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After Amber died,
Wilson came back 30 lbs heavier.
After wilson came back,
House couldn’t stand him.
It took 30 lbs for Wilson to start to fill out his old shirt.
30lbs for his collar to start to look like it was winning the fight against his neck, choking him out.
30lbs to soften that stupid, smile of his. Or maybe that had something to do with Amber’s death.
Regardless, Wilson was fat and House couldn’t fathom looking at him.
It brought back familiar feelings from another life, one House hadn’t experienced in a long time. Sure, there was seeing beautiful women. But this, this was something deep, something shameful that bubbled up every time his mind landed on the thought of Wilson’s disgustingly tight collar.
And god forbid, borderline rolls as they sat together on the couch, Cuddy’s demanding voice fading into the background as House’s eyes went to Wilson’s middle. The fabric of his oxford shirt puckered and bended in all the right places, giving him the appearance of a deli ham, tied up and packed into slick, tight plastic cling wrap. Suffocating. Was the only word that came to mind when his eyes scraped over Wilson.
He wished he could stop. Stop the need.
“House, you look…” Wilson struggled to find the right words as if he hadn’t already been playing out the conversation in his head for hours. Apparently, he hadn’t come up with anything yet.
“You want a hooker? I have a couple coming over tonight, I’ll share if I have to.” House said. He watched Wilson’s ever predictable face scrunch up at that, offense taking over.
“Really?” Arms crossed over his chest, it was unfamiliar, the way the fabric contorted around what was more.
“I figured you needed a pick-me-up. If not, I wouldn’t advise stopping by tonight. It’s rodeo night.” House envisioned his hookers in their skimpy excuse for a cowboy outfit, topped with cowboy hats and bandanas.
“Okay.”
Silence pierced the room, only the sound of the radiators and pipes doing their jobs, along with the slight chattery bleed from Wilson’s door. The barrier between them and the hustle and bustle of the hospital. “What’s that?” He watched as Wilson put a box on his table, beginning to put stuff in.
“I’m leaving.” Wilson said plainly. House felt his chest tighten. Not good.
“What? Another two months? You’re really milking that bereavement thing.” House said, beginning to pace around the room.
“No, I’m leaving the hospital.” House watched every trinket on Wilson’s desk go into the box, repetitive hand motions delivering nail after nail into the coffin.
“You’re an idiot.” House hobbled towards Wilson.
“I just- can’t be here. After everything, it's too much.” Wilson said, pausing his packing.
“Just because your work might remind you of your dead girlfriend, you’re just gonna pack up. Disappear. End up in a mobile Oncology bus in Waxahachie Texas. Bunk hopping at different hostels because you can’t bring in enough money to stabilize yourself again.” House all but leaned over the desk, trying to intimidate.
“I need to do this.” Wilson continued to pack.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“I’m making a choice. Now please. I have to get this paperwork over to McMann, he’s taking these over.” Wilson grabbed a few papers and walked out.
His pants were held up by the grip they had on his hips, not the belt he had on. Judging by how tight they were, he was sure Wilson had had to suck in to button them that morning. It was funny that Wilson would still put a belt on after that ordeal, but he put on a front for a lot of things he was trying to hide. The belt wasn’t his first, and it wouldn’t be his last attempt to cover up the issue with a pretty bow.
House followed, calling after him. “Come over tonight. That’s all you need, some normalcy.”
“I am not coming over if you have hookers.”
“Well I already booked them. Gives you a bad rap if you book and cancel 3 hours before. I don’t want to disappoint those girls.”
Wilson sighed heavily, House noticed a particular increase in his breathing that deviated from how he would usually sound, slightly taxed.
“Okay well I’m not coming over.”
Wilson looked back behind him when he got no response and found that he was alone- House was gone.
-
The day Wilson came back was one of the only days in the last 2 months House didn’t feel like he was going to pass out before the end of the day. After a couple weeks, he had chalked that feeling up to the vicodin. Turns out eating nothing all day would do that as well.
“You look like you haven't been eating.” Wilson’s face was written with worry and surprise, as if he didn’t know if he’d be able to say it.
“You look like you haven’t slept in 2 months.”
“Maybe I haven’t. Listen- you can’t just waste away when I leave.” Wilson dug into his pasta. Hm. Not a very sharable dish.
“Well.” House grabbed a fork and twirled furiously, getting as much pasta as he could before Wilson shooed him away. “If you weren’t leaving I wouldn't have to worry about that.” House punctuated that sentence by shoving the chicken alfredo in his mouth messily, definitely.
“Not everything is about you, House.”
“I like to think it is.” House pulled Wilson’s plate closer to him to take more but Wilson yanked it back, House’s eyes widened, not expecting this behavior.
“I-I’m hungry. House. Stop stealing. I’ll buy you something.” Wilson rummaged through his pocket for his wallet, taking out a $10 and throwing it to House’s side of the table.
House’s eyebrow raised. Hungry. His eyes went to Wilson’s, he saw desperation in those dark, tired eyes.
He took the $10 and walked away, not getting food with it. Wilson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
—
Wilson couldn’t leave, he tried, but he always came back. That didn’t stop House from hating his brief absence more than death itself.
The second coming of Wilson brought 20 more pounds on his frame.
Jesus christ.
House’s mouth filled up with saliva as if he was about to hurl.
“Get bored with the mobile oncology bus? Ready for a night at the strip joint on 3rd?”
“I took some time to think, House. You should try it. I won’t be happy anywhere and I’d rather be with the people I love.” Wilson put his coat on, ignoring House’s sex needs.
That was sweet. Wilson was sweet.
“Strip joint?” House insisted.
“No. Dinner?”
“You pay.”
“Of course.”
All was well that ended well. Except it didn’t end well. It ended in agony. Wilson had clearly updated his wardrobe as his clothes weren’t too tight but he was visibly larger. Everywhere. It made him lightheaded.
“Was my being gone really that hard for you? I thought you didn’t care.” Wilson said, House was visibly frailer.
“Can we talk about how I was right, that you were an idiot to leave?”
“No, I needed time.”
“Hookers would have cut that time down to nothing.”
“Please, can we have an adult conversation?” Wilson asked, tone stern.
House looked at his face, the bags he previously had under his eyes had lightened, he looked better overall. He couldn’t however, miss the added volume to Wilson’s cheeks that indicated there had still been some sort of struggle, mentally.
Wilson ate his feelings, that was a fact.
House hadn’t answered for an awkward length of time, caught up in his own musings. He heard Wilson clear his throat.
“Yeah yeah, whatever. You’re back, huzzah, let's throw a party.”
“You haven’t been eating, House.”
“Don’t get all mental health matters on me. Did you see a therapist or something?”
“I actually did, and they actually helped me work through my issues.” Concern contorted Wilson’s aging features.
“I don’t have any issues.” House said.
“Explain why you’ve lost at least 20 lbs when there wasn’t anything to lose. House, you’re starving yourself whether you know it or not.”
“Explain why you’ve gained 50 lbs.” House said, anything to deflect the topic from himself.
He watched Wilson’s eyebrows shoot up, shock on his face as their water placed their plates in front of them- speechless, embarrassed.
“Come on, you’re not blind, you’ve already bought new clothes.”
Wilson stayed silent, puppy eyes glaring into House’s blinding blue ones until the waiter left far enough to not overhear anymore.
“My girlfriend died.”
“You still have your best friend who you ran away from for 4 months.”
Wilson looked furious, but the roundness of his face softened the expression, “Because you’re an asshole, House! You don’t give a shit about my feelings. You just want faux-control over every aspect of your life, but I am an alive human being.”
“You ran away.”
“I wouldn’t have had to if you weren't such an ass.” Wilson said and shoved a forkful of food into his mouth, House watched his expression relax a little as the food hit his tongue.
He wanted to feel bad about upsetting his friend but he didn’t.
Wilson was an idiot.
An idiot he wanted to see naked.