House MD Fanfiction

Something Old, Something New

Hilson, smut, 8087 words
By: vampmissedith

Every time he saw it, fire stabbed into his sternum. Acid seeped into his veins and boiled into his stomach, nausea turning over and over. It was such a tiny thing; a small, golden ring, and yet the emotions it elicited were far from small. When the light glinted off of it, it seared into his eyes as if he were staring directly into the sun, and the heat from its rays burned his lungs and heart.

Perhaps that was the melodramatic way of putting it, but Wilson couldn’t stand the sight of House's wedding band, and he knew it was pathetic. He knew, just like everyone else in the hospital did, that it was a sham of a marriage; a fraudulent mockery of love. When he looked at it like that, he knew seeing the wedding band shouldn’t evoke such a strong reaction, but it did. Maybe that was how House felt every time Wilson was married; if so, Wilson could understand why House did all he could to sabotage his relationships because in all honestly, it hurt.

Every time he talked to House, his eyes were invariably drawn to the strip of gold around his left ring finger, and it dampened his mood entirely. House didn’t really talk about Dominika often but when he did, Wilson felt an irrational urge to just--

Do something.

He couldn’t really figure out what, exactly, but he always felt the need to do something; a sudden burst of energy sparking him with urges he couldn’t grasp onto--but whatever they were, it was probably something unpleasant. Whenever Wilson had bursts of uncontrolled doing, he usually ended up breaking something expensive.

Wilson hated the fact he just didn’t know what House was doing anymore. Ever since Cuddy dumped him, he’d been going overboard with everything. He wasn’t being House--he was being House Concentrate. Everything that made House who he was, he was taking and perverting into some cracked-out version of that trait. In theory, Wilson should have known that House wasn’t going to jump off a balcony to kill himself; yet, he hadn't. In theory, he shouldn’t have been surprised that he randomly got married, but he was.

Wilson just didn’t seem to be on the same wavelength as House anymore. The more he tried to understand, the less he did; the more he tried to get into House’s life, the more he felt pushed away.

Frankly, it was stressing him out. When House was dating Cuddy, of course they hadn’t been able to spend as much time together. That had frustrated him a little, of course, but now? Instead of freeing up some more of his time, House post-Cuddy seemed to have less of it. They hardly talked, saw each other less, and it felt like his friendship with House was slipping right through his fingers, like grabbing handfuls of sand and the harder he squeezed, the more he tried to hold on, the less he found in each handful. He was losing House faster than he could keep track of him and if it continued on in this way, he honestly worried that House would just disappear.

Of all the times House was so sure Wilson would be the one to leave, to be pushed away, it felt like it was going to be the other way around, and Wilson couldn’t stop it. It more than worried him; it frightened him.

As if that wasn’t enough stress, Cuddy wasn’t making things easier on him, either. House was pushing at the boundaries harder, and Cuddy was slowly, but surely, beginning to fight back--but it wasn’t enough, and every time she did, she seemed to have a mini-crisis over it. He hadn’t realized how little people were in Cuddy’s life until he realized that she had no one to talk to but him. He wondered vaguely why she didn’t open up to her sister, except maybe she didn’t want her family involved; from what he knew, she wasn’t especially close with either her sister or mother. Maybe she chose to speak to Wilson because he, supposedly, understood House more than her family ever would. Either way, he couldn’t go a week without Cuddy finding him and tentatively complaining about House and he would offer comfort, because that was just what Wilson did.