Chapter Text
House had a thing for silence. Not the peaceful kind, the kind that wraps around you like a blanket – no, the kind that crept in like a parasite, feeding on your thoughts until all you could hear was the echo of your own screw-ups.
He sat on the couch in his office, legs stretched out on the table, a cold Vicodin bottle balancing on his stomach. The lights were off, except for the harsh yellow glow from the hallway leaking through the blinds. It was 1:43 AM. Everyone normal had gone home hours ago.
"You're pathetic," came Wilson's voice, not unkindly.
House didn't move. Just popped the cap, shook out a pill, dry-swallowed.
Wilson stepped fully into the room, clutching two lukewarm hospital sandwiches. Tuna and mystery meat. "I figured you wouldn't eat unless someone forced you."
"Are you volunteering to spoon-feed me now?" House tilted his head lazily, eyes flicking to Wilson's tired face. "Kinky."
Wilson didn't smile. That was the thing – he usually did. Even when House was being impossible. Especially when House was being impossible. But tonight, something in his shoulders looked heavier than usual. Like maybe he'd been holding up the sky all day and just realized it was never going to get any lighter.
He tossed the sandwich at House, who caught it one-handed.
"No tomato?"
"I'm not your damn intern," Wilson muttered, collapsing into the chair across from him. "You'll survive."
House unwrapped the sandwich anyway. It was stale, of course, but he bit into it. Because Wilson had brought it. Because that meant something, even if neither of them would say it out loud.
They sat in silence for a while. Two men who knew each other too well, speaking silence louder than words.
"You ever think about just... walking away?" Wilson said suddenly, not looking at him. "From all of it. The hospital. The patients. Me."
House chewed slowly. Swallowed. "I think about walking away from everything every damn day."
"And yet you're still here."
"I'm not here because I want to be." House stared at the ceiling. "I'm here because I've got nowhere else to go."
Wilson laughed, bitter. "Yeah. That's kinda what I thought."
There was a beat of silence. Then House sat up, leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"What about you? What keeps you here?"
Wilson looked up, and House felt that look like a punch to the chest. Because it wasn't just tired. It wasn't just sad. It was raw.
"You."
House blinked.
Wilson stood before he could respond. Grabbed the sandwich wrapper, chucked it in the trash.
"Don't read into it," Wilson said quietly. "I'm just tired."
He left.
House didn't move. Didn't breathe for a long moment.
He just reached for the Vicodin again, but his hand hesitated.