K, finally updated. Might be slightly ooc at the end, but I don't care :D. I mean, I care, but I don't tonight. Anyway…the glass idea was given to me by sparowe, who is awesome. Hopefully I'll be able to update sooner. Enjoy.
Chapter 4 – Glass
Cuddy made House go back to clinic duty. There were more idiots than usual. The case dragged on… the ducklings were quiet – especially Cameron. Life kept going at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, even without Wilson. But it wasn't the same.
There was no more writing on the glass wall of the room, no file folders spread out on the bed. No evidence that House had been there much at all. In fact, he hadn't been…not to Cameron's knowledge anyway.
Instead, she had taken up the chair he had previously occupied next to James' bed. This time, it was only a day before he stirred. With a small relieved smile, Cameron leaned forward, gently picking up his hand.
Wilson blinked slowly and squinted a little. It took a minute before Allison's face came into focus. "Cameron?" he whispered.
"Hey.." she breathed with a comforting smile, "How do you feel?"
"Mmm…" Wilson sighed softly, closing his eyes, "What happened?"
"You-.." Cameron hesitated slightly, lacking the solid yet gentle tone she used with patients, "You had a pulmonary embolism…there was a clot, from the trauma and surgery, and when you coughed-…"
Wilson opened his eyes with sudden realization, "Where's House?"
"You um..your heart stopped…" she continued, almost ignoring his question.
"Cameron.." he looked up at her to get her attention, "Where's House?"
She sighed, looking down at their hands, "I don't know, probably in his office."
"Is he..ok?" Wilson asked softly.
Cameron looked up again at him. "You…almost died. You did die for a few minutes and you ask if House is ok?" she questioned, not harshly, but truly wanting to know.
"He's my friend," Wilson said softly.
"He hasn't come in here."
"But you stayed?"
Cameron hesitated. She never forgot House's words about damages. And here was another damaged man; Dr. James Wilson, kind, sad divorcé, wanting to be loved. Almost the polar opposite of House. Every time House did something that hurt her, intentionally or not, Wilson was there to catch her. It didn't just take this event for her to notice.
She had noticed long ago his brown eyes and somewhat embarrassed smile as he felt guilty on behalf of his friend. But there was something else too. Cameron had much experience with flirtatious men, and she could honestly say that this had turned into something entirely different. Either Wilson was a terribly good actor, or it was more than just flirting. And it did take almost loosing him for Cameron to realize that.
Squeezing his hand gently, she smiled a little, "But I stayed."
"Thank you," he whispered with true gratefulness in his voice, and she had the distinct feeling that he hated to be alone.
Cameron's smile faded slightly, "I was-..we…we were worried about you."
"You..were?" he asked almost hesitantly.
"You almost died, James…"
"I know.." Wilson trailed off for a moment. It was strange to think of it that way. Such a dramatic role reversal.
The silence was awkward. Cameron stared down at the hand she was holding again. Lightly, she stroked his knuckles with her thumb, then abruptly stopped and cautiously let go of his hand, feeling self-conscious about it. "But it was a freak thing," she smiled a little nervously, breaking the silence, "Nothing to worry about now." She hesitated for a moment, watching him. "Do you um…need anything?"
He sighed tiredly, closing his eyes for a minute. He hated the disassociated feeling caused by the morphine…granted vicodin was a lesser opioid, but he wondered how House managed that or if he truly enjoyed that feeling. Wilson certainly didn't. "No.." he said after a minute, "I'm fine…"
Cameron nodded a little and stood up. "I'll let you rest," she said softly and started to walk towards the door.
"Allison.." he called after her, watching her pause at the door and turn back towards him. "Could you..stay for awhile?"
A small smile crossed her lips and she walked back over, "Of course."
House sat in his office, twirling his cane absently with one hand as he stared out the window of his office, watching the rain streaking down the glass and distorting the image of the outside world. But he wasn't really looking out the window – not concentrating on anything at all. It was just one of many distractions from the two folders sitting on his desk; one that belonged and one that didn't.
He watched a car drive by, the headlights reflecting on every surface that was slick with rain water, and bouncing into his office. House leaned back in his chair, trying to avoid the spotlight. He didn't want to see or be seen by anyone now. Pushing himself backwards with his good leg, he rolled over to the edge of the curtains to shut them, blocking out the outside lights. Now, he was alone…in the dark, where he could brood properly.
This was a more extreme of misanthropy – he hated people enough to not even want to attempt to associate with them. This was when there would be a soft knock at his office door, and House wouldn't answer. But that wouldn't stop Wilson from coming in and pulling him back out of his dark mood, even if it always didn't appear that way to the oncologist.
There was no knock. No one came. Even his ducklings avoided him. House gave a lengthy sigh. This is what it would be like if Wilson had ceased to exist. If he had di-…
But he didn't, he was still there. Only, House hadn't seen him. Not since the day that he had crashed. What was he doing, did he want to let go? Did he want to disassociate himself so that the loss of his last handhold on life wouldn't hurt him? And in the process, abandon Wilson?
Maybe he just didn't care. That's what he said, he didn't care. He convinced himself he didn't. Because inside, he was just frozen.
Everybody lies. Even Greg House.
There was a soft knock at the door. He looked up suddenly, expecting to see what he knew he wouldn't. Instead, it was Cameron, peering into his dark office with the same concerned expression that she always carried. He sighed a little, leaning back into his chair more.
Slowly, Cameron pushed the door open and stepped inside, "House? What are you still doing here?"
"Because I'm sitting in the dark, what does it look like," he said, raising an eyebrow, "What are you doing here, spying on me?"
"No, I was…visiting Dr. Wilson. He's um, awake," she replied softly, fidgeting slightly with her hands in front of her.
House didn't say anything, but stared at the curtained window.
"He asked about you."
Cameron sighed and looked down at the floor, "I thought you might have wanted to know."
"Thank you, now I do," House said finally, no true thanks in his voice, only sarcasm.
She looked back at him, folding her arms, "Are you going to go see him? He asked for you, you're his friend."
"I got him shot!" House nearly twitched, sharply looking up at her. The outburst was unexpected to him too, and he gripped the handle of his cane harder, turning his head back to face the window.
Cameron's expression softened. House knew what was coming, he could feel it, like the vibrations of movement he could feel through the ground with his damaged leg that let him know when someone or something was coming closer.
"House…" she started, gently, "This wasn't your fault."
"Yes it was."
"But you-…" she was quickly interrupted by him.
"Go home, Cameron. Let me angst in peace."
Lightly, she shook her head. "You're treating this like some…badly written piece of fiction. It's not, it's real life. Wilson asked for you. I think you should go see him," she said softly, and sighed again, almost disappointed, before she walked out of his office.
House didn't turn to watch her go. "I'm acting like a badly written piece of fiction…" he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes. Slowly, he looked back towards the office door. Using the edge of the desk as support, House winced as he stood up, leaning heavily on his cane.
The hallways were never empty, but at night it was the closest that they would ever come to it. He slowly headed down to the ICU, with the familiar sound of uneven footsteps accented by the cane, until he reached the room he had been looking for.
The lights were off – similar to his office – only the soft glow of the monitors illuminated Wilson's face. His chest rose and fell rhythmically with the patterns of sleep. House stood outside of the window. He wanted to go inside, yet..he didn't. He couldn't make himself move any further, almost as if he was afraid that something else might happen if he did. Something else would happen. It always did…all of his chances and risks, his qualities, had punished Wilson in some way. Now it had been a smartass comment.
House reached forward with his free hand, putting his fingertips against the cold glass. An emotionless barrier between them that didn't care what House was doing, or what he had to say. He slowly pressed his hand flat against the glass, trying to feel through it. With a long sigh, House leaned forward, resting his forehead against the glass too.
"I'm sorry, James," he whispered.