know your leg hurts. It's been hurting all day, hasn't it?" He gripped the slender armrest under his fingers, glancing shiftily at the empty seat beside him. "See, I do know you." He said this hoping to convince himself. When it didn't work, he got angry. "I know that you're sitting in that chair and watching the answering machine record and you're not even thinking about picking up. It's like I'm one of them now, isn't it? Like I'm one of those people who want something from you. Like I'm a patient. God, House. I didn't even do anything. I just…damn, flight attendants coming. I gotta go."
Dial tone.
The phone rang.
The voice asked him to leave a message.
"Okay, We landed and I got my phone back, finally. I'm heading to the parking lot and, damnit, it's snowing…I…I…I don't have a car." All the energy in his voice seemed to seep out through one long breath. "Yeah, you drove me here…I don't have a car." He looked frantically around at the long line of automobiles, the happy tired people lifting rolling luggage into trunks. The hugs. The kisses. The relived sighs. The woman next to him pulled her coat around herself tighter and, spotting a silver minivan, smiled and made for it. Wilson sighed. "I don't have anywhere to go, do I? I always…I always went to you."
Dial tone.
The phone rang.
The voice spoke.
Wilson was inexpressibly tired. He leaned back in the McDonalds booth. A hamburger and Coke lay undisturbed in from of him. "I'm waiting for a room." He said. "If somebody doesn't show up by ten, they'll give it to me. Apparently…" The last word came out in forced lightness. "There is some sort of convention going on. Jehovah's Witness or something like that." He felt his face twitch in the instinct of crying but he swallowed hard and stopped the tears. "I called the hospital. I think Cuddy's on your side." His face twitched again and he brought his cold fingers up to press against his eyes. "I'm on your side too, okay. I was wrong. I was so wrong. But I can't make it better if you don't talk to me." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Baby…" He said, then paused, wondering if he'd ever used that endearment before. It had fallen from his lips with a certain amount of ease, but if he thought about it, it didn't really fit him or House or the situation they'd found themselves in. He stuck by it anyway. "Baby." He repeated firmly. He liked the word. He liked the sound and shape of it. He liked the image it projected and the way it felt in his mouth. "Baby, you have got to talk to me." He paused, lowering his face from the bright lights. "Please, you have got to talk to me."
Dial tone.
The phone rang.
The voice spoke.
Wilson chocked back a sob.
"Right, so. I got a room. I'm at the Ramada by the airport. It sucks. I hate it. I hate this. I want to come home. Please, House. Please say I can come home. Please? Please just, god, say anything. Anything. Please? Just pick up. Please, pick up."
Silence.
"Yeah." He said quietly. "Yeah."
Dial tone.
The phone rang.
The voice spoke.
"Okay. You won't talk to me now. But you will, soon. And I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere, not until you say I can come home. I want to come home. As soon as you give the word, I'll come rushing home and do whatever you want to make this better. Please, if you just give me a chance I can make this all better, I promise." He laughed derisively. "I'm real good at making things up to people, you'll see. I just need another chance."
Dial tone.
The phone rang.
The voice spoke.
"I love you, okay. I love you. I love you. I love you. And it's not a game anymore; I'm not being a puzzle to keep you around. I need you. I really need you. I can't do this without you. Please, House, please. I need to talk to you."
Dial tone.
The phone rang.
Wilson sat on a hotel bed, his head in his hand.
The phone rang.
And rang.
And rang.
He sighed and very slowly hit the power button.
Dial tone.