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Assumptions Only Lead.
by Topaz Eyes
Author's Note: Written for genagirl based on the prompt: It was only then that he closed the door, heart breaking, body broken and his soul withered to dust.
~~~~~
When House limped cheerily out of the kitchen sans cane after washing the lunch dishes, wiping his hands on a dish towel, Wilson was just finishing packing up his suitcase on the sofa.
House stopped short and glared suspiciously at the mute leather satchel, then at Wilson's bent profile as he fastened the last clasp.
"You're leaving."
Wilson paused midway through shrugging on his jacket, and tensed. "Yes," he admitted.
"You're leaving," House repeated, a sudden note of bemusement creeping into his tone. "Gonna tell me?"
Wilson avoided House's accusing gaze, but at least he had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'm going back home. I -- I was going to tell you before I went--"
"What, your hairstyle getting cramped by the cripple's lack of a functional blow dryer?" (Wilson's hair dryer had bit the dust a few days ago in an impressive shower of blue sparks. Wilson had been attached to it at the time. House still smirked and teased him about it.) "Going back to get a spare?"
Wilson's mouth quirked fondly at the memory. Then he turned around to face him, and House heard him trying to keep his voice steady. "Julie called last night," he replied, rubbing his neck and suddenly looking at a very interesting spot on the floor. "She -- she wants us to try to get back together."
House blinked in shock. All the air rushed out of the room but he still (if only barely) managed to keep his balance. "Really. And you're going back to her just like that."
"No, it's not just like that--"
"Without even discussing it first--"
"And what is there to discuss, House?" Wilson shot back. "Julie's my wife. My wife. She made a mistake--"
"One hell of a mistake," House agreed.
"--And she wants to try to save--"
"Weren't you the one who admitted your marriage was crap anyway?"
"Our marriage vows still mean something--"
"Like that ever stopped you before--"
"I still love her."
Wilson's voice broke at the admission.
The color drained from House's face.
The silence that followed was louder than a thunderclap though stupidly enough there was not a cloud in the sky outside. Then House felt his leg threaten to collapse under him with a stabbing pain -- from the same knife that was also bisecting his heart.
House had grown accustomed to all of Wilson's quirky habits the past few weeks -- the hair styling, the rotating ties, the sink full of whiskers, even the stuffed peppers (especially the stuffed peppers). He'd gotten used to his constant presence at home as well as at work'"had come to depend on his unflagging company in the evenings and even secretly found himself pleased to see Wilson's sleepy, grouchy form in the morning. He somehow began to count on Wilson just always being there...
He had dared to think that with luck and no major screw-ups on his part, it might even become permanent.
All these thoughts whirled around his head, but one shouted loudest above all of them.
You really should have known better.
His knees buckled.
Wilson rushed to his side to steady him. "House? House? Are you all right?"
House felt the warmth of Wilson's arm around his shoulder, the handle of his cane being pressed into his hand. He closed his eyes and grimaced at another sudden flare of pain in his thigh. It passed; as it did he let himself revel in the nearness of Wilson beside him for just a moment, the weight of Wilson's hand over his own. Just one moment of perfect bliss.
Then he straightened to his full height, brushed off Wilson's hand and schooled his face to studied indifference.
"Go back to your wife, Jimmy."
Wilson flinched at the rebuke. "I -- I'm sorry, House," he offered, sounding genuinely contrite, and shrugged helplessly.
House nodded, throat suddenly tight. "Yeah. Me too."
Wilson picked up the suitcase, looking defeated. "So -- so I'll see you Monday morning. Coffee. Right?"
House looked away, unable to meet Wilson's eyes. "Sure."
Wilson sighed and crossed the room to the front door, House following one step behind, to stand hunched over his cane in the middle of the doorway. Wilson stood in the front hallway, suitcase in hand, and rubbed his neck again. House glanced back towards him. Wilson looked as if he was about to say something. Maybe Stop me, I'm making a mistake. Or maybe I don't really want to go--
But all he said was a very soft "Thanks for letting me stay."
House just nodded, bereft of words, leaning heavily on his cane.
Wilson sighed again, then turned and left.
House stood motionless in the same spot, alone in the middle of the doorway, until he heard the telltale purr of Wilson's BMW fading down the street. It was only then that he closed the door, heart breaking, body broken and his soul withered to dust.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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