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Title: Landscape of Longing
Author: river
Rating: PG
Summary: Wilson lets a song go to his head.
Words: 975
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm not Morrissy. But I'm glad someone does and someone is.
A/N: I have only seen up to House V God. So if I got it wrong what happens next, I'm sorry. This is my first ever songfic. I'm not 100% sure I get how they are supposed to work. Hope I didn't get it too wrong.
I am now a central part of your mind’s landscape, whether you care or do not
Wilson wasn’t generally prone to maudlin introspection, but House was a man who could bring out the crazy in a person, so maudlin introspection was a walk in the park. Though House wasn’t entirely to blame he supposed. 90s night on VH1 had a lot to answer for. Morrissy for god’s sake.
The sofa felt huge. He tried to convince himself he missed Julie, and he did, but the space next to him had a very House shaped hole in it. Wilson tried changing the channel but House was everywhere. New Yankee Workshop, re-runs of The O.C., even the National Cheerleading Championships on ESPN brought House to mind. He was not, after all, a man to let an opportunity to comment on girls in short skirts pass him by.
whether you care or do not
And did he? That was the trouble. Wilson genuinely didn’t know. He suspected. He read caring in the looks, the things left unsaid, even in the jibes and sarcasm. But he didn’t know. Sometimes a man just wanted to hear “I miss you. Come back.”
He didn’t deserve it, god knew. Sleeping with a patient and lying about it is not the best way to tell someone you care. But if House had bothered to say anything he never would have gotten involved. Well, he would have tried harder not to anyway.
I am now a central part of your mind’s landscape
Of that Wilson had no doubt. He and House were so tangled up together that, all other considerations aside, each was central to the other’s existence. It was just that Wilson couldn’t be sure what that meant. In a practical sense. Or relative to the other thing. The elephant in the room. The House shaped hole on the sofa. The longing that he’d felt since moving out.
In his own head, in the conversations he had with Greg House, Wilson never sounded defensive or hurt. House was never so quick with the cutting replies. But in reality conversations rarely worked out in his favor. Just like he always ended up paying for lunch, he always seemed to pay for caring. But caring was less painful than the alternative.
the more you ignore me, the closer I get
He’d tried to ignore House and draw him closer. But House had so much more stamina for that game. House had asked him if he was coming back, which was different from asking him to come back, or so Wilson told himself. He’d said ‘no’. He’d thought it was a good idea at the time. A way to ignore that elephant for a little longer.
But now House was distant. Still a friend, but making less of an effort to seek Wilson out. Just enough distance to make Wilson want to seek House out instead. He didn’t know how much more of the ignoring he could take. If he were any closer he’d be living inside House’s skin.
whether you care or do not
Maybe that was the answer. Wilson considered telling House that he wanted to come back. That he cared. House was, after all, not going to say anything either way. But he considered the worst that could happen. He could lose House completely. Wilson didn’t want just to be a central part of his mind’s landscape, but of House’s life.
There was always the distinct possibility that House did care and still would not respond positively to the news of Wilson’s longing. That he needed to hold so tightly to his indifference that he would rather be eaten alive than be caught caring. The possibility that Wilson could make himself vulnerable and that House was completely incapable of responding in kind. The likelihood even.
I will be in the bar, with my head on the bar
Wilson wanted to attack the House shaped hole. To fight it and fill it and make it not there. So he drank. He started with a shot glass and gave it up for the bottle, and still the hole was there, mocking him. If he moved from the sofa it followed him. To the kitchen, to the bathroom; it mocked him as he stood by the phone. He could not bear for the hole to make itself known in his bedroom so he returned to the sofa in defeat.
He sat with his head in his hands and dug his thumbs into the sensitive points of his jaw in order to feel the pain somewhere else. When the pain was too much to bear he stopped and the relief was overwhelming. But drinking was stupid, unbelievably stupid, because now he had the phone in his hand and House’s number was on the display and it was ringing. He didn’t disconnect.
when you sleep, I will creep into your thoughts
House answered with sleep slurred words though he was a man who never answered the phone. He knew it was Wilson and this time he answered. “I was dreaming about you,” he said before Wilson even got his mouth open to speak. “I dreamed you missed me and you wanted to come back but you were too afraid to tell me. I dreamed you with a bottle in one hand and the phone in the other. I dreamed you with a hole beside you that only I can fill.”
“I need you,” Wilson admitted to the answering machine, wishing he could call the words back as he hoped they penetrated House’s dreams. The tissue between fantasy and reality had been wetted to translucence by the alcohol and he became unsure if he was speaking to man or machine. White knuckles on the phone and on the bottle but he carried on regardless. “I heard a song tonight. It made me think of you.”
Author: river
Rating: PG
Summary: Wilson lets a song go to his head.
Words: 975
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm not Morrissy. But I'm glad someone does and someone is.
A/N: I have only seen up to House V God. So if I got it wrong what happens next, I'm sorry. This is my first ever songfic. I'm not 100% sure I get how they are supposed to work. Hope I didn't get it too wrong.
I am now a central part of your mind’s landscape, whether you care or do not
Wilson wasn’t generally prone to maudlin introspection, but House was a man who could bring out the crazy in a person, so maudlin introspection was a walk in the park. Though House wasn’t entirely to blame he supposed. 90s night on VH1 had a lot to answer for. Morrissy for god’s sake.
The sofa felt huge. He tried to convince himself he missed Julie, and he did, but the space next to him had a very House shaped hole in it. Wilson tried changing the channel but House was everywhere. New Yankee Workshop, re-runs of The O.C., even the National Cheerleading Championships on ESPN brought House to mind. He was not, after all, a man to let an opportunity to comment on girls in short skirts pass him by.
whether you care or do not
And did he? That was the trouble. Wilson genuinely didn’t know. He suspected. He read caring in the looks, the things left unsaid, even in the jibes and sarcasm. But he didn’t know. Sometimes a man just wanted to hear “I miss you. Come back.”
He didn’t deserve it, god knew. Sleeping with a patient and lying about it is not the best way to tell someone you care. But if House had bothered to say anything he never would have gotten involved. Well, he would have tried harder not to anyway.
I am now a central part of your mind’s landscape
Of that Wilson had no doubt. He and House were so tangled up together that, all other considerations aside, each was central to the other’s existence. It was just that Wilson couldn’t be sure what that meant. In a practical sense. Or relative to the other thing. The elephant in the room. The House shaped hole on the sofa. The longing that he’d felt since moving out.
In his own head, in the conversations he had with Greg House, Wilson never sounded defensive or hurt. House was never so quick with the cutting replies. But in reality conversations rarely worked out in his favor. Just like he always ended up paying for lunch, he always seemed to pay for caring. But caring was less painful than the alternative.
the more you ignore me, the closer I get
He’d tried to ignore House and draw him closer. But House had so much more stamina for that game. House had asked him if he was coming back, which was different from asking him to come back, or so Wilson told himself. He’d said ‘no’. He’d thought it was a good idea at the time. A way to ignore that elephant for a little longer.
But now House was distant. Still a friend, but making less of an effort to seek Wilson out. Just enough distance to make Wilson want to seek House out instead. He didn’t know how much more of the ignoring he could take. If he were any closer he’d be living inside House’s skin.
whether you care or do not
Maybe that was the answer. Wilson considered telling House that he wanted to come back. That he cared. House was, after all, not going to say anything either way. But he considered the worst that could happen. He could lose House completely. Wilson didn’t want just to be a central part of his mind’s landscape, but of House’s life.
There was always the distinct possibility that House did care and still would not respond positively to the news of Wilson’s longing. That he needed to hold so tightly to his indifference that he would rather be eaten alive than be caught caring. The possibility that Wilson could make himself vulnerable and that House was completely incapable of responding in kind. The likelihood even.
I will be in the bar, with my head on the bar
Wilson wanted to attack the House shaped hole. To fight it and fill it and make it not there. So he drank. He started with a shot glass and gave it up for the bottle, and still the hole was there, mocking him. If he moved from the sofa it followed him. To the kitchen, to the bathroom; it mocked him as he stood by the phone. He could not bear for the hole to make itself known in his bedroom so he returned to the sofa in defeat.
He sat with his head in his hands and dug his thumbs into the sensitive points of his jaw in order to feel the pain somewhere else. When the pain was too much to bear he stopped and the relief was overwhelming. But drinking was stupid, unbelievably stupid, because now he had the phone in his hand and House’s number was on the display and it was ringing. He didn’t disconnect.
when you sleep, I will creep into your thoughts
House answered with sleep slurred words though he was a man who never answered the phone. He knew it was Wilson and this time he answered. “I was dreaming about you,” he said before Wilson even got his mouth open to speak. “I dreamed you missed me and you wanted to come back but you were too afraid to tell me. I dreamed you with a bottle in one hand and the phone in the other. I dreamed you with a hole beside you that only I can fill.”
“I need you,” Wilson admitted to the answering machine, wishing he could call the words back as he hoped they penetrated House’s dreams. The tissue between fantasy and reality had been wetted to translucence by the alcohol and he became unsure if he was speaking to man or machine. White knuckles on the phone and on the bottle but he carried on regardless. “I heard a song tonight. It made me think of you.”
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