so here it is... thanks again!
One step at a time.
He really did feel ashamed for spying… seriously, he did, but what else could he do? In his grief he had convinced House that he would willingly kill him if that meant he could have Amber back: why would House even let him in?
Because he was unable to tell Wilson off… maybe.
Wilson entered the office softly; it was empty save for the frightened soul he knew would be there.
“Hey, who are te talking to?” slow, soothing… carefully Wilson advanced further into the office.’
“No one here… not happening.” House squeezed his eyes shut. In, out. In, out. Not real, not here either…
“I am here, I… I’m here. What’s all this about?” Wilson let out a quick, nervous laugh. “You’re scaring the hell out of me, man… who else do te see, House?”
The word ‘House’ still laid like a curse-word on his tongue; it took great effort not to utter it as such…
“Don’t see anyone except you… shut up…” he shielded his ears so someone must have been talking to him, Wilson decided.
“Listen to me House… I am here, I’m the only one talking… do te understand me? If te want me to shut up then I can do that but you’ll have to calm down first…”
House laughed; humorless and empty, disbelief etched on his cramped features… “Why would Wilson want to be here…I killed his girlfriend.” House stared at his hands, somehow expecting blood to come dripping off of them.
Something broke inside Wilson: House hadn’t killed Amber! He… hadn’t? No; he’d tried to save her, he almost died in doing so, too… Wilson ran across the room, somehow avoiding all objects along the way despite the darkness. He roughly grabbed House da the shoulders, startling him but forcing him to listen all the same: “You didn’t kill her, House! It was an accident, do te hear me? It wasn’t your fault… I know that. I’m here because I wanted to apologize…”
At this, House’s head snapped up: hallucinatory Wilson never apologized! Maybe this one was real…
“That’s right, it’s me.” Wilson smiled, crouching down in front of his friend and looking him straight in the eye: “It’s me. I’m really here… I’m the only one that’s really here, whatever else te see is fake. It’s okay.” At this, House’s head fell back to his chest; odd, Wilson thought, but he also knew he had no idea what was going on in his head right now. He cupped his hand around House’s cheek, slowly but surely bringing his head back up; many times he had tried to convince himself that his fingers would wither away if he touched House, tried to convince himself that everything House touched would rot until there was nothing left of it… but it was just skin. Human skin, for once not protected da the heavy mask that House so insisted on wearing.
“I don’t think it’s okay, Jim…” Not distant Wilson, not pathetic little Jimmy, no mocking James… just Jim: it was that serious.
“Why not, Greg?” Whatever it was required intimacy and Wilson was so happy that House still had some kind of trust in him that he was più than willing to play along.
House paled, his eyes fixed on his lap… he didn’t answer but Wilson was a man often praised for his seemingly endless patience: he waited.
“Because… because,” House whispered in a less than steady voice; “My mother… she, she’s dead…” Wilson squeezed House’s hand in a wordless and therefore accepted mostra of sympathy. “Murdered… by, da my father.” House shook his head in disgust. “I guess I panicked…” he bowed his head shame which spawned anger in Wilson: “You had every right to! I mean… damn it, House…” Wilson whispered, obviously shocked. He looked House in the eye, saw all the unshed tears that resided there and just…hugged him.
“But…” House tried to protest during several feeble attempts to push Wilson away.
Wilson just squeezed him harder: “Shut up… you’re not doing yourself any favors da pushing everyone away: I thought we both learned that…”
“Can’t… be around people right now.”
“Greg, you’re being ridiculous… te are allowed to cry! And te need people around te in times like these… trust me; I know.”
“We’re not the same… I don’t want to push te away again, Wilson.” True, House could be very dangerous in times like these, but that didn’t mean Wilson would just give up on him again.
“I won’t let te go that easily…” Wilson promised.
House’s breath caught in his throat, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes: he cried: softly, bordering soundless…
immagini of Amber flooded Wilson’s mind: the acceptance written on her face as she passed away. Blythe didn’t have any time to accept her faith… she died in fear and pain. The man Wilson held in his arms was equally scared and in pain, but not dead…yet. He would be very soon if Wilson left him alone right now… that brought tears to Wilson’s eyes: House was done, he could see it. He’d heard Cuddy talking about anti-depressants even before this… what now?
He didn’t want to know:
One step at a time.
Author's Notes: I think it's sweet...
comment, please?
One step at a time.
He really did feel ashamed for spying… seriously, he did, but what else could he do? In his grief he had convinced House that he would willingly kill him if that meant he could have Amber back: why would House even let him in?
Because he was unable to tell Wilson off… maybe.
Wilson entered the office softly; it was empty save for the frightened soul he knew would be there.
“Hey, who are te talking to?” slow, soothing… carefully Wilson advanced further into the office.’
“No one here… not happening.” House squeezed his eyes shut. In, out. In, out. Not real, not here either…
“I am here, I… I’m here. What’s all this about?” Wilson let out a quick, nervous laugh. “You’re scaring the hell out of me, man… who else do te see, House?”
The word ‘House’ still laid like a curse-word on his tongue; it took great effort not to utter it as such…
“Don’t see anyone except you… shut up…” he shielded his ears so someone must have been talking to him, Wilson decided.
“Listen to me House… I am here, I’m the only one talking… do te understand me? If te want me to shut up then I can do that but you’ll have to calm down first…”
House laughed; humorless and empty, disbelief etched on his cramped features… “Why would Wilson want to be here…I killed his girlfriend.” House stared at his hands, somehow expecting blood to come dripping off of them.
Something broke inside Wilson: House hadn’t killed Amber! He… hadn’t? No; he’d tried to save her, he almost died in doing so, too… Wilson ran across the room, somehow avoiding all objects along the way despite the darkness. He roughly grabbed House da the shoulders, startling him but forcing him to listen all the same: “You didn’t kill her, House! It was an accident, do te hear me? It wasn’t your fault… I know that. I’m here because I wanted to apologize…”
At this, House’s head snapped up: hallucinatory Wilson never apologized! Maybe this one was real…
“That’s right, it’s me.” Wilson smiled, crouching down in front of his friend and looking him straight in the eye: “It’s me. I’m really here… I’m the only one that’s really here, whatever else te see is fake. It’s okay.” At this, House’s head fell back to his chest; odd, Wilson thought, but he also knew he had no idea what was going on in his head right now. He cupped his hand around House’s cheek, slowly but surely bringing his head back up; many times he had tried to convince himself that his fingers would wither away if he touched House, tried to convince himself that everything House touched would rot until there was nothing left of it… but it was just skin. Human skin, for once not protected da the heavy mask that House so insisted on wearing.
“I don’t think it’s okay, Jim…” Not distant Wilson, not pathetic little Jimmy, no mocking James… just Jim: it was that serious.
“Why not, Greg?” Whatever it was required intimacy and Wilson was so happy that House still had some kind of trust in him that he was più than willing to play along.
House paled, his eyes fixed on his lap… he didn’t answer but Wilson was a man often praised for his seemingly endless patience: he waited.
“Because… because,” House whispered in a less than steady voice; “My mother… she, she’s dead…” Wilson squeezed House’s hand in a wordless and therefore accepted mostra of sympathy. “Murdered… by, da my father.” House shook his head in disgust. “I guess I panicked…” he bowed his head shame which spawned anger in Wilson: “You had every right to! I mean… damn it, House…” Wilson whispered, obviously shocked. He looked House in the eye, saw all the unshed tears that resided there and just…hugged him.
“But…” House tried to protest during several feeble attempts to push Wilson away.
Wilson just squeezed him harder: “Shut up… you’re not doing yourself any favors da pushing everyone away: I thought we both learned that…”
“Can’t… be around people right now.”
“Greg, you’re being ridiculous… te are allowed to cry! And te need people around te in times like these… trust me; I know.”
“We’re not the same… I don’t want to push te away again, Wilson.” True, House could be very dangerous in times like these, but that didn’t mean Wilson would just give up on him again.
“I won’t let te go that easily…” Wilson promised.
House’s breath caught in his throat, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes: he cried: softly, bordering soundless…
immagini of Amber flooded Wilson’s mind: the acceptance written on her face as she passed away. Blythe didn’t have any time to accept her faith… she died in fear and pain. The man Wilson held in his arms was equally scared and in pain, but not dead…yet. He would be very soon if Wilson left him alone right now… that brought tears to Wilson’s eyes: House was done, he could see it. He’d heard Cuddy talking about anti-depressants even before this… what now?
He didn’t want to know:
One step at a time.
Author's Notes: I think it's sweet...
comment, please?
