"House? " Wilson asked again, once he had entered, his gaze wandering about the room. No response. Not that he really had been expecting any.
His brows starting to narrow slightly, he kept letting his eyes wander about in search for his friend, who had to be here somewhere, until finally the sound of somebody moving on a leather couch caught his attention. Well, he could have been looking there to begin with.
"House.", Wilson said yet again, heaving somewhat of a little sighing breath, while he got out of his coat, placing it on its usual place beside the door, before heading for the couch and around it. Where he, to no big surprise, finally found House. No, he could not have said a thing. Same time, the TV should have been enough to already tell Wilson where House would be, the moment he had entered. Then again, maybe it had been a sort of deep down wish of his to not find House on the couch. Where he already had found him every other time he had visited, after House's release from hospital.
Looking down at his friend, who was sprawled on the brown leather couch, dressed in a sweater and pyjamas, half covered by a blanket and supported on a couple of cushions, Wilson really had a hard time keeping a sympathetic look from his face.
He felt so incredibly sorry for House, not to mention he simply was a most pitiful sight. Wilson did not know how much weight he had lost, but it certainly was a lot, making him look even more lanky and worn-out than he already had a tendency to look, anyway. His blue eyes were red, probably he had been crying again, when he had known he had been alone. Like he had done in the hospital a couple times, whenever Wilson had pretended to be asleep or just been watching with Stacy from outside. Wilson could not blame House. He actually was surprised he wasn't crying a lot more. Wilson didn't even dare to try imagining just how his friend must be feeling.
All the pain he had been in. The pain he still was in. Wilson knew he no longer was on the morphine and stubborn as he was, had refused taking any kind of other means to help him get relief from the pain that still was in his leg and the way things were looking right now, was probably never going to fade again. The thought alone made Wilson shiver a bit on the inside.
Yet, he knew the worst he could do was letting his friend know how sorry he felt for him. He already had been with him all these weeks in hospital, when House would not allow Stacy near him anymore, without immediately going into a yelling fit. Wilson also would be with him now.
"Did Stacy send you to baby-sit me?", House then all of the sudden said in his still somewhat croaked sounding voice, making Wilson realise the pause of them just staring at each other already had been far too long. He cleared his throat in a somewhat embarrassed fashion, before finally returning,
"Yes.", was all he said bluntly, "After all you won't talk to her."
"I talk to her.", House muttered gruffly.
"You yell at her. Or insult her.", Wilson merely returned, before he even fully had proceeded what he was saying, but as soon as it was out, he realised it had been probably a highly unwise thing to say, for House's tired face suddenly grew angry,
"She ruined my life! Forever!", he hissed, making Wilson bite his lip a bit, followed by a little pause, in hope it would calm House down again somewhat, they had had this argument plenty of times these last couple of weeks,
"She just wanted your best. ", Wilson said in an almost hushed tone.
"Your best. My ass. ", House mumbled in a gruff tone, making Wilson decide to try changing the subject, granted, his next choice was not all too much wiser.
"How's physical therapy going? ", he asked a bit hesitatingly, immediately earning him a stern frown from House, who just stared at him for another long moment, before he said,
"I'm not going anymore."
"What! ", Wilson almost gasped, shaking his head in an unbelieving gesture. Granted, he wasn't really surprised. In the hospital Wilson had been able to drag House to physical therapy. Simply push him into the wheelchair and bring him without leaving him much of a choice. Now he was at home though and he obviously wanted the impossible again and if he could not have it, he would start simply refusing to do anything.
"Are you crazy, House? Where is the wheelchair? ", Wilson couldn't help but yell, looking around. It was gone.
"I don't need the damn wheelchair! ", House returned, seeming to just welcome the opportunity to flare up again.
"W-what? ", Wilson could not help a bitter laugh, "You can't walk! And you won't be able to walk ever again, if you don't go to pt!"
"I don't need the damn therapy!", House sneered back, making Wilson flail his arms a bit in disbelieve and frustration, even he would not have believed of his friend being that, god, he could not even find a word.
"You know what! If you don't need anything, you also don't need me here! I seriously got enough of this! Everyone just wants your best, wants to help and all you do is shove everyone away! God! House! Seriously, I am not willing to do this any longer. If you want to spend the rest of your life sprawled on that couch, hating the world, fine! Fine! I wish you lots of fun!", Wilson didn't even really know what had gotten into him; all he knew was that he had enough. Enough of trying to help his friend and just being met with protest. No. House had defiantly crossed the line this time.
Dumbfound by this outburst, House merely stared at Wilson for a moment, until Wilson gave another frustrated laugh, just to walk back to the door, grab his coat and without any further words heading out again, the only thing he heard being called after him, when he closed the door behind him was,
"Good! LEAVE! You coward!"
But Wilson did not turn. He returned to his car and he returned home, not telling his wife about the fight, but going straight to bed. Tomorrow would be another day.