House MD Fanfiction

Sometimes

Hilson, Smut, 6k+
By: Atari-chan

Wilson found himself shaking as he stepped into the apartment he knew was empty. House was gone… he'd just disappeared and although he occasionally had an urge to escape the world, his bike was still parked outside and he hadn't said a word to anybody. Thatwas strange. Taking a deep breath to steady himself as best he could, Wilson pulled out his phone and dialled House's number.

And jumped as a vibration alert sounded from the coffee table. He cursed, crossing the room and sitting down on the couch because he wasn't sure he could handle standing after the realisation that he had no way of finding out where House was. Except…

His eyes fell on a battered train timetable next to the phone. Was it a clue? Was House trying to tell him where he'd gone, so that-

"Fuck," Wilson sobbed, suddenly, clamping a hand over his mouth despite the fact that he knew there was nobody else to hear him. Memories of a conversation from a week ago came flooding back, and he had to struggle not to hyperventilate.

"I don't understand how people can do things like that," Wilson had said, as the two of them sat on the couch, eyes on the short news programme that preceded the film they'd actually wanted to watch. The feature under discussion was a suicide; a man had thrown himself in front of a train, injuring the driver amongst others, and a killing 6.

"Like what?"

"Try to… take people with them."

House had sighed at that point, as though Wilson was showing true naiveté by asking.

"Because to them, their pain is all that exists. All that matters. And others deserve to suffer for not helping them."

"But even if they don't take people with them, somebody's got to find them. People are discovered by their children, their partners, neighbours… it must scar them for life."

"It's not their problem any more."

"Selfish bastards." Wilson had muttered, both intrigued and disturbed by House's understanding of the subject, and the intensity with which he'd spoken.

Oh, God. It couldn't be…

House had lost a patient just the day before. He'd almost started a conversation with Wilson earlier, but had given up before saying anything, claiming it didn't matter. And suddenly he had gone…

Did he not want Wilson to find him? Did he want to spare him that pain because he cared more than he let on? Was the timetable not a clue to his location but a suggestion of the distance he had travelled in order to escape?

Wilson forced himself to calm his breathing, beginning to see sparkles in the corner of his vision and feel tingling in his fingers. Chase had apparently seen House leave work only hours earlier, there might still be time to… help him. If indeed Wilson could help him out of a depression that warranted suicide.

With the timetable and House's phone in his jacket pocket, Wilson headed for his car, praying to whatever gods were listening that, even if House had pissed them off, surely he'd been good enough to deserve at least a chance to say goodbye… and ask why he hadn't been good enough.

He wasn't entirely sure how he made it to the station without crashing, since tears were clouding his vision pretty severely. He parked, took a moment to compose himself as best he could, and headed for the ticket office.

"Hey, how can I help?" a spotty teenager asked, narrowing his eyes slightly at Wilson's reddened eyes but choosing not to mention it.

"Uhh…" Wilson frowned, struggled a moment with his phrasing in an attempt not to look like a complete psychopath. If he got arrested for being a stalker he'd never be able to help his friend, "A friend of mine came through here earlier. Late forties, greying hair. Quite tall. Crippled…"