Work Text:
Wilson woke around 3:00 am to a persistent tapping sound at the front door. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa watching repeats of the local news and dialing House's cell phone number over and over again with no answer. When he'd closed his eyes, the flashing images from the tv had danced across his eyelids reminding him of the red and blue flashing lights of the emergency vehicles just hours before.
He stumbled towards the front door, hissing though clenched teeth as he jarred his injured arm against a table. The paramedics had splinted it, but he'd need x-rays once the swelling went down.
By the time Wilson reached the door, the tapping had stopped and he'd started to wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing. He peered cautiously through the peephole and saw a shadowy figure there, head bent slightly forward, obscuring the person's face. Wilson's heart clenched at the sight, both hope and dread warring against one another in the pit of his stomach as he pulled open the door. Even in silhouette, the figure was familiar.
House looked up at Wilson, those brilliant blue eyes looking lost and uncertain, the strange half light casting curious shadows across his face.
“Hey,” House said, his voice rough and quiet, “Can I come in?”
Wilson nodded solemnly and stepped back a little, closing the door as House shuffled inside and they both sat down on the sofa. The latest infomercial spokesperson shouted, “but wait, that's not all!” and Wilson turned off the television. The sudden silence filled the space between them for several long moments.
Wilson stared straight at House, but the other man refused to meet his gaze. Instead, House stared down at his own hands clasped atop his cane in front of him. He took in a long, shuddering breath.
“I didn't mean to hurt anyone.” House said softly, now looking pointedly at Wilson's injured arm.
Wilson had been clutching his arm to his chest unthinkingly. The ibuprofen had dulled the pain for the most part, but seeing House here before him had made it ache again. He'd refused anything stronger for the pain, but for just one moment he almost regretted that decision. It would be so much easier not to feel anything right now.
Wilson's lip trembled slightly and he ran a hand across his face. “I know.” He wasn't sure he really believed the words, but he said them because that's what House needed to hear. He found himself doing that a lot lately – holding back his own doubts and concerns in order to tell House what he needed to hear.
Wilson opened his eyes at the barest touch of a hand on his shoulder. He hadn't even realized his eyes were closed.
“You should be resting,” House said. Still, his words were tinged with that odd uncertainty and sounded drained and empty.
“I know,” Wilson said again, swallowing thickly and frowning.
In the morning, when Wilson woke in his bed, still wearing rumpled clothes from the night before, he couldn't say for sure whether the encounter had really happened at all. It felt like a dream, but he wanted it to be real so badly he could almost remember House pulling off his shoes and helping him into bed.