In the Silence that Remains

[rslhilson.livejournal.com]

Title: In the Silence that Remains
Author: rslhilson
Rating: T (mostly for language)
Summary: House has a one-sided conversation with Wilson. Implied H/W relationship.
Warning!: Implied character death
Spoilers: 6x5 (Brave Heart)
Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing. Title is from the Rascal Flatts song, "Words I Couldn't Say."
Author's Notes: Special thanks to srsly_yes for her posting advice and words of encouragement! =)

 

House doesn't feel like talking tonight.

He gets back to the apartment, completely sober for once, and dumps his shit on the sofa before barging into the bedroom and collapsing. The bed hasn't been made in weeks, not that he cares, but at least it seems to match the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and the garbage littering the living room floor.

He feels Wilson glaring at him and groans. "Don't," he warns.

But Wilson is still glaring, he can tell, and finally he rolls his eyes and shifts his body into a more comfortable position.

"Fine," he mutters. "Let's talk."

The window is open, and he grabs a fistful of blankets to pull over himself against the raging storm outside. He doesn't look around the room, but he can imagine Wilson sitting in the armchair in the corner, or standing by the wall with his hands on his hips.

"I hate you," House says, and it's quiet.

He lies still for a while, focusing on the sound of the rain hitting the glass and the leaves rustling in the wind. Sometimes he even concentrates on the throbbing ache in his leg, trying to forget that he's still waiting for something that will never come.

But he always remembers. In the pervasive silence of Wilson's answer, he remembers.

"Okay," he mutters at length, grimacing at the sudden thickness in his voice. "Maybe I don't hate you."

Damn, it's cold. Instinctively his limbs reach out, fingers and toes fumbling in search of the familiar body that so often provided them warmth and solace in return for tickles and a kiss. But there is nothing but empty space, and numbness.

He shivers. "Close the window, will you?" he calls out.

But his request goes unanswered, and the window stays open. Bastard.

"Cuddy asked me over for dinner," he finally says after a while – maybe to make Wilson jealous, but who knows? "Told me I need to get out more. I was going to tell her to go fuck herself, but instead I told her I had a date with you. That seemed to shut her up."

Wilson is still quiet, and House's chest feels funny.

"I need you," he murmurs. "You left me."

The wind stops blowing, and now he can't breathe.

"You son of a bitch," he chokes out. "You left me."

And then the storm picks up again, and the branches rattling against the window sound like bones cracking against the hood of an overturned car, and House. can't. breathe.

But it passes, and he gasps in lungfuls of air, sheets twisted in his hands and pillow damp with sweat. Beside him on the nightstand, Amber's soft blonde hair and devilish grin are eclipsed by a bright blue tie and lopsided smile, heartbreak confined by the silver-lined boundaries of a photo frame.

You can talk to me. I'm right here.

He still is. It's Wilson who isn't.

"I told you this was stupid," House whispers, and closes his eyes.

He didn't really feel like talking tonight, anyway.