House MD Oneshots + Imagines

Glimpse Of Us (Gregory House x James Wilson) (NSFW)

After a long day at work, James comes home to a quiet apartment. All of the lights are still on when he walks in through the front door and sets his briefcase down. He shuts the door behind him and frowns at the sight of his wife, Julie Wilson, who is sitting on the middle of their living room couch with a book in her lap. She's about half-way through it; he remembers her trying to talk to him about the plot of it the other day, only for him to tune out and get caught up thinking about work. She called him out for not listening and he apologized, which really didn't help. The rest of that night was awkward.

Slowly, he approaches and sits down next to the dark-haired woman, his weight making the couch creak. She hasn't even acknowledged his presence yet, which he can't blame her for. He's spent almost every night for the past six months at work or with House, and though he's been trying to come home with gifts most of those nights, he knows that doesn't make up for his absence. He's used to coming home at odd hours of the morning, waking her up to present her with whatever shiny trinket he's gotten her to atone for his emotional infidelity, and retreating to the couch- not because she's told him to, but because she's made it obvious she doesn't want him there with how she rolls away the moment he climbs into bed with her. He's tried to sleep with other women to feel better about the situation, to get even. It doesn't ever help, he's never even gone through with it, because all he can think about no matter where he's at or who he's with is House .

And it's fine, he tells himself; he dug his own grave by neglecting Julie and not noticing how bad things were between them until it was already too late.

"Hey, honey," James greets and leans down to press a kiss against his wife's forehead. She doesn't even look up from her book to pay attention to him as he sits next to her, her flashing blue eyes trained on the pages. She's just gotten out of the shower, her dark peppery locks blow-dried and the familiar smell of mint shampoo rolling off of her. "How was your day?"

"Fine," She answers coldly, eyes not leaving the words typed out in the Arial font. Her eyes don't move, so she's not really reading. It's clear she doesn't want to talk to him, and that's fine, James decides. He's landed himself in this position in their marriage; long work hours drive couples apart, and it's made even worse when he spends all of his free time with Greg, but he can't help it. "How was yours?"

The question is asked out of obligation, and as much as he hates himself for it, James can't help but miss his earlier conversation with Greg about their days. As always, the diagnostician was very enthusiastic, giving a dry but candid and riveting story about today's case; full of dramatics, sarcastic, and captivating as always, James couldn't help but stare at the older man with hearts in his eyes.

"It was good," James lies, pauses, and then lies again. "I missed you."

Julie doesn't even respond. Typical .

Wilson sighs and takes a long look at his wife. She's wearing a big, fluffy robe that he bought her for Christmas last year. It's so loose that Wilson can see the hickeys that trail down her neck and chest- hickeys that she doesn't even bother hiding anymore. It's been a month of this, of Wilson knowing that she's been unfaithful and trying to make it better to no avail. He's blown a couple thousand dollars on expensive chocolates, jewelry, books, and a million other things to try to keep her happy. It doesn't work. So, he stays out late, gives her time to do whatever it is she does in what used to be their shared bed when he's gone, comes home, talks to her for an entire five minutes, and sleeps on the couch. He desperately wants this to work, but he knows it won't.

Briefly, Julie looks back at him. For the first time in a long time, she really, truly looks at him. Those piercing blue eyes that he forced himself to fall in love with just a few years ago meet his own chocolate brown, and in the seas of blue that are her irises, he sees a glimpse of him and House. He sees a summer New Orleans night in 1991 spent under blue lights. He sees House bandaging up his wounds and putting his heart back together, sees them drinking to forget their pain. But then, Julie's voice snaps him back to reality.