Title: Resurrection of the Unspoken Word
Summary: A nontraditional love story. How much do House and Wilson love each other?
Rating: R for language
Warning: It's from my fevered imagination. Alternate universe set in the future – should be labeled Sci-Fi. Might be considered a deathfic, but it's not. Angst. Slash.
Wanted: Open-minded readers willing to suspend belief that sad stories can have happy endings, and that there is a good reason for House and Wilson to be OOC.
Spoilers: Not in this story.
Disclaimer: Not mine, and never will be.
A/N: Inspired by my cell phone – a plot bunny that's been hopping around for months, and finally deserved freedom. This will be posted in fairly often to cut down on prolonged angst. I'm grateful to my betas, bookfan85 for her keen eyes and support, and bishojo_kitsune for her excellent suggestions and all-around muse.
"A new world order. A new world peace."
House inwardly laughed. He'd heard all that before.
Wilson busied himself quietly in the background. Walking to and fro from the kitchen to the living room.
"Hey! You can stop what you're doing for one moment and answer me."
Wilson looked at House, raising an eyebrow quizzically, but said nothing.
"A new world order? Peace? Can you believe it?"
"Yes. Um…whatever you say," Wilson agreed diffidently.
House looked displeased. Disappointed. "Hmmph, never mind," and looked away.
With eyes turned downward, Wilson put up a brave front, tidied and removed the dishes from the coffee table until he could hide away and busy himself in the kitchen. With his back turned from the doorway, he stood next to the sink allowing tears to drop from his face. The droplets joined the rushing water from the tap as he scrubbed the debris from the china. By the third plate, he dried the moisture from his face. Wiping the traces away on his rolled up sleeve. He felt better and it was for the best that House did not know. He smothered his frustration. Was it totally impossible to please him?
That night, Wilson stood stock-still in the doorway to House's bedroom listening until the breathing pattern smoothed before coming any closer. Earlier, he heard House make his customary journey to the bathroom. Fortunately, the unpredictable man was a predictable sleeper. Now was his chance. Undressing silently, he slipped under the covers and turned on his side to watch House slumber. He drank in the sight, sound, and smell of the snoring man, accepting the body heat rolling off him as a heady bonus. He basked like a sun worshipper, but it didn't overcome the shame he felt. He behaved no better than a dog seeking the comfort of his master.
Wilson set his internal clock for before dawn. He'd return to the sofa to catch a few extra winks, and be preparing macadamia pancakes by the time the bedsprings groaned, alerting him that House was awake.
At the breakfast table House betrayed no emotion in his inquiry, "Have you taken your vitals?"
"I'm fine." Wilson handed him the slip of paper. It was their daily routine.
House read the stats. Each number dropped significantly from the day before. He could barely hold back a grin. "I'm never bored with your lies, but it doesn't change anything. You're dying right on schedule. Call me if there are any surprises"
Wilson nodded as he wiped off the table. After House left for the hospital, he'd replay the last phrase in his head, analyzing and sifting each word for crumbs of concern. It might give him a reason to concentrate on reversing the deadly numbers.
House headed for the door, throwing the backpack over his shoulder.
Wilson noticed that House wasn't wearing his leather jacket. "You're jogging to work?"
"You're not objecting, are you?" House jumped up and down as if he was a pogo stick, "Got a tune up the other day. Thinking of chopping the left one off and replacing it with another ACME 1080. The repairman-surgeon said it would cut ten minutes off my running time".
Hiding his guilt as he always did, Wilson rubbed his neck before launching to the defense of the breakthrough prosthesis, "House, your leg was mutilated beyond repair after you wrapped your bike around that tree. I had no choice. You should have had elective surgery years ago like everybody else. Now you can walk, even run normally without pain, and it looks seamless. Has virtually no maintenance. Why stay angry at me?"
The old cane, now gathering dust, was propped up near the doorway. A souvenir from their previous life. House grabbed it and rapped the head of it against his bionic leg. "Because there's no feeling, you idiot!" The grainy voice dropped half an octave as House muttered bitterly, "Much the same as you.
After the door slammed, Wilson erased the cruel words from his memory. Began making the bed and cleaning as he always did. Without House watching his every move, he allowed his right foot to drag as he straightened books and dusted. He kept himself busy planning the dinner menu and ordering food from the market. He then sat on the sofa staring into space until the delivery boy arrived with the groceries.
After the small outburst this morning he didn't even consider examining House's words for any affection. Instead, he repeated the words out loud, spinning the phrase with different, warmer inflections. Changing the phrase to how he wanted and needed to hear it. Then he closed his eyes imagining House telling him with worried concern, "Call me if there are any surprises, Wilson."
He blinked. He felt better.
One evening. Several weeks later.
House sat isolated on the lounge facing the couch. He studied the latest numbers left for him on the coffee table.
He heard the object of his interest shuffling down the hall. His ice blue eyes stared intently as the dark haired man stepped into the living room running a hand lightly over the sofa. Sensing it was empty. Wilson sat down at "his" end, tilting his head toward his lap. Sitting quietly, he tried courageously to stop his body from shivering. He didn't want House to know everything. As it was, House would probably be ecstatic over the latest figures on the tape.
Leaning forward, House commanded "Look at me!"
Wilson obeyed. There was no way to hide this last symptom for long. He turned his blank eyes toward the voice.
Staring, the doctor demanded, "When did you lose your sight? You know you need to tell me everything you're experiencing to come up with the right calculations."
Wilson shrugged. It was his moment to be bitter, "Yes, well you don't want to be late for the final curtain on my performance, do you? Who knows what may come out of my mouth other than a death rattle."
House was impatient, "Don't be a drama queen, and answer the question."
Turning his ear to better catch the words, Wilson was surprised to notice the trademark harshness gone. Perhaps, he'd be offered mercy during his last days. Encouraged, he spoke up, "About noon. I turned on the television, and 'Prescription Passion' was on. Hey what about that Kelly? Last thing I saw was the fourth baby popping out of her."
Wilson waited for a response from House. Anything.
Nothing. Hope died within him. He tamped down another shiver. He wouldn't give House the satisfaction.
If only he could have seen House's face.
Hunched over the calculator, House refigured the formula. There was something good about this new world order. You could calculate the demise of your "best friend" to the day and minute by simply pushing a few buttons. By this time, three days from now, he would have what he so dearly wished. House smiled. He could hardly wait.
Three days later. 11:00 am.
House was rushing home. Thank God he drove to the hospital on his bike, but he was royally pissed. This wasn't supposed to happen until tonight.
If it wasn't for his latest patient, he would have hung around the apartment like an expectant father waiting for the birth of his child. But, the manufacturer assured him; the vitals would give him the exact time of death. It was just luck that there was a lull when his patient stabilized, and he took a moment to channel his nervous energy into a phone call to the dying man back at his house. Admittedly, it was becoming difficult to hide the interest in his voice that could be mistaken as thoughtfulness. He didn't want to slow down the process any further. He'd waited years. Fucking years for this day.
Not having anything to say, House counted on his wits to make something up on the fly. He could have written the state of the union address by the time the phone was picked up after ringing endlessly.
"Yes." The voice was a lackluster whisper.
Immediately House knew something was wrong. Dropping any pretense he asked, "How are you?"
Wheezing greeted his ear. Finally a breathless, "Fine."
House wasn't expecting such labored breathing until later this evening. This was unscheduled. He was becoming worried.
A small voice mumbled two words through the receiver. House snapped the phone off and headed out the door at lightening speed, collecting his jacket as he propelled out the door. For once, he was grateful to his space age leg not slowing him down.
There was no misunderstanding what the indistinct words, "Come home" meant.
He was in a race with death.
House found the body collapsed on the floor in the hallway. The cell phone a few inches from the lifeless hand. House was furious. He yelled, "Nooooo!" But no one could hear him.
He ran and kneeled over the figure, checking for a pulse. Knowing it was useless, he tried in vain to administer CPR. Nothing. The skin was cold to the touch.
Anger and grief filled House to overflowing. He couldn't control the outpouring emotion. Lifting the empty husk, he sat it upright against the wall. The chin was lolling against the still chest. He shook the body, then pounded it against the wall all the time screaming, "No you cock-sucking bastard! Listen to me! I spent good money for this not to happen. Speak, you son of a bitch! You heap of junk! Speak to me!"
He picked up the head, but there was nothing.
House couldn't believe it; tears slid unashamedly down his cheeks. "Wilson. Fuck. This can't be happening."
He hugged the lifeless creature to him, letting tears flow freely. He missed Wilson with all his heart.
Why did he have to die so suddenly...?
...Three years ago."
Thank you for reading. Comments always welcome.