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He Was There

House studied the grain of wood in his cane without really looking at it. His mind had gone inward, and he was doing some deep thinking. He needed Wilson. Needed him. He was always there, to listen to his ranting, to inspire his diagnoses, and to help with his never-ending pain. But Wilson didn't need him. He'd been watching the man lately, like he always watched him, looking for something to analyze, something to grasp a hold of and wave it in front of Wilson's face like a battered trophy. But what he'd seen he hadn't wanted to wave in front of Wilson's face for once. Wilson was tired. The way he came to work with his hair slightly less than perfect, the way his tie wasn't always a different tie from the previous day, the way he clung to his coffee mug and sighed when House came to see him. He was tired, and stressed. And it was because of his high-maintenance best friend. It was because of him.

He'd been there, last week, when House had had poker night. Wilson hadn't wanted to go. But House had just solved a tough case, one that made him and team think something about themselves, and House was a little tired himself and needed to blow off some steam. And he needed to do it not just with his regular poker buddies, but with his best friend across the table from him, to nag at and guess his cards and watch turn red. Wilson had understood. And so Wilson had been there.

He'd been there, a few days ago, when House had needed a ride to work. The bike had been acting up lately, and finally that morning it had refused to start. House had called his friend when Wilson had been halfway to the hospital. Wilson had had to turn around, almost show up late himself, skip his coffee. But House had needed him. He'd needed a ride to work, a ride that didn't involve a taxi driver staring sympathetically at his leg, or a crowd of people banging into him or offering him their seats on the bus. Wilson had understood. And so Wilson had been there.

He'd been there, night before last, when House had been crouched on the floor of his apartment in terrible pain. He'd had a hard day on the leg, and it had been punishing him fiercely for it. It had hurt so much, he'd called Wilson to come over and help before he fainted. Wilson had had to get up from resting after a hard days' work, get in his car and drive over, make an excuse to his wife. But House had needed him. Needed him to come over, offer his comfort, let House squeeze his hand when the pain became unbearable, make him tea, and get down his secret stash of morphine that House could no longer reach for the pain, without complaining too much about it. Wilson had understood. And so Wilson had been there.

But when had House been there for Wilson? Not when Wilson had needed a friend's ear, or some time alone, or a cup of coffee. House had to ignore him, annoy him, brush him off and not take the time. And yet House ate up Wilson's time, destroyed what relaxation Wilson could have, ragged on him until his congenial mood was worn thin. That needed to change. Wilson was tired. Wilson was stressed. And Wilson didn't need House.

House levered himself up from his chair with his cane and left for Wilson's office.

ooo00ooo

House opened the door without knocking. Typical, Wilson thought as he looked up from his paperwork. He wondered briefly why he even bothered to not be surprised. House stood, his silohuette framed by the doorway, the long shaft of his cane reaching down to the floor. Three words fell from House's lips.

"You should go."

Wilson was confused. "What?"

"I'm hurting you. I don't want to hurt you anymore."

"House, what are you talking about?"

"We're friends. Friends are supposed to look out for each other." He paused and looked down at the floor. "You do. I don't." He looked up again. "But I want to. And that means you should go."

"House, I don't understand. You're not hurting me."

"Yes, I am. I'm keeping you from living a normal life. You always have to hang around, make me happy, buy me Tic-Tacs, make sure I don't do anything stupid. Well, no more. I can take care of myself, and you need to get away from me."

"House, I don't know what to say." He didn't know what to say. House had come in unexpectedly, and offered him the destruction of their friendship. It was... surreal. House, in his own, awkward way, was trying to do something... nice. But Wilson didn't want their friendship to end. And yet... he was tired from the poker game last week, weary from taking House to work a few days ago, and exhausted from dealing with House's pain night before last.

"Say yes. It's important to you. It's important to me."

"I..." Wilson sighed. But he understood. He was tired. And he wanted that to go away. "Okay. You're right. You are hurting me. And I need a break. Just a break," he said quickly. House looked at him impassively. He sighed again.

"Okay."

House nodded once, and left the office.

Don't worry, there's a second chapter. I'm just waiting to get as many reviews as I can. So review! Thanks.